Seasons of the Heart (30 page)

There was the mocha silk, the ivory brushed linen—and the black silk dress Ann had purchased for this same occasion—dinner with Adam—nearly a year before. Finally she settled on the pink Mollie Parnis with the deep niching of chiffon at the neck. The plunging back was a little bold, but after all, Ann told herself, this was New York. What she thought of as bold would hardly turn heads here.

She turned in front of the mirror. There was no question: the dress was a tad risqué. But however daring it seemed, however daring she felt, she decided that for this evening, she would just be herself: Ann Pollock Coulter.

Yet, for all of her brave resolve, Ann discovered her heart was pounding when Adam arrived. She felt the warmth rush to her cheeks when Adam said, “You look lovely.” His admiring gaze confirmed his sincerity.

It was all the same as it had been almost a year ago, yet then again, it wasn’t. The weight of the year that separated their first evening together and this night lay upon them both. They were no longer the strangers they had been then. They were as at ease with each other as if they had known each other a long, long time.

As they settled themselves into the back seat of the cab, Adam turned to her and said, “Ann, please feel free to say no, but I was wondering if you would care to have dinner with me at my apartment.”

His apartment? Ann had fantasized about being alone with him, it was true, but even in her dreams she never thought it would happen. And now that it was about to, she wasn’t so sure how good an idea it was. She tried to maintain her composure.

“I just thought that after that session at des Artistes today, it might be more restful than a restaurant,” he said. “Quite frankly, I found those cowboys pretty damned wearing. I thought it would be nice if we could have someplace quiet to talk. Would you mind, or was your heart set on dining out?”

Would I mind?
Ann asked herself. If he only knew how much a part of her wanted to say yes….

Adam sensed her hesitation, and his next words were chosen carefully to calm her fears. “Gaston is a marvelous chef. He’s French … and he’s the soul of respectability.”

“That sounds fine, Adam,” Ann said, both reassured and disappointed.

The lift glided noiselessly upward to the penthouse and they stepped out into the foyer. The floor was creamy Carrara and serpentine marble. Adam took out a delicate, ornate gold key, unlocked the pedimented double doors, and stood aside so Ann could precede him.

She stood in Adam’s sanctuary.

Polished sconces cast a soft light onto rich mahogany paneling, and the air bore a faint scent of leather, wool, and beeswax. When he took her coat, his hand brushed her bare back and she shivered, hoping Gaston would arrive soon to serve dinner.

As Adam moved to hang up his own coat, Ann turned, then gasped as she looked out the windows, which soared two stories high and ran the full width of the huge living room. Manhattan lay at their feet, the teeming commotion of people and cars and buildings reduced to a million glowing fireflies. Through the light drizzle, it was overpoweringly beautiful, mysterious, and ethereal.

Adam interrupted her reverie and gently guided her down the marble steps into the room. Despite the vast expanse of glass and the high ceilings, it had a feeling of intimacy that was accentuated by the Georgian fireplace, in which the fire crackled, sending flickering light through the room. Persian rugs covered the parquet floors and set off the palest beige raw-silk covering the walls. Several Picassos and two Edward Hopper cityscapes had been spotlighted by a master hand, and Chippendale and Queen Anne pieces added to the charm of the room. It was irresistibly inviting; everything seemed to have a life of its own. The tables were conveniently placed; the Sèvres vases were filled with flowers. It was a room well loved and well used.

Ann was startled by the sound of Adam’s voice at her ear. “Would you like to see the rest of the place now or would you like to have dinner first?”

“Could we have dinner?” Ann murmured.

The dining room was more brightly lit than the living room. An antique chandelier cast hundreds of reflections on the mahogany table and the cut crystal. A silver epergne brimmed with orchids and iris.

The table was set for two. Adam sat at the head; Ann at the foot. The service was formal, and Ann was delighted by the Irish damask napkins, handsomely wrought Tiffany silver, and no fewer than four Baccarat goblets of different sizes and shapes for each of them.

The menu lived up to the decor. They began with oysters, with a tangy Sancerre rouge to go with them. She ate and drank slowly, savoring every moment of the feast.

Adam was amusing and charming, but the elegant setting had subtly changed the atmosphere between them, from the beginning of intimacy to an almost awkward formality.

Ann put down her fork. “Tell me, Adam, what’s the history of this building? It’s exquisite, but I don’t recognize the style.”

He told her. It had been created as a pied-à-terre for very wealthy New Yorkers around the turn of the century. Stories had been added during the twenties. For some three decades it had slowly deteriorated until it had finally gone co-op in the early sixties.

“I did the legal work on it, and they gave me the top floor—penthouse if you prefer—in lieu of a fee. Like it?”

In lieu of a fee! Good God—his charges must be astronomical. Ann thought of poor Phillip, in his shabby little office, researching accident claims. She forced her mind to the present. Tonight was a lovely dream, and she would enjoy it as such—nothing more. Adam would remain distinct from the reality of her life; from the practical, loyal wife and career woman she would become again tomorrow. She looked across the table at Adam. She couldn’t decide whether he looked more like Gregory Peck or Cary Grant, with the silver at his temples. She picked up her fork and concentrated on the soufflé.

As Gaston refilled her wineglass, she realized she was getting a little tipsy, but when he poured champagne with dessert, she didn’t refuse. The dessert was a masterpiece: tiny succulent raspberries in a delicate crust, with crème Chantilly that was flavored with a delicately scented almond liqueur. Afterward came wafers of bittersweet chocolate.

“Oh dear,” Ann sighed, wondering where she would find room for more food. And then, after finishing the dessert and several chocolates, “Oh dear,” as Gaston refilled her champagne glass.

Adam studied her face for a moment, then nodded at Gaston. The servant left the room, then returned with a dusty bottle of precious Marquis de Caussade brandy and two Venetian glass snifters that seemed too airy and fragile to be real.
“Ça suffit,”
Ann heard Adam tell his servant.
“Maintenant, bonsoir!”

And they were alone.

“Shall we have our drinks by the fire?” Adam said.

As they got up from the table, Ann asked with a giggle she couldn’t suppress, “Is this the way you eat every night?”

“If I did, I’d be a real tub, wouldn’t I?” Adam laughed, guiding her gently to a love seat and settling himself beside her.

Ann looked at him. She had to again remind herself that this handsome and vigorous man was in his fifties, for only the gray at his temples and a few lines around the eyes betrayed his age. She felt drowsy and contented. It was all unreal…. Then she gathered her strength and whispered, “Adam … it’s been marvelous. But it’s time to go now.”

“Not before you’ve sampled the brandy. It’s sixty years old. It’s for very special occasions.”

“And how many special occasions do you have?” she murmured.

“Not many. Not many at all.”

For a long, long moment, there was silence between them. Adam didn’t know what to say, and he was rarely at a loss for words. Ann was the loveliest woman he had ever seen. He had invited her to the apartment with every intention of making love to her, but he realized now he wanted much more than to sleep with her. She fitted into his home as if it had been created with her in mind. It was as if, without knowing that she existed, he had planned it for her. He wanted her, yes. But not just in his bed. He wanted her in every aspect of his life. He wanted her to be his wife.

Although he didn’t know how she felt about him, it seemed impossible that she too wasn’t aware of the bond between them. Looking at her gravely, he said, “Ann, you know why I asked you here.”

Ann realized that until now, she had been able to enjoy the fantasy without having to deal with the reality. But before she could answer, he continued. “I wanted to make love to you. But now I realize that I’m in love with you.”

Ann was too shocked to answer. He reached out and gently took the glass from her hand, setting it on the coffee table. Then he took her hand in his.

Ann could neither pull away nor respond. This was beyond anything she had imagined.

“Adam, I don’t know what to say.”

“I think you are as drawn to me as I am to you. We’ve both been playing games with each other for the last year. Isn’t that true?”

Ann was too honest to deny it. “All right, Adam, it is true. I’ve been—infatuated—with you from the very beginning. It has been hard even to talk to you on the phone. And being with you this trip …”

She broke off and took a deep breath. “But, Adam, dreams are just that. This is reality, and I can’t let myself fall in love with you.”

“Why not, Ann?” he asked softly.

Ann’s eyes were bleak. “Because I’m married.”

“You don’t love your husband, Ann. I don’t think you’d be here tonight if you did. You’re not just looking for a cheap thrill.”

She looked at him for a long, silent moment. “Adam, don’t you see? This is just not going to work.”

“Because you’re married.”

“Of course—because I’m married.”

“If you don’t love your husband, don’t you think that’s just a little hypocritical?”

“You don’t understand. I may not love my husband, but he loves me, and ultimately, that’s more important. He trusts me.”

“Ann, people get married for a million reasons, but if it no longer works, it’s like a bad business investment. You get rid of it.”

“I know a lot of people think that way these days. But I don’t. For me to betray the people who love me—to take my happiness at their expense—I just couldn’t live with myself.”

“Just tell me one thing. Do you love me?”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “More than you know.”

That was enough for Adam. Taking her into his arms, he kissed her with all his pent-up passion. She kissed him back, wanting nothing more than to be able to give herself up to his embrace.

Then he lifted his lips slightly and, holding her very close, whispered, “I love you, Ann.”

No one would ever know how hard it was to push him away, but she couldn’t erase the images of Phillip and Evie from her mind. Maybe she was a fool. Maybe she was passing up the chance of a lifetime. No doubt she would regret it later: cry over it. But she just couldn’t do this.

“I’m so sorry, Adam. I wish things could be different, but they’re not.”

He frowned, then turned away, adjusting his tie and running his hand over his hair tiredly.

“Shall we finish our drinks?” The suave, assured mask was back in place.

But when he returned home after dropping Ann at her hotel, he paced his bedroom until dawn, chain-smoking. For all his intelligence, good looks, and social graces, Adam knew that he’d never had much luck with women. Poor Felicia, his former wife, had been a disaster from the beginning—and now Ann, too, was lost to him.

T
HE NEXT DAY, ON
the plane, Ann was stricken by a terrible sense of loss and emptiness. For one rebellious moment she imagined herself taking the first flight back to New York and telling Adam, “To hell with both of them—I’m staying!” But how long would her resolve sustain her? Not only would her own guilt come between them, but there was the consideration that Adam didn’t want a casual affair either. He wanted to marry her—and that of course would mean a confrontation with Phillip. And quite aside from the dreadful wound her betrayal would inflict on Phillip, if she divorced him, she would run the risk of losing Evie entirely. Evie would never forgive her for hurting her father.

Ann knew that she had made the only possible decision. Furthermore, she swore to herself that from the moment of her arrival in San Francisco, she would do everything in her power to rekindle the love she and Phillip had experienced for each other when they were first married.

That night, before getting into bed, Ann put on a delicate nightie she had bought in New York. She snuggled up against Phillip, put her lips next to his ear, and whispered, “Phillip … darling … do you know what I’d like?”

“What?”

“I’d like to take a week or so off and just go off somewhere—Carmel, or Baja California, or some other nice place. Anywhere you’d like.”

“Of course, honey. But you pick it—I don’t care.”

Ann reacted to his indifference as a challenge—she was now all the more eager to win back their old passion—if not that night, then on their belated honeymoon.

“Then how about Carmel? We could stay at the Del Monte.”

“Sure honey—Evie would love it there. She could ride horses along the beach.”

Ann was dismayed. Didn’t he understand that this was to be just the two of them?

“Darling … I really thought it would be fun to take a vacation alone.”

“But who is Evie going to stay with while we’re gone?”

“A friend.”

“Oh, darling, you know how I feel about that. I don’t like her spending more than a night away from us.”

“She’s a big girl now, Phillip.”

“I know, Ann. But with all those drug fiends and hippies over on Haight-Ashbury, I’m nervous about leaving her.”

Ann sighed. “Well … if you really want her to come along, I guess it’s okay with me.”

Evie insisted on bringing her best friend, Pamela. The four of them piled into the old Chrysler station wagon and puttered slowly southward along the beautiful coastal highway.

The Del Monte Lodge was charming, their rooms perfect, and the seafood couldn’t be faulted. It was too bad Phillip and Ann had to sit and watch the others dance, but Phillip’s leg had begun to bother him lately.