Impossible (15 page)

“I couldn't get her back into England,” he explained to Sasha. “The Brits are so damn complicated. They've relaxed the quarantine rules a little, but you have to have enough papers to get her qualified for outer space. Besides”—he grinned at Sasha boyishly—“I'm not responsible enough to have a dog. I forget everything when I'm painting. I'd need a wife to get another dog.”

“There's a hell of an admission.” It confirmed all she feared about him, but this time it didn't seem frightening. It was just a simple statement of fact. Liam was well aware of who and what he was. And so was she. He was a charming irresponsible boy.

They went to Berthillon again, and that night she drove him back to the airport. He sat looking at her for a long moment before he even attempted to get out of her ridiculously small car.

“I had a wonderful time with you this weekend,” he said quietly. They hadn't made love. They hadn't done anything insane. They had just hung out together, eaten ice cream, talked, gone for long walks, bought an art book, sat in cafés, and played with a dog. It was everything she'd missed, and different from anything she'd ever had. She and Arthur had had a totally adult life, a life of responsible equal partners doing serious things. There was something wonderful and playful and young about Liam. He was part man, part boy, would-be lover, if she let him, and in some ways because of his youthful ways, almost like an adopted son.

“I had a good time too,” Sasha said, smiling at him. “Thank you for surprising me. If you'd asked me, I'd never have let you come.”

“That's why I didn't ask,” he said, as he leaned over and kissed her. She was grateful that he had respected her wishes until then. As he kissed her, she felt everything she had felt for him in London, and had managed to resist all weekend. It would have been impossible for her to do so if he had kissed her before the end. And even more impossible for him. They sat kissing each other for a long time, and then they sat looking at each other. It was impossible to have anything more between them. She wished it could be different, but knew it couldn't. She didn't say it to him this time. There was no need. He knew what she thought. “I want to come back and see you,” he said before he got out. “Will you let me, Sasha?”

“I don't know. We'll see. I have to think about it. We may be tempting fate if we try to do this again, or kidding ourselves that we could limit it to this. You're awfully hard to resist.” He kissed her again then and proved it. She could hardly breathe when he stopped kissing her, and she wanted him desperately. She wanted nothing more than to drive him home with her. But she didn't. She knew she couldn't. She got out of the car, and then laughed as she watched him unwind his legs and do the same.

“You're my dealer, for chrissake. With all the money you're going to make off me, can't you at least afford a decent car? I'm going to herniate a disk getting in and out of this thing. Maybe I should give you an advance.” She laughed at him, and followed him into the airport. He was wearing the cowboy boots, his jeans, a fisher-man's sweater he had bought in Ireland, and a baseball cap his son had sent him from the States. He looked tall and masculine and young. Everything about him was appealing, even and especially the childlike quality that frightened her so much.

She followed him in silence to the gate. He was the last one to board. Part of her wanted him to miss the plane and stay with her. Another part of her wanted him to leave and never come back to see her again. The two parts were constantly at war.

“I'll miss you,” he said quietly.

“So will I.” She was being honest. She was always honest with him. She found she could tell him whatever she thought.

He kissed her then, long and hard, as they began closing the door to the plane.

“Go… you'll miss it…,” she whispered. He ran, and turned one last time, with a broad grin, waved, and then boarded the plane. She had no idea when she'd see him again.

As he took his seat, he was thinking of her, and the remarkable blend of contrasts she was. Hard and soft, vulnerable and strong. She was serious and sad at times, when she spoke of her parents or her late husband, and then suddenly funny and happy and even youthful at other times when she talked about her artists, or her children, or her views on life. She was simple in what she expected of life, and unpretentious. Complicated in her rigid ideas about how she felt she should behave in society, and wanted to be perceived. A grande dame and painfully ladylike one minute, and whimsical and mischievous the next. He knew from Xavier that she was a terrific mother, and could sense himself that she was a great friend. Responsible, conscientious, capable, brilliant in her field, and at the same time a small, lonely woman who needed a man to hold her and love her. And no matter how prepared she was to fight him on it, Liam wanted to be that man. However long it took.

Chapter 7

Sasha was quiet and pensive
in her office the next day. She sat for a long time at her desk, staring at a piece of paper, lost in thought, without seeing it. She was thinking about Liam, the fun she'd had with him over the weekend, and the sheer stupidity of allowing herself to be with him at all. If she continued doing this, there was absolutely no doubt in her mind, someone would get hurt. And more than likely it would be her. Or maybe him. But she had far more at stake.

She was staring out the window, thinking of it, when Eugénie walked into the room.

“Sasha,” she said hesitantly, “a package came for you. I'm not sure where you want me to put it.” Sasha assumed it was paintings coming from one of her artists. The ones in Europe sent their work to the Paris gallery, and from there the gallery sent them to New York, if they were assigned to shows there.

“Just put it with all the work that came in last week,” Sasha said, looking distracted. “We're shipping all of it to New York on February first. Just look at the packing list, and make sure it's not something we want to show here.”

“I don't think you'll want to ship this,” Eugénie said, looking awkward. Sasha frightened her once in a while, particularly lately. And she wasn't at all sure how she was going to react to this delivery.

“For heaven's sake, Eugénie, stop being so mysterious. What is it?”

“Shall I bring it in?”

“Not if you have to uncrate it. I don't want a mess in my office. Just do it in the shipping room. I'll go down to see it later.” Eugénie stood there looking confused, as Sasha got more and more annoyed with her. “Okay, just bring it in. We can clean the mess up later.” It was obvious that Eugénie felt she should bring it straight to Sasha, who was beginning to suspect that some kind of major problem was about to land in her lap.

Her secretary disappeared rapidly, and backed into the room moments later, carrying something. She seemed to be cradling it in her arms, and then turned to face Sasha, who stared at her with a look of amazement. It was the cocker spaniel puppy she and Liam had played with in the pet shop on the
quai
the day before. The little dog looked terrified, and Eugénie looked just as panicked as the dog. She had no idea how Sasha would react. Much to her relief, her employer just stood there looking stunned, with a smile spreading slowly across her face.

“Oh my God… what am I going to do with that?” Sasha looked overwhelmed.

“The man from the pet store said you would know who it's from,” Eugénie said hesitantly.

“Yes, I do. It's from Liam Allison, our newest artist.” There was no point hiding that from her. Sooner or later, that much at least would come out. Hopefully, why he had given her the gift would not. Eugénie approached her then and handed her the dog, who licked Sasha's face as energetically as she had licked Liam's the day before. “Oh good Lord …I can't believe this.” She held her for a moment, and then gently set her down. She had been on her feet for less than a minute, when she squatted next to Sasha and peed on the rug. But the damage was small. “He's insane,” Sasha said, smiling even more, and Eugénie was relieved to see that she didn't seem upset about the rug.

“She's very sweet,” Eugénie smiled at her, as the puppy sniffed at the furniture and ran around the room. Every few seconds she would then dash back to Sasha. She was still running around when Sasha focused on her black legs and four white feet. “Does she have a name?”

Sasha hesitated for a moment and then grinned broadly. “I think she does. I'm going to call her Socks.” She had four white paws that looked like socks, which were such an issue to Liam. “Did they bring food for her?” She had no idea what to give her.

“The man said he brought everything you need, including a traveling bag for when you take her to New York. She even has a pink sweater, and a collar and leash to match.” Liam had thought of everything. She knew how strapped for money he was, and with the hope of what he'd make at Suvery, he had really stretched himself. The dog couldn't have been cheap, and the accessories and supplies had cost him a lot too. She loved his generosity and kindness. Sending her the puppy was a loving gesture and she knew it had been well meant. For all his wild ways, he was a good-hearted person. The moment Eugénie left the room, Sasha picked up the phone. She got him in his studio, on his cell phone.

“I can't believe you did this. You are totally insane. And you spent a fortune, Liam. What am I going to do with a dog?”

“You need someone to keep you company. Or at least while I'm in London. Is she all right?” He ignored the comment about what he'd spent. That was none of her business. He had wanted to spoil her. She deserved that and more, in his eyes.

“She's wonderful. Liam, that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever done.”

“I'm glad.” He sounded pleased. He had been a little worried she would be furious, and was immensely relieved that she wasn't. She was still in shock. “What are you going to call her?”

“Socks,” Sasha said, sounding delighted, and Liam laughed out loud.

“That's perfect. Now I won't have to wear mine. She can just wear hers.” He remembered the four matched snow-white paws.

“You are a totally silly person. And this is probably the craziest thing anyone in my life has ever done.”

“Good. You need a little confusion in your life. You need some nice surprises, and a little less control.” As he said it, Socks looked up at her new mistress with interest, squatted, and peed on the rug again. It was obvious to Sasha that she no longer had any control at all. Neither over him, herself, and surely not over the dog. The puppy was only eight weeks old, and wouldn't be housebroken for months. She was going to have to roll up her rugs at home.

“She was a wonderful surprise, Liam. I'm still a little stunned.” She wasn't even sure how to react, or why he had done it. But she appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

“I was wondering if I could come and see her this weekend. Now don't get nervous. I'm not coming to see you. Just the dog.”

Sasha hesitated, and there was a long moment of silence at her end. He hadn't sent the puppy to pressure her, it had been an outpouring of love for her. Now that he'd been to Paris to visit her, he realized how lonely her life really was. The silence and solitude in her house had made him sad for her. He thought the little dog might help. And if she let him, he wanted to help, too. “I don't know,” Sasha said honestly. “Liam, I'm scared. It's just too crazy if we get involved. I think we'd both regret it in the end.” Particularly she would, if he found a woman closer to his age, after she fell head over heels in love with him. She could easily imagine him with a twenty-five- or thirty-year-old, rather than a woman her age. An affair between them, from her point of view, could only come to a bad end.

“It doesn't have to be that way. Sasha, stop being so obsessed about my age.”

“It's not just that. It's everything. I represent you. If this goes sour, it could screw up our whole working relationship. You're not divorced. You could go back to Beth any day. I'm nine years older than you are, you should be with a woman half my age. You want to be a wacky artist, and my life is so conservative and boring, it would drive you insane.” These days it even bored her. Besides, she couldn't take him anywhere without feeling foolish, and she had no idea how he would behave, but she didn't say that to him. “There is absolutely no part of this that makes sense.”

“Does love always have to make sense?” he asked, sounding disappointed. She ticked off her list of concerns like deal points in a contract she was refusing to sign. But that was how her life worked, and how she saw it.

“It should make sense. Relationships are hard enough without taking two people who are as radically different as we are, and trying to make it work. I just don't think we can. And besides, this isn't love, it's physical attraction. It's some kind of insane chemistry that makes me lose my mind whenever you're around.”

“You didn't lose your mind this weekend,” he reminded her. “I wish you had. But you didn't. I thought we were very well behaved,” he said proudly.

“And just how long do you think that would last?”

“Not long, I hope.” He laughed, and she loved the sound of it. She was smiling as she listened to him, and watched the dog. “I had to take cold showers all night when I got back to London.”

“That's my point. If we hang out together, one or both of us is going to lose our minds and do something we'll both regret later on.” The attraction she felt to him was like putting a match to dynamite. They had proven that on Friday, after dinner at Harry's Bar.

“So now what do we do?” he asked, sounding discouraged. He wasn't convincing her. Sasha was every bit as stubborn as he was.

“I become your very respectable art dealer. And you behave like a good boy.”

“I hate it when people tell me what to do. I'm not a child.” He sounded annoyed.

“Sometimes one has no other choice but to do the right thing,” she said sensibly. “It's much more fun to do whatever you want. But when you do, people get hurt.” She had the good taste not to remind him of his dalliance with his sister-in-law, which had cost him his marriage.

“I want to see you, Sasha,” he said insistently. “I want to come to Paris this weekend.” And then as an afterthought, “I think I should see the dog. I'm her father after all.”