Danielle Steel - Passion's Promise

“Nope. No old lady. I move around too much. A few good women here and there. But I put my energy into the cause, not into my relationships. I haven’t put out that kind of effort in a long time. I think the time for that is past for me. And you pay a price for the kind of work that goes into shit-kicking like this. You can’t have it all ways. You have to make choices.” He said a lot of things like that. In his own way, he was a purist. And his cause came first. “I meet a lot of good people to talk to, traveling around. That means a lot to me.”

“It means a lot to me too. People you can talk to, in depth, are a rarity.” And he was one of those rare people.

“You’re right. Which brings up a question. I’d like to look you up when I come to New York sometime, Kate. Would that be okay? We could go to The Partridge.” She smiled at him; it would be nice to see him. She felt as though she had made a new friend, and it was incredible how much of her soul she had shown him at dinner. She hadn’t planned to; in fact she had planned to be rather guarded. But one forgot to be guarded with Luke. That was a very dangerous thing, and she reminded herself of it now.

“It would be fun to see you again sometime.” She was purposely vague.

“Will you give me your number?” He held out a pen and the back of an envelope. He didn’t want to give her time to back off. But she made no move to retreat. In a sense, he had her cornered, and she knew it. She took the pen and wrote down her number, but not her address. There was no harm in his having the phone number.

He pocketed the envelope, paid the check, and helped her on with her jacket.

“Can I take you to the airport, Kate?” She seemed to take a long time buttoning her jacket, without looking up, and then at last she met his gaze, looking almost shy.

“That wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

He pulled gently at a loose wisp of her hair, and shook his head at her. “I’d like to.”

“That’s really very nice.”

“Don’t be a jerk, you’re good company.”

He watched her leave, and she turned to give him a last wave at the gate. Her hand rose high above her head and impulsively she blew him a kiss as she walked away down the ramp. It had been a beautiful evening, a great interview, a marvelous day. She was feeling sentimental about the success of it, and strange about Luke.

She boarded the plane and took a seat at the front, accepting the New York and Washington papers from a passing tray. Then she settled back in her seat and switched on the light. There was no one next to her whom she might disturb as she read. It was the last flight to New York, and it would be past one when she got in. She had nothing to do the following day. Work on the Lucas Johns article maybe, but that was all. She had wanted to go to SoHo to see Mark tonight, but now she wasn’t in the mood. It wasn’t too late. Mark would still be up. But she didn’t want to see him. She wanted to be alone.

She felt a gentle sadness wash slowly over her. An unfamiliar, bittersweet feeling of having touched someone who had moved on. She knew she wouldn’t see Lucas Johns again. He had the number, but he probably wouldn’t have the time, and if he ever did come through town, she would probably be in Zermatt or Milan or Marbella. He would be busy for the next hundred years with his unions and his cause and inmates and moratoriums … and those eyes … he was such a good man, such a likable man … so gentle … it was hard to imagine him in prison. Hard to imagine that he’d been tough or mean, had perhaps stabbed a man in a fight in the yard. She had met a different man. A different Luke. A Luke who haunted her all the way home. He was gone for good, from her now, so she could allow herself the luxury of turning him over in her mind … just for tonight.

The flight was too short and she almost hated to get off the plane and fight her way through the terminal to a cab. Even at that hour La Guardia was busy. So busy that she never saw the tall, dark-haired man follow her to within yards of the cab. He watched her slide into the taxi from only a few feet away. And then, turning away to conceal his face, he looked at his watch. He had time. It would take her half an hour to get home.

And then he would call her.

Chapter 11

“Hello?”

“Hi, Kate.” She felt a warm rush come over her at the sound of his voice.

“Hello, Lucas.” Her voice was tired and smoky. “I’m glad you called.”

“Did you get home all right?”

“I did. It was a quiet flight. I was going to read the paper, but I didn’t even bother.” He wanted to say “I know,” but he didn’t, and stifled the urge to laugh.

“What are you up to now, Ms. Miller?” There was mischief in his voice.

“Not much. I was just going to take a hot bath and go to bed.”

“Can I talk you into a drink at The Partridge? Or P.J. Clarke’s?”

“Bit of a ride from your hotel in Washington, wouldn’t you say? Or did you plan to walk?” She was amused at the thought.

“Yeah, I could. But it’s not a bad ride from La Guardia.”

“Don’t be silly. I took the last flight in.” What a madman he was to consider flying all the way up to New York for a drink.

“I know you took the last flight. But as it happens, so did I.”

“What?” And then she understood. “You wretch! And I didn’t even see you!”

“I should hope not. I almost broke my shoulder once, ducking down in my seat.”

“Lucas, you’re crazy.” She laughed into his ear and lay her head on the back of the chair. “What a perfectly nutty thing to do.”

“Why not? I have a free day tomorrow, and I was going to take it easy anyway. Besides, I felt lousy watching you leave.”

“I felt pretty lousy leaving. I don’t know why, but I did.”

“And now we’re both here, and there’s no reason to feel lousy. Right? So what’ll we do? P. J.’s or The Partridge, or somewhere else? I’m not all that familiar with New York.”

She was still laughing and shaking her head. “Luke, it’s one-thirty in the morning. There isn’t all that much we can do!”

“In New York?” He was not going to be put off that easily.

“Even in New York. You are too much. Tell you what, I’ll meet you at P. J.’s in half an hour. It’ll take you that long to get into the city, and I want to take a quick shower and change clothes at least. You know something?”

“What?”

“You’re a nut.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Possibly.” She smiled gently at the phone.

“Good. I’ll met you at P. J.’s in half an hour.” He was pleased with himself for what he had done. It was going to be a beautiful night. He didn’t care if all she did was shake his hand. It was going to be the best night of his life. Kezia Saint Martin. It was impossible not to be impressed. But in spite of the fancy label, he liked her. She intrigued him. She was nothing like what he had imagined those women to be. She wasn’t aloof and secretly ugly. She was warm and gentle and lonely as hell. He could read it all over her.

And half an hour later, there she was, in the doorway at P. J.’s, and in jeans. Not even tailor-made ones, just good old regular Levi’s, with her silky black hair in two long little-girl braids. More than ever, she looked like a very young girl to him.

The bar was jammed, the lights were bright, the sawdust was thick on the floor, and the jukebox was blaring. It was his kind of place. He was having a beer, and she came over with a gleam in her eye.

“My God, you’re sneaky! No one’s ever followed me onto a plane in my life. But what a neat thing to do!” That wasn’t entirely true but she was laughing again.

She ordered a Pimm’s Cup, and they stood at the bar for half an hour while Kezia glanced over his shoulder at the door. There was always the chance that someone she knew would wander in, or a group of late-night partygoers would arrive after a stop at Le Club or El Morocco, and blow the “Kate Miller” story to pieces.