If Ever I Loved You (3 page)

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 locks, 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 restlessly 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."

Twyla once more rummaged through her purse for the gold
case and extracted a cigarette. She held it firmly between her lips as
she searched for the lighter, then lit it and set the lighter on the
table beside her. She inhaled deeply and slowly released the smoke into
the air. "Gina," she said gratingly, "are you deliberately tormenting
me? I want to know why this marriage that you say was made in heaven
ended after only four hours."

A short, hollow laugh escaped Gina. "Maybe you're right,
my friend. I guess I am deliberately holding back, but you see the part
that comes next is so agonizing for me that even now I can hardly bring
myself to face it."