Warm Hearts

by Barbara Delinsky

  “Think she’ll be good with the kids?”

  “She seemed it. I let her cover for me while I played chauffeur, then when I got back I was able to watch her in action. She’s very warm.”

  “What’s her background?”

  “She just got a degree in special ed.”

  “No work experience?”

  “Yeah. Six children of her own. Hey, how’re you doing?”

  “Not bad.”

  “Come on. You can do better than that. I thought the head banger at the hospital quieted down?”

  “He did. A new one’s into tap dancing.”

  “Tap dancing? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I’m not. Listen, babe. About the weekend. Should we, uh, should we try for the Berkshires again?”

  “Do you want to?”

  “Yes! But only if you do.”

  “I do.”

  “Good. Six on Friday?”

  “Make it six-fifteen—I’m superstitious.”

  “Six-fifteen. I’ll see you then.”

  “Sure thing. Bye-bye.”

  * * *

  They nearly made it. It was five-thirty when he called. His voice was as tense as she’d ever heard it. She instantly knew that something was very wrong.

  “What is it, Oliver?”

  “I’ve got a problem here. I may be late.”

  “You’re at the office?” She could always pick him up there.

  “No.”

  “At the hospital?”

  “No.”

  He’d been so forthright in the past weeks. His evasion only fueled her concern. “What’s wrong?”

  In other circumstances, Oliver would have simply named a later time when he’d pick her up. But he knew all too well that his tenuous relationship with Leslie was based largely on openness. “It’s Diane, Les,” he offered quietly. “She’s acting up again.”

  “Oh, no! What’s she doing?”

  “It’s all right, sweetheart. She’s just being … difficult.”

  “You’re there now?”

  “Yes. Listen, this may take a while. Why don’t I call you when I have some idea what’s happening.”

  “Oliver—”

  “Please, Les,” he begged, “no more questions now. I’ve been looking forward to tonight since … since St. Barts. And if you think I’m pleased with Diane’s sense of timing, you’re crazy.” She heard his desperation. “Let me call you?”

  “Okay.”

  “And Leslie?”

  “Mmm?”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  There was a pause, then Oliver’s broken, “I’ll call.”

  With tears in her eyes, Leslie hung up the phone. He’d sounded awful. What could possibly have happened? I love you, he had said. And she’d answered him with total openness for the first time herself.

  Likewise, for the first time, she felt no confusion at all. Suddenly everything Oliver had said and done made sense. She believed him. She trusted him. And she knew precisely what she wanted to do.

  Within half an hour she arrived at Diane’s. To her dismay, the driveway was packed. She recognized the Weitzes’ cars, Tony’s car, Oliver’s car … was that Brenda’s car? She bit her lip as she pulled in behind one she didn’t recognize. What was going on?

  A frazzled Brenda opened the door. “Leslie! What are you—”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m … I’m trying to help out.”

  Leslie strode past her into the hall and dropped her coat on a chair. Keeping her voice low, she looked around. “Where are they? What’s she done? Why wasn’t I called?” At the sound of raised voices in the living room, she headed that way.

  “Leslie, please—” Brenda tried to stop her but it was too late. No sooner had Leslie appeared on the threshold than every eye turned her way.

  What she saw, perplexingly enough, was what looked to be a very orderly family gathering. There was sign of neither destruction nor tears, though the level of tension in the room was up near the danger mark. Diane, wearing a look of placid arrogance, sat regally in a high-backed chair, while her husband stood behind her, a hand on either sculpted post, an indignant expression on his face. One end of the sofa was occupied by a man Leslie had never seen before. To her eye, his hair was too perfect, his three-piece suit too flashy, his entire bearing too glossy; she disliked him instantly. Tony stood by the fireplace in a state of obvious agitation. And Oliver stood by the window observing the group from a more detached position. His composure was, for show, well intact. Only Leslie recognized the grim set of his lips, the shadow of worry on his brow, the stiffness of his casual stance.

  It was to Oliver that she spoke, her voice a whisper. “What’s going on here?”

  “You shouldn’t have come—” he began somberly, only to be interrupted by an irate Diane.

  “And why not? The rest of the family knows. And she should know. More than anyone, perhaps. After all, she’s the one who’s been mooning over you. I think she’s got a right to the—”

  “Diane!” Tony broke in. “That’s enough!”

  Diane fumed, her eyes blazing. “She’ll know when it hits the papers anyway. She’s your sister. Don’t you want to make it easier for her?”

  “Make what easier?” Leslie asked, her stomach tied up in knots. “What are you talking about?” Her wide-eyed gaze swung back to Oliver for a minute. His lips were tight.

  Brad’s were not. “It seems that your boyfriend has made good use of his high-priced time to seduce my wife.”

  Leslie stared, aghast. “What?” She was aware of Brenda coming up from behind to give her support, but shrugged off the hand at her shoulder.

  It was Tony who took over, speaking more quietly. “Diane is threatening a malpractice suit against Oliver. She claims that he forced sexual relations on her for the sake of therapy.”

  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Leslie stated with amazing calm. “Oliver wouldn’t do a thing like that.”

  “And I’d lie?” Diane cried, rejoining the fray. “See. He’s got you as brainwashed as he had me. Only I’m not so crazy about him that I can’t think straight.”

  Leslie swallowed hard and tucked her fists in her, pockets. “That’s a whole other issue. What does Oliver say to all this?”

  Oliver’s voice came deep and firm. “He denies it.”

  “Well, he can deny it in court,” Brad countered, then cast a nod toward the slick man on the sofa. “We’ve retained Henry to represent us.”

  Leslie shook her head in disbelief. “You’re serious! I’m amazed. You should know better, Brad. My God, it’s not as though Diane’s been the most stable—”

  “Leslie!” Oliver cut in sharply, then lowered his voice, “Please.”

  The eyes that held hers said far more. She’s sick. Go easy on her. Besides, she hasn’t got a case. Trust me. I love you.

  With the ghost of a nod, she walked to a free chair and sat down. She’d be quiet, but she’d be damned if she’d leave.

  “Okay,” Tony said with a tired sigh. “Where were we?”

  Brad spoke up, looking down at his wife with a warmth that made Leslie nauseated. “Diane was just going through things chronologically. You were saying, sweetheart—”

  “But what’s the point of all this?” Brenda burst out, her gaze sliding from Brad to Diane and back. “I don’t understand what you want. You’re going to sue for damages? Neither of you needs the money.”

  Brad’s jaw was set at a stubborn angle. “It’s the principle of the thing. He’s hurt our marriage and seriously threatened Diane’s peace of mind.”

  “Now wait a minute,” Oliver came forward. “Your marriage was on the rocks before I ever came on the scene. And as for Diane’s peace of mind, it was nonexistent even then. Why do you think she spent an entire day cutting your bedroom to shreds?”

  “That’s beside the point,” Brad went on in the way of the injured innocent.
“What I’m concerned about is what happened after she started seeing you.”

  “But a judge and jury will take in the entire picture,” Oliver pointed out calmly. “They’ll ask about your marriage. They’ll hear testimony about Diane’s emotional state. Are you sure you want to put your wife through that?”

  “For the satisfaction of seeing you lose your license to practice? Yes.”

  “That won’t happen, Brad. Your allegations are absurd. You haven’t a shred of evidence—”

  “Other than my wife’s testimony. Henry tells me that judges today lean heavily in favor of a woman who’s been raped.”

  “She wasn’t raped,” Oliver scoffed impatiently. “Scandal is all you’ll be able to create. Headlines. Innuendo. But no case.”

  Diane spoke softly. “Headlines and innuendo will be enough.” She turned her smile on Leslie and crinkled up her nose. “Won’t want to be seen with a guy who’s got an atrocious reputation and no job, will you?”

  “You’re crazy,” Leslie murmured.

  “Di,” Brenda said, “don’t you think you’re carrying this a little too far? I mean, headlines and innuendo could be harmful to the corporation, too.”

  “Not if I’m the injured party.”

  “But you’re not,” Tony injected, growing as impatient as Oliver, “and Brenda’s right. This is foolish—”

  “It is not!” Diane screamed. “You weren’t the one who was—who was violated!”

  Tony’s tone mellowed to one of sweet sarcasm. “And you were truly violated?”

  “Yes!” She tipped up her chin. “He took advantage of me! Maybe he takes advantage of every pretty girl who comes along. I don’t know. That’s something for the authorities to investigate.” She arched a brow. “All I know is what he did to me.”

  “What did he do to you?” Brenda asked bluntly. “Tell us, Di. Tell us everything.”

  “He seduced me in the name of psychiatric treatment.”

  “Sounds like you got that from last month’s Post.”

  “He did. He seduced me.”

  “Seduced—what does that mean?”

  “Brenda…!” Diane protested in a whine.

  “Seduced. Explain.”

  For the first time, Diane seemed to waver. “He … he … made love to me.”

  “Where?” Brenda shot back.

  “Now just a minute,” Henry the lawyer spoke up, Leslie thought his voice was as phony as the rest of him. “I don’t believe my client has to answer your questions.”

  Brenda came forward, her hands on her hips. “Your client happens to be my sister. And the man she’s accusing is a man who means one hell of a lot to my other sister. I’ll ask whatever questions I want.” She turned back to Diane. “Well? Where did you two make love?”

  Diane shifted in her seat, keeping her gaze far from Oliver. “He made love to me, and it was in his office.”

  “On the desk?” Brenda came back as sweetly and sarcastically as Tony had moments before.

  Diane scowled. “No.” Her voice wavered. “There’s a sofa there.”

  “Do you lie on the sofa during your sessions?”

  “No. I … I sit in a chair.”

  “So how did he get you to the sofa?”

  Diane grew petulant, reminding Leslie of a child who’d been caught in a lie and was trying to lie her way out of it. “He told me I’d feel better if I were to lie down.”

  “So you did.”

  “He was the doctor. Yes.”

  “And he just told you to take off your clothes?”

  “Wait a minute—” Brad cut in, only to have Tony cut him off in turn.

  “Let her answer. This is getting interesting.”

  “It’s getting personal,” Brad argued.

  Tony’s nostrils flared. “Isn’t the whole thing personal?” Sucking in a loud breath, he turned to Brenda. “Go on.”

  Without pause, she resumed her relentless prodding. “What did he do … after you stretched out on the couch?”

  Diane looked at the carpet. “He … he told me.…” She waved a hand and winced. “You know.”

  “I don’t. Tell me.”

  “He said.…” She scowled in frustration. “You can imagine what he said, Brenda! What does any man say when he sets out to seduce a woman?”

  Brenda pursed her lips. “I’ve only known two men in my life, and neither of them has tried to seduce me on a psychiatrist’s couch. So my imagination’s no good, Di. Tell me what he said.”

  Diane seemed to hesitate. She frowned, then gripped the arm of the chair. “He said sweet things.”

  “Like what?”

  If Brenda’s patience was wearing thin, Diane’s was exhausted. With a sudden fury, she glared at her sister. “He told me it would be good for me, that it was a vital part of my treatment! He told me that he wanted me anyway, and that he’d make it good!” Her anger took on a touch of sadness. “He said that Brad must have been crazy to pass me by and spend time with women who couldn’t possibly hold a candle to me.”

  Tears in her eyes, she bolted up. She was oblivious to the contorted expression on her husband’s face. “He told me that I was still young and beautiful. That he loved me,” she blurted defiantly. “And I loved him. He was kind and considerate and caring.” Standing rigidly, she sent Leslie a gloating stare. “He’s a good lover, Leslie. Very skilled and gentle. Not selfish like Brad,” she spat.

  Then, as the others watched in varying stages of anger, dismay and pity, she sank into her chair and let her head loll back. Astonishingly, her voice gentled along with her expression. She seemed to enter a dreamlike state. “His skin was smooth here, rough there. And he was lean and hard. He wanted me. He did. And I wanted him.” She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “I think I’ll always remember that smell.…”

  Leslie sat forward. “What smell?” she whispered, entranced by her sister’s performance.

  Diane opened her eyes and sent Leslie a patronizing smile. “His cologne. Homme Premier.” She shook her head. “He’s so handsome. It’s not every girl who’s lucky enough to have a model as a therapist.”

  “He doesn’t wear cologne,” Leslie stated quietly.

  “Excuse me?” Henry asked, twisting to study her.

  She looked him in the eye and spoke slowly, with confidence. “I said that he doesn’t wear cologne. I know. I spent a week with him at the villa on St. Barts.” Rising smoothly, she walked to where Oliver stood and slipped her arm around his waist. Together they faced the gathering. “I know him far better than Diane ever will. Oliver doesn’t wear Homme Premier … or any other cologne, for that matter. He never has. And if I have any say in the matter—” she looked adoringly up at him “—he never will.” A slow smile found its way to her lips as a foil for the tears in her eyes. “He smells far too good on his own.” Then, at the urging of his arms, she turned fully into his embrace. “I love you,” she mouthed.

  The moisture that gathered at the corner of his eye only enchanted his silent echo of the words. Then he smiled, and Leslie knew that everything would be fine.

  10

  Fascinated, Leslie stood staring at Oliver’s sleeping form. He was magnificent. Dark wavy hair, mussed by loving, fell across his brow. His jaw bore the faintest shadow of a beard. His nose was straight, his lips firm. Lying amid a sensual array of sheets that barely covered one leg, and that part she now knew so well, he was the epitome of health, good looks and raw masculinity.

  Again and again her gaze returned to the taunting, strip of flesh at his hip. It would always excite her, even now that her fingers had repeatedly conquered its velvet smoothness. With a sultry half smile, she let her eye creep back up, over the broad and sinewed expanse of his lightly haired chest, to his face.

  “Where’ve you been?” he murmured sleepily, holding out an arm in invitation for her to join him.

  Flipping off the bathroom light, she was across the room and in his arms, stretched out against him, in seconds. “I was just looking
at you,” she said softly, “remembering the very first time I saw you.”

  “On St. Barts?”

  “In Man’s Mode. You were so beautiful. Tony must have thought I was crazy. I kept staring at that ad, at the expression on your face.” She nestled her chin atop the soft hair on his chest. “You wore such a look of vulnerability; you seemed lonely and in love. I wanted to reach out to you then!”

  “Took you long enough,” he chided, giving her a squeeze.

  Her voice was mellow. She kissed his warm skin, then laid her ear against it. “I know.”

  “What was it, Les? What finally brought you back to me?”

  Surrounded by the night sounds of the Berkshires, she pondered his question. It had been long after dark when they’d arrived, so she’d been unable to see the beauty of the hills. But the sounds—the rustle of wind through the forest, the murmur of nocturnal life along its mossy floor, the occasional hoot of an owl—gave her a sense of well-being.

  “I think I never really left you,” she confessed, experimenting with the fit of her hand to his ribs. “I was so in love with you on St. Barts. I’d never known anything like that before!”

  “You should have told me.”

  “Did you tell me?”

  “No. But that was because I knew I’d been deceiving you, and I felt like a louse. The last thing I wanted was to tell you I loved you, then, when you learned the truth about what I did, have you throw the words back in my face. With regard to those three little words, I needed you to believe me.”

  “I believed you. Oh, I tried not to. But I believed you.”

  “You said you didn’t.”

  “I lied. I was angry and hurt. I felt so … naive. I’d had a complex all along about having to compete with the glossy women I’d assumed you were used to. Then when I found out that you were a psychiatrist.…”

  “Do you mind?”

  “Mind what?”

  “That I’m a psychiatrist.”

  “Of course not. What’s to mind?”

  In the darkness she could just make out the gleam in his eye. “Psychiatrists are loonies, didn’t you know? They’re as crazy as their patients. They’re—” he curled his mouth around and drawled the word “—strange.”