Promises (15 page)

She reached over now and placed her hand on Keith’s. The flight attendant, catching the gesture, would think that perhaps they were on their honeymoon.

“I’m very happy,” she whispered.

“And so am I, little Nina. So am I.”

*  *  *

When, hours later, they touched down in Prague, the ground wore a deep, white snow cover, and a few late desultory flakes were drifting.

Keith had ordered a car. Driving slowly to avoid slippery patches, he was able to give a brief guided tour.

“There’s Hradčany, that huge structure on the hill. It’s a compound, almost a town in itself, with the palaces, the cathedral, a town hall, a museum, a monastery—well, you’ll see it. We’ll spend almost a whole day there. There’s the river, the Moldau. Lord, it’s cold! Look at those floating ice chunks. You should see the crowds on the Charles Bridge in the summer, artists doing portraits for the tourists, musicians, happy kids dancing—it’s a spectacle. You’ll want to come back here, I guarantee. This is my third time.”

Nothing was ever wasted on Keith. He savored, remembered, analyzed, and enjoyed. His curiosity was catching.

“Do you realize,” he said, “that we’ve been awake since yesterday morning? I propose that we go upstairs and have a good sleep.”

“Upstairs” was a suite of two rooms filled with an enormous bed, with chairs and sofas all overstuffed, very comfortable, and incredibly dowdy.

Keith laughed. “Typically middle European. It would hardly do for Crozier and Dexter, would it?”

She burst out laughing at the thought of Ernie and Willie confronting the bulge of that armoire. But the feather bed, after thirty hours without sleep, looked wonderful. And this was to be their first time to spend an entire night together.

It was the first time, too, that they made love in the
morning before breakfast. “It’s different in the morning,” observed Nina.

“How different can it be?”

“Just—I don’t know.”

But upon reflection she found that she did know very well. It was the feel of permanence that made the difference, as if they belonged together and could do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted.

“Today’s the day for Hradčany. The whole day. We can take a bus, or we can climb. I warn you that the hill is like a stepladder.”

“We’ll climb,” said Nina, filled as she was with energy and joy. “I want to see everything.” And she flung her arms out. Everything. The world.

The view from the top was glorious. The cathedral was dressed in stone lace. The gardens around the royal summer palace, though covered in snow, were beautiful. In the museum Keith led her on a little tour of his own, stopping before a portrait of a woman who held in one hand a streamer of her own long, gleaming hair.

“It’s a famous Titian,” he explained. “She lived a few centuries ago, but she could be you today.”

“I don’t see that at all.”

“Look again. Even the arc of the eyebrow is yours.”

And he stood there, in the dimming light of the old museum, looking back and forth with satisfaction from the portrait to the living woman.

There were flowers in the hotel room when they returned to it that night.

“They should have been here on the first night,” Keith said, frowning. “But somebody forgot. There’s no excuse for that.”

He was meticulous, never late himself, never forgetful
of even a casual promise. Nina had already learned that he had little tolerance for people who were late or forgetful. And this awareness of a small human failing gave her a secret pleasure, because it made him real instead of a romantic girl’s dreamy, impossible creation.

So ended their first day.

And their few days raced by. They saw the old Town Hall, went to a concert and ate goulash and strudel in smoky little restaurants. In a gallery Keith bought a watercolor, a sketch of the Moldau under soft spring rain, for her to take home.

“Whoever did it is an artist, no amateur,” he said. “With a really good frame you’ll cherish it. You’ll remember our days here.”

“Do you really think I could forget them?” she asked. And she looked at him, feeling the truth in the cliché about “having one’s heart in one’s eyes.”

“Sweet Nina,” he said. “Wonderful Nina. I’d like to go around the world with you.”

“Well, invite me,” she answered gaily.

“How about Outer Mongolia for a start?”

With mock correctness she considered the offer, and then, truly in earnest, responded, “I’d rather take Paris for a start.”

“Fine. That’s easy enough.”

A daring possibility occurring to her, she asked whether they had seen everything they should see here.

“ ‘Everything’? Of course not. But we have had more than a good bird’s-eye view, that’s sure.”

“I was thinking that maybe—can we maybe leave here a little sooner and have one day in Paris? If I could just see it for one day I’d be so thrilled! I’d have that
much to remember of it and look forward to seeing again. Can we, Keith?”

They were at dinner in the hotel, almost finished, and Keith was taking a credit card out of his wallet. For a moment he stared at it, replaced it, took out a traveler’s check, replaced that, and took out the credit card. Nina’s question, her little appeal, went unanswered. It was as if he had suddenly become confused, suddenly somber.

“We can’t talk about it here,” he said then. “Let’s go upstairs. There’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you anyway.”

She felt her breath quicken, not with alarm, but rather with expectation, as if some surprise was coming: the Question, perhaps?

When he took his seat in one of the fat, overstuffed chairs, she sat down across from him in its twin and waited. After a silent moment or two he got up to stand at the window, looking into the night. For what seemed a long time she waited.

He turned around, looking intensely troubled. “We’ll have to postpone Paris for another time. That’s one place where we can’t be seen together.”

She was astonished. “I don’t understand! Not be seen? That sounds crazy.”

“I know it does, but if you listen, you will understand.”

“I’m listening, Keith. Go ahead.”

He walked the length of the room and, returning, began. “Have you ever done anything absolutely stupid and absolutely unforgivable? And knowing that it was, postponed the confession of it because you were so ashamed and afraid of not being forgiven?”

“No,” she said truthfully. Her heart had begun to pound and she trembled. Instinctively, she crossed her arms, as if for protection, on her chest.

Very slowly, very low, he said, “I’m married, Nina.”

She went numb.
Married.
If he had said,
I just robbed a bank
, or
I just shot a man
, the words could have been no more stunning.

“I should have told you that first night when we went out for a drink, the time you brought the lamp. But I knew I had to see you again, and I was afraid you’d refuse me. A lot of women these days, at least the ones I’ve met, wouldn’t care one way or the other, but I had the feeling that you would.” Keith’s voice pleaded. “And I didn’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose you now.”

How dared he! How could he?

“I’m getting a divorce, Nina. So my deception really isn’t as bad as it must sound. The trouble is that the damn business takes so damn long. If you’ll just bear with me …” And he wrung his hands.

She stared at him, thinking: After all, you’re a stranger. What do I know about you?

Keith was saying, “That’s the reason, you see, why we can’t be together in Paris. You almost always meet someone there who knows you. There’s much less risk here, especially in the winter. Someday I’ll take you to Paris, but—”

“Risk?” she cried. “Do you think I give a damn about
Paris
after what you’ve just told me? And anyway, what risk is there, since as you say, you’re getting a divorce?”

“It’s more complicated than that. We haven’t made it public yet. We’re still seen as an intact family.”

“ ‘Intact family’! You bastard! You lied, you tricked me, you put me in this position where you have to hide me as if—as if I were a whore that you’re ashamed to be seen with!”

She burst out crying and covered her face with her hands. Pain, such pain! She had been pierced through. She was bleeding.

Kneeling on the footstool before her, he tried to take her hands away, to wipe her tears.

“Nina, please, darling, don’t cry. Be patient with me, please. Please. I know you’re furious, and you have a right to be. But I know you love me too. I know you do. When you think about it, you’ll forgive me.”

Married. A rage of jealousy raced through Nina’s body. All the time, as he had lain with her, as she slept beside him feeling the thud of his heart against hers, inhaling the warm, clean scent of his skin, so he lay with another woman, one who bore his name, wore his ring, and had the legal, honorable certificate tucked away in some drawer, some vault.… Married. She turned cold, unable to speak, with a silent scream stuck in her throat.

“Nina, for God’s sake, say something.”

People passed in the corridor; a man’s voice said, “You haven’t met my wife yet, have you? Annie, this is—”

Through her fingers Nina whispered, “What is her name?”

“Cynthia.”

“And are there any children?”

“Nina, sweetheart, we needn’t go into all this. It’s too hard on you. I’m getting a divorce. That’s all you need to know. Nothing else matters.”

She had a need to reach and touch the uttermost bounds of anguish. “No,” she said. “I must hear everything. There are children, aren’t there? And you don’t want to tell me.” She wiped her face. “How many children?”

He got up from his knees, saying wearily, “Two. A boy and a girl.”

Children. A wife. A house. She saw him so differently now. All of a sudden he was not the same desirable young man beside whom, only a few hours ago, she had walked so confidently with a light and hopeful heart. As if a spring, stretched to the snapping point, had indeed snapped, she jumped out of the chair, snatched her coat, and ran to the door.

“Wait, Nina. What are you doing? Nina—”

The door slammed in his face. Almost opposite, the elevator door had opened; before he was able to reach it, she was in the elevator going down, then out on the street and running. She was wild and well aware of it, aware that it made no sense to be running at night through the streets of a foreign city or of any city. She had no idea where she was going. Behind her lay disaster, smashed pride, and, far worse, smashed trust. How could he? Oh, God, how I hate him!

People were looking at her, thinking, no doubt, that she was being pursued or was demented. Her breath came hard, as if blood had risen to her throat, and she had to stop, pretending to look into a shop window. Ahead at the top of the street lay a wide open space, quite surely the great square where they had watched the old clock and gone into the church behind the square; that was where she must go now, to the church.

Someone had been rehearsing or practicing at the organ
that afternoon, sending majestic waves of sound to the pinnacle of the ancient building. Bach, Keith had said. “When music moves you with such grandeur, it almost always turns out to be Bach.” The church was almost vacant now. Only a few old people sat facing the altar, and an old woman knelt in prayer. The cold was damp. And as she drew her coat more tightly around herself, the pretty coat, bought with such anticipation of joy, she was overcome with a conviction of irreparable loss.

She needed to be home. If she could only make a wish and be instantly at home in her own place, burying her head in her own pillow and sleeping! Just sleeping! But she had no money, no tickets, nothing. She was helpless, dependent upon him. And she sat there, gazing at the votive candles and the old woman kneeling in prayer. God knew what her troubles might be, poor soul!

After a long, long while when one by one the church emptied, she was left alone in a dark blue immensity. How many thousands of men and women, betrayed and deceived like herself, must, through all the centuries, have sat beneath this roof and pondered what to do! And ultimately made resolve, gotten up, and walked out to face what had to be faced. She could hardly sit there all night grieving and raging.…

To be led by emotion instead of mind was to walk panicked through strange woods. You could only end at the point in the circle where you had started. She had no choice but to return to the hotel.

From the distance of half a block she saw Keith standing in the doorway, looking up and down the
freezing street. When he recognized her, he came running.

“Nina! I’ve been hunting for you since eight o’clock. I was frantic. I thought something awful might have happened to you, that you might have—”

“Have what? Committed suicide?”

He had loosed his tie and was without his overcoat. In one way these proofs of his distress were satisfying to her; yet in another way they aroused a grudging pity.

“You’d better go inside,” she said harshly. “Or you’ll get pneumonia.”

When, in the room, he tried to help her remove her coat, she rebuffed him.

“Don’t touch me, Keith.”

“All right. I won’t touch you. But you have to listen. You have to hear the whole story.”

“The story of your ‘intact family’?”

“It’s not intact. I said, we’re
thought of
that way.”

“So you’re still living together.”

“Yes. In the same house. We aren’t sleeping together, I assure you.” He paused, and then said with difficulty, “My little boy is sick. Or not exactly sick, but recovering from surgery. He was born with a club foot, and the first operation didn’t work. There were complications, and he has to have another one, but not till next year. I can’t—can’t upset things now. He’s only eight years old. It’s not the time. You can see that, can’t you?” he pleaded.

“I suppose so.”

“Please take your coat off and sit down. Hear me out. Then judge.”

She was silent.

“In another year, as soon as Eric is on his way, things
will be different. There’ll be no money problems and no child problems. Cynthia can take care of the children. She’s a good mother.”