It was a cold gray Saturday night in late February, and the only reason she could see the yard was because light flooded out from the brownstone’s windows, illuminating the bare branches of a tree and the garden wall. The scene was bereft, isolated, lonely, and it echoed the way she felt. She shivered slightly, and then an immense feeling of sadness enveloped her like a shroud, and she felt her throat tightening. For a moment she struggled with her emotions and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, pushing back the incipient tears. I won’t cry, I just won’t, she told herself. I’m going to be mature about this.
For the entire month Doug had been in Los Angeles, she had been mindful of his vagueness on the phone, his lack of interest in her and what she was doing, and his ill-concealed impatience, his need to say good-bye and hang up. She was far too smart not to suspect that he might well be having an affair. She wondered suddenly whether to come right out and ask him, but instantly changed her mind. Eventually he would open up to her, she felt sure of that, and for the moment she wanted to give him a bit of space.
Opening the refrigerator door, she took out a bottle of carbonated water and drank a glass of it before returning to the bedroom. Sitting down on a chair, she made idle conversation with Doug as he finished unpacking.
Once he had put his suitcase in the closet, he told her he had a few important and urgent business calls to make. Excusing himself with a faint smile, he went into his small study at the back of the apartment.
After an hour on and off the phone, he finally left the study and found her in the living room, where she was working at her desk. She glanced up as he appeared in the doorway and stood leaning against the doorjamb, looking carefree and nonchalant, as if he didn’t have a worry in the world.
“I’ve booked a table at Le Refuge,” he said, giving her his lopsided smile. “For nine o’clock. I’m going to shower and put on some fresh clothes. Okay, sweetie?”
She smiled back and nodded. “I’m surprised you got a table, especially on a Saturday night,” she replied. “But that’s great. And I’m more or less ready. I just have to put on some lipstick and brush my hair.”
“You look great, Laura,” he said, swung around, and walked down the hall.
Laura watched him go, thinking how great he looked. He was trim and fit, and his face was tan, as if he had been out in the sun a lot. Well, he had been in sunny California, hadn’t he? And apparently not always anchored to his desk, as he had frequently implied. Tall, dark, and handsome … that was the way Claire had described him in Paris in December, and he was … this was the very phrase that had popped into her mind the first time she had met him.
They walked to the restaurant. It was on East Eighty-second Street, just off Lexington Avenue, not far from their apartment on Eightieth Street and Park Avenue. The evening was pleasant, not too cold, with a bright silver orb of a moon riding high in the black sky.
“Just look at that moon, Laura,” Doug said, glancing up. “It’s a truly full moon, perfect! Well, all the loonies will be out tonight, you can bet on that.”
Laura did not respond. Instead, she tucked her arm through his, trying to stay in step with him; he always took such long strides. She was about to tell him she was glad he was home, but instantly she choked back the words. It was too late. In the way that a woman senses these things, she felt she had lost Doug, at least a large part of him. He had started to change last spring, almost a year ago now, and he was a much different man from the one she had married six years before. This year would be their seventh anniversary, but somehow she didn’t think they would be celebrating it. One thing she was certain of though. Whatever happened between them from this day on, they would always be good friends, and she would always love Doug.
Le Refuge was a charming little French bistro, and it was a favorite of theirs; Laura was pleased Doug had chosen it. As he pushed open the door and escorted her inside, they were greeted by a rush of warm air and the fragrant smells of delicious food cooking, the low-key chatter of the other diners, the bustle of the busy waiters as they hurried about.
After they had shed their coats and been shown to a cozy corner table, Doug sat back in his chair and looked at her. “Champagne? Kir royale? White wine? What would you like?”
“I think a glass of white wine, please, Doug,” Laura answered, glancing around the restaurant before settling into the chair.
“I’ll have the same, I guess,” he murmured, and motioned to the waiter. Once he had ordered, Doug went on. “So tell me more about your new clients. You’re getting to be a regular tycoon in the art world, or so it seems to me.”
“You know all about Olivia Gardener in Palm Beach, since we signed her in November, but now we also have this lovely woman, Sandra Newsam. Hercule’s doing her house in Southampton. She’s recently widowed, and although she won’t be spending millions on art, she’s going to be a good, steady client, worthwhile, I can tell that. And certainly she’ll be nice to work with. But the plum, of course, is Sir Maximilian West.”
Doug nodded. “I know. I was impressed when you told me he was considering you. So he took you on, did he?”
“We signed the contract yesterday,” Laura answered, realizing he’d paid far more attention to her on the phone than she’d thought. “I’m going to reorganize his art collection in London. I’ll be weeding out a lot of paintings, getting rid of some, buying new ones. It’ll be exciting.”
“It sounds like it. Alison must be really thrilled.”
“She is, and we’ve agreed that she’ll run the office and do most of the paperwork with Joni and Lynne. I’ll be on the outside more, seeing clients, tracking down appropriate art, and traveling whenever it’s necessary.”
“That’ll please Tony, he never did want her to move around much. He likes her joined to his hip.”
“That’s true. But it suits me this way, Doug. I much prefer to deal directly with the clients, as you well know. The main thing is, Alison’s happy with the way we’ve worked it out, and so am I.”
“I understand. And Hercule’s turned out to be a really wonderful business contact for you, hasn’t he? Quite aside from being a good friend.”
“Very much so, and he’s such a lovely person, thoughtful and caring.”
The waiter placed their drinks before them; after clinking glasses they both took a sip, and Laura continued. “I was literally bowled over when Hercule told me he’d recommended me to Sir Maxim. Having him as a client is a real feather in my cap, and it’s good for Art Acquisitions.”
“I should say.” Doug glanced at her quickly and remarked, “His fame precedes him. What’s he like? Really like, I mean?”
“Down to earth, pleasant, practical. But charismatic, a genuine presence. And he’s suave, charming, extremely good-looking. Tall, dark, and handsome too, just like you, although he’s older, somewhere in his early sixties, I would think. And he happens to be the best-dressed man I’ve ever met. Impeccable.”
“That’s quite a profile you’ve given him,” Doug said, and laughed. “He’s got a helluva reputation as a businessman … tough negotiator, inspired deal maker, and all that. He used to be a fierce corporate raider in the seventies and eighties, and a very successful one. But I think his son is running the company these days, isn’t he?”
“Not exactly. Hercule told me Michael does have a great deal of power, but Sir Maxim hasn’t retired yet. They’re running the business empire together, I believe.”
“Some team that is,” Doug murmured, and took a swallow of wine. They both accepted menus from the waiter, and Doug asked, “Do you know what you want?”
Laura shrugged and studied the menu carefully.
Doug studied her, an amused expression suddenly lighting up his green eyes. “I bet I can guess. You’re going to order country pâté with cornichons, lots of extra ones on the side, and then grilled sole to be followed by créme caramel. Your usual.”
“That’s right,” she replied, and grinned at his knowing expression. “I guess I?
??m very predictable.”
“When it comes to the restaurants you know well.” Stifling his laughter, Doug motioned to the waiter and ordered their food, then asked for a wine list. Once he had perused this attentively for a moment or two, he summoned the waiter, told him which wine he preferred, then turned to Laura once again. “Robin and Karen have broken up, broken off their engagement,” he said.
Laura was startled, and she sat up straighter in the chair, staring at him. Her surprise showed on her face as she exclaimed, “My God! When did that happen?”
“About a week ago, but I was so harassed with the Aaronson merger, I forgot to tell you. It had slipped my mind.”
“What happened, Doug? I thought they were very much in love, and happy together. Certainly they were well suited. Or so it seemed to me.”
“What happened?” Doug shrugged, shook his head. “I don’t exactly know, Laura. Robin called me in Los Angeles and told me it was off, that Karen had ditched him. She apparently announced it was finished one night over dinner, and the next day she sent the engagement ring back by bonded messenger. Can you believe it, she didn’t even give it to him personally.”
Laura was still somewhat flabbergasted at his announcement of the breakup, and she took a few moments to absorb his words. At last she remarked, “I suppose she didn’t want to face Robin a second time. At least she did return the ring, which is more than some women would have done.”
“That’s true,” he responded, and shook his head. “I have to admit, Laura, I was as taken aback as you’re looking right now.”
Laura was silent for a moment or two, her expression thoughtful. Then she said slowly, “If Karen thinks it’s not right, then it’s better they break it off now. At least this way they won’t have to go through a divorce later.”
Doug gave her an odd look, opened his mouth to say something. But at this precise moment the waiter arrived with their first course. He let the moment pass.
Back at the apartment several hours later, Doug went into the living room, poured two brandies, and held one of the crystal balloons out to Laura. “Come on, let’s have a nightcap.”
Although Laura was not a big drinker, she did not even hesitate as she might have in the past. “All right,” she said, walking into the room, taking the glass of cognac from him. “Why not? We haven’t seen each other for almost a month, we’ve a lot to catch up on.”
“Mmmm” was his only comment before he let his eyes wander around their living room. “You know, you really did a wonderful job with this room, Laura. It still looks great, and I’m impressed all over again when I come back after being away.”
Laura followed his gaze, her own eyes scanning everything more objectively than usual. They took in the pale cream walls and cream silk draperies, the matching cream sofas and chairs, the Art Deco wood pieces with their touches of black, the old Aubusson rug on the floor. It was a restful ambience, and her only regret was that their art was not better. The paintings were good, and she liked them, but they were not her favorite French Impressionists; but only her clients could afford those, which ran into the millions.
Finally Laura said, “Yes, the room did hold up well, Doug. The scheme is so classic, I guess it’ll never date.” She lowered herself onto the cream sofa and placed her glass on the Art Deco coffee table, being careful to place it on top of a book and not on the wood.
Leaning back into the cushions, she thought: This is as good a time as any to talk to him. Suddenly she was very determined to bring their problems out into the open. Very simply, she knew she had to clear the air; she must know where she stood with him. She couldn’t go on any longer in this way. It was far too nerve-racking, upsetting.
Doug took the chair near the fireplace, and, almost as if he had read her mind he said carefully, “There’re a few things I’d like to talk to you about, Laura. I should have mentioned them before, but it’s always difficult on the phone, and anyway, I have been so pushed with work.”
“I know. And we should talk, Doug. I feel you’ve been very distant, and certainly not too forthcoming.” She shook her head and made a moue with her mouth, adding, “I had the feeling you were calling me only out of a sense of duty.”
“Oh, come on, Laura, you know better than that!”
“I’m not stupid, Doug. Whenever you’ve phoned in the last few weeks, you couldn’t wait to say good-bye and get off.”
“Mostly because of pressure. The Aaronson merger has been, and still is, very complicated. And it’s still not finished.”
“So you’ve got to go back to L.A.? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Yes, I do have to go back. To finish the merger.” Lifting his brandy balloon, he sniffed the Courvoisier, took a small swallow, then sat nursing the glass between his hands, staring down into the amber-colored liquid. When he lifted his head, he focused his eyes on her and said, “I’ve had an offer, a very big offer. To go to another law firm.”
Although Laura was surprised, she smiled and exclaimed, “But that’s wonderful, Doug! I’m so pleased for you. Which law firm?”
He hesitated fractionally before saying, “It’s a Los Angeles firm, Laura.”
“Oh.” She sat back, staring at him. So it’s not an affair after all, she thought. It’s business that’s been preoccupying him. Frowning, she asked swiftly, “Does that mean you have to move to Los Angeles? Or would you be at their New York office? If they have one, that is.”
“They do have one, yes, but they want me in Los Angeles.”
“I see. Which law firm is it?”
“Arnold, Matthews, and McCall, they’re very prestigious. And they’ve offered me a partnership. It’s really a big deal, big for me, I mean.”
She was silent for several seconds, her eyes riveted on him, and then she said, “You’ve accepted it, haven’t you?”
Doug did not answer at first. He returned her penetrating stare and cleared his throat several times. At last he murmured, “Not exactly. I’ve indicated I want to take it, but I haven’t actually accepted it. Not formally.”
“Oh, Doug …” Laura began, and then let her voice trail off. She took a sip of the cognac and stared at a painting on the far wall. Finally, with a heavy sigh, she went on. “You’re splitting hairs. You know you want the job and that you’re going to take it. Come on, it’s me you’re talking to.”
Doug bit his lip, looking slightly shamefaced, and then he leaned closer to her, reached out, took hold of her hand. “I guess you do know me better than anyone, Laura.”
She nodded. “I think so. Well, as much as we can ever know another person.” There was a slight hesitation on her part, and then she said softly, “But I haven’t known you at all lately, Doug. You’re almost like a stranger to me, in some ways.”
He nodded. “I haven’t known myself at times, Laura, I must admit. I think I’ve changed a great deal in the last few months.”
“The past year,” she corrected him. “It all started last spring.”
Letting go of her hand, he sat back in the chair, then leaned forward jerkily and picked up the glass of brandy. After a deep swallow that made him cough for a moment, he said, “Did it really start then? The change in me, I mean?”
“I believe so, Doug. Look, I’ve given a great deal of thought to it while you’ve been in Los Angeles, and it was then. It became more pronounced around Christmas, even Grandma Megan noticed and commented to me.”
“She did?” He sounded startled, and concern flooded his face.
“Oh, yes, she doesn’t miss a trick, you should know that by now. Anyway, she said you didn’t seem to be there, that you were distracted, she even said she thought you wished you were somewhere else.” Laura leaned closer and stared into her husband’s face. Very pointedly, she added, “Did you wish you were in another place? With another person perhaps? With another woman?”
He shook his head vehemently. “No, I certainly didn’t want to be anywhere else. Or with anyone else. But I wasn’t the same anymor
e. I felt … ill at ease with myself over Christmas. And I have ever since. The feeling doesn’t go away. Except that I’ve been too busy working to dwell on it much.”
“I knew it,” she said quietly. “I just knew you were … different … another person, not you.”
Laura flopped back against the cushions and closed her eyes. When she opened them a moment later, she focused on him intently and said, “The marriage isn’t right these days, is it, Doug?”
Staring at her, staring into those vividly blue eyes, so blue they were almost blinding, Doug felt himself choking up. His throat tightened to such an extent, he couldn’t, for a moment, speak at all. He loved her, he would miss her, but it had to be, this end to their marriage.
He got up and went to sit on the sofa, reached for her blindly, tears dimming his vision. Clinging to her tightly, he endeavored to take hold of himself. He was shaken, and much more than he had expected to be. Doug had accepted days before that this kind of discussion would take place with Laura once he was home, and he hadn’t relished it. But he had not realized how upset he would be.
Eventually, when he had full control, Doug pulled away from her slightly, and looked deeply into her eyes once more. “I love you, but it doesn’t work anymore, our marriage.”
“I know. I think I’ve known that since Christmas,” Laura answered. “I just haven’t really wanted to admit it, I suppose.”
Doug pulled her into his arms again, and she clung to him. Against his cheek she said softly, “You can be honest with me, Doug. Are you having an affair? Is there another woman?”
“No, there isn’t, absolutely not. I’m telling you the truth. There is no other woman in my life.”
“Then what happened to us, to our marriage?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Is it because … we haven’t had children?”