Downstairs, in the lobby, William was looking at Sarah, and she was being vague in answer to his questions.
“Could we go for a walk somewhere? Do you feel up to that?” She did, of course, but what was the point of going anywhere with him, or even seeing him again? What if she fell in love with him? Or he with her? Then what would they do? But on the other hand, it seemed ridiculous to think of falling in love with a man she had just met, and whom she would never see again once she left England.
“I think I’m just being very stupid.” She smiled. “I haven’t been around people in a long time … not men, anyway … and I think I’ve forgotten how to behave. I’m really sorry, William.”
“It’s all right. Would you like to sit down?” She nodded and they found a quiet spot in the corner of the lobby. “Have you been in a convent for the past year?” he asked her, only half teasing.
“More or less. Actually, I threatened that for a while. It was more like a convent of my own making. I stayed in my parents’ beach home on Long Island.” She said it quietly, he had a right to know, and it didn’t seem so unusual now, or as desperate as it had then. Sometimes it was hard to remember just how terrible she had felt when she’d been there.
“And you stayed there for a year without seeing anyone?” She nodded silently in answer, her eyes never leaving his, not sure what she should tell him. “That’s an awfully long time. Did it help?”
“I’m not sure,” she sighed as she spoke honestly to him, “It seemed to at the time. But it made it very difficult to come back out into the world again. That’s why we came here.”
“Europe is a good place to start.” He smiled gently at her, and decided not to ask her any difficult questions. He didn’t want to scare her off, or cause her pain. He was falling in love with her, and the last thing he wanted was to lose her. “I’m glad you came here.”
“So am I,” she said softly, and she meant it.
“Will you have dinner with me tonight?”
“I … I’m not sure … I think we were going to the theater”—but it was a play she knew she didn’t want to see—The Corn Is Green, by Emlyn Williams. “I really should ask my parents.”
“If not, then tomorrow?”
“William…” She seemed about to say something important to him, and then she stopped, and looked at him squarely. “Why do you want to see me?” If the question seemed rude to him, he didn’t show it.
“I think you’re a very special girl. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“But I’ll be gone in a few weeks. What’s the point of all this, for either of us?” What she really wanted to say to him was that she knew there could be no future for them together. And knowing that, it seemed foolish to pursue their friendship.
“The point is that I like you … very much … why don’t we face your going when we get there?” It was a philosophy of his, live for today, I’ve for now, don’t borrow trouble from the future.
“And in the meantime?” She wanted guarantees that no one would get hurt, but even William couldn’t promise her that, no matter how much he liked her. He knew neither her history nor what the future held for them.
“Why don’t we just see…. Will you have dinner with me?”
She hesitated, looking up at him, not because she didn’t want to, but because she did, too much so. “Yes, I will,” she said slowly.
“Thank you.” He looked at her quietly for what seemed like a long time, and then they stood up, and the men at the desk noticed how handsome they were, and how well they looked together. “I'll pick you up at eight o’clock then.”
“I’ll meet you downstairs.” She smiled as he walked her to the elevator.
“I’d rather come up to your rooms. I don’t want you waiting alone here.” He was always protective of her, always careful and thoughtful.
“All right.” She smiled at him again, and he kissed her on the cheek again when the elevator came, and took off across the lobby with a long stride and a wave, and Sarah rode upstairs, trying not to feel her heart pound in anticipation.
Chapter 6
She opened the door to him in a black satin dress, which molded her slim figure like a sheet of black ice that had been poured on her, with a thin edging of rhine-stones.
“My God, Sarah! You look amazing.” She had worn her hair swept high on her head, with waves and curls that seemed to cascade loosely as she moved, giving the impression that if you pulled one pin, her mass of dark hair would pour like a waterfall past her shoulders. “You’re extraordinary!” He took a step back to admire her, and she laughed shyly. It was the first time she had been truly alone with him, except in the arbor in the country when they’d met, but even there, there had been other people around them.
“You look very handsome too.” He had worn one of his many dinner jackets, and a beautiful black silk vest that had been his father’s, and looped across it was a narrow diamond watch chain that had been a gift to his uncle from Czar Nicholas of Russia. As they drove to the restaurant in his car, he explained the story of it to her. Apparently the chain had been sewn into the hem of the gown of a grand duchess and spirited out of Russia. “You are related to everyone!” she marvelled, intrigued by the story. Thinking of it conjured up images of kings and czars, and fascinating royalty.
“Yes, I am,” he said, looking amused, “and let me assure you, some of them are really perfectly awful.” He had driven the car himself tonight, because he wanted to be alone with her, and didn’t want to be burdened with a driver. He had chosen a quiet restaurant, and they were expecting him. The headwaiter took them to a quiet table in the rear, and addressed him repeatedly as “Your Grace,” bowing slightly to both of them as he left them alone at the table. Champagne appeared instantly, and William had ordered their dinner for them when he made the reservation. They had caviar first, on tiny wedges of toast, with exquisite little wedges of lemon, and salmon after that, in a delicate sauce, followed by pheasant, salad, cheese, soufflé au Grand Marnier, and tiny little buttery French cookies.
“My God, I can’t move,” she complained with a smile as she looked at him. It had been a wonderful dinner, and a lovely evening. He had talked about his parents to her, and how much they meant to him, and how distressed his mother had been several years before when he showed no interest in getting married.
“I’m afraid I’ve been a great disappointment to her,” he said unrepentantly. “But I refuse to marry the wrong woman, simply to please my relatives, or have children. I think my parents having me so late always gave me the impression that I could do anything I wanted for a very long time, and still make up for it later.”
“You can. You’re right not to let yourself make a mistake.” But as she said it, he saw the same mysterious sadness.
“And you, Sarah? Are they pressing you to marry yet?” She had already told him about Peter and Jane, and their babies.
“Not lately. My parents have been very understanding.” About her mistakes … her disasters … her disgrace She looked away from him as she said it. He reached out a hand to her then, and closed her fingers in his own strong ones.
“Why is it you never tell me what it is that has been so painful?” It was difficult for either of them to remember that they had only known each other for two days. It already seemed as though they had known each other forever.