Summer’s End

by Danielle Steel

“Darling, what is it? You look ill.”

  “I am…. I don’t know…. She’s gone.”

  Poor man. Pilar again. Was he still so excessively haunted by that? But what had happened to trigger it so suddenly? “I know, my darling, but you have me.” She held him close as they sat together on the couch.

  “But the baby….” And then he realized that he shouldn’t have blurted it out.

  “What baby?” Had he gone mad? She looked frightened as she pulled away from him.

  “Nothing…. I’m upset…. It’s Deanna. She’s gone.”

  “For good? She left you?” He nodded numbly, and Chantal grinned.

  “I’d say that’s cause for celebration, not despair.” Without thinking further, she rose from the couch and went out to the kitchen to find one of the bottles of champagne Marc had left with her only a few days before. She returned with the bottle and two glasses, and then stopped as she saw the agony on Marc’s face. “Are you that unhappy then?”

  “I don’t know. I’m stunned. I said some things … I shouldn’t have…. I—I overplayed my hand.”

  Chantal stared at him with chilly eyes. “I didn’t realize you were that anxious to keep her. Now what? You fight to get her back?” As he watched her, he slowly shook his head. He couldn’t get Deanna back and he knew it. While trying to tie her to him forever, he had told her the one thing that had severed her from him. The baby wasn’t his. “By the way”—Chantal paused only for a moment—“what was that business you just mentioned about a baby?” He said nothing, he only stared at something she could not see. The death of hope. “Was she pregnant, Marc?” Her words were like a vise at his throat, and silently he nodded.

  “Did she know it wasn’t yours?”

  “Not until last night.”

  “I see. And that was why you stayed with her until now—for a child that wasn’t even yours….” Her voice drifted away like a kind of distant death knell, disappointment filling her heart as well. “I didn’t realize it meant that much to you.”

  “It doesn’t.” He lied to her and tried to take her in his arms.

  “Yes, it does.” The champagne stood unopened. They looked at each other in despair. “Yes, in fact, it does.”

  “We can adopt a child,” Marc said. Slowly Chantal nodded. She knew that she would have to if it meant that much to him, but she didn’t want children. She never had.

  “Yes, I suppose we can.” And then with sudden recollection, she glanced at her watch. “What are you going to do now?”

  “Marry you.” He tried to smile as he said it, but the words felt like lead in his mouth. “If that’s what you still want.”

  “It is.” She sounded solemn, but there was a filament of worry lurking in her eyes. “But I didn’t mean that, darling. I meant tonight.”

  “I don’t know. Can I stay here?” The idea of going back to his own home was unbearable to him, and it was too soon to take Chantal there, to sleep in the bed Deanna had vacated only the night before. She had slept in the studio after his disclosure.

  “Why don’t we go out to dinner?”

  “Now?” He looked at her, shocked. “I’m hardly in the mood. A lot has changed for me in the past few hours, and no matter how much I love you, I need to adjust.” For a moment he wondered if he had made a mistake coming to Chantal so quickly, before he had absorbed the shock. She seemed to understand nothing of what he was feeling. “Couldn’t we just eat here?”

  “No. I want to go out.” She said it nervously now, as though she were in a hurry, and he noticed suddenly that she was wearing a black silk dress, as though she had been planning to go to dinner anyway.

  “Were you going somewhere when I called?” He looked as though he didn’t understand.

  “I just thought I’d go out somewhere for dinner.”

  “Alone?” He looked shocked.

  “Obviously.” She laughed at him, but it had a tinsel ring, and before she had said more, the doorbell rang. She looked rapidly at Marc-Edouard and then hurried toward the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  From where he sat on the couch, his view of the doorway was obscured, but he heard her open the door and step outside, and then suddenly something inside him raged. He strode across the room, following her path, and reached the almost-closed door where he could hear her speaking softly on the other side. He pulled it sharply open and heard her gasp as she jumped slightly aside. She was speaking to his partner, Jim Sullivan, who looked somewhat shocked to be facing Marc.

  “Am I interrupting you, or would you care to step inside?” He was looking at his partner, but his words were addressed to both of them. Silently the trio walked into the apartment. Chantal closed the door.

  “Darling, it’s really. … Jim just thought I’d enjoy Thanksgiving dinner. I thought you would be … at home….” Her face was taut with embarrassment, and her borrowed gaiety fooled no one.

  “I see. How charming. Odd that neither of you mentioned it to me.”

  “I’m sorry, Marc.” Jim looked at him soberly as they stood uncomfortably in the middle of the living room. “I don’t think there’s much more I can say.” Marc-Edouard turned his back to him. Jim simply touched his shoulder, and a moment later Marc heard the sound of the front door close. He turned slowly to face Chantal.

  “Is that what you’ve been doing?”

  Her eyes were wide as she shook her head. “I’ve only had dinner with him a couple of times. I didn’t really think you’d mind.” But they both knew it was a lie.

  “What do I say to you now?”

  “That you forgive me. And I say to you that it will never happen again.” She slipped herself quietly into his arms and held him close as he slowly bowed his head and felt the silk of her hair on his face. Tears hovered in his eyes as he held her, because he knew that it would happen again and again … and again.

  34

  Kimberly drove down the narrow streets of Sausalito and then into a small alley leading toward the bay. She glanced at the paper next to her on the seat and confirmed that she was going the right way. Another turn, another alley, a dead end, and then she was there. There was a tiny white-picket fence, a huge bush covered with daisies, and a little house hidden beyond. It was the gem Deanna had described, and Kimberly loved it on sight. Her arms were filled with packages, and she wrestled to reach the bell. A moment later Deanna pulled open the door.

  Deanna was wearing jeans and red espadrilles and a full, red sweater over a bright yellow blouse. Her hair was held up in a knot, and there was a gentle smile for her friend in her eyes.

  “Merry Christmas, madam. I’m so glad you could come!” She held out her arms to Kim, and they hugged. “I only left you two weeks ago, and I’m already homesick.”

  “Don’t be. This is divine.” Kim followed her inside and looked around. Deanna had been working industriously, painting the kitchen, cleaning the floors. In the corner there was a tiny Christmas tree with silvery balls and blinking lights. There were three packages under the tree, and they were all marked KIM.

  “Well, do you really like it?” Deanna looked like a little girl as she grinned. For the first time in a long time she looked happy and at peace. In only a few weeks she had found something of herself. There was not a great deal of furniture in the bright little front room, but what she had was comfortable and inviting. There was wicker, freshly painted white, and a wonderful old couch she had reupholstered in a soft blue. There were plants everywhere, and old bottles filled with flowers. Some of her favorite paintings hung on the walls, and she had bought a wonderful, richly patterned carpet. There were copper pots on the mantelpiece and brass candlesticks on a little wooden dining table just large enough for two, and the room had boasted a small bronze chandelier of its own. She had made the curtains herself out of a starched, lacy fabric she’d found in a trunk. She looked as though she’d lived there for years. There was one tiny bedroom she’d endowed with a wonderful old print wallpaper in a warm, dusty rose, and another tiny bedroom
next to it, empty save for a bassinet and a rocking horse, huddled near the door.

  Kim looked around appreciatively and settled herself in a chair. “I’m in love with it, Deanna. Can I stay?”

  “For at least a year. But I think you’d find it has a few kinks. The hot water comes and goes, the oven takes about a week to warm up, the windows stick, the chimney smokes….” She grinned. “But I love it. Isn’t it just like a little dollhouse?”

  “Exactly. I like it much better than my place, which has absolutely no charm.”

  “Yours has more class. But this will do.” No one would have believed that a month before she’d been living in grandeur. She seemed perfectly happy to be where she was. “Coffee?” she asked. Kim nodded. Deanna disappeared, then returned with two steaming mugs.

  “So what’s new?” But the easel in the corner of the kitchen told her what she had been wondering. Deanna was already back at work.

  “I’m painting again.” She looked happy and proud.

  “So I see. What are you going to do with them?”

  “Sell them probably. I’ve already sold two or three. They paid for the furniture, the dishes, the sheets.” Three paintings and the jade-and-diamond earrings. But she didn’t explain that to Kim. And she didn’t give a damn. There was nothing left that she wanted, except her child now. The rest didn’t matter anymore. Not at all.

  “Where are you selling them?” Kim looked at her with a purpose in mind, but Deanna saw her coming.

  “Never mind that.” She grinned and took a sip of her tea.

  “Why don’t you at least let him sell your paintings for chrissake? You don’t have to see him.” Kim had seen him only last week, and he looked like hell. She wanted to slip him Deanna’s address, but she knew she couldn’t. Deanna had to find her way back to him herself. If she ever did. Kim was beginning to doubt it. Deanna seemed happier by herself. “Why don’t you at least call Ben about your work?”

  “Don’t be silly, Kim. What would that prove? I can’t. And he’d probably spit in my eye if I called him and asked him to handle my work.”

  “I doubt that.” But maybe she was right. He never asked Kim how she was anymore. It was a silent agreement between them. Neither of them spoke of Deanna. Kim understood. “What about Marc? Have you heard anything from him?”

  Deanna shook her head. “I called him once after I spoke to my lawyer. He understands. There’s no argument really.”

  “Do you think he’ll marry that girl?”

  Deanna sighed and then looked up with a smile. “Maybe. She’s living with him at the house. But I think”—the smile slowly faded—“I think this has all been kind of a shock. A lot has happened to both of us this year.”

  For a moment Kim wondered if Deanna missed him; she looked as though she did. Maybe it was merely a question of habit. In any event she had certainly come a long way.

  “How do you know he’s living with that girl?” It seemed an unusually honest admission for Marc to have made.

  “Margaret told me when I called one day to see how she was. Apparently she’s quitting next month. It’s probably just as well. He doesn’t need any more reminders of me around there. We might as well all get a fresh start.”

  “Is that what you’re doing?” Kim asked. Deanna nodded with another smile.

  “It’s not always easy, but I am. The house keeps me busy, and my work. I want to fix up the nursery next month. I found some adorable fabric. And I want to do some funny little Mother Goose people for the walls.”

  Kimberly smiled at her and they settled back for a nicy cozy chat. It was after five o’clock when Deanna finally got up and turned on all the lights.

  “Good Lord, we’ve been sitting here in the dark.”

  “And I really ought to get home. I still have to cross the bridge. Are you doing anything for Christmas, by the way?” But she was almost sure she was not.

  Deanna shook her head. “This isn’t really the year for that. I think I’ll enjoy spending it quietly … here.” Kim nodded and felt a pang of guilt.

  “I’m going up to the mountains for some skiing. Want to come?”

  Deanna laughed and pointed at her now swelling stomach. She was at last almost five months, and now the evidence tallied with the dates. She had a nice round little tummy under her blouse. She patted it with a warm smile and looked at Kim.

  “I don’t think I’ll be doing much skiing this year.”

  “I know, but you could come up anyway.”

  “And freeze? No, I’d much rather be here.”

  “All right. But I’ll leave you my number. You can call if you need me, you know.”

  “I know. I know.” She scooped up Kim’s presents, then loaded them into her arms and looked warmly at the things Kim had left under her tree. “Merry Christmas, love. I hope it’s a beautiful year.”

  Kim looked smilingly down at her friend’s growing waistline and nodded. “It will be.”

  35

  Christmas came and went without any of the splendor or ceremony of years gone by. There were no expensive peignoirs from Pilar, selected by her and charged to her father’s account. There was no French perfume in crystal bottles, no diamond earrings, no fur. There were four presents from Kim, opened at midnight on the first Christmas Eve she had ever spent alone. She had been afraid of it at first, afraid of what it would be like to be alone, afraid that she wouldn’t be able to stand the loneliness or the pain. But it wasn’t lonely. And it was only a little bit sad. She found herself missing Marc and Pilar, because Christmas had always been theirs—the celebration, the noise, the ham or the goose or the turkey, Margaret in the kitchen, and mountains of boxes under the tree. It was the activity she missed, more than the riches; it was the faces she missed late at night. Pilar’s young shining one, and Marc’s in the days of long ago. There was no reaching back to them now though, they were irretrievably gone. It never occurred to her to call Marc, to hear his voice in the middle of the night. She drank hot chocolate and sat near her tree. But it did occur to her to call Ben. She guessed that he was in Carmel. Was he also alone?

  In the distance, she could hear carolers wandering past, and she found herself humming “Silent Night” as she undressed. She was less tired than she had been in months, feeling better in fact than she had in a very long time. But life was much simpler now. Her only worry was financial, but she had even that under control. She had found a tiny gallery on Bridgewater that sold her work—for only a few hundred dollars each canvas—but it was enough money to pay the rent and buy whatever else she might need. She still had some money left from the jade-and-diamond earrings. And she had a safe-deposit box filled with jewelry she could sell in the next months. She would have to sell more when it came time for the baby, and eventually Marc would have to give her something after they went to court.

  She smiled to herself as she slid into bed. “Merry Christmas, Baby.” She patted her stomach and lay on her back and for a moment she fought back the thoughts of Pilar. Maybe it would be another girl. But this time how different it would be.

  36

  It was nine o’clock on a February morning. Ben sat in his office, looking at his new ads. He pressed a buzzer on his desk and waited for Sally to come into the room. When she did, she had an armful of papers, and he looked at her with a scowl.

  “What do you think of this stuff, Sally? Does it work or not?”

  “Yes.” She hesitated as she looked. “But maybe it’s a little too showy?”

  He nodded emphatically and tossed them back on his desk. “That’s exactly what I think. Get Kim Houghton on the phone. I have to see an artist in Sausalito at eleven. See if she’ll meet me at the Sea Urchin around twelve-fifteen.”

  “In Sausalito?” Sally asked. He nodded distractedly, and she disappeared. It was almost ten o’clock when she popped her head in the door. “She’ll meet you at the Sea Urchin at twelve-thirty, and she said bring the ads. She’s got another bunch of possibilities to show you and she’ll bri
ng those too.”

  “Good.” He looked up at her with a vague smile and sighed at the work on his desk. Sometimes it seemed endless. He had added four new artists to their roster that winter, but he wasn’t really in love with their work. They had been the best of what he had seen, but they weren’t wonderful, they weren’t Deanna Duras. People still asked him about her, and he tried to explain. She had “retired.” Another sigh escaped him as he plunged himself back into his work. He had done that since September, and it had almost worked. Almost. Except late at night and early in the morning. Now he understood how she must feel about Pilar. That feeling that you’ll never touch someone again, or hold them, or hear them, never laugh with them, or be able to tell them a joke and see them smile. He stopped working for a moment and then chased the thoughts away. He was good at it now. He had had five months of practice.

  He left the gallery at exactly ten-fifteen. That gave him time to cross the bridge, drive to Sausalito, and park. This at least was an artist he liked, a young man with a wonderful eye for color and a kind of magical flair, but his work was far more modern than Deanna’s, and not nearly as good. He had never made the young man an offer, but he had decided that he finally would. Until then the young artist had been represented by a gallery near where he lived, a small cozy gallery in Sausalito that handled a mountain of very diverse work. Ben had first noticed the artist’s paintings there, buried with some good and some bad, and he knew the young man was getting terrible payment for his work. A hundred and seventy-five was his top price. Ben would up the price to two thousand, right from the start. And he knew he could get it. The artist would be thrilled.

  And he was. “Oh, my God. Wait till I tell Marie!” He grinned broadly and pumped Ben’s hand. “My God. We might even be able to afford to eat something decent for a change.” Ben laughed, amused, and they walked slowly to the door. It was a big airy studio in half of what had once been a barn. It was now surrounded by houses and ersatz Victoriana, but it was still a wonderful studio and a nice place to work. “By the way, whatever happened to that girl you handled last summer? Duras?”