Danielle Steel - The Promise

“And you've kept in touch with her during all this time?”

“No. I saw her again for the first time today.”

“Now I understand. And how did that happen?”

“I arranged a meeting. I wasn't even sure it was she, but I suspected. And I was right.” She sounded pleased with herself, and he smiled for the first time in half an hour.

“It must have been quite a meeting.” Now he understood the fresh seizure. It was a wonder it hadn't killed her.

“It could have been worse.” Her voice grew gentle, and her eyes filled with tears again. “It could have been much worse. All it really did was show me how wrong I'd been, that I'd destroyed her life as well as his.”

“Stop that. You didn't destroy either one of them. You've given Michael a career any man would give his life for, and you've given her something no one else could have.”

“What? Heartbreak? Disillusionment? Despair?”

“If that's how she feels she's an ingrate. What about a new face? A new life? A new world?”

“I suspect it's a very empty world, except for her work. In that sense, she's very much like Michael.”

“Then maybe they'll build something together again. But in the meantime, what's done is done. You can't punish yourself forever over this. You did what you must have thought right at the time. And they're young, darling. They have full lives ahead of them. If they waste them, it's their own doing. What we mustn't do is waste ours.” He wanted to say “we have so little time left,” but he didn't. He leaned closer to her as she lay on the bed, and she raised her arms to him. He held her very tight and felt the warmth of her body in his arms. “I love you, darling. I'm sorry you went through all that alone, without telling me. You should have told me two years ago.”

“You'd have hated me for it.” Her voice was muffled by his shoulder and her sobs.

“Never. Not then and not now. I could never do anything but love you. And I respect you for telling me about this now. You didn't have to. You could have hidden it. I would never have known.”

“No, but I would. And I had to know what you thought.”

“I think the whole thing has been an agony for everyone. Now, do what you can about it, and then let it go. Drop it from your thoughts, your heart, your conscience. It's over. And we have a new life to begin. We have a right to that life. You've paid dearly for everything you've had. You don't have to punish yourself for anything. We're going to get married, and go away, and live our life. Let them work out their own.”

“Do I really have a right to that?” She looked younger again when he looked into her face.

“Yes, my love, you do.” And then he kissed her, gently at first, and then hungrily. To hell with Michael and the girl and all of it. He wanted Marion, with her good and her bad, her genius and her outrageousness, all of it. “And now, you are going to forget about all this, and go to sleep, and tomorrow we are going to sit down and plan the wedding. Start thinking about sensible things like what kind of dress to order and who's to do the flowers. Is that clear?”

She looked up at him and laughed.

“George Calloway, I love you.”

“It's a good thing, because if you didn't, I'd marry you anyway. Nothing would stop me now. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” They were beaming at each other when the nurse finally stuck her head into the room. It was one in the morning. And special instructions from the doctor or no, he had to leave. George nodded that he understood, and with a gentle kiss, a touch on the hand, and a smile that nothing could have dimmed, he reluctantly left the room. And in her bed, Marion felt enormously relieved. He loved her anyway. And George had restored a little of her own faith in herself. And then with a look at the clock, she decided to give Michael a call. Maybe she could do something about all that right now. To hell with the time difference. She didn't have a moment to waste. None of them did. She turned to the phone in the darkened room and dialed his apartment in New York. It took him four rings to find the phone and answer groggily with a muffled 'llo?

“Darling, it's me.”

“Mother? Are you all right?” He quickly switched on the light and tried to force himself awake.

“I'm fine. I have something to tell you.”

“I know. I know. George told me.” He yawned and smiled at the phone and then blinked at the clock. Jesus. It was five o'clock in the morning in New York. Two in San Francisco. What the hell was she doing up, and where was her nurse? “Did you accept?”

“Of course. Both his proposals. I'm even going to retire. More or less.” Michael laughed at her last words. That sounded like her. George was going to have his hands full, but he was pleased for the two of them. “But I'm calling about something else.” She sounded very businesslike and firm, and he groaned. He knew the tone.

“Not business at this hour. Please!”

“Nonsense. There is no hour for business. I wanted to tell you that I saw that girl.”

“What girl?” His mind was a blank. It had been an incredible day. Three meetings, five appointments, and the news that his mother had had another seizure, alone in San Francisco.

“The photographer, Michael. Wake up.”

“Oh. Her. So?”

“We want her.”

“We do?”

“Absolutely. I can't pursue it now. George would have my head. But you can.”

“You must be kidding. I have too much to do. Let Ben handle it.”

“She already turned him down. And she's a young woman with style, intelligence, and character. She is not going to deal with underlings.”

“She sounds like a pain in the ass to me.”

“That's how you sound to me. Now listen to me. I don't care what you have to do to sign her, but do it. Woo her, win her, fly out to see her, take her to dinner. Be your best charming self. She's worth it. And I want her work in the center. Do it for me.” She was actually wheedling. She smiled to herself. This was new.

“You're crazy, and I don't have time.” He was lying in bed, grinning to himself. His mother was going nuts. “You do it.”

“I won't. And if you don't, I'll come back to the office full time and drive you round the bend.” She sounded as though she meant it, and he had to laugh.

“I'll do it, I'll do it.”

“I'll hold you to that.”

“Jesus. All right. Are you satisfied? Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Yes. But I want you to follow this up right away.”

“What's her name again?”

“Adamson. Marie Adamson.”

“Fine. I'll take care of it tomorrow.”

“Good, darling. And … thank you.”

“Good night, you crazy old bat. And by the way, congratulations. Can I give away the bride?”

“Of course. I wouldn't dream of having anyone else. Good night, darling.”

They each hung up, and at her end Marion Hillyard was finally at peace. Maybe it wouldn't. Maybe work it was too late. The two years had taken a hard toll on both of them. But it was all she could do. No, that wasn't true. She could have told him the truth. But with a small sigh, as she drifted off to sleep, she admitted to herself that she wasn't quite that ready for sainthood yet. She'd help them along a little. But she wouldn't do more than that. She wouldn't tell Michael what she had done. He would probably find out eventually, but perhaps, by then, there would be enough happiness to cushion the blow.

Chapter 24

George kissed her tenderly on the mouth and the soft music began again. Marion had hired three musicians to play at the wedding in her apartment. There were roughly seventy guests, and the dining room had been cleared as a ballroom. The buffet had been set up in the library. And it was a perfect day. The very last day in February and a clear, cold, magnificent New York day. Marion was completely recovered from her little mishap in San Francisco, and George looked jubilant. Michael kissed her on both cheeks, and she posed between her husband and her son for the photographer from the Times . She was wearing champagne lace to the floor and both George and Michael were formally dressed in striped trousers and cutaways. George wore a white carnation as his boutonniere, Michael a red one, and the bride carried delicate beige orchids, specially flown in from California along with the lavish show of flowers around the apartment. Her decorator had seen to it himself.