“He’s not fooling around behind Angie’s back, is he?” Lenore’s voice was low, secretive, almost excited.
“I don’t know. So I worry. I think I’d feel better if his hair began to thin, or if he developed a pot belly.” She took a quick breath. “And then there’s Jordan. He doesn’t show any signs of wanting to settle down. Instead, what does he do? He does crazy things with his business. One minute it looks like he’ll lose it all, and I can see Jack sitting in his office waiting to say, ‘Ah-ha, I told you so!’ The next minute he salvages everything. And through it I sit chewing my nails.”
Cassie saw that for the figure of speech it was. Natalie had beautiful nails—long, well shaped, manicured on a weekly basis. Much like Lenore’s.
“But you have Anne,” Lenore pointed out. “She has to be rewarding for you and Jack.”
“And you have Laura. I could say the same thing there.”
“Laura is exactly like me. She’s boring.”
“You are not boring. You’re well read. You’re knowledgeable about what’s happening in the world. You’re charming and personable—that is, when you’re not wallowing in self-pity.”
“Is that what I’m doing now?”
“Yes.”
Lenore turned to Cassie. “Am I wallowing in self-pity?”
Cassie drew back. “I really shouldn’t be here.”
“Yes you should,” Lenore returned crossly. “You know as much, if not more, about this family than anyone does. So I want you to tell me—honestly—if you think I’m wallowing in self-pity.”
“I, well, you do have some legitimate concerns—”
“Am I wallowing in self-pity?”
Cassie took a breath. “Yes.”
“Thank you,” Lenore said firmly, then looked from Natalie to Cassie and back. “Why is it that neither of you are doing it? God only knows you’ve both got the right.”
“No one has that right,” Cassie said softly.
Natalie agreed. “It’s counterproductive.”
“Counterproductive to what? What else is there?”
“You have to do something,” Natalie said. “Cassie and I have things to keep us occupied. If you had something to wake up for every day—”
“I should go to work? At my age?”
“For God’s sake, Lenore. You’re only sixty. Okay, it may be a little late to enter a profession, but there has to be something that interests you.”
“Being with my husband interests me,” Lenore blurted out, then went on without realizing, or caring, that Cassie was there, “but he doesn’t want me around. He never has. He’s perfectly happy to stay in Washington and call me down whenever there’s a social engagement that calls for my presence, but he doesn’t want my company. He’s made that clear.”
“That’s not what I see,” Cassie said, quietly but bluntly. Both Lenore and Natalie turned to look at her. “I think he’d very much like to have you around, but he’s felt you haven’t wanted it.”
Natalie nodded. “Of course, Cassie’s right. You’ve always chosen solitude over him. You’d rather hide in that bedroom of yours—”
“I go there when I’m upset,” Lenore argued in her own defense.
“But you’re upset all the time, and about the wrong things. Honestly, Lenore, you can’t let every little thing bother you. There’s no point to it. Maybe if you spent more time in Washington with Gil—I mean, you could always do something in his office, even it it meant stuffing envelopes.”
“I don’t like Washington. I feel safer here.”
“Safer? Against what?”
“Against … against … oh, I don’t know! There are so many things.”
“Maybe you should start analyzing them one by one. My guess is that you’d find there weren’t so many things, and that the ones that do exist aren’t really all that threatening.”
“I’d be a thorn in his side.”
“Not if you were your charming best.”
“But a woman shouldn’t have to be her charming best all the time, especially in front of her husband.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Lenore,” Natalie cautioned. “A man needs to see the charm directed at him sometimes. It’s not enough that the only time it shows is when there are others around.”
“But I can’t compete! I can’t compete with all those lovely young things who work for him!”
“Ahh. That’s it, then. You’re going to give it all up without a fight.”
“There isn’t much left to give up. And you’re a fine one to talk, Natalie Whyte. Jack isn’t home any more than Gil is. What do you think he’s doing for his daily dose of charm?”
Natalie was silent. Cassie wanted to wither into the carton she sat on. The air in the attic seemed suddenly colder and very stale. Even Lenore seemed to have run out of words.
Lips pursed, Natalie studied the oval tip of one of her perfectly manicured fingernails. “I’ve known about Jack’s escapades for years. I … accept them.”
“And you’re going to give it all up without a fight?” Lenore asked, repeating Natalie’s own words but more gently.
Natalie raised her head. “I’m not giving it all up. When Jack is with me he’s with me.”
“But is that often enough?”
“No. Not for me. But I can’t change him, Lenore. All I can do is change myself to adapt to him.”
“You shouldn’t have to do that. I shouldn’t have to do that.”
When Natalie spoke again, she wore an expression of profound sadness. “What we should or shouldn’t have to do in life is sometimes irrelevant. It’s what circumstances dictate we do that matters.”
Lenore debated silently for a minute. “I’m not sure I like that idea,” she whispered at last.
“Neither do I,” Natalie answered, “but that’s the way it is.”
Cassie could do no more than offer a sad nod of agreement.
Chapter 15
After the visit with his father, Jordan returned to New York. He didn’t snap at a single flight attendant or chew out a single cabbie, though either of those must have thought him soft, what with the silly smile he wore. He spent every free minute dreaming, conjuring up the most exquisite seduction. If Katia wanted satin sheets and candlelight, satin sheets and candlelight she would have. If she wanted champagne and caviar, or a bed of roses, or a goddamned Bedouin tent, he’d get those for her, too.
Unfortunately, she wouldn’t know beforehand, so he would have to use his own judgment. He wanted their first time together to be a wonderful surprise.
He was in for the surprise, though, when he went to Katia’s office the following morning. Oh, she was there, all right. She was bent over her drawing board as he had seen her many times before. But there was no smile on her face when she saw him. She neither stood to give him a hug nor held out a hand.
“Jordan,” she said with a short nod in greeting.
The chill in her tone brought back their phone conversation of the Friday before. Jordan had been so delighted by what he had learned from his father that he had completely forgotten that Katia was angry with him.
No sweat, he told himself. She would come around in no time. She always had. After all, she loved him.
“I brought the architects’ preliminary drawings,” he offered on a light note as he crossed her office to place them in front of her.
She promptly tossed the large envelope of drawings onto her desk. “I’ll take a look at them later. You say they’re only the preliminaries?”
“I pushed for even these.”
“You shouldn’t have bothered. If they’re only preliminary they won’t do me much good. I can’t plan artwork around sketches that are bound to change. I’ll wait for the final ones and save myself some work.”
“I thought … well, maybe these will give you some ideas.”
“I already have some ideas. When I get the final drawings I can do something with them.” Pen in hand, she returned to her board.
“Wor
king on something good?” he asked in his most congenial tone.
“I hope so.”
“What is it?”
“A soup ad.”
“Mmm, mmm, good.”
“Cute.” But still she didn’t smile.
“Ah, listen, Katia. I know you’re pissed at me.”
Her pen went to work. “No I’m not.”
“You are. I can tell.”
“I’m busy. That’s all.”
“Then maybe we can meet later and talk.” He pictured a lunchtime rendezvous at his place. He would supply the lunch, but they would never get to it because they’d be feasting on each other.
“It’s a bad day, Jordan. I’m sorry.”
“Tonight, then. I don’t care how late.”
“I’m really bushed. It was a busy weekend.”
“Busy … how?” he asked with caution.
“Use your imagination.”
His imagination was lethal. “Katia, we have to talk,” he stated gruffly.
“Go ahead,” she offered breezily.
“I love you.”
“So what else is new?”
He shot a glance behind him, then stalked to the door, closed it, and returned. “I love you, man to woman.”
Her pen stayed in motion. “That’s nice.”
“I’ve never told you that before,” he protested. “All I get is a ‘that’s nice’?”
“What else would you have me say?”
“You could say, ‘I love you, too, Jordan.’ Or, ‘Do you really mean it, Jordan?’ Or, ‘Oh, Jordan, I’ve been waiting so long to hear you say that.’” He’d given each possibility a properly excited inflection, but Katia appeared to be unmoved, and that frustrated him tremendously. It also frightened him. “Katia, do you hear what I’m saying?”
“I hear.”
“And it means nothing? Is it every day that a man tells you he loves you—damn it, put down that pen. Is it, Katia? Don’t you have any reaction to what I’ve said?”
Katia sighed and hung her head. “I feel very sad, if you want to know the truth.”
“Sad?” he asked on a note of panic. “What do you mean by—”
“Katia!” Roger opened the door and stuck his head through the narrow gap. “We’ve got a problem on the mattress thing. I need you. Now.”
“She’s busy,” Jordan growled.
But Katia was capping her pen. “It’s okay, Roger. I’m on my way.”
“But what about me?” Jordan asked.
“What about you?” She stood and straightened her skirt.
“I’m business, too.”
She glanced around the office as though checking to see if there were anything she wanted to take along for her meeting with Roger. “Is that what this has all been about, business?”
“No, you know that, but—”
She passed him on her way to the door. “I have to run, Jordan. Let me know when you get those final sketches.”
Jordan opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get a word out Katia was gone. So he closed his mouth, frowned down at the storyboard, and tried to take in what had happened. He replayed the conversation, wondering what he had done wrong, finally deciding that Katia simply hadn’t been in a receptive mood.
Maybe it was a bad day. Maybe she was bushed. Maybe—though the thought bugged him—she had had a busy weekend. He would simply have to catch her later. That was all.
She did love him. He knew it, and he knew that love didn’t end with a single falling out. Okay, so it was more than one time he had turned her away. She thought he was trying to manipulate her. But she would understand in time. She was a reasonable woman. He would simply have to keep trying.
As he left the office something else occurred to him. It was a ray of hope, a flicker on the bright side. Other than the instant when she had glanced up from her desk to find him at her door, Katia hadn’t looked at him. She had staunchly avoided his eyes. It was, he thought in the psychoanalyst’s mode, a very good sign.
* * *
Jodi Frier, who should have been even more adept at psychoanalytical thinking than Jordan, was stymied. Cavanaugh had returned from the coast looking disgruntled. When she asked about his trip he simply grunted. When she asked if he’d come up with anything new he turned away. He spent most of his time at home—surprisingly more than usual, which made it, ironically, all the harder for her—sitting in a chair with his legs sprawled out, his shoulders slumped and his eyes troubled. She knew that his mood had to relate to the Whyte-Warren case, but after three days of enduring his brooding presence, she also knew that this wasn’t how she wanted to live. If she could glimpse what was on his mind she could be sympathetic. But he wouldn’t talk, and her patience waned.
Late on that third night, as she was getting ready for bed—alone—something inside her rebelled. Tossing a robe on over her nightgown, she stalked back into the living room.
“You must have run into a tube of super glue out there,” she remarked caustically.
“Hmm?” He didn’t look up.
“Your frown is set. Permanent. Immovable.”
“Not now, Jodi. I’m thinking.”
“You’ve been thinking night and day since you got back. Well, I’ve been thinking, too, and it occurs to me that you could just as well do your thinking without me around. The bare walls won’t complain. Neither will an empty bed.”
He did raise his eyes then, and they pleaded with her as he spoke. “Please. Jodi, I’ve got problems. Don’t do this to me now.”
“Damn it, Bob. You have to be one of the most selfish people I know. Your problems always come first.” She held up a hand. “Okay. I know. You warned me at the start. But all of a sudden I’m realizing that I can’t live this way. You’ve got problems. Fine. In any kind of meaningful relationship, people try to work problems out together.”
“My problems have to do with my work.”
“So do mine. Your work is making me a little crazy. You sit around here like a mummy—a disgruntled mummy—and you won’t give me the slightest clue about what’s eating you.”
He pushed himself straighter in the chair. “My work is confidential. I can’t be blabbing my thoughts to the world.”
“I’m not the world. I’m me. Just one person. You’ve told me confidential things before. You know I keep everything to myself.”
“What do you want me to do?” he snapped. “Lay my case out in every minute detail so you can go over it with a fine-tooth comb?”
“I don’t want details. Just the overall drift—if that’s what will help me understand why you’ve been so withdrawn.”
“Don’t nag me, Jodi,” he warned.
“Because I’ll sound like your ex-wife?” She was angry enough to be reckless. “You know, I’m beginning to side with her more and more each day. A relationship demands trust, but you obviously lack it. That’s enough to drive any woman away. Maybe she was smarter than me, because she hounded you more instead of brooding off by herself. Well, I’m tired of brooding by myself. I’m tired of brooding, period!”
“No one’s asking you to brood.”
“No one’s giving me any reason not to.”
“You’re pushing me.”
“Likewise.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, he rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I can’t take this now, Jodi,” he said in a voice that warned of imminent explosion.
Which was exactly what Jodi wanted, she was that disgusted. “I can’t take it either, Bob!”
He stood abruptly, as angry as she. “Feel free to leave!”
“I will!” She whirled and would have started off, but he caught her arm.
“Don’t.”
She didn’t look at him, but her voice lowered, as his had. “Why not?”
“I don’t want you to. I want you here.”
“So I can watch you agonize over your case while I agonize over mine?” Unspoken, but understood, was that he was her case.
> Hands on her shoulders, he slowly turned her to face him. “I don’t want you agonizing. I don’t want to agonize either, but, my God—” he looked away and shook his head, “I feel so torn.”
“About us?” she asked more timidly than she would have liked at that moment.
He shook his head again, but this time he was looking at her. “About this case. It’s killing me.”
“I can see that, which is why it’s so hard for me to stand by and watch. What’s happened? It wasn’t so bad before. Challenging, yes. Sensitive, yes. But something happened on this last trip that’s knocked you for a loop. Tell me, Bob,” she urged softly. “Maybe I can help.”
A gruff sound came from his throat as he put his arms around her and drew her to him. She didn’t know whether it was his case or their relationship that made him hold her so tightly, but just then she didn’t really care.
“Ahh, Jodi. What a mess.”
She held her breath. “Us?”
He chuckled softly against her hair. “No. You were right. I have been like a mummy. Everything’s bound inside. It’s not fair of me, but it’s hard to change sometimes.”
“Change is easy if you want it.”
“That’s not true. When you’ve lived your life one way you get stuck in certain ruts. Maybe if you’d come along when I was twenty-one—” he caught himself. “But then you’d have been nine, so nothing would have come of it.”
“Do you want to change?”
“I don’t want to lose you,” was his hoarse response.
She ignored the way his hands had begun to roam her back. “Then you’ll have to change, at least a little.”
“I’ll try.” He was cupping her bottom, urging her hips to his.
“Do you mean it?”
He breathed deeply of the faint lemon scent lingering in her hair. It turned him on. “Let’s go to bed,” he murmured.
Jodi closed her senses to the pull he had on her. “And forget it all with a good romp?” she croaked.
“If you want to help me, that’d be one way.”
“Like putting a finger in the dike?”
Cavanaugh’s hands came to rest on her hips. “I wasn’t thinking of it that way. I thought … I wanted to show you what you mean to me.”
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