Danielle Steel - Passion's Promise

“’The usual lovebirds were thick in the flock; Francesco Cellini and Miranda Pavano-Casteja; Jane Roberts and Bentley Forbes; Maxwell Dart and Courtney Williamson, and of course Kezia Saint Martin and her standby consort Whitney Hayworth III, although this couple was seldom seen together last night as they each appeared to take flight on their own. It was also noticed that in what appeared to be a fit of pique, Whitney made an early solo exit, leaving Kezia ‘midst the rest of the doves, hawks, and parrots. Perhaps the elegant Whitney grows tired of following in her wake? Heiresses can be such demanding people. Also of interest in Carla FitzMatthew’s baronial halls….’ Well, how does it sound?” She sounded suddenly chirpy and unaffected by what she had written; the business voice was put away with the column. And news was news and gossip was gossip, and Edward knew it all bored her anyway. He looked over at her with a dubious smile. “It sounds rather uncomfortable. Frankly, I don’t think he’ll like it.”

“He’s not meant to. It’s supposed to be somewhat demeaning. And if he doesn’t have the balls to tell me to go to hell after what I’m doing to his public image, then his boyfriend will tell him he has no guts. I think this will get to him.”

“Why don’t you just tell him it’s over?”

“Because the only good reason I have is the one I’m not supposed to know. That, and the fact that he bores me. And hell, Edward, I don’t know … maybe I’m cowardly. I’d rather leave it to him. With a good prod in the right direction from me. It seems as though anything I could say to him directly would be too insulting.”

“And what you said in the column is better?”

“Of course not. But he doesn’t know I said it.”

Edward laughed ruefully as he finished his drink and stood up. “Well, let me know if your plot has any effect.”

“It will. I’d bet on it.”

“And then what? You announce that in the column too?”

“No. I thank God.”

“Kezia, you confuse me. But on that note, my dear, I bid you good night. Sorry to have called on you so late.”

“I’ll forgive you this time.”

The phone rang as she walked him to the door and she looked suddenly excited.

“I’ll let myself out.”

“Thanks,” she smiled, pecked his cheek and ran back to her desk in the living room with a broad smile, leaving Edward to shut the door softly and wait for the elevator alone.

“Hi, Mama. Too late to call?” It was Luke.

“Of course not and I was just thinking about you.” She smiled, holding the phone.

“So was I. I miss the hell out of you, babe.”

She unzipped her dress and walked the phone into the bedroom. It was so good to hear his voice in the room again. It was almost as though he were there. She could still feel his touch … still…. “I love you and miss you. A whole bunch.”

“Good. Want to come to Chicago this weekend?”

“I was praying you’d ask.”

He laughed gruffly into her ear and took a puff on one of the Cuban cigars. He gave her the number of the flight he wanted her on, blew her a kiss and hung up.

She slipped happily out of the dress, and stood smiling for a moment before getting ready for bed. What a marvelous man Lucas was. Edward had fled entirely from her mind. As had Whit, whose call was the first she got the next morning.

Chapter 15

“Kezia? Whitney.”

“Yes, darling. I know.” She knew a lot more than he did.

“What do you know?”

“I know that it’s you, silly. What time is it?”

“Past noon. Did I wake you?”

“Hardly. I just wondered.” So, it had run in the morning’s second edition. She had gotten up at the crack of dawn to phone it in.

I think we ought to have lunch.” He sounded very crisp and very businesslike, and very nervous.

“Right this minute? I’m not dressed.” It was rotten but she was amused. He was so easy to play with.

“No, no, when you’re ready, of course. La Grenouille at one?”

“How delightful. I wanted to call you anyway. I’ve decided to go to that wedding in Chicago this weekend. I really think I should go.”

“I think you probably should. And Kezia …”

“Yes, darling, what?”

“Have you seen the papers today?”

Obviously, darling. I wrote them. At least the part you mean…. “No. Why? Is the nation at war? Actually, you sound quite upset.”

“Read the Hallam column. You’ll understand.”

“Oh dear. Something nasty?”

“We’ll discuss it at lunch.”

“All right, darling, see you then.”

As he hung up, he chewed on a pencil. Christ, he hoped she’d be reasonable. It was really getting to be a bit too much. Armand wasn’t going to put up with much more of this nonsense. He had thrown the front section at Whitney at breakfast, along with a terrifying ultimatum. Above all Whit couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t. He loved him.

Once settled at their table at La Grenouille, their conversation was staccato but direct. Or rather, Whit’s was direct, and Kezia kept quiet. It was simply that he had gotten far too attached to her, felt far too possessive about her, and knew he had no right to. She had made that much clear. And how did that make him look? And what’s more, he had so little to offer her at this point in his life; he wasn’t even a partner in the firm, and in light of who she was … and it was all getting so painful for him … and did she understand his position at all? It was just that he knew she would never marry him, and while she would always be the love of his life, he simply had to get married and have children, and she wasn’t ready and … oh God, wasn’t it awful?

Kezia nodded mutely and gulped her Quenelles Nantua. What was a girl to do? And yes, she understood perfectly, and he was quite right of course, she was light-years away from marriage, and possibly because of the death of her parents and being an only child, she’d probably never marry, to preserve her name. And children were not something she could even faintly imagine anyway, and she felt just awful if she’d hurt him, but this was probably all for the best. For both of them. She granted him the kindness of being right. And they would always remain the “dearest friends alive.” Forever.

Whitney made a mental note to have Effie send her flowers once a week until she was ninety-seven. Thank God, she had taken it well. And hell, maybe he had had the right idea when he suspected she had something going with Edward. You never knew with Kezia, you only sensed that there was a lot more to her than she let on to, underneath all the poise and perfection. But who gave a damn? He was free! Free of all those intolerable evenings being the man on her arm. And naturally, to recover from the “terrible pain of it all,” he wouldn’t be seen socially for months … and he could finally live a life on Sutton Place with Armand. It was about time too. Armand had made that much clear over breakfast. After three years of waiting, he had had it. And now with Whitney humiliated in the newspapers … Hallam had made him sound like a puppy nipping at Kezia’s skirts, and maybe it was a good thing after all. He had finally done it. No more pretense, no more Kezia. Not for him.

* * *

Kezia walked away from La Grenouille with a spring in her step and wandered down Fifth Avenue to peek in the windows at Saks. She was going to Chicago … Chicago … Chicago! And she was finally free of Whit, and she had done it in the best possible way. Poor bastard, he had been ready to cry with relief. She almost hated to look so somber about it. She wanted to congratulate him and herself. What they should have been doing was clinking champagne glasses and shouting with glee, after all the years they’d wasted putting on a show for their friends, and hell, they weren’t even married. But they had been a good front for each other. A front. Thank God, she had never married him. Jesus. The very thought made her tremble.