Danielle Steel - Passion's Promise

He walked to the bar and poured himself a long tall bourbon in a water glass. No water, no soda, no ice, and swallowed it without putting the glass down. And then, as though he had to know, he took three long strides to the door of his suite and yanked it open with a jerk that should have pulled it off its hinges, but didn’t. It shuddered briefly in his hand, and he stood there, and so did the man in the corner. He looked shocked to see Luke, and had jumped when the door opened. He was wearing a hat, and walked down the corridor trying to look like a man going somewhere, but he wasn’t. He looked every inch what he was, a cop on an assignment. The tail on Luke Johns.

Kezia’s feet felt like lead as she stepped into the cab. The meeting was being held on upper Fifth Avenue. With a view of the park. At Tiffany’s apartment. Three floors on Ninety-second and Fifth. And bourbon or scotch. No mickey-mousing around with lemonade or sherry at her place. There would also be gin and vodka for those who preferred that. At home, Tiffany stuck to Black Label.

She was standing near the door when Kezia arrived, with a double scotch on the rocks in one hand.

“Kezia! How divine! You look fabulous, and we were just getting started. You haven’t missed anything!” That was for sure.

“Goodie.” Tiffany was too far gone to notice the tone of Kezia’s voice or the blurry look around her eyes where her mascara had run when she’d cried. The day had taken its toll.

“Bourbon or scotch?”

“Both.”

Tiffany looked momentarily baffled. She was already drunk, and had been since noon.

“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to confuse you. Make it scotch and soda, but don’t bother. I’ll make it myself.” Kezia strode to the bar, and for this rare occasion she matched Tiffany drink for drink. It was the second time she had gotten drunk because of Luke, but at least the last time she’d been happy.

Chapter 16

“Kezia?” It was Edward.

“Hi, love. What’s new?”

“That’s what I wanted to ask you. Do you realize that I haven’t seen or heard from you in almost three weeks?”

“Don’t feel alone. No one has. I’ve been hibernating.” She was munching on an apple as she talked to him, with her feet on the desk.

“Are you ill?”

“No. Just busy.”

“Writing?”

“Yup.”

“I haven’t seen you anywhere. I was beginning to worry.”

“Well, don’t. I’ve been fine. I’ve been out a couple of times, just to keep my hand in the game for the column. But my ‘appearances’ have been brief and sporadic, I’m sticking pretty close to home.”

“Any particular reason?” He was probing again, and she continued to munch on her apple noncommittally.

“No particular reason. Just work. And I wasn’t in the mood to go out more than I absolutely had to.”

“Afraid to run into Whit?”

“No … well … maybe a little. I was more afraid to run into all the local big mouths. But actually, I’ve just been snowed under with work. I’m doing three articles, all with deadlines next week.”

“I’m glad you’re all right then. Actually, my dear, I was wondering if you wanted to have lunch.”

She made a face and put down the apple core. Shit “Well, love, I’ll tell you …” Then she started to laugh. “Okay. I’ll have lunch with you. But not at any of the usual spots.”

“My God, I do believe the girl’s becoming a recluse.” He laughed back but there was still a hint of worry in his voice. “Kezia, are you sure you’re all right?”

“Wonderful. Honest.” But she’d have been a lot happier if she could have seen Luke. They were still burning the long distance wires twice a day, but be couldn’t have her around. There was still too much happening. So she had been burying herself in her work.

“All right Then where do you want to have lunch?”

“I know a nice natural foods bar on East Sixty-third. How does that sound to you?”

“You want the truth?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Repulsive.”

She laughed at the sound of his voice. “Be a sport, darling. You’ll love it.”

“For you, Kezia … even a natural foods bar. But tell me the truth, is it dreadful?”

“What if it is! You order a baggie from Lutèce and bring it along.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Then give this a try. It’s really not bad.”

“Ahhh … youth.”

They agreed to meet at twelve-thirty, and she was already there when he arrived. He looked around, and it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. The people at the small wooden tables were a healthy mix of midtown Eastsiders. Secretaries, art directors, hippies, pretty girls in blue jeans with portfolios at their sides, boys in flannel shirts and shoulder-length hair, and here and there a man in a suit. Neither he nor Kezia stood out in their midst, and he was relieved. It was certainly not La Grenouille, but thank God it wasn’t Horn & Hardart’s either … not that there was anything wrong with their food … but the people. The people! They just weren’t Edward’s style. And one never knew what Kezia had up her sleeve. The girl had a fiendish sense of humor.

She was sitting at a corner table when he approached, and he could see that she was wearing jeans. He smiled a long smile into her eyes and he leaned down to kiss her when he got to the table.

“I have missed you so, child.” He never realized quite how much until he saw her again. It was the same feeling he got every year at their first lunch after the summer. It had been almost a month this time too.

“I’ve missed you too, love. Hell, I haven’t seen you in ages. And it’s almost Halloween.” She giggled mischievously and he searched her face as he settled into a chair. There was something different about her eyes … that same something different he had noticed the last time he’d seen her. And she was suddenly thinner.

“You’ve lost weight.” It was a fatherly accusation.

“Yes, but not very much. I eat funny when I write.”

“You ought to make it a point to eat well.”

“At Le Mistral perhaps? Or is it healthier to feed one’s face at La Cote Basque?” She was teasing him again, not unkindly, but nevertheless with a new vehemence.

“Kezia, child, you’re really too old to consider becoming a hippie.” He was teasing her back. But not entirely.

“You’re absolutely right, darling. I wouldn’t even consider it. Just a hard-working slave to my typewriter. I suddenly feel as though I’ve come into my own with my work. It’s a beautiful feeling.”

He nodded silently and lit a cigar. He wondered if that’s what it was. Maybe she would eventually simply retire into her work. At least it was respectable. But it didn’t seem likely. And he was still troubled by the subtle alterations he sensed, but couldn’t quite see. He could see that she was thinner, more angular, more intense. And she spoke differently now, as though she had finally taken her place in her beliefs, in her work. But the change went deeper than that. Much deeper. He knew it.

“Do they serve anything to drink in this place?” He looked mournfully at the menu chalked up on a board on the wall. There was no mention of cocktails, only carrot or clam juice. His stomach rebelled at the thought.

“Oh, Edward, I didn’t even think of a drink for you. I am sorry!” Her eyes were laughing again and she patted his hand. “You know, I’ve really missed you too. But I’ve needed to be left alone.”

“I’d say it had done you good, but I’m not entirely sure of that either. You look as though you’ve been working too hard.” She nodded slowly.

“Yes. I have. I want to get into it now. And you know, it’s becoming a strain to get out that damn column. Maybe I ought to retire.” Here, she felt no qualms about discussing the doings of Martin Hallam. No one would have cared.