Danielle Steel - Bittersweet

“London for a week is not Da Nang for six months, or Cambodia for a year. That's very different.”

“Eventually, you'll work up to that, India. It's only a matter of time, I'm sure.” He was being incredibly nasty to her.

“No, it isn't. I'm very clear on what I'm willing to do.”

“Really, and what is that? Maybe you should tell me.

“Just an occasional assignment like this,” she said simply.

“It's all about your vanity, isn't it? And your ego. It's not enough to be here and take care of your children. You need to go out in the world and show off.” He made it sound like she was a stripper.

“I love what I do, Doug. And I love you, and the children. They're not mutually exclusive.”

“They might be. That's not entirely clear yet.” There was an obvious threat in what he was saying, and the way he said it made her angry. She was tired from her trip. It was two o'clock in the morning for her, and Doug had been rotten to her from the moment he saw her.

“What does that mean? Are you threatening me?” She was getting angry too as she listened to him.

“You knew the potential risk when you walked out on us on Thanksgiving.”

“I didn't ‘walk out on you,’ Doug. I made Thanks-giving dinner the night before I left, and the kids were fine with it.”

“Well, I wasn't, and you knew that.”

“It's not always about you, Doug.” That was what had changed between them. At least some of it had to be about her now. “Why can't you just let this go? I did it. The kids are fine. We survived it. It was a week out of our lives, and it was good for me. Can't you see that?” She was still struggling to make him hear her. But even if he heard, her happiness was of no interest to him.

“What I see is a lifestyle that doesn't suit me. That's the problem, India.” She saw, as she listened to him, that it was about controlling her. He was angry at what he saw as her insubordination and treason. But she didn't want to be controlled by him. She wanted him to love her. And she was beginning to think he didn't. She had thought that for a while now.

“I'm sorry you have to make this such a big deal. It doesn't have to be. Why not just live with it for a while and see what happens? If it gets too complicated, if it's too hard on the kids, if we really can't live with it, then let's talk about it.” She tried to reason with him but he didn't answer. What she had suggested was rational, but he wasn't. Without saying another word to her, he picked up a magazine and started reading, and that was the end of the conversation. She had been dismissed. As far as Doug was concerned, it wasn't even worth discussing it with her.

She unpacked her suitcase, went to bed, and wished she could have called Paul. But there was no way she could, and by then it was five o'clock in the morning for him, wherever he was, in Sicily, or Corsica, or beginning to make his way to Venice. He seemed part of another lifetime, a distant dream that would never be a reality for her. He was a voice on the phone. And Doug was what she had to contend with, and live with.

She took Sam to soccer the next day, and she and Doug successfully avoided speaking to each other for the rest of the weekend. She saw Gail, who talked about her Christmas shopping. And after India dropped Sam off, she took her film to Raoul Lopez in the city. They went to lunch and she filled him in on all the details. He was particularly excited about her second story, and knew it was explosive material. And on her way back from the city at four o'clock, she pulled out of the traffic and stopped at a gas station. She knew the Satcom number by heart, and had purchased twenty dollars in quarters at the airport the day before, for an opportunity like this one.

A British voice answered briskly at the other end. “Good evening, Sea Star.” She recognized him now as the chief steward, said hello to him, and asked for Paul. It was ten o'clock at night, and she suspected he was probably in his cabin, reading.

Paul came on the line very quickly, and sounded happy to hear her. “Hi, India. Where are you?”

She laughed before she answered as she looked around her. “Freezing to death in a pay phone at a gas station, on my way back to Westport. I had to drop off my film in the city.” It had just started snowing.

“Is everything all right?” He sounded worried.

“More or less. The kids are fine. I don't think they even missed me.” But it was so different for them than it had been for her as a child. She had been all alone with her mother. They had each other, and a happy stable life that she had carefully provided for them. “Doug hasn't spoken to me since I got home, except to tell me how rotten I was for going. Not much has changed here.” Nor would it, she was realizing. This barren landscape was her life now.

“How are the pictures?” He was always excited about her work, particularly about the stories she'd just done in London.

“I don't know yet. They didn't want me to develop them myself. Big magazines do their own lab work and editing. I'm out of the loop now.”

“When will they be out?”

“The wedding in a few days. Raoul has sold the prostitution ring photos to an international syndicate so it will be later in the month. How are you?” Her feet were getting numb in the cold, and her hand felt as though it were frozen to the phone, but she didn't care. She was happy to hear him. It was a warm, friendly voice in the darkness of her life at the moment.

“I'm fine. I was beginning to think you weren't going to call, and I was getting worried.” He had fantasized a warm, romantic reunion with her husband when she got home, and he was a little startled to realize that the thought of it unnerved him.

“I haven't stopped since I got back. I took Sam to soccer this morning, and I had to go into the city. Tonight, I'm taking the kids to the movies.” It was something to do while Doug ignored her. It would have been so much nicer to have dinner with him and tell him all about London, but there was no chance of that now. Instead she was calling Paul from a phone booth, just to have a sympathetic adult to talk to. “Where are you?”

“We just left Corsica, and we're heading south to the Straits of Messina, on our way back up to Venice.”

“I wish I were there with you,” she said, and meant it, and then wondered how it sounded. But it sounded good to him too. They would have talked all night, and played liar's dice, listened to music, and sailed all day. It was a lovely fantasy for both of them, but there were parts of it neither of them had come to terms with.

“I wish you were here too,” he said, sounding husky.

“Did you sleep all right last night?” Knowing of his trouble with that now, it was a question she always asked him, and it touched him.

“More or less.”

“Bad dreams again?” His survivor guilt haunted him, and his visions of Serena.

“Yeah, sort of.”

“Try warm milk.”

“I'd rather try sleeping pills, if I had some.” It was beginning to upset him. His nights had become one long restless battle, particularly lately.

“Don't do that. Try a warm bath, or go up on the bridge and sail for a while.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he teased her, happier than he wanted to be to hear her. “Are you freezing, India?” His voice sounded sexy and gentle.

“Yes,” she laughed, “but it's worth it.” There was something very odd about doing something so clandestine, and she hated to be so sneaky. But it was great to hear him, and she reminded herself as she listened to him, that their conversations were harmless. “It's snowing. I can't even think about the fact that Christmas is in four weeks. I haven't done anything about it.” And as soon as she said it, she was sorry. She knew Christmas would be an agony for him this year. He wasn't going to Saint Moritz, as he had every year with Serena.