Summer’s End

by Danielle Steel

  “You’re coming to the gate?” There was more dismay in her voice than encouragement.

  “I thought that might be nice. Would you mind?”

  “No.” Sullen, and angry. A goddamn child. Deanna wanted to slap her. Who was this person? Who had she become? Where had the sunny little girl who loved her gone? They each held tightly to their own thoughts as they walked toward the gate, collecting appreciative glances as they went. They were a striking pair. The dark beauty of Deanna in a beautifully cut, black wool dress, her hair swept into a knot, with a bright red jacket over one arm; Pilar in her youthful blaze of blonde, tall and slender and graceful in a white linen suit that had met with her mother’s approval as she came down the stairs. Even her grandmother would approve—unless she found the cut too American. Anything was possible, with Madame Duras.

  The plane was already boarding when they arrived, and Deanna had only a moment to hold the girl’s hand tightly in her own. “I mean it about the motorcycle, darling. Please….”

  “All right, all right.” But Pilar was already looking past Deanna, eager to be on the plane.

  “I’ll call you. And call me, if you have any problems.”

  “I won’t.” It was said with the assurance of not-quite-sixteen years.

  “I hope not.” Deanna’s face softened as she looked at her daughter, then pulled her into a hug. “I love you, darling. Have a good time.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” She favored her mother with a brief smile, and a quick wave, as her golden mane flew into the passageway. Deanna suddenly felt leaden. She was gone again. Her baby … the little girl with the curly blonde hair, the child who had held her arms out so trustingly each night to be hugged and kissed … Pilar. Deanna took a seat in the lounge and waited to see the 747 begin its climb into the sky. At last she rose and walked slowly back to her car. The valet tipped his cap appreciatively at the dollar she handed him and wondered about her as she swung her legs gracefully into the car. She was one hell of a good-looking woman; he couldn’t quite guess how old she was: twenty-eight? thirty-two? thirty-five? forty? It was impossible to tell. Her face was young, but the rest of her, the way she moved, the look in her eyes, was so old.

  Deanna heard him coming up the stairs as she sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair. It was twenty after ten, and he hadn’t called her all day. Dominique, his secretary, had left a message with Margaret at noon: Monsieur Duras would not be home for dinner. Deanna had eaten in the studio while she sketched, but her mind had not been on her work. She had been thinking of Pilar.

  She turned and smiled at him as he came into the room. She had actually missed him. The house had been strangely quiet all day. “Hello, darling. That was a long day.”

  “Very long. And yours?”

  “Peaceful. It’s too quiet here without Pilar.”

  “I never thought I’d hear you say that.” Marc-Edouard smiled at his wife as he slid into a large blue velvet chair near the fireplace.

  “Neither did I. How were your meetings?”

  “Tiresome.”

  He was not very expansive. She turned in her seat to look at him. “You’re still going to Paris tomorrow?” He nodded, and she continued to watch him as he stretched his long legs. He looked no different than he had that morning and seemed almost ready to take on another day. He thrived on the meetings he called “tiresome.” He stood up and walked toward her with a smile in his eyes.

  “Yes, I’m going to Paris tomorrow. Are you quite sure you don’t want to join Pilar and my mother in Cap d’Antibes?”

  “Quite sure.” Her look was determined. “Why would I want to do that?”

  “You said yourself that it was too quiet here. I thought perhaps.…” He put his hands on her shoulders as he went to stand behind her for a moment. “I’m going to be gone all summer, Deanna.”

  Her shoulders stiffened in his hands. “All summer?”

  “More or less. The Salco shipping case is too important to leave in anyone else’s hands. I’ll be commuting back and forth between Paris and Athens all summer. I just can’t be here.” His accent seemed stronger now when he spoke to her, as though he had already left the States. “It will give me plenty of opportunity to check up on Pilar, which should please you, but not any opportunity to be with you.” She wanted to ask him if he really cared, but she didn’t ask. “I think the case will take the better part of the summer. About three months.”

  It sounded like a death sentence to her. “Three months?” Her voice was very small.

  “Now you see why I asked if you’d like to go to Cap d’Antibes. Does this change your mind?”

  She shook her head slowly. “No. It doesn’t. You won’t be there either, and I think Pilar needs a break from me. Not to mention …” Her voice drifted off.

  “My mother?” Marc asked. She nodded. “I see. Well then, ma chère, you will be here all alone.”

  Dammit, why didn’t he ask her to go with him, to commute between Athens and Paris. For a wild moment Deanna thought of suggesting it to him, but she knew he wouldn’t let her go. He liked to be free when he worked. He would never take her along.

  “Can you manage alone?” he said now.

  “Do I have a choice? Do you mean I could say no and you wouldn’t go?” She turned her face up to his.

  “You know that’s not possible.”

  “Yes, I do.” She was silent for a time and then shrugged with a small smile. “I’ll manage.”

  “I know you will.”

  How do you know dammit? How do you know? What if I can’t? What if I need you? … What if …

  “You’re a very good wife, Deanna.”

  For a brief second she didn’t know whether to thank him or slap him. “What does that mean? That I don’t complain very much? Maybe I should.” Her smile hid what she felt and allowed him to dodge what he chose not to answer.

  “No, you shouldn’t. You are perfect the way you are.”

  “Merci, monsieur.” She stood up then and turned away so he would not see her face. “Will you pack yourself, or do you want me to pack for you?”

  “I’ll do it myself. You go to bed. I’ll be there in a while.”

  Deanna watched him dart around his dressing room, then disappear downstairs, to his study, she assumed. She had turned off the lights in the bedroom and was lying very still on her side of the bed when he returned.

  “Tu dors? Are you asleep?”

  “No.” Her voice was husky in the dark.

  “Bon.”

  Good? Why? What did it matter if she were asleep or not? Would he talk to her, tell her that he loved her, that he was sorry he was going? He wasn’t sorry and they both knew it. This was what he loved to do, gad about the world, plying his trade, enjoying his work and his reputation. He adored it. He slid into bed, and they lay there for a time, awake, pensive, silent.

  “Are you angry that I’m going away for so long?”

  She shook her head. “No, not angry, sorry. I’ll miss you. Very much.”

  “It will pass quickly.” She didn’t answer, and he propped himself up on one elbow to study her face in the dark room. “I’m sorry. Deanna.”

  “So am I.” He ran a hand gently across her hair and smiled at her, and she turned her head slowly to look at him.

  “You’re still very pretty, Deanna. Do you know that? You’re even prettier than you were as a girl. Very handsome in fact.” But she didn’t want to be handsome, she wanted to be his, as she had been so long ago. His Diane. “Pilar will be beautiful one day too.” He said it with pride.

  “She already is.” Deanna said it dispassionately, without anger.

  “Are you jealous of her?”

  He almost seemed to like the idea, and Deanna wondered. Maybe it made him feel important. Or young. But she answered him anyway. Why not? “Yes, sometimes I’m jealous of her. I’d like to be that young again, that free, that sure of what life owes me. At her age it’s all so obvious: You deserve the best, you’ll get the best. I u
sed to think so too.”

  “And now, Deanna? Has life paid you its debt?”

  “In some ways.” Her eyes held a certain sadness as they met his. For the first time in years he was reminded of the eighteen-year-old orphan who had sat across from him in his office wearing the little black Dior dress. He wondered if he had truly made her unhappy, if she really wanted more. But he had given her so much. Jewels, cars, furs, a home. All the things most women wanted. What more could she possibly want? He looked at her for a very long time, his eyes questioning, his face creased with a sudden thought. Was it possible that he really did not understand?

  “Deanna…?” He didn’t want to ask, but suddenly he had to. There was too much in her eyes. “Are you unhappy?”

  She looked at him squarely and wanted to say yes. But she was afraid. She would lose him; he would leave her, and then what? She didn’t want to lose Marc. She wanted more of him.

  “Are you unhappy?” He repeated the question and looked pained to realize what the answer was. She didn’t have to say the words. Suddenly it was clear. Even to him.

  “Sometimes I am. And sometimes not. Much of the time I don’t give it much thought. I miss … I miss the old days though, when we first met, when we were very young.” Her voice was very small as she said it.

  “We’ve grown up, Deanna, you can’t change that.” He leaned toward her and touched her chin with his hand, as though perhaps he might kiss her. But the hand fell away, as did the thought. “You were such a charming child.” He smiled at the memory of what he had felt. “I hated your father for leaving you in that mess.”

  “So did I. But that was just the way he was. I’ve made peace with all that.”

  “Have you?” She nodded. “Are you quite sure?”

  “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Because I sometimes think you still resent him. I think that’s why you continue to paint. Just to prove to yourself that you can still do something on your own, if you ever have to.” He looked at her more closely then, his forehead wrinkling into a frown. “You won’t ever have to, you know. I’ll never leave you in the condition that your father did.”

  “I’m not worried about that. And you’re wrong. I paint because I love it, because it’s a part of me.” He had never wanted to believe that, that her artwork was part of her soul.

  He didn’t answer for a time but lay looking up at the ceiling, turning things around in his mind. “Are you terribly cross that I’m going away for the summer?”

  “I told you, I’m not. I’ll simply paint, relax, read, see some of my friends.”

  “Will you go out a great deal?” He sounded worried, and she was amused. He was a fine one to ask about that.

  “I don’t know, silly. I’ll let you know if I’m asked. I’m sure there’ll be the usual dinner parties, benefits, concerts, that sort of thing.” He nodded again, saying nothing. “Marc-Edouard, are you jealous?” There was laughter in her eyes, and then she laughed aloud as he turned to look into her face. “Oh, you are! Don’t be silly! After all these years?”

  “What better time?”

  “Don’t be absurd, darling. That’s not my style.” He knew that was true.

  “I know that. But, on ne sait jamais. One never knows.”

  “How can you say something like that?”

  “Because I have a beautiful wife, with whom any man in his right mind would be crazy not to fall in love.” It was the most elaborate speech he had made to her in years. She showed her surprise. “What? You think I haven’t noticed? Deanna, now you are being absurd. You are a young and beautiful woman.”

  “Good. Then don’t go to Greece.” She was smiling up at him again, like a very young girl. But he didn’t look amused now.

  “I have to. You know that.”

  “All right. Then take me with you.” There was an unaccustomed note in her voice, half teasing, half serious. He didn’t answer for a long time. “Well? Can I go?”

  He shook his head. “No, you can’t.”

  “Well, then I guess you’ll just have to be jealous.” They hadn’t teased like this in years and years. His going away for three months had produced an assortment of very odd feelings. But she didn’t want to push him too far. “Seriously, darling, you don’t have to worry.”

  “I hope not.”

  “Marc! Arrête! Stop it!” She leaned forward and reached for his hand, and he let her take it in hers. “I love you… do you know that?”

  “Yes. Do you know as well that I love you?”

  Her eyes grew very serious as they looked into his. “Sometimes I’m not so sure.” He was always too busy to show her he loved her, and it wasn’t his style. But now something told her that she had hit home, and she was stunned as she watched him. Didn’t he know? Didn’t he realize what he had done? The wall he had built around himself, surrounded by business and work, gone for days or weeks, and now months, and his only ally Pilar? “I’m sorry, darling. I suppose you do. But sometimes I have to remind myself of it.”

  “But I do love you. You must know that.”

  “Deep inside I think I do know.” She knew it when she recalled the moments they had shared, the landmarks in a lifetime, which tell the tale. Those were the reasons why she still loved him.

  He sighed. “But you need a great deal more. Don’t you, my dear?” She nodded, feeling at once young and brave. “You need my time as well as my affection. You need … enfin, you need what I don’t have to give.”

  “That’s not true. You could have the time. We could do some of the things we used to. We could!” She sounded like a plaintive child and hated herself for it. She sounded like the child who had hounded her father to take her along. And she hated needing anyone that much. She had sworn long ago that she never would again. “I’m sorry. I understand.” Her eyes lowered and she withdrew.

  “Do you understand?” He was watching her very closely.

  “Of course.”

  “Ah, ma Diane….” His eyes were troubled as he took her in his arms. She didn’t notice; her own were too filled with tears. He had said it at last. “Ma Diane ….”

  2

  “You have enough money in the bank for the entire time I’ll be gone. But if you need more, call Dominique at the office, and she’ll transfer it. I told Sullivan I want him to look in on you at least twice a week. And …”

  Deanna looked at her husband in surprise. “You told Jim to look in on me? Why?” Jim Sullivan was Marc-Edouard’s American partner, and one of the few Americans he truly liked.

  “Because I want to make sure that you’re well, happy, and have everything you need.”

  “Thank you, but it seems silly to bother Jim.”

  “He’ll enjoy it. Show him your latest paintings, have him for dinner. I trust him.” He looked at his wife with a smile. And she smiled back.

  “You can trust me too.” In the eighteen years of her marriage, she had never cheated on Marc. She wasn’t going to start now.

  “I do trust you. I’ll call as often as I can. You know where I’ll be. If anything comes up, just call. I’ll get back to you as soon as possible, if I’m not in.” She nodded quietly at his words, and then let out a small sigh. He turned to look at her in the silence of the Jaguar. For a moment there was worry in his eyes. “You’ll be all right, Deanna, won’t you?”

  Her eyes found his. She nodded. “Yes. I’ll be fine. But I’ll miss you terribly.”

  He was already looking back at the road. “The time will go quickly. If you change your mind, you can always join Mother and Pilar in Cap d’Antibes.” He smiled at his wife again. “Not that you will.”

  “No, I won’t.” She smiled back.

  “Têtue, va. Stubborn one. Perhaps that’s why I love you.”

  “Is that why? I’ve often wondered.” There was a teasing sparkle in her eyes now as she studied the handsome profile next to her in the car. “You’ll take care of yourself, won’t you? Don’t work too terribly hard.” But it was a useless admonition,
and they both knew it.

  “I won’t.” He smiled at her tenderly.

  “You will.”

  “I will.”

  “And you’ll enjoy every minute of it.” They both knew that was true too. “I hope the Salco case comes out in your favor.”

  “It will. You can be quite sure of that.”

  “Marc-Edouard Duras, you are unbearably arrogant. Has anyone told you that yet today?”

  “Only the woman I love.” He reached for her hand as he took the turnoff for the airport, and she touched his fingers gently with her own. It made her think of the night before and the rare meshing of their bodies that she cherished so much. Ma Diane. … “I love you, darling.” She pulled his hand to her lips and gently kissed the tips of his fingers. “I wish we had more time.”

  “So do I. We will one of these days.”

  Yes … but when? She carefully put his hand back on the seat and left her fingers intertwined with his.

  “When you come back, do you suppose we could go somewhere together, for a holiday?” She watched him, her eyes wide, childlike. She still wanted him, wanted to be with him, to be his. After all these years she still cared. Sometimes it still surprised her how much she did.

  “Where would you like to go?”

  “Anywhere. Just so we’re together.” And alone.

  He looked at her for a long moment as they pulled up outside the terminal, and for an instant Deanna thought she saw regret in his eyes. “We’ll do that. As soon as I get back.” Then he seemed to catch his breath. “Deanna, I…”

  She waited, but he said no more; he only put his arms around her and held her close. She felt her own arms go around him and hold him close. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She needed him more than he knew. There were tears sliding slowly down her face. He felt her trembling in his arms and pulled away to look at her with surprise.