Summer's End (13 page)

“Maybe we don’t have to. We can still be friends.” He looked at her then with an attempt at a smile, but there was none in her eyes, only the glimmer of something haunted.

“I don’t feel betrayed. At least not by you.” She wanted him to know that much.

“By yourself?”

“Perhaps. I think I just don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to. You were very clear about your life when we talked about it before. There’s nothing for you to understand, or explain.” His voice was so unbearably gentle. “We can forget. I’m sure we will.”

But she didn’t want to, and that was what astonished her most. She didn’t want to forget at all.

“Did you mean what you said?” She meant his “I love you,” but she could see that he understood. “I feel that way too. It’s really a little crazy.”

“Isn’t it just!” He laughed aloud this time and gently kissed her cheek. “Maybe it’s even very crazy. But however we feel, I won’t destroy your life. You have what you need, and you don’t need me rocking your boat now. I suspect that it’s taken you the last eighteen years to come to terms with that life.” It was true, and she knew it. “I promise, Deanna. I won’t hurt you.”

“But what will we do?” She felt like a child, lost in his arms.

“Nothing. We’ll be big kids, both of us. And good friends. Does that sound all right to you?”

“I suppose it has to.” But there was relief in her voice too, as well as regret. She didn’t want to cheat on Marc. It meant a lot to her to be faithful.

He started the car, and they drove slowly home, saying little on the way back. It was a day she would not quickly forget. It seemed an eternity before they stopped at her house.

“Will you come to lunch in my studio now and then?” She sounded so forlorn that it made his pain more acute, but he smiled.

“Anytime. I’ll call you sometime soon.”

She nodded and slipped out of the car. She heard him drive away before she had a chance to look back.

She walked slowly up the stairs to her bedroom, and lay down on the bed; then, glancing at the phone, she saw a message from Marc. Margaret had taken the call that afternoon. She cringed as she read it. P
LEASE CALL
M
R
. D
URAS
. She didn’t want to call now, didn’t want to hear him. Not now. But she knew she had to. She had to force herself back to her life and away from the dream on the beach.

It took her half an hour to steel herself to make the call. At last, she dialed the overseas operator for Rome and asked for Marc’s room at the Hassler.

This time he was in.

“Marc? It’s me.”

“Yes. Hello.” He sounded strange and cold.

“Deanna.” She thought for a moment that he didn’t understand who it was. Then she realized the time. It was two
A.M
. in Rome. He had undoubtedly been fast asleep.

“Yes, yes, I know. I was asleep.”

“I’m sorry. We were cut off the last time we talked, and Margaret left a message. I thought perhaps it was important.” But suddenly she felt awkward with him. He didn’t sound as though he’d been asleep.

“Right. Where were you?” God, why did he sound so cold? Why now? She needed a reason to hang on. A reason not to fall in love with Ben. A reason to stay faithful.

“I was out. Shopping.” She hated the lie, but what could she tell him? I was kissing Ben Thompson on the beach? “Is everything all right in Rome?”

“Fine. Look”—he seemed to hesitate for a moment—“I’ll call you back.”

“When?” She had to know. She needed to hear him, needed to keep his voice in her head. Surely that would dull the pain of what she couldn’t have. “When will you call me?”

“Tomorrow. This weekend. I’ll call, don’t worry.
D’accord?
”

“Yes, all right, fine.” But she was cut to the quick by his tone. “I love you.” The words were a tentative plea. He didn’t seem to hear it.

“So do I.
Ciao.”
And then, without saying more, he hung up, as Deanna sat staring blindly at the phone.

Deanna ate alone in her studio that night, then stood for half an hour on the little tiled terrace, watching the sun set over the bay. She could have seen it with Ben, if she hadn’t sent him away. Why had she? So she could feel virtuous when she called Marc halfway around the world? She felt tears slide down her cheeks. When she heard the doorbell ring, she jumped. She decided not to answer, and then wondered if it might be Kim, coming to see how she was. Kim would have recognized the lights in the studio and known she was hiding. She wiped the tears away with the tail of her shirt and ran barefoot down the back stairs. She didn’t even think to ask who it was, she simply opened the door, looking like a tired, rumpled little girl, in jeans and bare feet, with her hair falling into her eyes. She looked up, expecting to see Kim and stood back in surprise when she saw who it was. It was Ben.

“Is this a bad time?” he asked. She shook her head. “Can we talk?” He looked as troubled as she felt, and he was quick to come inside when she nodded yes.

“Come up to the studio. I was up there.”

“Working?” He searched her eyes, and she shook her head.

“Thinking.”

“Me too.”

She closed the door softly behind them. He followed her up the stairs, and she motioned him to her favorite chair. “Coffee, or wine?”

“Neither, thanks.” He looked suddenly very nervous, as though he wondered why he had come. Then he sat back in the chair, closed his eyes, and ran a hand through his hair. “This is crazy, I shouldn’t have come.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“In that case”—he opened his eyes and smiled tentatively at her—“so am I. Deanna, I—I know this is crazy … but dammit I love you. And I feel like an irrational kid. I shouldn’t even be here. I have absolutely nothing intelligent to say, except what I told you today on the beach.” His voice dropped to a whisper and he lowered his eyes. “Just that I love you.”

The room was very still for a long moment as she watched him, her eyes filling with tears. He heard her sigh. “I love you too.”

“You know what I came here to tell you?” he asked. “That I’ll accept anything. A moment, an evening, a summer. I won’t stand in your way after that. I’ll let go. But I can’t bear to see us lose what we might have.” He looked at her then. Her face was wet with tears that dripped slowly onto her paint-splattered shirt, but she was smiling at him and holding out a hand. He took it firmly in his and pulled her toward him. “Doesn’t that sound crazy to you?”

“Yes. Very. And at the end of the summer?”

“We let go.”

“And what if we can’t?”

“We’ll just have to. I will because I know it will be for your peace of mind. What about you?”

“I suppose I could too.” Her arms went around him. “I don’t care what happens then, I just love you.”

He was smiling broadly as he held her close. It was what he had wanted to hear. He felt suddenly free and excited and alive.

“Will you come home with me, Deanna? My place is a mess, but I want to share it with you, show you my treasures. I want to show you the things I care about, give you my life, show you my galleries and how they work. I want to walk on the beach in Carmel with you, I want to … oh, Deanna, darling, darling, I love you!”

They were both laughing now as he swept her into his arms and carried her down the stairs. For a moment Deanna was grateful that it was Margaret’s night off, but she didn’t dare think for longer than that. Only a moment, which was more thought than she spent on Marc. She was Ben’s now. Ben’s for the summer.

9

“Good morning.” She heard Ben’s voice softly in her ear. She opened one eye. The room was unfamiliar. She was staring at a pale-yellow wall. Someone had thrown wide the shutters on the large windows that looked out at the bay, and sun streamed into the room. There were trees just outside his window, and she could hear birds singing. It was a splendid, hot summer day, more like September than June.

Deanna let her eyes wander across the pale-yellow wall, and quickly she was entranced by a watercolor of a beach, and then by a smaller pastel, and an oil. The artwork was all very subtle and sunny, not unlike Ben himself. She propped herself up on one elbow with a yawn and a stretch and a smile. He was looking down at her with the face of new love.

“I’ve been waiting for you for an hour. I thought you’d never get up!” He suddenly sounded less like a lover than a small boy, and she laughed.

“I think I was a trifle tired.” She smiled again and slid back into the sheets, with one hand on his thigh. It had been a long, delicious night in his arms, and they hadn’t fallen asleep until dawn.

“Is that a complaint?”

“Uh-uh.” She let her lips drift up his leg and then stop at his hip, where she kissed the pale, tender white skin where a small vein throbbed. “Good morning, my love.” She smiled at the life she saw stirring, and Ben pulled her gently back into his arms.

“Have I told you yet this morning how much I love you?” He was looking tenderly into her eyes, and there was something in his face she had dreamed of and painted but never seen. It was a kind of passion, a kind of unfettered love. It was something that she had long ago longed for and ceased to believe could exist. “I love you, Deanna … I love you….” His words melted away on her lips as he kissed her for the first time that morning and let his body slide slowly over hers. She protested faintly but with laughter and squirms as he pressed her close to him. “You have an objection?” He looked amused and surprised; he didn’t look as though he would be swayed by whatever she said.

“I haven’t even brushed my teeth! Or combed my hair … or….” Her words kept fading, swept away by his kisses, as she giggled and ran her hands through his uncombed hair. “Ben … I have to …”

“No, you don’t. I love you like this.” He seemed sure.

“But I …”

“Shhh.…”

“Ben!” But this time she forgot about her teeth and her hair; she was too happy right where she was, swept away, adrift on a sea of delight as his whole body seemed to enter her soul.

*   *   *

“Sleepy, darling?” His voice was a whisper when they finally spoke. Almost two hours had passed, and she was curled happily in his arms, one leg braided between his.

“Mm-hmm … Ben?”

“Yes?” His voice was so soft on the warm, summer morning.

“I love you.” Hers was almost the voice of a child.

“I love you, too. Now go to sleep.”

And she did, for another two hours. When she opened her eyes, he was standing at the foot of the bed, dressed and holding a tray. She woke up in surprise. He was wearing a businesslike, striped blue suit. “What are you doing?” Confused, she sat up in bed and ran a hand through her hair. Suddenly she felt very naked and unkempt, as the sweet smell of their lovemaking drifted up from the bed. “How long have I slept?”

“Not very long. I’d look like that too except I have a luncheon at the gallery. I canceled one yesterday and if I cancel this one too, Sally will quit. But I won’t be gone long.” He placed the tray on her knees as she sat back against the pillows in the large double bed. “I hope that’ll do.” There were croissants, fruit, café au lait, and one carefully poached egg. “I wasn’t sure what you like for breakfast.” He looked very young again as he smiled.

Deanna looked at the breakfast in astonishment and then at him. What could she say? He had appeared in her life on a beach in Carmel, and now he was making her poached eggs and croissants for breakfast and apologizing for not knowing what she liked. They had made love all through the night and for most of the morning; he had told her he loved her, and she him; she didn’t even feel guilty for waking up in his bed and not her own—the bed she had shared for eighteen years with Marc. She didn’t even give a damn about Marc this morning. She felt happy and young and in love, and all she wanted was what she had with Ben. She looked up at him with a rapturous smile and a sigh as she picked up a croissant.

“I warn you, sir, if you spoil me rotten, I will be unbearable in less than a week.”

“No, you won’t.” He said it with certainty and amusement. Suddenly he seemed very grown-up once again.

“Yes, I will.” She closed her eyes blissfully as she ate the roll. “I’ll come to expect croissants every morning, and poached eggs, and café au lait….” She opened her eyes again. They were very bright and very full of mischief. “I’ll even expect you to stay home from the office every day, just so we can make love.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Oh, no? Why won’t I?”

“Because tomorrow it’s your turn to make breakfast for me. This is a democracy, Deanna. We live here together; we take turns. We spoil
each other.
We make
each other
poached eggs.” He leaned down to kiss her one last time. “And I like mine fried.”

“I’ll make a note of that.” She grinned at him.