Danielle Steel - Passion's Promise

“Lucas Johns, please” She waited while they rang his room. He sounded sleepy when he answered. “Luke? Kee … Kate.” She had almost said it was Kezia.

“I didn’t know you stuttered.”

She laughed and his own laughter answered.

“I don’t. I’m just in a hurry. Jack Simpson called me. I’ll come down to cover that moratorium thing tomorrow. Why didn’t you mention this morning that you thought I should be there?”

“I didn’t think of it till after you left” He smiled to himself as he spoke. “I think you’ll need it, though, to round out the rest. Want me to pick you up at the plane?”

“No, thanks. I’ll be fine. Just tell me where to meet you.” He did and she wrote down the address, standing at her desk in the white lace dress and the black moire cape, delicate black silk sandals on her feet and one of her mother’s diamond bracelets on each arm. And then she started to laugh.

“What’s funny?”

“Oh, nothing really. It’s just what I’m wearing.”

“And just what are you wearing, Ms. Miller?” He sounded vastly amused.

“Something terribly silly.”

“Sounds very mysterious to me. I’m not sure if you mean leather hip boots and a whip, or a rhinestone-studded peignoir.”

“A little of both. See you tomorrow, Luke.” She hung up on a last gurgle of laughter as the doorbell rang, and Whitney appeared, as crisp and elegant as ever. For him, of course, the black and white had been easy. He was wearing a dinner jacket and one of the shirts he had made four times a year in Paris.

“Where were you all day? And my … don’t you look splendid!” They exchanged their standard dry little kiss, and he held out her hands. “Is that something new? I don’t remember seeing that dress before.”

“Sort of. I don’t wear it often. And I spent the whole day with Edward. We did up my new will.” They smiled at each other and she picked up her bag. Lies, Lies, lies. It had never been like this before. But she knew as she swirled out to the hall that it was going to get worse. Lying to Whit, lying to Mark, lying to Luke. “Is that why you write, Kate? For fun?” She remembered Luke’s question as the elevator swept them down to the lobby, and her brows knit as she thought of the look in his eyes. It had not been accusing, only curious. But no, dammit! She didn’t just write for fun. It was real. But how real could anything be, when whatever you did, you draped in lies?

“Ready, darling?” Whit was waiting for her outside the elevator, and she had stood there for a moment, not moving, just looking at him, but seeing Luke’s eyes, hearing his voice.

“Sorry, Whit. I must be tired.” She squeezed his arm as they walked out to the waiting limousine.

By ten she was drunk.

“Christ, Kezia, are you sure you can walk?” Marina was watching her pull her stockings up and her dress down as they stood in the ladies’ room at the El Morocco.

“Of course I can walk!” But she was weaving badly and couldn’t stop laughing.

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing since Luke. I mean, Duke … I mean breakfast dammit.” She had hardly had time to touch her lunch before catching the plane at O’Hare, and she hadn’t bothered with dinner.

“Kezia, you’re a nut. Want some coffee?”

“No, tea. No … coffee. No! Chaaaaamppagggne.” She dragged the word out and Marina laughed.

“At least you’re a friendly drunk. Vanessa Billingsley is crocked out of her mind and just called Mia Hargreaves a raving bitch.” Kezia giggled and Marina lit a cigarette and sat down, while Kezia tried desperately to remember what Marina had just said. Mia called Vanessa a … no, Vanessa called Mia … if she could just hang on to it, it would be good for the column. And what had she heard earlier about Patricia Morbang being pregnant? Or was that right? Was it someone else who was pregnant? It was all so hard to remember.

“Oh Marina, it’s so hard to remember it all.”

Marina looked at her with a half smile and shook her head.

“Kezia, my love, you are smashed. Well, hell, who isn’t? It must be after three.”

“Christ, is it really? And I have to get up so early tomorrow. Crap.”

Marina laughed again at the sight of Kezia sprawled on the white wall-to-wall in the ladies’ boudoir, looking like a child just home from school, the white lace dress frothed around her like a nightgown, the diamonds glittering on her wrists, like something borrowed from her mother to dispel the boredom of a rainy day.

“And Whit’s going to be very cross if I’m drunk.”

“Tell him it’s the flu. I don’t think the poor bastard would know the difference.” They both laughed at that, and Marina helped her to her feet. “You really ought to go home.”

“I think I’d much rather dance. Whit dances very nicely, you know.”

“He ought to.” Marina looked at her hard and long, but the implication of the message was lost on Kezia. She was too drunk to hear, or to care.

“Marina?” Kezia looked still more childlike as she stood watching her friend.

“What, lover?”

“Do you really love Halpern?”

“No, baby. I don’t. But I love the peace of mind he could give me. I’ve about had it with trying to make it on my own with the kids. And in another six months I’d have had to sell the co-op.”

“But don’t you love him a little?”

“No. But I like him a lot” Marina looked cynical and amused.

“But don’t you love anyone? A secret lover maybe? You have to love someone.” Don’t you?

“Do you? Well, fancy that. Do you love Whit?”

“Of course not” Some small alarm went off in her head then. She was talking too much.

“Then who do you love, Kezia?”

“You, Marina. I love you lots and lots and lots and lots!” She threw her arms around her friend’s neck and started to giggle. And Marina laughed back and gently untwined her from her neck.

“Kezia sweet, you may not love Whitney, but if I were you, I’d get him to take me home. I think you’ve about had it.” They walked out of the ladies’ room arm in arm. Whitney was waiting just outside. He had noticed the ominous sway in Kezia’s walk as she left the room half an hour before.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m wonderful!” Whit and Marina exchanged glances, and Whitney winked.

“You certainly are wonderful. And I don’t know about you, darling, but I’m also wonderfully tired. I think we’ll call it a night.”

“No, no, no! I’m not tired at all. Let’s call it a morning!” Kezia found everything suddenly terribly funny.

“Let’s call it a get-your-ass-out-of-here, Kezia, before you wind up in Martin Hallam’s column tomorrow: ‘Kezia Saint Martin, drunk as a skunk as she left El Morocco last night with….’ Wouldn’t that be lovely?” Kezia roared with glee at Marina’s warning.

“That couldn’t happen to me!” Whitney and Marina laughed again and tears began to slide down Kezia’s face as she giggled.

“Oh, couldn’t it? It could happen to any of us.”

“But not to me. I’m … I’m a friend of his.”

“And so is Jesus Christ, I’ll bet.” Marina patted her on the shoulder and went back to the party, while Whitney put an arm around Kezia and piloted her slowly toward the door. He had draped her black cape over his arm, and was carrying her small black beaded bag.

“It’s really my fault, darling. I should have taken you to dinner before we came here.”

“You couldn’t.”

“Of course I could. I left the office early today to play squash at the Racquet Club.”

“No you couldn’t. I was in Chicago.” He rolled his eyes and placed the cape over her shoulders.

“That’s right, darling. That’s right. Of course you were.” She went into another fit of giggles as he gently led her outside. She patted his cheek sweetly then and looked at him strangely.