Christopher Nicole - Her Name Will Be Faith

Simply because she was in love. But even through the euphoria she understood that she could not live the rest of her life as a lie — any more than she could give up the children. Because that was what would happen if Michael found out. So maybe nowadays there was no guilty party, in the eyes of the law; there was still the discretion of the judge as to who was the more fitted to bring up the children — a husband who, if his true love was a boat, could yet provide them with the loving family background of grandparents and aunts and uncles, or an adulterous mother who would have to bring them up in a tiny Manhattan apartment… all she would be able to afford on her salary from Profiles.

It was a sodding world, she thought. She had always dreamed of one day inheriting Pinewoods. The thought that it could happen in a couple of years… but did she want it, now?

“All packed?” Babs asked, determined to keep the conversation going.

“Not really. I’ll pack Friday.”

“You sure leave things late.”

“Well, there’s not all that much to pack, for just the three of us,” Jo pointed out. “Shorts, shirts, that’s it. Anyway, I have Michael’s dinner party tomorrow night.”

“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten that. Will it be the usual crowd?”

“The crew and their wives, yes.”

“What are you giving them?”

Jo told her. “Followed by Baked Alaskas.”

“Isn’t that a bit ambitious for twelve?”

“Florence is a whizz with baked Alaskas. Anyway, it won’t be twelve. Only Sam and Larry are married.”

“Well, you ought to have fun.” Babs hesitated, choosing her words. She and Jo hadn’t really had a chance to talk about much for the past three weeks or so, but with the girl so obviously happy… and yet there remained an undercurrent of tension. “I can’t tell you how happy it makes Mike and me to see you… well, to feel things are okay between Michael and you again.”

“Um,” Jo said.

“Sure, I know it’s one hell of a disappointment, Michael not coming. I feel the same way about Marcia, but she has her Benny, and they are so anxious to get their house fixed up.”

“And they’re doing something together,” Jo said before she could stop herself.

“Jo! You’re not still angry about that, are you?”

“No,” Jo said, with complete honesty. “Michael is welcome to spend all the time he wants in his plastic bathtub.”

“Just let him do this race,” Babs recommended. “And win his class. That’s all he’s ever wanted to do, win his class in the Bermuda. Then we’ll talk him into letting go a little.”

“Hi,” Richard’s voice drifted over the phone. “Tomorrow?”

“I can’t,” Jo said.

“You’re kidding.”

“I have to prepare a dinner party for Michael’s crew.”

“Hell… and you’re off on Saturday?”

“So I’m free… Friday evening. I’ll get a sitter. Michael will have left for Newport by then.” She waited; they had never had the opportunity to spend even part of a night together. She had become utterly wanton. But she wanted this to happen, and then… she knew that three weeks on Eleuthera would give her the time to think, to know what she had to do.

“Oh, Jo,” he said. “That’ll be just marvelous. I have to do the ten o’clock forecast.”

“So I’ll watch it, from your lounge.”

“Sweetheart. Say, I have some news.”

“Good news?”

“Well, some of it’s good, some of it’s bad, and some of it’s just interesting. What’ll you have first?”

“The bad.”

“Ah. JC has killed the chat show.”

“No! But why?”

“Seems his ratings people have told him it hasn’t had any impact. No storms, you see.”

“But there could be one.”

“Sure. As a matter of fact, I’ll give you the interesting piece next.”

“Shoot.”

“You know that huge cloud mass over the Cape Verdes I’ve been telling you about, and showing on the box.”

“Yes.” Suddenly she was breathless.

“It’s started to shift.”

“Where?”

“Slightly to the west. Only slightly. But Jo” — now his own voice was excited — “Mark says there are signs of circulation.”

“Oh, boy,” she said.

“Pleased about that?”

“Shouldn’t I be? It’ll vindicate everything you’ve been saying.”

“Maybe. The circulation is still very weak. Highest sustained winds aren’t much over 20 knots; that’s just a good sailing breeze.”

“But it’ll grow from that.”

“It could. And if it does, well… it has to come ashore somewhere. Not a nice thought for those people in the way.”

“Where would you expect that to happen?”

“From where it is now, anywhere. But most probably the northern West Indies. Say Haiti or Puerto Rico.”

“So I’ll worry about them. But Richard, can’t you put that information on White’s desk and convince him the show should go on at least another week?”

“Nope. For two reasons. One, it would be begging, and begging JC is one thing not on my agenda. And secondly, there is every possibility this one will turn out to be a damp squib, just like the other five we’ve had so far. It’s still pretty early in the year, and while I’m prepared to bet there’s going to be a big storm this year, I’d rather go for the end of August, early September. Anyway, if it does prove something, it’ll be mud in JC’s eye. And it’ll give your article a boost. When is it out?”

“Next week. I won’t be here, but I’ve arranged for Ed to let you have a copy.”

“Something to keep me warm while you’re away. Three weeks. I am going to go stark, raving mad.”

“Are you?” she murmured.

“Yeah. You never asked me what the good news was.”

“No, I didn’t,” she said. “Tell me?”

“Only that I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said.

Florence was in despair — the cooker wouldn’t work and she couldn’t get anyone to come and repair it.

Owen Michael had a tummy ache all over again.

Ed phoned; would she like to do a series on Andre Previn?

Tamsin had a fight with the girl on the floor below.

And to cap it all, Nana was sick on the lounge carpet — the third time in two days.

Jo handled it all, but even the children noticed how she repeatedly grinned, for no apparent reason. Florence was most impressed by the calm way she coped with the disastrous afternoon, though she did wonder if her young employer realized that the dinner she and her husband were giving that night would be wrecked if someone didn’t get the cooker working in time.

Jo got on the phone and threatened the maintenance people with publicity on their inefficiency — which brought a Mr Fix-It to tackle Florence’s problem within twenty minutes. She sat Owen Michael in front of the TV and told him to relax — presumably he was getting worked up over his father’s imminent departure for Newport and his own flight to Miami and thence Eleuthera… but if he was going to have to go through life with a bellyache every time he got excited he was going to have a hard time.

She sang as she scooped up the mess on the carpet and washed the stain, and gave Tamsin a brief lesson on basic judo — while Ed sat at his desk impressed, not to say overwhelmed, by Jo Donnelly’s enthusiastic reception of her latest assignment, which she promised to research during her vacation and undertake the moment she returned. Maybe, he thought, she has something going for Previn.

Jo’s mood lasted all evening. Wearing a stunning little cocktail number, she welcomed Sam and Sally Davenport — Sam was Michael’s best friend as well as his second-in-command on the yacht — Larry and Beth Simmons, Jon Tremayne, Pete Albicete, and Mark Godwin. Mark was as shy as ever — he was by some distance the youngest and newest of the crew — but the others she had known for years. Actually, she liked them all, and could understand the good fellowship Michael enjoyed with them; she would have enjoyed it too had she been allowed to share. But Sally and Beth did not seem the least resentful of their husbands’ preoccupation, and joined in the enthusiastic counting up of reasons why they should win their class this year.