Danielle Steel - Malice

And by that afternoon she'd seen a copy of the release, and there was no denying that she had signed it. The handwriting was shaky, and the forms a little loose, but even to her own eyes, she recognized the signature. She couldn't believe it. He had obviously made her do it when she was barely conscious.

Matthew's party was subdued, everyone had either heard about or seen the tabloids. All the parents who dropped their children off gave Grace strange looks, or at least she thought so. Charles was on hand to greet them too, but the two of them had barely spoken since the night before, and he had spent the night in their guest room. He needed time to think, and to absorb what had happened.

They had talked to the children about the photographs that morning. Matthew didn't really understand what they were about, but Abigail and Andrew did. Andrew looked agonized, and Abigail had burst into tears again. She couldn't believe all that her mother had put them through. How could she do it?

“How can you lecture us about the way we behave, about morality, and not sleeping with boys, when you did things like that? I suppose you were forced to do it, just like your father forced you? Who forced you this time, Mom?” Grace had lost control this time, and she had slapped Abigail across the face, and then apologized profusely. But she just couldn't take it anymore. She was tired of the lies, and the price they ail had paid.

“I never did that, Abigail. Not knowingly, at least. I was drugged and tricked by a photographer in Chicago when I was very young and stupid. But to the best of my knowledge, I never posed for that picture.”

“Yeah, sure.” But it was all more than Grace could take. She didn't discuss it with them any further. And half an hour later, Abigail left to spend the evening with a friend, and Andrew went out with his new girlfriend.

Matthew enjoyed his party anyway, and Grace cooked dinner for him afterwards. Abby called to say she was spending the night with her friend, and Grace didn't argue with her. And Andrew came in at nine, but didn't disturb them.

Charles was in the library working again, and Grace knew what she had to do. When Charles came into their bedroom to get some papers, he pretended not to be concerned, but he was startied to see her packing a suitcase.

“What's that all about?” Charles asked casually.

“I figure you've been through enough, and rightfully so,” she said quietly, with her back to him. She was packing two big suitcases and he was suddenly worried. He had been hard on her, but he had a right to be upset. Anyone would have been shocked. But he was willing to let her past die quietly behind them. He hadn't told her that yet, but he was slowly coming around. Some things were harder than others. He just needed some time to himself to absorb it. He thought that she'd understand that, but apparently, she didn't.

“Where is it you're going?” he asked quietly.

“I don't know. New York, I think.”

“To look for a job?” He smiled, but she didn't see him.

“Yeah, as a porno queen. I've got a great portfolio now.”

“Come on, Grace,” he moved closer to her, “don't be silly.”

“Silly?” She turned on him. “You think that's what this is? You think having stuff like that out is silly? You think it's silly to destroy your husband's career and get to the point that your children hate you?”

“They don't hate you. They don't understand. None of us does. It's hard to understand why anyone wants to hurt you.”

“They just do. They've done it all my life. I should be used to it by now. It's no big deal. And don't worry, without me, you should win the election.” She sounded hurt and angry and defeated.

“That's not as important to me as you are,” he said gently.

“Bullshit,” she said, sounding hard. But at that moment she hated herself for everything she'd done to him, for ever loving him, or thinking that she could leave the past behind her. She couldn't leave anything behind. It had all come with her, like clanking tin cans tied to her tail, and they reeked of all that was rotten.

Charles went back downstairs again, thinking that she needed to be alone, and they both spent a lonely night in their separate quarters.

She made breakfast for him and Andrew and Matt the next day, and Charles made a point of telling her again not to go anywhere. He was referring to the night before and the suitcase, but she pretended not to understand, in front of the boys. And then they all left. Charles had a lot of important meetings, and press fires to put out, and he never had time to call her till noon, and when he did there was no answer.

Grace was long gone by then. She had written to each of them the night before, sitting up in bed, crying over the words until her tears blurred her eyes and she had to start again and again, just to tell them how much she loved them and how sorry she was for all the pain that she had caused them. She told them each to take care of Dad, and be good to him. The hardest one to write was to Matt. He was still too young. He probably wouldn't understand why she had left him. She was doing it for them. She was the bait that had brought the sharks, now she had to get as far away from them as possible, so no one would hurt them. She was going to New York for a few days, just to catch her breath, and she left the letters for Charles to give them.

And after New York, she thought she'd go to L.A. She could find a job, until the baby came. She would give it to Charles then … or maybe he'd let her keep it. She was upset and confused and sobbing when she left. The housekeeper saw her go, and heard her wrenching sobs in the garage, but she was afraid to go to her and intrude. She knew what she was crying about or so she thought. She'd cried herself when she'd seen the tabloids.

But Grace didn't take the car. She had called a cab, and waited for it outside the house with her bags. The housekeeper saw the cab pull away, but she wasn't sure who was inside. She thought Grace was still in the garage, getting ready to do some errands before she picked up Matthew. In fact, she had called a friend to pick him up, and she had left a long, agonizing letter for Charles in their bedroom, with the ones for her children.

The cabdriver drove as fast as he could to Dulles Airport, chatting all the while. He was from Iran, and he told her how happy he was in the United States, and that his wife was having a baby. He talked incessantly and Grace didn't bother to listen to him. She felt sick when she saw that he had the picture of her on the cover of Thrill on the front seat of the cab, and he was looking over his shoulder to talk to her, when he ran right into another cab, and then was rear-ended hard, by two cars behind him. It took them more than half an hour to get unsnarled. The highway patrol came, no one appeared to be hurt, so all they had to do was exchange all their numbers, driver's licenses, and the names of their insurance carriers. To Grace, it seemed endless. But she had nowhere to go anyway. She was taking a commuter flight, and she could always catch the next one.

“You all right?” The driver looked worried. He was terrified that somebody would complain to his boss, but she promised she wouldn't. “Hey,” he said, pointing to Thrill as she felt panic rise in her throat, “you look like her!” He meant it as a compliment, but Grace didn't look pleased. “She's a pretty girl, huh? Pretty woman!” He gazed admiringly at the photograph that was supposed to be Grace but somehow didn't seem right whenever she looked at it, “she's married to a congressman,” he continued. “Lucky guy!” Was that how people looked at it, she wondered. Lucky guy? Too bad Charles didn't think so, but who could blame him?