A smile tugged at Abby’s mouth, some of the heaviness from around her heart lifting. It was so good to see the happiness in Susan’s eyes. “You mean he hasn’t jumped your bones like you expected?” she teased.
“Ouch, I had that coming, didn’t I?”
“You’re conditioned to it, Susan. Tim’s old-fashioned. He may be from our generation, but he’s got strong values.”
“I like what he is,” Susan admitted softly. “He’s not trying to push me into bed with him or to manipulate me like other guys have in the past. It’s such a different kind of relationship than I’ve had, and frankly, I’m on totally new ground with him. Sometimes, I don’t know how to react to him. He just kind of gives me that boyish smile of his and steps back.”
“Just keep trusting one another.” Abby gestured toward her mass of paperwork on the counter. “In the meantime, I’m going to continue my whale-awareness campaign.”
“Well,” Susan said gently, “you’re sure doing your part to uplift world consciousness.” She reached over, barely touching Abby’s drooped shoulder. “But you’re killing yourself doing it.”
“I’m trying to bury myself in work to not feel or think about Alec.”
“I know. Have you heard from him lately?”
“I’ve gotten two letters from him…early on. Traveling so much, I haven’t been able to write to him as much as I’d like. Tim was kind enough to send him a short message for me a couple of days ago.” Abby sighed. “And now I’ve got to prepare a speech that I’ll give at the U.N. next week.”
Susan gave her an admiring look. “You’re really becoming famous, Abby.”
“I don’t care one whit about fame. It’s an empty vessel for me. I see it as a vehicle to be used to get the word out about our dying world.”
“I know a lot of people who’d love to have the power that’s been handed to you. Dr. Monica Turner, for one.”
“Her.” The word came out flat. Abby got up and began to pace. “She’s stonewalling us on the Hill, Susan. The SOWF lobbyist has new legislation written and ready to go, but Turner’s going behind closed doors of Congress and telling them that enough’s been written into law. She’s trying to get it killed in committee before it ever reaches a vote in the House. If we can’t get this legislation accepted, it’s…well…I don’t know….”
“Abby, you can’t take responsibility for it failing or being accepted. Look at you—you’ve lost weight. This has to stop.”
Pressing her fingertips to her temples, Abby stood in the middle of the living room. “You’re right, but I can’t walk away from what was created, Susan. The public awareness has to be escalated. If Congress and the president refuse to help us, we’ve got to go to the people.” She smiled tiredly. “There’s one thing I love about the American people. Once they truly comprehend the depth of a problem, they’ll rally and respond. That’s why I’m doing all these radio and television talk shows to create that kind of awareness.”
“Well, I’m worried for you.”
“I’ll be okay. Soon all the fanfare that was created a month ago will die down. The press will jump on the next disaster and the whales will be forgotten. It’s the American way.”
“Knowing you, you won’t let the American people forget.”
“No,” Abby vowed huskily, “I won’t. When Alec saved my life, I changed a lot, Susan. I really thought I was going to die. When I woke up and he was at my side, I realized how precious, how fragile life really is. I realized I can live for more than just the moment. I can live for now and build productively toward the future as I envision it. Someday, soon I hope, Americans will do the right thing.”
Susan got up and came over to Abby. She placed her arm around her shoulders. “Listen, you’re tired. Go take a hot bath and then go to bed, okay?”
Abby nodded. But she knew that when she slept—what little she slept—dreams of Alec, of what they’d shared, haunted her. Would there come a time when she wouldn’t feel filled with so much promise of a future they’d never share?
Chapter Nine
ABBY HELD HERSELF in tight check as she tried to cultivate her short span of patience while in Dr. Monica Turner’s outer office waiting to be summoned by the woman herself. As she sat, dressed in a pale pink business suit, Abby wondered what her archenemy from the State Department wanted from her.
Rubbing her aching temple, Abby continued to work on the speech she would deliver to the U.N. tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. Perhaps the prospect of her speech was giving Turner the jitters. Or maybe it was giving the administration a twinge. Good, they deserved it, in Abby’s opinion. Yesterday, the SOWF lobbyist had been able to get in to see a very influential congressman about the proposed whale and dolphin legislation. Was that what had scared Turner out of hiding?
The buzzer on Pat Monahan’s desk beeped. Abby saw the secretary nod in her direction, her face pinched with disapproval.
“Dr. Turner will now see you, Dr. Fielding.”
Abby rose and picked up her scarred and scratched briefcase that was ten years old. “Thank you,” she responded coolly. Her stomach was tight with tension, and Abby knew as she walked into the office that she had to keep her temper in check as never before. Alec had been right: her red hair was a warning to anyone that her temper was volatile. This morning, she could not afford to lose it.
The office was huge, and Abby halted in the middle of the Oriental rug and looked around. There were certificates, diplomas and a number of pictures of Dr. Turner with key administration officials tastefully arranged on the mahogany-paneled walls. Monica sat behind her rectangular maple desk, a pair of tortoiseshell-framed bifocals resting on her nose. She looked over them at Abby.
“Come in, Dr. Fielding.” Monica gestured to a red leather wing chair that sat to one side of her desk. “Coffee?”
Surprised at the low, mellow tone of Monica’s voice, Abby shook her head. “No, thank you.”
“Oh, that’s right. I read somewhere that you were a health-food addict.”
“Better that kind of addict than the other types of addicts we have in this country, don’t you think, Dr. Turner?”
Monica leaned back in her chair and glanced over at Pat, who stood poised at the door. “No disagreement from me. Bring us tea with lemon.” She glanced at Abby as she sat down. “You do drink tea, don’t you?”
“Herbal tea, if you have any. If not, a glass of ice water will do fine.”
Monica smiled briefly. “Contrary to popular opinion, I am concerned with all kinds of health matters, Dr. Fielding.” Directing her attention to her secretary, she said, “Two cups of chamomile tea, please.”
Abby tried to appear relaxed and crossed her legs. She set her briefcase down beside the chair. “Chamomile. That’s an herbal tea to soothe the nerves.”
Monica sat up and removed her bifocal glasses, letting them hang around her neck on a gold chain. “Working around here is enough to put anyone’s nerves on edge.”
“No argument from me,” Abby said dryly. Monica’s blond hair was carefully coiffed in a chignon, giving her narrow face a severe look. But it was belied by the blue miniskirt she wore. Although miniskirts were suddenly the rage again, Abby noted that hardly any women in business wore them. They preferred conservative hemlines. If she didn’t know Monica worked for the State Department, she’d have been an ideal magazine model.
Monica gave her a quick, bloodless smile and waited until her secretary had delivered the tea on a silver serving tray and then left. The door closed, and she gestured to Abby to help herself.
“Vitamin C in the form of lemon, chamomile for our collective nerves, and honey instead of sugar.” She pinned Abby with a dark look. “You see, perhaps we’re not so far apart as you’d like to think we are.”
Abby got up and squeezed the lemon into the gold-colored tea. “This is a surprise, I’ll admit that,” she told the woman. “But on issues that are far larger and more weighty, it’s a known fact we’re polar opposites, Dr. Turner.”
Monica took her cup and saucer and sat back in her overstuffed leather chair. She sipped the tea and remained silent for a moment. “You know, I’m envious of all the press that you’ve gotten this last month. But I also admire what you did.”
Abby sipped the tea, not tasting it. Monica wasn’t to be trusted under any circumstances, and Abby had the feeling the woman was trying to maneuver her. For what, Abby wasn’t sure—yet. “Admire what I did? I don’t understand.”
“Oh,” Monica whispered in her contralto voice, “I think you do. Come now, Dr. Fielding, we’re alone now. We’re not sitting on the front lines of Donahue any longer with a million viewers eavesdropping. You can admit the truth.”
“Truth about what?”
“That you deliberately staged the collision with that poor, hapless Japanese whaling ship. And in doing so, it set up a perfect reason for you to be flung overboard in front of the rolling cameras.”
Anger singed her tension. Abby smiled tightly, derision in her voice. “Oh, yes, and I just managed to snag the attention of a Soviet navy helicopter so it could photograph what had happened, as well as rescue me.” Abby gave her a steely look. “Just between you and me, Dr. Turner, none of it was rigged.”
“That’s not the opinion of some higher-ups in the administration.”
“I could care less what this administration thinks,” Abby flared. “As far as I’m concerned, they’ve shown their callous disregard to all life forms in general in the last seven years!”
“Come now,” Monica said smoothly, leaning back and enjoying her tea, “the Reagan years will go down in history as one of the best periods of the century.”
“To whom? The rich? The corporations? Oh, I’m sure with them he’s a real Hollywood hero. But ask the homeless and the elderly who have had so many programs cut out from under them. Sorry, but I’ll wait a decade and then see how the man you work for is treated by the historians.”
Chuckling, Monica said, “Dr. Fielding, one of the many fascinating things about you is your childlike fanaticism and your oversimplification of problems in general.” She looked at Abby with one eyebrow raised. “I really don’t know how you got a doctorate in marine biology when you’re so unscientific and illogical.”
Abby sat there controlling her volatile temper. She knew Monica Turner was deliberately trying to provoke her. Setting down the teacup, Abby gritted out, “Let’s cut to the chase. Why did you want to see me?”
Still smiling, Monica sipped her tea, quiet settling into the office once again. “As I said, I’ve admired how much press and attention you’ve squeezed out of your Bering Sea experience. And I’m even more surprised that the U.N. is allowing you to speak to them as a body.”
That was it, Abby decided. Dr. Turner was worried about her U.N. speech. “Fortunately, other people see the simplicity of what’s going on with the whales and dolphins like I do. The members of the U.N. invited me to speak. I didn’t go pounding on their door begging for an opportunity to give this speech.”
“I see….” With a small frown, Monica put her tea aside and placed her elbows on the desk. “The administration is very interested in what you’re going to say, Dr. Fielding. Might you share that with me?”
Satisfaction thrummed through Abby. She had been right. “The speech is going to be televised by CNN, Doctor. All you have to do is turn on the television and listen.” She saw Monica’s eyes grow hard.
“I would prefer to know ahead of time.”
“Why? To prepare some kind of homogenized administration statement denying everything I’ve got to say? Sorry, that isn’t going to happen.” Abby rose and picked up her briefcase.
“You know,” Monica told her in a brittle voice, “people like you can attract so much attention that the government starts to take an interest in you.”
Abby grinned. “What are you going to do? Ransack my office or the SOWF office like the men of the Watergate scandal did? Do your best, Dr. Turner, because nothing on this earth is going to stop me from delivering my speech tomorrow morning.” Turning on her heel, she left the impressive office, glanced at the sour-faced secretary outside the door and moved into the hall.
On the way home, Abby felt exhaustion sweep through her. The adrenaline charge that had made her feisty in Monica Turner’s office ebbed. She parked her car in the garage at the rear of the two-story apartment building and wearily climbed out. The rest of her day would be spent polishing her speech. It would go perfectly, she told herself. It had to.
*
A SHARP KNOCK AT HER DOOR two hours later stirred Abby from her position on the carpeted floor. She’d spread her U.N. papers across it to make last-minute adjustments to the speech. The windows to her apartment were open, the curtains moving gently from the warm late-May breeze. Dressed in an oversized long-tailed shirt, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and a pair of jeans, she slowly got to her feet. It was probably Susan wanting to borrow something or drop by for a quick chat.
“Alec!” Abby opened the door and stood there in shock, looking up at his exhausted features. There, dressed in a dark blue business suit, a briefcase in one hand, was Alec. His mouth, once compressed, moved into a softened line.
“I heard that you were losing weight and not getting any sleep,” he whispered huskily. Looking at her rumpled but endearing appearance, he nodded. “You have lost weight.”
“Oh, Alec!” Abby blindly rushed into his offered embrace, throwing her arms around his neck. “Alec,” she murmured, “I never thought I’d see you again….”
He dropped the briefcase in the hall and swept Abby hard against him, kissing her neck, her cheek, and finding her lips. As if reading his mind, she turned her head and he molded his mouth hotly against hers. The scent of her spicy perfume mingled with the velvet of her skin, sending a sharp ache through him. He tangled his hands through her loose, thick hair, unable to get enough of her. He kissed each corner of her smiling mouth, her eyes, nose, and finally found his way back to her wet, parted lips. Gently, ever so gently, he framed her oval face and allowed his fingers to follow the delicate curve of her jaw and throat. She was trembling, and so was he.
“Alec…”
“Shh, moya edinstvenaya, feel, don’t talk,” he whispered, a catch in his voice.
Blindly, Abby met his heated mouth and drowned in the splendor of his returning fire as a man, as someone her heart had never forgotten. Her mind whirled with questions and no answers. How could Alec be here? How? And why?
Gradually, reluctantly, Alec drew away from Abby. Her eyes brimmed with tears that were ready to spill onto her cheeks. Placing several gentle kisses on her lashes, he tasted the salt of her unshed tears on his lips. With his fingers curving along her cheeks, he held her captive, studied her in the muted light of the hall.
“Tim sent me a message two days ago,” he told her huskily. “He was worried about you, Abby.”
He felt as though he couldn’t get enough of her. Just easing her away enough to look down at her made his heart lurch. Her faded blue jeans were loose and her bare feet stuck out from beneath them. Still, he realized how beautiful, how simple Abby really was. Picking up his briefcase and gathering her beneath his arm, he walked her into the apartment and kicked the door closed with his heel of his shoe.
Shakily, Abby pushed her hair away from her face as she watched Alec go over to the couch and set his briefcase down. He shrugged out of the coat and loosened the dark blue tie at his throat. Pressing her hand against her pounding heart, she watched in stunned silence as he came back to where she stood. When he placed his arms around her, something gave way within her and she melted against his tall, lean frame.
“That’s it,” Alec whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple, “just rest, Abby. I’ll hold you.”
She closed her eyes, willing the trembling to stop. She felt so protected, so much at home in Alec’s arms, she never wanted to leave. After a while, her hand resting against his chest, she told him, “I never thought I’d se
e you again…. Oh, God, Alec…”
“I know, I know.” His hands caressed her, imbuing her with his strength, his feeling. “You have lost weight. Perhaps four kilos?”
“Ten pounds, I think,” Abby muttered. “Susan made me weigh myself a couple of days ago.” Then it all began to make sense to Abby. Susan had obviously told Tim about the weight loss and he’d sent a message to Alec. When Abby looked up into his eyes, she thought she could drown in their warm sable depths. “Talk about a conspiracy. Susan and Tim did this.”
A slow smile worked its way across his mouth. “Conspiracy? Isn’t that an unkind word? They both love you, and they were concerned.”
Chastened, Abby nodded. “I’ve just been burning the candle at both ends, Alec, that’s all.”
“So I’ve been told. Tim briefed me on the way over here about all you’ve accomplished since I left.” He led her to the couch and fitted Abby against him. Her head resting on his shoulder, her hand on his chest, she felt like sunlight spilling across him. With a shuddering sigh, he whispered, “I want or need nothing more than you in my arms, Abby.”
His words were balm for her raw and torn heart. Alec’s heart beat strong and steady beneath her head. “I’ve missed you,” she said, her voice quavering. “I’ve never missed anyone more than you.”
Threading his fingers through her hair, Alec marveled at how the sun’s rays made it look as if it were truly on fire. “I go to sleep thinking about you. In my dreams you are with me, did you know that?”
“We must be sharing the same dreams, then,” Abby said wryly, the beginnings of a smile on her lips.
Alec heard the amusement in her voice, thankful that she was now over the shock of seeing him at her doorstep. “I was on board the Udaloy a week ago when I received a message ordering me to Moscow. My friend, Mikhail Surin had something to do with it, I’m sure. When I got there, Colonel Pavel Surin, his son, an attach;aae with the Supreme Soviet Ecology Committee, gave me some new and interesting orders.”
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