Danielle Steel: The Promise

“I'm awfully glad to meet you at last. You've led me a merry chase, Miss Adamson. But then, as talented as you are, I suppose you have that right.” He gave her a benevolent smile, and she looked at Jacques, who was standing behind his desk extending a hand toward Michael. He was extremely impressed by Cotter-Hillyard's interest in Marie's work. Michael had made it quite clear to the secretary that his interest was professional, not for his own collection or even for his office. He wanted her work for one of the largest projects the company had ever done, and Jacques was overwhelmed. He could hardly wait until Marie heard. Even her cool reserve would be shattered over this. But she looked as unruffled as ever, at least for the moment. She sat very still in her chair, avoiding Michael's gaze, and with an icy little smile on her lips. “May I get right to the point and explain to you both what I have in mind?”

“But of course.” Jacques waved at the secretary to pour Michael some coffee, and sat back to listen as Michael went on to explain in full detail what he wanted to do with Marie's work. It was a project any artist would have fought for, but at the end of the discussion Marie seemed unmoved. She nodded very quietly and then turned to look at Michael.

“I'm afraid my answer is still the same, Mr. Hillyard.”

“You've discussed this before?” Jacques looked confused, and Michael was quick to explain.

“One of my associates, my mother, and I myself have all contacted Miss Adamson at her home. We've mentioned this project to her, though only briefly, and her answer has been a firm no. I was hoping to change her mind.”

Jacques looked at her in stupefaction. Marie was shaking her head.

“I'm sorry, but I can't do it.”

“But why not?” The words were Jacques's. He was almost frantic.

“Because I don't want to.”

“May we at least know your reasons?” Michael's voice was very smooth, and it held something new, the knowledge of his own power. Marie was irritated to find she liked this side of him. But it did nothing to change her mind.

“Call me a temperamental artist if you like. Whatever. The answer is still no. And it will stay no.” She put down her cup, looked at the two men, and stood up. She held out a hand to Michael and somberly shook his hand. “Thank you, though, for your interest. I'm sure you'll find the right person for your project. Maybe Jacques can recommend someone. There are several wonderful artists and photographers associated with this gallery.”

“But I'm afraid we only want you.” He sounded stubborn now, and Jacques looked apoplectic, but Marie was not going to lose this battle. She had already lost too much.

“That's unreasonable of you, Mr. Hillyard. And childish. You're going to have to find someone else. I won't work with you. It's as simple as that.”

“Will you work with someone else in the firm?”

She shook her head again and walked to the doorway.

“Will you at least give it some thought?”

Her back was to Michael as she paused for an instant in the doorway, but once again she only shook her head, and then they heard the word no as she disappeared with her little dog. Michael did not waste a moment with the stunned gallery owner, who remained seated at his desk. He ran out into the street after her, shouting “Wait?” He wasn't even sure why he was doing it, but he felt he had to. He got to her side as she began to walk hurriedly away. “May I walk with you for a moment?”

“If you'd like, but there isn't much point.” She was looking straight ahead, avoiding his eyes as he strode doggedly beside her.

“Why are you doing this? It Just doesn't make any sense. It is personal? Something you know about our firm? A bad experience you've had? Something about me?”

“It doesn't make any difference.”

“Yes it does, damn it. It does.” He stopped her and held fast to her arm. “I have a right to know.”

“Do you?” They both seemed to stand there for an eternity, and finally she softened. “All right. It's personal.”

“At least I know you're not crazy.”

She laughed and looked at him with amusement. “How do you know? Maybe I am.”

“Unfortunately, I don't think so. I just think you hate Cotter-Hillyard. Or me.” It was ridiculous though. Neither he nor the firm had had any bad press. They weren't involved in controversial projects, or with dubious governments. There was no reason for her to act like this. Maybe she'd had an affair with someone in the local office and had a grudge against him. It had to be something like that. Nothing else made sense.

“I don't hate you, Mr. Hillyard.” She had waited a long time to say it as they walked along.

“You sure do a good act.” He smiled, and for the first time he looked like a boy again. Like the kid who used to tease her with Ben in her apartment. That glimpse of the past tore at her heart and she looked away. “Can I invite you out somewhere for a cup of coffee?” She was going to refuse, but maybe it would be better to get it over with once and for all. Maybe then he'd leave her alone.

“All right.” She suggested a place across the street, and they walked there with Fred at their heels. They both ordered espressos, and without thinking she handed him the sugar. She knew he took two, but he only thanked her, helped himself, and set the bowl down. It didn't seem unusual to him that she had known.

“You know, I can't explain it, but there's something odd about your work. It haunts me. As though I've seen it before, as though I already know it, as though I understand what you meant and what you saw when you took the pictures. Does that make any sense?”

Yes. A great deal of sense. He had always had a wonderful understanding of her paintings. She sighed and nodded. “Yes, I guess it does. They're supposed to do something like that to you.”

“But they do something more. I can't explain it. It's as though I already know … well, your work. I don't know. It sounds crazy when I say it.”

But don't you know me? Don't you know these eyes? She found herself wanting to ask him those questions as they quietly drank their coffee and discussed her work.

“I get the terrible feeling you're not going to give in. You won't, will you?” Sadly, she shook her head. “Is it money?”

“Of course not.”

“I didn't think so.” He didn't even mention the enormous contract he had in his pocket. He knew it would do him no good, and perhaps make things worse. “I wish I knew what it was.”

“Just my eccentricities. My way of lashing out at the past.” She was shocked at her own honesty but he didn't seem to be.

“I thought it was something like that”. They were both at peace now as they sat in the little Italian restaurant. There was a sadness to the meeting too, a bittersweet quality Michael couldn't understand. “My mother was very taken with your work. And she's not easy to please.” Marie smiled at his choice of words.

“No, she isn't. Or so I've heard. She drives a very hard bargain.”

“Yes, but she made the business what it is today. It's a pleasure to take over from her. Like a perfectly run ship.”

“How fortunate for you.” She sounded bitter again, and once more Michael didn't understand. In a little nervous gesture he ran his hand across a tiny scar on his temple, and abruptly Marie set down her coffee cup and watched him. “What's that?”

“What?”

“That scar.” She couldn't take her eyes from it. She knew exactly what it was. It had to be from …

“It's nothing. I've had it for a while.”

“It doesn't look very old.”

“A couple of years.” He looked embarrassed. “Really. It was nothing. A minor accident with some friends.”