"Have you had breakfast?" Tony asked.
"No. I wasn't sure the cook would be up this early."
'This is a hotel. There's twenty-four-hour service."
She smiled up at him. "Nice."
"Where is your home?"
"Mostly in Munich. We live in an old schloss—a castle—outside the city."
"Where were you brought up?"
Marianne sighed. "That's a long story. During the war, I was sent away to school in Switzerland. After that, I went to Oxford, studied at the Sorbonne and lived in London for a few years." She looked directly into his eyes. "That's where I've been. Where have you been?"
"Oh, New York, Maine, Switzerland, South Africa, a few years in the South Pacific during the war, Paris ..." He broke off abruptly, as though he were saying too much.
"Forgive me if I seem to pry, but I can't imagine why you stopped painting."
"It's not important," Tony said curtly. "Let's have breakfast"
They ate alone on the terrace overlooking the sparkling sweep of the bay. She was easy to talk to. There was a dignity about her, a gentleness that Tony found appealing. She did not flirt, she did not chatter. She seemed genuinely interested in him. Tony found himself attracted to this quiet, sensitive woman. He could not help wondering how much of that attraction was due to the thought that it would spite his mother.
"When do you go back to Germany?"
"Next week," Marianne replied. "I'm getting married."
Her words caught him off guard. "Oh," Tony said lamely. That's great. Who is he?"
"He's a doctor. I've known him all my life." Why had she added that? Did it have some significance?
On an impulse, Tony asked, "Will you have dinner with me in New York?"
She studied him, weighing her answer. "I would enjoy that."
Tony smiled, pleased. "It's a date."
They had dinner at a little seashore restaurant on Long Island. Tony wanted Marianne to himself, away from the eyes of his mother. It was an innocent evening, but Tony knew that if his mother learned about it, she would find some way to poison it This was a private thing between him and Marianne, and for the brief time it existed, Tony wanted nothing to spoil it. Tony enjoyed Marianne's company even more than he had anticipated. She had a quick, sly sense of humor, and Tony found himself laughing more than he had laughed since he left Paris. She made him feel lighthearted and carefree.
When do you go back to Germany?
Next week... I'm getting married
During the next five days, Tony saw a great deal of Marianne. He canceled his trip to Canada, and he was not certain why. He had thought it might be a form of rebellion against his mother's plan, a petty vengeance, but if that had been true in the beginning, it was no longer true. He found himself drawn to Marianne more and more strongly. He loved her honesty. It was a quality he had despaired of ever finding.
Since Marianne was a tourist in New York, Tony took her everywhere. They climbed the Statue of Liberty and rode the ferry to Staten Island, went to the top of the Empire State Building, and ate in Chinatown. They spent an entire day at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and an afternoon at the Frick Collection. They shared the same tastes. They carefully avoided speaking of any personal things, and yet both were conscious of the powerful sexual undercurrent between them. The days spilled into one another, and it was Friday, the day Tony was to leave for the Wyatt Ranch.
"When do you fly back to Germany?"
"Monday morning." There was no joy in her voice.
Tony left for Houston that afternoon. He could have gone with his mother in one of the company planes, but he preferred to avoid any situation where he and Kate would be alone together. As far as he was concerned, his mother was solely a business partner: brilliant and powerful, devious and dangerous.
There was a Rolls-Royce to pick up Tony at the William P. Hobby Airport in Houston, and he was driven to the ranch by a chauffeur dressed in Levi's and a colorful sport shirt.
"Most folks like to fly direct to the ranch," the driver told Tony. "Mr. Wyatt's got a big landin' strip there. From here, it's 'bout an hour's drive to the gate, then another half hour before we git to the main house."
Tony thought he was exaggerating, but he was wrong. The Wyatt Ranch turned out to be more of a town than a ranch. They drove through the main gate onto a private road, and after thirty minutes they began to pass generator buildings and barns and corrals and guest houses and servants' bungalows. The main house was an enormous one-story ranch house that seemed to go on forever. Tony thought it was depressingly ugly.
Kate had already arrived. She and Charlie Wyatt were seated on the terrace overlooking a swirriming pool the size of a small lake. They were in the midst of an intense conversation when Tony appeared. When Wyatt saw him, he broke off abruptly in the middle of a sentence. Tony sensed that he had been the subject of their discussion.
"Here's our boy! Have a good trip, Tony?"
"Yes, th-thank you."
"Lucy was hopin' you'd be able to catch an earlier plane," Kate said.
Tony turned to look at bis mother. "Was sh-she?"
Charlie Wyatt clapped Tony on the shoulder. "We're puttin' on a whoppin' barbecue in honor of you and Kate. Everybody's flyin' in for it."
'That's very k-kind of you," Tony said. If they're planning to serve fatted calf he thought, they're going to go hungry.
Lucy appeared, wearing a white shirt and tight-fitting, well-worn jeans, and Tony had to admit she was breathtakingly lovely.
She went up to him and took his arm. "Tony! I was wondering if you were coming."
"S-sorry I'm late," Tony said. "I had some b-business to finish up."
Lucy gave him a warm smile. "It doesn't matter, as long as you're here. What would you like to do this afternoon?"
"What do you have to offer?"
Lucy looked him in the eye. "Anything you want," she said softly.
Kate Blackwell and Charlie Wyatt beamed.
The barbecue was spectacular, even by Texas standards. Approximately two hundred guests had arrived by private plane, Mercedes or Rolls-Royce. Two bands were playing simulta-neously in different areas of the grounds. Half a dozen bartenders dispensed champagne, whiskey, soft drinks and beer, while four chefs busily prepared food over outdoor fires. There was barbecued beef, lamb, steaks, chicken and duck. There were bubbling earthen pots of chili, and whole lobsters; crabs and com on the cob were cooking in the ground. There were baked potatoes and yams and fresh peas in the pod, six kinds of salads, homemade hot biscuits, and corn bread with honey and jam. four dessert tables were laden with freshly baked pies, cakes and puddings, and a dozen flavors of homemade ice cream. It was the most conspicuous waste Tony had ever seen. It was, he supposed, the difference between new money and old money. Old money's motto was, If you have it, hide it. New money's motto was, If you have it, flaunt it.
This was flaunting on a scale that was unbelievable. The women were dressed in daring gowns, and the display of jewelry was blinding. Tony stood to one side watching the guests gorging themselves, calling out noisily to old friends. He felt as though he were attending some mindless, decadent rite. Every time he turned around, Tony found himself confronted with a waiter carrying a tray containing large crocks of beluga caviar or pate or champagne. It seemed to Tony that there were almost as many servants as guests. He listened to conversations around him.
"He came out here from New York to sell me a bill of goods, and I said, 'You're wastin' your time, mister. No good oil deal gets east of Houston ...'"
"You gotta watch out for the smooth talkers. They're all hat and no cattle..."
Lucy appeared at Tony's side. "You're not eating." She was watching him intently. "Is anything wrong, Tony?"
"No, everything's fine. It's quite a party."
She grinned. "You ain't seen nothin' yet, pardner. Wait until you see the fireworks display."
"The fireworks display?"
"Uh-huh." She touched Tony's arm
. "Sorry about the mob scene. It's not always like this. Daddy wanted to impress your mother." She smiled. 'Tomorrow they'll all be gone."
So will I, Tony thought grimly. It had been a mistake for him to come here. If his mother wanted the Wyatt Oil & Tool Company so badly, she would have to figure out some other way to get it. His eyes searched the crowd for his mother, and he saw her in the middle of an admiring group. She was beautiful. She was almost sixty years old, but she looked ten years younger. Her face was unlined, and her body was firm and trim, thanks to exercise and daily massage. She was as disciplined with herself as with everyone around her, and in a perverse way, Tony admired her. To a casual onlooker, Kate Blackwell seemed to be having a marvelous time. She was chatting with the guests, beaming, laughing. She's loathing every moment of this, Tony thought. There isn't anything she won't suffer to get what she wants. He thought of Marianne and of how much she would have hated this kind of senseless orgy. The thought of her was a sudden ache in him.
I'm marrying a doctor. I've known him all my life.
Half an hour later when Lucy came looking for Tony, he was on his way back to New York.
He called Marianne from a telephone booth at the airport. "I want to see you."
There was no hesitation. "Yes."
Tony had not been able to get Marianne Hoffman out of his thoughts. He had been alone for a long time, but he had not felt lonely. Being away from Marianne was a loneliness, a feeling that a part of him was missing. Being with her was a warmth, a celebration of life, a chasing away of the ugly dark shadows that had been haunting him. He had the terrifying feeling that if he let Marianne go, he would be lost. He needed her as he had never needed anyone in his life.
Marianne met him at his apartment, and as she walked in the door, there was a hunger in Tony that he had thought forever dead. And looking at her, he knew the hunger was hers, too, and there were no words for the miracle of it.
She went into his arms, and their emotion was an irresistible riptide that caught them both up and swept them away in a glorious explosion, an eruption, and a contentment beyond words. They were floating together in a velvety softness that knew no time or place, lost in the wondrous glory and magic of each other. Later they lay spent, holding each other, her hair soft against his face.
"I'm going to marry you, Marianne."
She took his face in her hands and looked searchingly into his eyes. "Are you sure, Tony?" Her voice was gentle. 'There's a problem, darling."
"Your engagement?"
"No. I'll break it off. I'm concerned about your mother."
"She has nothing to do with—"
"No. Let me finish, Tony. She's planning for you to marry Lucy Wyatt."
"That's her plan." He took her in his arms again. "My plans are right here."
"She'll hate me, Tony. I don't want that."
"Do you know what I want?" Tony whispered.
And the miracle started all over again.
It was another forty-eight hours before Kate Blackwell heard from Tony. He had disappeared from the Wyatt Ranch without an explanation or good-bye and had flown back to New York. Charlie Wyatt was baffled, and Lucy Wyatt was furious. Kate had made awkward apologies and had taken the company plane back to New York that night. When she reached home, she telephoned Tony at his apartment. There was no answer. Nor was there any answer the following day.
Kate was in her office when the private phone on her desk rang. She knew who it was before she picked it up.
"Tony, are you all right?"
'I'm f-fine, Mother."
"Where are you?"
"On my h-honeymoon. Marianne Hoffman and I were m-married yesterday." There was a long, long silence. "Are you there, M-mother?"
"Yes. I'm here."
"You might s-say congratulations, or m-much happiness or one of those c-customary phrases." There was a mocking bitterness in his voice.
Kate said, "Yes. Yes, of course, I wish you much happiness, Son."
"Thank you, M-mother." And the line went dead.
Kate replaced the receiver and pressed down an intercom button. "Would you please come in, Brad?"
When Brad Rogers walked into the office, Kate said, "Tony just called."
Brad took one look at Kate's face and said, "Jesus! Don't tell me you did it!"
"Tony did it," Kate smiled. "We've got the Hoffman empire in our lap."
Brad Rogers sank into a chair. "I can't believe it! I know how stubborn Tony can be. How did you ever get him to marry Marianne Hoffman?"
"It was really very simple," Kate sighed. "I pushed him in the wrong direction."
But she knew it was really the right direction. Marianne would be a wonderful wife for Tony. She would dispel the darkness in him.
Lucy had had a hysterectomy.
Marianne would give him a son.
Six months from the day Tony and Marianne were married, the Hoffman company was absorbed into Kruger-Brent, Ltd. The formal signing of the contracts took place in Munich as a gesture to Frederick Hoffman, who would run the subsidiary from Germany. Tony had been surprised by the meekness with which his mother accepted his marriage. It was not like her to lose gracefully, yet she had been cordial to Marianne when Tony and his bride returned from their honeymoon in the Bahamas, and had told Tony how pleased she was with the marriage. What puzzled Tony was that her sentiments seemed genuine. It was too quick a turnaround, out of character for her. Perhaps, Tony decided, he did not understand his mother as well as he thought he did.
The marriage was a brilliant success from the beginning. Marianne filled a long-felt need in Tony, and everyone around him noticed the change in him—especially Kate.
When Tony took business trips, Marianne accompanied him. They played together, they laughed together, they truly enjoyed each other. Watching them, Kate thought happily, I have done well for my son.
It was Marianne who succeeded in healing the breach between Tony and bis mother. When they returned from their honeymoon, Marianne said, "I want to invite your mother to dinner."
"No. You don't know her, Marianne. She—"
"I want to get to know her. Please, Tony."
He hated the idea, but in the end he gave in. Tony had been prepared for a grim evening, but he had been surprised. Kate had been touchingly happy to be with them. The following week Kate invited them to the house for dinner, and after that it became a weekly rituaL
Kate and Marianne became friends. They spoke to each other over the telephone several times a week, and lunched together at least once a week.
They were meeting for lunch at Lutece, and the moment Marianne walked in, Kate knew something was wrong.
"I'd like a double whiskey, please," Marianne told the captain. "Over ice."
As a rule, Marianne drank only wine.
"What's happened, Marianne?"
'Tve been to see Dr. Harley."
Kate felt a sudden stab of alarm. "You're not ill, are you?"
"No. I'm just fine. Only ..." The whole story came tumbling out.
It had begun a few days earlier. Marianne had not been feeling well, and she had made an appointment with John Harley.
"You look healthy enough," Dr. Harley smiled. "How old are you, Mrs. Blackwell?" "Twenty-three."
"Any history of heart disease in your family?" "No."
He was making notes. "Cancer?" "No." "Are your parents alive?"
"My father is. My mother died in an accident."
"Have you ever had mumps?"
"No."
"Measles?"
"Yes. When I was ten."
"Whooping cough?"
"No."
"Any surgery?"
"Tonsils. I was nine."
"Other than that, you've never been hospitalized for anything?"
"No. Well, yes—that is, once. Briefly."
"What was that for?"
"I was on the girls' hockey team at school and during a game I blacked out. I woke up in a hospital. I was only there two days. It was re
ally nothing."
"Did you suffer an injury during the game?"
"No. I—I just blacked out."
"How old were you then?"
"Sixteen. The doctor said it was probably some kind of adolescent glandular upset."
John Harley sat forward in his chair. "When you woke up, do you remember if you felt any weakness on either side of your body?"
Marianne thought a moment. "As a matter of fact, yes. My right side. But it went away in a few days. I haven't had anything like it since."
"Did you have headaches? Blurred vision?"
"Yes. But they went away, too." She was beginning to be alarmed. "Do you think there's something wrong with me, Dr. Harley?"
"I'm not sure. I'd like to make a few tests—just to be on the safe side."
"What kind of tests?"
"I'd like to do a cerebral angiogram. Nothing to be concerned about. We can have it done right away."
Three days later, Marianne received a call from Dr. Harley's
nurse asking her to come in. John Harley was waiting for her in his office. "Well, we've solved the mystery."
"Is it something bad?"
"Not really. The angiogram showed that what you had, Mrs. Blackwell, was a small stroke. Medically, it's called a berry aneurysm, and it's very common in women—particularly in teenage girls. A small blood vessel in the brain broke and leaked small amounts of blood. The pressure is what caused the headaches and blurred vision. Fortunately, those things are self-healing."
Marianne sat there listening, her mind fighting panic. "What—what does all this mean, exactly? Could it happen again?"
'It's very unlikely." He smiled. "Unless you're planning to go out for the hockey team again, you can live an absolutely normal life."
"Tony and I like to ride and play tennis. Is that—?"
"As long as you don't overdo, everything goes. From tennis to sex. No problem."
She smiled in relief. "Thank God."
As Marianne rose, John Harley said, 'There is one thing, Mrs. Blackwell. If you and Tony are planning to have children, I would advise adopting them."
Marianne froze. "You said I was perfectly normal."
"You are. Unfortunately, pregnancy increases the vascular volume enormously. And during the last six to eight weeks of pregnancy, there's an additional increase in blood pressure. With the history of that aneurysm, the risk factor would be un-acceptably high. It would not only be dangerous—it could be fatal. Adoptions are really quite easy these days. I can arrange—"
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