Jewels (12 page)

Downstairs, in the lobby, William was looking at Sarah, and she was being vague in answer to his questions.

“Could we go for a walk somewhere? Do you feel up to that?” She did, of course, but what was the point of going anywhere with him, or even seeing him again? What if she fell in love with him? Or he with her? Then what would they do? But on the other hand, it seemed ridiculous to think of falling in love with a man she had just met, and whom she would never see again once she left England.

“I think I’m just being very stupid.” She smiled. “I haven’t been around people in a long time … not men, anyway … and I think I’ve forgotten how to behave. I’m really sorry, William.”

“It’s all right. Would you like to sit down?” She nodded and they found a quiet spot in the corner of the lobby. “Have you been in a convent for the past year?” he asked her, only half teasing.

“More or less. Actually, I threatened that for a while. It was more like a convent of my own making. I stayed in my parents’ beach home on Long Island.” She said it quietly, he had a right to know, and it didn’t seem so unusual now, or as desperate as it had then. Sometimes it was hard to remember just how terrible she had felt when she’d been there.

“And you stayed there for a year without seeing anyone?” She nodded silently in answer, her eyes never leaving his, not sure what she should tell him. “That’s an awfully long time. Did it help?”

“I’m not sure,” she sighed as she spoke honestly to him, “It seemed to at the time. But it made it very difficult to come back out into the world again. That’s why we came here.”

“Europe is a good place to start.” He smiled gently at her, and decided not to ask her any difficult questions. He didn’t want to scare her off, or cause her pain. He was falling in love with her, and the last thing he wanted was to lose her. “I’m glad you came here.”

“So am I,” she said softly, and she meant it.

“Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

“I … I’m not sure … I think we were going to the theater”—but it was a play she knew she didn’t want to see—
The Corn Is Green
, by Emlyn Williams. “I really should ask my parents.”

“If not, then tomorrow?”

“William…” She seemed about to say something important to him, and then she stopped, and looked at him squarely. “Why do you want to see me?” If the question seemed rude to him, he didn’t show it.

“I think you’re a very special girl. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“But I’ll be gone in a few weeks. What’s the point of all this, for either of us?” What she really wanted to say to him was that she knew there could be no future for them together. And knowing that, it seemed foolish to pursue their friendship.

“The point is that I like you … very much … why don’t we face your going when we get there?” It was a philosophy of his, live for today, I’ve for now, don’t borrow trouble from the future.

“And in the meantime?” She wanted guarantees that no one would get hurt, but even William couldn’t promise her that, no matter how much he liked her. He knew neither her history nor what the future held for them.

“Why don’t we just see…. Will you have dinner with me?”

She hesitated, looking up at him, not because she didn’t want to, but because she did, too much so. “Yes, I will,” she said slowly.

“Thank you.” He looked at her quietly for what seemed like a long time, and then they stood up, and the men at the desk noticed how handsome they were, and how well they looked together. “I'll pick you up at eight o’clock then.”

“I’ll meet you downstairs.” She smiled as he walked her to the elevator.

“I’d rather come up to your rooms. I don’t want you waiting alone here.” He was always protective of her, always careful and thoughtful.

“All right.” She smiled at him again, and he kissed her on the cheek again when the elevator came, and took off across the lobby with a long stride and a wave, and Sarah rode upstairs, trying not to feel her heart pound in anticipation.

Chapter 6

HE
bell to their suite rang at exactly five past eight, and Sarah had no way of knowing that William had been waiting downstairs for the past ten minutes. Her parents hadn’t minded her not going to the theater with them, particularly since she was going out with William.

She opened the door to him in a black satin dress, which molded her slim figure like a sheet of black ice that had been poured on her, with a thin edging of rhine-stones.

“My God, Sarah! You look amazing.” She had worn her hair swept high on her head, with waves and curls that seemed to cascade loosely as she moved, giving the impression that if you pulled one pin, her mass of dark hair would pour like a waterfall past her shoulders. “You’re extraordinary!” He took a step back to admire her, and she laughed shyly. It was the first time she had been truly alone with him, except in the arbor in the country when they’d met, but even there, there had been other people around them.

“You look very handsome too.” He had worn one of his many dinner jackets, and a beautiful black silk vest that had been his father’s, and looped across it was a narrow diamond watch chain that had been a gift to his uncle from Czar Nicholas of Russia. As they drove to the restaurant in his car, he explained the story of it to her. Apparently the chain had been sewn into the hem of the gown of a grand duchess and spirited out of Russia. “You are related to everyone!” she marvelled, intrigued by the story. Thinking of it conjured up images of kings and czars, and fascinating royalty.

“Yes, I am,” he said, looking amused, “and let me assure you, some of them are really perfectly awful.” He had driven the car himself tonight, because he wanted to be alone with her, and didn’t want to be burdened with a driver. He had chosen a quiet restaurant, and they were expecting him. The headwaiter took them to a quiet table in the rear, and addressed him repeatedly as “Your Grace,” bowing slightly to both of them as he left them alone at the table. Champagne appeared instantly, and William had ordered their dinner for them when he made the reservation. They had caviar first, on tiny wedges of toast, with exquisite little wedges of lemon, and salmon after that, in a delicate sauce, followed by pheasant, salad, cheese, soufflé au Grand Marnier, and tiny little buttery French cookies.

“My God, I can’t move,” she complained with a smile as she looked at him. It had been a wonderful dinner, and a lovely evening. He had talked about his parents to her, and how much they meant to him, and how distressed his mother had been several years before when he showed no interest in getting married.

“I’m afraid I’ve been a great disappointment to her,” he said unrepentantly. “But I refuse to marry the wrong woman, simply to please my relatives, or have children. I think my parents having me so late always gave me the impression that I could do anything I wanted for a very long time, and still make up for it later.”

“You can. You’re right not to let yourself make a mistake.” But as she said it, he saw the same mysterious sadness.

“And you, Sarah? Are they pressing you to marry yet?” She had already told him about Peter and Jane, and their babies.

“Not lately. My parents have been very understanding.” About her mistakes … her disasters … her disgrace She looked away from him as she said it. He reached out a hand to her then, and closed her fingers in his own strong ones.

“Why is it you never tell me what it is that has been so painful?” It was difficult for either of them to remember that they had only known each other for two days. It already seemed as though they had known each other forever.

“What makes you think I’ve been in pain?” She tried to fob him off, but he would have none of it, and his touch stayed firm but gentle on her fingers.

“Because I see whatever it is you’re hiding from me. I don’t see it clearly. But it lurks there, like a ghost, always in the shadows, waiting to haunt you. Is it so terrible that you can’t share it with me?” She didn’t know what to answer him, she didn’t dare tell him the truth, and her eyes filled with tears as he asked the question.

“I … I’m sorry…” She freed her hand from his, to dab her eyes with her napkin. And their waiter disappeared discreetly. “It’s just … it’s such an ugly thing. You would never feel the same way about me again. I haven’t met anyone since … it happened …”

“My God, what is it? Did you murder someone? Kill a relative, a friend? Even at that, it must have been an accident. Sarah, you must not do this to yourself.” He took both her hands in his own and held them in his strong grasp so that she would feel protected. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry, but it hurts me to see you suffer.”

“How can it?” She smiled unbelievingly through her tears. “You don’t even know me.” It was true, and yet they both knew he did. They knew each other better after two days than some people after a lifetime.

“I did a terrible thing,” she admitted to him, holding tightly to his hands, and he didn’t flinch, or waver, or withdraw them.

“I don’t believe that. I think
you
think it was terrible. But I would wager that no one else does.”

“You’re wrong,” she said wistfully, and then sighed and looked back at him, but she withdrew her hands as she did so. “I was married two years ago. I made a huge mistake, and I tried to live by it. I tried everything. I was determined to stay with him, and die trying if I had to.” William seemed unaffected by the news she had expected to rock him so badly.

“And are you still married to him?” he asked quietly, still offering his hands to her, if she wanted to take them, but she didn’t. She knew she couldn’t now. When he heard all of it, he would no longer want her. But she owed it to him to tell him.

“We have been separated for over a year. In November, the divorce will be filial.” She said it like a sentence for murder.

“I’m sorry,” he said seriously. “Sorry for you, Sarah. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been, and how unhappy you must have been for the past year.” He wondered if her husband had left her for someone else, or what had come between them.

“Did you love him very much?” he asked hesitantly, not wanting to pry, but needing to know it. He needed to know if the pain she felt was longing for him, or simply regret, but she shook her head at him in answer.

“To be honest with you, I’m not sure I ever loved him. I knew him all my life, and it seemed the right thing to do then. I liked him, but I didn’t really know him. And the moment we came back from our honeymoon, everything fell apart, and I realized what a mistake I’d made. All he wanted to do was to be out night and day, playing with his friends, chasing other women and drinking.” The tone of sorrow in her voice told him volumes. She didn’t tell him about the baby she’d lost, or the prostitutes he’d brought to their anniversary party at her parents’. But he saw in her eyes that she’d suffered far more than she’d told him. She looked away, and William touched her hands again, and waited until she looked at him. Her eyes were full of memories and questions.

“I’m sorry, Sarah,” William said quietly. “He must be a complete fool.” Sarah smiled and sighed again, feeling relieved, but not redeemed. She knew she would always feel guilty for being divorced, but continuing her life with him would have destroyed her, and she knew it. “Is this the terrible sin you were hiding from me?” She nodded and he smiled at her. “How can you be so foolish? This isn’t the last century. Other people have gotten divorced. Would you rather have stayed with him and suffered that torture?”

“No, but I’ve felt terribly guilty toward my parents. It’s been so embarrassing for them. No one in our family has ever been divorced before. And they’ve been so incredibly nice about it. I know they must be ashamed, to some extent, but they’ve never criticized me for it.” Her voice drifted off as he watched her.

“Did they object at first?” he asked bluntly.

“No, not at all.” She shook her head. “In fact, they encouraged me.” She thought back to the family meeting in Southampton, the morning after her disastrous anniversary party. “Actually, my father did everything. They were wonderful, but it must have been agonizing for them to face their friends in New York.”

“Did they say that?”

“No They were too kind to reproach me.”

“And have you faced their friends again, and your own, and been punished for your crime?” She shook her head, and smiled at the way he put it

“No.” She laughed, suddenly sounding young again, and her heart felt lighter than it had in years. “I’ve been hiding on Long Island.”

“Foolish girl. I’m quite sure that if you’d had the courage to go back to New York, you would have found that everyone applauded your leaving that rotter.”

“I don’t know.” She sighed again. “I haven’t seen anyone … until now … until you …”

“How fortunate for me, Miss Sarah Thompson. What a silly, silly girl you’ve been. I can’t believe you’ve been in mourning for an entire year for a man you don’t even think you loved. Sarah, really”—he looked both incensed and amused—“how
could
you?”

“Divorce is no small thing to me,” she defended herself. “I kept worrying that people would think that it was like that awful woman who married your cousin.”