Remember (17 page)

Her eyes were huge in her face and glittering brilliantly. There was no question in her mind that Clee was speaking the truth, being sincere, he didn’t know any other way to be. “Clee—” she began, and stopped.

“You don’t have to say you love me, Nicky. Maybe you do, maybe you don’t. We have plenty of time, you and I, to find out about that. One day you’ll tell me how you feel about me—when you know yourself. In the meantime I just wanted to tellyou, here and now when we’re not in bed, that I love you. I have for a long time, without realizing it.”

Her lips parted and she looked as if she was about to speak.

Clee shook his head. “Not a word, Nicky, not now. It’s not necessary,” he said, his smile warm and loving.

“But I want to say something.” She hesitated a moment before murmuring, “I have all kinds of feelings for you, Clee, not the least of which is my—my physical passion for you.” She was on the verge of telling him that she thought she was falling in love with him, and then changed her mind. Instead, she said, “And I do love you, as my dearest friend….” Her sentence trailed off.

“I know you do.” He squeezed her hand. “Don’t look so worried .

” Nicky laughed. “I didn’t realize I did.” She sighed lightly.

“These past few days have been just—glorious, Clee, there’s no other way of describing them.” A wistful expression flitted across her face.

“I’m so sorry they’re coming to an end.”

“But they’re not. You’ll be with me tomorrow night in Paris, and on Friday and Saturday, before you leave for the States on Sunday.” He stroked her arm lightly, traced little lines up and down with his fingertips. “Three whole days and nights, not counting this evening.

” Bending into her, he kissed the tip of her nose. “And I’m going to make love to you the entire time-circumstances and surroundings permitting.”

T lhe interior of the restaurant was as eye-catching as the exterior.

An arched ceiling, stone walls and matching floor gave it a medieval feeling, as did the high-backed chairs covered in blue and-gold brocade velvet, the Provencal antiques made of dark wood and the lantern-style ceiling lamps. Pretty floral cloths covered the tables, each of which had its own three-branch silver candelabra and bowl of flowers, and there were other huge arrangements of colorful blooms scattered throughout.

Because Clee had ordered the dinner while they were sitting outside on the terrace drinking champagne, they were served their first course almost immediately. Nicky had selected melon, Clee one of the specialties of the house, ravioli with truffles and leeks, which he.

insisted she try.

“Just one piece,” he cajoled, “it’s delicious. It’ll melt in your mouth.” Spearing a square of ravioli with his fork, he leaned over the table and fed it to her. He watched her eat it, his dark eyes full of love for her.

“It is wonderful,” she said, and dug her spoon into the sweet and succulent Cavaillon melon, which Amelie kept insisting was the best in the whole of France. She decided Amelie was correct.

While they waited for their main course, Clee spoke about the book and the various sequences for the photographs that he had been planning since his return from Beijing. When he had explained everything to her, he leaned back and said, “Well, what do you think?”

“It sounds great, and anyway, you know best, Clee, you really do.

You’ve done these books before, whereas I’m just a novice-besides, I’m only writing the introduction.”

“Don’t say only’ in that way, the words are just as important as the pictures.”

“Not really. But it’s nice of you to say so.”

“I was thinking of dedicating the book to Yoyo, and to the memory of Mai. How do you feel about that?”

“Oh, Clee, what a good idea. By the way, I’ve been wanting to tell you, I’m feeling very positive about Yoyo and have been for the past few days. I feel sure he’s going to make it.”

“We’ve got to keep on believing that.”

The wine waiter was suddenly at their table, pouring more of the white wine with which they had commenced their meal. “It is an excellent wine, is it not, Monsieur Donovan?” he said.

“Marvelous. And I’ve had this particular Puligny-Montrachet before.

In fact, you recommended it to me the last time I was here .”

“I believe I did,” the wine waiter responded with a deferential smile.

“I hope you like this wine, Nicky,” Clee said. “I ordered it because it has enough power to hold its own with the richestflavored food, and the daurade we both chose has a rich orange sauce. Also, the fish itself is flavored with herbs.

Anyway, I think this fruity Chardonnay goes well with it.” Clee shifted in his chair, turned the bottle around and studied it for a cond. “This is a great label—Clos du Vieux Chateau, Laboure-Roi, and it comes from the world’s capital of Chardonnay, the village in the Cote d’Or where no other type of grape is grown.”

Nicky sat gaping at Clee, taken aback by this unexpected display of knowledge about wine. Finding her voice, she said, “I didn’t know you were a connoisseur of wine.”

“Good God, I’m not, In hardly an expert!” He looked across at her, and explained, “I just happen to like good wine, and since I live in France, I’ve made a point of knowing a bit about some of the best vineyards. After all, I can’t always drink that plonk we make at the farm.” He frowned. “What is it, Nick? You’ve got the queerest look on your face.”

Nicky shivered slightly and a small nervous laugh escaped. “I had a funny sense of deja vu, as if I’d heard those exact words before, but of course I haven’t.”

“We’ve never discussed wine before.”

No, but Charles always talked about wine, she thought, and she picked up her glass and took a sip of the Puligny-Montrachet. “It is good, Clee. Delicious.”

At this moment the main course arrived, accompanied by several waiters.

It was served to them with quite a few elaborate flourishes. Nicky caught Clee’s eye and winked at him, and he had to swallow the laughter rising in his throat.

When they were finally left alone to eat the fish, he grinned at her.

“That wink and the expression on your face said more to me than a thousand words ever could.”

“Isn’t that what I keep telling you?”

“And I don’t recall disagreeing with you. How’s the dauade, do you like it?”

“Yes, thank you, and it’s one of my favorites. I often had it as a child when my parents brought me down to the South of France.

And fish isn’t fattening.”

“Will you stick around me if I promise to serve you only bread and water?” he said teasingly, but his eyes were serious.

Nicky noticed the expression in them and nodded. “I’ll stick around, Clee—” Putting down his fork, he said, “What are you doing in September?”

“Why?”

“You told me the network owes you a lot of time off, and I thought that you might like to come back here in September. To the farm—to be with me. I plan to take a break then, and it’s lovely here at that time of year. The July and August tourists have split, and it’s peaceful.”

“I’d love to come, if I’ve finished the script for my fall special. ” “Try, ” he said.

“I will. I’ll work like a madwoman through the rest of July and August.”

“Promise?”

“I do.”

“Don’t think I won’t hold you to that, because I will.” Clee brought his head closer to hers, and said, sotto voce, “I don’t want you to turn around, but there’s a woman over there who hasn’t been able to take her eyes offyou since she sat down. I have a feeling she knows you.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because she looked at you several times, spoke to the man she is with, who eventually turned and glanced at you, very discreetly.

And in between her conversation with him and bites of food, she keeps looking at you.”

“Perhaps she’s seen me on television—perhaps she’s a fan. Is she American?”

“I don’t think so. She looks English to me. Very English, and so does the guy she’s with. Okay, she’s talking to a waiter, you can look now.”

Nicky twisted in her chair and turned her head slightly. She saw the woman immediately, and her breath caught in her throat, she felt a tightening in her chest. She was about to turn back to Clee when the woman looked across the room.

Two pairs of blue eyes met and held.

The woman smiled then, her whole face lighting up with obvious pleasure.

Nicky smiled in return and lifted her hand in a small gesture of acknowledgment .

The woman spoke to her companion, who swung his head, then swiveled around in his chair and beamed at Nicky.

Nicky glanced at Clee and explained, “They’re old friends, I must go and have a quick word with them. Please excuse me.”

She got up and walked across the room, and Clee could not help wondering who they were. Nicky’s voice had sounded odd, breathless, even strained. She’s uptight all of a sudden, he decided, and he sat back in his chair, watching, filled with curiosity.

“Anne, how lovely to see you,” Nicky said when she came up to the other table.

“And you, my darling,” Anne responded, immediately rising, holding her close for a moment.

The man also got to his feet, and a second later he too was hugging Nicky. “You look wonderful my dear. more beautiful than ever, if I may say so.”

“Oh Philip, thank you, you look pretty terrific yourself. And so do you, Anne. Please sit down, both of you, please.” They did so, and Nicky leaned against the back of Anne’s chair, bending slightly forward in order to speak to them. “You must think I’m very rude, Anne, I haven’t been in touch for ages. I have no excuse, except that I’ve been traveling the world for my work.”

“Darling, don’t apologize, I understand perfectly. You lead a frightfully busy life. But I must admit, I have missed your phone calls—quite a lot, actually, Nicky.

However, I do realize you have another life to lead now.” Anne gazed up into her face, smiling faintly. They exchanged a long look, full of understanding, then Anne said, “Who is that awfully attractive man you’re with, Nicky?”

“An old friend—a colleague. Cleeland Donovan.”

“The famous war photographer?” Philip asked.

“Yes,” Nicky said.

“Brilliant chap. I have several of his books, and I recently saw some of the most remarkable pictures that he took in Beijing.”

“In Pans Match, perhaps,” Nicky said. “We were there together, covering the crackdown.”

“Nasty business that. Very tragic outcome,” Philip said.

“The bloodshed was unbelievable,” Nicky told him, and turned to look at Anne. “Are you here on vacation?”

“Yes. We’re staying with friends of Philip’s at Tarascon, not far from Saint-Remy. Are you on holiday, too?”

Nicky nodded. “Clee has a farm between Saint-Remy and Air, a lovely old mas, and I’ve just spent a week there, resting. Clee came down for the weekend. We were both pretty done in after China.”

“I can well imagine,” Anne said. “I do wish you would come over to Tarascon with your friend, for lunch or dinner one day. Will you?”

“It’s kind of you to invite us, Anne, but I’m afraid I have to be back in New York on Monday. I’m leaving for Paris tomorrow morning. ” “What a pity, it would have been so nice to catch up—” Anne reached out and put her hand on Nicky’s arm. “I’ve missed you.”

“Oh, Anne, I know, I’ve missed you too, and it’s all my fault.

I’ve been so … neglectful.”

Anne smiled, but made no comment.

Philip volunteered, “Perhaps we can have coffee later?”

“We’ve almost finished dinner, Philip, and you and Anne are just starting.” Her smile was rueful as she explained, “I have to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow, to drive to Marseilles. I have an early plane to Paris.”

“C’est domma,ge, ” he said, sounding as disappointed as Anne had only a moment ago.

Nicky took her leave of them graciously and returned to the table.

“I’m sorry. That took longer than I expected.”

“Who are they?”

“English friends.”

“Is she related to you?”

“No. Why do you ask that?” Nicky’s brows drew together in puzzlement.

“You look alike. Same blond hair, blue eyes, and there’s even a facial resemblance.”

“Oh, really?” Nicky said quickly, dismissing the idea.

“Are they here on vacation?”

Nicky nodded. “They’re staying with friends in Tarascon.”

“A lot of English people have homes down here these days, and smart Parisians as well. Provence has become very popular. I hope it’s not going to get taken over by the rich and the chic.”

“I know what you mean,” Nicky said. “That could really spoil it.”

Clee expected Nicky to say more about her friends, but she made no further comment about them and merely sipped her wine in silence.

Eventually he said, “Would you like dessert? That’s the one thing I didn’t order when we were out on the terrace. Crepes are one of their specialties.”

“No, thanks. Just coffee, Clee, please.”

“I guess I’ll have the same.” Clee ordered for them both, and then sat studying Nicky for a few minutes. Without understanding what exactly it was, he knew there was now something different about her. On the surface her demeanor was the same as it had been all evening. Yet there had been a subtle, indefinable change in her.

Convinced that it had something to do with the English couple, he said, “The woman was very affectionate with you, Nicky. Obviously she’s extremely fond of you.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Who are they? I mean, what are their names?”

“Philip and Anne.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s in Whitehall. You know, with the British Foreign Office. He has some important job, but I don’t know exactly what it is.”

“How do you know them?” he probed.

“Through my parents, I met them through my parents. My father’s known Philip for a number of years. But why are you so interested in them, Clee?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure, except that you and she have a look of each other, and she was very loving with you. And when you were talking to her I noticed that you appeared to care, and quite deeply, for her.”

“I do, in my own way.”