Danielle Steel - The Promise

She smiled at him as she watched him finish dressing. “Yes, they put everything up exactly the way I wanted. Thanks to you. I get the feeling you told them to do it my way ‘or else.’ You or Jacques.” The gallery owner was one of Peter's oldest and closest friends. “I feel thoroughly spoiled. The complete ‘artiste.’”

“That's how you should feel. Your work is going to be very important, darling. You'll see.”

And indeed she did. The reviews in the paper the next day were spectacular. They sat around in her apartment over morning coffee, and grinned at what they read.

“Didn't I tell you?” He looked even more pleased with himself than she did. “You're a star.”

“You're crazy.” She plunked herself on his lap with a grin and rumpled the paper.

“You wait. You'll have every photographer's agent in the country calling you by next week.”

“Darling, you are out of your mind.” But he wasn't too far off. She was getting calls from Los Angeles and Chicago by the following Monday. She couldn't get over it, but she was thoroughly enjoying the whole thing. And she was amused by every phone call she got. Until the call from Ben Avery. It came on a Thursday afternoon, when she was developing some film. She heard the phone ring and she wiped her hands and walked into the kitchen to answer it. She assumed it was Peter. He had said he would call to let her know what time he could see her that evening. He had some kind of meeting scheduled for late afternoon. But she had plenty of darkroom work to keep her busy; there was a veritable avalanche of orders coming in as a result of the show.

“Hello?”

“Miss Adamson?”

“Yes.” She didn't recognize the voice, and the smile she had been wearing for Peter rapidly faded.

“I don't know whether we've met or not, but I met a Miss Adamson the last time I was here. At I. Magnin's. I was doing some Christmas shopping…. I bought some luggage, and …” He felt like a total ass, and for what seemed like an eternity she said nothing.

So it was Ben. Damn. How had he found her? And why had he bothered to?

“I … was that you?”

She was tempted to say no, but why lie? “I believe it might have been.”

“Good. Well, at least we've met. I'm actually calling you because I've just seen your work at the Montpelier Gallery on Post Street. I'm enormously impressed, as is my associate, Miss Townsend.”

Marie was suddenly curious. Was that the girl he had bought the luggage for? But she didn't feel she could ask. Instead she sighed and sat down. “I'm glad you liked it, Mr. Avery.”

“You remember my name!”

Oh, Jesus. “I have a memory for those things.”

“How fortunate for you. I have a memory like a sieve, and in my business that's no asset, believe me. In any case, I'd very much like to get together with you to discuss your work.”

“In what sense?” What the hell was there to discuss?

“We're doing a medical center here in San Francisco, Miss Adamson. It's going to be an enormous project, and we'd like to use your work in every building as the central theme of the decor. We're not quite sure how, but we know we want your pictures. We'd like to work it out with you. This could be the assignment of your career.” He said it with tremendous pride, and he was obviously waiting for a gasp at the other end of the line, a shriek of enthusiasm, anything but what he heard.

“I see. And what firm are you representing?” She waited, holding her breath, but she already knew the answer before he said the words.

“Catter-Hillyard, in New York.”

“Well, no thanks, Mr. Avery, it's just not my speed.”

“Why not?” He sounded stunned. “I don't understand.”

“I don't want to get into it with you, Mr. Avery, but I'm not interested.”

“Can we get together and discuss this?”

“No.”

“But I've already spoken to… I—”

“The answer is no. Thank you for your call.” And then, very quietly, she placed the receiver back into the cradle and walked back to the darkroom door. She wasn't going to do business with them. That was all she needed. She was through with Michael Hillyard. He didn't want her as his wife; she didn't want him as her employer. Or anything else.

The phone rang again before she had closed the darkroom door. She knew it would be Ben again, but she wanted to settle the matter once and for all. She strode back to the phone, picked it up, and almost shouted into it. “The answer is no. I already told you that.” But the voice on the other end was not Ben's, it was Peter's.

“Good God, what have I done?” He was half laughing, half stunned, and Marie felt herself relax at the sound of his voice.

“Oh Christ. I'm sorry, darling. I just had someone call me with an annoying request.”

“As a result of the show?”

“More or less.”

“The gallery shouldn't be giving out your number to crackpots. Why don't they take the messages there?” He sounded upset.

“I think I'll suggest that to Jacques.”

Peter was disturbed at the thought of some crazy calling her. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.” But she sounded shaken, and he could hear it.

“Well, I'll be there in an hour. Don't answer the phone till I get there. I'll handle it if anyone calls after that.”

“Thank you, my love.”

They exchanged a few more words and then hung up, and she found herself feeling guilty for not telling him the truth about the call. Ben Avery was no crackpot, he just worked for Michael Hillyard. But she didn't want to tell Peter that that was what had unnerved her. He didn't need to know how shaky she still was on the subject of Michael But she was getting better every day. And fortunately Ben didn't call again that night. He waited until the next morning. And then surprised her again as she got ready to go to work.

“Hi, Miss Adamson. Ben Avery again.”

“Look. I thought we got this thing settled last night. I'm not interested.”

“But you don't even know what you're not interested in. Why not have lunch with my associate and me, we'll talk? It can't hurt, can it?”

Oh yes it can, Ben, oh yes it can. “I'm sorry, I'm busy.” She wasn't giving an inch, and sitting in his hotel room, Ben rolled his eyes at Wendy. It was hopeless. And he couldn't understand why. What the hell did she have against Cotter-Hillyard? It didn't make sense.

“How about tomorrow?”

“Look, Ben … Mr. Avery … I won't do it. I'm not interested. And I don't want to discuss it with you, your associate, or anyone else. Is that quite clear?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But I think you're making a huge professional mistake. If you had an agent, he'd tell you just that.”

“Well, I don't. So I don't have to listen to anyone but myself.”

“That's your mistake, Miss Adamson. But we'll keep in touch.”

“It's nice of you to be interested, but really, don't bother.”

“All right, all right. But I'll drop you a card. If you change your mind, call me. Here or in New York. I'll be at the Saint Francis till the end of the month, and then back at my office in New York. There's still plenty of time to discuss this.”

Maybe for you, but not for me. It's two years too late. “I'm afraid I don't agree.” And once again, she hung up. This time she left the phone off the hook when she went back to the darkroom.

Chapter 21

It was a freezing February day as Ben Avery huddled turtlelike in his coat, and ran all the way from the subway exit to his office on Park Avenue. There would be snow by the end of the day—he could feel it in the air—and it seemed as though daylight had barely emerged. It was not quite eight o'clock in the morning. But he had an enormous amount of work to do. This would be his first day back from the coast, and the big meeting with Marion was scheduled for ten thirty that morning. He had mostly good news for her.