Loving (21 page)

"Had you taken any medication this morning, miss?" The young policeman looked at her with wise eyes, but she shook her head and blew her nose in the handkerchief she had dug out of her bag.

"No. Nothing."

"One of the witnesses said he'd seen you stop a few minutes before, and you looked"--he gazed at her apologetically--"well, he said 'glazed.'"

"I wasn't ... I was ... I was just thinking."

"Were you upset?"

"Yes ... no ... oh, I don't remember. I don't know." It was hard to tell if she had ever been rational, she was so distraught over what she had just done. "Will he be all right?"

"We'll know more after he gets to the hospital. You can call later for a report."

"What about me?"

"Were you hurt?" He looked surprised.

"No, I mean--" She looked up at him bleakly. "Are you going to arrest me?"

He smiled gently. "No, we're not. It was an accident. You'll get a citation, and this will have to go to court."

"To court?" She was horrified, and he nodded.

"Other than the citation, your insurance company will probably handle most of it for you." And then more gravely, "You are insured?"

"Of course."

"Then, call your insurance agent this morning, and your attorney, and hope for the best." Hope for the best ... oh, God, how awful. What had she done?

When at last they had gone, she slipped behind the wheel of her car, her hands still trembling violently and her mind whirling, as she thought of the man they had loaded into an ambulance only moments before. It seemed to take her hours to get to the gallery, and when she arrived, she didn't bother to throw open the door or turn on the lights. She rushed right to the telephone after firmly relocking the door behind her. She called her insurance agent, who seemed nonplussed. He assured her that her twenty thousand dollars' worth of coverage ought to be adequate to take care of the accident unless it were terribly serious.

"Anyway, don't worry about it, well see."

"How soon will I know?"

"Know what?"

"If he's going to sue mo."

"As soon as he decides to let us know, Miss Daniels. Don't worry, you'll know."

There were tears rolling down her face as Bettina dialed Seth Waterston in his office. He came on the line only moments after she placed the call.

"Bettina?"

"Oh, Seth. ..." It was a desperate, childlike wail. "I'm in trouble." She began to sob out of control.

"Where are you?"

"At the ... gall ... ery...." She could barely speak.

"Now calm down and tell me what happened. Take a deep breath ... Bettina? ... Bettina! ... now talk to me...." For a moment he was afraid that she was in jail. He could think of nothing else to cause hysterics on that order.

"I had an ... accident...."

"Are you hurt?"

"I hit a man with my car."

"A pedestrian?"

"Yes."

"How badly is he hurt?"

"I don't know."

"What's the guy's name and where did they take him?"

"Saint George's. And his name is"--she glanced at the little piece of paper given her by the police--"Bernard Zule."

"Zule? Spell it." She did, and Seth sighed.

"Do you know him?"

"More or less. He's an attorney. You couldn't have hit some nice ignorant pedestrian? You had to hit a lawyer?" Seth tried to joke, but Bettina couldn't, and then as a wave of panic washed over her, she held the phone tighter.

"Seth, promise me you won't tell John."

"Why not, for God's sake? You didn't do it on purpose."

"No, but he'll--he'll be upset ... or angry ... or ... please...." Her voice was so desperate that Seth promised, then hung up to call the hospital.

Four hours later Seth called her at the gallery. Zule was all right. He had a broken leg. It was a nice clean break. A few bruises. No other damage. But Bernard Zule was a very angry man. He had already called his attorney and he fully intended to sue. Seth had talked to him himself. He had explained that the woman who had hit Zule was a personal friend, she was terribly concerned, very, very sorry, and she wanted to know if he was all right.

"All right? That dumb fucking bitch runs me down in broad daylight, and then she wants to know if I'm all right? I'll tell her in court how all right I am."

"Now, Bernard...." Seth's attempts at putting oil on the waters were of no avail, as Bettina learned three days later when she was served with papers for Zule's suit. He was suing her for two hundred thousand dollars for personal injury, inability to practice his profession, emotional trauma, and malicious intent. The malicious intent wasn't worth a damn, Seth assured her, she didn't even know Zule, after all. But it was a whopping big suit. He also told her that it could take a couple of years to come to court, by which time his fracture would be nothing but a dim memory. But it didn't make any difference. All Bettina could think of was the amount. Two hundred thousand dollars. If she sold every piece of jewelry she still owned, maybe she could pay it, but then what would she have? It reminded her of her panic after her father died, and it was all she could do to remain in control.

"Bettina? Bettina! Did you hear me?"

"Hmm? What?"

"What's wrong with you?" John stared at her in annoyance, she had been like that for weeks.

"I--I'm sorry ... I was distracted."

With small measured steps Bettina approached the altar on the arm of Seth Waterston. She had asked him to give her away. There were close to a hundred people in the church, watching them happily as Bettina's white moire whispered softly against the satin runner as they walked. Seth smiled down at her as she walked beside him, her face concealed by the delicate veil and the Renaissance coif. She looked beautiful and stately, yet she felt strange in the white wedding dress, as though she were in costume, or as though it were a little bit of a lie. She had resisted John's suggestion to have a white wedding until the end, but it had meant so much to him. He had waited so long after medical school to get married that she knew she had to do it for him. And, in the two brief weeks after she decided, he had promised that he would take care of everything, and he had. All she had had to do was go to I. Magnin's to shop for her wedding dress, and he had done the rest. He had organized the ceremony itself in the little Episcopal church on Union Street, and the reception afterward for a hundred and twenty-five guests at the yacht club overlooking the bay. It was a wedding day that any girl would have died for, but somehow Bettina would have felt more comfortable going to City Hall. The divorce had come through only two days earlier, and as she walked down the aisle on Seth's arm she kept thinking of Anthony and Ivo. Suddenly she had a mad urge to giggle and shout at the dewy-eyed guests, "Don't get too excited, folks, this is my third!" But she smiled demurely as she reached the altar and took John's arm. He was wearing a morning coat for the occasion with a little sprig of lily of the valley on his lapel. Bettina's bouquet was made of white roses, and they had given Mary Waterston a beige orchid corsage. John no longer had either of his parents, so there were no families to contend with, only friends.

The words seemed to drone on forever in the pretty little church, and the minister smiled lovingly at them as he spoke.

"... and do you, John? ..."

As she listened, suddenly that strange feeling came back to her. What if she said the wrong name when she made the vows? I, Bettina, take you, Ivo ... Anthony ... John.... She wasn't going to louse it tip this time. This was her last chance to do things right for herself. This was for real.

"... I do...." The words were barely more than a whisper as she said them. She was being given her last chance. Her eyes went quickly to John's and he looked at her seriously and repeated the same words loudly and firmly so the whole church could hear. He had taken her, Bettina, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, until death did them part. Not misunderstanding, not boredom, not a green card or a road show, or a difference in age. Until death did them part. As Bettina listened she felt the impact of the words, she was aware of the smell of the roses. For the rest of her life she would smell those roses whenever she thought of those words.

"... I now pronounce you man and wife." The minister looked at them, smiled at them both, and then leaned gently toward John. "You may kiss the bride." John did so quickly, while holding tightly to her hand.

The wide gold band was on her left hand now, the tiny diamond engagement ring on her right. She had wanted to show him her jewelry just before the wedding, but once he had given her the ring, she knew she couldn't do it, because she still had the nine-carat diamond from Ivo. And then, finally, she had decided to conceal his ring and show John the rest. The collection she had acquired from Ivo and her father was something she never showed anyone, and she never wore any of it anymore. It sat safely in the bank, it was her nest egg, all she had left now of her own. And showing it to John, or wanting to, had been her final act of trust. But when she had told him that she had something she wanted to show him, something she kept at the bank, he had looked angry and suspicious until she finally explained.

"It's nothing ... don't look like that, silly ... it's just some jewelry I have from my other life...." She had grinned at him sheepishly and she had been stunned when he exploded in the tiny room at the bank.

"Bettina, this is disgraceful! It's outrageous! Do you realize how much money you have tied up here? ... It's--it's--" He had actually spluttered. "It looks like a collection from some old hooker, for chrissake. I want you to get rid of it all!" But this time she had exploded. If he didn't like it, it was his business, and she would never wear any of it again. But they were beautiful pieces and they all meant something to her. And as they both stood there, angry, she promised herself again that she never would show him any part of her past. It was hers, just as the jewelry was, and it would stay that way, just as the jewelry would.

She had mentioned the money she still got from Ivo and would continue to get for her remaining years. But that had outraged John even more. What was wrong with her to stay on that man's payroll? Couldn't she live on her job? And she damn well better not plan to take any money from him after they got married, because he wouldn't stand for it. It was like a slap in his face. She didn't look at it that way and she tried to explain it to him, though unsuccessfully, that in some ways Ivo had always been like a father to her. He didn't give a damn, he told her. She was grown-up now, she didn't need a father anymore. And this time it was not like the jewelry, which went unmentioned ever again. This time he drafted a letter himself to Ivo's lawyers and explained that Mrs. Stewart--his teeth clenched as he wrote the word-did not wish to accept the monthly payment anymore. She signed it, tearfully, but she signed it. And that was the end of that. She had severed her last contact with Ivo, even if it was only through his attorneys. And now, after the ceremony, she belonged wholly to John.