Hide! The word startled her. What on earth did she want to hide from?
Stewart was with the bridal party being photographed and Gina, standing alone watching the proceedings, again had the feeling that someone was watching her. This is just plain stupid, she thought as a shiver passed over her, maybe I'm coming unglued.
She accepted another crystal glass of champagne from one of the ever vigilant waiters and headed for the balcony. She needed to get out of there, breathe in some fresh air, and get hold of herself.
The soft breeze from the ocean was chilly on her bare arms but she hardly noticed as she wandered over to the waist-high parapet and gazed out into the darkness. Actually, it wasn't really dark after all. Above her a myriad of stars twinkled and glowed, and beneath her the bright lights of the city stretched out for miles. San Francisco, the old and the new, where slums coexisted with affluence, and sparkling steel and glass high-rise buildings overlooked dingy wooden turn-of-the-century row houses. There was an old song called "I Left My Heart in San Francisco," and that's what Gina had done, but her heart had been broken and bleeding and she was better off without it.
She was so lost in her reverie that she failed to hear the footsteps of the approaching man. Although the voice that spoke to her back was little more than a whisper she recognized it immediately.
"Hello, Ginny Lea."
Just three words, but a shock of such magnitude tore through her that the expensive glass slipped from her fingers and splintered on the tiles at her feet. She jerked awkwardly as she turned and wondered, idiotically, if Stewart would be charged for it.
Her gaze started at the firm hard jawline, moved upward to the full sensual mouth, the nose with the slight bump where it had once been broken, and finally came to rest in the deep blue eyes of her ex-husband, Peter Van Housen!
Chapter Two
It had been a long, emotional day and Gina was in no condition to sustain such a shattering encounter. She felt the color drain from her face and her whole body trembled.
Peter had aged. There were lines around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes that hadn't been there before, and his hair had darkened from platinum to wheat. He was still slender, but now it was almost a gauntness instead of boyish look.
She closed her eyes in an effort to block him out, to convince herself that she was hallucinating. The darkness unbalanced her and she swayed and would have fallen except for the arms that enfolded her against the familiar chest. For a moment she was totally incapable of resisting and leaned helplessly against the throbbing of his heartbeat. The musky smell of him assailed her nostrils and the finely spun wool of his blue suit coat rubbed against her cheek. She was shivering violently and his arms tightened as he buried his white face in her black, feathered hair.
A troubled male voice from behind them broke the spell.
"What's going on here?"
It was Stewart!
The sound of Stewart's voice brought Gina back to reality and she pulled swiftly away from Peter, then swayed as another wave of dizziness overcame her. This time it was Stewart who held her and he became thoroughly alarmed as she continued to tremble in his arms.
"Sweetheart," he said, his tone showing his concern. "What's the matter? Are you sick?"
Before she could answer, Twyla's voice sounded from her side. "Yes she is, Stewart, she was ill during the wedding ceremony but wouldn't admit it. I think we'd better get her upstairs to our room."
Stewart brushed a few tendrils of hair back from her pale face and spoke over her head to Peter, who was standing behind her now. "Sorry, Peter, can you tell me what happened?"
Gina stiffened. Stewart and Peter must know each other! Oh no, not that! Peter had just started to say something when she interrupted hastily. "I—I had a dizzy spell and Pete—Mr. Van Housen steadied me."
Steadied her! That was a laugh! Never, since the first time she saw him, had Peter Van Housen had a steadying effect on her. He'd garbled her thoughts and scrambled her brain until she couldn't think straight, and now after all this time he was doing it again.
Stewart was talking and she made an effort to concentrate on what he was saying. "I've been trying to introduce you two all evening but couldn't find you both at the same time. Now, apparently, someone's already done the honors. Well, Peter, what do you think of my girl?"
Gina straightened and turned to Peter, hoping to find a way to keep him from telling Stewart the truth. She might have been looking back in time. The expression on his face was the same one she had seen seven years ago, cold, hard and filled with disgust. There was a chill in his voice as he said, "You mean this is your Gina?"
Thank goodness for Twyla. The earth mother in her had taken over and she put a comforting arm around Gina's waist as she said, "You two can stand around all night and talk if you want to, but I'm going to take this poor child upstairs and put her to bed. She's apparently coming down with something."
Twyla started to lead Gina away when without a word Stewart swept her up in his arms and strode with her toward the elevator, leaving Peter standing there watching, his face shadowed and inscrutable.
Upstairs Stewart put Gina gently on one of the two queen-size beds in the room, and then reluctantly yielded to Twyla's demand that he go back down to his daughter's wedding reception and let Gina rest. He made Twyla promise that she'd call him if Gina couldn't sleep, then kissed Gina lingeringly, although she couldn't have responded if her life depended on it, and left.
Twyla closed and locked the door behind him, then turned and leaned against it as her glance sought Gina's. "Okay, baby, tell mama all about it."
Gina's eyes widened with surprise. "All—all about what?" she stammered.
Twyla strolled across the room and took a gold cigarette case from her purse. "Gina, I'm neither stupid nor blind," she muttered with exasperation as she extracted a long slim cigarette from the case with two tropicana-red fingernails. "When you enrolled in my art class at the University of Maryland seven years ago you had just moved there from San Francisco and you were an emotional basket case. Today you're back in San Francisco and you're behaving very much like the heartbroken little Ginny Lea Brown you were then."
She put the cigarette between her lips and flicked the gold lighter she had also taken from her purse. The tip of the cigarette glowed as she inhaled deeply, then she clicked the top shut on the lighter and dropped it back in her purse.
"Except for saying that you'd had an unhappy love affair you've never told me what happened back then, and I've never asked. I figured when you wanted to tell me you would. Meanwhile, you've dropped the childish nickname, graduated from college with a degree in fine arts, and are fast becoming known as an outstanding young artist. You're no longer a teenager, Gina, you're a woman with an enviable record of successes behind you. You've overcome that devastating setback of seven years ago and you have a bright future ahead of you with a wonderful man."
She suddenly turned and faced Gina squarely. "In spite of all this, after spending less than twelve hours in San Francisco again you're back to being an emotional wreck. You're no more sick than I am. Something has shocked you right out of your mind and I want to know what it is. I'm asking you now, Gina, what happened here in San Francisco seven years ago that is still so painful that you can't face it?"
For a minute the room was so still that Gina could hear the almost-silent hum of the electric clock that sat on the bookcase in the headboard. For years now she had been underestimating Twyla Sisson. Gina had always known she was a talented artist, a smart businesswoman and teacher, and a dear supportive friend. But she hadn't realized that she was also a mind reader! Who else did she know who would have bothered to look past the obvious surface difficulty to find the deeper, more painful problem below?
A warm rush of gratitude swept over Gina, banishing a little of the icy chill that she thought had settled in her bones forever. She pulled herself up to a sitting position on the bed and ran her nervous fingers through her raven loc
ks, then managed a wobbly smile at Twyla. "You're right, my nosy friend," she said gently. "It is time for me to talk about this. Are you sure you want to listen?"
Twyla grinned. "You know me, a combination of Mother Confessor and gossip columnist. You talk, I'll listen."
Gina swung her legs over the side of the bed and kicked off her shoes. "Okay," she said with a sigh, "but do you mind if I shower first and get into something comfortable? I've got to calm myself down a little." She held out her hand. "Look, my hands are still shaking."
Twyla nodded. "Go ahead, and while you're showering I'll call room service and have a pot of coffee sent up. It promises to be a long night."
When Gina emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later wrapped in a white terrycloth robe she saw that Twyla had also changed into a tawny gold satin nightgown and matching peignoir. A silver coffee service and two pink china cups sat on the tea table in the corner of the room, and Gina shook her head as she filled the two fragile cups with the steaming, fragrant liquid. "I've never been in such a luxurious hotel before," she said. "The ones I've stayed in had a small hot pot with little envelopes of instant coffee and paper cups in a plastic holder." She handed Twyla one of the china cups. "I'll bet this room is costing Stewart a fortune."
Twyla snorted. "The whole wedding's costing Stewart a fortune! He'll probably have to write an extra book just to pay for it. Cindy and Bob would have been a lot smarter if they'd taken the money and eloped to Reno."
Gina sat down in the soft blue-velvet-upholstered chair that was a twin to the one Twyla was lounging in. "Shame on you, Twyla," she teased. "Haven't you any romance in your soul?"
Twyla set her cup and saucer on the lamp table that separated their two chairs. "Nope," she declared. "I gave up on romance when my husband ran off with a nineteen-year-old girl and left me with over fifty thousand dollars worth of his debts to pay off. Since then I only place my trust in cold hard cash."
Gina set her cup and saucer beside Twyla's. "I'm sorry," she said softly, "I didn't know."
Twyla shrugged. "So we all have problems, but it's yours we're going to talk about tonight. Let's get on with it. My question was, what happened here seven years ago that can still upset you so badly?"
Gina took a deep breath and answered. "I got married."
"Married!" Twyla gasped.
Gina nodded. "Yes, in a ceremony very much like the one today. That's why I was so upset. The memories—"
"But—but how long did this marriage last? I assume you're single now?"
Gina felt the tension that she had washed away under the hot shower rising in her again. "The marriage was made in heaven at high noon and ended in hell four hours later. It was annulled without ever being consummated."
"Good Heaven!" Twyla's brown eyes were wide with astonishment. "You poor child. You couldn't have been more than seventeen at the time."
Gina sighed. "I was eighteen, a freshman in college, and the future was bright and beautiful and mine for the taking. I'd always sketched, and painted, and shaped things with clay, but then I was enrolled in the fine arts program and I was going to be the world's first female Michelangelo. Instead I met—Peter Van Housen."
"Peter Van Housen!" Twyla all but screamed. "You mean the Peter Van Housen, director of the most prestigious private art gallery in the bay area?"
Gina nodded. "The same. Only then he was just the youngest son of Hans Van Housen, millionaire financier and art fancier. Their art collection was housed in their mansion in the Seacliff area and was viewed only by invitation. I understand they built the new gallery on Maiden Lane and opened it to the public about three years later."
She picked up her cup and saucer and sipped at the still warm coffee. "I met Peter when my art class took a tour of the famed Van Housen art collection. We were studying Dutch artists at the time and they had an excellent collection of van Goghs, Rembrandts, Jan Steens and Vermeers. Peter had chosen to be our guide that day because the Dutch collection was his special area of expertise. So help me it was a classic case of love at first sight."
Gina took the last swallow of her coffee and set the cup and saucer aside. She gave a short, mirthless laugh. "Oh how trusting are the young! It sounds silly when I try to talk about it, especially in the light of what happened less than two months later, but there was something magical in the feeling that sprang to life between us."
"He was a stranger. I didn't even know he existed when I woke up that morning, but by nightfall the whole direction of my life had changed. I'd come under the spell of a man eight years older than I but light-years older in experience, and from then on no one could deter me from my dream, the dream of spending all eternity in the arms of Peter Van Housen."
"He kept me close to him that afternoon but I didn't see a picture or hear a word he said. He claimed later that he didn't remember what he said either. Before I left he asked for my address and phone number, and from that time on we were together every spare minute."
"Now wait a minute," interrupted Twyla. "Surely it wasn't as idyllic as all that."
"Idyllic?" murmured Gina. "Of course not. We had opposition right from the start. My parents were concerned and his were furious! Mom and Dad tried to tell me that I was way out of my depth, that Peter was too old, too rich, and too sophisticated for me, and at first the Van Housens didn't even take me seriously. They treated me like a mongrel pup their spoiled son had brought home and insisted on keeping. They tolerated me only because they were sure he'd soon cast me aside for the show dog he already had."
"Hold it," interrupted Twyla holding up a hand. "Are you telling me you lived with this man in his parents' home?"
"No," snapped Gina. "That's not what I'm telling you! I was just trying to be cute because if I delve too deeply into this hellish experience I'm not going to be able to talk about it at all."
"When Peter first introduced me to his parents they were polite but totally uninterested because they had plans for their young son to marry the daughter of State Senator Frederick Miller. Her name was Veronica and she was all they could possibly want in a daughter-in-law—snobbish, rich, and well-connected. They assumed Peter was having a last fling with one of the local peasantry before settling down to marriage and family life."
"And was he?" Twyla said. "Having a 'fling' I mean."
Gina sniffed. "If you mean 'affair' the answer is no. My parents had strong moral values and they'd taught me well. I was convinced that it was wrong to go to bed with a man before the wedding vows and until I met Peter it had never been a problem. None of the boys I'd gone out with had attracted me in that way, although Mel was beginning to make some headway."
"Who's Mel?" questioned Twyla.
"Mel was Melvin Calicutt, a photography student whom I had been dating before I met Peter. We had a lot of fun together and he was pretty upset when I quit seeing him and started spending all my time with Peter."
She spread her hands and lowered her voice as though speaking to herself. "At the time I didn't realize just how upset he really was."
Twyla was watching her closely. "So you didn't sleep with Peter before the wedding?"
Gina winced and closed her eyes and tried to block out the memories Twyla's question evoked. Peter's eyes, smoky with passion; his hands making love to her breasts, her hips, her thighs; his lips teasing, clinging, possessing until she was aflame with desire. It had been agony to pull away, to hold him off, to tell him no.
With a supreme effort she dragged her thoughts back to the present. "No," she said in answer to the question. "We must have quarreled at least half a dozen times over my refusals. He'd call me a tease, a professional virgin, and roar away in his high-powered Mercedes, and I'd spend the night in tears, sure that this time I'd lost him, but he always came back. We couldn't stay apart, the attraction between us was too strong."
"Finally after two weeks of that he asked me to marry him, and I was sure that no woman in all of time had ever been so happy."
Gina shifted restl
essly in her chair and ran her slender, coral-tipped fingers through her short hair. "I was too young, naive, and blindly in love to understand that he was only marrying me because he couldn't get me in bed any other way."
Twyla gasped. "Oh come now Gina, you can't really believe that! Men don't marry reticent women anymore, they simply toss them over and find one who is more willing. If a man like Peter Van Housen married you over the objections of both sets of parents, then I'm betting that he loved you."
Gina covered her face with her hands and leaned her head back against the cushioned chair. "I don't know, Twyla." Her voice had an edge of despair. "I've been over it so often and I just don't know. Except for the times when I drove him half out of his mind with sexual frustration, he was always very gentle and loving with me. When we told his family we were going to be married they were horrified. He had two older brothers and a sister, all married, and not one of them took our side. They accused me of wanting only the Van Housen money and prestige, they reminded him that he was expected to marry Veronica Miller, his parents even threatened to disinherit him but none of it had any effect on us. We had to be together."
Twyla mashed out the stub of another cigarette in the modernistic ceramic ashtray and she sounded impatient as she said, "If you were both so wildly in love then for heaven's sake what happened?"
Gina took her hands from her face and looked at her friend. "We got married, that's what happened," she said bitterly. "Peter was the youngest son of a very rich man and he was pampered and indulged, used to having his own way. In the end his parents grudgingly withdrew their opposition and insisted that if there was going to be a wedding it would be done in the usual Van Housen tradition. Our hasty marriage was the social event of the season. Bertha Van Housen orchestrated it and Hans paid for it, and I'm sure everyone in San Francisco thought I was pregnant. I was seldom even consulted but I didn't mind. All I wanted was to get it over with so Peter and I could make love."
If Ever I Loved You Page 2
