“Darling, are you all right?”
“Fine. Really. I'm sorry I'm such bad company today. Maybe I'm just tired.” But he had seen the haunted look, and there was a troubled little frown between her eyes.
“Have you seen Faye lately?”
“No, I keep meaning to call her for lunch, and I never have time. Ever since the show,” she smiled gratefully at him, “I've spent half my time in the darkroom and the other half racing around town with my camera.”
“I didn't mean socially. Have you seen her professionally?”
“Of course not. I told you, we finished before Christmas.”
“You never told me if that was her decision or yours, to finish the sessions.”
“Mine, but she didn't disagree.” Marie was hurt that he seemed to think she needed more work with the psychiatrist. “I'm just tired, Peter. That's all.”
“I'm not so sure. Sometimes I think you're still haunted by … well, by events of two years ago.” He said it carefully, watching her face. And he was dismayed when he saw her almost visibly cringe.
“Don't be ridiculous.”
“It's perfectly normal, Marie. People have been tormented by things like that for ten and twenty years. That's a very traumatic thing to live through, and even if you were unconscious after the accident, some part of you way down deep will always remember what happened. If you can put it to rest, you'll be free of it.”
“I have and I am.”
“Only you can judge that. But I want you to be sure. Otherwise, subtly, it'll affect you for the rest of your life. It will limit your abilities, cripple your life.
… Anyway, there's no need to go on. Just think about it carefully. You may want to see Faye for a while longer. It wouldn't do any harm.” He looked worried.
“I don't need to.” Her mouth was set in a firm line, and he patted her hand. But he didn't apologize for bringing it up. He didn't like the way she looked.
“All right Shall we go then?” He smiled at her more gently and she tried to return the smile, but he was right, of course. She was obsessed with having talked to Michael.
Peter paid the check and helped her into the navy blue velvet blazer she had worn with the white Cacharel skirt, and delicate silk blouse. She was always impeccably dressed, and Peter loved being seen with her. “Shall I take you home?”
“No. I thought I'd stop at the gallery. I want to discuss some things with Jacques. I want to change around some of the pieces. Some of my earlier work is getting more play now than the recent work. I want to switch that around.”
“That makes sense,” He put an arm around her shoulders as they walked out into the spring sunshine. The morning fog had burned off and it was a beautiful warm day. The attendant brought around the black Porsche in a few moments, and Peter held open the door as Marie slipped inside. She smoothed down her skirt and smiled at him as he took his place behind the wheel. She knew now just how much she mattered to him. Sometimes she wondered, though, if he loved her because he had created her, or perhaps because she remained somewhat unattainable. Often it made her feel guilty that she wasn't freer with him. But de-spite the affection she felt for him, there was always a shadow of reserve between them. It was her fault, she knew it And maybe he was right. Maybe she would always be haunted and crippled by the accident. Maybe she should go back and see Faye.
“You're not very talkative today, my love. Still thinking of the new project?”
She nodded with an embarrassed smile and then ran a delicate hand over the back of his neck. “Sometimes I wonder why you put up with me.”
“Because I'm lucky to have you. You're very special to me, Marie. I hope you truly know that.”
But why? Sometimes she wondered. Was she like the other woman he had loved? Had he made her that way? It was an eerie thought.
She settled back in her seat for a moment and closed her eyes, trying to relax, but they flew open again as she felt Peter swerve in the bulletlike little car. As she opened her eyes, all she could see was a sleek red Jaguar hurtling toward her side of the car, head on, as its driver swooped around a double-parked truck. For some reason the driver of the Jaguar had overshot his mark, and was well into the opposite lane, until he was almost nose to with Marie. She stared wide-eyed in horror, too terrified to make a sound. But in an instant, the incident was over. Peter had avoided the car, and the delinquent Jaguar had sped off in the opposite direction, running a red light. But Marie sat frozen and terrified in her seat, clutching the dashboard, her eyes staring straight ahead, her jaw trembling, her eyes filled with unshed tears, her mind rooted to something it had seen twenty-two months before. Peter realized instantly what was happening, stopped the car, and reached out to take her in his arms, but she was too stiff to move, and as he touched her, the car was suddenly filled with her screams. She howled from the very bottom of her soul, and he had to shake her and pull her into his arms to subdue her.
“Shhh … it's all right, darling. It's all right. Ssshhhh. It's all over now. Nothing like that will ever happen again. It's all over.” She subsided into terrified sobs, the tears streaming down her face, her whole body trembling as she let herself fall against him while he held her. It was almost half an hour before she stopped, and lay back exhausted in her seat. He watched her silently for a time, stroking her face and her hair, holding her hand and letting her feel that she was indeed safe. But he was deeply troubled by what he had seen. It proved what he had thought all along. When at last she had stopped shaking and she rested, quiet, next to him, he spoke to her softly but firmly and she closed her eyes. “You have to go back to Faye. It isn't over for you yet. And it won't be until you face it and heal it.”
But how much more could she face? And what was there to heal? Her love for Michael? How could she heal that? How could she tell Peter that she had spoken to him on the phone; and that it had made her want to hold him and kiss him and feel his hands on her again? How could she tell Peter that? Instead she looked at him with tired eyes and silently nodded.
“I'll give it some thought.”
“Good. Shall I take you home?” His voice was very soft, and she nodded. She didn't have the strength to go to the gallery now. And they didn't speak again until they reached her house. “Do you want me to take you up?” But she only shook her head and kissed him on the cheek.
The only words she said to him as she got out of the car were, “Thank you.” And she didn't look back when she got out. She slowly climbed up the stairs, the burden of twenty-two lonely months heavy on her shoulders. If only Michael had never called. It had brought back all the pain. And for what? What was the point? He probably didn't give a damn anyway. He just wanted her photographs. Well, let him buy someone else's work, the bastard. Why the hell couldn't he leave her alone?
She let herself into her apartment and went straight to the bed. Fred was leaping and jumping at her feet, and instantly joined her on the bed, but she wasn't in the mood. She pushed him to the floor, and lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, wondering if she should call Faye, or if there was any point in that either. She was just beginning to doze in fitful exhaustion when the phone rang and she jumped up with a start. She didn't really want to answer it, but it was probably Peter wanting to know if she was all right, and she didn't have the right to worry him anymore than she already had that afternoon. Slowly, she reached for the phone.
“Hello.” It was a soft broken word from her lips.
“Miss Adamson?” Oh Jesus, it wasn't Peter, it was …
She closed her eyes to fight back the tears as an endless sigh shook her entire body. “For God's sake, Michael, leave me alone.” She hung up the phone, and at the other end Michael stared at the receiver in total confusion. What the hell was this all about? And why had she called him Michael?