If Ever I Loved You (20 page)

She heard Bud Webster's voice as she hurried down the hall
and when she got to the entryway she saw that he was speaking to
someone through the closed oak door, reluctant to open it at this hour.
"Who is it, Mr. Webster?" she asked.

"It's a lady, ma'am, says her name is Twyla Sisson."

"Twyla!" Gina cried as she rushed to the door and unlocked
it. "Twyla," she said again as she hugged the large woman who stepped
through the open doorway.

Twyla was dressed in black slacks and a matching
fleece-lined parka and she returned Gina's hug as she said, "Peter
called and asked me to come. He said you needed me. What has that
chauvinist pig done to you now?"

Gina laughed because it was either that or cry and she was
determined not to shed any more tears. "Oh Twyla, what did I ever do to
deserve a friend like you? Come in. Here, let me take your jacket."

Twyla shrugged out of her parka and handed it to Gina.
Underneath she wore a red- and gray-striped sweater and she rubbed at
her arms as she said, "It's cold out there. The breeze is coming
directly off the ocean."

She walked into the living room while Gina hung her jacket
in the coat closet and told Mr. Webster that she wouldn't need either
him or his wife anymore that evening. When Gina joined Twyla her friend
was standing in the middle of the room gazing around with undisguised
appreciation. "I've never seen such a beautiful home," she said in a
voice filled with admiration. "It belongs to Peter I assume."

Gina nodded her affirmative answer. "I'll take you on a
tour of the place later, but now come with me to the family room and
I'll fix us both a drink."

Twyla stirred up the dying embers of the fireplace and
added a log while Gina poured brandy into two crystal snifters. They
sat on the couch with their feet tucked under them and sipped the warm
smooth drink for a few minutes before Twyla opened the conversation.
"Is Peter here?"

Gina shook her head. "No, he left about half an hour ago."

"Did you two quarrel?"

"Not at all." Gina's voice was bitter. "Tonight he finally
melted the last of my resistance and took me to bed. When it was over
he got up, dressed, apologized and left."

Twyla's brown eyes widened. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," confirmed Gina. "He was so disappointed
by my performance that he didn't even pretend that he'd enjoyed it, he
just said he was sorry and walked out."

Her voice broke but she forced herself to go on. "I—I've been thinking and I've come to the
conclusion that this was all part of his revenge for my supposed
deception. I believe he planned to seduce me and then deliberately let
me know how little I meant to him by doing just what he did."

I must have thrown him a curve when he found out
I was still a virgin
, she thought with a touch of vengeful
satisfaction.
That's probably why he apologized
.

She put her hands over her eyes and stiffened against the
pain that washed over her. "Well, I hope he's happy now because his
little scheme worked." She curled up in a ball and buried her face in
her knees.

Twyla muttered a curse that questioned Peter's parentage
then seemed somewhat doubtful of her diagnosis. "Are you sure, Gina?"
she asked. "Maybe you misunderstood his actions. He sounded a little
frantic with concern when he called me. He didn't tell me what was
wrong, only that you needed me and to please come right away. I dropped
everything and came running."

Gina looked at her friend and appreciation vied with the
tears that shimmered in her eyes. "And I thought you were mad at me,"
she murmured.

"I was," Twyla shrugged, "but I got over it. In case
you're still interested I called Stewart the other day and invited him
over for pan-fried chicken and country gravy. We talked and, well, it's
going to take him a while to get over you but if I keep plying him with
home cooking it might speed up the healing process and, who knows, we
may get together yet."

Gina wasn't fooled by her friend's levity and she put her
hand on Twyla's arm. "Oh Twyla," she said huskily. "I hope so."

Twyla smiled and patted the hand on her arm. "I'm sure of
it," she said, "but I didn't come here to talk about my love life. It's
yours I'm concerned about. Now come on, give."

Gina cleared her throat and blinked away the tears. "I was
crying when Peter left. He probably had an attack of conscience and
decided he'd better see to it that I was taken care of."

She tipped the snifter to her lips and swallowed the last
of the brandy. "Take me home, Twyla."

Twyla nodded and stood. "Come on, I'll help you get your
things together."

The noonday sun shone brightly on the churning ocean as
the biting wind slammed huge blue-green waves topped with white foam
against the rocky Mendocino coast line. Gina, wearing a heather wool
pleated skirt and a bulky gray sweater buttoned up against the chill of
the strong breeze, stood on top of the cliff bracing herself into the
gusts and watching the swirling ever-changing sea. She'd taken
advantage of her lunch break to get away from the shop, her apartment,
the small village that held so many memories and walk the short
distance to the ocean.

It had been two days since that disastrous night with
Peter and she'd heard nothing from him. Not that she'd really expected
to, but that didn't make the yearning any less painful. She'd managed
to fill her days with work but the nights were unrelenting torture. If
it hadn't been for Twyla she didn't know how she would have survived.

On the drive back to Mendocino from Peter's home she'd
filled Twyla in on the events leading up to his seduction and then
abandonment of her. Twyla, in her own colorful language that at times
seared even Gina's ears, denounced Peter in particular and all men in
general as ungrateful, immoral and fatherless.

Later, though, during the past two nights when she'd just
happened to drop by to gossip and, incidentally, keep Gina from going
insane with loneliness and regret, she'd been less sure of Peter's
motives. "It's just not Peter's style, honey," she'd said in a puzzled
tone. "It's too crude. I'm positive he'd never be less than a gentleman
in an intimate relationship with a woman. Are you sure you've told me
everything?"

Of course Gina hadn't told her friend "everything." She
could never discuss the details of their lovemaking with anyone, but
all the pertinent facts were there. Peter had seduced her, made love to
her, and then walked out on her.

A strong gust of wind tossed breaking waves high on the
jagged face of the cliff and rocked Gina with its chilling force. She
pulled her sweater tighter and turned to walk back toward town. If she
didn't hurry she would overstay her break and today had been a busy
one. This was the Labor Day weekend, the last big tourist influx before
the schools started in California. After Monday the summer season would
be over and fall was already blowing in on the tides.

Gina's black hair was tousled and her cheeks were pink
from the nippy breeze as she stepped into the gallery and closed the
door behind her. To her left two middle-aged women were standing in
front of a glass display case arguing with Peg Harvey over the price of
a sleek ceramic cat, and Gina walked toward them on her way to her
office to hang up her sweater.

She smiled at Peg as she started to pass, but Peg held up
a hand to stop her. "Gina," she said, "you have a visitor."

Gina turned in the direction of Peg's glance and froze.
Not four steps behind her stood Peter Van Housen.

He was wearing brown corduroy jeans and a tan windbreaker
and his wheat-colored hair was ruffled from the breeze, but he did not
look boyish. If anything he'd aged in the two days since she'd seen
him. He'd looked ill then and he still did, but there was something
else. The slump of his shoulders, his stance, were more like that of an
old man worn down by defeat than the cocky attitude he'd always
maintained.

His face was clean-shaven and she could smell the scent of
his musky lotion, but the lines around his mouth had deepened and his
eyes had a bruised look about them. He didn't resemble a man who
recently tasted the sweetness of revenge.

He took a step forward and for a moment she thought he was
going to take her in his arms. Surely the magnetism between them was
too strong to be one-sided, but again she was wrong. He thrust his
hands into the pockets of his windbreaker and said, "I want to talk to
you, Gina."

Talk to me
? Gina thought
incredulously.
Oh yes, by all means let's talk. Let's be
civilized about this and flay each other with words instead of whips.
Words don't leave a mark on the body for all to see, they just shrivel
the soul
.

She swallowed and hoped she could speak. "Of course. What
is it you want?" It came out pretty well considering that her whole
body was quivering.

He frowned. "Not here. Come to the house with me."

"No!" she exploded, then took a deep breath and started
again. "I'm busy. If you want to talk to me it will have to be here."

He sighed. "All right, but let's go upstairs. Peg can
handle things down here."

He didn't give her a chance to protest, but took her by
the arm and led her out of the shop and upstairs to her apartment.

This wasn't going at all well. She hated him for what he'd
done to her but still his touch could turn her bones to water. She
didn't want to be alone with him but she knew they had to talk sometime
and she couldn't refuse without seeming childish.

By all means let's not be childish
,
she chided herself.
You were a child when he walked out on
you the first time. At least have a little pride and act like an adult
now
.

She unlocked the door and led the way into the living
room. It was chilly in the apartment and she turned up the thermostat
but didn't take off her sweater or ask Peter to remove his jacket. She
didn't want him to think she was settling in for a long session. It was
imperative to her sanity that they get this over quickly.

Peter stood by the picture window looking out at the
churning waters of the bay and he didn't look at her as he said, "I've
withdrawn my objections to the dissolution of our marriage. You won't
have any further trouble about it."

Gina put her hand across her midsection as she lowered
herself to sit on the couch and it took her a minute to catch her
breath and realize that he hadn't punched her in the stomach with his
fist, only his words.

She knew she should say something but couldn't trust
herself to speak. What was the matter with her anyway? This was what
she'd wanted, wasn't it? Now she could be free to either continue as
she had been or find another man to love.

The idea was so ludicrous that it made her giggle with
suppressed hysteria and it was then that Peter turned to look down at
her. "What's so funny?" he demanded.

"N-nothing. I'm sorry," she answered in a voice tight with
pain.

Funny? Oh no, it wasn't funny. How could a lifetime of
quiet desperation be funny? Peter's revenge was even more complete than
he realized. He'd left her with a future so lonely and bleak that she
didn't dare contemplate it. Before he came back into her life she'd had
Stewart. She could have loved Stewart in a quiet mature way and been
reasonably happy with him, but now all hope of a husband and family
were denied her. How could she give herself to another man when she was
a part of Peter and he was a part of her?

Peter was again looking out at the bay as he resumed the
conversation. "The house is yours as I told you it would be. I hope you
will live in it but if not it would be best to either sell or rent it.
It mustn't be left unoccupied, and maintaining a caretaker is
expensive."

He shifted restlessly and clutched the sheer curtain in
his fist. "I've also made arrangements for you to receive alimony.
You'll be sent a check at the first of every month. If you feel you
need more just contact my attorney and he'll arrange it."

Gina sat hunched over, numb with misery. She didn't even
try to protest. Peter would never believe that she didn't want his
money. All she could do was return the checks each month unopened until
he finally understood that she would never accept them.

As for the house… she couldn't think about that
now.

Gradually Gina realized that Peter had stopped speaking
and an uneasy silence had grown between them. It was her turn to say
something, but what.
Thank you Peter for being so generous,
that's a lot of money for a one-night stand
? Or maybe,
Don't
leave me, Peter, I can't live without you
? If she begged,
would he keep her around for those few times when he had no one else to
warm his bed?

She clenched her jaws to stifle a sob. She had to stop
this. She was on the verge of fragmenting into little pieces that could
never be put back together again.

Peter turned slowly and their eyes met. He looked awful
and she wondered if he'd been drinking and was going to be sick, but
she knew he hadn't been. He was cold sober, but something was bothering
him.

Maybe it was his conscience. Did he realize what he was
putting her through and find it distasteful? Did he understand that he
should have left her untouched if he planned to throw her away? Was he
finding vengeance bitter and unfulfilling?

"Don't you have anything to say to me?" he asked softly.
He. sounded so forlorn, as though he really wanted her to talk to him.

She shook her head, only wanting to get this over with. If
he didn't leave soon she was going to come unglued right in front of
him.

He started to walk toward her but then stopped and turned
toward the door instead. "Good-bye, Gina," he muttered hoarsely and
began moving down the short hall.