Passion's Promise

by Danielle Steel

  “Edward? Is something wrong?”

  “No. And I’m sorry to do this, but may I come up?”

  “Of course.” She hung up and he was upstairs a moment later.

  She was waiting for him in the open doorway, as he emerged from the elevator. She looked suddenly worried as she stood barefoot in her evening gown, her hair loose, and her jewelry put away. And Edward found himself feeling like a fool.

  “Edward, are you all right?” He nodded and she let him into the apartment.

  “Kezia … I … I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come, but I had to make sure you’d gotten home all right. I don’t like to think of you dripping in diamonds and going home unescorted.”

  “Darling, darling worrywart, is that all?” She laughed softly and her face broke into a smile. “Good God, Edward, I thought something dreadful had happened.”

  “Maybe it did.”

  “Oh?” Her face grew serious again for a moment.

  “I think I finally became senile tonight. I suppose I should have called instead of dropping by.”

  “Well, now that you’re here, how about a drink?” She didn’t deny that he should have called, but she was always gracious. “Some poire, or framboise?” She waved him into a chair and went to the Chinese inlaid chest where she kept the liquor. Edward remembered it well; he had been with her mother when she had bought it at Sotheby’s.

  “Poire, thank you, dear.” He sank tiredly into one of the familiar blue velvet chairs, and watched her pour the potent transparent liqueur into a tiny glass. “You really are a good sport about your old Uncle Edward.”

  “Don’t be silly.” She handed him the drink with a smile and sank to the floor near his feet.

  “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” She waved the compliment away and lit a cigarette, as he sipped at his poire. She was beginning to wonder if he’d already had too much to drink. He seemed a bit doleful as the moments ticked on. And she was waiting for a phone call from Luke.

  “I’m glad you’re all right” he began. And then he couldn’t stop himself anymore. “Kezia, what are you up to?” He simply had to know.

  “Absolutely nothing. I’m sitting here next to you and I had been about to get undressed and do some work on the column. I want to phone it in in the morning…. I don’t think Carla’s going to like me when I do. She’s too easy to poke fun at. I couldn’t resist.”

  Kezia was trying to keep things light but Edward looked older and more tired than she had ever seen him.

  “Can’t you be serious for a moment? I didn’t mean what you were doing right now. I meant … well, you look different lately.”

  “How lately?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Do I look worried, sick, unhappy, undernourished? What kind of different?” She didn’t like his questioning and now she was going to turn it around on him quickly. It was high time to stop this kind of nonsense. And she didn’t want any more unannounced late night visits.

  “No, no, nothing like that. You look extremely well.”

  “And you’re worried?”

  “Yes, but … all right, all right, dammit. You know what I mean, Kezia. And you’re just like your bloody father. You don’t tell anyone anything until after the fact. And then everyone else has to pick up the pieces.”

  “Darling, I assure you, you will never have to pick up any pieces, not for me. And since we both agree that I look rested, healthy, and well-fed, my account is not overdrawn, and I have not appeared naked at the Oak Room … what is there to worry about?” Her voice was only a trifle sharp.

  “You’re being evasive.” He sighed. He didn’t have a chance and he knew it.

  “No, darling. I’m enjoying the right to a little privacy, no matter how much I love you, or how good a father you’ve been to me. I’m all grown up now, love. I don’t ask if you sleep with your maid or your secretary, or what sort of things you do alone in the bathroom at night.” Something about Edward told her he’d perform rituals like that in the bathroom, where they “belonged.”

  “Kezia! That’s shocking!” He looked angry and pained. Nothing went his way anymore. Not with her.

  “It’s no more shocking than what you’re basically asking me. You just say it more gently than I do.”

  “All right. I understand.”

  “I’m glad.” It was high time. “But just to put your fidgety old soul to rest, I can honestly tell you that there’s nothing for you to worry about right now. Nothing.”

  “Will you tell me when there is?”

  “Would I cheat you of an opportunity to worry?”

  He laughed and sat back in his chair. “All right. I’m impossible. I know it, and I’m sorry. No … I’m not sorry. I like knowing that all’s right with your life. And now I’ll let you finish your work. You must have gotten some good items for the column tonight.” The room had been ripe with gossip. And he was embarrassed at having probed, at being in her apartment at all, at this unsuitable hour. It wasn’t easy being a surrogate father. And even less so being in love with your surrogate child.

  “I got some very good items, as a matter of fact, along with tales of Carla’s orgy of opulence. It really is a disgrace to spend thousands on a party.”

  She sounded like the old Kezia again, the one who didn’t frighten him, the one he knew so well and who would always be his.

  “And of course I’ll include me in the gossip,” she announced with a bright smile.

  “Little wretch. What are you going to say about yourself? That you looked stunningly beautiful, I hope.”

  “No, well, maybe a mention of the dress. But actually I’ve written up Whit’s charming exit.”

  Was she angry? Could she possibly care? “But why?”

  “Because, to put it bluntly, the time for fun and games is over. I think it’s time Whit went his way and I went mine. And Whit hasn’t got the balls to do it, and maybe neither have I, so if I run something embarrassing, his friend on Sutton Place will do it for us. If he’s anyone at all, he won’t tolerate Whit being publicly ridiculed.”

  “My God, Kezia. What did you write?”

  “Nothing indecent. I’m certainly not going to make scandalous accusations in the press. I wouldn’t do that to Whit or myself. The point is really that I haven’t time to play these games after all. And it isn’t good for Whit either. All I said in the column was that … here, I’ll read it to you.” She put on a businesslike voice and went to her desk. He watched her, feeling hunger in his heart.

  “’The usual lovebirds were thick in the flock; Francesco Cellini and Miranda Pavano-Casteja; Jane Roberts and Bentley Forbes; Maxwell Dart and Courtney Williamson, and of course Kezia Saint Martin and her standby consort Whitney Hayworth III, although this couple was seldom seen together last night as they each appeared to take flight on their own. It was also noticed that in what appeared to be a fit of pique, Whitney made an early solo exit, leaving Kezia ‘midst the rest of the doves, hawks, and parrots. Perhaps the elegant Whitney grows tired of following in her wake? Heiresses can be such demanding people. Also of interest in Carla FitzMatthew’s baronial halls….’ Well, how does it sound?” She sounded suddenly chirpy and unaffected by what she had written; the business voice was put away with the column. And news was news and gossip was gossip, and Edward knew it all bored her anyway. He looked over at her with a dubious smile. “It sounds rather uncomfortable. Frankly, I don’t think he’ll like it.”

  “He’s not meant to. It’s supposed to be somewhat demeaning. And if he doesn’t have the balls to tell me to go to hell after what I’m doing to his public image, then his boyfriend will tell him he has no guts. I think this will get to him.”

  “Why don’t you just tell him it’s over?”

  “Because the only good reason I have is the one I’m not supposed to know. That, and the fact that he bores me. And hell, Edward, I don’t know … maybe I’m cowardly. I’d rather leave it to him. With a good prod in the right direction from me. It see
ms as though anything I could say to him directly would be too insulting.”

  “And what you said in the column is better?”

  “Of course not. But he doesn’t know I said it.”

  Edward laughed ruefully as he finished his drink and stood up. “Well, let me know if your plot has any effect.”

  “It will. I’d bet on it.”

  “And then what? You announce that in the column too?”

  “No. I thank God.”

  “Kezia, you confuse me. But on that note, my dear, I bid you good night. Sorry to have called on you so late.”

  “I’ll forgive you this time.”

  The phone rang as she walked him to the door and she looked suddenly excited.

  “I’ll let myself out.”

  “Thanks,” she smiled, pecked his cheek and ran back to her desk in the living room with a broad smile, leaving Edward to shut the door softly and wait for the elevator alone.

  “Hi, Mama. Too late to call?” It was Luke.

  “Of course not and I was just thinking about you.” She smiled, holding the phone.

  “So was I. I miss the hell out of you, babe.”

  She unzipped her dress and walked the phone into the bedroom. It was so good to hear his voice in the room again. It was almost as though he were there. She could still feel his touch … still…. “I love you and miss you. A whole bunch.”

  “Good. Want to come to Chicago this weekend?”

  “I was praying you’d ask.”

  He laughed gruffly into her ear and took a puff on one of the Cuban cigars. He gave her the number of the flight he wanted her on, blew her a kiss and hung up.

  She slipped happily out of the dress, and stood smiling for a moment before getting ready for bed. What a marvelous man Lucas was. Edward had fled entirely from her mind. As had Whit, whose call was the first she got the next morning.

  Chapter 15

  “Kezia? Whitney.”

  “Yes, darling. I know.” She knew a lot more than he did.

  “What do you know?”

  “I know that it’s you, silly. What time is it?”

  “Past noon. Did I wake you?”

  “Hardly. I just wondered.” So, it had run in the morning’s second edition. She had gotten up at the crack of dawn to phone it in.

  I think we ought to have lunch.” He sounded very crisp and very businesslike, and very nervous.

  “Right this minute? I’m not dressed.” It was rotten but she was amused. He was so easy to play with.

  “No, no, when you’re ready, of course. La Grenouille at one?”

  “How delightful. I wanted to call you anyway. I’ve decided to go to that wedding in Chicago this weekend. I really think I should go.”

  “I think you probably should. And Kezia …”

  “Yes, darling, what?”

  “Have you seen the papers today?”

  Obviously, darling. I wrote them. At least the part you mean…. “No. Why? Is the nation at war? Actually, you sound quite upset.”

  “Read the Hallam column. You’ll understand.”

  “Oh dear. Something nasty?”

  “We’ll discuss it at lunch.”

  “All right, darling, see you then.”

  As he hung up, he chewed on a pencil. Christ, he hoped she’d be reasonable. It was really getting to be a bit too much. Armand wasn’t going to put up with much more of this nonsense. He had thrown the front section at Whitney at breakfast, along with a terrifying ultimatum. Above all Whit couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t. He loved him.

  Once settled at their table at La Grenouille, their conversation was staccato but direct. Or rather, Whit’s was direct, and Kezia kept quiet. It was simply that he had gotten far too attached to her, felt far too possessive about her, and knew he had no right to. She had made that much clear. And how did that make him look? And what’s more, he had so little to offer her at this point in his life; he wasn’t even a partner in the firm, and in light of who she was … and it was all getting so painful for him … and did she understand his position at all? It was just that he knew she would never marry him, and while she would always be the love of his life, he simply had to get married and have children, and she wasn’t ready and … oh God, wasn’t it awful?

  Kezia nodded mutely and gulped her Quenelles Nantua. What was a girl to do? And yes, she understood perfectly, and he was quite right of course, she was light-years away from marriage, and possibly because of the death of her parents and being an only child, she’d probably never marry, to preserve her name. And children were not something she could even faintly imagine anyway, and she felt just awful if she’d hurt him, but this was probably all for the best. For both of them. She granted him the kindness of being right. And they would always remain the “dearest friends alive.” Forever.

  Whitney made a mental note to have Effie send her flowers once a week until she was ninety-seven. Thank God, she had taken it well. And hell, maybe he had had the right idea when he suspected she had something going with Edward. You never knew with Kezia, you only sensed that there was a lot more to her than she let on to, underneath all the poise and perfection. But who gave a damn? He was free! Free of all those intolerable evenings being the man on her arm. And naturally, to recover from the “terrible pain of it all,” he wouldn’t be seen socially for months … and he could finally live a life on Sutton Place with Armand. It was about time too. Armand had made that much clear over breakfast. After three years of waiting, he had had it. And now with Whitney humiliated in the newspapers … Hallam had made him sound like a puppy nipping at Kezia’s skirts, and maybe it was a good thing after all. He had finally done it. No more pretense, no more Kezia. Not for him.

  * * *

  Kezia walked away from La Grenouille with a spring in her step and wandered down Fifth Avenue to peek in the windows at Saks. She was going to Chicago … Chicago … Chicago! And she was finally free of Whit, and she had done it in the best possible way. Poor bastard, he had been ready to cry with relief. She almost hated to look so somber about it. She wanted to congratulate him and herself. What they should have been doing was clinking champagne glasses and shouting with glee, after all the years they’d wasted putting on a show for their friends, and hell, they weren’t even married. But they had been a good front for each other. A front. Thank God, she had never married him. Jesus. The very thought made her tremble.

  And then another tremor went through her. It had been days, a week … a long time … she didn’t even know how long. She hadn’t even thought of him. Mark. But all in one day? In one fell swoop like that? Clean slate? Both of them? Wasn’t that too much to handle? She cared a hell of a lot more about Mark than she did about Whit. Whit was in love. He had a man of his own. But Mark? God, it was like having two wisdom teeth pulled in one day.

  But her feet carried her irreversibly toward the subway at Fifty-first Street and Lexington. She had to. She really had to. And she knew it.

  The train bumped along on its route pointing south, and she wondered why. For Luke? But that was crazy. She hardly knew him. And what if he canceled the weekend and never saw her again? Or what if she went to Chicago for the weekend, but he never saw her again after that? What if … but she knew it wasn’t for Luke. It was for Kezia. She had to. She couldn’t play games anymore. Not with Whit, or Mark, or Edward, or anyone … or herself. The many skins of the snake that was Kezia Saint Martin were peeling away. Now there would be a piece for the column.

  It was a lot harder with Mark. Because she cared.

  “You’re going away?”

  “Yes.” She held his eyes and wanted to stroke his hair, but she couldn’t do that to him. Not to Mark.

  “But that didn’t make any difference this summer.” He looked hurt and confused and even younger than he was.

  “It makes a difference now, though. Maybe I’ll stay away for a very long time. A year, two years, I don’t really know.”

  “Kezia, are you getting married?” The question
was suddenly blunt and she wanted to say yes, just to make it easier, but she didn’t want to tell him that either. It was enough to say that she was going away. That was simpler.

  “No, baby. I’m not getting married. I’m just going. And in my own way, I love you. Too much to screw you up. I’m older than you are, we both have things to do with our lives. Different things, separate things. It’s time now, Marcus. I think you know that too.” He had finished the bottle of Chianti before she finished her second glass. They ordered another.

  “Can I ask you something crazy?”

  “What?”

  He smiled at her, hesitating; the boyish half smile she loved so much was all over his face. But that was the trouble. She loved the smile, the hair, The Partridge, and the studio. She didn’t really love Mark. Not way down deep. Not the way she loved Luke. Not enough.

  “Are you the chick I saw in the paper that time?”

  She waited a long moment before answering. Something pounded in her ears, and then she looked at him. Straight in the eye. “Yes. Probably. So?”

  “So, I was curious. What’s it feel like to be like that?”

  “Lonely. Scary. Dull a lot of the time. It’s not so hot.”

  “Is that why you kept coming down here? Because it was dull and you were bored?”

  “No. Maybe originally, just to get away. But you’ve been someone very special to me, Mark.”

  “Was I an escape?”

  Yes. But how could she tell him that? And why tell him now? Oh, please, don’t let me hurt him … Not more than I have to.

  “No. You’re a person. A beautiful person. A person I loved.”

  “Loved? Not ‘love’?” He looked at her, tears swimming bleakly in the childlike eyes.

  “Times change, Marcus. And we have to let them change, for both our sakes. It only gets ugly when people try to hang on. It’s too late then. For both our sakes, I have to go.”

  He nodded sadly into his wine, and she touched his face for one last time before she stood up and walked away. She half ran once she got out the door. Mercifully, a cab was cruising down the street. She hailed it and slipped inside, so he couldn’t see the tears running down her face. Nor could she see the tears on his. He never saw her again. Only in the papers, now and then.