Laura was watching him with a small, wistful smile. "Nothing is as simple as we thought it was."
For a moment Paul let himself enjoy the harmony of their thoughts, remembering the joy it had always given him. His smile met hers. "It might be, if we knew what we wanted, and then stuck with it."
"It doesn't matter anymore," she said sofdy. "It*s too late." Impulsively, before she could stop herself, she moved closer to him, and without thinking he enfolded her in his arms, knowing at least that he wanted her. But Laura kept a space between them. She lay her hand along his face, aching inside with all the tears she could not shed, and the emptiness of knowing they had lost each other all over again. She felt the familiar lines of his face, the prominent cheekbones, the texture of his skin, its warmth warming her fingers, and his thick hair with touches of gray she had not noticed before. She memorized it all once again— my love, my love —as if she could make him a part of her, held within her wherever she was, like a secret self. For a long moment they stood together at the side of the empty dance floor, like a couple about to begin a waltz. And then they separated. "Good-bye, Paul," she said. "I won't see you downstairs; Fm going home. I don't want to see you again."
He felt the pull of his body to go to her, to kiss her and hold her close and tell her nothing else mattered: they were together. The sadness in her eyes filled his vision; he wanted to bring lightness to them, and laughter, but too much stood in the way. He forced himself to keep his hands at his side. "I'm sorry," be said, then gestured with helplessness. "Such a dull word, for all the things I'd like to say. I wish I had a better one. But there seems to be more to apologize for than to celebrate. Good luck with your hotels."
*Thank you. I'll watch for the fihn on Britt."
As she turned away, Paul said simply, "You know, I love you very much. I've never stoi^^ed. That doesn't seem to have anything to do with all the other things that stand between us."
Laura stood still for a long moment, then shook her head, as if shaking it free of his words. **Good-bye," she said, her back to him, and walked to the door.
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**I would like to know if you still feel the same/* he said. **I have no right to ask, but Vd like to hear you say you don't. Or you do.*'
Slowly, she turned and looked at him across the empty room that echoed with voices and laughter long since gone. Her hand made a small movement toward him. *'I love you with all my heart,** she said, and then, swiftly, she went dirough the door, and was gone.
I
Chapter 24
INVITATIONS arrived in each day's mail. Ever since she had moved to New Yoik, Laura had been included in dinners and benefit parties, but with Farley's party and die fall season, she suddenly became a catch. Manhs^tan society is constandy on the lookout for fresh faces attached to people who are making their mark, whether legally or illegally; it makes no real difference as long as they are getting media attention. And since stories on Laura and fa^r hotels had appeared in The Wall Street Journal, The New York Times, Newsweek, and Vogue, and several television talk shows had invited her to appear, doors all over the city were opened to her. It was a definite plus that she was young and beautiful and unattached, even better that she had connections to Wes i Currier and Ginny Starrett, and best of all that she had an air | of mystery and refused to discuss her past. So the invitations poured in.
Laura accepted as many as she could squeeze mto her evenings. She worked in her office from seven in the morning until seven at night, went to Grove Court to bathe and change, and then left for a dinner party or benefit ball or two or three parties in one night. By the time she returned home, she had barely enough energy to strip off her clothes and slide into ^ bed, to awaken five hours later and begin another day. flp
'Tou don't have any time to think," said Ginny as they sat in Laura's roof garden on a Saturday afternoon halfway
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through October, watching gardeners plant trees. **I thought I had a crazy social life, but yours is crazier."
"I think at work," Laura said.
"But that's thinking about work."
*That's all I want to think about."
"Well, everybody goes through that," Ginny said rumina-tively. "I did every time Wylie let slip accidentally on purpose that he was sleeping with somebody new. But then one day, for some reason, probably because women are like rubber and keep bouncing back, you start to feel better, and you can think about anything you want, because it doesn't hurt anymore. And when that happens, you are going to be one wom-out lady in need of a vacation."
Laura smiled. "When that happens, I'll take one."
"How about next March?" Ginny asked promptly. "I'm going to Paris for a couple of weeks, and I want you to come klong. The way you're painting the town these days, and woridng too hard to shop, by March you'll be in tatters and in need of a whole new wardrobe, not to mention some fun."
*Thank you, Ginny. I'll think about it."
"No, you won't. You'll forget about it because you're so all-fired wound up in those hotels you can't even seriously imagine what Paris might be like. Chilly in March, sometimes downright cold and rainy, but also quiet. No tourists, the stores are full, the museums are empty, and you're treated almost like a native. The perfect place to unwind. I would love an answer now. Like yes."
"Yes," said Laura unexpectedly. "It sounds wonderful."
Taken aback, Ginny said, "Well. By golly. Can I have it in writing?'
Laura laughed and reached for a pad of paper. She scribbled a note and handed it to Ginny.
Ginny skimmed it. "Why does it say *no more than two weeks'?"
"Because that's all I can manage. The Philadelphia hotel opens in May, and once I've got it running smoothly I want to start thinking about ways to get some of the Salinger stock."
"You haven't forgotten that."
"I don't forget much about the Salingers," Laura said lightly, but Ginny knew how much she meant it. "Anyway,
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there's so much going on now I shouldn't go away at all, but—"
"But Fm so persuasive, and you don't like to have spare time to think. Of course, by then you'll be over this bhp in your life and raring to—^" She saw Laura's face tighten. "Shoot, I'm sorry, honey, that was crude. I know you're having a hard time; I don't mean to make light of it. What kind of tree is that, the one he's just planting?"
"Flowering plum. And the others are flowering crab and cherry and mock orange. I love them: next April every branch and twig will be covered with pink and purple and white flowers. Everything spring ought to be."
"Pity they won't be flowering for your housewarming party."
"Maybe we should cancel it then,"
Ginny grinned. "You can't get out of it that easily. I know you don't want to give a party; I even understand it; but you have to believe me: it's a good idea to have one. A new house isn't really yours until you greet people at your door and feed them and make them welcome to set their backsides down on your furniture. Anyway, we've got it all planned, so we have to have it. And your house is ready."
"And beautiftil. The most beautiful house in New York. Thanks to you."
"You chose everything; I just got good prices. Good team-woiii, I'd say."
Laura put her hand on Giimy's and they sat quietly, watching one gardener hold the tree while the other heaped fresh daak soil around it. The rooftop had been transformed from the bare dusty space Laura had first seen to a cedar deck with white wrought-iron chairs as lacy as a New Orleans balcony, a matching round table with an umbrella, an old fashioned wooden swing. Against the brick wall were green- and purple-leaved trees and stepped planters luxuriant with chrysanthemums, asters, and dahlias, with space left for rose bushes and annuals in the spring.
It was a tiny oasis, green and fragrant, and in creating it Laura had put herself in the company of the few thousand New Yorkers lucky enough to have the space and money to claim a litde nature for themselves. In a concrete city
of shad-
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owed canyons, hurtling traffic, the rattle of jackhammers, and graffiti and mountains of bagged garbage alongside elegant buildings, the terraces and flat roofs of apartment buildmgs sprouted trees and bloomed with flowers, each jewel-like garden a haven floating above the everyday world.
Or it will be a haven, Laura thought, when I spend more than an hour a week here.
The entire house was a haven, even now, when she used it mostly as a bedroom and a dressing room. Someday, she thought, when I can face quiet hours again. Til use it the way it's meant to be used. The rooms were sparely furnished, but with such glowing colors, warm with the patina of age, that they were like an embrace. Nothing was sleekly new; everything was as mellow as if it had been there for years, putting famiUes at their ease. The furniture was country French, in hand-rubbed golden fruitwood, the windows were hung with pale muslin, the chairs and loveseats were upholstered in small flowered prints. Scattered on the pine plai& floors were rugs in rich wines and blues, and brass fire tools stood beside the fireplaces in the living room, library, dining room, and bedroom. There was also the newly decorated kitchen, but Laura rarely went in it. She ate out, even when she and Clay had their weekly diimers; she was too busy to be domestic, and not much interested in it anyway.
But the kitchen was crowded on a Saturday night at the end of October when it was taken over by the caterer and his staff for Laura's housewarming party. They had arrived while she was still at work and had immediately made the house their own, setting up a bar in the living room and another in the roof garden, and dinner tables for four or six throughout the house; finding Laura's trays in the pantry and arranging hors d'oeuvrcs on them; and building fires in the fireplaces, even tiiough the night was warm, with an autumn haze that made the Ml moon seem faintly blurred as it shone on the arriving guests.
**You look gorgeous,** Flavia Guameri said to Laura, sweeping her with a critical eye as she stood in the small foyer. "You, too, Wes," she added briefly to Currier, who stood at Laura's side, then turned agam to Laura. **Eveiy time I see you you're better dressed; ei£er you're learning fast or the hotels are very successful."
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*'Both/* Laura said easily, smiling at Flavia*s lack of subtlety. She was wearing blue silk, the same color as her eyes, strapless, with a filmy stole of the same blue. The dress outlined her slender curves and made more vivid her white skin and chestnut curls. She stood straight, her head high and proud, and whatever she felt was masked by her quiet face and cool smile; no one knew what she was thinking.
Currier stopped to talk to someone as she went upstairs to the living room to talk to her guests. She was relieved to have him no longer at her side. Ginny had been right: having a party made the house truly hers, and it bothered her that Currier had assumed the role of host the minute he walked in, even though they hadn't seen each other for a month. He keeps changing the definition of firiendship, she thought, marveling again at his tenacity. Fll have to talk to him about it. ""Can I get you anything, Rosa?" she asked, bending over the armchair where Rosa sat. ''Something to eat or drink? Someone to talk to?**
"Fm very happy," Rosa said, patting Laura's cheek. "Fm glad to be here. It always makes me feel good when I know people I care about haven't forgotten me even though I'm too old and feeble to be much use." Laura was laughing at her and she smiled widely. ''Well, it's true I don't feel all that old, but these days Fm spending more time thinking about the past than the future, and that's a sign of advanced age if there ever was one. Just now I was thinking back to your other house-warming, in Mr. Owen's house, tihe one you gave when Allison was engaged to that Thad person. Of course I was mostly in the kitcben, but even so I renoember what a strange crowd you put together that night: Allison's friends from college, and those woribnen—carpenters and such—and of course Mr. Owen stopped by, didn't he? And so did Leni. And P^.'*
Laura nodded.
'^It's another strange crowd tonigjit, isn*t it?" Rosa asked shrewdly. **Th»ie's that young couple who own a restaurant down the street, and the landscaper who did your roof garden, and a coontess, and Havia Guameri, who has half the worid's jewels around her neck, and that handsome Carios Something who looks like he's imagining gyrations in bed with every woman he talks to— **
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I
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nRosa!"
"I know, I know, I'm not normally into talking that way, but that's another sign of age: the older I get, the more I say why not. I talked to your friend Ginny; she was kind enough to remember that dinner Kelly and I made in your hotel in Chicago. Have you talked to Kelly lately?"
"NOj I've been so busy, and she hasn't called in a couple of months. I invited her tonight; she should be here."
"Over there," Rosa said, gesturing. "Behind the crowd coming upstairs."
Kelly was moving toward them, and in a minute she and Laura hugged each other. "Fabulous house; not like I ever thought a New York house would be."
"Where's John?" Laura asked, looking around.
"Not here. I'll tell you about it sometime when you're not busy being a hostess."
Laura heard the different note in her voice. She lifted Kelly's left hand and looked at the ringless fingers. "When did that happen?"
"One month ago today. I'll tell you all about it; maybe tomorrow we'll have lunch or something?"
"Of course. Who's running Damton's?"
"We sold it. You really want to hear this?"
"Of course I do."
"Well, in a nutshell, somebody made an offer we couldn't refuse—you know how long John's been wanting to sell—so we got a heap of money and traveled around the world and then split. It just didn't work. John wants to play for the rest of his life; I need to do something. I thought I'd come to your office on Monday and ask if you happened to have a job for me."
They exchanged a look, remembering the day, six years earlier, when Laura had arrived at Damton's needing a job. "Of course I do. I'm not sure what, but we'll find something that's perfect for you." She turned as she felt a hand on her arm, and met Carlos Serrano's carelessly seductive black eyes.
"Beautifiil one, you will have dinner with me while I am in the city? I will call to arrange it; I have only two weeks. And I must tell you I came this morning from your hotel in Chicago, and it was perfection; I salute you."
Judith Michael
Laura smiled. It was impossible to resist Carlos's charm, though almost everyone knew it was as automatic with him as breathing. "I'm glad you were comfortable; we were lucky to find a wonderful manager—^" She stopped, her head tilted as if listening to her own words. "Please excuse me . . ." She turned back to find Kelly, who was talking to Rosa. "How would you like to live in Washington?" she asked Kelly.
"I have no idea. Why?"
"I own a hotel there, and it needs everything: manager, assistant manager, even a chef for the dining room."
"A manager and a chef," Kelly repeated. Her face had brightened. "I have a chef. Or I will have. The one we had at Damton's doesn't like the new owners, and he told me if I ever went back to a hotel he'd love to work with me. And Washington sounds interesting."
They smiled at each other with the excitement of new beginnings and everything falling into place. "Lunch tomorrow," Laura said. "We'll talk about it. I'd need you right away."
"I'm ready right away."
Laura kissed her cheek. "We'll see each other more often. We'll almost be neighbors."
"And working together again. I like that."
Clay came up and gave Kelly a hug. "Great to see you. Where's John?"
"He couldn't make it. You look very successful: tall, blond, and handsome; pretty girl clinging to your arm; distinguished mustache; classy suit. Is this the wide-eyed boy who wanted to spend his days driving vintage cars around our island?"
Clay winked. "Same kid; he just grew up and learned to use his own motor instead of somebody else's. Kelly, would you mind if I took Laura
away for a minute?"
"Be my guest. But you wouldn't be talking business at a party, would you?"
"Never." He gave her a kiss and then took Laura's arm. "I'm sorry; I just thought I'd tell you . . ." They took a few steps, finding a clear spot in a comer. "I found out this afternoon that the security guy I fired a couple of months ago is working for the Salingers."
"WeU?"
"Well, it doesn't sound good, does it? I mean, he knows all
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about the kind of card locks we use on our doors, the television monitors in the corridors, the safes in the rooms— "
"I don't understand. You think he'll break into our hotels?"
**Who knows? He knows an awful lot about us."
**Clay, this isn't a war. We don't have armies and spies; we're not out to destroy each other."
"Felix might be. Or Ben. What about Ben?'
"Ben? He's got his own family and his own life. I'm sure he's very happy, and I don't believe he'd do anything to hurt us. Anyway, I'm sure he's not doing robberies anymore; he's part of a wealthy family; why would he risk it?"
"Maybe he needs money."
"I'm sure he has all the money he needs. Anyway, even if he was still stealing, he wouldn't choose us out of the whole world—"
"He would if he had information that macte it easier."
*That's enough! I don't want to talk about it! Ben isn't stealing, I just know he's not, and we haven't had a single report^ theft, and that's all! What a crazy tiling for you to worry about. Who's the girl you brought tonight?**
"Rosemary. She thinks I need taking care of."
"Well, maybe you do."
^That's what Myma always said. I liked it for a while but then it was sort of smothering, like a prison. No freedom, no risks, no excitement—"
"Just love and belonging and somebody to care what the hell happens to you. Awftil."
He gave her a sharp look. "How come you don't marry Wes, if you think it's such a good deal?"
"Because I don't love Wes. If I did, I would. I do tiiink marriage is a good deal. It might help you—^" She stopped.
"Grow up. Right? You tiiink I need to grow up."
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