“Yeah, I guess I will give it some thought. When are you coming back from skiing, by the way?”
“In two weeks. But I'll leave a number where you can reach me in an emergency.” Faye was more worried about Nancy's getting through the holidays than she was willing to admit. Holidays were prime time for depression, even suicide, but Nancy seemed solid for the moment. She just didn't want her to become hysterical in her loneliness. It was rotten luck that she and Peter were going away at the same time, but on the other hand Nancy had to learn not to depend on them too much. “Why don't we make an appointment for two weeks from today. And I want to see a mountain of beautiful prints you made over the holidays.”
“That reminds me.” Nancy Jumped up again and vanished into the hallway, where she had left a flat package wrapped in brown paper. When she returned with it, she smilingly held it out to Faye. “Merry Christmas.”
Faye opened it with a look of pleasure and then of awe. The gift was a photograph of herself that looked as though she had sat for it for hours, to allow the photographer to capture just the right look, the right mood It had a dreamy, impressionistic quality; she had been standing on Nancy's terrace with the wind in her hair, wearing a pale pink silk shirt; and the sun had been setting in red and pink tones behind her. She remembered the day, but couldn't remember Nancy taking the picture. “When did you take it?” She looked stunned.
“When you weren't looking.” Nancy looked pleased with herself, and she had every right to be. The photograph was magnificent She had printed it herself and enlarged it, and then had it handsomely framed. It was as expressive as a painting.
“You're incredible, Nancy. What a beautiful, beautiful gift.”
“I had a good subject.”
The two women exchanged a hug, and Nancy regretfully shrugged back into her coat “Have a wonderful ski trip.”
“I will. I'll bring you some snow.”
“Smartass.” Nancy hugged her again and they wished each other a Merry Christmas as she left There was a tug at Faye's heart after she was gone. Nancy was a beautiful girl. Inside. Where it mattered.
Chapter 12
“Mr. Calloway's on the line for you, Mr. Hillyard.” The snow had been falling for five or six hours on the already slush-ridden streets of New York, but Michael had noticed nothing. He had been at his desk since six that morning, and it was after five o'clock now. He grabbed for the phone while signing a stack of letters for his secretary to mail. At least the job in Kansas City was off his back. Now he had Houston to worry about, and in the spring he'd be getting ulcers over the medical center in San Francisco. His job was a never-ending stream of headaches and demands, contracts and problems and meetings. Thank God.
“George? Mike. What's up?”
“Your mother's in a meeting, but she asked me to call and tell you that we'll be back from Boston tonight, if the snow lets up. Tomorrow if it doesn't.”
“Is it snowing there?” Michael sounded surprised, as though it were June and snow was preposterous.
“No.” George sounded momentarily confused. “They said there was a blizzard in New York … isn't there?”
Mike looked out his window and grinned. “Yeah, there is. I just hadn't looked. Sorry.”
The boy was killing himself, just as his mother always bad. George wondered for a moment what it was about the breed that made them so hard on themselves, and on the people who loved them. “Anyway, now that we've gotten that settled.” George chuckled for a moment “She wanted me to call you and make sure you're home for Christmas dinner tomorrow night. She has a few friends coming and of course she wants you there.”
Michael took a deep breath as he listened. A few friends. That meant twenty or thirty, all of them people he either disliked or didn't know, and the inevitable single girl, from a good family, for him. It sounded like a stinking way to spend Christmas. Or any other day. “I'm sorry, George. I'm afraid I owe Mother an apology. I've got a prior commitment.”
“You do?” He sounded stunned.
“I meant to tell her last week and I totally forgot. I was so busy with the Houston center that I just never got to it. I'm sure she'll understand.” He'd been working miracles with the Houston client so she'd damn well better understand. Michael knew he had her on that one.
“Well, she'll be disappointed of course, but she'll be pleased to know that you have plans. Something … uh … something exciting, I hope.”
“Yeah, George. A real knockout.”
“Anything serious?” Now George sounded worried. Christ; there was no satisfying them.
“No, nothing to worry about. Just some good clean fun.”
“Excellent Well, Merry Christmas and all that.”
“Same to you, and give Mother my love. I'll call her tomorrow.”
“I'll tell her.” George was wreathed in smiles when he hung up, pleased that the boy was finally recovering. Michael had been leading a very strange life for a while there. Marion would be relieved, too, though undoubtedly she'd be mad as hell for a few minutes that he wouldn't be home for dinner with her friends. But he was young after all. He had a right to a little fun. George grinned to himself as he took a sip of his Scotch and remembered a Christmas in Vienna Twenty-five years before. And then, as always, his thoughts wandered back to Michael's mother.
In Michael's office, the phone continued to ring. Ben wanted to be sure he had plans. Michael assured him that he would be at his mother's, boring but expected, and assorted clients called, alternately to complain, congratulate, and wish him a Merry Christmas. As he hung up after the last one he muttered to himself, “Ah go to hell,” and then looked up in surprise when he heard unfamiliar laughter from the doorway. It was that new interior designer Ben had hired. A pretty girl, too, with rich auburn hair that fell in thick waves to her shoulders and set off creamy skin and blue eyes. Mike never noticed, of course. He never noticed anything anymore, unless it was lying on his desk and needed a signature.
“Do you always wish people Merry Christmas that way?”
“Only the people I truly enjoy hearing from.” He smiled at her and wondered what she was doing there. He hadn't asked to see her, and she had no direct business with him, not that he knew of anyway. “Is there anything I can do for you, Miss …” Damn. He couldn't remember her name. What the hell was it?
“Wendy Townsend. I just came to wish you a Merry Christmas.”
Ah. An apple polisher. Michael was amused and waved her to a chair. “Didn't they tell you I'm the original Scrooge?”
“I gathered that when you didn't show up at either the office party or the Christmas dinner last night. They also say you work too hard.”
“It's good for my complexion.”
“So are other things.” She crossed one pretty leg over the other, and Michael checked it out. It did as little for him as anything else had since last May. “I also wanted to thank you for the raise I just got.” She flashed a set of perfect teeth at him, and he returned the smile. He was beginning to wonder what she really wanted. A bonus? Another raise?
“You'll have to thank Ben Avery for that. I'm afraid I had nothing to do with it.”
“I see.” It was a pointless conversation, and she knew it. Regretfully, she stood up, and then glanced at the window. There were seven or eight inches of snow piled up on the window ledge. “Looks like it's going to be a white Christmas after all. It's also going to be practically impossible to get home tonight.”
“I think you may be right I probably won't even try.” He pointed at the leather couch with a grin. “I think that's why they put that there, to keep me chained to my office.” No, mister, you do that to yourself. But she only smiled and wished him a Merry Christmas. Michael went back to signing letters, and true to his word, he spent the night on the couch. And the next night as well. It suited him perfectly. Christmas fell over a weekend this year, so no one knew where he was. Even the janitor and the maids had been given the holiday. Only the night watchman realized that Michael never left the office from Friday until late Sunday night, and by then Christmas was over. And when he got back to his empty apartment, he had nothing more to fear. Christmas, with all its memories and ghosts, was already a thing of the past. There was a large, ostentatious poinsettia wilting outside his door, sent to him by his mother. He put it near the trash can.