Season of Passion

by Steel, Danielle

  Ah, Miss Harper, but one does. He smiled ruefully.

  Do you? She was shocked at her own question, but she liked talking to him. He was worldly and bright and very good-looking, and he wanted to talk about the things that were bothering her now.

  Yes, I have to make those choices. I have a wife who says she needs me in Chicago. For dinner parties, or something like that. A son who thinks I'm a capitalist asshole, and a daughter with cerebral palsy. They need me. Probably very much. But if I don't run after the almighty dollar, then my wife can't give her dinner parties, and my son can't sit on his lazy ass and espouse his saintly causes, and my daughter ' well, she needs it most of all. He grew very quiet and looked into his drink, and then back at Kate again. The bitch of it is that my reasons for running all sound good and righteous and proper, but the truth of it is, that isn't even why I do it anymore.

  I know. She understood. Only too well You do it because you enjoy it. Because you have to. Because now it's part of you, and ' She said the last words very softly, as though to herself. ' because you have a right to it. To the good stuff. To the excitement, the success ' She looked up at him again and he held her eyes for a long time with a small ironical smile.

  That's why I loved your book. Because you knew.

  And then she smiled too. The funny thing is that when I wrote the book, I knew all about it Or I thought I did. But I knew it from seeing it, not feeling it. I knew it from where your wife sits. Now I know it differently. Now I'm confronted by the same things myself.

  Welcome to die land of the successful failures, Miss Harper.

  Do you consider yourself a failure?

  Depends on how you look at it. I suspect that to them, my family, I probably am. I don't know. To the business community, I'm certainly not a failure. Far from it. He had won several major international awards in the past five years. But he didn't tell Kate that, he merely smiled die small ironical smile. One pays a very high price, just like all the songs say.

  Is it worth it?

  Ask your husband. Ouch. She almost flinched at the words. You ought to know the answer to that.

  I suppose so, but I see it differently now. I'm enjoying what I'm doing. I don't see why you can't have both. A real life, a family life, a life with some meaning and integrity, and a successful career.

  I suppose so. He waved to the barman to refill their drinks and she didn't object. But it depends on what you call successful and what you call a career. Your career is by no means of small proportions, I would think. In a sense, you're a celebrity. That must take its toll.

  And you? She wanted to know more about him. She liked him.

  I'm not a celebrity. I'm just an architect. But I play in the big leagues.

  Are you happy?

  No. He said it very simply as though it were something he accepted, not something he cried about. I suppose it's very lonely for all of us. He looked at her pointedly.

  And your wife? Kate's eyes bored into his with the question.

  I suppose she's unhappy too.

  Doesn't she say?

  No. She's a very well-behaved woman. And he hesitated for only a moment I don't ask her. We knew each other as kids, and we got married young. We had both just finished college. I was going to be a commercial artist. She wanted to play around with fine arts. Instead, my father suggested I go to graduate school at Yale. I did and studied architecture, got my degree, and that was the beginning. We both forgot about the dreams. The small dreams anyway. The big dreams came easy. Too easy. And then he looked up at Kate with a broad smile that belied everything he'd said. And now you know my entire life story, Miss Harper. From beginning to end. The dismal failure of my marriage, die pains of my soul, even my fears about a heart attack. You can use it all in your next novel. He finished his drink and then looked up at her again with irony and laughter in his eyes. And I'll bet you don't even remember my name.

  She still had his card somewhere but she hadn't looked at it. And now she gave him an embarrassed smile. I hate to admit it, but you're right. Besides, I'm awful with names.

  So am I. The only reason I remembered yours is because I liked the book. Kaitlin, isn't it? She liked the way he said it.

  Kate.

  Philip. Philip Wells. He held out a hand, and she solemnly shook it.

  And then suddenly the headwaiter in the pin-stripe suit was standing discreetly next to them. Signore, signora, your tables are ready. He waved toward the center of the room, and Philip looked at Kate.

  Could we consolidate them into one? Or would I be intruding on your time alone? It never even occurred to him that she might be meeting someone, but she liked the idea of eating dinner with him. She didn't want to eat alone.

  No, that would be very nice.

  The headwaiter nodded instant acquiescence, Philip paid the bartender for their drinks, and they moved on toward the main dining area in the center of the room, between the diagonally fleeing zebras. Kate looked up at them with a dubious expression and winced as Philip held out a chair for her and laughed at the look on her face.

  I know. Aren't they awful? The best of it is that every time they've redecorated, they've gone to fabulous expense to reproduce the exact same decor. Right down to the plastic greenery and the zebras. They're probably right. The natives expect them.

  Do you come here that often?

  I'm in New York fairly often, and I always come here when I am. I told you, I'm addicted to all things Italian. Especially the women, but he omitted telling her that. She suspected it anyway. He didn't look like, a man who was faithful to his wife, and he had told her enough to let her know that he was unhappy. That was the usual prelude. But she didn't care. She liked him anyway. And he was an intelligent person to talk to. It was better than watching television in her room. Much better. And besides, Nick wasn't home either ' she felt the same gnawing worries again as Nick crept into her thoughts.

  When did you live in Rome? She forced herself to think of Philip and not Nick, at least for the duration of this meal.

  We came back ten years ago. We were there while the children were small. My daughter was born there. It's a marvelous city.

  Do you go back often?

  Once or twice a year. I have more business in Paris and London than I do in Rome. She could see what he meant about being successful. Paris, London, Rome, New York. It sounded exciting. She wondered if she'd ever have to go to Europe to tour for the book. Nick would probably kill her. If he was still around.

  The conversation moved on easily through dinner. No more baring of souls or heartrending secrets. She told him amusing stories about San Francisco, and he told her tales of his adventures abroad. There was a great deal of teasing, right through dessert. They finished the dinner with zabaglione.

  You should come to San Francisco. We have a restaurant there with zabaglione that makes this one look sick. The rest of the dinner had been fabulous, but at dessert she missed Vanessi's oozing rum-kissed treat.

  I might surprise you. She laughed at the thought. That would be a surprise. But she knew he didn't mean it. Actually, I haven't been out there in about twenty years. Most of my business is in the East or in Europe. We do very little work on the West Coast, and usually when we have something out there he looked at her in embarrassment I send out one of the underlings

  That's nice. Don't you consider California worthy of you? She was teasing, and he laughed.

  I confess. I guess I never did. Business isn't as high-powered there.

  Maybe that's a virtue.

  I never thought so. But maybe you're right. He smiled at her warmly and reached for the check, as she frowned.

  I don't think we ought to do it that way, Philip. Let me pay my half.

  How modern! Don't be absurd. He smiled benevolently as he put several bills on the plate.

  Please don't. After all she grinned at him mischievously I have an expense account.

  In that case, I'll let you pay for drinks. Can I lure you up to the Carlyle for an
hour of Bobby Short? It was a tempting invitation, but she looked at her watch with regret.

  Would you settle for a quick drink at our hotel? I'm afraid I have to be up and out at an ungodly hour tomorrow. I have to be at the studio by seven-fifteen.

  I have to be at a breakfast meeting on Wall Street at seven-thirty myself. The hotel sounds fine.

  And it was better than fine. It was lovely. A pianist was playing, and the room was uncrowded and surprisingly romantic for a hotel bar.

  I didn't remember this bar was so nice. She looked around in surprise and he laughed.

  Is that why you suggested it? You thought it would have neon lights and a jukebox?

  She laughed at the thought. What a shame it doesn't. Wouldn't that be fun at the Regency? They both laughed and sipped their brandies. She had had a lot to drink, but she didn't feel drunk. They had shared half a bottle of wine with dinner, but they had eaten well, so the food had balanced out the wine. Only the brandy was finally beginning to make her feel a little bit high, but not very. It only heightened the softness of the music, and the warmth of Philip's leg next to hers.

  What are you doing at the studio tomorrow?

  Giving guided tours. She said it with a serious expression and he laughed at her.

  I'm serious. I'm fascinated by all this celebrity stuff.

  Don't be. It's exhausting. And most of it's very dull. I'm beginning to find that out. I was here in August and it all seemed very glamorous. Two months later, it's terribly tedious and a lot of hard work.

  Do you have to prepare for the shows?

  Not really. They ask me ahead of time what I'll be willing to talk about. And you have some idea of what each show wants. But that's about it. After that it's ad-libbing and being charming and terribly witty. She said it with a face Tygue would have made, and Philip laughed at her.

  I see you take it very seriously. By the way, Kate, could I talk you into lunch tomorrow? Mine has been canceled and I'm free.

  I wish I were too. She said it mournfully and he looked disappointed. I'm going to some kind of women's literary luncheon. Can you think of anything worse?

  Can you get out of it?

  Not if I plan to publish my next book. He smiled regretfully. And he couldn't offer her dinner. He had a big business dinner he had to go to, and she was having dinner with her editor and her publisher anyway, and some guy from the New York office of her agency.

  How long will you be in town?

  Till the end of the week.

  Good. Then we can do it another day. Day after tomorrow? Lunch? He was even free for dinner, but he thought he'd wait to suggest that at lunch. Lunch was always a good way to start things. They could work their way toward the evening slowly.

  I'd love it. Where shall we meet? She was actually beginning to feel drunk now, and was suddenly anxious for bed. She looked at her watch and was horrified to realize that it was after one. They had spent a long time together. And she was going to get only about four hours sleep. Very New York.

  He looked at her with a smile and put down his empty glass. Let's see ' what's fun for lunch? Quo Vadis?

  Where is it?

  Just up the street It's very pleasant. It also had the advantage of being a block away from the hotel, in case their lunch together went unusually well.

  He held her arm as they walked to the elevator, and his eyes watched her hungrily as she got off at her floor. He held the door open for just a moment and looked at her. There was no one else in the elevator, and they were automatically run after midnight. Good night, Kate. His voice was a caress, and she almost shivered. I'll miss you tomorrow.

  Thanks.

  He let the door close then and she felt foolish. Thanks. How unglamorous. How unsophisticated. How stupid. Christ, he was way out of her league. She had never met a man quite like him before. He was more European than American, and very, very smooth.

  And then she laughed as she let herself into her room. In some ways, he was very much like her father. And not at all like Nick. That was a relief at least. She was so damn sick of Nick and Tygue and Tom and all they wanted from her. Sick of the guilt trips and confusion and conflicts. She lay down for a moment on the bed, promising herself she'd get up in a minute and take off her clothes. But she never did. They called her from the desk at six, and she had to rush to get ready. They wanted her on the air at seven-thirty for

  Chapter 32

  Kate didn't get back to her room at the hotel again until after eleven that night. She hadn't had a moment to herself all day. That damned women's luncheon, the shows, the dinner with the people from the agency and the publishers ' it seemed endless. A carousel crawling with asparagus and smoked salmon, and heartburn, and she was sick of it all. She had missed the chance to talk to Tygue again, but every time she'd been near a phone, it had been the wrong time for him with the time difference. And now it was after eight in San Francisco and he'd be asleep. And she couldn't even talk to Nick. He was doing the show. And by the time he finished it, she'd be asleep. There had been no messages from him anyway, and that was message enough. She knew he was still angry. She vowed to herself just before falling asleep that she'd find time to call both him and Tygue the next day. No matter what. She needed to talk to them, or they'd never forgive her.

  But she was gone first thing in the morning again, and she ran all morning until she reached Quo Vadis at noon. Philip was already waiting for her, and she was breathless as she swept out of the cab and into the restaurant. It was freezing outside, and her cheeks were bright from the cool air. She looked striking in the red slacks with her mink coat, and her eyes looked like emeralds. It was the first time she had worn the mink since she'd put it away when she moved to the country. It was the coat Tom had told her she'd wear to the hospital to have his son. And it was a beauty. Long, rich, and full in lustrous bittersweet chocolate-brown fur. Its classic lines were still very much in style. She looked dazzling, and Philip could hardly wait to get his hands on her.

  Am I late?

  Not at ail. I just got here. He helped her off with her coat and felt engulfed in her perfume. It made him want to nuzzle her neck, but not now ' later. Their eyes met, and with a faint blush she looked away. So how is New York? I didn't even see you at the hotel yesterday. The headwaiter led them to a quiet table, and Philip took her hand. The gesture surprised her a little, but so did her reaction. There was something very electric about this man, and her response to him made her feel oddly naive.

  I was never at the hotel. I ran around all day. And when I got home, I went right to bed.

  What a splendid idea. He looked at her teasingly and she laughed as he reached for the wine list. He ordered a dry white Bordeaux that was tart strong, and wonderful. She had never drunk anything like it. Along with everything else, Philip knew his wines.

  They had lobster for lunch, and mousse au chocolat for dessert, followed by small delicate cups of espresso. And then he surprised her by ordering something called poire:

  What is it? It arrived looking like water, but even one sip scorched her mouth with a hot, pungent taste of pear. He smiled at the look on her face.

  It's pear brandy. And I can see, Mademoiselle Harper, that you need to spend some more time in Europe. Have you been recently? She smiled at the distant memories. She hadn't been since her last trip with Tom.

  Not in a very long time. I went quite a lot with my parents. But that was part of another lifetime. I haven't been in she thought for a moment more than seven years. And I was awfully young. No one was offering me pear brandy. And Tom certainly wouldn't have known about poire. He was perfectly happy with German beer. She hadn't even gotten him to try kir, or Cinzano, or some of the local wines as They traveled around Italy and France. Beer.

  Drink it carefully, by the way It's strong stuff. He said it in a conspiratorial tone and seemed to edge closer to her on the banquette.

  How can I drink it any way but carefully? It burns the hell out of my mouth. She sipped again, and almost
winced, but Philip didn't seem to be having any trouble with it. He smiled at her as he lit a Dunhill Monte Cristo. Philip Wells was a man of taste. She was sitting back against the banquette, watching him carefully light the full tip of his cigar, when her glance strayed just past him, and she thought she heard herself gasp. But she hadn't, there was no sound. She was only staring ' but it couldn't be ' it' but it was. She hadn't seen him in twelve years, but it had to be. Her father.

  Is something wrong? Philip looked at her inquisitively through the delicate blue smoke. Kate?

  She nodded distractedly, but didn't look at him. I'm sorry. I see someone I know. Had he changed? No, she didn't think he'd changed a great deal. His hair was whiter, and maybe he was a little thinner. But he was sitting very close to a young woman almost her age. Where was her mother? Who was that girl? And why the hell did she care after all these years? She forgot all about Philip, but he was concerned as he watched the color chain from her face.

  Kate, do you want to go? He signaled the waiter for the check without waiting for her answer. But she only shook her head, and then slid quickly off the seat.

  I'll be right back. That was crazy. She couldn't go over there. He'd laugh at her. He'd tell her to go to hell. He ' but she had to ' had to ' had to' . She felt her feet moving rhythmically, and then suddenly she was standing there, looking at him, and saying one word. Daddy? There were tears in her eyes, and he looked up at her, shocked, and rose slowly to his feet, with only a glance down at the woman beside him. He was as tall and distinguished-looking as ever and his eyes were riveted to Kate. She had grown to be quite a woman. But he did not hold out his arms. They only stood there, separated by a table and a lifetime.

  Kate. She nodded in silent answer, as the tears ran down her cheeks. But she was smiling, and there were tears in his eyes too. He didn't know what to say. I read your book.

  You did? He read her book but he didn't call or write or reach out to her when ' he had read her book. Why?