Passion's Promise

by Danielle Steel

  Gate 14 E. Damn … at the far end of the terminal, almost the last gate. She was racing, and her hair pulled free of its tight, elegant knot Talk about a story! She laughed at herself as she pushed through people and came close to knocking down children. The paparazzi would have a field day with this—heiress Kezia Saint Martin dashing through airport, knocking people down, for a kiss from ex-con agitator Lucas Johns. She choked on a bubble of laughter as she covered the last yards of the race and saw that she had made it in time. The vast expanse of his shoulders and back was filling the open doorway at the gate. She had just made it.

  “Luke!”

  He turned slowly, his ticket in hand, wondering who was in New York that he knew. And then he saw her, her hair falling free of its pins, hanging loosely over the bright red coat, her face glowing from the dash from the car. A broad grin swept over his face, and he carefully removed himself from the line of impatient travelers, and made his way to her side.

  “Lady, you’re crazy. I thought you’d be back in the city by now. I was just standing here thinking about you as we got ready to board.”

  “I was … halfway … back … to the … city …” She was happy and breathless as they stood looking into each others’ eyes. “But … I … had to … come back.”

  “For chrissake, don’t have a heart attack on me now. You okay, babe?”

  She nodded vigorously and folded into his arms. “Fine.”

  He took the last of her breath away with a kiss that brought her to her toes, and a hug that threatened her shoulders and neck.

  “Thank you for coming back, crazy lady.” He knew what it meant. And she glowed as she looked up at him. He knew what she was, and what the papers could do with a kiss like the one they’d just indulged in, in broad daylight, with a sea of people around them. She had come back. Out in the open. And at that moment, he knew what he had hoped, but not quite believed. She was for real. And now she was his. The Honorable Kezia Saint Martin.

  “You took a hell of a chance.”

  “I had to. For me. Besides, I happen to love you.”

  “I knew that, even if you hadn’t come back…. But I’m glad you did.” His voice was gruff as he held her again. “And now I have to catch that plane. I have to be in a meeting in Chicago at three.” He pulled gently away.

  “Luke …”

  He stopped and looked at her for a long moment. She had almost asked him not to go back. But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t ask for something like that. And he would never have stayed …

  “Take good care!”

  “You too. We’ll get together next week.” She nodded and he walked through the door at the gate. All she could see was one long-armed wave before he disappeared down the ramp.

  For the first time in her life, she stayed at the airport, and watched the flight take off. It was a good feeling, watching the thin silver plane rise into the sky. It looked beautiful and she felt brand new. For the first time she could remember, she had taken her fate in her hands and publicly taken her chances. No more hiding in SoHo or vanishing somewhere near Antibes. No clandestine nothing. She was a woman. In love with a man. She had finally decided to gamble. The only hitch was that she was a novice, and she was playing with her life, without knowing how high the stakes had been set. She didn’t see the plain-clothesman stubbing out his cigarette near the gate. She looked straight at him, and then walked away, unaware of the threat he was to them both. Kezia was a child walking blindly into a jungle.

  Chapter 14

  “Where in God’s name have you been?” Whit sounded annoyed, a luxury he rarely allowed himself with Kezia.

  “I’ve been here, and for Heaven’s sake, Whit, you sound like someone ripped ten inches out of your knitting.”

  “I don’t think that’s amusing, Kezia. I’ve been calling you for days.”

  “I had a migraine, and I put the phone on the service.”

  “Oh darling, I am sorry! Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I couldn’t speak to anyone.” Except Lucas. She had spent two days entirely alone since he’d left. Two glorious days. She had needed the time alone to absorb what had happened. He had called her twice a day, his voice gruff and full of laughter and loving and mischief. She could almost feel his hands on her as they spoke.

  “And how are you feeling now, darling?”

  “Wonderful.” Ecstatic. That new sound crept into her voice. Even with Whit.

  “You certainly sound it. And I assume you remember tonight?” He sounded prissy and irritated again.

  “Tonight? What’s tonight?”

  “Oh for God’s sake, Kezia!”

  Oh shit. Duty was calling. “Well, I can’t remember. Migraines do that to me. Remind me. What’s tonight?”

  “The dinners for the Sergeant wedding start tonight.”

  “Jesus. And which one is this?” Had she already missed some of the frivolous fetes? She hoped so.

  “Tonight is the first one. Cassie’s aunt is giving a dinner in their honor. Black tie. Now do you recall, my love?”

  Yes, but she wished to hell she didn’t And he spoke to her as though she were retarded. “Yes, Whit. Now I remember. But I don’t know if I’m up to it.”

  “You said you felt marvelous.”

  “Of course, darling. But I haven’t been out of bed for three days. The dinner might be quite a strain.” And it was also a must and she knew it She had to go, for the column if nothing else. She had had plenty of time off. She had even run roughshod over the column for the past few days. Now back to work, and reality. But how? How, after Luke? The idea was absurd. What reality? Whose? Whit’s? What utter bullshit. Luke was reality now.

  “Well, if you’re not up to it, I suggest you explain it to Mrs. FitzMatthew,” Whit was saying petulantly. “It’s a sit-down dinner for fifty, and she’ll want to know if you’re planning to disrupt her seating arrangement.”

  “I suppose I should go.”

  “I think so.”

  Asshole. “All right, darling. I will.” There was a hint of the martyr in her voice, as she stifled a giggle.

  “You’re a good girl, Kezia. I was really awfully worried about where you were.”

  “I was here.” And so was Luke, for a while.

  “And with a migraine, poor thing. If I’d known, I’d have sent you flowers.”

  “Jesus, I’m glad you didn’t.” It had slipped out.

  “What?”

  “The smell of roses makes the headache worse.” Reprieve.

  “Oh. Then it’s just as well I didn’t know you were ill. Well, rest up for tonight. I’ll come and get you around eight.”

  “Black tie or white tie?”

  “I told you, black. Friday night is white tie.”

  “What’s Friday?” Her whole social calendar had slipped her mind.

  “Those headaches do make you forgetful, don’t they? Friday is the rehearsal dinner. You are going to the wedding, aren’t you?”

  The question was purely rhetorical. But he was in for a shock. “Actually, I don’t know. I’m supposed to go to a wedding in Chicago this weekend. I don’t know which I should do.”

  “Who’s getting married in Chicago?”

  “An old friend from school.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “No one you know, but she’s a very nice girl.”

  “That’s nice. Well, do what you feel best.” But the annoyance was back in his voice again. She was so tiresome at times. “Just let me know what you decide. I had rather counted on your being at the Sergeants’.”

  “We’ll work something out. See you later, love.” She blew him a glib kiss and hung up the phone, pirouetting on one bare foot, the satin robe hanging open to reveal still-suntanned flesh. “A wedding in Chicago.” She laughed over her shoulder as she walked down the hall to run her bath. Hell, it was better than a wedding. She was flying out to meet Luke.

  “Good Lord, you look spectacular, Kezia!” This time even Whit looked impr
essed. She was wearing a filmy silk dress that draped over one shoulder à la grecque. It was a pale coral shade and the fabric seemed to float as she walked. Her hair was done in two long looped braids threaded with gold, and her sandals were a dull gold that barely seemed to hang on her feet. She moved freely like a vision, with coral and diamonds brilliant at her ears and throat. But there was something about the way she moved that troubled Whit as he watched her. She was so striking tonight that it was almost unsettling. “I’ve never seen you look so well, or so beautiful.”

  “Thank you, darling.”

  She smiled at him mysteriously as she whisked past him out the door. The scent of lily of the valley hung close to her. Dior. She looked simply exquisite. And it was more than just looks. Tonight she seemed more a woman than ever before. The change would have frightened him, had they not been such old friends.

  There was a butler waiting for guests in the entrance to the house of Cassie’s aunt. Two parking attendants had been on hand to relieve them of Whit’s car, had he not brought the limousine. Beyond the indomitable butler, Georges, who had once worked for Pétain in Paris in the “good old days,” were two maids in starched black uniforms, waiting expressionlessly to collect wraps and direct ladies to the appropriate bedroom to tend to their faces and hair before making an “appearance.” A second butler intercepted them on their way, to begin the evening with a round of champagne.

  Kezia had a white mink jacket to offer the black uniform that approached her, but no need or desire to “fix her face.”

  “Darling?” Whit held a glass of champagne out to her, and that was the last time he saw her at close range. For the rest of the evening, he caught glimpses of her, laughing at the center of a circle of friends, dancing with men he hadn’t seen on the circuit in years, whispering into someone’s ear, and once or twice he thought he saw her alone on the terrace, looking out over the autumn night on the East River. But she was elusive tonight. Each time he approached, she floated away. It was damn annoying in fact, that feeling of watching a vision, or simply a dream. And people were talking about her. The men were, at least, and in an odd way that troubled him. It was what he wanted, though, or thought he did—“Consort to The Kezia Saint Martin.” He had planned it all carefully years ago but he didn’t like the taste of it lately, or the sound of her voice, or the remark she had made to him that morning. He thought they had an understanding, unspoken but mutually understood. Or was it that you had to put it to them after all? At least everyone thought he did. Kezia was good about that She didn’t care about that sort of thing anyway. Whit knew that. He was certain … or was it … Edward? Suddenly the idea shot into his mind and wouldn’t be banished. Kezia, sleeping with Edward? And the two of them making a fool of him?

  “Good evening, Whit.”

  The object of his newly formed suspicions had appeared at his side. “Evening,” he muttered.

  “Beautiful party, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Edward, it is. Dear Cassie Sergeant is going out in style.”

  “You make her sound like a ship. Though I must say the allusion is not entirely inept” Edward looked virtuous as their gazes fell on the more than slightly rotund form of the soon-to-be bride, poured like cement into pink satin.

  “Mrs. FitzMatthew is certainly doing her best.” Edward smiled vaguely at the crowd around them. The dinner had been superb. Bongo Bongo Soup, Nova Scotia salmon, crayfish flown in from the Rockies, Beluga caviar smuggled in from France in appalling quantities (“You know, darling, France doesn’t have those absurd regulations about putting all that nasty salty stuff in it. Such a frightful thing to do to good caviar!”). The fish course had been followed by rack of lamb and an almost depressing number of vegetables, salade d’endives, and soufflé Grand Marnier—after the Brie, an enormous wheel of it from Fraser Morris on Madison, the only place in town to buy it “And only Carla FitzMatthew could possibly have a staff equal to organizing the task of ***souffié for fifty.”

  “Hell of a dinner, wasn’t it, Whit?”

  Whit nodded grimly. He’d had more than a bit too much to drink, and he didn’t like the new thoughts his mind had turned up.

  “Where’s Kezia, by the way?”

  “You ought to know.”

  “I’m flattered that you think so, Whit. Matter of fact, I haven’t talked to her all evening.”

  “Then save it for bed tonight.” Whitney spoke into his drink, but the words were not lost upon Edward.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Sorry … I suppose she’s here somewhere. Flitting about. Looks rather handsome tonight.”

  “I’d say you could do better than ‘handsome,’ Whitney.” Edward smiled into the last of his wine, musing about Whit’s comment. He didn’t like the tone of Whit’s voice, and he couldn’t have meant what it sounded like. Besides, he was obviously plastered. “The child looks quite extraordinary. I saw you two come in together.”

  “And you won’t see us going out together. How’s that for a surprise?” Whitney was suddenly ugly as he leered a smile at Edward, turned on his heel and then stopped. “Or does that please rather than surprise you?”

  “If you’re planning to leave without Kezia, I think you might tell her. Is anything wrong?”

  “Is anything right? Good night, sir. I leave her to you. You can bid her good evening for me.”

  He was instantly gone in the crowd, depositing his empty glass in Tiffany Benjamin’s hand as he left. She was conveniently standing in his path to the door, and gazed rapturously into the empty glass, waving it instantly for a refill, never noticing that she now had two in her hands.

  Edward watched him go, and wondered what Kezia was up to. Whatever it was, it was clear that Whit didn’t like it, though why, he couldn’t imagine. Polite inquiries had confirmed years of suspicion. Whitney Hayworth III was determinedly gay, though not publicly. Bit of a shabby setup for Kezia, even if she did have that boy in the Village, not that that was a comforting thought. But Whitney … why did he have to … you just couldn’t tell with people anymore. Of course those things had gone on in his youth too, especially among the prep school boys. But it was never taken as seriously then. It was a stopgap measure, so to speak; no one thought of it as a way of life. Just a passing stage before everyone settled down, found a wife, and got married. But not anymore … not anymore….

  “Hello, love. Why so gloomy?”

  “Gloomy? Not gloomy, just thinking.” Edward roused a smile for Kezia’s benefit, and she was easy to smile for.

  “And by the way, your escort just left. In his cups.”

  “He’s been in a bad mood all day. Practically lost his temper with me on the phone this morning. He’s been in a pout because he hasn’t been able to reach me. He’ll get over it. Probably very quickly.” They both knew that Mrs. FitzMatthews’s home was within a few short blocks of Whit’s lover’s. Edward chose to ignore the suggestion.

  “And what have you been up to?”

  “Nothing much. Catching up with a few people here. Cassie’s wedding certainly dragged us all out of hiding. There are people here I haven’t seen in ten years. It’s really a beautiful night, and a very nice party.” She swirled around him, patted his arm, and planted a kiss on his cheek.

  “I thought you didn’t like these gala events.”

  “Once in a great while I do.” He looked at her sternly, and then felt irresistibly pulled into laughter. She was impossible, and so incredibly pretty. No, more than pretty. She was extravagantly beautiful tonight Whitney’s feeble “handsome” had been hopelessly inadequate as praise.

  “Kezia…”

  “Yes, Edward?” She looked angelic, artlessly keeping her eyes on his, and he tried to resist the urge to smile back.

  “Where have you been lately? Whitney’s not the only one who hasn’t been able to reach you. I was a little bit worried.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “The artist? The young man in the Village?”

  Poor t
hing, he actually looked worried. Visions of money fleeing from her frail little hands…. “Not the Village. SoHo. And no, it wasn’t that.”

  “Something else? Or someone else, should I say?”

  Kezia could almost feel her back begin to bristle. “Darling, you worry too much.”

  “Perhaps I have reason to.”

  “Not at my age, you don’t.” She tucked his hand into her arm, and walked him into a circle of his friends, curtailing the conversation, but not allaying his fears. He knew her too well. Something had happened. Something that had never happened before, and she was already subtly altered. He felt it. Knew it. She looked much too happy and much too calm, and as though she had finally flown free from his reach. She was gone now. She wasn’t even at Carla FitzMatthews’s elaborate party. And only Edward knew that. The only thing he didn’t know was where she really was. Or with whom.

  It was half an hour later before Edward noticed that Kezia had left the party. An inquiry here and there told him that she had left alone. It disturbed him. She was not dressed to go gallivanting around the city alone, and he wasn’t sure that Whit had left her the car. Rotten little faggot, he could at least have done that much for her.

  He said his goodnights and hailed a cab to take him to his own apartment on East Eighty-third but somehow he found himself giving the driver Kezia’s address. He was horrified. He had never done that before. Such foolishness … at his age … she was a grown woman … and perhaps she wasn’t alone … but … he simply had to.

  “Kezia?” She answered on the first ring of the house-phone, as Edward stood in embarrassment next to the doorman.