Aftershocks

by Catherine Coulter

  "You're into gray tents, are you?"

  He gently clasped her shoulders and turned her toward the mirror. "Why don't you take a look?"

  Instead of looking at herself, George gazed at Elliot in the mirror.

  "What's this?" he asked her. "Don't you trust me?" He leaned down and gently kissed her on her neck. She pulled away from him.

  "Well, at least I brought a little color to your cheeks." He grinned at her, then turned and walked to the door. "Madam," he said, offering her his arm.

  She tried to sweep past him, but her stomach brushed against him.

  "Ah, more color," he said softly.

  "Stop it, Elliot," she hissed at him. "I told you I'm not going to play—whatever game this is!"

  "You're right," he said easily, as he guided her down the steps toward the dining room. "No games, just breakfast."

  They were greeted in the restaurant by the owner of the Brittany Inn, Pietro Cippolo, a rotund, balding man whose Italian accent, Elliot had always thought, was embellished for his guests.

  "Ah, dottore Mallory! I saw your name in the register!" He shook Elliot's hand, beaming, and turned to George, a wide smile on his round face. "At last, you and the beautiful signorina have become man and wife!"

  "Husband and wife," George said acidly, and flushed when she realized what she had said.

  Signore Cippolo merely beamed at her. "And a bambino on the way! The dottore has wasted no time. You will keep your beautiful wife pregnant and safe from all those hungry wolves out there, eh?"

  George realized that she had hidden her ring hand in the folds of her jumper. Why, she fumed silently, didn't she just tell the beaming little chauvinist that she and the dottore weren't married?

  "You come with me," Signore Cippolo said, bowing to George. "We will give you an exquisite breakfast. You and your little one."

  "Yes, George," Elliot said, "come along. Let's feed the big one, too."

  She turned around to face him, hoping for a jarring insult to come to mind, but when she looked up at him, she couldn't think of thing to say. He was smiling down at her, his eyes so tender that she looked uncomfortably away. She tossed her head and sailed after Signore Cippolo, heeling dangerously close to a table.

  Signore Cippolo held her chair out for her with a sweeping bow. "Signora," he boomed, "you will stay home now and make babies with your husband? No more television?"

  Elliot said quickly, "I would likely be shot, Pietro, if I kept George from her public. She is a new woman, you know. She can take care of her husband and her babies and still leave the world sighing over her beauty on television."

  "Ah, no," Pietro said dramatically, poking his finger at his chest.' 'Me, I would be too jealous to let her into the world. But you are right. The world has changed and our women with it. Here is Maria. She will take your order now. You will drink a glass of healthy milk, Signora George," he added with his beaming smile. "I want your bambino to be as handsome and athletic as his father."

  "I'm hoping for a bambina," George said.

  "A bambina is just fine with me," Elliot said once Pietro had left their table. He felt absurdly pleased that George hadn't told Pietro they weren't married.

  "I would like some French toast, please, Maria," George said to their waitress, ignoring Elliot. "And an order of bacon."

  "Make sure it's very crisp, Maria," Elliot said.

  George gazed around the intimate dining room with its quaint early American furnishings and its homey atmosphere while Elliot ordered. Why a man as Italian as Mr. Cippolo had elected to adorn his inn with early American antiques escaped her. She had fallen in love with the Brittany Inn when Elliot first brought her here.

  "Coffee, George?"

  At her nod, he filled her cup from the silver coffeepot on their table.

  "Beautiful day," he said.

  "Yes."

  "Why didn't you tell him we weren't married?"

  She grew very still. "There was no point in embarrassing the poor man," she said finally.

  "Thank you for sparing him and me such an embarrassment," he said dryly. "Do you really want a bambina, George?"

  "Being a man, I suppose it would please your vanity to father a son." She caught herself, and added quickly, "I just want a healthy baby."

  "Good, so do I. Boy or girl, our child will be quite a jock." She stiffened, her lips drawing in a tight line, and he quickly sought a neutral subject.

  "What do you intend to do with Braden-Tyrol? I wondered about your three-year contract with them." When she didn't immediately answer, Elliot continued easily, "I hope you don't mind my asking. It's just curiosity."

  She smiled slightly, remembering Ben's shock when she had first told him about the baby. "They weren't too happy about my pregnancy at first," she admitted. "I didn't even know until I was on location at Mount Rushmore in April."

  "Mount Rushmore?" he asked. He arched an eyebrow at her in question, though he had seen the commercial on TV. He wanted to keep her talking.

  "The point of the commercial was to show that no man, not even one carved in stone, could resist a woman wearing their makeup and perfume. The special effects were clever, I suppose. I flew by in a glider and they turned their heads at me. Oddly enough, it was my makeup man who asked me if I was pregnant." She paused a moment. "I was speechless, as you can well imagine. When Ben told the higher-ups at Braden-Tyrol, they wanted to dump me. I was lucky. They'd gotten a lot of good feedback about me and decided they'd stay with me. My agreement with them is that I'll work steadily for two weeks in November and produce at least three commercials that they'll air immediately. Then, I travel no more than a week each month after that."

  "The baby is due in October," Elliot said. "That isn't much time for you to get back on your feet."

  "They're more worried about my getting back my figure than my feet," George retorted. "But I'll do it."

  "How much weight have you gained so far?"

  "About nine pounds. I plan to hold it to fifteen. No more, or I won't have a prayer of looking like anything but a blimp on TV in November,"

  He hadn't noticed until now that her face was thinner, her high cheekbones more pronounced. She looked fragile, and it took all his resolve to keep his mouth shut.

  "How did you get Braden-Tyrol to let you appear pregnant in that fashion magazine?"

  She smiled, but said nothing until Maria had set her French toast in front of her. "Clyde, my photographer, was delighted about the baby and insisted on taking pictures of me every single week. It was actually Ben's idea when he saw some of the photos. It so happens that Braden-Tyrol owns subsidiary clothing boutiques. They agreed to let me model their maternity clothes. It worked well, I suppose. Since I was under contract with them, they got my work for free."

  They fell silent for a few minutes, eating their breakfast. Elliot thought about the miserable months he had spent, unaware in his misery of what he was missing. He could have seen his baby growing, been with George every day as she changed. He gulped down his coffee.

  "Were you sick often?" he asked.

  "Very seldom, and then I think it was psychological. I didn't throw up once until I knew for sure I was pregnant,"

  "You do have a doctor, George?"

  "Yes, doctor, I do. Obviously," she continued sharply, "she isn't one of your cronies."

  He sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. "Do your parents know, George?"

  He saw a look of pain cross her face. "I had to tell them. Tod and Mariana live in Mill Valley, and I couldn't just tell them to forget about me until October. And Tod couldn't keep a secret if his fastball depended on it. They are.. .concerned."

  Elliot fiddled with his fork for a few moments. "I suppose I'm surprised that Tod or Mariana or your parents didn't come after me with a shot gun." "I didn't tell them you were the father."

  "I see," he said. "Norman Greenberg?"

  She flushed and ducked her head. "No! I told them we had broken up and I had had a wee
kend fling in LakeTahoe."

  "I see," he said again. "What do you plan to do, George?"

  "I think I already told you that, doctor. I will return to work in November. I've already got feelers out for a live-in nurse. It won't be bad once everything is settled. And I don't intend to travel more than once a month, as I said."

  "Are you finished with your breakfast?" he asked abruptly. She nodded.

  "Good." He rose and smiled down at her. "It's a beautiful day, George. Let's go for a walk to the beach. I'd like to tell you my plans."

  "Your plans have nothing to do with me!"

  "Let's just go for that walk."

  "And then we'll go back to San Francisco?"

  "If you wish," he said, lying fluently.

  Chapter 18

  The Brittany Inn was just off Ocean Avenue and only a ten-minute walk from the beach. George breathed in the clean ocean air as they drew near, and despite herself, she began to relax.

  "Would you like to know what I've been doing for the past six months?" Elliot asked, slowing his pace even more so he wouldn't tire her.

  "I suppose you'll tell me anyway."

  "True. First of all, you're lucky I'm still alive." He saw a brief look of alarm in her eyes before she managed to quash it. "What do you mean?" she asked carefully, her eyes on her shoes.

  "What I mean is that I've become such a mean son of a bitch that if one of my colleagues had put a contract out on me, they'd have given him a medal. It's been.. .rough, George."

  "Sure," she said, "I'll just bet you've had a thoroughly wretched time. Did Eileen Raeburn try to put you out of your misery too?"

  "Eileen," he repeated, forgetting who she was for a moment. "No," he said slowly, watching her face carefully, "she had no reason to complain. A woman as pretty as she is hardly ever does."

  Elliot saw her press her lips into a tight line, and was pleased. They had reached the end of the path, and he cupped her elbow in his hand. "Let's walk on the sand. Would you like to take your shoes off?"

  She nodded, bent over awkwardly and slipped off her heels.

  "How about your panty hose?" She shot him a look of sheer dislike and shook her bead. "They're old. It doesn't matter."

  "I don't know how your pink panther knee socks are going to look with that dress. I only packed one pair of panty hose.''

  "It doesn't matter," she repeated. "We're going back to San Francisco today."

  "There is that," he said agreeably. The tide was coming in, and every few feet they had to step back to keep the frothy water from spilling over their feet. There was an awkward silence between them.

  "I wish I had thought to bring some toast for the gulls," George said, turning her face skyward at their loud squawking.

  Elliot bent down, picked up a knobby stick and flung it into the water. Her eyes were drawn to the play of muscles in his shoulders. He looked so bloody handsome, she thought.

  "You've lost weight," she said abruptly, hating herself for the concern in her voice.

  "Yes," he said. "Nearly ten pounds."

  "You shouldn't have."

  He shrugged.' 'There was little else to do except exhaust myself." He grinned at her. "You'll never beat me swimming now, George."

  "It doesn't matter," she said.

  He cocked a black brow at her. "Is that going to be your refrain? Your Greek chorus? We'll have to come up with a different line."

  She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. "Listen to me, Elliot," she said. "I don't know why you dragged me down here. I don't understand you. But believe me, I just want to go home."

  "Back to your alcohol and cigarettes?"

  "That was just a temporary...aberration, I don't want to have another hangover as long as I live."

  "Good. I'm delighted. You want to know why I brought you here? I'm ready to tell you if you're ready to listen."

  She pursed her lips. "Very well. It doesn't appear that I really have much choice in the matter." She sounded bitchy, but she couldn't help it.

  "You want the baby now?" he asked. His voice was expressionless, giving her no clue to his feelings.

  "Don't be a fool," she said coldly.

  "Then it was as I suspected. All that talk about an abortion was just to.. .rile me?"

  "It seems to be hard, if not impossible, to rile you when you're playing at being controlled."

  "You riled me, all right," he said softly. "Oh yes, you riled me but good, George." He pointed to some jutting rocks at the end of the cove. "Come sit down for a minute."

  She was tired, she thought. Tired from a stupid ten-minute walk on the beach. She sat down on a rock, placed her shoes beside her and folded her hands in her lap. "Talk, doctor," she said.

  He stood in front of her, his hands thrust into the pockets of his corduroy jeans. "I guess the first thing I should say is that I was a fool. An ass. I really thought I was saving you from making a grave mistake with your life."

  "And my becoming pregnant has changed everything? Elliot, grant me some intelligence!"

  "I always have," he said, grinning at her. "What you have done lady, is save me from myself and my outdated nobility."

  "Hah! I have done nothing to you, Elliot," she said steadily. Except love you and ask you to marry me.

  "George, you did everything to me, beginning from the moment you slammed that volleyball in my face last summer. I thought you were the most unusual and beautiful female I'd ever seen. Your Beau Jangles shirt nearly did me in. I wanted to make love with you. And, when we did, finally, I discovered quickly enough that I wanted more, much more. Our age difference didn't really hit me until I realized I was in love with you."

  George scrambled up from the rock. "You're a liar!" she yelled, shaking her shoes at him. "So that's it, Elliot! You're ready to marry me now that I'm pregnant. Let me ask you something, Dr. Mallory. Can you tell me honestly that you would ever have willingly seen me again if I weren't pregnant?"

  "George, I admit to being a fool and an ass, but I am not a liar, except to myself. God knows all the reasons I broke off with you are still there. The age difference, and your career." He ran distracted fingers through his hair. "Damn, George, I don't know. I really don't."

  "Another character trait of your generation, Elliot? Knock up a woman and you're honor-bound to marry her? That's really great—spending your life with someone out of obligation!"

  "The baby is my responsibility," he said quietly. "But that isn't the whole of it, and you know it, George. If I didn't love you to distraction, then it would be a case of obligation, I suppose. But I do love you."

  "I'm not going to listen to you anymore!" She flung her shoes at him, wheeled about and started running down the beach.

  "George!" he shouted after her. "Stop it!"

  He caught up with her quickly, just as she stumbled. He caught her and drew her into his.arms.

  "Let me go!" she yelled against his chest. She tried to strike him, but he held her too tightly.

  "No, I won't let you go. Ever again. I love you, and you're right, I did lie to you because I didn't want to see you hurt."

  "Hurt?" She threw her head back, and gave him a wild laugh. "Hurt? What the hell do you think I've been doing for the past six months? Dancing around with joy that I was free of you? " She couldn't help it. She felt tears swimming in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks, "How could you do that to me if you really loved me? It's like you were playing a game with me, with my life. I was just one little pawn you moved around to suit you!"

  "It was probably the stupidest thing I've ever done. But believe me, George, please. ..I was convinced that I was doing what was best for you. It was arrogant and wrong of me. But I do love you, George, have loved you for so damned long that living through each day without you has been one constant effort."

  She shook her head against his chest, covering her ears with her hands to keep out his words.

  "The only way I'll let you go," he whispered wearily against her temple, "is if you tell me you n
o longer love me."

  She became utterly still. Slowly, she raised her face to look at him. "Love you? Don't you mean infatuated with you, Elliot? Don't tell me you're now admitting that I actually felt something more than postteenage romantic feelings for the first man who screwed me?"

  He didn't even blink at her show of crudeness, knowing she'd said it because she hurt. Lightly, he ran his fingers over her jaw and gently flicked away her tears. "How come," he said gently, "you're so damned mature at twenty-four and I'm such a jerk at thirty-eight?"

  "You're a man," she said, sniffing. "I'm learning that all men have that in common."

  He smiled at her and released her arms. She dashed her hand across her eyes, but she didn't retreat from him. "And I've just realized something," he continued after a moment. "If you had called me, particularly during the past couple of months, I would have melted on the phone. But I would have fought against it, George; I won't lie to you." He paused a moment, and drew a deep breath. "If you don't want to marry me, if I've hurt you too much, I'll back off. But I don't want to. I want you and our baby. I want to sleep with you every night and wake up with you every morning. I want to play with you in every sport you can devise. I want to tease you and make love to you. I want to laugh again, George."

  She stepped away from him and moved closer to the lapping water. She wrapped her arms about her and stared out over the waves. Without turning, she said, "I'm probably the fool because I want to believe you. With all my heart, I want to believe you. All I have to do is think about you and I melt. But the pain, Elliot. I don't ever want that kind of pain again."

  He strode to her and gently clasped her arms, pulling her against his chest. "Nor do I, George. I'll do my best never to hurt you again. Will you marry me? Will you be my lover? Will you spend your life with me?

  He felt a shudder go through her body. Very slowly, she nodded.

  Elliot wanted to shout; he wanted to sing. Instead, he gently turned her about, drew her into his arms and kissed her very slowly and thoroughly.

  "It's been so long," she said softly into his mouth.

  "Yes. You know what else I want to do? I want to take you back to our room and make love to you. I want to feel every inch of you, George."