Authors: Ann Cristy
His
twist of a smile held complete comprehension. Not one whit of the irritation
that he would be feeling was showing, but Cle knew only too well: he hated the
artifice of modeling.
"Darling,
you know the only one you have to wrestle is me." Dev's softly intimate
tone made the others laugh. If some of the laughter had a brittle sound, no one
would wonder, since most of the women there would have gladly traded places
with Cle.
She
continued her glide down the stairs right into Dev's outspread arms. She could
feel his fingers digging into her.
"Very
nice," he whispered. "Jaime would be proud of you but I would rather
you didn't draw any more attention to yourself in front of these slavering
fools. I would hate to have to break jaws at such a lovely function." Dev
let his tongue just touch the edge of her ear, then he drew back, keeping one
arm close around her.
The
cocktail hour seemed to go on too long to Cle. As was her usual way, she was
drinking Perrier and lime, the very notion of having any alcohol made her
shudder as she thought of her last evening out with Dev. Booze was not for her.
The
crowds of people shifted her away from Dev and more than once she found herself
fielding Clive's remarks. She took every chance to keep people other than him
next to her and kept changing her position just to do that. At the same time
she found herself farther and farther from Dev. At intervals
she
would see that strong head make a circuit of the room, then fix on her for a
moment, the slight smile calling her back to his side.
It
was during one of these dodging maneuvers, which she hoped would bring her
closer to Dev, that she was edged into a small alcove. Before she could reenter
the melee and get to Dev, she heard voices on the other side of a huge potted
plant.
"She
certainly can't hold him. No Carstairs would be caught dead married to a shop
girl." The tones were sulfuric.
"Don't
be an ass,
This isn't Victorian times and he isn't the Prince of Wales. Dev can marry whom
he damn well chooses. And it seems to me, he's chosen Cle."
"He's
stuck with her, you mean. Oh, it's all right in this country, but can you see
her taking her place at Larren! God, even the horses wouldn't accept her,
Clive. You know what it's like there. The people will despise her."
"That's
balderdash and you know it, my dear. Some of our loftiest peers have married
out of their class and they are happy."
"Dev
is different. Clare told me that under all that kidding he does about the
peerage, he takes his family obligations very seriously. If ever he was forced
to marry her, he would end up being very bitter. No doubt he would even end up
divorcing her, just so that he could marry someone of his own kind."
"My
dear
that's twaddle. Your trouble is that you're jealous...."
"Jealous?
Me? Damn you, Clive—"
Cle
didn't wait to hear any more. She felt as though she had just stepped through
hot glass. She could feel the burning cuts all over her body as she walked with
a fixed stare toward the stairs and the powder room.
She
was sure she heard her name, that she heard Dev's voice but she kept the
sleepwalker's pace toward the nebulous sanctuary of the ladies room. God, all
the ghostly doubts that she had buried in her mind flared into painful life.
Dev couldn't be hers...
CHAPTER
THREE
Cle
stood there shaking, her hands clenching and unclenching at her side, the
slamming of the door reverberating through the apartment. Dev was gone. The loud,
angry confrontations between them for the last three days seemed to echo
through the now silent apartment. Dev was gone. He was gone to
was here.
For
the past three days, Dev had ranted and raved at her, trying to make her tell
him why she had changed her mind about accompanying him to
matter what reason she gave him he shouted her down, saying that he didn't
believe her and asking why she was doing this.
"Damn
you to hell, Cle," he had snarled at her. "What are you keeping from
me? Why didn't you ask Toner...No, damn it why didn't you tell Toner you were
going? Better yet I would have told him. What game are you playing? I won't
have it."
"I
told you I'm not going with you. You can't make me go."
"Damn
you, I'll tie you in a bag and drag you on that plane." There was murder
in his green eyes.
Cle
had watched him openmouthed just before he left. She saw the smooth,
sophisticated lawyer, the polished solicitor peeled away, stripped to the raw
menacing man who looked at her as though he wanted to flay her. That was his
last look at her before he flung himself out the door.
She
readied herself for work three times. She ran her pantyhose, smeared her lip
gloss, pulled a button from her blouse. When she finally looked at the finished
product in the mirror, she saw a wraith with banjo eyes, the circles beneath
almost the same blue. Her skin was paper white and not even blusher disguised
the parchment look. The five pounds that had melted from her frame in the last
three days made her skirt swivel at her waist.
When
she reached the salon, she went right to her little cubicle, planning to tell
Jaime that she would miss the regular conference because she was too busy with
the line.
Jaime
forestalled this by coming down to her. When he shut the door, closing the two
of them into the cell like room, Cle took a deep breath. "You might well
sigh. You were thirty minutes late today. I called you every five minutes
before phoning the doorman and telling him to buzz me when Her Highness made her
entrance. What the hell is wrong with you? Are you sick?" Jaime wrenched
her chin around, leaning over her as she sat at her drawing board. "Tell
me, Cle. What happened? Are you under the weather?" Jaime's narrowed eyes
widened in comprehension. "It's his lordship, isn't it? Has he skipped out
on you?"
For
a moment Cle wasn't going to answer. She hugged her misery to her like a winter
coat in a snow storm. Then she felt too full to hold any more and it
spilled
from her mouth. "In a way you could say that. He's gone to
didn't go with him."
"Good.
It wouldn't have been right for you, Cle. His kind aren't for you. This is
where you belong. We're your people."
"I
love him Jaime. That's my problem. I think that's been my problem from the
start. Oh, I know I loved him right away but I thought it was a modern easy
love that I could walk away from with a sad smile and a lot of good memories. I
can't. I'm cut to pieces." Cle could feel the smile on her face slip
sideways. Shudders crashed through her body like incoming tide on a shore.
"I never once thought he would become my whole life. The laugh is on
me." The tight dryness of her voice was echoed in her eyes.
"God,
Cle, don't! Cry. Do something. I can't bear to see you like this." Jaime's
voice had a surprised hurt to it.
"Don't
look like that Jaime. I'll be fine. Just don't ask me to come to the conference
today."
Jaime
had nodded and left her, his face troubled.
In
the ensuing days, it seemed to Cle that Jaime hovered close but she barely
took note of his presence. She poured every bit of energy she had into the new
collection.
She
hadn't expected to hear from Dev the first days after his departure, but she
had hoped. When a week passed and she hadn't heard from him, she was convinced
that he didn't want her around any more.
One
day when she was in Jaime's studio, Dev seemed to loom in her mind. She
couldn't concentrate.
Finally
Jaime slammed down the pointer he was using and threw her a disgusted look.
"All right, Cle. You have to get over this. You're no good to yourself or
to me. You need to get away for a few days."
"I
need to get away for a long time," she burst out, her voice raw, bitter.
"I'd like to disappear."
Jaime's
mouth opened then shut again. He put his right hand up to his chin, rubbing in
slow motion. "Would you now? Get away is that it? That might be arranged,
Cle, and it would be a help to me as well as you." He walked over to her
and lifted her from the chair. "Go back to your board. I have a few calls
to make. I'll come down to you in a little while."
Cle
tried to work in Jaime's absence but her mind felt like a sodden sponge. It
could hold no more.
She
was still doodling on her sketch pad thirty minutes later when Jaime stepped into
her cubicle, closed the door, and looked at her with gremlin glee. He opened a
brown paper bag and removed a jar of peanut butter and some English crackers
and one solid silver knife, gleaming rich in the fluorescent light.
"We
celebrate, my dove. I've just talked to Max Brainerd and he tells me he is
still interested in having a protégé of mine come out and give him some ideas.
He was very enthusiastic when I mentioned your name because he and I had
talked of you in our last conversation. He would love you to come. What do you
say, Cle? Would you like to work for Brainerd for a year or two, then come back
to me?"
"
Cle looked at him, mouth agape. "I never thought of going so far
away."
"It
would help you at this point in your life. Then you could always come back to
me when you'd gotten over Carstairs."
Cle's
eyes flashed to his face, pain like lava flowing through her veins.
Jaime
touched her cheek with one finger. "Yes, you'll get over him, little
Cleora, then you and I will work together again. That's the way it should be.
Not this way, you wasting away, pining like one of those old time heroines. He
isn't worth it. You don't fit in his life and you don't want to. This is the
life for you. Am I right?"
"I'll...
I'll think about it, Jaime. I'll tell you tomorrow what I've decided."
Jaime
had frowned but then shrugged.
All
the way home Cle prayed that Dev would call. She had never imagined that being
parted from him could cause this much pain. She felt as though someone had
amputated her arms without anesthesia. The blood dripped from her body and
there was no staunching the wounds. She had to have a phone call from him to
save her life.
She
paced the apartment the whole evening, waiting for the phone to ring just as
she had on all the other evenings since Dev's departure. Only tonight the
feeling of loss was more intense. Tonight she would make the decision to stay
or leave him forever.
At
dawn she was lying staring at the ceiling. Dev was so angry when he left. He hadn't
tried to make it up. She felt certain he was through with her. Pain had turned
into numbness. She had to get out of his apartment. She would leave a note for
Mrs. Hubbard telling her that she would be leaving for a while. By the time Dev
returned to
weeks' time, she would be in
starting a new life.
The
following days were awful, but Jaime managed to smooth the rough edges for her.
He had insisted that Amy Worden accompany Cle to get her passport and her
shots. He swore it was because he didn't want her to shame him that he had
given her such a fine collection of clothes for her very own.
Cle
tried to protest, but she was so cocooned in misery her words seemed to have no
impact. Amy's sympathy was overt and would have embarrassed Cle had she the
strength to feel such an emotion.
It
seemed to her that an automaton, not her own self, packed her luggage and
directed Mrs. Hubbard to send the other things to storage. When the woman asked
her about her whereabouts, Cle directed her to send all mail and queries to
Toner. She could tell the older woman was displeased by the lack of
information, but Cle was determined to cut herself off from all ties to
in Jaime's words, "get over Dev." She didn't probe too deeply into
the despair that rolled over her at such a thought. She gritted her teeth,
willing her thoughts, ahead of her body, to
land of sunshine, beauty, and forgetfulness.