Her husband. She could hardly wrap her mind around that concept.
Her husband. She wondered how many had passed through his life and bed over the years and how long they had been allowed to stay. She was quite certain a good number of them had been willing to become his wife. Jon, rid of his fans, came to find her, a sardonic grin on his face. “Hiding from the crowd, Baby? You know you don’t have to. I’d rather have the world know I’m not up for grabs anymore. Maybe then I’ll have some peace.”
“You know you won’t.” The marzipan cupcakes looked inviting, but the chocolate tarts also seemed very luscious.
She had said it so coolly and matter-of-factly that Jon forgot his next words for a moment and just watched as she bought the cupcakes.
Back outside, he took her hand in his, his fingers on her ring. “It’s like this, Naomi. You are going to be my wife as soon as I can get you to set a date. If it were up to me, we would fly to Las Vegas today and get it done and over with so you couldn’t have second thoughts and run off again, but that’s not how we are going to do it.”
Naomi had been on the point of biting into her cake, but this made her halt and wait for him to go on.
“We’re going to have a proper wedding,” he said while the pulse of London flowed around them, “With a proper service and a feast with the families and our friends, and you are going to wear a white dress for me. And our son will carry the rings. We’ll have the band play for us. Oh,” he added when she opened her mouth to reply, “and a wedding cake. A huge one, three tiers, with red sugar roses on it.”
“You’re crazy.”
Jon shrugged. “No. I’m not going to marry you in a small, clandestine ceremony and announce it afterward as if I feel guilty about it. I’m proud of having won you, and I’m going to show it. I want it to be a statement.”
“You are crazy.”
He did not react to this, but tugged her forward instead. “Come on, you silly chit, I’ll get you that purse now. The one you were cradling as if it were a precious newborn.”
Her protests were drowned out by one of the open, old red city busses, tourists glued to its windows.
Striding into the store, he announced, “My fiancée saw a handbag here earlier. Please wrap it up for her,” and when Naomi started to interfere he said to her, “Not a word. This discussion ends here. If you go on I’ll force you into every single shop up and down this street and into every single piece of clothing I fancy for you.”
“This is not why I came to London with you, Jon.”
He waved her objections away. “You’ve refused to talk about money until now, and so we will do it now and then never again. Listen well, Naomi.”
She was so unwilling. It amused and irritated him how she turned away and looked down the street as if she could make the subject disappear by ignoring him.
“I want to do this, Naomi. You and Joshua, you are my family, and I want to care for you. I want to give you all I have. A few pieces of luxury are the least I can do, and they’re only the beginning. So please, Baby, let’s just browse through these stores and you pick anything you like. And I mean anything. Just for the fun of it, just because it’s nice, because we happen to be here and are having a good time together.”
When no response came, Jon wrapped his arm around her and drew her close.
“Listen, Naomi. I have a fortune. But I’ve not spent a lot of it for fun. There never seemed a good enough reason. Here, now, with you, I want to have that fun, and in a grand way. Hell, Baby, this is what I dreamed about! You, allowing me to wrap you in silk and satin and furs and put beautiful jewels on your skin, and take you out and show the world the one I always wanted will soon be my cherished wife.”
“I’ll be your wife, Jon. But I don’t need this. Really, I don’t.”
“There’s Prada, right across the road! Why don’t we go there and look at what they have.”
“Jon!” The orange shopping bag in her hand felt like lead, like a manacle she did not want at all.
“No, don’t give me that.” His tone had lost all lightness as he forced her to look at him. “No more. I’ve had it with your reticence. How will it be once we’re married? Will you refuse every gift I give you, and insist on living your own small life and not accept anything from me, just to keep your distance?”
“Everything here is so unnecessary and expensive.” She knew it was a lame argument, and was in fact capitulation.
“Yeah, Babe, so am I, expensive, as you so kindly reminded me when we were talking about the concert and the ticket prices. Nothing good comes cheap, it’s that easy, and you shouldn’t either. Will you let me take you shopping now?”
Her reluctance was so entertaining, but under the pleasure he felt, watching Naomi try on the things laid out for her, there was a sting of hurt at her refusal to let him take care of her.
When she stepped out of the dressing room in a flowing blue evening gown, so beautiful it took his breath away, he urged her, “Take that one!” but once more she shook her head at him.
“You don’t trust me.” It slipped out before he could stop himself. “You don’t want anything from me because you are afraid it will give me a hold over you, is that it? You don’t want to feel obligated so you can slip away again as soon as things get rough.”
The sun was streaming through the great bow windows, glinting on crystal vases with hothouse flowers, catching the highlights in Naomi’s hair and glowing on the satin of the dress. She stood before him just as she’d done when he’d first arrived in Halmar and those plates had crashed from her hands, so still and withdrawn, listening to his words.
“Why did you agree to marry me, Naomi, if everything is so disgusting to you?”
How thin the veneer of happiness truly was, how deep and troubled the maelstrom lying in wait under it. He had been hasty and impetuous, trying to force fate once again in the direction he wanted, and here she was, handing him her deepest reservations in a Prada gown. How he’d rejoiced when she permitted him to put that ring on her finger, and now, over a stupid dress, the pieces were crashing around his feet.
“I don’t like Prada very much,” Naomi was saying in a low voice, “If you really want to please me, take me to Valentino.”
“What?” It came out stupidly.
She shrugged her pale, perfect shoulder at him in a cool gesture of disdain. “I want Valentino,” Naomi repeated and returned to the dressing room, leaving him behind in mystified silence.
Jon watched in bemusement as she picked outfits for herself in a calm, sure manner, as if she never wore anything else, and how she easily dealt with the question of matching purses and shoes, the two shop assistants nodding and doing her bidding while she sipped coffee and chatted with the store manager in Italian, the words slipping from her lips like a fluent, graceful melody, accentuated by small gestures of her hands and flashes of a bright smile.
“Well?” Naomi asked him, dressed in a cream suit with a short, square-cut jacket with a dark-blue border on the pleated skirt. “Do I need evening gowns to please you, or can we go now and get some tea?”
“I didn’t know you spoke Italian.”
She gave him a strange, distanced glance as if she had to measure her words.
“My mother is Italian, Jon.”
He had not known. Sal’s words rang in his memory, when he had so gleefully told him about the hotel.
“I thought you were Canadian.” She looked a lot more natural in the hand-tailored Valentino than she had in her jeans and felt jacket, moving as easily as if it were a second skin, and the navy high heels did not seem to bother her in the least.
“There are a lot of Italians in Canada.” With a brief glance she picked matching kid gloves from the choice the shop girl was holding out to her and asked her for a shawl.
“So your family lives in Canada, your parents are in Switzerland, you run a hotel in Norway, and your mother is Italian.”
The shawl she chose was a soft, blue cashmere thi
ng, and she didn’t look at the price once.
“You never told me anything about yourself or your family.”
It sounded a little like an accusation, but she only shrugged, her back to him, and wandered over to the evening gowns.
He watched her hand go to a rose chiffon dress and then quickly pull back. “You’d look lovely in that,” Jon offered, not sure why she hesitated.
“I won’t need it in Halmar.”
And here they were, back full circle to the question of their lives, over a simple thing like a piece of clothing, the easiness and joy gone out of the day like the light of a dying candle.
He reached over her to bring it down from its place. “I’ll take you to places where you’ll be able to wear it, Paris and New York, to the Met. There will be plenty of chances for you to dress up.”
But not Los Angeles, and he could hear those words quite clearly without her having spoken them. “And I promise, not Hollywood. You don’t have to go there, ever. We’ll live a private life from now on.”
“It won’t work, you know.” She took the gown from him and went into the dressing room with it.
He took her to Bulgari a few steps down the street against her hissed protests. He simply stated that she needed some jewelry now that she had proper clothes, and very lovingly picked out earrings and necklaces, laying them on her himself with a dark twinkle in his eyes and an amused pursing of his lips at her protests.
“If you don’t stop I’ll buy you a Rolls next, chauffeur included, and have you driven through the streets of London like royalty. Shut up already, you crazy girl, and let me have some fun.”
Over tea at the hotel, Jon said, “Go on, tell me you don’t like being spoiled. Look me in the face and tell me, seriously, that you aren’t looking forward to wearing those things. Tell me it was better for you being alone and running around in that black nightmare outfit every day, going to bed by yourself at night, with no one to tell you he wanted you the way I do. Go on.”
Naomi had ordered brandy with her Darjeeling. She was exhausted and shaken.
“I hate you,” she answered, and shot him a furious glare when he laughed at her.
But in bed that night she wore the diamonds he had chosen and nothing else. To see her naked, sprawled in sensuous curves on the white sheets with those jewels on her creamy skin, took his breath away. She lazily pushed her hair aside like a favored, indulged odalisque, regarding him with measured, languid eyes. There was only the soft golden light of the bedside table playing over her body, casting enticing shadows, hiding secret places, revealing others as she moved slowly and invitingly, the glittering stones sliding over her breasts only enhancing her nudeness.
“You…” He had to start again. “You should not do that. You might get more than you asked for.”
“Really?” A soft, teasing drawl. “Is that possible?”
It was a real challenge, but in the end she seemed well satisfied.
Despite the fact that he could order anything he liked, or stay as long as he wanted—even in their nicest room—Joshua rarely went to The Old Inn. It would certainly please his mother if he went more often, but he felt awkward claiming special treatment. He liked the thatch-roofed, half-timbered building and the large garden with the old apple trees, but in the end he preferred living on campus with the other students.
He sat on the low wall near the garden to wait, basking in the surprisingly warm sun, his mind still on his last class, his stomach growling in anticipation of the nice lunch he would be served shortly.
A massive black limousine drove up and stopped in front of him. A chauffeur got out and opened the door for an elegant man in a dark blue suit who held out his hand to the woman in the car.
“Hello, Joshua.” His mother smiled at him, holding the well-groomed stranger’s hand.
Joshua jumped up, gaping at her.
“Mom, you look beautiful.” He hated how his voice cracked in surprise.
She came over and kissed him on his cheek. “That is the nicest thing a mother could hear from her nearly grown son. I’ve brought someone to meet you.”
The diamonds at her throat flashed as she turned back toward Jon.
Joshua’s attention shifted to her escort, the car, the driver. It took a moment for him to take it all in.
“Do you know who I am, Joshua?” Jon asked.
“You’re the guy with the great band and the bad shirts. You’re my father. But what are you doing here?
Jon laughed out loud. “That’s the best description of me I’ve ever heard, I think. Your mother could not have put it better. You wrote to me, remember?” Jon came forward. “So now I’m here. You said you wanted to meet me, didn’t you?”
Joshua had no reply. He stepped back, putting a little distance between them, and stumbled into the wall behind him, but Jon reached out and held on to his shoulder, steadying him. For a moment it seemed as if he would shake him off, but then Joshua managed a mumbled “Thanks” and a crooked grin.
They entered the inn and took their seats at a table in a quiet corner, where they were served a light white wine with fresh bread and butter. Jon scrutinized the menu and asked Naomi what she wanted.
Joshua was still staring at his mother and this man who was his father. His parents. These beautiful, poised people who smiled at each other and whose hands touched frequently across the table were his parents.
His mother, how radiant she looked in that suit and wonderful jewelry! She smelled nice too, like flowers, and she seemed happy.
“Why are you here? Was it truly my letter?”
Jon took a deep breath and told him in well-considered words how he had taken the very first chance to reclaim his lost love.
Joshua looked at his mother. “You said it was a one-night stand after a show.”
Jon glanced at her, but Naomi did not return his look, her head lowered over her folded hands. “Your mother lied to you. She lied to you because she thought you should grow up in peaceful surroundings, and I was not able to give her that. And she never told me because she knew I would not let her go. She did the right thing for you, but it was a terrible thing for me. And for her. If I had known about you…” He broke off and looked at Naomi, who had tears in her eyes and grief in her face and posture. “If I had known about you, I’m sure I would have changed our life, I’m sure we could have…” He faltered. “I loved your mother very much then, and I still do. Will, always.”
Joshua said nothing.
“I came to find your mother the day your letter arrived. Immediately.”
None of them had much of an appetite, but they gave their orders to the waiter, who stood patiently to the side.
“But that must have been weeks ago. So what happened in the meantime?”
Here was the hard part. Or maybe it wouldn’t be so hard after all.
Joshua raised his eyebrows, making him look exactly like his father.
“I’ve been with your mother in Halmar. We needed to figure out where we stood before we came to see you.”
His hand caught Naomi’s.
“Yeah,” said Joshua, “and so? You either love my mom or you don’t. It’s easy, isn’t it?”
He was going to love this boy, Jon thought to himself. Joshua sat, waiting for a reply, his dark hair in his eyes, lips slightly pursed.
“Put like that, it sounds easy. But there’s more that I haven’t told you yet…” With a short look at Naomi, he continued, “What I haven’t told you yet is that your Mom is more than just my love. She was also my lyricist. My best songs have always been the ones with her words. She’s written a lot while we were apart, and now we’ve begun working together again. Besides getting reacquainted.”
Now there was a nice, useful euphemism.
Joshua stared at his mother quizzically.
“We did not just meet after a concert,” Jon said in a measured tone. “It was never a fling in the dressing room. It was a carefully set up meeting in Geneva because I wanted to use her
lyrics. But we fell in love, right then and there, and she came with me to America. We were together for nearly three years. You are not the product of a dressing-room tryst, Joshua. You come from parents who loved each other deeply, and still do.”
“If you loved her so much, why didn’t you try to find her sooner? You hurt my Mom.”
Jon took a moment before answering. The food had arrived and was excellent, as was the service. He noticed how the manager hovered behind the waiters, watching them carefully, almost anxiously, and how he shot a glance in Naomi’s direction, as if waiting for her approval. She did not react.
“I was devastated when your mother left. It was as if she had vanished into thin air. She’s very good at hiding herself away. We were both hurt, Joshua. The important thing is that we are back together again now, because of you and your letter. We want to focus on becoming a family, the three of us, instead of looking back on what we can never change.” Jon paused.
Joshua turned his head away. Studiously he looked out the window, but Jon could see how the corners of his mouth quivered, and he could have sworn there was the glimmer of tears in his eyes. His heart was heavy. In an effort to lighten the mood, he said, “I brought you something. It’s in the car. I thought you might like one of the guitars I bought in Bergen the other day. It’s a koa twelve-string and very special. Your mom says you’re a great guitarist.”
There was no response for quite some time. Then, after folding his napkin into a tight, perfect square, Joshua answered, “Thank you. That’s very kind.”
“It’s the kind of guitar I use during my concerts.” This meeting was more difficult than he had expected, and for a moment Jon felt as if he was bargaining for Naomi with a very unwilling male relative of hers. In a way it was amusing, but he was much too scared of the outcome to crack a joke about it.
The Distant Shore (Stone Trilogy) Page 7
