The Promise (10 page)

She glanced at him. She had his complete attention. “My father never spoke to me again because he believed your story over mine. From that point on he washed his hands of me. Whenever my mother and I wanted to see each other, we had to meet somewhere other than the house. When he died, I went to his funeral, stared at his coffin, and thought about how I had lost him years earlier. Once again I made plans to get even with you.”

He was staggered at how much she had been through and shocked that he had never considered it before. As hellish as that time had been for him, it had been just as bad or worse for her. And she’d gone through it alone. He felt a stab of guilt. “I had no idea, Sharon.”

Her lips curved slightly. “How could you know? You graduated from college, took your place in the business world and in society, and never looked back. My story Is quite different. For several years afterward, in between the hours I spent at school and work, I tried to come up with the ultimate revenge against you, but I never could. Then you know what? One day I simply gave up. And just so there'll be no lingering doubt in your mind, I’ll say it one more time. No, this is not my way of punishing you.”

“Okay,” he said slowly, “so then what is it you want?”

She didn’t hesitate. “I want a baby. ”

“But—and I want to be absolutely clear on this—you don’t want just any baby, you want
my
baby. Right?”

“Yes.”

"Because when and if that happens, you will have your vindication.” When a brief expression of puzzlement crossed her face, he added, “That’s what you said in my office.”

She nodded. “I want exoneration. If I get pregnant, it will by my proof that I was telling the truth all those years ago . . . even though there’s no one left alive who cares but me.”

A sudden feeling of helplessness washed over him. What could he say to her? All this time, when he had thought of that awful night he had confronted her with his sterility, he had remembered only the big hole she had left in his gut when she had turned and run out of his apartment. For the first time he had to look at that night and their situation from her perspective.

“I’m sorry you had to go through all of that. I should have tried to help.”

“You didn’t think it was your responsibility,” she said, understanding that he still wasn’t admitting he’d been wrong.

“Nevertheless, we were close, even it it was only for a few months. If I hadn’t felt so betrayed . ." He trailed off, then after a moment started again. “If we hadn’t been so damned young ...” He shrugged. "At the very least, you should have had help.” He grimaced. “Dammit, how could your father believe a stranger over his own child?”

If by some miracle he were ever lucky enough to have a child of his own, he thought, he would always be there for him, always believe him. But a child of his own was an impossibility he tried never to think about. Maybe someday he would adopt.

“Once I told him who you were, it was quite easy for him to believe you. Deverell is a well-known name worldwide, and in New England it’s right up there with the pope.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“You know better than that,” she chided him. “Especially now that your uncle is running for president. And back then, when I told my father you were a Deverell, he was ecstatic. He saw it as a chance to be connected to a great family. Then I told him you were denying that the baby was yours and why, and he saw his chance evaporate. He railed at me for messing up what he saw as an opportunity of a lifetime. He also called me a slut for sleeping with two men at the same time.” Her voice wavered, but she quickly regained her control. “I think that’s about the last thing he ever said to me.”

“He must have been some kind of monster!” “No, just a man who had worked hard all his life and wanted something better for both himself and his family.”

“He was your
father.
He should have believed you!” 

“Yes, he should have,” she said quietly. “And so should you.”

“That was different, and you know it.”

"Was it?”

She brushed a strand of hair from her face and remembered that she hadn’t bothered to blow it free of curls this morning so that it would hang straight. Then she remembered how for years she’d carried her pain closed up inside her. Now she’d exposed a part of it to him, getting it out of her system, and in doing so, perhaps even managing to transfer a small part of the burden.
It felt good.

Conall finally broke the silence. “There’s a lot between us, Sharon, maybe too much for us to continue with this. If you’ll give this deal a real hard look, you’ll see it’s pretty simplistic.”

A chill gripped her, bringing with it panic and an unexplainable fear. “I didn’t tell you all of that to make it impossible for us, Conall.”

“Maybe not, but—”

She held out her hands in unconscious entreaty. “It was very hard for me to come to you, Conall, and ask you to make me pregnant, but I did it. I’ll get over this too.”

“Get over
what?"

She dropped her hands. Maybe it was time to tell him one more thing. “Don’t laugh,” she said softly.

“Laugh! We’ll both be damned lucky if I don’t cry!”

She was diverted. “You? I don’t believe it.”

“I’ve acquired multimillion-dollar companies with less trouble than this.”

“You’re
not
acquiring me.”

He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t mean to imply that I was. Just tell me what in the hell else is going on here.”

A sudden brief rush of wind sent leaves scattering across the meadow. Her eyes followed their path. “I haven’t been deliberately teasing you, Conall. Perhaps it’s as you say. I took too simplistic a view. I thought this out as a business deal, and now I’m having trouble with the concept of going to bed with you in what would be only an emotionless encounter. Silly, isn’t it?”

Revelation upon revelation, he thought, staring at her. She wasn’t as cold-blooded about this as she had tried to make him think. “What kind of emotion is it that you want?” he asked, calmer now that he understood her a little better.

Emotion was exactly what she was having trouble with. She skittered away from the idea and went another way with her thoughts. “Maybe I need to feel a little more at ease. Going to bed with you after all these years is going to require..” What? she wondered. Surely she wasn’t so foolish as to want
love.
That would be supreme stupidity on her part. “Look, I know you view this as simply a two-week roll in the hay, but—”

“You’re going to have to trust me on this, Sharon, but I have never in my life viewed any sexual encounter with a woman as a roll in the hay.”

His dry tone made her smile, and much to her astonishment she realized that though neither of them had moved, he seemed closer. Was her mind playing tricks on her? Or had talking this out really helped her in more ways than she had thought?

“Having a baby is the most important thing in my life, Conall. Please don’t back out on me.”

 Something softened in him. He didn’t think he’d ever seen an expression as vulnerable as hers. And gazing at her, with her face free of makeup, her hair blowing gently around her head, he could think of nothing he’d like better than to take her to bed.

But now there seemed to be so much more involved than passion. As much as she had told him, he had the feeling she had scarcely allowed him beneath the surface.

It was true they had made a connection with this conversation, and with it, inadvertently taken a giant step away from her original cut and dried proposition. He didn’t know whether that was good or bad. And he had to wonder where they were going—after all, their time together would be so short.

His goal was still to get her out of his system, to make love to her until he didn’t want to anymore. But the intimacy of lovemaking with him was frightening her for some reason, and he didn’t want to force her.

He also didn’t know how much longer he could wait for her.

He exhaled on a long breath, then smiled. “Oh, what the hell.” He stood, extended his hand to her, and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go back for lunch.”

From their table by a window in the dining room, Conall glanced over his shoulder, saw nothing out of the ordinary, then gazed back at Sharon. “What in the world have you been looking at for the last half hour? I’m beginning to think I’m eating alone.”

She took a last spoonful of clam chowder, then pushed the delicate Spode bowl an inch or two toward the center of the linen-covered table. “I’ve been watching the dining room staff. They’re hovering like tiny little helicopters around you and this table.” As if to prove her point, a waiter appeared and whisked her soup bowl away.

“Tiny little helicopters? Come on, I haven’t noticed anything unusual.”

“That’s just it. They hover
unobtrusively."

A smile tugged at the comers of his mouth. “You’re making that up.”

“No, really. I’m fascinated.”

He shrugged. “Well, thanks to Caitlin and Winston Lawrence, the staff is very well trained. Winston, being British, trained them in the European manner.”

“They are well trained, and the service for the other guests is impeccable. But when it comes to you, the staff is practically standing on their toes in fear they might miss some slight sign you need something. ”

His smile broadened. “Now I know you’re making it up. I’ve never noticed that I received any special attention.”

“That’s because they’re unobtrusive about it and because you’re a Deverell. You’re used to the treatment they give you.” She sat back in her chair, realizing with something of a shock that she was actually enjoying herself. “And they give you that treatment
because
you’re a Deverell. They seem to be almost feudal in the way they view your family.”

He chuckled. “I don’t believe you for a minute.” “Okay, I’ll prove it to you.” She lifted a hand and immediately two waiters almost tripped over themselves to get to the table.

The waiter who arrived first said, “May I help you?”

“Yes, I would like a cup of coffee and Mr. Deverell would like dessert.”

The eager young man turned toward Conall. “Shall I bring the dessert cart?”

“That won’t be necessary,” she answered before Conall could reply. “Do you have fresh raspberries?”

“SwanSea has its own hothouse that produces our fruit,” he said with obvious pleasure.

“In that case, Mr. Deverell would like a bowl of fresh raspberries with a small pitcher of cream.” "Right away,” the waiter said, already turning away.

“There’s just one thing.”

The waiter turned back. “Yes?”

“He’d like the bumps taken off the raspberries.” 

“The bumps?”

She leaned forward and dropped her voice to a confiding tone. “It’s his digestive tract. He can’t tolerate them.”

The waiter looked at Conall. “I’m sorry to hear that, sir. I’ll have your order out as soon as possible.”

Once more he went to turn away; once more she stopped him. “I wonder if I might place our order for lunch tomorrow. It’s for something special that I’m sure you don’t normally have on hand.”

The waiter straightened with pride. “We’d be glad to prepare any dish to your exact specifications.”

“That’s wonderful. You see, I developed a fondness for black-eyed peas when I was in the South last year on business and I’d like Mr. Deverell to be able to experience them for himself. I would, however, like the black eyes cut from all the peas.”

The young man didn’t hesitate. “Very good, Ms. Graham. Is there anything else?”

“Just one last thing. Could you please arrange to have M&M’s placed in Mr. Deverell’s suite, separated by color. It’s his digestive system again. It’s not good to mix the colors.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” He turned to Conall. “And I’ll be glad to see to that for you.” With a brief half bow he left the table.

Sharon’s expression was one of triumph as she looked at Conall.

His elbow was propped on the arm of the chair, the side of his face cradled in his hand, a finger pressed across his lips to keep him from laughing. “Black-eyed peas with the black eyes cut out?” he asked in amused disbelief.

“Pretty good, huh?”

“Do you have any idea how long it will take them to de-eye a pot of peas?”

She laughed. “I have a pretty good idea, but tomorrow, when we come in to lunch, I’ll bet we have exactly what I ordered. And within an hour I’m sure we’ll have the M&M’s in the suite.”

“Did you
have
to blame it on my digestive system?”

“You’re right. They’ll probably post a doctor in a chair outside the suite just in case you have some sort of attack. I guess I should have simply let them believe you are a true eccentric.”

“I’m sure they’re going to think that anyway.” He infused his words with resignation, but he was teasing. He had been delighted by her little performance for the waiter. It was an indication that a part of the eighteen-year-old girl he had known and loved was still inside her. She had been full of fun and life, then. If only . . .

“Want to make a small bet on the raspberries?” she asked.

“Sure. I’ll bet you a dollar that any minute now someone will come out here and tell me that what you’ve asked for is impossible.”

“A dollar? You’re a real big spender, aren’t you? Make it two dollars.”

“Done.”

A waiter glided up to the table and set the coffee Sharon had ordered in front of her. "Your raspberries will be out in just a few minutes, Mr. Deverell. The chef asked me to apologize for the delay.”

Conall somehow managed a straight face. “That’s quite all right.”

True to the waiter’s words, a bowl of fresh raspberries, completely free of bumps, soon sat on the table in front of him, the raspberries bearing a strong resemblance to ruby-red mush. He dug into his pocket, pulled out his billfold, and handed Sharon two dollars.

“Thank you very much,” she said, noticing and reacting to the twinkle in his eyes with an erratic pulse.

“Want to bet three dollars on the black-eyed peas tomorrow?”

She nodded gravely. “My faith and money is on the staff.”