Remember (38 page)

“For my girl,” he said, leaning forward, kissing her on the cheek.

“And the top of the mornin’ to you, mavourneen,” he added in a strong Irish brogue.

“Oh, Clee, how sweet of you, thank you,” she said, taking the bouquet and pressing her face into the blooms. Then impulsively she threw her arms around him and hugged him close. Her face next to his, she whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Nick.” He lifted her chin with one hand, looked into her eyes and added, “And you’ll never know how much—I’ll just have to try and show you. In the meantime, I’ve got to get started and make brunch, otherwise we’ll be eating at four o’clock this afternoon.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Once I’ve moved the groceries over to the countertop, you can set the table, open the bottle of champagne, pour us two glasses, and add a dash of orange juice to them. Then you can sit here and talk to me while I make the omelettes. Okay by you?”

“Okay by me,” she said, laughing, and helped him to carry the grocery bags to the other side of the room before putting the flowers in a vase of water. Once she had spread the cloth on the table, and added the plates and knives and forks, she busied herself with the bottle of champagne. Her father liked mimosas, the mixture of champagne and orange juice, and now she made them with great expertise.

“Here’s to the girl I love,” Clee said, clinking his glass against hers. “Sante ” “Sante, darling,” she murmured and smiled at him.

Clee strode to the long countertop under the window, began emptying the bags and then started to prepare the meal.

Nicky sat watching him, thinking how fast and efficient he was as he handled the vegetables, all of which were obviously intended as ingredients for the omelette. Looks to me as if he’s making a Spanish omelette, she thought, and bit back a smile.

“Are you still going to Brussels tomorrow?” Nicky asked after a moment.

“Yep, sure am. Why?”

“I called Anne Devereaux while you were out, and I was a bit upset when I heard how depressed she sounded. That’s the wrong word, I thought she was troubled actually, Clee.”

He turned around and looked at Nicky thoughtfully. “I guess you think you’ve opened a can of worms. Or, perhaps more appropriately, Pandora’s box. Is that it?”

“Yes. And it really is my fault, Clee. I was very stupid, rushing to see her the way I did. It was far too impulsive on my part. I should have waited, thought things over, and spoken to you.”

“You most certainly should have done that, and I would have told you to forget it. But never mind. No use crying over that now.”

He turned back to the counter, and began to peel the three large potatoes lying on the chopping board. “What do you want to do about her, Nicky? Is there a way to help her?” he asked as he worked.

“She wanted me to come and see her. Asked me to, in fact. She says she has no one else to talk to but me.”

“What about Philip? Isn’t he sympathetic to her needs?”

“I’m sure he is, but she and I have always been extremely close, and anyway, I was …” She let her sentence trail off.

“And anyway, you were engaged to Charles,” he finished for her, glancing over his shoulder. He smiled at her. “You don’t have to tiptoe around me—about Charles Devereaux, I mean. You were engaged to him, and you did have a relationship with him, and none of us is without a past, a history, at our age. We all carry a certain amount of baggage with us.”

“Thanks for understanding. Anyway, I did agree to go to London tomorrow, to have lunch with her at the flat in Eaton Square.

Since you’d said you were going to be in Brussels for two or three days I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t, and I wouldn’t have minded even if I were going to be here.

You have to do what you have to do, and I’m not going to try to put a leash on you. I’m not that kind of guy.” He turned to face her, and leaning against the countertop, he added, “And I hope you’re not going to put a leash on me either.”

Nicky shook her head. “Never! That’s verboten, for sure. Besides, you’re a bachelor at heart, remember? You cast yourself in the same mold as Robert Capa years ago, when you were still a boy.

And I know that you want to take your camera and roam the world as he did. I understand.”

He put the knife he was holding on the countertop and walked over to her. He took the glass out of her hand, placed it on the table and pulled her to her feet.

“Listen, honeybunch, I might want to roam the world taking photographs, and I might want to be footloose, but I certainly don’t want to be fancy-free. I want you at my side.” He kissed her hard on the mouth, then held her away from him, and the lopsided smile flickered.

He touched her face lightly with one finger, and said, “Shall we get married?”

Nicky was caught off guard, and she stared at him. “You’ve taken me by surprise—do I have to decide today?”

“No, you don’t have to decide today.” He grinned and kissed the tip of her nose. “You can decide tomorrow or next week, or whenever you want.

Just as long as you say yes.”

35

, Like Pullenbrook, Anne’s flat in Eaton Square was beautiful, and impressive in its own way. It had been decorated years before by the great English interior designer John Fowler, and it was one of his last assignments before his death.

The living room was spacious and high-ceilinged, its walls painted a peculiar faded pink, which the late interior decorator had named Ointment Pink. The taffeta draperies at the two tall windows were slightly deeper, and this soft shade, used throughout, helped to give the room its rosy glow. Georgian antiques, an Aubusson rug on the floor and several large horse paintings by Stubbs added to the room’s quiet elegance. As she always did, Anne had put her inimitable stamp on it, there were skirted tables laden with family photographs in silver frames, pots of tall white orchids, vases of flowers everywhere and slow-burning scented candles.

On this sunny Monday morning, Anne and Nicky sat on a small sofa in front of one of the windows overlooking Eaton Square and the leafy green bower of trees in its central gardens.

Anne was more at ease with herself than she had been since Nicky’s last visit, and this showed in her face. The tight lines around her mouth had all but disappeared, and her body was less taut. In fact, most of the tension had gone, and she was relaxed and smiling.

Nicky, relieved that she had succeeded in putting Anne’s mind at rest, was also feeling more comfortable, and she was pleased she had come to London. The trip had been worth it just to know that the wounds she had opened would quickly heal now. Anne was already looking and sounding more like herself.

These two women had always been compatible, and after their intense, hour-long talk this morning there seemed to be an even deeper bond between them.

“You don’t know what it means to me that you came,” Anne said, reaching out for Nicky’s hand, taking it in hers. “You made me see sense, helped me to put myself back together again, and for that I’m very grateful, darling. I had become rather depressed, and sad.” She paused, made a moue and shook her head. “I think I was even beginning to feel sorry for myself, which is not like me at all. I can’t abide self-pity, it’s such a sign of weakness, and I’m very intolerant of it in others. Anyway, thank you, Nicky, you’ve worked wonders.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Anne, I was glad to come,” Nicky said, squeezing her hand. “Quite aside from loving you, and caring about your well-being, I feel very responsible. It was I who

opened Pandora’s box and let all the horrors out. I wanted to put things right, make you feel better, if I could.”

“Well, you did, so don’t fret anymore, and the lid is firmly closed.”

Anne looked deeply into Nicky’s eyes, and added in a loving voice, “You always were very special to me, Nicky, like the daughter I never had—and you’ve brought me such enormous comfort today, helped me to draw on my inner strength again.” A smile touched her mouth. “You’ve put me back on the track, so to speak.”

Nicky smiled back at her. “That makes me feel good, Anne, it really does. I was so worried about you yesterday, and I could feel your pain. I knew what you were going through.” There was a slight hesitation on Nicky’s part, and then she said slowly, “Two weeks ago at Pullenbrook, you begged me to put Charles to rest again—I have, and I hope you can do the same.”

“I think so—now. Yes, I’m sure I can, darling.”

Nicky said, “Anne, I have some great news. Yoyo, the young Chinese student we met in Beijing, has managed to escape. He showed up in Paris last Thursday, and Clee and I had dinner with him on Friday.

He’s in terrific spirits, looks wonderful.”

“I’m thrilled he escaped, that he’s safe,” Anne exclaimed, her face lighting up, suddenly growing animated for the first time in days. “Do tell me about him.”

Nicky did so, and she was just finishing recounting the details about Yoyo’s journey to Hong Kong, their celebration dinner at the Ritz with him and Mr. and Mrs. Loong when the doorbell rang.

“Oh, that must be Philip,” Anne said, rising, crossing the floor.

She paused halfway and turned her head. “I was rather surprised when he called at eleven and asked if he could join us. He usually lunches at his club. Then I realized he wanted to see you. He’s so very fond of you, Nicky.”

I “I’m glad he’s having lunch with us, I’m fond of him, too,” Nicky said, genuinely meaning this. “He’s a lovely man.”

A moment later Philip Rawlings was striding into the room, embracing first Anne, and then Nicky. “I thought you were supposed to be in Provence,” he said, eyeing Nicky curiously.

“We were,” she answered. “But Clee has problems at the office. We hope to leave sometime next week.”

“Nice time of year, down there,” Philip murmured. He went to a tray of drinks on a chest, and proceeded to mix himself one. He usually did not drink at lunch during the week, and today was an exception. In fact, this was not his first scotch and soda. On his way here he had done something he had not done in years-stopped off at a pub. He had gone to the Grenadier, which was the only pub he remembered in the Belgravia area, and downed a quick one before walking over to Eaton Square.

False courage, he thought, as he dropped a piece of ice into his crystal tumbler and turned around to face Anne and Nicky, who was about to sink into a chair next to the sofa where Anne had already seated herself.

He lifted his glass to his mouth, said, “Down the hatch,” and took a long swallow. No use putting it off, he thought, and taking a deep breath, bracing himself, he went over to sit next to Anne.

“I’m afraid it’s not a very fancy lunch, Philip,” Anne remarked.

“I left Pilar and Inez in the country when I came up to town this morning. So I stopped off at Harrods and picked up a few cold meats, and I made a salad.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m not very hungry,” he said.

“I’m feeling so much better, darling,” Anne continued, smiling at him.

“Being with Nicky, talking to her, has been a wonderful tonic .”

“I can see that.”

“I’m really all right now, Philip. Truly.”

“Yes,” he said.

“I was just telling Anne about Yoyo,” Nicky volunteered. “You know, the Chinese student who was so helpful in Beijing. He managed to get to Hong Kong, and finally to Paris, and we saw him this past week.”

“One of the lucky ones.” Philip shook his head. “Sadly, quite I a few of the students who were involved in the democracy movement, and who escaped, were sent back to China by the Hong Kong government. God knows what their fate has been.”

“How terrible!” Anne exclaimed. “How could we do a thing I like that!”

Philip did not answer. He took another long swallow of his drink, almost gulping it down, and then he put the glass on the antique lacquered tray table in front of him. Again steeling himself, he said, “Anne, I have something to tell you, and I’m glad Nicky is with us.

She has a right to hear this too.”

Both women looked at him, noting his serious tone, the grim expression settling on his face.

“It’s about Charles—” “Charles?” Anne interrupted, her voice rising.

Nicky stiffened in the chair, and apprehension stabbed at her.

“This morning some information came across my desk at the Foreign Office. It’s restricted, classified information, but I felt, under the circumstances, that I was morally obligated to take both of you into my confidence. However, because it is a privileged communication, is top secret, actually, I must warn you that what I tell you must never be repeated. It cannot go beyond these walls. I count on your confidentiality. I must have your word on this, Anne. And yours, Nicky.”

“You know I would never discuss anything you told me about the office, confidential or otherwise,” Anne said, looking at him slightly askance.

“I give you my word,” Nicky murmured. She was worried, wondering what this was about, what Philip was going to tell them.

Philip nodded, and then he reached for Anne’s hand. “When Nicky came to see us at Pullenbrook in August, she was correct in everything she said, Anne. It was Charles on that ATN newscast from Rome. He had faked his death three years ago.”

Anne gasped, her eyes wide with shock. She was speechless for a moment, and then she exclaimed, “Are you saying he’s alive? Is my son alive?”

Philip did not immediately answer.

Nicky held herself perfectly still, clasping her hands together in her lap. She knew she must be careful in her reactions, that she must not betray anything.

Anne repeated, “Is he alive? Philip, please answer me! Is Charles alive?”

Philip took a deep breath, and very gently he said, “No, Anne, he’s not. Charles is dead.”

“I don’t understand!” she cried, her agitation increasing. “You just said Nicky was right, that Charles did fake his own death, and was alive. Now you’re saying that he’s dead. How can that be?

Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.”

Nicky, who was as shocked as Anne, was doing her best to control herself. Now she said in the steadiest voice she could muster, “But how do you know Charles is dead, Philip?”