Remember (23 page)

“I know that,” Anne replied softly. “And I understand perfectly.

Seeing me, whether here or in London, or even in New York, would have only prolonged your agony about Charles. Under the circumstances, I think it was wise of you to go on with your life the way you did. It enabled you to start afresh.”

“Yes, that’s true. But still, it was selfish of me.” There was a little pause before Nicky ventured cautiously, “How … how did you manage to cope these past couple of years?”

“I had a great deal of support from Philip, and from my brother and his family. And the house helped me—” Anne broke off and shook her head.

“Oh dear, here I am, talking about the house in a strange way again.

What I meant, actually, is that I got involved with a project to do with the house, and that has kept me very busy. It’s been quite absorbing, and I’m still working on it.”

“What kind of project?” Nicky asked, curious.

“The library. I decided to impose order on chaos, and to have the thousands of books cataloged. There are some very rare ones,

including some special first editions, and naturally I had to engage a professional to help me. Anyway, in the first few months I fell upon the diaries of the Cliffords, which had been kept by the women of the family over the centuries. I’d vaguely heard about them from my grandfather, but I’d never read them. Needless to say, I became fascinated with them. And at my worst moments I would suddenly pull myself up short and remind myself about those generations of Clifford women who had gone before me, who had been through so much themselves, lost so much and so many loved ones, husbands, sons, fathers, brothers … daughters and mothers and sisters. Just think about it—my ancestors lived through the invasion of the Spanish Armada, the Civil War, the Great Plague, and so much else—subsequent wars, extraordinary changes in England and family tragedies as well. Yet they went on stoically, and they survived. I suppose I simply refused to give in to my grief, or to feel sorry for myself, out of pride. You see, the Clifford women of the past set a great example for me.”

Nicky nodded, and was about to ask her more about the diaries when Anne sighed heavily and glanced away. A look of such intense pain crossed her face, Nicky wanted to reach out to her and put her arms around her but refrained.

After a moment Anne said, “Losing a child is a terrible thing-one never expects that, you know, Nicky. You always believe that you’ll die first, for that really is the proper order of things….” Her voice floated away on the heavy evening air.

Again, she stared off into the distance, and then, almost to herself, she finally murmured, “I have always believed that a child, that children, are the justification of life—that they make life worthwhile, worth living.” Nicky found she could not speak. She acutely felt the other woman’s overwhelming sadness, and her eyes filled with tears.

Swallowing hard, she impulsively took Anne’s hand and held it tightly in hers.

When Anne finally turned her head to look into Nicky’s face, a slight smile quavered on her lips. She said in the same quiet voice as before, “I was so pleased when I saw you with another man in Les Baux, Nicky. It lifted my heart, to tell you the truth. It meant you had recovered from Charles. I hope you won’t think I’m prying too much when I ask whether it’s serious or not?”

Nicky hesitated only momentarily before saying, “I’m not sure, I think it could be. Clee has told me he’s in love with me.”

“And what about you? How do you feel?”

“I’ve known Clee for two years, and he’s my best friend, and very dear to me. But it’s only in these past few weeks that we’ve become romantically involved, and nobody was more surprised than I when it happened. And yes, to answer your question, I think I’m falling in love with him.”

“I’m so happy to hear that. There was certainly no doubt in my mind how Clee felt about you. It was obvious just from the way he looked at you.” Anne squeezed her hand and then said, “Nicky, he adores you.”

“But love isn’t always enough to make a relationship work as a marriage, though. A lot of other things are tremendously important—if you’re going to spend the rest of your life with someone .”

“That’s very true,” Anne agreed. “But you appeared to be comfortable with each other, obviously compatible, and, of course, you do share the same kind of work, so that must be quite a plus, surely.” A blond brow was raised, and she looked at Nicky questioningly.

“It is. On the other hand, my career might present a few problems in the long run, and I—” “There’s nothing in the world that can take the place of a good

man,” Anne interjected, and then she laughed quietly, as if to herself. “Who am I to talk? I’ve certainly kept a good man dangling on a string for years.”

Leaning closer to Nicky, she added, “Take my advice, don’t do what I did. Take the plunge. I only began to realize today that I should have married Philip years ago.” She gave Nicky a piercing look, and in a much stronger voice she said, “You must reach out for life, Nicky.

Grab it with both hands. Live it to the fullest.

Because before you know it, years will have slipped away, and you’ll be middle-aged, and then old, and it will be too late.

Far, far too late.”

“After the age of thirty time does seem to pass very quickly.

I’ve begun to notice that recently.”

“And there’s another thing,” Anne continued. “Don’t sacrifice a good relationship, one that works well, because of your career.

You might end up being alone if you do. And believe me, Nicky, loneliness is the most terrifying thing. It’s another kind of death, actually.” Anne leaned her elbow on the balustrade and fixed her gaze on the South Downs. Watching her, Nicky thought she had never seen her looking lovelier than she did this evening. She wore a deep-rose-colored silk dress that enhanced her fine English complexion, a double strand of pearls and pearl earrings. In Nicky’s opinion, Anne Devereaux could easily pass for a woman in her mid-forties, aside from her beautiful blond hair and incomparable skin, she had a slender figure and beautiful legs with finely turned ankles.

Suddenly Anne straightened up and, looking at Nicky, said a little sadly with a rueful smile, “Oh, Nicky, I was such a stupid fool years ago. Fairly early on in my widowhood there was a man I loved, and I should have married him. He wanted me to do so, but there were certain obstacles. And so I rejected him, and in some ways I lived to regret it. And then about twenty years ago, when I was thirty-eight, another man came into my life. I cared for him deeply, as he did for me, but I rejected him as well, because of—Well, never mind why, that’s not really important. In both instances I chose to be by myself, and as a result I had some pretty dreadful years of loneliness until I met Philip.”

“Do I hear my name?” Philip demanded in a jocular manner as he strolled out onto the terrace.

The two women turned around to face him, and Anne said, “Oh, hello, my darling. I was simply telling Nicky what a lot of lonely and very unhappy years I spent before you came into my life.”

Philip seemed touched by her words, although he did not make any comment. He simply nodded, but when he came up he put his arm around her waist and held her close to him.

Anne’s expression was affectionate as she glanced at him and said, “I was talking to Nicky about Cleeland Donovan, telling her how happy I am that she’s involved with him. How happy we both are, actually.”

“And relieved,” Philip said, offering Nicky a warm smile. “We’ve been worried about you, my dear.” Turning back to Anne, he went on, “I have champagne waiting in the drawing room. Shall we go inside?”

Anne nodded, smiling, and took his arm. “Yes, let’s do that.”

Much later, after the champagne had been consumed, the three of them sat around the circular table in the small family dining room, which Anne used for more intimate dinners. Inez served the light supper Pilar had prepared, and between the vichyssoise, the grilled sole and the summer pudding, Philip and Anne plied Nicky with questions about her work.

1

Nicky talked about her sojourn in Beijing, and recounted some of the things that had happened there. They seemed particularly moved when she told them about Yoyo and Mai, Mai’s death and Yoyo’s subsequent disappearance.

“Clee and I, and Arch and the crew, just hope and pray he’s going to show up, and that he used the money we gave him to advantage,” Nicky confided. “Clee thinks he’ll make it to Hong Kong, and so do I.”

“That’s the most likely place,” Philip remarked, nodding thoughtfully.

“And there is an underground operating between Beijing and Hong Kong, so I’ve been told. If Yoyo hasguanxi-that is, connechons—he might slip through.”

“As my father would say, from your mouth to God’s ears, Philip.

Yoyo’s pretty smart, if anyone can get out, he can.”

“How terribly tragic that the young woman was killed,” Anne murmured.

“From the way you tell it, Nicky, the Chinese army sounds very harsh.”

“They are brutal, murderous, and cruel beyond belief. Clee has much proof of that on film. He was able to take hundreds of photographs because they were so busy killing their own people, innocent people, they didn’t have time to grab his camera. Mind you, the authorities smashed three of his other cameras in the days before the crackdown.

In spite of all that, he’s created an amazing book about Tiananmen with those photographs, and I’ve written the introduction. It’s called Children of the Beijing Spring,’ and it’ll make your hair stand on end when you see it.

I’ll be sending you a copy when it’s published next year.”

“Thank you,” Anne said.

“We watched a lot of the Kate Adie coverage of the student demonstrations on the BBC,” Philip said. “And at the time, Anne and I were utterly appalled by the brutality, the bloodbath.

China has a very large black mark against it, and the world is already making its disapproval and abhorrence known. The PRC has been pretty shortsighted.”

“Yes, its violation of human rights has been, and still is, horrendous,” Nicky pointed out.

Philip nodded, and took a sip of the Pouilly-Fume. Giving Nicky a probing look, he changed the subject when he asked, “And why are you in England, Nicky? Holiday or business?”

“A bit of both,” Nicky answered quickly, and she had to exercise the most enormous control not to blurt out something about Charles. “I’m hoping to do an in-depth interview with the prime minister,” she improvised, and rushed on, “Next year, not now.

And Arch wanted me to start talking to a few people in advance.

You know, sort of get the lay of the land.”

“So how can I be of assistance?” Philip asked.

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know later. Right now I want to formulate my ideas for the special, think about it in visual terms as well as content.” Nicky sat back, filled with relief that she had not said the wrong thing.

“Well, just give me a shout if you need my help,” Philip said.

“You know I’ll do anything I can.”

“Thanks, Philip, I appreciate it. You’re very kind.”

“Shall we have coffee in the drawing room?” Anne said, pushing back her chair and rising.

Anne slipped her arm through Nicky’s as they left the dining room and walked across the foyer. “Your work is very dangerous, Nicky, and you’re quite intrepid—at least, so it seems to me. Aren’t you ever afraid, darling?”

“Not when I’m actually reporting, only afterward,” Nicky admitted.

“That’s the way it is for Clee, and a lot of other journalists as well, Anne. I guess we’re so concentrated, so busy doing our jobs during the action, we don’t have time for fear.”

23

Anne, I’d like to talk to you about something,” Nicky said, hovering in the doorway of the library on Sunday morning. She had changed her mind after a sleepless night and wanted to talk to Anne now. She could not wait until Monday.

Anne stood next to a long mahogany table, picking up fallen rose petals, she looked across at Nicky, and with a little frown, she said, “You sound awfully serious. Is something wrong?”

“Yes, I think so,” Nicky murmured as she came into the room. “Where’s Philip?

I’d like him to hear what I have to say.”

“Here I am,” Philip said from the depths of a leather wing chair positioned at the other end of the room.

Nicky heard the rustle of newspaper before his head appeared around the side of the chair. He pushed himself to his feet, folded the paper and dropped it on the floor with the others piled up near the fender.

Anne deposited the handful of rose petals in an ashtray and joined Philip, who stood in front of the fireplace. The two exchanged glances, then sat down together on a Chesterfield sofa, Nicky seated herself on the identical one facing them.

Anne and Philip both focused their attention on her, and Anne said, “You look strange, Nicky. What is it?”

“Before I tell you, I’d like to explain something,” Nicky began.

“After we ran into each other in Provence, I decided I wanted to come and see you—to make amends, really, for neglecting you— and I’d planned to do so at the end of August, on my way to join Clee in Paris.

Then the other night, in New York, something happened that caused me to change my plans. I decided to come a couple of weeks earlier, because I needed to talk to you urgently, Anne. And to you, Philip.”

“Please tell us what this is all about,” Anne said.

Nicky took a deep breath and plunged in. “Four days ago, on Wednesday night, I was at home in my apartment watching the world nightly news on television. Our Rome correspondent was reporting a shooting incident at a political rally outside Rome—” “I read about that in Thursday’s Daily Tele,gaph, ” Philip cut in. “There was a suggestion that it might have been an assassination attempt—by a member of the opposition party. Isn’t that so?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Nicky answered. “But to continue, as Tony Johnson, our Rome correspondent, was finishing his report, the camera moved away from him and panned around the immediate area. It picked up a face in the crowd.” Nicky leaned forward, clasping her hands together, and finished quietly but with some intensity, “It was Chales.