“Are you all right?” He should have been asking her, but she was asking him. The whole affair was crazy, and she knew it, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. Sometimes she wondered what would happen when it was over. Maybe he'd have Ben Avery fire her. She almost expected it “Mike?”
“Hm? Yeah. I … I'm sorry, Wendy. Sometimes I'm really an incomparable ass.” There were tears glistening in his eyes.
“Well, I'm not sure I can argue with you on that one.” She looked up at him with a rueful smile and then kissed the tip of his chin. “But I seem to love you anyway.”
“You could do a lot better, you know.” For the first time in months he looked down at her and really seemed to see her. “Sometimes I hate myself for what I do to you. I just …” He couldn't go on, and she put her finger over his lips.
“I know.”
He nodded silently and stood up as she lay looking up at him from the kitchen floor.
“Michael?”
“Yeah?” His face was softer now than it had been half an hour before. She had done something for him after all.
“Do you still miss her all the time?”
He waited for a long moment, and then nodded, with a look of pain in his eyes. And then, without saying anything more, he went into the bedroom to dress. Wendy got up slowly. She didn't bother with the broken bikini. It had seen a good summer's use anyway, and the little gold clips probably couldn't be fixed. She perched naked on one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter and thought about what she'd seen in his eyes. When he came back to the kitchen a few moments later, he found her still sitting there, lost in her own thoughts. She looked up in surprise, and then regret as she saw him wearing jeans and a white shirt open at the neck. He had his briefcase in one hand and a sweater in the other. The briefcase told her that he was going to the office after all, in spite of the fact that it was Sunday, and the sweater told her that he would be staying late. None of it was good news to Wendy.
“Will I see you later?” She hated herself for the question. She was asking… begging. Damn his hide. And worse yet, he was shaking his head.
“I'll probably work till two or three in the morning and then go back to my place. I have to dress there in the morning anyway.” The brief gentleness of a few moments before was gone. He was Michael again, running away. She had already lost him in the ten or fifteen minutes since they'd made love. The situation was hopeless, yet she hated to give up. That kind of rejection just made her want to try harder and give more.
“I'll see you in the office tomorrow then.” She tried not to sound miserable, even to smile as she walked him to the door, but she was glad when he left her quickly, with a vague peck on her forehead and without looking back, because when she closed the door she was already crying. Michael Hillyard was a lost cause.
Chapter 16
The countryside flew past them as he floored the accelerator of the black Porsche. It was a delicious feeling, almost like flying, and there was no one else on the road. They took a drive almost every Sunday now. Peter picked her up around eleven, and they drove south as far as they wanted. Eventually they would stop somewhere for lunch, and then walk for a while hand in hand, laugh at each other's stories of the past, and eventually drift back toward home. It was a ritual she had come to love. And in an odd way she was coming to love him. Peter was very special in her life now. He was giving her back all her dreams, along with some new ones.
Today they had stopped near Santa Cruz at a little country restaurant decorated like a French inn. They had had quiche and salade niçoise for lunch, with a very dry white wine. Nancy was getting used to meals like this. It was a long way from New England and county fairs and blue beads. Peter Gregson was a man of considerable sophistication. It was one of the things Nancy liked about him. He made her feel wonderfully worldly, even in her bandages and funny hats. But one could see more of her face now. The whole lower half of her face had been finished. Only the area around the eyes was still heavily taped, and the dark glasses covered most of it Her forehead, too, was for the most part obscured. Yet from what one could see, he had not only wrought a miracle, he had done an exquisite job. Nancy herself was aware of it, and just knowing how she was beginning to look had given her an air of greater self-confidence. She wore her hats at a jauntier angle now and bought more striking clothes, of a more sophisticated cut, than she had worn before. She had lost another five pounds and looked long and sleek, like a beautiful jungle cat. She even played with her new voice now. She liked the new person she was becoming.
“You know, Peter, I've been thinking of changing my name.” She said it with a sheepish little smile over the last of their wine. Somehow it had sounded less foolish when she'd discussed it with Faye. Now she was sorry she'd brought it up. But Peter instantly put her at ease.
“That doesn't surprise me. You're a whole new girl, Nancy. Why not a new name? Has anything special come to mind?” He looked at her fondly as he lit a Don Diego from Dunhil's. She had grown fond of their aroma, particularly after a good meal. Peter was introducing her to all the better things in life. It was a delightful way to grow up. “So, who's my new friend? What's her name?”
“I'm not sure yet, but I've been thinking of Marie Adamson. How does it sound to you?”
He thought for a moment and then nodded. “Not bad … in fact, I like it. I like it very much. How did you come to it?”
“My mother's maiden name, and my favorite nun.”
“My, what an exotic combination.” They both laughed and Nancy sat back with a small, satisfied smile. Marie Adamson. She liked it a lot “When were you thinking of changing it?” He watched her through the thin veil of blue smoke.
“I don't know. I hadn't decided.”
“Why not start using it right away? See how you like it. You know, you could use it on your work.” He looked excited at the idea. He was always excited when he spoke of her work or his. And much to her astonishment and pleasure, he viewed her work and his in the same light, as though they were equally important. He had come to respect her talent a great deal. “Seriously, Nancy, why don't you?”
“What? Sign Marie Adamson on the prints I give you?” She was amused at how seriously he was taking her. He and Faye were the only ones who saw her work.
“You might broaden your horizons a little.”
This was not a new subject between them, and she put up a hand and shook her head with a firm little smile. “Now don't start that again.”
“I'm going to keep at it until you get sensible on the subject, Nancy. You can't hide your light under a bushel forever. You're an artist, whether you work in paints or on film. It's a crime to hide your work the way you've been doing. You have to have a show.”
“No.” She took another swallow of wine and looked out at the view. “I've had all the shows I want to have.”
“Wonderful. I put you back together so you can hide in an apartment for the rest of your life, taking photographs for me.”
“Is that such a terrible fate?”
“For me, no.” He smiled gently at her and took her hand in his. “But for you, yes. You have so much talent, don't be stingy with it. Don't hide it. Don't do this to yourself. Why not have a show as Marie Adamson? There's anonymity in that. If you don't like the show or what it brings you, you scratch the name of Marie Adamson, and go back to taking pictures for me. But at least give it a try. Even Garbo was a success before she became a recluse. Give yourself a chance at least.” There was a pleading note in his voice that pulled at her. And he had a good point about the anonymity of her new name. Maybe that would make a difference. But she felt as though they'd been over this ground a thousand times before. Something froze in her at the thought of being a professional artist again. It made her feel vulnerable. It made her … think of Michael.