Sapphire and Shadow (A Woman's Life) (12 page)

“If you leave, Jocelyn will think I sent you away. She’ll resent me for it.” Johanna thought of the divorce that would come. “There’ll be enough for her to resent me for soon enough. You can stay as long as we remain in London. But I want you to serve as the perfect example of young womanhood in flower.” The words brought a cryptic smile to Johanna’s lips. If Megan could pull that off, she deserved to be in one of Harry’s movies. “Do I make myself perfectly clear, Megan?”

Megan looked down at the rug and curled her toes. “I think so,” she mumbled.

“Think well,” Johanna warned, taking the girl’s chin in her hand and raising it until their eyes met. “No wild parties, no dope, no make-overs. Jocelyn is twelve, going on thirteen, that’s hard enough. She doesn’t have to go on twenty-nine for another seventeen years. You will do things together that are appropriate for someone Jocelyn’s age. Movies, museums, sight-seeing, that kind of thing. No boys, no tight clothes, no walks on the wild side. Do we understand each other?”

Megan nodded slowly. “Yes, Mrs. Whitney.”

Johanna took her hand away from the girl’s chin and extended it to her. “Good.”

Megan took her hand hesitantly. Her towel began to slip and she pulled it up with her other hand quickly.

Johanna tried not to let her lips curve. “And you can call me Johanna.”

Megan licked her lower lip nervously. “About, about Mr. Whitney—“

Johanna was not about to discuss her husband with Megan. “What happened between the two of you is your own business, and probably, your own loss.”

For a moment, there was a touch of compassion in Johanna’s eyes, but then she banished it. Compassion had been her downfall with Harry. She had learned that not everyone deserved it.

She glanced at her watch as she heard the door to Jocelyn’s room open and close. It was almost noon. Time for a truce of sorts. She turned to see her daughter approaching.

“Now, why don’t the three of us go out to lunch at the Chelsea and then you and Megan can plan the rest of your day together?”

“Yes, Mrs. Whit—Johanna,” Megan amended.

Jocelyn stood in the doorway, staring at the two of them. It was hard to say which surprised her more, the fact that Megan was wearing only a towel in her mother’s presence, or that the three of them were going to be going out together to share a lunch. She smiled uncertainly as her mother put an arm around her shoulder.

“Let’s leave Megan to get dressed, Jocey. I’m starved.”

Jocelyn merely nodded.

Chapter Thirteen

Before he left, Harry had promised to call Johanna as soon as he reached Italy.

He didn’t.

Although she hadn’t expected him to, Johanna still marked the incident down in her new diary, labeling it the last promise to her that Harry would break. There would be no more promises because for there to be a promise, the receiver had to believe. Johanna had ceased to believe. That Johanna, the one who took words at their face value, was gone forever.

It both relieved and saddened Johanna to realize that she was no longer trusting, that a certain cynicism had crept into the way she dealt with people and with life itself. In gaining something, she had lost something precious.

In the days that followed Harry’s departure, Johanna initially thought that it was that final scene in the bedroom which had transformed her. Actually, the incident had only been the catalyst. All the ingredients for the metamorphosis had been there all along, simmering, waiting for the final push. Harry and his rage had just sent her over the top.

The day was dreary. Harry had been gone a week and there had been plenty of time for her to act, to do something about reorganizing her life. Yet she had made no moves. She felt unsettled. She supposed that perhaps, subconsciously, she was making the final adjustment to this new station in life that she had come to.

The weather wasn’t helping her restless mood. There seemed to be no demarcation from early morning, to noon, to late afternoon. The sky was a hazy gray that lightened and darkened whimsically and with no warning, like a frown coming over the face of the sky. Rain fell intermittently and annoyingly.

Johanna felt fidgety, trapped within her hotel room, within her mind. She knew that when Harry returned, whatever shape he was in, she was going to tell him that it was over between them, finally over. She wanted a divorce and nothing more from him than that.

But what came after that? She didn’t know yet.

She heard Jocelyn sneeze. Her daughter’s cold had been growing steadily worse since Harry left.

“Feeling any better?” Johanna asked as she walked into Jocelyn’s bedroom.

Jocelyn sat on her bed, surrounded by magazines, books and cassettes, looking absolutely miserable and displaying no interest in any of the paraphernalia that littered her room. Megan sat over by the window, staring out through the window at the gloomy day. She didn’t even bother to turn around as Johanna entered the room.

“No,” Jocelyn sniffed, then blew her nose into a tissue. The floor was covered with a myriad of wadded up pink tissues that had missed their target, a wastepaper basket which stood off to the side.

Johanna leaned over and felt Jocelyn’s forehead. It seemed to be a little cooler, but the girl was still warm. “Well, your fever seems down.”

Jocelyn thumbed through a magazine, its pages flipping by unnoticed. “That’s not the only thing,” she said glumly.

Johanna looked over toward the dormant television. “Nothing on television?”

“Nothing.” It sounded as if she were pronouncing a death sentence.

Johanna crossed to the console and tapped the DVD player that sat on the bureau. “Well, the hotel’s provided us with all the latest equipment. Why don’t I see about getting you something to watch?”

Jocelyn seemed to come alive at the suggestion. “No cartoons, Mom,” she begged.

“No cartoons,” Johanna promised. “Any suggestions?”

Johanna looked from Jocelyn to Megan, who looked even more bored and restless than Jocelyn did now that she turned away from the window. It was apparent that in the week since they had had their talk, Megan had turned obedient, though decidedly sullen.

It was as if she had no one to appear bright for, Johanna thought. Probably because Harry wasn’t around to notice her in her tight skirts and short shorts.

Just her hormones dying to run wild again, Johanna diagnosed. Besides, Megan wasn’t her concern. Her daughter was.

“How about Summer Fun?” Jocelyn suggested hopefully. “I love anything with Rick Renfield in it.” She cast a side glance at Megan for approval. The dark-haired young woman merely shrugged, as if it was all the same to her.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Johanna promised.

Johanna returned in half an hour. She had managed to find not one but two films featuring Jocelyn’s newest heartthrob, a young actor with more hair than talent. But it wasn’t his acting ability that had Jocelyn sighing. It was his dimple—as well as various other parts, Johanna suspected. The young actor did incredible things to a pair of faded jeans.

No doubt about it, her little girl was growing up, Johanna decided with a sigh. She thought of storing her in a tower and cutting her long blond hair until she was twenty-five, but knew that did no good. All little girls grew up. She had. Johanna felt a wild desire to protect Jocelyn from all the mistakes that she had embraced with open arms. That too would do no good. Mistakes had to be made in order to learn from them. Miserable idea, she thought cynically.

“Will you ladies be all right alone?” She was trying her hardest to make Jocelyn feel as if she was treating her as an equal and not just as a young child, even though in her heart there was a part of Johanna that wanted to keep her that way.

“Sure.” Jocelyn shrugged carelessly. “You going somewhere?”

“Just out to clear my head.” She kissed Jocelyn’s forehead even as the girl pulled back from the fuss. It felt a little warmer again. Johanna reconsidered. “Maybe I’d better not.”

“Go ahead, Mom,” Jocelyn muttered moodily. “Quit treating me like a baby.”

Johanna held up her hands. “Heaven forbid, Granny.” She winked as she picked up her purse. “I won’t be too long.”

But she had lied. Not intentionally, of course. She hadn’t intentionally gotten lost in the maze of traffic that seemed to engulf her, coming out of nowhere and with no warning. She had just wanted the freedom of a ride for half an hour. She should have realized that was impossible in London. She was ensnared in a jam that had police rerouting traffic until she had no idea whether she was still in the country or not.

And then the car died.

Just as the rain started again.

She got out of her car and felt like weeping in frustrated anger. Either that, or shooting the stalled vehicle. She rummaged in her purse for her cell phone but couldn’t find it.
 
Of all days to forget to bring it along.
 
What was she going to do now?

“Damn!” she cried out, kicking a tire. People drove by without giving her a second glance. The rain fell, pasting her green raw silk blouse against her body.

He saw her from a distance and moved his van into the lane closer to the street. He wanted a better look.

He was right. It was her.

Tommy pulled over to the side of the street half a block away. Turning up the collar of his shirt, he hurried toward her, wondering what she was doing there. He had heard that her husband had gone to Italy. He had naturally assumed that she had gone with him. The man had seemed insanely jealous that day on the set.

“What’s a nice lady like you doing out here in the rain?” Tommy asked as he approached Johanna.

She stood shivering in the rain, too angry to retreat into her car for shelter. She whirled around at the sound of his voice and then smiled so broadly that she thought she’d laugh. A familiar face. “Getting wet and having a breakdown.”

He thought that he had never seen a lovelier face, so frail. She almost looked angelic. To distract himself, he looked at her dormant vehicle. “You mean the car?”

She shook her head. Her hair had turned a dark shade of honey from the rain. “No, I mean me.” She ran her hands up and down her arms. “I hate this miserable weather. I hate being in London. I hate Europe. I hate driving on the wrong side of the road.” She realized she was beginning to babble and covered her mouth with her hands in a futile gesture. “Oh God, Tommy, I’ve never been so miserable in my whole life.”

He looked embarrassed for her, yet felt protective of her at the same time. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business, Mrs. Whitney.”

She hadn’t meant to let the note of hysteria break out like that. Composing herself, Johanna went on. “I’m the one who’s sorry. There’s no need to apologize. Lately, my life has been everyone’s business and the name is Johanna.” She pushed her hair out of her face. “I have decided to completely disassociate myself from anything that remotely has to do with Harold T. Whitney—except for my daughter, of course.”

He grinned now. “Of course. You have a daughter?”

“Yes. Jocelyn. She’s twelve.” She liked his smile. It seemed so genuine. She had had her share of phony smiles. Everyone in Harry’s entourage had one.

“There’s O’Hurley’s.” He pointed to a pub across the street that he frequented. “We’d better get you inside and nursing a hot cup of tea before your daughter’s mother comes down with pneumonia.” He took her arm.

“No chance of that. I never get sick.” But she went with him anyway, because she wanted to get dry, because she wanted to drink something hot and warm. And because she liked the sound of his voice.

“You don’t say.” He held the door open for her.

“Absolutely.” A board creaked under her foot as she crossed the threshold.

“Gerald,” Tommy called out to the bartender as he followed Johanna in, “two teas, please.”

“One tea and one coffee,” Johanna corrected, cupping her hands around her mouth to be heard above the din. “Make that Irish coffee.” She turned and saw the amused look Tommy gave her. “Takes the chill out, so they tell me.”

“Aye.” He grinned and a dimple appeared in one cheek. “So they tell me.” He raised his voice again. “You heard the lady. Two Irish coffees it is, Gerald.”

Gerald, wearing a multi-stained apron large enough to serve as a tablecloth about his wide middle, grumbled. “Make up your minds, you two, for the love of heaven.”

Without giving it a thought, Tommy placed his hand on the small of her back and guided Johanna to a tiny booth off to the side. The small gesture was utterly intimate and Johanna felt herself responding to it. And to Tommy.

Because of its distance from the bar, the booth had a clear view of the room and the dart game that was being seriously played out between two feisty looking old men in worn plaid caps. Each had his own respective cheering section.

Tommy nodded toward Gerald. “He adds charm to the place.”

She looked around for the first time. Unlike a bar or a lounge back home, the place Tommy had brought her to was well lit and somehow cozy. She could see that it was a place where people of both sexes could meet and just talk. There was none of the feel of it being a meat market the way singles bars back in the States were. She began to relax a little.

“It is charming.” She looked back at Tommy, her eyes bright, curious.

“A pub’s purpose is to serve warm beer and cool advice,” he said.

“Your coffees,” Gerald announced, placing two ivory colored mugs before them. Hers had a fine, thin crack running around the side.

Tommy reached into his pocket for his wallet.

Johanna realized what he was doing and placed her hand on his shoulder to stop him. “No, please, allow me.” Gerald looked on, amused. “It’s the least I can do since you saved me from a king-sized headache on the set.”

Tommy shrugged nonchalantly, not thoroughly comfortable with the offer. “Anyone would have done the same. And I’m not used to a woman doing the paying for me.”

“And I’m not used to accepting favors without returning them in kind.” She smiled at him. “Humor me.”

He realized that he wanted to do a lot more than just humor her. “Aye, that would be easy to do.”