Passion's Promise

by Danielle Steel

  The phone was ringing as she came through the door. She felt wrung out. It had been like two wisdom teeth after all. Four wisdom teeth. Nine. A hundred. And now what? It couldn’t be Whit. Edward? Her agent?

  “Hi, Mama.” It was Luke.

  “Hi, love. Oh God, it’s good to hear your voice. I’m beat.” She had needed the sound of him so badly … his touch … his arms….

  “What’d you do today?”

  “Everything. Nothing. It was a horrible day.”

  “Christ, you make it sound like it.”

  “I just ‘took care of business,’ as you’d say. I planted a nasty little piece in the column last night, designed to make Whit’s lover jealous.” She had no secrets from Luke. He knew her whole life now. “Which it did, so we had lunch and got that squared away. No more Whitney to squire me to parties.”

  “You sound upset. Is that the way you wanted it?”

  “Yes, that’s why I did it. I just wanted to do it in some way that wouldn’t ruin his ego. I felt I owed him that after all these years. We played a game till the end. And then I went down to SoHo, and got that all cleared up. I feel like the bitch of the year.”

  “Yeah. Those things never feel good. I’m sorry you had to deal with all that in one day.” But he didn’t sound sorry, and she knew that he was relieved. It made her glad she had done it.

  “It had to be done. And it’s a relief. I’m just tired. And what about you, love? Busy day?”

  “Not as busy as yours. What else you been up to, babe? No fancy benefit meetings?” He chuckled in the phone and she groaned. “Now what did I say?”

  “The magic word … oh shit. You just reminded me. I’m due at a goddamn Arthritis meeting at five, and it’s already that now. Oh Fuck And Shit!” He laughed at her and she giggled.

  “Martin Hallam should only hear that!”

  “Oh shut up.”

  “Well, I’ve got more good news for you. I hate to hit you with it on a day like today. You can’t come to Chicago this weekend, babe. Something came up and I have to go to the coast.”

  “What coast?” What in hell did he mean?

  “The West Coast, my love. Christ, Kezia, I hate to do this to you. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m terrific.”

  “Now come on, be a big girl.”

  “Does that mean I can’t see you?”

  “Yes. It does.”

  “Couldn’t I fly out to meet you out there?”

  “No, babe, you can’t. It wouldn’t be cool.”

  “Why not, for chrissake? Oh Luke, I had a perfectly horrible day, and now this … please let me come out.”

  “Baby, I can’t. I’m going to be organizing a heavy little business deal, you might say. It’s touchy for me, and it’s not a scene I want you involved in. It’s going to be a rough couple of weeks.”

  “That long?” She wanted to cry.

  “Maybe. I’ll see.”

  She took a deep breath, and swallowed, and tried to untangle her mind. What a bitch of a day.

  “Luke, will you be all right?”

  He hesitated for just a moment before he said, “I’ll be fine. Now you just go to your colitis meeting, or whatever the fuck it is, and don’t worry your pretty little head about me. This is one dude who can take care of himself. That much you should know.”

  “Famous last words.”

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I’m back. Just remember one thing.”

  “What?”

  “That I love you.” At least there was that.

  They hung up and Luke paced the length of his suite in Chicago. Shit, he was crazy to get involved with her. And now of all times, when things were starting to get hot. She was starting to depend on him, and she wanted more than he could give. He had other things to think about, the commitments he had made, the men he wanted to help, and he had his own ass to think of now, and the fucking pigs who’d been following him for weeks. Days, years, it felt as though he had always had them on his tail, like vultures swooping down on him, coming just close enough to let him know they were there, and then disappearing again behind a cloud. But he always knew they were there. He could always feel it.

  He walked to the bar and poured himself a long tall bourbon in a water glass. No water, no soda, no ice, and swallowed it without putting the glass down. And then, as though he had to know, he took three long strides to the door of his suite and yanked it open with a jerk that should have pulled it off its hinges, but didn’t. It shuddered briefly in his hand, and he stood there, and so did the man in the corner. He looked shocked to see Luke, and had jumped when the door opened. He was wearing a hat, and walked down the corridor trying to look like a man going somewhere, but he wasn’t. He looked every inch what he was, a cop on an assignment. The tail on Luke Johns.

  Kezia’s feet felt like lead as she stepped into the cab. The meeting was being held on upper Fifth Avenue. With a view of the park. At Tiffany’s apartment. Three floors on Ninety-second and Fifth. And bourbon or scotch. No mickey-mousing around with lemonade or sherry at her place. There would also be gin and vodka for those who preferred that. At home, Tiffany stuck to Black Label.

  She was standing near the door when Kezia arrived, with a double scotch on the rocks in one hand.

  “Kezia! How divine! You look fabulous, and we were just getting started. You haven’t missed anything!” That was for sure.

  “Goodie.” Tiffany was too far gone to notice the tone of Kezia’s voice or the blurry look around her eyes where her mascara had run when she’d cried. The day had taken its toll.

  “Bourbon or scotch?”

  “Both.”

  Tiffany looked momentarily baffled. She was already drunk, and had been since noon.

  “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to confuse you. Make it scotch and soda, but don’t bother. I’ll make it myself.” Kezia strode to the bar, and for this rare occasion she matched Tiffany drink for drink. It was the second time she had gotten drunk because of Luke, but at least the last time she’d been happy.

  Chapter 16

  “Kezia?” It was Edward.

  “Hi, love. What’s new?”

  “That’s what I wanted to ask you. Do you realize that I haven’t seen or heard from you in almost three weeks?”

  “Don’t feel alone. No one has. I’ve been hibernating.” She was munching on an apple as she talked to him, with her feet on the desk.

  “Are you ill?”

  “No. Just busy.”

  “Writing?”

  “Yup.”

  “I haven’t seen you anywhere. I was beginning to worry.”

  “Well, don’t. I’ve been fine. I’ve been out a couple of times, just to keep my hand in the game for the column. But my ‘appearances’ have been brief and sporadic, I’m sticking pretty close to home.”

  “Any particular reason?” He was probing again, and she continued to munch on her apple noncommittally.

  “No particular reason. Just work. And I wasn’t in the mood to go out more than I absolutely had to.”

  “Afraid to run into Whit?”

  “No … well … maybe a little. I was more afraid to run into all the local big mouths. But actually, I’ve just been snowed under with work. I’m doing three articles, all with deadlines next week.”

  “I’m glad you’re all right then. Actually, my dear, I was wondering if you wanted to have lunch.”

  She made a face and put down the apple core. Shit “Well, love, I’ll tell you …” Then she started to laugh. “Okay. I’ll have lunch with you. But not at any of the usual spots.”

  “My God, I do believe the girl’s becoming a recluse.” He laughed back but there was still a hint of worry in his voice. “Kezia, are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Wonderful. Honest.” But she’d have been a lot happier if she could have seen Luke. They were still burning the long distance wires twice a day, but be couldn’t have her around. There was still too much happening. So she had been burying h
erself in her work.

  “All right Then where do you want to have lunch?”

  “I know a nice natural foods bar on East Sixty-third. How does that sound to you?”

  “You want the truth?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Repulsive.”

  She laughed at the sound of his voice. “Be a sport, darling. You’ll love it.”

  “For you, Kezia … even a natural foods bar. But tell me the truth, is it dreadful?”

  “What if it is! You order a baggie from Lutèce and bring it along.”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  “Then give this a try. It’s really not bad.”

  “Ahhh … youth.”

  They agreed to meet at twelve-thirty, and she was already there when he arrived. He looked around, and it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. The people at the small wooden tables were a healthy mix of midtown Eastsiders. Secretaries, art directors, hippies, pretty girls in blue jeans with portfolios at their sides, boys in flannel shirts and shoulder-length hair, and here and there a man in a suit. Neither he nor Kezia stood out in their midst, and he was relieved. It was certainly not La Grenouille, but thank God it wasn’t Horn & Hardart’s either … not that there was anything wrong with their food … but the people. The people! They just weren’t Edward’s style. And one never knew what Kezia had up her sleeve. The girl had a fiendish sense of humor.

  She was sitting at a corner table when he approached, and he could see that she was wearing jeans. He smiled a long smile into her eyes and he leaned down to kiss her when he got to the table.

  “I have missed you so, child.” He never realized quite how much until he saw her again. It was the same feeling he got every year at their first lunch after the summer. It had been almost a month this time too.

  “I’ve missed you too, love. Hell, I haven’t seen you in ages. And it’s almost Halloween.” She giggled mischievously and he searched her face as he settled into a chair. There was something different about her eyes … that same something different he had noticed the last time he’d seen her. And she was suddenly thinner.

  “You’ve lost weight.” It was a fatherly accusation.

  “Yes, but not very much. I eat funny when I write.”

  “You ought to make it a point to eat well.”

  “At Le Mistral perhaps? Or is it healthier to feed one’s face at La Cote Basque?” She was teasing him again, not unkindly, but nevertheless with a new vehemence.

  “Kezia, child, you’re really too old to consider becoming a hippie.” He was teasing her back. But not entirely.

  “You’re absolutely right, darling. I wouldn’t even consider it. Just a hard-working slave to my typewriter. I suddenly feel as though I’ve come into my own with my work. It’s a beautiful feeling.”

  He nodded silently and lit a cigar. He wondered if that’s what it was. Maybe she would eventually simply retire into her work. At least it was respectable. But it didn’t seem likely. And he was still troubled by the subtle alterations he sensed, but couldn’t quite see. He could see that she was thinner, more angular, more intense. And she spoke differently now, as though she had finally taken her place in her beliefs, in her work. But the change went deeper than that. Much deeper. He knew it.

  “Do they serve anything to drink in this place?” He looked mournfully at the menu chalked up on a board on the wall. There was no mention of cocktails, only carrot or clam juice. His stomach rebelled at the thought.

  “Oh, Edward, I didn’t even think of a drink for you. I am sorry!” Her eyes were laughing again and she patted his hand. “You know, I’ve really missed you too. But I’ve needed to be left alone.”

  “I’d say it had done you good, but I’m not entirely sure of that either. You look as though you’ve been working too hard.” She nodded slowly.

  “Yes. I have. I want to get into it now. And you know, it’s becoming a strain to get out that damn column. Maybe I ought to retire.” Here, she felt no qualms about discussing the doings of Martin Hallam. No one would have cared.

  “Are you serious about giving it up?” The prospect troubled him. If she gave up the column, how often would he see her among the familiar faces at all the city’s gala events?

  “I’ll see. I won’t do anything rash. But I’m giving it some thought. Seven years is a very long time. Maybe it’s time for Martin Hallam to quit.”

  “And Kezia Saint Martin?”

  She didn’t answer, but quietly met his eyes.

  “Kezia, you’re not doing anything foolish, are you, dear? I was relieved to hear of your decision about Whitney. But I rather wondered if it meant …”

  “No. I ended it with my young friend in SoHo too. On the same day in fact. It was sort of a purge. A pogrom. And a relief, in the end.”

  “And you’re all alone now?”

  She nodded, but what a pest he could be. “Yes. Me and my work. I love it.” She gave him a radiant smile.

  “Perhaps that’s what you need for a while. But don’t get all severe and intense. It wouldn’t become you.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because you’re far too pretty and far too young to waste yourself on a typewriter. For a while, yes. But don’t lose yourself for too long.”

  “Not ‘lose’ myself, Edward? I feel like I’ve finally ‘found’ myself.”

  Oh lord, this was going to be one of those days when her face looked just like her father’s. Something told him the girl had made up her mind. About something, whatever it was. “Just be cautious, Kezia.” He relit his cigar, keeping his eyes deep in hers. “And don’t forget who you are.”

  “Do you have any idea how often I’ve heard that?” And how sick it makes me by now. “And don’t worry, darling, I couldn’t possibly forget. You wouldn’t let me.”

  There was something hard in her eyes now, which made him uncomfortable.

  “Well, shall we order?” She smiled flippantly and waved at the board. “I suggest the avocado and shrimp omelette. It’s superb.”

  “Shall I catch you a cab?”

  “No. I’ll walk. I’m in love with this town in October.”

  It was a crisp autumn day, windswept and clear. In another month it would be cold, but not yet. It was that exquisite time of year in New York when everything feels clean and bright and alive, and you want to walk from one end of the world to the other. Kezia always did, at least.

  “Call me in a bit, will you, Kezia? I worry when I don’t hear anything from you for weeks on end. And I don’t want to intrude.”

  Since when, darling? Since when? “You never do. And thanks for the lunch. And you see … it wasn’t so bad!” She hugged him briefly, kissed his cheek, and walked away, turning to wave as she stopped for the light at the corner.

  She walked down Third Avenue to Sixtieth Street and then cut west to the park. It took her out of her way, but she was in no rush to go home. She was well ahead in her work, and it was too nice a day to hurry indoors. She took deep breaths and smiled at the pink-cheeked children on the street. It was rare to see children look healthy in New York. Either they had the grayish-green tinge of deep winter, or the hot pale sweaty look of the blistering summers. Spring came so fleetingly to Manhattan. But fall … fall, with its crisp crunchy apples, and pumpkins on fruit stands waiting to have faces carved on them for Halloween. Brisk winds that swept the sky clean of gray. And people walking along with a quickened pace. New Yorkers didn’t suffer in October, they enjoyed. They weren’t too hot or too cold or too tired or too cross. They were happy and gay and alive. And Kezia walked in their midst, feeling good.

  Leaves brushçd the walks in the park, swirling about her feet. Children bounced in the carriage at the pony stand, squealing for another ride. The animals at the zoo bobbed their heads as she walked past, and the carillon began its tune as she approached. She stopped and watched it with all the mothers and children. It was funny. That was something she had never thought of before. Not for herself. Children. How strange it wou
ld be to have a little person beside you. Someone to laugh at and giggle with and wipe chocolate ice cream from his chin, and tuck into bed after reading a story, or snuggle close to as he climbed into your bed in the morning. But then, you’d have to tell him who he was, and what was expected of him, and what he’d have to do when he grew up “if he loved you.” That was the reason she had never even remotely wanted children. Why do that to someone else? It was enough that she had to live with it for all those years. No, no children. Never.

  The carillon stopped its tune, and the dancing gold animals stopped their mechanical waltz. The children began to drift away or rush toward hovering vendors. She watched them, and suddenly wanted a red balloon for herself. She bought one for a quarter and tied it to the button on her sleeve. It danced in the wind, high above her head, just below the branches of towering trees, and she laughed; she wanted to skip all the way home.

  Her walk took her past the model boat pond, and at Seventy-second Street she reluctantly left the park. She ambled out slowly, the balloon bobbing as she walked behind nannies who prowled the park sedately, pushing oversized English prams covered with lace. A clique of French nurses moved like a battalion down the walk, toward an oncoming gaggle of British nannies. It amused her to watch the obvious though sugar-coated hostility between the two national tribes. And she knew too that the American nurses were left to their own devices, shunned by both the British and French. The Swiss and Germans willingly kept to themselves. And the black women who cared for equally sumptuously outfitted babies did not exist. They were the untouchable caste.

  Kezia waited for traffic to ebb, and eventually wandered over to Madison to stroll past the boutiques on her way home. She was glad she had walked. Her mind wandered slowly back to Luke. It seemed forever since she had seen him. And she was trying so hard to be good about it. Working hard, being a good sport, laughing with him when he called, but something was curling up tightly inside her. It was like a small, dark kernel of sad, and no matter what she did she couldn’t get rid of it. It was heavy and tight. Like a fist. How could she miss him so much?