Summer’s End

by Danielle Steel

  “What did he say?”

  “Not very much. But he wasn’t pleased.”

  “He’ll get over it.”

  “I suppose he will.” But Deanna had not said more on the subject. She didn’t tell Kim that Marc had forbidden her to have the show and hung up on her in the end. He had told her it was vulgar and pushy, but for the first time in their marriage she had stood her ground. It was too important to her for her to give in this time. He hadn’t given in to her wishes about Pilar and the motorcycle. Why should she give in about her art?

  “My heavens, what are you frowning about, darling?” Ben spoke softly, so no one else would hear, and Deanna drifted back from her own thoughts.

  “Nothing. I’m sorry. I … it’s just … so much has happened.”

  “You can say that again. Sally just sold two more of your paintings.” He looked as happy as a boy, and Deanna wanted to throw her arms around him in a hug. Instead, she just caressed him with her eyes. “Can I interest you in a celebration dinner?”

  “Only if it’s pizza.” She grinned at him, knowing his preferences.

  “Not this time, madam. The real thing.”

  “Hamburgers?”

  “Go to hell.” Without further ceremony, he put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek.

  It was not an inappropriate thing for a gallery owner to do on the night of an artist’s first success, but as Kim watched them she suddenly found herself wondering if there was something more. Deanna had just whispered something in Ben’s ear, in answer to which, Kim had heard him say with a gentle smile, “I’m glad you liked them.” Deanna had touched the pearls at her ears and happily walked away. As Kim watched, an idea came to her for the very first time.

  13

  “O.K. I’m ready. Tell me the truth.” Deanna sat in the bed in the yellow bedroom with her eyes closed, her hands clenched, a pillow held over her head.

  “You look like you’re waiting for the earthquake.” Ben looked at her and laughed. He was perched on the bed, next to her, the paper in his hand. “What would you like me to read to you, darling? The stock market? The comics? Oh, I know!”

  “Will you read it to me, dammit. I can’t stand it another minute more.” She gritted her teeth, and he laughed again, turning to the reviews of her show. But he already knew what he would read. He had been in the business for too long to be very surprised. He generally knew what was in store. And as he glanced over the article, he knew he had been right again.

  “O.K., now? Are you ready?”

  “Benjamin! Read it dammit!” She said it through tensely clenched teeth and looked terrified as he started to read.

  “… a luminous, delicate style that shows not only years of study and devotion to her work, but the kind of talent we too seldom see….” His voice droned on as her eyes flew wide and she pulled the pillow away from her head.

  “You made that up!” She grabbed for the paper. He held it out of her reach and went on reading, until he had come to the end of the piece.

  “I don’t believe it.” She looked as though she were in shock. “It can’t be.”

  “Why not? You’re good. I told you that. I know it, they know it, the people who bought your paintings know it. Everyone knows it except you, you big, silly, dopey, humble. …” He had reached out for her and was tickling her.

  “Stop it! I’m famous! You can’t tickle me now!” But she was giggling too hard to stop him. “Stop it! I’m a star!”

  “Yeah? And who made you a star? Who told you that you had to have a show? Who begged you? Who wanted to show your work the first time he saw it? Huh? Tell me, tell me.” They were both laughing now, and she was tangled into his arms, her pale-pink silk nightgown creeping up toward her waist. He stopped for a moment, and looked at her, lying in his arms. She had never looked as beautiful, as delicate, and he wanted to hold her that way forever. He wanted to stop time.

  “What’s the matter, darling?” She had seen the look in his eyes and was watching him warily. “Is something wrong?”

  “On the contrary. You are incredibly beautiful.”

  “And entirely yours.” She slid her body onto his and smiled happily at him as she settled her mouth on his for a long tender kiss. In less than a minute the pink silk nightgown lay on the floor. It was noon before they climbed out of bed. Deanna yawned sleepily as she stood at the door to the terrace, still naked, with her hair falling down her back like an ebony stream. He watched her from the bed, wanting her to stay there forever.

  “You know, I think you’re destroying my career.” He kept his eyes on her as she turned to him again. She looked so fragile and so young. Her looks belied the toughness he knew lay within. There was a certain steel in her, or she would never have survived the loneliness of her years with Marc.

  “Why am I destroying your career? I thought I was going to make you a fortune with my brilliant paintings.” She looked imperiously over her shoulder.

  “You would if I’d ever go to the office. It’s a good thing I told Sally not to expect me in today. Do you know I’ve never done anything like this in my life?” But he didn’t look unhappy with his new life-style as he wrapped himself in a towel, threw her his robe, and followed her out onto the terrace where they sat comfortably in the two green canvas chairs. “You make me lazy and happy and horny and young.”

  “Which is precisely what you do to me.” She leaned toward him and they kissed. “I feel about twenty-one. Maybe twenty-two.”

  “Good. Then let’s get married and have twelve kids.”

  She glanced at him again, and for a moment she almost thought he was serious. “That would certainly give us some fresh problems to think about. Wouldn’t it?” She tried to keep her tone light. She didn’t want to talk about that with him again. She couldn’t. It wasn’t right. Instead, she asked, “What are we doing this weekend?”

  She held her face up to the sun and closed her eyes contentedly. It was lovely being with him, living with him, going to Carmel and staying in town, waking up in the morning and falling asleep at night beside him. She felt as though they had been together for the last hundred years, not merely seven weeks. Was it already that? Had their lives soldered together that quickly? It was remarkable how much had happened and how rapidly.

  “Do you want to go down to Carmel, or are you tired of that?”

  “I’ll never be tired of that. It is the most perfect, peaceful place to be.”

  “I’m glad.” He reached over and took her hand. “That’s how I feel too. But I keep thinking that you might like to do something more exotic.”

  “Like what?” She was amused at the idea. Athens? She forced her mind back from thoughts of Marc.

  “I don’t know. We could go down to Beverly Hills. I haven’t been down there in weeks.” He usually went just for the day and was back in time for dinner. “Or one of these days we could even go to New York.” He was never very far from his work—other galleries, other dealers, auctions, artists. In his own way, his passion for his profession wasn’t so different from Marc’s. The differences were that he included her and that it was a passion which she shared as well. “In any case, my darling, what is your pleasure this weekend?”

  “I told you. Carmel.” She opened her eyes with a warm, happy smile.

  “Then Carmel it is.”

  “And that reminds me….” She put her head back with a frown. “There are some things I want to pick up at the house.” She hadn’t been there in days. Now and then she wondered what Margaret must be thinking. She had explained that she was working in a friend’s studio and that it was easier to sleep there most of the time. But her occasional morning stops at the house to rumple her bed after Margaret had had the night off wouldn’t fool anyone, least of all a woman who had worked for her for years. But what could she say? I’m in love with another man? So she simply kept her peace and avoided the old woman’s wily, blue eyes.

  It was two in the afternoon when Ben dropped her a block from the hous
e. She wanted to look at the mail and sign a few checks. She had to pay Margaret and leave her more money for food, not that she ever ate at home anymore. Her heart and her stomach all lived somewhere else. She didn’t even work in her own studio anymore. She did all her painting at Ben’s, including the painting she had been working on secretly, whenever he wasn’t at home.

  Deanna let herself in and called out to see if anyone was home. But Margaret wasn’t there. Why should she be? Deanna never was, and there was little to do. There was the usual stack of bills and uninteresting invitations, no letter from Pilar, and nothing from Marc. He didn’t write to her. He called. There was no mail for him either. Whenever he was away, Dominique came to the house three times a week and collected his mail to send by pouch, along with official papers.

  She walked slowly up to her room, the mail in one hand and the other holding the banister, and stopped at the head of the stairs. It was depressing to be back here. It was like being forced to give up a dream, to grow old again, away from the man who talked about marriage and twelve kids. She smiled to herself at the thought and sighed when she heard the phone. She decided not to answer it, but then wondered if it might be Ben, stopping at a pay phone while he waited. It was as though no one else existed anymore, only the two of them. She couldn’t imagine that it would be anyone but him.

  “Yes?” There was a smile in her voice when she answered.

  “Allo?” Oh, Jesus, it was Marc. “Allo?”

  “Marc?”

  She was buying time.

  “Obviously. And I’d like you to explain this nonsense about the show. Dominique just called me.”

  “How convenient.”

  “I told you what I thought. And what you’ve done is in very poor taste.” He sounded livid.

  “On the contrary, I can assure you it was all in very good taste.”

  “That, my dear, is debatable. You know perfectly well I forbade you to have the show. And the publicity! For God’s sake, Deanna, it makes you sound like some sort of hippie.”

  “It most certainly does not.” Her back stiffened at the thought. “The reviews made me sound like a serious artist. And it could just be that I am.”

  “I thought we had resolved that quite a while ago.”

  “Maybe you did, but I didn’t.” Damn him. He didn’t understand. He never had.

  “I see. In any case, I hope this gala new you isn’t planning to indulge in conspicuous events like this every day.”

  “Hardly. I’ll be lucky if I show every five years.”

  “In that case, I’m sorry I missed this one.”

  “No, you’re not.” She was furious now and she would not play his game.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said you’re not sorry you weren’t here. I’m sick and tired of your hypocrisy. How dare you belittle my work.”

  “Deanna?” He was shocked.

  “I’m sorry, I….” God, what was happening? She couldn’t keep her stuffing inside anymore. It was as though she had to let everything out. “I don’t know, Marc. … I think I’m tired.”

  “I think you must be. Was this a bad time to call?” His voice dripped sarcasm and ice. He didn’t like her attitude at all. She should have been made to go to Cap d’Antibes for the summer.

  “No. I was just leaving for Carmel.”

  “Again?”

  “Yes. With Kim.” Oh, God, not again. She hated lying to him. “It’s not as though I have a lot to do, you know, when you’re gone.” She knew that would keep him at bay.

  “Well, it won’t be for much longer.”

  “How long?” She closed her eyes and held her breath. Make it long, oh, please, don’t let him come home….

  “About a month.”

  Deanna nodded silently. She and Ben had one month left. That was all.

  They sped off on the familiar road to Carmel half an hour later. Deanna was unusually quiet as they drove. Ben glanced at her, beautiful and troubled with the breeze whipping through her hair.

  “Anything wrong?” he asked. She shook her head. “Bad news at home just now?”

  “No.” After a long hesitation, she looked at the countryside speeding past and spoke again. “He called.”

  “How was it?” Did you ask for a divorce…?

  “As usual. It made me angry. He was furious about the show. His secretary called Paris especially to tell him.”

  “Does it matter?” he asked. She shrugged. “Do you still care so much if you make him angry?”

  She turned to look at him then. “In some ways he’s like my father. Marc has been my authority figure for years.”

  “Are you afraid of him?”

  “I never thought so, but perhaps I am. I just thought I respected him. But … oh, who knows. …”

  “What’s the worst thing he could do to you?”

  “Leave me—or that’s what I used to think.”

  “And you don’t feel that way anymore?”

  She shook her head. “No.” In an odd way, she almost wished he would leave her. It would make everything so simple, but then of course there would be Pilar. Pilar would never forgive her. Deanna’s brows knit, and Ben touched her hand.

  “Don’t worry so much. It’ll all work out.”

  “I wish I knew how. Ben, I—I don’t know what to do.” She did. But she didn’t want to do it. Lose him, or leave Marc. “And… I also have an obligation to Pilar.”

  “Yes, and an obligation to yourself. Your first obligation is to yourself, your second to your child. After that, it’s all up to you.”

  Deanna nodded, saying nothing for a while. She looked less troubled than she had at first. “It’s strange. I forget he exists most of the time. For eighteen years he has been the hub of my life, and suddenly in a month and a half it’s as though he’s gone and I’ve never known him. I feel like someone new. But he does exist, Ben. He calls and he’s real and he expects me to talk to him, and somehow I can’t.”

  “Then don’t talk to him for now.”

  Jesus, he doesn’t understand. And God, don’t let him get possessive. Please, not yet. …

  But Ben went on, “Why don’t you just relax and enjoy what is. Later you can worry about what will be.”

  “And that’s what you do, is it?” She slid a hand onto his neck and kissed his cheek. She had seen the worry in his face, the fear in his eyes, the concern when he thought she wasn’t looking. “You don’t worry at all, do you?”

  “Me?” He shook his head, with a look of such assurance that she laughed.

  “You’re lying. You’re as worried as I am. So don’t make me any speeches. I used to think you were so cool that it never got to you. Well, I know better now.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He looked at her, laughter and bravado mingled in his eyes. But he was terrified about what would happen in the fall. It was the one thing he could not bring himself to face.

  “Well, at least he said he wouldn’t be home for a month.”

  “A month?”

  Deanna nodded silently, and they drove on.

  14

  “Come on, sleepyhead. Get up. It’s almost ten.” She opened one eye, groaned at him, and turned over. He patted her behind, then leaned over her with a kiss. “Come on. You have an appointment with a prospective buyer today. You have to be at the gallery by eleven.”

  “And what about you?” She spoke to him from the depths of her pillow.

  “I’m going now. Darling, will you get up?”

  “No.”

  He sat down again next to her. “Deanna, are you all right?” She had been frequently exhausted in the last two weeks since the show.

  “I’m fine.” But she didn’t feel it. Her head was heavy, and her body felt dipped in cement. It was so much easier to stay in bed, to sleep the day away, and drowse.

  “How come you’re so tired these days?” He was looking down at her with considerable concern.

  “I think it must be old age.”

  “Apparently. I
just hope success won’t prove to be too much for you, because it looks like you might just turn out to be very successful.” He chatted with her over his shoulder as he went out to the kitchen. “Do you want toast?”

  The idea did not appeal to her. She shook her head as she closed her eyes again and buried her head in the pillow. “No, thanks!” But he reappeared a moment later with coffee, and for the first time in years that did not appeal to her either.

  “Deanna? Are you really all right?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just tired.” And sick with apprehension about Marc’s return. It had to be that. It was draining her to the core, thinking about him, and Pilar. It was stupid letting them spoil these last weeks with Ben, but she couldn’t help it. “Really, darling, I’m all right. You don’t need to worry.” She smiled brightly at him and took a sip of the coffee, but as the warm fumes rose into her face she almost gagged. She turned visibly pale and set down the cup.

  “You are sick!” It was an accusation filled with fear.

  “I’m not, so stop it. I’m fine, I’m wonderful, I’m healthy, and I adore you.” She reached out her arms for him with a bright smile, and he held her close. He didn’t want anything to happen to her, he was suddenly terrified of losing her. He thought about it ten thousand times a day. She could get sick, have an accident, drown in the surf at Carmel; she could die in a fire…. She could go back to Marc.

  “Who is this buyer we’re meeting with today?”

  “His name is Junot. He’s either Swiss or French, I’m not sure which.”

  French? Maybe he knew Marc. But before she could speak, Ben already had the answer.