by Lynn Steward
Janice grinned and shook her head. Men were so transparent—and easy to trick. She’d worked with Brett long enough to know a good deal about his personal life with Dana, and she’d had easy access to his office in New York before their temporary assignment began on the coast. She knew when Dana’s birthday was, and if Brett had been one hundred percent honest, he would have mentioned that there had been a special event in her life.
Janice grabbed the yellow pages, looking up airline phone numbers. She would hop back to New York for a day or two—the paralegals could handle matters in San Francisco—to see exactly what Brett was up to. Dealing with the slush fund was indeed something that could take time, but Brett’s calls had been sporadic since returning to New York, and he sounded slightly evasive.
Several possibilities occurred to Janice. Brett was perhaps in contact with Dana, or at least reaching out to her. He was a novice at living a new, less structured life. She’d seduced him, and it was much too easy. The poor baby was probably still nursing some degree of guilt for his unfaithfulness to Dana, whom Janice had privately nicknamed Little Miss Priss.
But the opposite might be true as well. Freed from the constraints of his stuffy upper-class marriage, perhaps he was too accustomed to her California lifestyle and was using his time in New York to practice his newfound freedom with someone else entirely.
Brett McGarry was her conquest, someone she was grooming according to her own tastes, a project that was both fun and, in the long run, could be financially lucrative. She would look in on Brett and make sure that her investment was protected.
Chapter Fourteen
Dana and Mark sat in La Fleur, located in a townhouse on East 58th Street. It was a small yet elegant restaurant that, to Dana, had the perfect ambience for a second date.
Dana was on the verge of asking Mark if he’d seen the latest Lina Wertmüller film, but he leaned forward before she could speak a single word. His eyes sparkled as he covered Dana’s hand with his.
“I think it’s time we get you on a horse,” Mark suggested in a whisper.
Dana was taken aback, unsure what had prompted the remark. “A horse?”
“Why not?” asked Mark. “We could get you started at Claremont any time you want. I think you’d really enjoy it. You told me how you like the rhythm of jogging, so I was thinking you could learn a different kind of rhythm. Once you get the hang of it in the ring, we could go riding together in the park.”
Dana was flattered. Mark was clearly implying that he wanted to explore the possibility of a deeper relationship. His suggestion had come out of the blue, but he appeared quite serious.
“But I haven’t been on a horse in years,” she countered, “and even then, it was only for a few minutes when I visited a friend’s home in the country when I was a teenager. Other than that, pony rides as a kid are my only experience.”
Mark clasped his hands as if Dana had already proven his point. “Ah, you’ve taken the first step then! We’ll go from there. With the right training and the perfect horse, you could take up where you left off.”
“Huh? More pony rides?”
Looking delighted, Mark laughed, enjoying his unorthodox invitation. “No, no, no. You’d be taught English riding style, starting with the horse’s tack—the saddle, halter, the bit, and the like. Then they’d select a horse for its gentleness and let you lead it around the paddock. Just to get acquainted. After that, you’d learn how to sit in the saddle properly since the body’s alignment is everything when riding a horse. Then a topnotch instructor would lead you around until you felt comfortable. No cantor or loping yet, at least not until you learn to give your mount the right commands. Nice and easy at first. When people think of the sport, they envision riders madly dashing across a meadow, but Claremont knows what they’re doing. Plus you’d get to wear an absolutely stunning riding outfit and impress the hell out of everyone.” Mark folded his arms and looked at Dana. “No question about it. You’d be a Ralph Lauren model. Imagine wearing stretchy white breeches, a fitted navy hacking jacket, a … “
“A four-button navy hacking jacket,” Dana said playfully, folding her arms and mimicking Mark.
“As many buttons as you wish. A pink ascot shirt, tall English dress boots in rich brown leather—”
“Stop! I’m feeling weak!” Dana laughed as she mockingly dropped her head. “Wait. Gloves. A girl needs gloves. Yes, luscious leather pigskin gloves .”
“You’re luscious,” Mark said as he kissed her before he sat back in his chair.
“And you’re very persuasive, Mark. I’m tempted. I just don’t know how I can start a new sport now. There have been so many changes in my life at work and at home. I … I don’t think it’s the right time.”
“It’s the perfect time,” Mark said. “You should mark your thirtieth birthday with a new challenge. Push the envelope. It’s the only way we learn and grow. When I turned forty, I climbed Mount Kilimanjaro to overcome my acrophobia.”
“Kilimanjaro? Mark, you’re amazing,” Dana said, loving his energy and enthusiasm. “You really think I can do it?”
“The question is whether or not you think you can.”
Dana knew that Mark was right. A milestone birthday should be celebrated with something more exciting than a divorce.
“Okay then,” Dana said confidently, her chin raised. “I’ll do it.”
Dana could see that Mark was pleased. She had no idea where their relationship was headed, but suddenly riding was a daunting goal she wanted to accomplish. Unlike her overly-protective family and friends, who wanted to provide her with a sense of security, Mark was encouraging her to step out of her comfort zone and test new waters. He seemed sure that she could ride, at least well enough to enjoy the trails with him in Central Park, and she was determined to prove him right.
Dana and Mark talked during their meal as if they’d been going out for years. Mark could segue from one subject to another with ease, and by the time they’d finished their entrees, Dana wasn’t even aware that they were on a formal date. As she’d told Patti, she had married young and she’d therefore never experienced this kind of easy rapport with a mature, cultured man with such diverse interests. Mark also stood in stark contrast to Brett inasmuch as Mark was eager to share his passions with Dana. He was just as busy as Brett, but he was a man with a voracious appetite for life, savoring every moment. And unlike Jack Hartlen or Brett, Mark was making time for Dana despite his work and fast-paced life. As for Dana, she herself was savoring everything Mark had to say.
There were times, however, when staring into his eyes made it hard to concentrate.
• • •
With Mark standing by her side, Dana opened the door of the carriage house and spotted Wills at his usual spot, eagerly awaiting his final walk of the evening. The door still open, Dana instinctively reached for the leash hanging from a coat rack on the entrance wall. Turning, she noticed that Mark was already on one knee, patting Wills on the head. Barely looking up, he took the lead from Dana’s hand and snapped it securely onto the dog’s collar.
“Come on,” he said to Dana. “Let’s go for a walk. It’s a beautiful spring night.”
“Wills will like that,” Dana said. “We’re usually back within minutes in the evening.”
The two headed out into the April evening, Mark holding the leash.
“Amanda has a yellow Lab at the house in Connecticut,” he said. “Rex. She brings him to my apartment whenever she visits. We love taking him to the park when the weather’s nice. Of course, if it were up to Amanda, we’d have three Labs.”
“Is she in high school?” Dana asked.
“I wish she were still in high school. No, Amanda’s in the College of Veterinary Medicine at Cornell.”
“You must be very proud,” Dana said. “Do you have any other children?”
“Just Amanda. She’s spoiled rotten, especially by her grandfather, but there aren’t many kids in Greenwich who aren’t spoiled.” Mark raise
d his eyebrows, looking almost philosophical. “She’s a keeper, though. Doesn’t let all the attention go to her head. At least not too much.”
“And you say she’s a show jumper? That’s pretty impressive.”
“Since the age of thirteen. She was such a great student—advanced placement and honors courses—that we didn’t have much reason to deny her the privilege of taking up riding. She hit the books hard so she could groom her horse Pepsi.”
“Cute name,” Dana said. “Like Caroline Kennedy’s pony, Macaroni.”
“Pepsi is a chestnut Dutch Warmblood, which is a show hunter in the hunter jumper division. I bought Pepsi from my friend Judd Baumann, who owns a horse farm in Muttontown, on Long Island. I’d like to show it to you sometime. Beautiful place, with hundreds of acres set aside for preserves and horse trails. That’s where Amanda started show-jumping lessons.”
The night air was chilly, and Dana unconsciously hooked her arm through Mark’s, drawing herself closer to his body.
Mark walked steadily on, allowing Wills to investigate the sidewalk, trees, and side streets.
“Murray Hill is a nice pocket-neighborhood right in the heart of midtown,” he remarked as he looked up at the tall, stately brownstones they passed. “I bet you never take the subway. You can walk everywhere.”
“Yes, but when I go to Lincoln Center, I—” Dana stopped in mid-sentence to brush away a bug hovering near her face. When she quickly averted her head to the side, pushing against Mark’s shoulder, he unexpectedly kissed the top of her head.
“The bugs can’t resist because you smell so good,” he said casually.
Dana looked up to find Mark gazing down at her. He lowered his head and kissed her again, this time gently on the lips.
Dana said nothing, for there was no need for conversation after an evening when everything had been easygoing and relaxed. Their words and glances had fit together seamlessly since the moment they’d been seated at La Fleur. Dana merely looked deeply in Mark’s eyes and smiled, holding his arm a little closer as he guided her and Wills down the street with a steady hand. He tilted his head to the side, leaning against hers.
“Think it’s cold enough for a fire?” he asked.
“I never need an excuse,” she answered.
• • •
At the carriage house, Mark unhooked the leash from Wills’ collar, dropped his jacket on the sofa, and walked to the living room bar, where he poured a glass of red wine for Dana and a scotch for himself. Squatting by the fireplace, he told Dana that he’d bring her a basket of kindling the next time he went riding in the country. Meanwhile, he tussled with Wills as he lit the fire, at last standing and stepping back to make sure the flames had caught sufficiently.
Dana picked up his coat from the sofa to hang it in the closet, but couldn’t resist resting her face against the fabric. In that one brief moment, her heart pounded and her face blushed, but she recovered before hanging up the coat and taking her glass of wine from the bar. She inhaled, still intoxicated by Mark’s scent on the coat.
Sipping his scotch, Mark turned in a circle and studied the room, noting the soft lighting and the reflection of the fire in the tall leaded glass windows. The small house seemed to be a model of tranquility, complete with a bouquet of flowers on the coffee table.
“Well, well, well,” he said, motioning to the flower arrangement. “Who’s my competition?”
“I bought them for moi,” Dana said.
Mark laughed. “That’s not what you’re supposed to say, Dana. You’re supposed to make a guy jealous.”
“Well, professor, you can add a course in dating when we finish our lessons on the trail.”
“It would be my pleasure, Ms. McGarry,” Mark said as he moved closer to Dana. “But only if you can give me a few tips on stage design.”
“What could I possibly teach the president of a display company?” Dana asked.
“How you staged this beautiful English setting,” Mark said as he observed every detail of Dana’s home. “Did you work with a designer?”
“Thank you. I’m flattered, but, no. I decorated it myself, although it was easy because there was a perfect spot for everything I brought from the apartment. My mother and I had everything in place in a few hours. Even I fell easily into place,” Dana said with a laugh. “I love being here.”
“I can see why,” Mark said. “How did you find this gem?”
“Max Helm’s friend was living here but had to take a sudden assignment in Paris. Max practically handed me the keys overnight. I think you remember the rush I was in to move out of my old apartment. If you recall, you were the one who recommended my divorce attorney, Alan Rudnick. I can’t thank you enough, by the way,” Dana said, facing Mark and putting the palm of her right hand against his chest.
“Alan’s a good man and a good lawyer,” Mark commented. “I should know. I think I’ve paid off his house and bought him an automobile or two.”
“He’s the best,” Dana said. “I’m so thankful that Alan enabled my battle to be short and sweet.”
“I was happy to help,” Mark said. “But let’s leave the past behind and toast the present. It’s been a wonderful week.”
“To the present,” Dana said.
Mark continued walking around the living room, shaking his head and smiling as he observed the coffee table books and the art.
“What’s so funny,” Dana asked.
“Excuse me. After twenty years, I’m still haunted by my mother’s request to report to her on every detail of the art and books I saw in the homes of women I dated.”
“Why did she do it?” Dana asked.
“Mother was screening potential daughters-in-law. She insisted that I marry the right girl from the appropriate socio-economic background. She got what she wanted all right, but it didn’t make for a very happy marriage.”
Dana nodded, remaining silent. She wasn’t the kind of person to pry into someone else’s affairs, nor was she inclined to ask any follow-up questions about Mark’s ex-wife. Given Mark’s tender, amorous displays throughout the evening, it wasn’t the time to discuss other relationships, let alone his marriage. The night belonged to them, and she wasn’t going to spoil the magic.
“And this picture,” Mark said, picking up a silver frame. “I presume this is your mother? Has anyone ever told you she looks like Blythe Danner?”
“All the time.”
“Handsome couple,” Mark said, referring to the photo of Dana’s parents.
“A happy couple,” Dana said as she looked at the photograph in Mark’s hand. “They make it seem so easy.”
“What do you mean?”
“Being married,” Dana said. “Their personalities are so different, but they’re always on the same page.”
“It may seem easy,” Mark said, “but they obviously work at it in their own way. It’s never fifty-fifty. Someone always gives more. “
“That would surely be my father. He’s probably giving ninety percent!”
“Spoken like a true daddy’s girl. I suppose he can do no wrong.”
“Never,” Dana said. “I’m sure Amanda feels the same about you.”
Mark laughed. “True. To her mother’s chagrin.”
“My son’s my son till he takes him a wife,” Dana said, quoting from Sons and Lovers by D.H. Lawrence, to which Mark quickly added, “But my daughter’s my daughter the whole of her life.”
“I love that quote,” Dana said. “I always include it in my note to friends when they have a baby girl.”
“Let’s continue the tour,” Mark said, his arm around Dana.
She led him upstairs and pointed out the master bedroom and the adjoining sitting room that offered a view of the landscaped deck outside. It was at the bookcases, however, where Mark paused, running his fingers along the tall, leather spins of the many volumes in Dana’s personal library. His eyes darted up and down, right and left as his lips softly mouthed his favorite titles.
“More
biographies than I would have expected,” Mark said, “but I see you’ve got the classics covered as well.” He gave Dana a glancing kiss on the forehead. “That doesn’t surprise me in the least.”
Dana rested her hand on Mark’s shoulder, saying, “When it comes to having everything covered, you’ll be even more impressed by what’s in the kitchen.”
“I don’t think I can be more impressed than I already am,” Mark said. “Everything is just as it should be, but go ahead—surprise me.”
“Follow me and prepare to be amazed by something worthy of the Senger Display Company.”
A few moments later, Mark saw why Dana was so eager to bring him downstairs.
“A stone fireplace in a New York kitchen!” Mark said. “This room belongs in a cottage in the English Cotswolds. Do you use it?”
“I assume you’re asking if I cook,” Dana said. “Of course I do.”
“And what is on the McGarry menu on any given day?” Mark asked, leaning against the upholstered banquette.
“Every month I try at least two recipes from Gourmet magazine,” Dana said. “But the focus is on seafood, pasta, soups, crepes, frittatas, and pancakes. I want you to know, Mark, that I happen to make really good blueberry pancakes.”
“Tell me about the frittatas,” Mark said.
“You mean you’ve never had a frittata?”
“Not your frittatas. What are your favorite fillings?”
“It depends. Sometimes mushrooms, spinach, and tomatoes. Maybe smoked salmon, dill, and goat cheese. Or—”
“Okay, I think I like the salmon, dill, and goat cheese.”
“Don’t you want to try my pancakes?” Dana asked, pretending to pout.
“Dana, I’m not a breakfast-for-dinner kinda guy.”
“Then you’ve come to the right place. It’s only pancakes for breakfast in this house.”
Mark dimmed the lights in the kitchen, leading Dana back upstairs.
He paused at the bookcase, his finger pressing the START button of the cassette deck on the middle shelf.
“Stan Getz and Astrud Gilberto,” Mark said. “ ‘Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars.’ Now who in the world could listen to this music and not want to dance?”
