The Promise (12 page)

“More so. She has all kinds of new ideas.”

“Oh, no, spare me.” But he didn't look as though he wanted to be spared. Not for a moment. “A little hint maybe? Just a small one?” But she was shaking her head and laughing at him as Fred hopped onto her lap and Peter started the car. “Well, I have an idea for you myself. The work on your face will be done by the end of the year. How about starting the new year with a show of the photographic artwork of Marie Adamson? Will you agree to that?”

“I might.” She was actually beginning to like the idea, and something had happened that afternoon to make her feel brave again. Maybe telling him how she felt about Michael, hearing about the woman he had loved … being in his arms, being kissed by a man again. “I'll think about the show.”

“No. Promise me. In fact—” He took the key out of the ignition, slipped it under him on the seat, and turned to smile at her. “I won't take you home until you agree to a show, and I hope you're too much of a lady to wrestle me for the key.”

“Okay. You win.” She ruffled Fred's fur and laughed. “I give up. I'll have a show.”

“As easy as that?” He was stunned.

“As easy as that. But just how do you propose I go about getting myself shown?”

“Leave that to me. Is that a deal?”

“Yes, sir, it is.” She trusted him with her work as much as she had with her face and her life.

“Darling, you won't regret it.” He gently took her face in his hands, kissed her, and started the car again. It had been a beautiful day.

They drove home slowly along the coast, and Peter regretfully stopped the car in front of her house at six o'clock. He hated to see the day end. But he wanted her to rest.

“Okay, young lady. Get a good night's sleep. I want to see you in the office bright and early tomorrow.” He was removing more of the bandages the nest day, and two more operations were scheduled for the next two months. But by December she would be through with surgery, and in January she would be 'unveiled.'

“Do you want to come up?” She wasn't really sure she wanted him to, and was slightly relieved when he said no.

“We'll have dinner sometime this week. I'll have some news by then about the show.”

“I won't be disappointed if you don't.”

He smiled as she and Fred got out of the car, and she waved as she walked into the building. But she was already thinking of something else. She had thought of it on the beach as they walked back to the car, and now she knew it was something she had to do. Something she wanted to do. She walked straight to the closet without taking off her coat, and reached behind her clothes until she found it. She pulled it out into the hallway and looked at it for a long time before opening it. It was dusty, and she was almost afraid to open it, but she had to. Slowly, she pulled at the zipper, and the large black artist's portfolio opened at her feet, revealing sketches, a few small paintings, and some unfinished work. But at the top of the pile was what she was looking for. She sank down onto the floor and looked at it thoughtfully. She had intended it to be Michael's wedding present, a year and a half ago. The landscape with the boy hidden in the tree. She sat there holding it, and slowly the tears slid down her face. It had taken eighteen months to face that again. But she had now, and she was going to finish it. For Peter.

Chapter 17

It was a brisk, chilly day as Marie pulled down the brim of her white fedora, raised the collar of her bright red wool coat, and walked the last few blocks to Faye Allison's office. Fred was at her side, as always, and his collar and leash were exactly the same red as her coat. Nancy smiled down at him as they turned the last corner. She was in high spirits, which even the fog couldn't dampen. She ran up the steps to Faye's office, and let herself in.

“Hello! I'm here!” Her voice sang out in the warm, cozy house, and a moment later there was a quick answer from upstairs. Marie slipped out of her coat. She was wearing a simple white wool dress with a gold pin Peter had given her a few months before. Almost absentmindedly, she glanced in the mirror and pulled her hat to a jauntier angle and then smiled at what she saw. The glasses were at last gone, and she could finally see eyes when she looked in the mirror. Only a few narrow bands of tape remained, high on her fore-head. And in a few weeks they would be gone, too. Finished. The job was done.

“Pleased with what you see, Nancy?” She suddenly noticed Faye standing behind her, an affectionate smile on her face, and she nodded.

“Yes, I guess I am. I'm even used to myself now. But you're not!" There was mischief in her eyes as she turned and grinned impishly at her friend.

“What do you mean?”

“You keep calling me ‘Nancy.’ It's Marie now, remember? It's official.”

“I'm sorry.” Faye shook her head and led the way into the cozy room where they always talked. “I keep slipping.”

“You certainly do.” But Marie didn't look upset as she slid into her favorite chair. “I guess old habits are hard to break.” Her face grew somber as she said the words, and Faye waited for the rest of her thoughts. “I've been thinking of that a lot lately. But I think I'm finally over him.” She said it quietly, looking into the fire.

“Michael?” Marie only nodded and then finally looked up with great seriousness in her face. “What makes you think you're over him?”

“I think I decided to be. I don't have much choice. The fact of it is, Faye, it's been almost two years since the accident. Nineteen months to be exact. He hasn't found me. He didn't tell his mother to go to hell, that he had to be with me no matter what. Instead he just let it go.” Her eyes looked for Faye's and then held fast. “He let me go. Now I have to let him go.”

“That's not easy. You've expected a lot of him for a long time.”

“Too long. And he let me down.”

“How does that make you feel about yourself?”

“Okay, I guess. I'm mad at him, not at me.”

“You're not angry at yourself anymore for your deal with his mother?” Faye was pressing a tender area and she knew it, but the ground had to be covered.

“I had no choice.” The voice was cool and hard.

“But you don't reproach yourself?”

“Why should I? Do you suppose Michael reproaches himself that he let me down? That he never bothered to come to me after the accident? Do you think it's given him sleepless nights?”

“Is it still giving you sleepless nights, Nancy? That's what interests me.”

“Marie, damn it. And no, it's not. I decided to put the dreams away. I've lived with this nonsense for too long.” She sounded convincing, but Faye was still not entirely sure how the girl felt.

“So now what?” What would take Michael's place? Or who? Peter?

“Now I work. First, I take a vacation in the South-west, over the Christmas holiday. There are some beautiful areas I want to photograph. I've already made my plans. Arizona, New Mexico. I might fly into Mexico for a couple of days.” She looked pleased as she said it, but there was still something hard in her face, masking something sad. She had had another loss. She had finally let herself lose Michael. It had taken a very long time. “I'll be gone for about three weeks. That ought to take care of the holidays pretty nicely.”

“And then what?”

“Work, work, and more work. That's all I care about right now. Peter got the show all set up for me. It's going to be in January. And you'd better be there!”

Faye smiled. “You don't think I'd miss it, do you?”

“I hope not. I've picked out some work for the show that I really love. You haven't seen most of it, nor has Peter. I hope he likes it too.”

“He will. He loves everything you do. Which brings up a question, Nan … sorry, Marie. What about Peter? How do you feel about all that?”

Marie sighed and then looked back into the fire. “Ifeel a lot of different things about Peter.”

“Do you love him?”

“In a way.”

“Could he ever replace Michael in your life?”

“Maybe. I keep trying to let him take Michael's place, but something stops me. I'm not ready. I don't know, Faye … I feel guilty not to be giving him more. He does so much for me. And … I know how much he cares.”

“He's a very patient man.”

“Maybe too patient. I'm afraid to hurt him.” She looked into Faye's eyes again, and her own were troubled. “I care about him a great deal.”

“Then you'll just have to see what happens. Maybe you'll feel freer now that you've decided to let Michael go out of your life.” Faye saw the muscles tighten around Marie's mouth as she heard the words. “Marie? You're not giving up on people are you? Giving up on love?”

“No. Why should I?” But the answer was too quick and too glib.

“You shouldn't. Michael failed you. He's one man, not all men. Don't forget that. There's someone out there for you. Maybe Peter, maybe someone else. But there's someone. You're a beautiful girl, and you're twenty-three years old. You have a whole life ahead of you.”

“That's what Peter says, too.” But she didn't look as though she believed it. And then she looked up at Faye with a nervous little smile that masked both fear and sorrow. “I made another decision, too.”

“And what's that?”

“About us. I think I've about done it, Faye. I've said all I want to for a while. I'm ready to go out there, work my ass off, and beat the world.”

“Why not just enjoy it?” There was something about the girl that still worried her. She had given up on something. There was something she no longer believed in. She had been betrayed, and in a sense she was quitting. She was ready to fight for her work, but not for herself. “You've been given a wonderful gift, Marie. The gift of beauty. Don't just hide that behind a camera.”

But Marie was looking at her with marble-hard eyes. “It wasn't a gift, Faye. I paid for it with everything I had.”

They exchanged Merry Christmases as she left, but there was a tinselly echo to the words, an emptiness that still bothered Faye as Marie Adamson pulled at her white fedora and walked off with a jaunty wave back at her friend of two years. It was almost as though she were saying good-bye to those two years and walking into a new life, leaving behind everything she had once loved.

Chapter 18

When Marie left Faye's office she caught a cab and headed straight to Union Square. She had already made the reservation; all she had to do now was stop off and pay for the ticket. It would be the first trip she had taken in years, the first since the weekend she and Michael had spent in Bermuda. It had been Easter and… She forced the thought from her mind as the cab headed down Post Street into the down-town traffic. Fred sat on her lap staring at the cars passing by and occasionally turning to look at his mistress. He sensed something different; there was an electricity about her that even the little dog could feel as she pulled a cigarette out of her handbag and lit it.

“Right here, miss?” The driver had stopped on the corner of Powell and Post, next to the Saint Francis Hotel, and Marie quickly nodded.

“This will be fine.” She paid the fare, opened the door of the cab, and let Fred hop out onto the pavement. She quickly followed, stubbed out the cigarette, and looked around. The ticket office was only a few steps away, and she was rapidly inside. For once, there wasn't even a line, but it was still early in the day. Her appointments with Faye were always at eight forty-five. Were… had been … She suddenly realized again that she was through now. Free. Finished. Done. She was no longer seeing a psychiatrist. The thought frightened her a little. She felt both liberated and lonely, like celebrating and crying all at once.

“May I help you?” The girl behind the counter looked at her with a smile, and Marie smiled back. “Are you picking up tickets?”

“Yes, I am. I made reservations last week. Adams … McAllister.” It was strange using the old name again; she hadn't in two months. But even the trip was symbolic. Legally, her name would be changed on January first. When she returned she would no longer be Nancy McAllister, she would be Marie Adamson, for good. But when she left she would still be Nancy. It was almost like a wedding trip, all by herself. It was the final step in the endless process that had taken almost two years. Marie Adamson was finally, officially going to be born. And Nancy Mc-Allister could be forgotten forever. Hell, Michael had forgotten her; now she could forget her too. There was no one left to remember. Peter had seen to that. No one who had ever known her before would recognize her now. The delicate, perfectly etched face was someone other women dreamed of being, but no one she had known for the past twenty-four years. She wasn't a stranger anymore, but neither was she Nancy McAllister. And the voice was different, too, smoother, deeper, more controlled. It was a subtle voice with sexual overtones, and she liked the way people listened to her now, as though she had more to say now that she had a different way of saying it. Her hands were graceful and delicate, her movements smoother and more mature after the ballet classes Peter had finally let her take once his work was far enough along. Yoga had added to the whole. And all of it completed the picture of Marie Adamson.

“That'll be a hundred and ninety-six dollars.” The girl glanced at the computer and then the customer standing before her. She couldn't take her eyes off her—the perfect features, dazzling smile, and a grace when she moved that held everyone's attention. Everything about her made you want to ask, “who is she?” Marie wrote out her check, received her ticket, and walked back out into the December sunlight of Union Square. She held Fred in her arms so he wouldn't get stepped on, and smiled to herself as she wandered across the square. It was a beautiful day and she had a beautiful life. She was going away over the holidays; she was through with all those endless operations; she was starting a new life, a new career; she had an apartment she loved, a man who loved her. She couldn't ask for much more. She strolled into I. Magnin with a smile on her face and a bounce in her step, and decided to buy herself something pretty. An early Christmas present for herself, or maybe for the trip. She wandered from floor to floor, trying on hats, bracelets, scarves, jackets, handbags, a pair of boots, and a funny pair of gold lamé shoes. She finally settled on a soft white cashmere sweater, which with her silken skin and rich, dark hair made her look almost like Snow White. The thought amused her. And Peter would like it. The sweater molded her figure in a pleasing sort of way. Even her shape had changed in the last year, with the ballet and yoga; her body seemed to have hardened and stretched until she looked long and lean and wonderfully lithe.

She made her way to the main floor again, looking at the displays, watching the people, and finally she stopped to buy a box of chocolates for Faye. They were a suitably festive gift for the last day of therapy. She wrote on the card only, “Thank you. Love, Marie.” What more could she say? Thank you for helping me forget Michael? Thank you for helping me survive? Thank you … As she played with the thoughts, she suddenly stopped. She looked as though she had seen a ghost, and when the saleswoman handed her back her charge card, she only continued to stare. Ben Avery stood just a few feet away, looking over some very expensive women's luggage. Marie remained where she was for what seemed like an eternity, and then edged closer. She had to see him, touch him, hear what he was saying. For an insane moment, she wondered if he would recognize her; she prayed that he would, and then she knew that he wouldn't and forced herself to be glad. This way she could watch him, stand near him, for as long as she wanted. She wondered how long it had been since he'd seen Michael, if he'd taken the job with the firm. She sidled up next to him and began fingering the suede attaché cases next to the pieces he was examining. Her eyes never left his face, and then suddenly he turned to look at her and smiled his old easy smile in her direction. But there wasn't even a glimmer of recognition; instead he looked her over admiringly and then reached out a hand to Fred.

“Hi there, little fella.” The voice was so familiar that it made her feel almost weak, but she only stood there, feeling the warmth of his hand near hers as he patted the dog. She never would have imagined that just seeing a friend of Michael's would do this to hen. But this was the first link she'd had with him since … She blinked back the tears and looked at the bags Ben had been looking over. Without thinking her hand went to the chain around her neck that he had given her on her wedding night. She still wore it.

“Buying Christmas gifts?” She felt foolish making chitchat with him, but she wanted to talk to him, and once again wondered if he'd recognize her, this time by her voice. But even she knew how different she sounded now. And again he looked at her with the blank easy smile passed between two strangers.

“Yes, for a young lady, and I can't decide what to get.”

“What's she like?”

“Terrific.”

Marie laughed. It was so like Ben. She almost wanted to ask him if it was serious this time, but she couldn't.

“She's got sort of red hair, and she's … about your height.” He was looking Marie over again, and his eyes roamed over her figure almost hungrily. She didn't know whether to laugh or be upset, it was all so typically Ben.

“Are you sure she wants luggage?” It seemed a dull gift to Marie. She was hoping for something more exciting from Peter. Like maybe a new lens.

“We're going to be taking a trip together, so I thought … And the trip is kind of a surprise. I want to hide the tickets in the luggage.”

Five hundred dollars on imported luggage to hide some tickets? Benjamin Avery, such extravagance! The last two years must have been good to him. “She's a lucky girl.”

“No, I'm the lucky guy.”

“Is this a honeymoon?” Marie was embarrassed at her own nosiness, but it was wonderful getting all this news of him, and maybe … maybe he'd … She kept her smile cool, pleasant, and detached as he shook his head.

“No. Just a business trip. But she doesn't know about it yet. Well, what do you think? The brown suede, or the dark green?”

“The brown suede with the red stripe. I think it's gorgeous.”

“So do I.” He nodded happily at Marie's choice and signaled to the salesgirl. He was taking three pieces, and asked her to ship them airmail to New York. Then he did live there. She had wondered. “Thank you for your help, er … uh … Miss …”

“Adamson. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and I apologize if I asked too many questions. The holidays always have a strange effect on me.”

“Me too. But it's such a nice time of year. Even in New York, and that's saying a lot.”

“Is that where you live?”

“When I'm home. I travel a great deal for my job.”

That still didn't tell her if he was working for Michael, but she knew she couldn't ask. And suddenly, it made her ache, just standing there, being so near him, wanting to know about someone who no longer existed for her anyway—or shouldn't have. And then he looked at her again, as though something about her had bothered him. For a moment she felt her heart stop, but his smile told her that he had no idea who she was. She pulled at her hat a little to assure that he couldn't see the last of the tape and held Fred a little closer in her arms as Ben continued to stare at her.

“I know this is a crazy thing to ask,” he said, “but … could I invite you somewhere for a drink? I'm leaving on a plane in a few hours, but we could hop over to the St. Francis, if ….”

She returned the smile, but she was already shaking her head. “I'm afraid I have a plane to catch too. But thank you for the offer, Mr. Avery.”

And then his smile faded slowly. “How did you know my name?”

“I heard the salesgirl say it.”

She was quick with the response, and he shrugged and then looked at her with regret. She was an incredibly beautiful girl. And no matter how much he had come to love Wendy in the three months since their affair began, he could still have a drink with a pretty girl. It was too bad she was leaving town, too. And then he had a thought. “Where's your plane to, Miss Adamson?”

“Santa Fe, New Mexico.”

He looked as disappointed as a schoolboy, and she laughed at the look on his face. “Damn. I was hoping you were going to New York. We could at least have enjoyed the flight together.”

“I'm sure the young lady with the luggage would have appreciated that.” Her eyes scolded him, but only a little, and they both laughed this time.

“Touché. Well, maybe next time.”

“Do you come to San Francisco often?” She was intrigued again.

“No, but I will.” And then with a look at the luggage and a smile, he added, “We will. My firm is doing a big project here. I'll probably be spending more time here than in New York.”

“Then perhaps we'll meet again.” But her voice sounded almost sad. It was only Ben after all. It didn't matter how often she saw him, he still wasn't Michael. The salesgirl broke into her reverie, and she realized it was time to go. She only looked at him for a long moment as he wrote out the check for the amount the salesgirl had tallied up, and then silently she squeezed his arm. He looked up in surprise, and she barely whispered, “Merry Christmas,” before disappearing from where they had stood chatting for almost half an hour. He looked around when he had finished the check and was disappointed to find her gone. She had left so abruptly. He looked around the store as best he could through the throngs of Christmas shoppers, but she was nowhere to be seen. She had left by the side entrance, and was just then hailing a cab. She felt tired and heavyhearted. It had been a long morning.

She gave the driver the vet's address, dropped Fred off there, and jumped back in the cab to go home. She was already packed. All she had to do was pick up her bags and head for the airport. She felt a little unkind leaving Fred behind, but she didn't really want him with her this time, she was making too many stops in the three weeks she'd be gone. It was a trip she had to make alone. Her last moments as Nancy McAllister, the end of an old life, the beginning of a new. She took a last look around her apartment before she left, as though she expected never again to see it in quite the same way; and as she closed the door softly behind her, she whispered one word. She said it to herself, and to Ben, and Michael, and to all those she had once loved or known or been … good-bye. There were tears in her eyes as she walked swiftly down the stairs with her camera bag and her suitcase tightly held in one hand.