Authors: Danielle Steel
"Doing your usual number, I see, Bettina? Exhausted? Or only ready to drop?"
"Don't be silly, I love it." But he could see that beneath her eyes there was the faintest hint of fatigue. "Would you like another drink?"
"Stop treating me like a guest, Bettina. Can I interest you in sitting down somewhere?"
"Maybe later."
"No, now."
"All right, Ivo. All right." She looked up into the deep blue eyes in the kind face that she had come to love over the years and let him lead her to a seat near a window, where for a moment they silently watched the snow, and then she turned her eyes back to him. His full white mane looked more perfectly groomed than ever. Ivo Stewart always looked perfect. He was just that kind of man. Tall, lean, handsome, youthful, with blue eyes that always seemed about to laugh and the longest legs she'd ever seen. She had called him Ivo Tall when she was a child. Slowly she gave way to small worried frown. "Have you noticed that Daddy looks very tired tonight?"
Ivo shook his head. "No, but I notice that you look tired. Anything wrong?"
She smiled. "Just exams. Why is it that you notice everything?"
"Because I love you both, and sometimes your father is a complete moron and doesn't notice a damn thing. Writers! You could drop dead at their feet and they'd march over you, muttering something about the second part of chapter fifteen. Your father's no different."
"No, he just writes better."
"I suppose that's an excuse."
"He doesn't need an excuse." Bettina said it very gently, and Ivo's eyes met hers. "He's marvelous at what he does." Even if he isn't the most wonderful father, she thought, he's a brilliant writer! But they were words she would never have said out loud.
"You're marvelous at what you do too."
"Thank you, Ivo. You always say the nicest things. And now"--she stood up reluctantly and smoothed her dress--"I have to get back to playing hostess."
It had gone on until four in the morning, and her whole body ached as she walked slowly upstairs. Her father was still in the den with two or three of his cronies, but she had done her fob. The servants had already whisked away most of the mess, the musicians had been paid and sent home, the last guests had been kissed and thanked before they departed, the women bundled in their minks as their husbands led them to limousines waiting outside in the snow. And as she walked slowly to her room Bettina stopped for a moment and looked outside. It was beautiful; the city looked peaceful and silent and white. And then she went to her room and closed the door.
She carefully hung the Balenciaga back on its hanger and slipped into a pink silk nightgown before sliding between the flowered sheets that one of the maids had turned down earlier that night And as she lay in bed a moment later she ran over the evening again in her head. It had gone smoothly. It always did. She sighed sleepily to herself, wondering about the next party. Had he said next week, or the week after that? And had he liked the musicians tonight? She had forgotten to ask. And the caviar ... what about the caviar ... was it as good as ... ? Looking very small and fragile, she sighed once more and fell asleep.
"Care to join us for lunch today? Twenty-one, at noon." She read the note as she finished her coffee and picked up the heavy red coat she wore to school. She was wearing navy gabardine slacks and a navy-blue cashmere sweater and boots that she hoped would resist the snow. Quickly she picked up a pen and jotted a note to him on the other side of his.
"Wish I could, but I'm sorry ... exams! Have a good time. See you tonight. Love, B."
She had been telling him about her exams all week. But he couldn't be expected to remember the details of her life. He was already thinking of his next book, and that was enough. And nothing in her college life had thus far been worthy of his attention. This was easy to understand. It didn't fascinate her either. In contrast to the life she led with him, everything else was so flat. She did feel secretly that the normalcy of her college life was refreshing, but it seemed somewhat remote to her. She always felt like an observer. She never joined in. Too many people had already figured out who she was. It made her a curiosity, and an object of stares and fascination. But she didn't feel worthy of their interest. She wasn't the writer. She was only his child.
The door closed softly behind her as she went off to school, mentally running over the notes she had made for herself to prepare for the exam. It was difficult to feel lively about it on two-and-a-half hours' sleep. But she'd come out all right, she always did. Her grades were quite high, which was another thing that frequently set her apart from the others. She wasn't even sure now why she had let her father talk her into going on with school. All she wanted to do was find a corner somewhere to write her play. That was all. Just that.... And then she grinned to herself as the elevator reached the ground floor. There was more to the fantasy after all. She wanted to write a hit play. That would take more time ... like twenty or thirty years.
"Morning, miss." She smiled at the doorman as he tipped his hat, and for a moment she almost ran back into the building. It was one of those stunningly cold days when the first breath of air feels like nails being inhaled. She hailed a cab and climbed in. Today was not a day to prove anything by taking the bus. To hell with it. She would rather stay warm. She settled back against the seat and looked long and hard at her notes.
"Bettina couldn't come?" Ivo looked up in surprise as Justin joined him at the huge bar that was always their meeting spot at 21.
"Apparently not. I forgot to ask her last night, so she left me a note this morning. Something about exams. I hope that's all it is."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I hope she's not involved with some little fool at college." Both of them knew that up until now there had been no man in her life. Justin didn't give her time.
"You expect her to stay unattached for the rest of her life?" Ivo looked at him dubiously over his martini.
"Hardly. But I expect her to make an intelligent choice."
"What makes you think she won't?" Ivo watched his friend with interest and he could see the tired look about his eyes that Bettina had mentioned the night before.
"Women don't always make wise choices, Ivo."
"And we do?" He said it with amusement. "Do you have any reason to suspect she's met someone?"
Justin Daniels shook his head. "No, but you never know. I abhor those little bastards who go to college just to screw girls."
"Like you, you mean." Ivo was now grinning broadly as Justin shot him an evil look and ordered a Scotch.
"Never mind that. I feel like hell today."
"Hung over?" Ivo didn't look impressed.
"I don't know. Maybe. I've had indigestion since last night."
"It's obviously old age."
"Aren't you the smart one today?" Justin gave him a look that Ivo knew meant he'd had enough and then they both laughed. Despite their diverging views about Bettina, the two men never failed to get along. She was the only subject on which they almost never agreed and the only bone of contention between them.
"By the way, can I interest you in a brief trip to London next weekend?"
"For what?"
"What do I know? Chasing girls, spending money, going to the theater. The usual."
"I thought you were already working on the new book."
"I am, but I'm stuck and I want to play."
"I'll have to see. You may not have noticed, but there are several minor wars, not to mention political coups, breaking out all over the world. The paper may want me here."
"It won't change a damn thing if you're gone for the weekend. Besides, you are the paper, you can call your own shots."
"Thank you, sir. I'll keep that in mind. Who's joining us for lunch by the way?"
"Judith Abbott, the playwright. Bettina's going to have a fit that she missed her." He looked somberly at Ivo then and ordered another Scotch. But Ivo had not missed the frightened look in his eyes.
For a moment Ivo wondered, and then he gently touched his friend's arm and spoke barely above a whisper. "Justin ... is something really wrong?"
There was a pause for a moment. "I don't know. I feel strange all of a sudden. ..."
"Do you want to sit down?" But it was already too late; a moment later he slumped to the floor and two women looked down and screamed. His face was hideously contorted, as he seemed to wrestle with intolerable pain. Frantically Ivo issued orders, and it was only moments before the paramedics arrived, moments when Ivo held his friend in his arms and prayed that it wasn't too late. But it was. Justin Daniels's hand fell limply to the floor the moment Ivo let it go, as police on the scene pushed the curious away and the paramedics fought on for almost half an hour. But it was useless. Justin Daniels was dead.
Ivo watched helplessly as they pounded his heart, gave him artificial respiration, oxygen, everything, while Ivo gave him prayers. But it made no difference. At last they covered his face as tears rolled down Ivo's cheeks. They asked him if he wanted to come with the body to the hospital morgue. The morgue? Justin? It was unthinkable. But it wasn't. And they went.
Ivo felt gray and trembling as he walked out of the hospital an hour later. There was nothing more to be done except tell Bettina. He felt sick when he thought of it. Jesus ... how was he going to tell her? What could he say? What did this leave her? And who? She had no one in the world except Justin. No one. She had the best guest list in New York and knew more celebrities than the society writer at the Times, but that was all she had. Other than that she had nothing. Except Justin. And now he was gone.
The clock on the mantelpiece ticked interminably as Ivo sat in the den, staring bleakly out over the park. It was already late in the afternoon and the light was slowly failing, In the street below, the usual angry snarl of traffic crawled south along Fifth Avenue. It was rush hour and there was snow on the ground, to add an extra impediment to Bettina's getting home at the end of the day. The cars barely moved as drivers honked angrily. In the Danielses' apartment the distant honking was a muted sound. Ivo didn't even hear it as he sat there, waiting to hear Bettina's footstep in the hall, her voice calling out, her laughter as she came home from school. He found himself looking around the room, at the trophies, the artifacts handsomely displayed on shelves in the bookcase along with the leather-bound volumes Justin had treasured. Many of them had been bought at auction in London when Ivo had been with him on occasional trips over the years. Just like their trips to Munich and Paris and Vienna. There had been so many years, so many moments, so many good times they had shared. It was Justin who had celebrated and cried and cavorted with him for the thirty-two years of their friendship, over love affairs and divorces and victories of all kinds ... Justin who had asked Ivo to sit with him at Doctor's Hospital the night Bettina was born, as they both got blind drunk on champagne, and then went on to celebrate afterward on the town ... Justin ... who was suddenly no more. So swiftly gone. Ivo's thoughts wandered soberly back to the moments in the hospital that afternoon. It all seemed so unreal. And then Ivo realized that it was Justin he was waiting for, not Bettina ... Justin's voice in the long empty hall ... his elegant frame in the doorway with a smile in his eyes and laughter on his lips. It was Justin, not Bettina, whom Ivo expected to see as he sat in the quiet, wood-paneled room staring at the cold cup of coffee the butler had brought him an hour before. They knew. They all knew. Ivo had told the servants shortly after he arrived at the house. He had also called Justin's lawyer and his agent. But no one else. He didn't want anything in the press or on the radio before Bettina knew. The servants knew also that they were to say nothing to her when she arrived. They were only to direct her to Ivo in the den ... where he waited ... in the stillness ... for one of them to come home. ... If only Justin would come home, then it would all be a lie after all and he wouldn't have to tell her ... he wouldn't have to ... it wouldn't be.... He felt tears sting his eyes again as he fingered the delicate blue and gold Limoges cup set before him.
Absently Ivo touched the lace on the edge of his napkin as he suddenly heard the front door open. There was a hushed voice, the butler's, and then her brighter one. Ivo could almost see her, smiling, open, shrugging out of the heavy red coat, saying something to the butler, who smiled for no one else except "Miss." For "Miss," everyone smiled. Except Ivo; this afternoon he couldn't smile. He stood and walked slowly to the door, feeling his heart pound as he waited for her. Oh God, what would he say?
"Ivo?" She looked surprised as she came toward him across the hall. They had Just told her that he was waiting for her in the den. "Is something wrong?" She looked instantly sympathetic and reached out both hands. It was too early for him to leave the office and she knew it. He rarely left his desk before seven or eight. It made him difficult to have as a dinner guest sometimes, but it was a foible everyone easily forgave. The publisher of the New York Mail had a right to keep long hours, and he was still sought out by every hostess in town. "You look tired." She looked at him reproachfully and held his hand as they sat down. "Isn't Daddy home?"
He shook his head dumbly, and his eyes filled with tears as she kissed his cheek. "No. Bettina...." And then, hating himself, he heard himself add, "Not yet."
"Would you like a drink, instead of that miserable-looking cup of coffee?" Her smile was so warm and gentle that it tore at his heart, as her eyes took in every detail. She was worried about him and that made him smile. She looked so incredibly young and lovely and innocent that he wanted to tell her anything but the truth. Her auburn hair looked like a halo of curls as it floated around her head. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks pink from the cold, and she looked tinier than ever. But her smile faded as she watched him. Suddenly she knew that something was terribly wrong. "Ivo, what is it? You've hardly said a word since I came in." Her eyes never left his, and then slowly he reached for her hand. "Ivo?" She grew pale as she watched him, and in spite of himself tears filled his eyes as he pulled her gently into his arms. She didn't resist him. It was as though she knew that she would need him, and he her. She found herself holding tightly to Ivo as she waited for the news.