Matt thrust his tongue deeper into Nicole's mouth. He tasted cold wine and warmed her tongue with his and felt her hand, underwater, move up his thigh to hold and stroke him. Water splashed onto the deck, and froze into small shining eyes reflecting the lantern light. Matt closed his eyes against them and gave himself up to the pounding water, the hissing of snowflakes on its surface, and Nicole's sinuous body beside his, showing him, as she had all week, that she was the perfect woman to be with him in a fast-moving, high-pressure world that was the only one he wanted.
Heather called Elizabeth, and Saul called Matt, and so, after almost twenty years, they found themselves together once again at a wedding given by Lydia and Spencer. This time it was in a candlelit living room in Tesuque rather than a garden in Los Angeles; it was a cold evening between Christmas and New Year's instead of a sunny June afternoon; their eighteen-year-old son sat in the first row, and their seventeen-year-old daughter stood near the bride and groom, singing two arias before the ceremony and a Catalan love song at its conclusion; and Elizabeth stood beside Heather, and Matt beside Saul, where before they had stood together.
Still, they were part of the same ceremony. And as it ended, Elizabeth remembered the cool greeting she and Matt had exchanged an hour before, and compared it to the look Saul and Heather exchanged as Holly's voice let the long final note of the love song fade away, and she was swept by memories so powerful she thought she could not stand up against them.
Where did we go wrong? We had so much; how could we lose it?
Her eyes burning, her throat tight, she escaped to the library as everyone crowded around Saul and Heather with congratulations and kisses. She wanted to put her head on her mother's shoulder and cry. But Lydia was busy with wedding guests and keeping an eye on the caterer's staff, and Isabel, whose shoulder was the only other one Elizabeth could imagine using, was somewhere among the well-wishers.
"Mom?" Peter had followed her. "You all right?"
"Sure." She gave a small smile. "Just a little overtaken with memories."
"I bet." Sitting beside her on the couch, he took her hand. "What can I do?"
He's become a man, Elizabeth thought. Only three months away at school, but he's taken a leap greater than any single one he took before he left. We don't lose our children when they leave home; we lose them the first time they come back and we discover they've vanished and adults have taken their place. "Help keep everyone talking," she said, returning the solid pressure of his hand. "Heather's parents look lost and so do Saul's. Since they're here even though they're not pleased, we should try to make them happy. Which pair do you want to tackle? I'll take the other one."
"It's not your party, Mom. Grandma does that sort of thing just fine. You should relax and enjoy . . . but you're not enjoying it, are you? Okay; you take Heather's Mayflower descendants from Minnesota, and I'll take Saul's New York Jews one generation from Austria. How did those lovers get together, anyway? They weren't exactly falling into each other's arms when I left."
"I did it with my little bow and arrow," Saul said from the doorway. "Captured my bride and carried her off through battlefields mined with parental disapproval. How come you two are hiding from my wedding?"
"I needed a breather," Peter said quickly. "I felt faint from my sister's glorious singing."
"Good try," said Saul. "But your mother led the way. What's wrong, Elizabeth? Do you want me to punch our Houston visitor in the nose? I would, even though he made a respectable best man."
"That's my job," said Peter.
"It's nobody's job." Elizabeth shook her head, but she was smiling. "My two champions. I don't want either of you to play boxer. I'll be all right in a minute and then I'm going to take your parents under my wing, Saul."
"No, they go under my wing," Peter said. "We divided them up, remember?"
"Divided who up?" Heather asked. "What's going on in here? I've been married ten minutes and I'm already trying to keep my husband from wandering."
"Not far," Saul murmured, his arm around her. He kissed the tip of her nose. "Is she not the most astonishing woman?" he asked Elizabeth and Peter. "Did I ever think this day would come? Occasionally. Did I want it with all my heart? Constantly."
Heather smiled, a softer smile than Elizabeth had ever seen on that small, fiercely determined face. Peter saw it too, and sighed. "Constantly. If you were in college, you wouldn't have time for constantly anything. But wanting something whenever you relax and think about her—it— that I understand." He glanced quickly at Elizabeth and met her questioning eyes. "Well, I do think about her," he said. "I think about her a lot." Self-consciously he cleared his throat and held out his hand to Saul. "I haven't congratulated you. It's terrific you worked it out; you've restored my faith in young love. Too bad about your parents, though."
"They'll adjust," Saul observed wryly as he and Peter gripped each other's hand. "Come to dinner; we'll talk about young love."
"Let's help the parents adjust," Elizabeth said, standing up. "Thank you." She kissed each of them, thinking how lucky she was. "Let's join the party before people think the ceremony made us sick or we're hatching a plot or just being rude."
They walked to the door. "Do you want me to say anything to Dad?" Peter asked.
"You mean take him a message? No thank you, Peter; it's sweet of you, but we still do talk to each other."
"Not often."
"No, but very politely."
"Shit."
"We're really fine, Peter; we're doing what we want."
"That's not true. You're putting up this brave front—"
"A lot of it isn't a front. Peter, dear, I know you worry about me, but I'm doing some pretty exciting things and having a good time ... a lot of the time. If we're going to talk about brave fronts, what about you and Maya? I've told you about her in all of my letters, but you almost never mention her in yours. Do you want to talk about her?"
"Sometime, maybe. We're going out later, after the wedding dinner. I don't know about us. I was . . . awfully glad to see her."
"You've got a lot of years—" Elizabeth began, when she saw Matt
coming toward them. She gave Peter another quick kiss. "Thank you again; you were just what I needed.".
Matt put his arm around Peter's shoulders and said to both of them, "Holly stole the show, didn't she? I haven't heard her sing for a while; it's astonishing how her voice has grown. Peter, I'm going to be in San Francisco in mid-January. Can we spend a weekend together? I can come to Stanford or you can come to the city. It will be our first chance to talk in a long time."
"Stanford's better. But here I am, Dad; we can talk now and at dinner."
"I'm not staying. I'm sorry, but—"
"You're not staying for dinner? Why not? You can't face everybody for more than half an hour?"
"If you don't know what you're talking about," Matt said evenly, "I suggest you keep your mouth shut."
"Wow!" said Peter. "You've gotten real tough around all those Texas cowboys."
"Peter!" Elizabeth exclaimed.
"Sorry," he muttered. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to take some New Yorkers under my wing."
As he walked off, Elizabeth looked at Matt. "I'm sorry, too. He doesn't mean—"
"Of course he does. He's being protective. We'll talk when I'm at Stanford, maybe straighten out some feelings." He paused, gazing at her, trying to hide his surprise at her beauty. It was softer than he remembered, and warmer: in an apricot velvet dress that clung to her figure in one curving line from the V-neck to a hem higher in front than in back, she looked like the flower he remembered someone calling her years before.
He met her clear gray eyes and, unexpectedly, remembered how they looked when she was beneath him, bright with desire and love; and at other times, when anyone criticized the Chieftain or tried to injure it, or Matt, the way the laughter in them would turn to scorn. She wouldn't have shrugged her shoulders at Tom Powell's bullshit offer to trade advertising for editorials defe
nding his right to poison the world. She would have made mincemeat of him.
He thought of telling her about Powell, and how he wished he'd been free to tell the son of a bitch what he thought of him instead of remaining silent, but in the same instant he knew he would not. He couldn't tell her any of his doubts any more than he could tell her about the exhilarating sense of power he felt, most of the time. He became aware of her raised
eyebrows and realized how long he had stood there in silence. "I like your stories from Europe," he said.
"Thank you."
"Especially Genghis Gold. Sad, lonely man, but touching in his bravado; you made me like him."
Elizabeth's eyes brightened. "You did get that from it? I'm glad."
"No one could miss it. At least, no one who cares about people." Once more he paused. "Did you enjoy your trip?"
"Very much."
"Were you doing interviews for television, too?"
"Yes."
"Just in Paris and Rome?"
"Yes. Matt, I want to ask you something. Last week Saul showed me the stories and editorials your papers have been running on Nuevo."
"And?"
"Are they being written on your orders?"
"I work with the editors. . . ." He shrugged. "Yes."
"Why?"
"Because that project is good for the whole state. I know how you and Saul feel about it, and Isabel whipped it to death to get elected, but the fact is, you're all wrong. I've read dozens of environmental and economic reports on Nuevo and other proposed developments—"
"Nuevo isn't 'proposed'; it's been passed. The bill was rammed through and construction began last summer. The valley is torn up right behind the town; they've dynamited a diversion channel for the river; they're cutting new roads—"
"Well, what did you expect them to do? The bill passed, the money was allocated, the state will benefit ... it would be a crime if construction didn't begin."
"It's a crime that construction did! No one considered the people who will lose their homes and stores and farms—"
"They're getting compensation; you know that."
"I know they're getting a lake they don't want, and a state park they don't want, and a private resort they don't want, and compensation that won't pay adequately for what they're losing. Matt, these are people you know! Doesn't any of this bother you?"
"I'm sorry when anyone has to be uprooted—I'm even sorrier that you and I are on opposite sides on this—but a handful of families can't dictate to an entire state. They'll go somewhere else. If they're smart, they'll use their energy to make new homes instead of clinging to land that should be
for all the people instead of a selfish few. That park will be there long after they're dead and forgotten."
"And you said you cared about people!"
"I care about the greatest number."
"Because they vote for your candidates and that's where the power is. You don't give a damn what happens to small groups, because they don't have any influence. You sound just like Keegan Rourke."
"I don't, but it doesn't matter; nothing will convince you he isn't the devil. You don't understand a word I've been saying. I do care about large numbers, but that doesn't mean I abandon small groups. You know damn well everyone in Nuevo has been given a list of places to live that are similar to Nuevo, and they've been offered extra financial help in resettlement."
Elizabeth stared at him. "What did you say?" He repeated it, and she shook her head. "They haven't been given any such thing. Or told any such thing."
"That's a lie."
Elizabeth drew a sharp breath. "I don't lie. If anyone should know that, my former partner should."
"I'm sorry; I shouldn't have said that. But you've been misinformed, Elizabeth. I have a report on that offer; it was one of the reasons I ordered those stories and editorials."
She frowned. "Would you send me a copy of the report?"
"Of course." He looked at his watch. "I'm due back tonight; I have to get started."
"I'm not ready to be dismissed," Elizabeth said coldly. "Holly says you're giving her a graduation party."
"I am. The last week in May."
"I thought we'd have one here for her friends and family, in June, when Peter is home."
"There's no reason you can't."
"I think you and I should give it together. Other parents are giving parties—"
Matt shook his head. "It won't bother Holly if she's different; there's never been a time when she was like everybody else. How many others were accepted by a school like Juilliard? How many others have her talent? And her beauty?" He smiled. "She's got enough going for her for three or four parties."
Elizabeth did not smile. "Shall we ask her what she would like?"
"No." Matt threw a quick look around the room, at the clusters of people who were talking animatedly but also casting surreptitious looks at
Matt and Elizabeth Lovell, so deep in discussion near the front door. Once these people had been his whole world. It seemed a lifetime ago. "Two parties will be fine. If Holly wants to talk to me about it, ask her to call. She's coming to Houston on her spring break; we decided that just before the wedding." He leaned forward and touched Elizabeth's cheek with his lips. "I'm going to say a few goodbyes and slip out. I'll send you that report tomorrow."
Elizabeth watched his tall figure move among the guests. He kissed Heather and shook Saul's hand, exchanged a word with Spencer and Lydia, talked briefly to Peter, then walked to the back door with Holly, his arm around her shoulders.
"Champagne," Isabel said, and handed her a glass. "And perhaps you'll join the rest of us. We miss you."
Elizabeth put her hand on Isabel's. "How dear you are, to say just the right words to me."
They walked toward the other end of the room. "Elizabeth, do you know that he still loves you?"
"No. I don't know anything of the—"
"Well, neither does he. But someday he will. You'll have to give it considerable thought. So you'll know what to do when the time comes."
Elizabeth shook her head. 'Thank you, Isabel, but I'm better off getting used to the idea that he doesn't."
"You used to think I knew a great deal about men."
"I still do. But even if I thought . . . He's changing, Isabel; I don't think I like him as much as I used to."
"But you love him."
"That's separate. I can't change that. But I can't cling to dreams, either. I have to face what's real." They reached the guests and Elizabeth moved toward the center of the group, raising her voice. "Saul? Heather?" When the room fell silent, she said, "I haven't made my wedding toast to you. You're so dear to me, to all of us, such a special part of our lives. ..." She felt tears prick her eyes and blinked them back. "I wish you years of joy. I'm so glad you found each other; I'm so glad you took each other's hands. ..." The tears filled her eyes. She saw the wavery forms of Peter and Holly come quickly to stand on either side of her and she smiled at them as she stretched out her hand and Saul and Heather held it with theirs. "A lifetime of happiness. We all love you, and the way you've made us part of your laughter and your fun, even your disagreements—which is probably why we all feel we had a share in this wedding." Saul grinned and low laughter rippled through the group around them. "We love your curiosity and persistence and your honesty,
with us and each other, and especially your strong friendship . . . That's what has meant so much to me"—she stopped again, to steady her voice —"and I wish you a lifetime of love and fulfillment and delight in each other ... the best of what marriage can be."
"Thank you," Heather said softly. Saul kissed Elizabeth and all the guests lifted their glasses to drink. And in the flickering candlelight, the bubbles of champagne were like shooting stars.
♦•
R
oily Perritt led off her post-New Year's gossip column with an item that Elizabeth found on Saul's desk when she arrived for their weekly meeting.
What tantalizing
television twosome is tenderly tucked in after traipsing through Europe together? Let's have a round of applause for rosy romance and sexy serendipity and the skyrocketing success and fantastic fame of the fabulously lovely Liz . . . but isn't the lady's legal link to a notable newspaper nabob a bothersome barrier to permanent partnership?
Polly Perritt. Be gentle with her and never let down your guard. I should have taken Tony's advice, she thought. Her column appears in more papers than mine.
"Bitch," muttered Saul, reading over her shoulder. "Does she hire out-of-work actors as her private CIA?"
"I wouldn't be surprised," Elizabeth said. "Do you think Holly and Peter will see this?"
"Doubtful. I clipped it from the Los Angeles Trumpet, which I'm sure
they don't read, and she isn't carried in Santa Fe or anywhere around Stanford. I don't think they'll see it."
"Unless someone shows it to them."
"It's only gossip, Elizabeth. Just tell them it's wrong."
She nodded, waiting for Saul to ask if it was indeed wrong. But of course he wouldn't, first because he wouldn't pry, and second because he assumed it was true. Everyone will assume it's true, she thought; and why shouldn't they? And why was she so naive that she never realized the sex lives of public people like Tony Rourke always made newspapers from coast to coast?
Not only Tony Rourke. Now that Elizabeth Lovell appears on television, she's news, too.
Carefully, she folded the item into a tiny square and slipped it into her briefcase. "Shall we get to work? I'm sure you have February all scheduled, but I'd like to see what you've done."
"I have a tentative schedule; I don't make final decisions without you." They sat on the wobbly leather couch that had been there since Matt's first day in the office, and Saul spread out his penciled schedule for the next month's stories and special sections.
Private affairs : a novel Page 47
