Danielle Steel - Passion's Promise

“Going away.” But he didn’t dare ask where. And she didn’t volunteer the information. They were going back to Chicago.

“All right, all right. Dammit, Kezia, I’m sorry. It’s just that, in my mind, you will always be a child.”

“And I will always love you, and you will always worry too much. Over nothing.”

He had made her uncomfortable, though. After they hung up, she sat silently and wondered. Was she crazy to stop writing the column? At one time, it had been so important to her. But not anymore. But still … was she losing touch with who and what she was? In a way, she had done it for Luke. And for herself. Because she wanted to be free to move around with him, and besides, she had outgrown the column years ago.

But suddenly, she wanted to discuss it with Luke. He was gone for the day. She could call Alejandro, but she hated to bother him. It was a queasy feeling, like leaving the dock in the fog, headed for an unknown destination. But she had made her decision. She would live by it. Martin Hallam was dead. It was a simple decision really. The column was over.

She sat back at her desk and stretched, and decided to go for a walk. It was a gray November day, and there was a nip of winter in the air. It made her want to throw a long wool scarf around her neck and run to the park. She felt suddenly free of an old wearisome burden. The weight of Martin Hallam had finally slipped from her shoulders.

Kezia grabbed an old sheepskin jacket from her closet and slipped tall black custom-made boots under her carefully pressed jeans. She dug a small knitted red cap from the pocket of her jacket, and took a pair of gloves from a shelf. She felt new again now. A writer of anything she wanted, not a scavenger of social crumbs. A small smile hovered on her lips, and there was a mischievous gleam in her eye as she headed for the park, with long strides. What a marvelous day, and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. She thought about buying a picnic to eat in the park, but decided not to bother. Instead, she bought a small bag of hot roasted chestnuts from an old gnarled man pushing a steaming cart along Fifth Avenue. He grinned at her toothlessly and she waved at him over her shoulder as she walked away. He was sweet really. Everyone was. Everyone suddenly looked as new as she felt.

She was well into the park and halfway through the chestnuts when she looked ahead and saw the woman trip and fall on the curb. She had spun out into the street close to the clomping feet of an aging horse pulling a shabby hansom carriage through the park. The woman lay very still for a moment, and the driver of the carriage stood and pulled at the horse’s reins. The horse seemed not even to have noticed the bundle near his hoofs. She was wearing a dark fur coat and her hair was very blond. It was all Kezia could see. She frowned and quickened her pace, shoving the chestnuts into her pocket, and then breaking into a trot as the driver of the hansom jumped from his platform, still holding the reins. The woman stirred then, knelt and lurched forward, into the horse’s legs this time. The horse shied, and his owner pushed the woman away. She sat down heavily on the pavement then, but mercifully free of the horse’s legs at last.

“What the hell’sa matta wi’youse? Ya crazy?” His eyes bulged furiously as he continued to back his horse away and stare at the woman. Kezia could only see the back of her head, as she shook her head mutely. He mounted his platform then, and clucked his horse back into motion, with a last flick of his middle finger at the still-seated woman, and a “Stupid bitch!” His passengers were obscured beyond a scratched and smoky window in the carriage, and the ancient horse continued plodding, so used to his route that bombs could have shattered near his feet and he would have continued in the well-worn groove he had traveled for years.

Kezia saw the woman shake her head fuzzily and kneel slowly on the pavement She ran the last few steps then, wondering if the woman had been hurt, and what had caused her to fall. The dark fur coat was fanned out behind her now, and it was obvious that it was a long and rather splendid mink. Kezia heard a dry little cough from the woman just as she reached her, and then she saw her turn her head. What she saw made her stop, shocked by who it was and how stricken she looked. It was Tiffany, her face gaunt yet swollen, her eyes puffy, yet her cheeks were pulled inward, with painful lines near her eyes and mouth. It wasn’t yet noon, and she was already drunk.

“Tiffany?” Kezia knelt beside her and smoothed a hand over her hair. It was uncombed and disheveled and there was no makeup on the ravaged face. “Tiffie … it’s me. Kezia.”

“Hi.” Tiffany seemed to look somewhere past Kezia’s left ear, unknowing, unseeing, uncaring. “Where’s Uncle Kee?”

Uncle Kee. Jesus, she meant Kezia’s father. Uncle Kee. She hadn’t heard that in so long … Uncle Kee … Daddy …

“Tiffie, are you hurt?”

“Hurt?” She looked up vaguely, seeming not to understand.

“The horse, Tiff. Did it hurt your.”

“Horse?” She wore the smile of a child now, and seemed to understand. “Oh, horse. Oh, no, I ride all the time.” She stood up shakily then, and dusted off her hands and the front of her long black mink coat. Kezia looked down and saw torn gray stockings and one bruised black suede Gucci shoe. The coat gaped a little and Kezia caught a glimpse of a dressy black velvet skirt and a white satin shirt, with several rows of large gray and white pearls. It was no outfit to be roaming the park in, nor was it an outfit for that time of day. Kezia wondered if she’d been home the night before.

“Where are you going?”

“To the Lombards’. For dinner.” So that was where she’d been. Kezia had been invited there too, but had turned down the invitation weeks ago. The Lombards. But that had been last night. What had happened since?

“How about if I take you home?”

“To my house?” Tiffany looked suddenly wary.

“Sure.” Kezia tried to put an easy tone in her voice, while holding Tiffany up firmly by one elbow.

“No! Not my house! No….” She bolted from Kezia’s grip then and stumbled, and was instantly sick at Kezia’s feet and over her own black suede shoes. She sat down on the pavement again and began to cry, the black mink trailing sadly in her own bile.

Kezia felt hot tears burn her eyes as she reached down to her friend and tried to pull her up again.

“Come on, Tiffie … let’s go.”

“No … I … oh God, Kezia … please …” She clutched at Kezia’s denim-clad legs, and looked up at her with eyes torn by a thousand private demons. Kezia reached gently down to her and pulled her up again, as she saw a cab swoop around the bend from which the hansom cab had appeared only moments before. She held up a hand quickly and hailed it, and then pulled Tiffany closer. “No!” It was the anguished wail of a heartbroken child, and Kezia felt her friend trembling in her arms.

“Come on, we’ll go to my place.”

“I’m going to be sick.” She closed her eyes and sank toward Kezia again, as the cabbie darted out and threw open the door.

“No, you’re not. Let’s get in.” She managed to slide Tiffany onto the seat and gave the driver her own address as she rolled down both windows to give her friend air. It was then that she noticed that Tiffany wasn’t carrying a handbag.

“Tiffie? Did you have a bag?” The girl looked around blankly for a moment and then shrugged, letting her head fall back onto the seat as both eyes closed and the air rushed in over her face.

“So what?” The words were so low Kezia had barely heard her.

“Hm?”

“Handbag … so what?” She shrugged, and seemed almost to fall asleep, but a moment later, her hand blindly sought Kezia’s and gripped it tightly as two lone tears squeezed down her face. Kezia patted the thin cold hand and looked down with horror at the large pear-shaped emerald flanked by diamond baguettes. If someone had taken Tiffany’s handbag, he had missed the best part. The thought made Kezia shudder. Tiffany was ripe prey for anyone. “Walked … all … night….” The voice was almost a painful croak, and Kezia found herself wondering if it wasn’t more likely “drank” all night. It was obvious she hadn’t gone home after the Lombards.