Danielle Steel - The Promise

“Mr. Hillyard?” The driver recognized him immediately, and he nodded. “The car is over here.”

Michael settled back in the car while the driver retrieved his luggage from the chaos inside. It was certainly pleasant to be in San Francisco again. It had been a freezing cold March day when he left New York, and it was sixty-five in San Francisco that afternoon. All around him, the world was already green and lovely and lush. In New York, the trees were still barren and brittle and gray, and green would be a forgotten color for another month. It was hard waiting for spring in New York. It always seemed as though it would never come. And just when you gave up, and decided that nothing would ever be green again, the first buds would appear, bringing back hope. Michael had forgotten how pleasant spring was. He never noticed. He didn't have time.

The driver took him straight to his hotel, where some minor employee of the company had already checked him in and seen to it that his suite was in order for the first meeting. He had reserved two suites, one in which he could stay, the other for meetings. And if necessary there could be conferences held simultaneously in both. It was nine o'clock that night before he was through with his work, and tiredly he called room service and asked for a steak. It was mid-night in New York, and he was beat. But it had been a fruitful few hours, and he was pleased. He settled back on the couch, pulled off his tie, threw his feet up on the coffee table, and closed his eyes. And then it was as though he heard his mother's voice in the room. “Did you call that girl?” Oh, Christ. The words sounded loud in the suddenly quiet room, which still reeked of cigarette smoke, and the round of Scotches they'd ordered at the end. But the girl… well, why not? He had the time, while he waited for his steak. It might keep him from falling asleep. He reached for his briefcase, found the number in a file, and dialed from where he sat. The phone rang three or four times before she answered.

“Hello?”

“Good evening, Miss Adamson, this is Michael Hillyard.”

She felt herself almost gasp and had to sharply control her breathing. “I see. Are you in San Francisco, Mr. Hillyard?” Her voice was clipped and brusque; she sounded almost angry. Maybe he had gotten her at a bad time, or maybe she didn't like to be called at home. He didn't really care.

“Yes, I am, Miss Adamson. And I was wondering if we might get together. We have a few things to discuss.”

“No. We have absolutely nothing to discuss. I thought I made that very clear to your mother.” She was trembling all over and clutching the phone.

“Then perhaps she forgot to relay the message.” He was beginning to sound as uptight as she. “She had a mild heart attack just after her meeting with you. I'm sure it had nothing to do with the meeting, but she didn't tell me a great deal about what either of you said. Understandably, given the circumstances.”

“Yes.” Marie seemed to pause. “I'm sorry to hear it. Is she all right now?”

“Very much so.” Michael smiled. “She got married last week. Right now she's in Majorca.”

How sweet. The bitch. She ruins my life and goes on a honeymoon. Marie wanted to grit her teeth, or slam down the phone.

“But that's neither here nor there. When can we meet?”

“I've already told you. We can't.” She almost spat the words through the phone, and he closed his eyes again. He was really too tired to be bothered.

“All right. I concede. For now. I'm at the Fairmont. If you change your mind, call.”

“I won't.”

“Fine.”

“Good night, Mr. Hillyard.”

“Good night, Miss Adamson.”

She was surprised at how quickly he ended the conversation. And he hadn't really sounded like Michael. He sounded worn out, as though he didn't really give a damn. Just what had happened to him in the last two years? She sat wondering for a long time after she hung up the phone.

Chapter 26

“Darling, you're so solemn-looking. Is anything wrong?” Peter looked at her across the lunch table, and she shook her head, toying with her glass of wine.

“No. I'm just thinking of some new work. I want to start a new project tomorrow. That always keeps me preoccupied.” But she was lying and they both knew it. Ever since Michael had called the night before, she had been catapulted back into the past. All she could think of was that last day. The bicycling, the fair, the gaudy blue beads, burying them at the beach, and then dressing in the white eyelet dress and blue satin cap to run off and marry Michael … and then his mother's voice as she lay bandaged and unseeing in her hospital bed. It was like having a movie shown constantly before her eyes. She couldn't get away from it.

“Darling, are you all right?”

“Fine. Really. I'm sorry I'm such bad company today. Maybe I'm just tired.” But he had seen the haunted look, and there was a troubled little frown between her eyes.

“Have you seen Faye lately?”

“No, I keep meaning to call her for lunch, and I never have time. Ever since the show,” she smiled gratefully at him, “I've spent half my time in the darkroom and the other half racing around town with my camera.”

“I didn't mean socially. Have you seen her professionally?”

“Of course not. I told you, we finished before Christmas.”

“You never told me if that was her decision or yours, to finish the sessions.”

“Mine, but she didn't disagree.” Marie was hurt that he seemed to think she needed more work with the psychiatrist. “I'm just tired, Peter. That's all.”

“I'm not so sure. Sometimes I think you're still haunted by … well, by events of two years ago.” He said it carefully, watching her face. And he was dismayed when he saw her almost visibly cringe.

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“It's perfectly normal, Marie. People have been tormented by things like that for ten and twenty years. That's a very traumatic thing to live through, and even if you were unconscious after the accident, some part of you way down deep will always remember what happened. If you can put it to rest, you'll be free of it.”

“I have and I am.”

“Only you can judge that. But I want you to be sure. Otherwise, subtly, it'll affect you for the rest of your life. It will limit your abilities, cripple your life.

… Anyway, there's no need to go on. Just think about it carefully. You may want to see Faye for a while longer. It wouldn't do any harm.” He looked worried.

“I don't need to.” Her mouth was set in a firm line, and he patted her hand. But he didn't apologize for bringing it up. He didn't like the way she looked.

“All right Shall we go then?” He smiled at her more gently and she tried to return the smile, but he was right, of course. She was obsessed with having talked to Michael.

Peter paid the check and helped her into the navy blue velvet blazer she had worn with the white Cacharel skirt, and delicate silk blouse. She was always impeccably dressed, and Peter loved being seen with her. “Shall I take you home?”

“No. I thought I'd stop at the gallery. I want to discuss some things with Jacques. I want to change around some of the pieces. Some of my earlier work is getting more play now than the recent work. I want to switch that around.”

“That makes sense,” He put an arm around her shoulders as they walked out into the spring sunshine. The morning fog had burned off and it was a beautiful warm day. The attendant brought around the black Porsche in a few moments, and Peter held open the door as Marie slipped inside. She smoothed down her skirt and smiled at him as he took his place behind the wheel. She knew now just how much she mattered to him. Sometimes she wondered, though, if he loved her because he had created her, or perhaps because she remained somewhat unattainable. Often it made her feel guilty that she wasn't freer with him. But de-spite the affection she felt for him, there was always a shadow of reserve between them. It was her fault, she knew it And maybe he was right. Maybe she would always be haunted and crippled by the accident. Maybe she should go back and see Faye.