Tomorrow's Promise

by Sandra Brown

  The barrage of questions began and for the next two hours the men were quizzed in a dozen languages. It was learned that ten of the men had escaped a prisoner of war camp together and over a period of a year and a half picked up the other sixteen men. During the months they had been together, three of their original number had died. Their names were read and duly recorded. The stories they related were incredible. What they had lived through was incomprehensible and the more their audience heard the more appalled it became.

  Before dismissing the conference, General Vanderslice announced that the men had consented to an interview session the following morning. Everyone stood and applauded the soldiers as they left the room.

  Keely waited for the throng to thin out before she stood to leave. Just as she was pulling on her light raincoat, Congressman Parker came up to her. Dax was with him. "Mrs. Williams, would you care to join Congressman Devereaux and me for dinner?" he asked politely.

  Should she? The senior congressman didn't know he would be acting as a chaperon, but his presence would serve as her and Dax's protection from speculation and suspicion.

  She was about to give him her affirmative answer when a Marine came up to them and saluted smartly. "Excuse me, Mrs. Williams, but Mrs. Allway sent for you. She needs to talk to you about the men still in the hospital."

  Keely's heart lurched. Could this be happening now? Was this another shot in the dark? Or did Betty know…?

  "I – I'll come right now," she stammered to the Marine. Turning back to Dax and Congressman Parker, she said, "I'm sorry, but—"

  "No need to apologize, Mrs. Williams. This may yet be news of your husband," Parker said.

  She avoided Dax's eyes as she followed the Marine's lead out the room and down a gloomy hallway into a deserted office. She was impressed first by the quiet. All day her ears had been adjusting to a din, now the silence caressed her ears gently and she welcomed it. Her escort left her alone.

  A door opened on the other side of the empty office and Betty and her husband stepped through it. For a moment they looked at each other over the expanse of desks and carpet, then Keely rushed to the couple and threw her arms around Betty.

  "I'm so thrilled for you, Betty. My joy couldn't be any greater."

  "Keely, Keely," Betty said in her ear. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't he so happy."

  "Of course you should!" Keely pulled away to look at the older woman's concerned face. "You should be ecstatic. And I know from watching you today that you are." She turned to the gaunt man standing beside Betty. "Hello, Bill," she said. "I've heard so much about you. Welcome back." She extended her hand for him to shake but, at the last moment, impulsively hurled herself at him and hugged him tight. Her embrace didn't offend him. She felt his thin arms enfold her.

  "Betty has told me about you and how you've campaigned for the MIAs. I only wish your husband were with us."

  Keely then remembered why she had been summoned. She searched their faces but saw no suppressed good news behind their compassionate expressions.

  "The men in the hospital…?" She left the question open-ended.

  Betty shook her head sadly and took Keely's hands between hers. "I'm sorry, Keely, but no, Mark isn't one of them. That's why I called you in here so Bill and I could talk to you alone. I didn't know how much hope you were holding out, and I wanted to spare you any false optimism."

  "Keely." She turned blind eyes toward Bill Allway when he spoke her name in that gravelly voice. "After Betty told me about Mark, we immediately questioned the others if they knew anything about a helicopter pilot by that name. We gave them the date his chopper went down, any detail we knew that might be helpful. No one could provide us with any information. Of course the soldiers still hospitalized haven't been interrogated."

  Keely turned her back on them and walked to the window, staring out over the Paris skyline that was being lighted now in the dusk. "Thank you both for your consideration. In view of the fact that you haven't seen each other in fifteen years, I'm humbled that the few hours you've been together you've spent much of it thinking about me and Mark. Thank you," she repeated.

  "Keely—"

  Not able to bear any more sympathy, she whirled around and interrupted Betty before she could say any more. "I'm fine, really. You two need time alone. Go on. I'll be fine. Indeed" – she tried valiantly for indifference – "Congressman Parker has invited me to dinner." She peeled her lips back into what she hoped was a smile. In the waning light of the office the Allways must have been fooled.

  "If you're sure…" Betty hedged.

  "I'm sure. Now go."

  "We'll see you tomorrow," Bill said.

  "Of course. Good night."

  They left through the door from which they had entered and she was alone. More alone than she had ever been in her life.

  She felt like she was on some kind of emotional pogo stick, being catapulted up into an emotional upheaval only to be hurled again to the bottom. She hated this conflict of emotions she felt. She wanted to be delirious with happiness for the Allways, and she was. But she couldn't help but be jealous that Betty's sentence was over.

  Or was it? What would the Allways' marriage be like now? Could they pick up where they left off after fourteen years of separation? Having seen them together, Keely thought their chances were extremely good.

  But what of her and Mark? How would she have felt today if she had been called out to meet a man, a man she didn't know, a man she was bonded to by marriage vows and legality, but no longer felt an affinity for? At the first sight of him would all the feelings of love she could no longer conjure come rushing back? Would she have flung herself into his arms? Or would she have been frightened to think that this stranger was her husband – this stranger she didn't recognize because all traces of youth and exuberance had been cut away by war as cleanly as by a surgeon's scalpel? Betty had had the advantage of years, of knowing her husband as a man before he went to war, of learning the ins and outs of his personality, She and Mark had had no such luxury.

  The walls of the office were suddenly claustrophobic, and she left, avoiding the crowd at the end of the hallway and exiting through another door. Getting her bearings, she walked toward the Champs Elysées. The avenue was jammed with honking, belligerent traffic that characterized the city's perpetual rush hour. Pedestrians crowded the sidewalks. As Keely walked, skirting the moving mass, she found it offensive that to so many people this had been just another workday. Some had no more to worry about than what they were going to eat for dinner or if they should stop at the dry cleaners tonight or wait until tomorrow.

  The Place de la Concorde was thronged with laughing tourists and Parisians impatient with laughing tourists. As she was jostled through the crowd, she wondered idly how many times the horses of Coysevox at the entrance of the Tuileries Gardens had been photographed. Little of the world-famous square with its obelisk in the center attracted her attention for more than a moment at a time. Her thoughts were elsewhere.

  Pont de la Concorde took her across the Seine onto the Left Bank. One of the bateau-mouche dinner excursions glided beneath the bridge as she crossed it.

  She didn't even see the beautifully lighted boat. She just walked.

  On the Boulevard Saint-Germain, she stopped at an intersection to wait for a break in the traffic. Much to her distress the man standing next to her was finding her fascinating and wasn't taking her ignorance of the French he was pouring in her ear as discouragement. He moved closer, almost knocking her off the low curb. She regained her footing and shot him an annoyed look, which he took as a challenge and smiled.

  With foolhardy bravery she ran in front of a tour bus to cross the street. Upon reaching the other side, she was grateful that she had escaped both a sudden death and the amorous attention of the Frenchman. A few blocks farther on she felt the pent-up weariness finally manifesting itself. She sat down on a sidewalk bench and stared sightlessly, dejectedly, in front of her. She only wanted to be left alone, to be invisible,
to evaporate. She was tired of coping.

  The ingratiating voice intruded again, this time as her ardent pursuer sat down close beside her on the bench. She was glad her knowledge of the language was limited. His tone was lewdly suggestive. She shook her head forcefully and tried to scoot away, but to no avail.

  Then another French voice, this one growling and threatening, came from behind her and her aggressor jumped to his feet, made a placating gesture with his hands, and fled down the sidewalk as though the hounds of hell were after him.

  She looked up to see Dax standing behind her. He didn't speak, but came around the end of the bench and sat down beside her. The understanding smile, the black liquid eyes that related so much, the security that he represented, were her undoing.

  When she fell toward him, his arms were opened to receive her and to cradle her head against his chest.

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  «^»

  Holding her still and tight, he didn't disturb her bout of weeping. The slim shoulders under his arms shuddered with the sobs that seized her. He bent his head over the soft brown hair and inhaled the fragrance as he would have inhaled her sorrow if he could.

  He wasted no energy worrying about the curious picture they must make. All his thoughts, his being, were absorbed by this woman. She was so very precious to him. He had admired her strength of character, her beauty, her achievements, the career she had made for herself. Now this new fragility awakened in him yet another emotion. His passions surged to the surface and he became fiercely possessive and protective. He might very well have killed anyone who attempted to hurt her.

  Long after the tears were spent and only dry sobs shook her, he held her. Whatever would be said and done would be initiated by her. The violet sky deepened to a darker indigo and then gradually faded to black, and still they sat, wrapped around each other.

  When she raised her head, she looked away, wiping her mascara-streaked cheeks and smoothing back her hair. He didn't admonish her grooming efforts and tell her she looked beautiful. He thought she was beautiful, despite her dishevelment, but he knew she wouldn't want to hear it. She would be self-conscious now, shy of him, and ashamed of her loss of control. He would give her free rein. She would chart the course, set the pace.

  "Will you walk with me?" she asked.

  He stood and gave her his hand. She accepted it, but dropped it when she had taken but a few steps. He didn't try to regain it, though he wanted to surround it with his hand in a symbolic gesture of the protectiveness he felt. They walked slowly, not talking, looking through a shop window when something struck her fancy. Only slight smiles, soft sighs, poignant glances, were used to communicate.

  He had no idea how long or how far they walked. It didn't matter. He was faintly surprised when sue paused and faced him. "Are you hungry?"

  He smiled. "A little. Are you?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I'll be glad to buy you dinner."

  "Where?"

  "You choose."

  "All right."

  The first restaurant they came to was passed over because it was crowded and noisy. The next one's bill of fare featured only cold sandwiches and she admitted to being hungrier than that.

  The third one they came to was perfect. It was typically French with checked tablecloths, dim candles, and one lone daisy in a bud vase on each table. The sidewalk dining area had been closed for the night, but the low-ceilinged interior suggested an aura of web come intimacy.

  As soon as the garçon had showed them to a table, Keely said, "May I be excused for a moment?"

  "Of course." Dax didn't sit down until she had disappeared through a narrow shadowed opening leading to the back of the restaurant. When she came back to the table he saw that her face had been cleaned, her hair had been brushed, and she had applied fresh lipstick. He didn't touch her when he held her chair.

  She munched on a piece of hard crusty bread. "I didn't know you spoke French."

  He smiled humbly. "Only one of my many accomplishments."

  "What did you say to him?'

  "The waiter?"

  "No, the man who followed me."

  He was momentarily distracted by the tongue that glided across her lips to pick up vagrant bread crumbs. He found it hard to remember what she had asked him. "Uh … oh, that. Well, it isn't found in any dictionary," he grinned. "Do you know what you want to eat?" he asked, opening the well-worn menu.

  "I'll let you order. I'm fond of coq au vin."

  "Then you're in luck because it's right here," he said, pointing to the menu. "Coq au vin. Salad?" She nodded. "Soup?"

  "I don't think so."

  The waiter stepped forward. If the tuxedo he wore was shiny and his cuffs a bit frayed, they didn't notice as Dax gave him the order. As a matter of fact, neither of them could ever recall what he looked like. They were only looking at each other.

  "Did you want a drink?" Dax asked.

  "No. Coffee after dinner."

  "Okay." He leaned his elbows on the table and cupped his chin in his fists.

  She looked through the curtained windows at the steady stream of traffic on the boulevard. "How did you know where to find me?"

  He wished she would look at him. Her voice sounded remote and her despondency was killing him. "I met Betty and Bill Allway in the hall. They told me what they had discussed with you. I thought you might need … someone. When I went into the office where they said you'd be, you were already gone. I ran like mad to catch sight of you. Your long legs sure can cover ground."

  The attempt at humor worked and she laughed as she finally turned her head to look back at him. "Anyway," he continued, encouraged. "I only followed you to see that you were all right. When I saw that guy getting fresh, I closed in."

  "You were just in time."

  "Sure you weren't just being coy with him? I may have ruined a good thing." The first interjection of humor had worked, so he pressed for two times in a row.

  This one was successful too. She laughed again and he could see a discernible difference in her posture as she began to relax.

  By the time their salads arrived, they were chatting easily, though about nothing pertaining to what had brought them to Paris, to this small café, in the first place.

  "He'll be offended if we don't drink any wine with dinner. This is Paris, you know," Dax leaned forward across the table and whispered conspiratorially.

  "Watch it, you're getting salad dressing on your tie."

  He looked down quickly. "Oops. Sorry." He picked up the drop of vinegar and oil from his tie and licked it off the end of his finger. "What about the wine?"

  Keely glanced at the waiter who was hovering nearby in an expectant attitude and she suspected that he could understand their English perfectly. "Well," she demurred, "if you think he'll be offended if we don't…"

  Dax took his cue and signaled the waiter over. He was at the side of their table before Dax had completely lifted his hand. The order was given and accepted in French. Keely sat and watched, bemused.

  The waiter went briskly toward the rear of the restaurant and was back in an uncannily brief space of time. He carried a chilled carafe of white wine on a tray.

  "This is the house wine, guaranteed to be excellent. Or so he says," Dax said to her. He went through the wine-tasting ritual, comically swishing it around in his mouth like mouthwash and rolling his eyes. The waiter tried to look aghast, but found the performance so entertaining that he looked down at Keely and smiled as though the two of them were patronizing a willful eccentric.

  Dax swallowed loudly. "Wonderful, beautiful!" he exclaimed and gestured that the waiter was to fill their glasses. He did and left the carafe on the table.

  "Oh, Dax! I just remembered Congressman Parker. What did you tell him?"

  "That I had jet lag. I made your excuses too."

  "Thank you."

  The food was delicious. The chicken was cooked to perfection, as were the small white potatoes, green beans, and
baby carrots. No sooner had he taken away their empty plates than the waiter brought out parfait glasses of chocolate mousse with a mound of whipped cream and chocolate shavings on top. They delved into those and when she could only eat half of the rich dessert, Dax finished it for her, complaining that she had eaten off all the whipped cream.

  The carafe of wine was empty and they sat, mellow and satisfied, over cups of coffee. The dishes were taken away by a deferential subordinate of their waiter. When only the sputtering candle and the drooping daisy in the center of the table were left between them, Keely knew the time had come for them to talk.

  "Dax," she opened slowly, "I know that you'd never ask, but you must want to know what I'm feeling."

  "You're right on both accounts. I'd never ask. And it's up to you whether you tell me or not. My only job is to be here if you need me."

  She raised swimming eyes to his and her mouth trembled deliciously and dangerously. "I do need you."

  "You've got me." He wanted to reach across the table and take her hands between his, but his motion to do so was arrested when he saw her fold her hands together at the table's edge.

  "I don't know if any of this will make sense. I haven't categorized my thoughts, so I may ramble."

  "I won't mind."

  She drew a heavy, shuddering breath. "I think that I must not he a very nice person. Today I was sickened with disappointment. But the heartache I felt because Mark wasn't among those soldiers wasn't for him. It was for me."

  She slumped against the back of her ladder-back chair and toyed with the tablecloth at the edge of the table, pleating it between her fingers to fit the rim. "All I could think of when I realized that he wasn't one of the twenty-six men, was that my travail wasn't over. Not only was he not among the living, but I still don't know if he's among the dead either. I've progressed nowhere, but only remained stationary."

  She lifted her eyes briefly as though to check to see if he were listening. She needn't have worried. He was hanging on to her every word.