the Promise (1978)

by Steel, Danielle

  That's a very attractive coat, by the way. Must be a marvelous weight for this city. I envy you the easy climate. I left New York in two feet of snow. Or rather, she smiled winningly at the girl, two inches of snow, and twenty-two inches of slush. Do you know New York?

  It was a loaded question and Marie knew it, but she could answer it honestly. She had lived in New England, but spent little time in New York. Had she married Michael, she would have lived there. But she hadn't. Her face set and something hardened in her voice. No, I don't know it very well. I'm not really a big-city person. She was pure Marie now, there wasn't a trace of Nancy.

  I find that hard to believe. You look extremely big-city' to me. Marion smiled at her again, but it was the smile of a barracuda eying a small and tender minnow.

  Thank you. And then without further ado, Marie reached toward her portfolio, put it on her lap as Marion watched her, and unzipped the case. She smilingly handed Marion a thick black book with copies of her work. The book was large and unwieldy, and the older woman seemed to falter as she took it. It was then that Marie noticed the violent trembling of her hands, and how weak she was when she tried to hold the book. Time had not been kind to Marion Hillyard after all. Was it possible that some of her own ugly prayers had been answered? She watched the woman intently, but Marion seemed to regain her composure as she silently turned the pages.

  I can see why Ben Avery was so anxious to sign you for our center. You do extraordinarily fine work. You must have been at this for years. For once it was an innocent question, and Marie shook her head.

  No, photography is new to me. I was a painter before.

  Ah yes, Ben mentioned that. Yet Marion seemed surprised. She had actually forgotten this might be Nancy McAllister she was talking to, she was so engrossed in the beautiful work. Are you as good as this at painting?

  I thought I was. Marie smiled at the woman. An almost eerie exchange was going on. She felt as though she were watching Marion Hillyard through a trick mirror: she could see Marion plainly, yet the person Marion saw was actually someone else. Marie thought that she alone knew the secret. I like photography just as much now.

  Why did you change? Marion looked up, intrigued.

  Because everything in my life changed very suddenly, so much so that I became a new person. The painting was part of that old life, that old me. It hurt too much to bring it with me. Marion almost winced at the words.

  I see. Well, the world hasn't suffered a loss, from what I can see anyway. You're a marvelous photographer. Who got you started? Undoubtedly one of the local greats. There are so many out here.

  But Marie only shook her head, with a small smile. It was strange. She had come here to hate this woman, and now she found that she couldn't. Not quite. She didn't like her. But she couldn't hate her, either. She looked so tired and frail beneath the bravado and the pearls. She wore a death mask carefully concealed with good makeup, but beneath the veneer lurked the sorrows of autumn, with winter already clutching at her heels. Marie forced herself back to the woman's question, trying to remember what that question was' . Oh, yes.

  No, actually, it was a friend who got me started. My doctor, in fact. He's been responsible for getting me launched as a photographer. He knows everyone in town.

  Peter Gregson. The words were soft and dreamy on Marion Hillyard's lips, as though she hadn't meant to speak them, and then they were both shocked into silence.

  Do you know him? Why had the woman said that? Did she know? But she couldn't. Had Peter ' No, he'd never do that.

  I' yes ' Marion hesitated for a long moment and then looked at her squarely. Yes, Nancy, I do. He did a beautiful job on you. It was a long shot. A wild guess. But she had to say it, even if she made a fool of herself. She had to know.

  There must be some misunderstanding. My name is Marie and then, like a rag doll, she crumpled. There were tears in her eyes as she stood up and walked away to stand at the window with her back to the room. How did you know? The voice was shattered and angry. The voice of two years before. Marion sat back in her chair, tired but relieved. Somehow it comforted her to know she had been right. She had not made this difficult trip for nothing. Did someone tell you? Marie demanded.

  No. I guessed. I don't even know why. But I had a feeling the first time Ben mentioned you to us. The details fit.

  Did Goddamn. She wanted to ask her about him. She wanted to ' Would this never leave her life? Would they never go away? Why did you come here? To reconfirm our little deal? Marie wheeled on her heels at the window, to stare at the woman who tormented her. To make sure I'd stick with my promise?

  You've already proven that. Marion's voice was tired and gentle, and uncharacteristically old. No, I'm not even sure I understand it myself, but I came to see you. To talk to you. To find out how you are, if indeed it was you.

  Why now? Why should I be so interesting after two years? Suddenly there was venom in Marie's voice, and hatred in her eyes. The she had dreamed of spewing for months. Why now, Mrs. Hillyard, or were you just curious to take a look at Gregson's work? Was that it? Well, how do you like your four hundred-thousand-dollar baby? Was it worth it?

  Why don't you answer that? Was it? Are you pleased? She hoped so. She suddenly, desperately hoped so. They had all paid such a high price for that new face. It had been wrong. Suddenly she was sure of it. But it was too late. They were not the same people anymore. She could see that in the girl as much as she could in Michael. It was far, far too late, for either of them. They would have to find their dreams somewhere else. You're a very beautiful girl now, Marie.

  Thank you. Yes, I know Peter did a good job. But it was like making a deal with the devil. A face for a life. With a ragged sigh Marie sank into a chair.

  And I'm the devil. Marion's voice trembled as she looked at the girl. I suppose it's an obscene thing to say to you now, but at the time I thought I was doing the right thing.

  And now? Marie looked at her squarely. Is Michael happy? Was it worth getting rid of me, Mrs. Hillyard? Was the mission a success? Christ, she wanted to hit her. Just haul off and demolish her, in her ladylike dress and her pearls.

  No, Marie, Michael isn't happy, anymore than you are. I always thought he'd pick up his life again. I assumed you'd do the same. Something tells me, though, that you haven't. Not that I have any right to ask.

  No, you don't. And Michael? He's not married? She hated herself for it, but she prayed for a no.

  Yes, he is. Marie almost felt herself gasp and then catch her breath again. To his work. He lives, eats, sleeps, and breathes it. As though he hopes to get lost in it forever. I hardly ever see him.

  Good, you bitch. Good! Then would say you'd been wrong? I loved him, you know. More than anything in life. Except my face ' oh, God ' except '

  I know. But I thought it would pass.

  Has it?

  Perhaps. He never mentions you.

  Did he ever try to find me?

  Marion slowly shook her head. No. But she did not tell her the reason why. She did not tell Marie that Michael thought she was dead. The lie weighed on her even as she said the word, and saw the girl's face set in a fresh mask of hatred.

  All right then, why am I here? Just to satisfy your curiosity? To show you my work? Why?

  I'm not sure, Nancy. I'm sorry ' Marie. I simply had to see you. To know how it had gone with you. I' I suppose it's maudlin to say it, but I'm dying, you know. She looked faintly sorry for herself as she faced the girl, and then she was annoyed for having told her. But Marie did not appear moved. She stared at the woman for a very long time and then in a soft; broken voice she spoke to her again.

  I'm sorry to hear it, Mrs. Hillyard. But I died two years ago. And it sounds to me as though your son did, too. That's two of us. On your hands, Mrs. Hillyard. To be honest with you, it's hard for me to feel a great deal of sympathy for you. I suppose I should be grateful to you. I suppose I should thank you from the bottom of my heart that men turn and stare at me every day, instead o
f running from me in horror. I suppose I should feel a lot of things, but I don't. I don't feel anything for you now except sorry for you, because you've ruined Michael's life, and you know it. Not to mention what you did to mine.

  Marion nodded silently, feeling the full weight of the girl's reproach. She knew it all herself. Secretly, she had known it for two years. About Michael anyway. She hadn't known about the girl. Maybe that was why she had to come. I don't know what to say.

  Good-bye will be fine. Marie picked up her coat and her portfolio and walked to the door of the suite. She stopped for a moment at the door, her hand on the knob, her head bowed, and tears beginning to creep down her face. She turned slowly then, and saw tears running down Marion's face as well. The older woman was speechless with her private agony, but the young girl managed to catch her breath and speak again. Good-bye, Mrs. Hillyard. Give ' give Michael ' my love. She closed the door softly behind her, but Marion Hillyard didn't move. She felt her heart rip through her lungs with long searing pains. Gasping for air, she stumbled toward the buzzer that would summon a maid. She managed to press it once before passing out.

  Chapter 23

  His heels rapped hollowly in the hospital corridor as he almost ran to her room. Why had she insisted on coming out alone? Why did she always have to be so damned independent, still, after all these years? He knocked softly on the door, and a nurse opened it with a pointed look of inquisition.

  Is this Mrs. Hillyard's room? I'm George Calloway. He looked nervous and tired and old, and he felt that way, too. He had really had enough of this nonsense. And he was going to tell her so as soon as he saw her. He had said as much to Michael before leaving New York.

  The nurse smiled at the sound of his name. Yes, Mr. Calloway, we've been expecting you. Marion had only been in the hospital since six o'clock that evening. George had managed to arrive in San Francisco by eleven o'clock local time. It was now just after mid-night That was about as fast as anyone could make the trip. Marion's smile acknowledged that when the nurse opened the door to let George step inside, and slipped quietly past him into the hall.

  Hello, George.

  Hello, Marion. How do you feel?

  Tired, but I'll live. At least that's what they tell me. It was only a small seizure.

  This time. But what about next time? He looked leonine as he paced the room, glaring at her. He hadn't even stopped to kiss her, as he usually did. He had too much to say.

  We'll worry about next time when it gets here. Now sit down and relax, you're making me nervous. Do you want something to eat? I had the nurse save you a sandwich.

  I couldn't eat.

  Now stop that. I've never seen you like this, George. It wasn't serious, for heaven's sake. Don't be like that.

  Don't tell me how to be, Marion Hillyard. I've been watching you destroy yourself for far too long, and I'm not going to tolerate it anymore.

  You're quitting? She grinned at him from the bed. Why don't you just retire? She was suddenly amused at the whole scene, but she was less amused in a moment when he returned to face her with something immovable in his face.

  That's exactly what I'm going to do, Marion. Retire.

  She could see that he was serious. This was all she needed. Don't be ridiculous. But she wasn't so sure she could jolly him out of this one. She sat up in bed with a nervous smile.

  I'm not. It's the first intelligent decision I've made in twenty years. And do you know who else is retiring, Marion? You are. We're both retiring. With no notice at all. I discussed it with Michael on the way to the airport. He was good enough to drive me out, and he said to tell you that he's sorry he couldn't come but he's just too tied up at the moment. He thinks our retiring is a fine idea. And so do I. In fact, no one is interested in what you think of it, Marion. The decision is made.

  Are you crazy? She sat up in bed and glared at him in the dim room. And just exactly what do you think I'll do with myself if I retire? Knit?

  I think that's a fine idea. But the first thing you'll do is marry me. After that, you may do anything you like. Except his voice rose menacingly on the word work. Is that clear, Mrs. Hillyard?

  Aren't you at least going to ask me to marry you? Or are you just telling me? Or is this an order from Michael, too? But she wasn't angry. She was touched. And relieved. She'd had enough. She'd done enough, in the best and worst senses of the word. And she knew it, too. The meeting with Marie had driven the point home that afternoon.

  We have Michael's blessing, if that makes any difference. And then his voice softened as he approached her bed and reached for her hand, which he held gently in his. Will you marry me, Marion? He was almost afraid to ask after all this time, but he had finally spoken to Michael about it in the anxious moments before his flight, and Michael had said something strange to him about celebrating their love. George had not really understood, but he had been grateful for the encouragement. Will you? He held her hand a little tighter as he waited.

  She nodded slowly, with a warm, tired smile, and a look of near regret. We should have thought of this years ago, George. But she wanted to say something else too' that she wasn't sure if she had the right ' not after' .

  I thought of it years ago, but I never thought you'd accept.

  I probably wouldn't have. Fool that I am. Oh George, she sighed and fell back against the pillows, I've done such stupid things in my life. Her face suddenly showed the agony of the afternoon, and he watched her, puzzled by the torment he saw mixed with the fatigue.

  What a silly thing to say. I can't think of a single foolish thing you've done in all the years I've known you. He kept a gentle hold on her hand and stroked it lovingly. He had wanted to do that for years, in just that way. Don't torment yourself with nonsense from the past.

  But Marion was sitting up very straight, and she looked at him from the bed, her hand cold and taut in his.

  What if the 'nonsense,' as you call it, destroyed people's lives? Do I have a right to forget that, George?

  Why, Marion, what could you have done to destroy someone's life? He suddenly wondered if the doctor had given her some powerful drug. Or perhaps this last attack had affected her mentally. She wasn't making sense.

  But she settled back among her pillows and closed her eyes. You don't understand.

  Should I? His voice was gentle in the dimly lit room.

  Perhaps. Maybe, if you knew, you wouldn't be so anxious to marry me.

  Don't be absurd. But if that's how you feel, then I think I have a right to know what's bothering you. What is it? He never let go of her hand, and at last she opened her eyes. She stared at him for a long time before she spoke.

  I don't know if I can tell you.

  Why not? I can't think of anything that would shock me. And I can't imagine anything about you that I don't know. They had had no secrets from each other for years. I'm beginning to think the seizure this afternoon just rocked you a bit.

  The truth I had to face did that. Her tone was one he had never heard from her, and when he looked at her again there were tears in her eyes. He wanted to put his arms around her and make it all better, but he understood now that she really did have something very important to tell him. Could she have been having an affair with someone for all these years? The idea suddenly shocked him. But he could even have accepted that. He loved her. He had always loved her. He had waited too long for this moment to let anything spoil it.

  Did something special happen this afternoon? He watched her very closely, waiting for the answer, but her eyes only closed as the tears poured silently down her cheeks, and at last she nodded and whispered Yes.

  I see. Well, relax now. Let's not get all excited about it. She was beginning to worry him. He didn't want her to have another seizure.

  I saw the girl.

  What girl? What in God's name was she talking about?

  The girl Michael was in love with. The tears stopped for a moment, and she sat up very straight and looked at him. Do you remember the night of Michael'
s accident, when he came down to the city to see me? You came in, and he stalked out. He was furious. He had come down to tell me that he was going to many that girl. And I showed him that' that report I'd had done on her '

  Her voice drifted off for a moment as she remembered, and George's brow furrowed deeper. She must be confused by some drug. That was the only explanation. That girl had died in the accident.

  Marion dear, you couldn't have seen the girl. As I recall, she ' she uh ' passed on in the

  But Marion shook her head, her eyes never leaving his. No, George. She didn't. I said she did, and Wicky kept his mouth shut, but the girl lived. Her face was destroyed, though. Everything but her eyes. George watched her silently but he was listening. This was a distraught Marion, an agonized Marion, but it wasn't a crazy Marion. He knew she was telling the truth. I went into her room that night and offered her a deal. He waited, silently. She closed her eyes as though in pain, and he squeezed her hand tighten.

  Are you all right?

  She nodded quietly and opened her eyes again. Yes. Maybe I'll feel better once I tell you. I offered her a deal. Her face in exchange for Michael. There are a lot of prettier ways to say it, but that's what it boils down to. Wicky said he knew of one man in the country who could restore her face. It would cost a fortune, but he could do it. I told her about it, offered to pay for it and anything else she needed until all the operations were over. I offered her a whole new life, a life she'd never had, as long as she agreed not to seek out Michael again.

  And she agreed?

  Yes. It was a small, rocklike word.

  Then she couldn't have loved him very much anyway. And you did a damn nice thing offering to pay for the surgery. Hell, if they'd loved each other so much, neither one of them would have accepted that.