Once settled in at the Plaza, Ann set out like a child on her way to see Santa. The store windows were filled with holiday merchandise; the air was ringing with Salvation Army bells.
Ann had never been to Bergdorf Goodman’s before, but a friend had told her they had one of the best designer floors in the city.
For once in her life, she was going to treat herself and not think of the cost. She would refuse to listen to the cautious inner voice of little Ann Pollock, who still monitored most of her shopping expeditions.
Approaching a black-clad saleswoman, she forced herself to say confidently, “I was wondering if you could help me. I’m looking for a number of things….”
Two hours later, Ann had made a substantial number of purchases, and was debating whether or not to buy a dreamy rose-pink Mollie Parnis cocktail dress. The skirt was made of yards of finely pleated chiffon, while the ruffled neckline, demure enough in front, curved daringly low in back. Refusing to consider the cost, she nodded to the delighted sales clerk and changed back into her own clothes.
Too excited to have anything sent, she staggered across Fifty-ninth Street to her hotel. Back in her room, she tore open the bags. The colors of the dresses and suits formed a rainbow in the large walk-in closet as she hung them—a sapphire-blue dress with matching jacket; a flowing, coffee-colored crepe-de-chine; an off-white raw silk suit; and the beautiful pink chiffon. She had also bought slender alligator pumps and handbag for the coffee silk, lovely burgundy shoes to contrast with the blue dress and jacket, a pair of silvery satin high-heeled sandals, and a beaded evening bag.
When everything was put away, Ann walked to her window and looked out at the park. Suddenly she felt very lonely. All these beautiful clothes and nowhere to wear them. What could she do with the rest of her day? Maybe she should go over the papers Adam had sent her once again, but she was too restless.
Play hooky, Ann, a little voice said. It wouldn’t hurt to indulge yourself just a bit more. Perhaps a haircut? It’s time you got rid of that girlish page boy…. She picked up the phone and dialed the hotel beauty salon, but there were no stylists free. Leafing through the phone book, she recognized only one name, Elizabeth Arden. It was close by, so Ann dialed the number.
Yes, they had an appointment available.
“Would you like the Maine Chance, Mrs. Coulter?”
“What?” Ann asked, bewildered.
“That’s our mini-spa special package. It includes a haircut, set, manicure, pedicure, massage, facial, and makeup.”
“Yes,” Ann found herself saying. “Yes, that’s exactly what I would like.”
She loved every minute of it, from the moment she had stepped through the famous red door and was taken in hand by a smiling young woman. She was pampered in a way she hadn’t dreamed possible. The biggest transformation was her hair. They cut it so that the natural wave became an asset rather than a liability. It curved under in a shining bell, while gently tousled bangs emphasized her dark-lashed violet eyes.
When she saw her reflection in the store windows as she walked back to the hotel, she felt as if she were looking at a stranger. And though she knew that the transformation was in part to please herself, it was also to impress Adam Gayne….
The clock in the lobby said six, and Ann realized that she had skipped lunch. For a minute she considered an early dinner in the Oak Room, but she couldn’t summon up the courage to sit there by herself. Instead, she went up to her room and ordered room service. What a waste, she thought as she looked at herself in the mirror.
The Boeuf Burgundy and the Chateau Cos d’Estournel were superb, but she was too depressed to enjoy either. She put down her wineglass with a sigh and lit an unaccustomed cigarette. Then she waited by the window until sufficient time had elapsed to call home.
She had hoped to speak to Phillip, but Consuela answered.
“I am very sorry, Mrs. Coulter. Mr. Coulter took Evie out to dinner and the movies. Do you want me to give them a message?”
“Just say that I called—and that I love them….”
She hung up and looked out at Central Park. The city seemed to have lost some of its magic.
She opened her briefcase and took out the syndication papers. Listen, my friend, she admonished herself. You came here on business—remember?
But her heart was beating wildly when she stepped into Adam’s office the next morning.
“Good morning, Mrs. Coulter,” the receptionist said. The note of admiration in her voice was unmistakable. She didn’t see that many chic, beautifully coifed woman executives, and she was smiling widely as she showed Ann into the conference room as if it were her personal triumph. A dozen men of various ages were seated around a large conference table. All of them seemed to be from Texas. The smell of cigar smoke hung heavily in the air. Their pleased and surprised looks were evidence enough that they too were impressed with Ann’s appearance. Only Adam kept his expression carefully guarded as he indicated her chair.
After a few moments of subdued laughter and conversation, they got down to business. At first, Ann had trouble keeping up with what was happening. It was a huge deal, involving a strategically located parcel of land near Houston. The proposal was for a high-tech office park with adjoining apartments, condominiums, hotels, shops, and arcades. It appeared to be a plum investment, and the developers waxed eloquent over the potential gains. But as the meeting wore on, Ann realized that her confusion wasn’t the result of her own lack of experience. The developers appeared to be omitting several important specifics. She could think of at least two important tax consequences that they had failed to mention.
When there was a pause in their presentation, she broke into the discussion, posing the question to the developers’ attorney, an overweight man with a nervous, unpleasant laugh. He seemed almost surprised by her inquiry, obviously thinking that the “little lady” shouldn’t worry her pretty head about such things. But Ann was not about to be brushed off, however courteously, and the room grew silent as she gently but inexorably pinned the attorney down.
“Thank you,” she said at last. “You’ve made it very clear….”
The men around the big conference table eyed her with new respect. Observing their expressions, Adam nearly laughed aloud. They had tried to dismiss her, but instead, she had turned the discussion on its ear, with questions they hadn’t even thought to ask. Adam was enormously proud of her, almost as if she were his protégée.
The remaining business was taken care of with dispatch, and the developers, as if on cue, began to stuff their papers into their briefcases, congratulating one another on their own efficiency and cleverness in arranging the deal.
“Texas-size,” was the comment of one of the syndicate partners as he smugly relit his cigar.
“Well, then,” Adam said. “I take it that there are no further questions. You’ll be receiving the papers within the week.”
“This calls for a celebratory lunch, wouldn’t you say, boys?” drawled one of the Texans.
“Bourbon and branch, Fred?” boomed another. The rest of them laughed so uproariously that it was obviously an inside joke of some sort.
“Ma’am—would you do the honor of joining us for lunch?” one of the older men asked. “We’re already reserved.”
“I’d love to,” Ann said, smiling. And the herd—Ann couldn’t think of the group, containing so many in cowboy boots, any other way—made its way across town to the Café des Artistes.
The Texans looked out of place as they entered the elegant little restaurant, but beneath their aw-shucks façade, it was obvious that these men had the ability, like kings of old, to be at home anywhere. Ann found herself more and more drawn to them, liking their genuine warmth and friendliness. Now that business was finally over, they were more than ready to pay tribute to her as an attractive woman. One pulled out her chair as another rushed to help her put on her jacket. Adam sat quietly at the table, his dark eyes never leaving her face. The men argued good-naturedly ove
r who would sit next to Ann, until Ann, who thought she was hardened to being the only woman in countless business meetings, started to blush with embarrassment over their gallantry.
“So tell me—how on God’s earth did a pretty little Frisco gal like you get into this big, bad business?” one of the men asked, then laughed uproariously. Ann couldn’t take offense: the crudely phrased question was obviously meant to be a compliment. She parried an avalanche of similar questions, her glowing face reflecting their unconcealed admiration for her appearance and her business acumen.
As the waiter took their orders for cocktails, she noticed that, in contrast to the wide smiles and general good humor that surrounded her, Adam looked decidedly glum. Catching her eye, he smiled briefly at her, then continued to watch her silently as the lunch, fueled by plenty of beer and Jack Daniel’s, began to get somewhat raucous, though in Ann’s honor obscenity was carefully avoided, in spite of the charmingly risqué murals that looked down at them. When Adam refused all of Ann’s attempts to draw him into conversation, she concluded that she probably bored him. She had been foolish to read anything into a few hours of chatter in a restaurant, followed by a swift kiss on the hand.
Finally, after much back-slapping and hilarity, the party broke up. Outside, they headed for Central Park West, the Texans yelling for cabs with their bullhorn voices. Ann stood on the curb, smiling, as they said goodbye. It had started to snow heavily.
Suddenly Adam stood at her side. “Where are you off to?”
“I thought I’d walk back to the Plaza,” Ann returned uncertainly. “It’s not that far.”
He raised an eyebrow, then pointed toward the overcast sky above Central Park. “Those dainty little pumps hardly look to me like snowshoes.” He flagged down a cab, helped her inside, and directed the driver to the hotel.
She should have been annoyed, but she wasn’t. Instead, she found it curiously refreshing to have a man make decisions for her—even one as trivial as this. She arranged herself carefully on the edge of the tattered seat as, minutes later, they stopped in a tangle of gridlocked cars and blaring horns at Columbus Circle.
“You might as well sit back and relax,” Adam said lazily. “This is just typical Manhattan traffic.”
Ann put her hands over her ears.
“Good God—what a racket!”
A grin touched his lips. “I forget that you come from a civilized town.”
Ann laughed. “Town? Adam—are you implying that I’m a hick?”
“Good heavens, no! After this morning, those tough birds will treat you like a born New York real-estate maven.”
“Really?” Ann asked hesitantly. “I hope that my question about the new accelerated depreciation schedules didn’t upset them.”
“Look, if you hadn’t mentioned it, I would have.”
Ann began to relax as the conversation continued along strictly business lines. She had been foolish to imagine that Adam had a personal interest in her.
“I think I already have at least three-quarters of my investors lined up,” she said, “but I’ll let you know by the end of next week.”
Despite his earlier resolve, Adam heard himself asking, “How long are you staying in New York?”
“Just until tomorrow morning. I’ve been here since Wednesday.”
“Oh? What have you been doing to entertain yourself?”
“Shopping,” Ann admitted sheepishly, as if woman executives were supposed to be above that sort of thing.
“Well, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s usually a female’s favorite occupation.” He bit his lip at what he realized was a stupid remark, but Ann ignored it. They were almost at the Plaza, and he realized he couldn’t just let her go.
“Have dinner with me tonight,” he said abruptly, hoping he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.
Apart from the dig about shopping, his conversation had been so unexceptional, and his manner so pleasantly impersonal, that Ann found herself thinking, Why not? She hesitated for only a second. “Yes, I’d enjoy that, Adam.”
“Would eight o’clock be all right?”
“Perfect.” She opened the door and got out of the cab before he could help her. “See you at eight.”
The day had been a full one. Ann returned to her room exhausted. In spite of the weather, she would have liked to explore the city more and really see the sights, but even the thought of it tired her.
Instead, she browsed through the Plaza boutiques and wound up picking up some trinkets for Evie, an imported meerschaum pipe for Phillip, and the latest Vogue for herself.
Back in her room, she drew a warm bubble bath, then lay back and luxuriated in the suds. Inevitably, her thoughts drifted to Adam. Tired as she was, she found she couldn’t wait to spend the evening with him.
But even her anticipation made her feel guilty. She closed her eyes and sank further down into the tub. They were going out to dinner together, she told herself. They were business associates and that was all. It was perfectly natural that they go out to dinner while she was in town….
Toweling herself off, Ann walked to her closet and considered the full wardrobe. She had had a lot of decisions to make in her lifetime, but which dress to wear had never been one of them.
There was the mocha silk, the ivory brushed linen—and the black silk dress Ann had purchased for this same occasion—dinner with Adam—nearly a year before. Finally she settled on the pink Mollie Parnis with the deep niching of chiffon at the neck. The plunging back was a little bold, but after all, Ann told herself, this was New York. What she thought of as bold would hardly turn heads here.
She turned in front of the mirror. There was no question: the dress was a tad risqué. But however daring it seemed, however daring she felt, she decided that for this evening, she would just be herself: Ann Pollock Coulter.
Yet, for all of her brave resolve, Ann discovered her heart was pounding when Adam arrived. She felt the warmth rush to her cheeks when Adam said, “You look lovely.” His admiring gaze confirmed his sincerity.
It was all the same as it had been almost a year ago, yet then again, it wasn’t. The weight of the year that separated their first evening together and this night lay upon them both. They were no longer the strangers they had been then. They were as at ease with each other as if they had known each other a long, long time.
As they settled themselves into the back seat of the cab, Adam turned to her and said, “Ann, please feel free to say no, but I was wondering if you would care to have dinner with me at my apartment.”
His apartment? Ann had fantasized about being alone with him, it was true, but even in her dreams she never thought it would happen. And now that it was about to, she wasn’t so sure how good an idea it was. She tried to maintain her composure.
“I just thought that after that session at des Artistes today, it might be more restful than a restaurant,” he said. “Quite frankly, I found those cowboys pretty damned wearing. I thought it would be nice if we could have someplace quiet to talk. Would you mind, or was your heart set on dining out?”
Would I mind? Ann asked herself. If he only knew how much a part of her wanted to say yes….
Adam sensed her hesitation, and his next words were chosen carefully to calm her fears. “Gaston is a marvelous chef. He’s French … and he’s the soul of respectability.”
“That sounds fine, Adam,” Ann said, both reassured and disappointed.
The lift glided noiselessly upward to the penthouse and they stepped out into the foyer. The floor was creamy Carrara and serpentine marble. Adam took out a delicate, ornate gold key, unlocked the pedimented double doors, and stood aside so Ann could precede him.
She stood in Adam’s sanctuary.
Polished sconces cast a soft light onto rich mahogany paneling, and the air bore a faint scent of leather, wool, and beeswax. When he took her coat, his hand brushed her bare back and she shivered, hoping Gaston would arrive soon to serve dinner.
As Adam moved to hang
up his own coat, Ann turned, then gasped as she looked out the windows, which soared two stories high and ran the full width of the huge living room. Manhattan lay at their feet, the teeming commotion of people and cars and buildings reduced to a million glowing fireflies. Through the light drizzle, it was overpoweringly beautiful, mysterious, and ethereal.
Adam interrupted her reverie and gently guided her down the marble steps into the room. Despite the vast expanse of glass and the high ceilings, it had a feeling of intimacy that was accentuated by the Georgian fireplace, in which the fire crackled, sending flickering light through the room. Persian rugs covered the parquet floors and set off the palest beige raw-silk covering the walls. Several Picassos and two Edward Hopper cityscapes had been spotlighted by a master hand, and Chippendale and Queen Anne pieces added to the charm of the room. It was irresistibly inviting; everything seemed to have a life of its own. The tables were conveniently placed; the Sèvres vases were filled with flowers. It was a room well loved and well used.
Ann was startled by the sound of Adam’s voice at her ear. “Would you like to see the rest of the place now or would you like to have dinner first?”
“Could we have dinner?” Ann murmured.
The dining room was more brightly lit than the living room. An antique chandelier cast hundreds of reflections on the mahogany table and the cut crystal. A silver epergne brimmed with orchids and iris.
The table was set for two. Adam sat at the head; Ann at the foot. The service was formal, and Ann was delighted by the Irish damask napkins, handsomely wrought Tiffany silver, and no fewer than four Baccarat goblets of different sizes and shapes for each of them.
The menu lived up to the decor. They began with oysters, with a tangy Sancerre rouge to go with them. She ate and drank slowly, savoring every moment of the feast.
Seasons of the Heart Page 23
