Her threat to sue Dane for every cent she could had been an empty one, for now she had re-assessed her stepfather's behaviour, she couldn't in all conscience hold Dane accountable for it. She still condemned him for the way he had behaved over Charlene's shares, but knew that seeking retribution would only give her a Pyrrhic victory. Love—at least for her—did not go hand in hand with vengeance.
To this end she instructed her attorney not even to ask for maintenance, a decision both he and her friends considered crazy. But to make Dane pay for being unfaithful to her—which was the reason she had given for the breakdown of their marriage—would have made her as grasping as the women he himself represented in court.
She often wondered what Dane had made of her change of heart, but no gossip filtered back to her. Well, let him think what he liked. She was the one who had to live with her conscience, and she wanted no regrets to cloud her future.
As the weeks stretched into months, she began dating other men, and appreciated how irrevocable her love for Dane was. Never again would she find the same joie de vivre with anyone, the same excitement and contentment, passion and serenity.
Work was her panacea and she flung herself into it. Her diary was full for weeks ahead, wih so many assignments out of town that her partners laughingly began calling her the firm's 'roving ambassadress,' though beneath their humour was a genuine concern for her well-being.
'Time you took a break,' Ben McMallister, the most senior partner, said one afternoon, coming into her office. 'All work and no play is a recipe for disaster, not oblivion. I know you're going through a tough patch, Leslie, but a nervous breakdown isn't the solution. You should take a vacation. See new places and faces.'
Leslie sighed and set down her pen, knowing she couldn't ignore Ben's advice. 'I appreciate your concern, Ben, and I'll go away as soon as my divorce comes through—I promise. But until it has, I can't relax, and a vacation would be a total waste.'
'Well, that makes sense.' He ran a hand through his grizzled hair. 'But at least ease up on your workload, and that means no files in your briefcase when you leave on a Friday night!'
'That'll be a hard rule to obey,' Leslie said ruefully.
'Not this weekend, it won't. Lois and I want you to join us on our boat. I know how much you like sailing, and we'd love to have you.'
'And I'd love to accept,' Leslie said gratefully. She had not taken out her own boat since marrying Dane, and even though she was now alone she had lost heart to do so.
'We'll pick you up early Friday evening,' Ben went on. 'Lois will call and fix the time.'
Alone again, Leslie decided to grab a coffee and a sandwich before her next appointment. She wasn't hungry, but knew it was vital to keep up her energy.
As she munched smoked salmon on rye, her eye caught the band of paler skin on the third finger of her left hand, where her wedding ring had been. Of all the jewellery Dane had given her, it was the only item she regretted leaving, though why this should be so was a mystery, for it was as meaningless as everything else he had lavished on her, an empty gesture from an empty heart.
Miserably she wondered who Dane was seeing now. One thing was certain—he wasn't spending his spare time alone! Yet though she always glanced at the gossip columns to see who was the current recipient of his favours, the only news of him was professional. He had successfully defended the District Attorney's friend on a corruption charge, after a brilliant summation that had earned him the front covers of Time and Newsweek.
But his private life remained private, and even his move to his new house hadn't taken place in the blaze of publicity she had expected. Indeed, she had only learned of it from Beverly and Caldwell, with whom she remained on friendly terms after an initial but understandable coolness.
She was having dinner with them tonight, though she had first made sure Dane wouldn't be there.
'I know your instincts are to get us together again,' Leslie had told Beverly. 'But it's over and done with, and the sooner everyone accepts it, the better.'
'Such a waste,' the redhead had sighed. 'If ever two people seemed to have it made!'
The buzzer interrupted Leslie's reverie, and hastily finishing her coffee, she threw the plastic container into the bin, and composed herself to meet her client.
The woman who came in was above average height, with fashionably cut dark hair framing a beautifully made-up face that was as well preserved as the figure beneath the grey Ralph Lauren suit. From the doorway she looked little more than fifty, though as she drew nearer the lines on her face proclaimed her at least ten years older.
'Mrs Barrett?' Leslie rose to greet her, liking the smiling mouth and warm brown eyes. 'Do sit down.' She indicated a chair and took her own again. 'I gather you want some advice on a property conversion?'
'Yes, I do.' The woman's voice was as pleasing to the ear as her appearance to the eye. 'I've been doing it as a hobby for years, but have finally decided to turn professional.'
'Be careful you don't turn a hobby into a headache!'
'That's why I've come to you! I hope you aren't too busy to take me on?'
Although she had more than enough work to cope with, Leslie shook her head. She had never had any dealings with a woman property developer and rather fancied the idea.
'Tell me exactly what you have in mind,' she said. 'I assume you have some houses for me to see?'
'Five, actually. I'm sure two of them will do fine, but I'd appreciate your opinion on the others.'
'That's a day's work at least.' Leslie glanced at her diary. 'I'm afraid I can't do it before Friday.'
'Oh dear,' Mrs Barrett sighed. 'I'm leaving on that day. I don't live here, you see, and I was hoping to get my lawyer cracking on the contracts before I go.'
'Hm, that's tricky, then. Look, I'll see if my secretary can switch around my appointments for tomorrow.'
Briefly Leslie spoke into the intercom, then, while she waited to see if her meetings could be rearranged. Mrs Barrett filled her in on the type of conversions she did, which was turning big old houses into one-room studio apartments.
'How many conversions have you done so far?' Leslie asked.
'About twelve.'
'Some hobby! What decided you to look in L.A.?'
'I've a son here, and it will give me an excuse to see him more often! I might even move here, if things work out.'
Leslie felt Mrs Barrett would make things work out for her. There was a strength about the woman that appealed, and a no-nonsense attitude that didn't go with the fashion-plate appearance. All in all she could be a most interesting client.
'I've managed to switch all tomorrow's appointments to Friday,' her secretary popped her head round the door to say.
'Clever girl,' Leslie approved, and glanced at Mrs Barrett. 'If we've five houses to see, we'd better make an early start.'
'You wouldn't be free some time today?'
'That's pushing your luck!' Leslie grinned. 'Let's make it nine tomorrow. If you can tell me where to meet you…'
No sooner had the woman gone than Leslie headed downtown to see a boxing promoter who wished to put up a leisure centre. Seven other people were providing the finance and there were seven egos to be massaged, so that by the time she reached home she was mentally drained.
A leisurely soak in a warm bath revived her sufficiently to look forward to the evening ahead, and with some of her old verve, she searched among her clothes for her prettiest dress, wound her long streaky blonde hair into an elaborate coil atop her head, and set off for Bel Air.
Unlike most of Caldwell's parties, this one was informal, and she was delighted to find she knew several of the guests, though sight of Hal, Dane's accountant, was momentarily off-putting. Not for him though, for he strode over to her with a beaming smile.
'Long time no see, Leslie. You look beautiful as ever.'
She knew he was exaggerating, for her mirror—to say nothing of her partner Ben—had confirmed she was too drawn-looking, her green eye
s too large in a face shadowed by lack of sleep.
'You look pretty good yourself,' she replied, and saw his eyes dart to a small, plump young woman talking to Caldwell. 'Number four?' she questioned softly.
He nodded happily. 'She's a psychiatrist in Santa Monica. With the alimony I'm paying out, I figured it was better to marry a shrink than to visit one!'
Leslie laughed, and from the fatuous look on Hal's face, knew he was being deliberately facetious.
'But enough about me,' he went on, grabbing two glasses of champagne from a passing tray, and handing her one. 'What's with you?'
'I've been made a full partner and have a loo of my very own!'
'Wow! You really are in the big time.' He patted her arm affectionately. 'But I wasn't thinking in professional terms. I'm more interested in knowing if there's a chance of you and Dane getting back together. I think you're wrong to break up a good marriage because of one little mistake.'
'One little mistake wouldn't,' she said gently. 'But when your husband makes it with another woman after only five months…'
For a fleeting instant Hal could not hide his discomfiture. 'I'm sure there's an explanation.'
'Has Dane given you one?'
'He refuses to discuss it. But———— '
'And so do I,' Leslie cut in, weary of yet another well-intentioned interferer. 'We married for the wrong reasons, Hal, and it's better we end it.'
Perilously close to tears, she went quickly from the room, longing for the security of her own apartment, yet determined not to run away.
'Hal doing the best-friend act, I suppose?' Beverly grumbled, hurrying into the powder-room after her.
'He means well.' Leslie dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. 'I'll be fine in a minute.'
'Take as long as you like, honey. I'll hold back dinner.'
'And ruin it?' Leslie questioned ruefully. 'You told me the menu, dear friend, and there's no way lobster souffles can wait!'
'Sure they can. No one here tonight's a gourmet, and if the souffles go flat, I'll tell them they're lobster pancakes!'
Laughing through her tears, Leslie linked her arm through Beverly's as they returned to the living-room.
It was well past midnight before she was home, feeling far more light-headed than when she had left Yet the instant she walked into the bedroom she remembered the one she had shared with Dane on their honeymoon, and the tender expertise with which he had initiated her into the art of love; careful not to shock her, not to ask her to do more than she wanted, but gently showing her, with his hands and tongue, how they could please each other. Her limbs trembled at the memories that came flooding back, and she sank on to the bed and buried her head in her hands.
Predictably, her sleep was broken by vivid dreams of him, and she was heavy-eyed and in no mood for seeing the lively Mrs Barrett when she stepped from her car outside the clapboard house in Brentwood that was their meeting-place.
A quick view told Leslie the property was a disaster, and they drove the three blocks to the next one. This proved a better proposition, as did the remaining houses, and the rest of the day was spent meticulously examining them.
It was six o'clock before they were finally finished, and Mrs Barrett took the passenger seat in Leslie's car.
'It's going to be a big undertaking for you to supervise,' she said 'and I'd like to give you a profit participation in the scheme.'
Though gratified by the compliment, Leslie shook her head. 'That's very generous of you, Mrs Barrett, but it isn't necessary, and anyway, I couldn't accept.'
'Why not?'
'Because I feel… well, let's just say I'll give this job my full attention whether I share in the profits or not, so there's no need for you to offer me an incentive.'
'But I want to.'
'The answer's still no—but thanks.'
'Are you always this obstinate?'
'Where my ethics are concerned.' Leslie pulled a face. 'Now I sound a real moralising prig, don't I?'
'On the contrary. But tell me, would you consider it a bribe if I asked you to dinner?'
'I'd consider it an act of kindness,' Leslie chuckled. 'I'm starving!' She pressed her foot harder on the accelerator. 'There's an excellent little restaurant around the corner from my office, where….. '
'No round the corner little restaurant for us,' Mrs Barrett interrupted. 'It's the Beverly Hills Hotel or nothing!'
'I doubt we'll get a table there without booking ahead.'
'I made a reservation on the offchance.'
'How far-sighted of you!'
'Let's just say I was hopeful.'
An undertone in Mrs Barrett's voice made Leslie shoot her a sidelong glance, but it was met by a bland one that told her nothing.
'A drink in the Polo Lounge first,' the woman stated as they left the car to be parked by an attendant. 'Then a leisurely meal—if you won't be bored.'
'Why should I be?' asked Leslie, surprised.
'At dining with a woman. A pretty young thing like you must be turning men away.'
'At the moment I'm not dating anyone,' Leslie confessed.
'How come?'
'I'm in the process of getting divorced.'
Further conversation was forestalled by their being led to a table in the Polo Lounge, where Mrs Barrett ordered a half-bottle of champagne to celebrate her new business venture.
'It might be wiser to leave the celebrating till the end,' Leslie said drily. 'Conversions have a habit of developing unexpected snags, as I'm sure you know, and all the planning in the world can't foresee them.'
'Like marriage,' I suppose,' Mrs Barrett mused. 'A couple start off with the best of intentions and then find things don't work out.'
'That sounds like experience talking!'
'It is. I had a bitter divorce and it took me years to rebuild my life successfully.'
'It won't take me years,' Leslie said vehemently. 'I can't wait to be free.'
'How long were you married?'
'Only a few months. But if you know something isn't going to work it's best to end it.'
'Were you so unhappy, then?' asked Mrs Barrett.
Leslie shrugged for answer. Although she found the woman easy to talk to, she was reluctant, on such short acquaintance, to open her heart to her.
'I'm prying, I know,' Mrs Barrett admitted, 'but you're so intelligent and warm that '
'It takes two to make a marriage,' Leslie put in. 'No matter how warm and intelligent one partner is, if the other isn't…'
'Now you really surprise me.'
'Why?'
'Because I can't see you marrying a man who didn't have these qualities.'
'We all make mistakes,' Leslie said lightly, 'but luckily I found out mine early on.' Raising her glass in mock salute to herself, she drained it and set it on the table.
Mrs Barrett did the same, then stood up. 'So much easier to talk in the restaurant,' she murmured. 'Besides, if I drink any more without eating, I'll fall on my face!'
The dining-room was three-quarters full, but they were shown to an excellent table, an honour that made Leslie wonder if Mrs Barrett's son was well known in the movie business.
'Oh no,' came the reply, when Leslie ventured to ask, as they were eating their way through a delicious Chateaubriand, sliced in front of them and served on a bed of organically grown vegetables. 'He's a lawyer, as a matter of fact.'
The word 'lawyer' was like a stab in Leslie's heart, and her fork clattered to her plate.
'Anything wrong?' Mrs Barrett enquired.
'N-no. Just that—that my husband's a lawyer too.'
'I know.'
'You knowT
'Yes, my dear. And I've a confession to make. Barrett's my maiden name. My married name's Jordan, and Dane is my son.'
A hot wave of anger swept over Leslie, and as quickly receded, leaving her ice-cold.
'I'm sorry to hear that,' she managed to say. 'It means we've both wasted our time today. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go.'
>
'Please don't—not yet at least. I know you're angry with me, but I'm fighting for my son's happiness.'
'Did he send you?'
'Certainly not. In fact he'd be furious if he knew. Now please, my dear, won't you hear me out?'
It was the last thing she wanted. Yet she found it impossible to ignore Mrs Jordan's pleading, and even as she hesitated the woman spoke again.
'All I'm asking for is five minutes of your time, you want to leave after that, then so be it.'
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Leslie settled back in her chair and looked across the table at Mrs Jordan.
'I apologise again for meeting you under false pretences,' the woman said, 'but I couldn't think of any other way.'
'You could have called and told me who you were,' Leslie couldn't resist saying. 'I might have agreed to see you.'
'No, you wouldn't.' Mrs Jordan saw confirmation in Leslie's eyes and gave a wry smile. 'Now you know why I didn't! But I really am in the property business, Leslie, and I hope you'll work on my project regardless of what happens between you and my son.'
'That's impossible. It would be too painful.'
'Painful?' Mrs Jordan pounced on the word. 'Then you still care for him?'
'I didn't say that!'
'Then why should it be painful to see me? You were married such a short while, it shouldn't take you long to forget the whole episode.'
'I find any kind of failure painful,' Leslie said, awarding Mrs Jordan marks for perception.
'In that case, I'm surprised you didn't fight for your marriage.'
'It wasn't worth saving.' Trembling with angry remembrance of Dane emerging from the elevator with another woman, Leslie picked up her purse. 'Look, much as I'd have enjoyed working with you, I don't see any point continuing this discussion.'
'But you promised to hear me out! I'm fighting for my son's happiness, Leslie, and even if I fail, I'd like to have the satisfaction of knowing I tried.'
'Do you know the whole story?'
'I know enough to appreciate why you walked out, but… '
Roberta Leigh - Too Bad to be True Page 14
