“Were you in love with him?” Sam asked her, feeling brazen.
“Probably. For a while anyway. At twenty-one, it's awfully difficult to tell the difference between love and good sex. I'm not sure I ever figured out which one it was.” She smiled cheekily at him, and as he looked at her, he wished suddenly that he were young enough to have her. She was terrific. But then he thought of Alex. And it was as though Daphne saw that.
“And what about you? Are you in love with your wife? I hear she's very pretty.” She was, for forty-two, for any age. But she was not quite as outrageous or even as striking as Daphne and he knew it.
“Yes, I love her,” he answered firmly, as Daphne watched him intently.
“That's not what I asked you, is it? I asked if you were in love with her. There's a difference,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“Is there? We've been married for more than seventeen years. That's a long time, you get very attached to someone by then. I love her very much,” he said, as though trying to convince himself, but he still hadn't answered Daphne's question.
“Are you telling me you don't know if you're still in love with her? Were you ever?” she persisted, playing cat and mouse with him, but he didn't mind it.
“Of course I was.” He sounded shocked at the question, and Simon was amused by the intense look on their faces from across the table. They were huddled together, as though solving all of life's greatest problems.
“Then when did it change? When did you stop loving her?” Daphne accused, sounding like a lawyer, and Sam wagged a finger at her.
“I never said that. That's a terrible thing to say.” Especially now. But all he could think about as he looked at her was Daphne.
“I didn't say it. You did. You said you were in love with her, but you don't seem to be able to tell me if you are now,” she said, looking incredibly sexy as she persisted.
“Sometimes marriage is like that. There are dead spots in the water sometimes, when you kind of run dry and get stale, and none of the right things seem to happen.”
“Is this one of those times?” she asked, her voice a velvet purr that tore at his insides.
“Maybe. It's hard to say.”
“For any particular reason? Did anything happen?”
“That's a long story,” he said almost sadly.
“Have you had affairs?” she asked bluntly, and this time he laughed at her.
“Has anyone ever told you that you're outrageous?” And beautiful …and sensual …and have skin like velvet….
“Completely.” She smiled dazzlingly at him. “Actually, I pride myself on it.”
“Well, maybe you shouldn't,” he tried to chide her unsuccessfully.
“At my age, I can do almost anything I want. I'm not quite old enough to be held seriously accountable, and old enough to know what I'm doing. I hate really young girls, don't you?” She leapt from one subject to another, as she flipped her long black hair over her bare shoulders, and she was incredibly alluring. In some ways, she was so much like Alex, and in others she was very different. She was much bolder, more outrageous, yet she had that razor-sharp mind, and the same long, lanky body. But she was much more overtly sexual than Alex had ever been, and Sam was embarrassed to admit that he liked it, but he hoped that no one knew it. She made him constantly want to tease her back, to play with her, to play a game that neither of them could lose. But he also knew full well that he was not free to play it. She knew that too. But it didn't seem to stop her from playing.
“What about you?” he teased her in answer to her question about young girls. “Do you like young men, or old ones?”
“I like all men,” she said naughtily, “but I prefer men your age,” she said smoothly.
“Shame on you,” he scolded softly, “that was pretty obvious.”
“I'm always obvious, Sam. I hate wasting time.”
“Me too. I'm married.”
“Is that a problem?” Her eyes bore straight into his, and he knew he had to be fair here.
“I think so. I don't do this.”
“That's too bad. It could be amusing.”
“I want more in life than ‘amusing.' That's a dangerous sport. I haven't played it in years. That's a game for a single man. The lucky devils.” He laughed right into her eyes, wishing for just an instant that he were younger and free again. She made him feel good, even if just for a minute. It was like eating cream puffs.
“I like you,” she said honestly. She liked the way he played fair and square and she thought his wife was a lucky woman.
“I like you too, Daphne. You're a terrific girl. You almost make me wish I were single.”
“Will you come to the discotheque with us after dinner?”
“I probably shouldn't. But I might.” He smiled at her, thinking about how much he'd have liked to dance with her, but how dangerous it might be, particularly right now, with Alex in the state she was in, and the tension between them.
But after they left the restaurant, the limousine was just standing there, and Daphne took his hand and pulled him in with the others, and he didn't have the heart to resist her. They went all the way downtown, to a place in SoHo he'd never heard of, and there was a wonderful blues band wailing away, and it seemed inevitable that they wound up in each other's arms, dancing in the dark nightclub, as he felt her body pressed against his, and he had to force himself repeatedly to think of Alex.
“I should go,” he said finally. It was very late, and there was a growing feeling of duplicity to what they were doing. There was no fooling himself now. He was married and she wasn't. No matter how attractive she was, he couldn't do this.
“Are you angry at me?” she asked softly, as he paid for their drinks, and he prepared to leave her with Simon.
“Of course not. Why should I be?” He was surprised by her question.
“I've made a shocking play for you tonight. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.” She was apologizing for her behavior.
“You didn't. You flattered me. I'm twenty years older than you are, and believe me, if I could, I'd be after you in a flash, but I can't.”
“You flatter me,” she said demurely, looking at him with eyes that tore his heart out.
“No, but I'd like to.” And then he volunteered something he hadn't meant to. “My wife is very sick.” He looked away as he said it, trying not to think of everything that had happened in the last two days, or the words that had passed between them. “It made things a little difficult. I'm not sure what's going to happen.”
“Very sick?” She didn't want to say the word “cancer,” but he understood what she was asking.
“Very sick,” he confirmed to her with a look of sorrow.
I'm sorry.
“Me too. That's not easy for her, or for me. And it makes things a little confusing.”
“I didn't mean to add to the confusion,” she said, sitting so close to him that he could see down her dress and he loved what he saw there.
“You didn't add to the confusion at all. Don't apologize. This is the most fun I've had in years …and I need it, very badly.” He looked at her again and something came between them just then that surprised him, there was an exchange of real feelings. This wasn't playtime anymore, this was a person he could talk to, and suddenly he didn't want to leave her. “Shall we have a last dance?” It was not what he had intended at all, and he was annoyed at himself for a moment, and then overwhelmed with tenderness and desire for her as they danced cheek to cheek to the music. Her body molded against his, it was as though he'd been made for her and she for him, and they danced through two more songs, and finally he forced himself to leave her. He walked her back to Simon, regretfully, like a borrowed jewel he hated to return, but knew he had to.
“You two seem to be having a good time,” he said pointedly. He could see what had been happening, and he was intrigued by it. Sam didn't seem the type for extramarital adventures, but he was sure coming on to his cousin. Then again maybe he was
all talk, he was going home, wasn't he? “She's a little vixen, isn't she?” Simon teased.
“Take good care of her,” Sam said seriously, and then left them. He was lost in thought all the way home in the cab, remembering what it had been like dancing with her. It was a memory he wouldn't soon forget, and as he walked into the apartment, he felt guilty toward Alex. And even more so, when he walked into his bedroom and saw Carmen's message from her on his pillow. But that night it wasn't Alex's face he saw as he drifted off to sleep. It was Daphne's.
Chapter 9
He called Alex the next morning when he got up, but the nurse said she was in therapy, and wouldn't be back for half an hour. And by then, he was on his way downtown to the office. He had a client waiting for him, and a thousand phone calls to make, and he didn't have a chance to call her again. And after his clients left, he ran into Daphne in the hallway. Her face lit up like spring the moment she saw him, but she was extremely polite and businesslike as they chatted for a few minutes, and then she walked slowly back to his office with him and said that she hoped she hadn't made a nuisance of herself the night before. She had gotten carried away, and from now on, it would be strictly business, she promised.
“How disappointing,” he laughed at her. “I think I was the nuisance.”
“Not at all.” Her voice was a caress, but her behavior was completely proper, and very English. “I don't usually make a habit of chasing married men. You're just so attractive, Sam, you really should be sprayed with dark paint, or have a bag over your head before you go out with strangers. You're really quite dangerous.” She flattered him and she played, and he loved it.
“I suppose I should have stayed home,” he said unconvincingly, “but I had an awfully good time, particularly at the nightclub.”
“So did I,” she said hauntingly, and suddenly they both realized they were flirting.
“What do we do about this?” He acknowledged it with a smile before she did.
“I'm not sure yet. Cold showers, I suppose. I've never tried that.”
“Maybe we should try them together,” he said, and then regretted it. He couldn't seem to handle being anywhere near her, all he wanted was to be with her, and charm and seduce her. This had never happened to him before, and he had no idea what to do to stop it. They were like matchsticks near a flame, and the conflagration was instant. “We're just going to have to behave,” he said finally and firmly.
“Yes, sir,” she saluted him with a smile, and then disappeared down the hall to her office next to Simon's. But as she went, he stood there watching her, unable to keep his eyes off her figure.
“Watch out!” Larry, his old partner, said as he passed him in the hall. “She's dangerous …English girls are,” he whispered.
“Why has no one ever warned me?” Sam pretended to moan as he went back to his own office. And as though to clear his head, he called Alex.
“Where were you last night?” she asked plaintively. “I called you.”
“I know. I'm sorry. I was out with Simon and some new clients from London. He called after I got home and talked me into it. We went to Le Cirque for dinner.” He suddenly felt as though he was saying too much and owed her an explanation. “How are you feeling today?”
“Okay,” she said, still sounding depressed. “I saw Liz Hascomb last night, it turns out she's a volunteer here for one of the support groups.”
“That's nice,” he said, feeling alienated from her. All she talked about was her illness and the things that related to it. “Do you think she'll tell people at your office?” He knew how much she wanted to keep this private, but she sounded confident when she answered.
“I don't think so. Liz is very discreet. But she was pretty surprised when she saw me …and very help-fizl”
“I'm glad.”
“How's Annabelle?”
“Great. She's getting all excited about Halloween. She keeps trying on her costume.” Tears sprang to Alex's eyes as she listened.
“Are you coming up today?” She said it hesitantly, as though she wasn't sure if she could count on him anymore, and hearing that in her voice hurt him.
“Of course I am. I'll stop by on my way home.” She'd been hoping he'd come for lunch, but she didn't want to press him. He told her he was staying in, and trying to get some work done.
But when he tried to concentrate, all he found he could think of was Daphne. It was nightmarish. He had a sick wife, a young child, and a load of responsibilities, and all he could think of was Simon's hot little cousin from Britain. It put him in a rotten mood by the time he saw Alex. He was feeling guilty and on edge and he was sorry he'd ever met Daphne. He didn't need any more complications in his life, but he was suddenly obsessed with her, like a drug he had to have and had never tasted.
“What's up? You're all wound up.” Alex spotted it immediately, which annoyed him even more. It was like a neon sign someone had hung around his neck and it kept flashing the word “Daphne.”
“Don't be silly,” he snapped at her, without meaning to, “I'm just worried about you. We can't wait for you to come home on Friday.”
“Have you said anything to Annabelle yet?”
“Of course not.”
“I think we ought to tell her I had a little accident on my trip.”
“Why say anything?”
There it was. Denial again. It never ceased to amaze Alex. “I'm wearing a bandage. I'm going to have a scar, my breast is gone. I'm not feeling well. She can't jump all over me. How do you think we'd get away with not telling her anything, Sam? She's not stupid.”
“You don't have to parade around naked in front of her.”
“For the rest of my life? She takes baths with me, she watches me get dressed. I've never hidden my body from her. Besides, in a few weeks I'm going to be sick, and apparently very tired, from the chemotherapy. She needs to know that.”
“Why do you have to keep making so much about this thing? Why does it have to be Annabelle's problem, and mine? Why can't you just live with it quietly? I don't understand it.”
“Neither do I. I don't understand how you can keep pretending this isn't happening. It's not just happening to me, it is happening to all of us, at least to the extent that you both have to understand it.”
“She's three and a half years old for chrissake. What do you want from her? Sympathy? Is that it? Alex, this is sick.”
“I think you're crazy.”
“Stop whining about everything, stop turning it into a nightmare for everyone. Talk to a therapist, do something, go to a group, but don't put it on me and Annabelle like a lead weight. Don't punish us for your misfortunes.” She turned her back on him then and looked out the window.
“I'd like you to go now.” Her tone was icy.
“That would be a pleasure.” He stormed out of her hospital room and he never called her that night. Nor did she call him. She called Annabelle and kissed her good night, but she didn't ask to speak to Sam, which only Carmen noticed.
He stayed home alone that night, thinking of what lay ahead of them, and he didn't like it. She was going to make a big deal about everything, her scar, her missing breast, her health, and eventually her “treatment,” her chemotherapy, and then they were going to have to hear about her hair, or the lack of it, and how sick she was, and then months and years of waiting to hear if her tests were all right, if it had recurred, if she was going to live another year. He just couldn't take it. It was just like his mother. And this was not how he wanted to spend the rest of his days, listening to her daily reports about her cancer. Suddenly he saw her as a tragic figure trying to swallow him alive and ruin his life. The Alex he had known and loved had disappeared, and in her place was this angry, frightened, depressing woman.
They spoke twice on Thursday about Annabelle, but they agreed it was better if he didn't come to see her. But Liz Hascomb did. She had come every day since discovering that Alex was there, and what had happened.
And on Friday, Sam came at no
on to take her home from the hospital. It was the first time he had seen her in two days, and she looked suddenly very fragile when he saw her. She was wearing a dress she had asked him to bring her. It was a loose knit that fit easily over her bandage, and for the most part concealed it. And he had brought her a bright blue coat to wear over it. She hadn't bothered to put any makeup on, but she looked tall and thin, her hair was clean, and falling generously over her shoulders. She looked better than he had expected her to, but she also looked very frightened. Her eyes seemed huge, and her face pale, and he saw that her hands shook, as she put her nightgown away in her tote bag.
“Are you feeling all right, Alex? Are you in pain?” He was surprised by how unnerved she looked. She had actually looked better to him on Tuesday and Wednesday, and he wondered if she had had some kind of surgical setback. It made him feel guilty again for not seeing her the day before, but he just couldn't take the pressure. But now she looked so upset and so nervous.
“I'm okay,” she said a little hoarsely. “It's just kind of scary going home. No nurses, no help with my dressings, no volunteers from the support group. Suddenly, I have to go out in the world again, and everything is different, or at least I am. And what do I say to Annabelle when I see her?” Her eyes filled with tears as she thought of it, she had cried about it with Liz Hascomb the night before, and Liz kept reassuring her that everything Alex was feeling was completely normal.
“Then why does Sam keep acting like I'm crazy?” she had asked her.
“Because he's scared too. And that's normal too. The only problem with Sam is that he doesn't admit it.”
And he didn't look afraid now, as he put an arm around Alex and picked up her tote bag. He looked completely in control, and very calm, as they rode downstairs in the elevator and got into a limousine he had hired for the occasion.
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