M nodded. “Yes, of course I do, and they’re all marvelous, by the way.”
“What I’m getting at is that, on reflection, I do believe my mother should have been with him in Canada.”
“So why did she take the film?” M asked, a brow lifting.
“Money. It’s always about money with my parents. They have a big overhead, and Dad’s tried hard for years to put money away for us. I keep telling him to stop, that we can fend for ourselves, but he won’t listen.”
“Is he going to lend money to Edward?”
“I don’t know; it never seemed to get resolved when I was there. But I doubt it. Dad simply can’t spare it, I’m sure. I guess they made a deal about the play, though. Edward’s probably getting all the money, and Dad’ll take this loss just to get home to Mum.”
“To find out what’s going on with her?” M suggested pithily.
“That as well, yes, but mainly I think he’s motivated by his loneliness. He’s lost when he’s away from our bunch. His lot, as he calls us.”
“I can understand that,” M murmured. “I come from a large family myself.”
Larry sat back, his expression thoughtful. He said, very slowly, in a low voice, “The point of that whole story is this, M. I was so aggravated and nervous because of the rows, my father’s upset, and Edward’s lousy treatment of me, and in terrible pain with my teeth, I just kept popping pills. Unfortunately, I became hooked on them again.”
M sat up, stared at him blankly, frowning, wondering what he meant by “hooked on them again.” She didn’t dare ask, afraid of the answer. She held herself still, waiting.
Clearing his throat, Larry hurried on: “There’s something I must tell you. About five years ago I had pneumonia, and I became addicted to the prescription drugs I was given, especially anything containing codeine. My mother was the first to become aware of it, and she got me into a rehab clinic in London at once. I had eight weeks of treatment. There were some rumors about me being hooked on pills at the time, but Mum managed to keep the lid on the story. Fortunately, through a great PR woman, the rumor was soon well and truly squashed. I survived with hardly a blemish to my reputation, and went on to do some good work. I won a few awards and stayed clean. And I knew I must never touch prescription drugs ever again.”
“I see,” M murmured, then asked, “So why did you?”
“Truly it was the extreme pain with my teeth, and the horrendous aggravation Edward caused, his battering of me. I don’t blame my father at all. But Edward’s a menace.”
“Then you can’t go near him ever again. You must keep him at a distance.” Leaning closer, M continued in a steady voice, “You must go into a rehab clinic here, Larry. I honestly believe you need help, and so does Dr. Branden. He told James Cardigan he thinks you have an addictive personality, and obviously you do, in my opinion. You must get help.”
“Yes,” he said, throwing her an odd look, and quickly asked, “By the way, how did you find Matthew Branden? Through James?”
“That’s right. When I discovered you on Saturday, at lunchtime, and couldn’t rouse you, I didn’t know who to ask for help. I was afraid to call an ambulance because I knew your presence in a hospital would leak out, be perceived as a drug overdose, especially in view of your fame. But I was terrified you were going to die if I didn’t get assistance. I was really scared and at a loss. So I called James, asked him to bring a doctor, and he showed up with Dr. Branden, who’s his own doctor and a friend.”
“Thank you, M, thank you for saving my life.”
“I think we all saved it, Larry, in fact I’m sure of it. And that’s why it can’t happen again. Listen to me, heed what I say. What if you took prescription drugs again when you were alone? You might accidentally kill yourself. You must promise me that you’ll go into rehab. At once,” she said forcefully. She stared at him, her face set, her voice tough when she added, “I do mean this week. You must go and see Dr. Branden, and he’ll get you into the right place. Immediately.”
“The right place is Silver Hill in New Canaan. I’m sure he’ll arrange for me to go there.”
“Do you know it?”
“Only by reputation.”
“And you will go? Definitely? Do you promise?”
“Yes, I don’t want to die. I don’t ever want to get into that kind of mess again.” He took hold of her hand. “I promise you I’ll get myself cured, and as fast as possible. It’s the first of November on Wednesday. I’ll have the whole month to clean up. You see, I’d still like us to get married in December.” He smiled at her, but the smile slipped when he saw how unresponsive she was.
“You’re still angry with me, aren’t you?” Larry asked, continuing to stare at her.
“No, I’m not, in fact I was never angry with you, Larry, certainly not about the drug overdose, because that’s what it was,” she replied in a businesslike tone. “I was only angry, frustrated, and exasperated when you didn’t return my calls. Looking back, I can say that I was furious, and also hurt.”
“I should’ve called,” he murmured, filled with regret. “I tried, but there was always a row, or something erupting, or problems—”
“And late at night,” she exclaimed, interrupting, “when you were alone and could’ve called me, you didn’t because you were stoned, knocked out flat by the Vicodin, no doubt.”
Ignoring her sarcasm, he said, “Yes, you’re correct. I was. All I wanted, needed, was to sleep. Also, my teeth were troublesome.” He took a deep breath, unexpectedly changed the subject. “Anyway, I want to hear your news. I know the shoot went well, so what was the final result?”
She had to resist the temptation to say something nasty to him and instead remained silent, gazing at him through accusing eyes.
He saw the hurt in them, reached for her hand, edged closer to her, and said in a genuinely contrite voice, “I’m sorry, honestly I am. And I’m very delinquent. I’ve been so busy talking about myself and my problems with my brother and my father, I never even asked you about your news. Oh, M, I’m so sorry.”
“My news is that I’m about to become the New Face of Jean-Louis Tremont. He’s building half the haute couture spring-summer collection around me, and I have to be in Paris by the middle of December for my fittings. I’m planning to sign the contract later this week.”
“Hey, darling, this is wonderful news! Congratulations! He must have been thrilled with your pictures.”
M nodded, but she wasn’t prepared to give an inch at this moment. “Jean-Louis flew over to New York because Kate Morrell, who runs the American end of his business, was convinced I should be his ‘new face,’ as she calls it. It did go well, very well indeed. Luke took marvelous shots, and I guess I’m on my way.”
“I’m so happy for you, and very proud. So, can we get married before you leave for Paris? And can I come with you? It could be our honeymoon, couldn’t it? That would be wonderful . . . Christmas in Paris, together on our honeymoon. Oh, M, please don’t look so angry, please say yes.”
She sat staring at him, her face still cold, closed, thinking of the past week. At last she said in her quietest voice, “It was six days, Larry. I didn’t hear from you for six days. I called you every day, sometimes twice, and left messages, and not a word from you.”
Unexpectedly, against her volition, she burst into tears, all of her pent-up emotions coming to the fore . . . her frustration, anger, worry, and fear for his life converging and overwhelming her.
He brought her into his arms and soothed her, hating himself for what he had done, stupidly, unthinkingly. He was instantly filled with guilt and shame, and he was afraid . . . afraid of losing her, this wonderful, marvelous girl who had become his whole life. What a blasted fool he had been, letting Edward get to him. He should have just packed and left Toronto. Instead, he’d fallen off the wagon, as his mother called it, fallen into the role of victim once more, and he was appalled at himself.
M sobbed and sobbed as if her heart was breaking, and h
e didn’t know how to calm her down, so he just held her tightly, endeavoring to soothe her, promising her he would never let her down again, never hurt her in any way. And eventually there were no more tears to shed; she lay limp in his arms, still heaving. Eventually he lifted her face, looked into her eyes, and told her with absolute sincerity, “I give you my word I’ll see the doctor tomorrow. I’ll go into rehab at once. I’ll be clean for the rest of my life. I’m so sorry I did this to you, M. Please believe that.” He sighed deeply, then went on, “I should have told you about the problems I had five years ago. By not telling you I was lying by omission. And we mustn’t do that to each other. There must only be truth between us.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Only truth. And it’s all right, Larry, honestly. I do love you . . . with all my heart.”
Twenty-five
Her hands were wet, and the crystal glass slipped out of them. She watched it as it dropped to the floor; it appeared to be falling in slow motion. Stupid, M thought, I’m stupid to handle delicate objects with wet hands.
She reached for the towel, and as she did the starched cuff of her white shirt caught on the edges of the two plates balanced on the counter. They slid off the marble top and crashed down, joining the fragments of glass on the floor. She stared at the mess surrounding her feet, shaking her head, silently remonstrating with herself for being so clumsy.
Her head was spinning, and her eyes were narrow slits in her face, puffy from crying earlier, but she had been unable to hold the tears back any longer. Her emotions had been pressed down inside for days. Quite suddenly, a few hours ago, they had erupted like a volcano spewing out its lava.
M went and sat down at the kitchen table, wanting to calm herself. Her hands were shaking slightly, and she felt drained, as if everything had been sucked out of her. How unsettling the last few days had been. . . . She leaned back, closed her eyes, drifting for a few moments with her myriad thoughts.
Shattered crystal, shattered china . . . and a shattered man sitting in the library. Yes, Larry was shattered at this moment, but unlike the china and crystal, he was repairable, absolutely repairable, thank God. She was now going to take charge, look after him, get him well, make sure he was never exposed to his brother again. Edward was a bastard, vengeful and spiteful and a menace to be around. Larry was vulnerable and insecure. The perfect target for a rotten bully. Whatever it took, whatever she had to do, she would keep them apart.
Things broke, she thought, people could be broken, life itself was an easily breakable possession, wasn’t it? But not Larry’s life. She would make sure he mended it, whatever it cost her.
Rousing herself, she swept up the debris. Once she found a clear plastic bag, she emptied the shards of china and glass into it and added a piece of paper on which she had written “broken china.” After sealing the bag, she laid it on the floor to be put next to the garbage bin on the service landing later.
After washing and drying her hands, M took another crystal goblet out of the cabinet, filled it with Gatorade, and left the kitchen, heading for the library.
Larry was immersed in the film script his agent had sent him several weeks ago, more taken with it than ever. But when he heard her step, he lifted his head, his face lighting up at the sight of her. His darling M, his fiancée, the woman who made his life complete. How he loved her.
“I’m definitely going to do this film, darling. The more I reread it the more I like it. Love it, in fact. And it could have been written for me,” he told her, sounding excited. “So whilst you were busy chucking china around the kitchen, I phoned my agent and told her I was on. And, this will please you, I also called Dr. Branden’s office and made an appointment to see him tomorrow afternoon.”
“I’m glad you want to do the film, and genuinely relieved you’re going to see the doctor,” M answered, handed him the glass, and then explained, “Dr. Branden said you have to drink two or three glasses of this a day. Where’s the film being made?” She sat down on the sofa opposite him, settled back against the cushions.
“That’s another good thing about this project. We’ll be shooting in Paris, Versailles, and London.” A grin surfaced, and he raised a brow. “How do you like them there apples?”
M smiled for the first time in days. “I’m thrilled. I was just having visions of being separated from you for months on end.”
“Not on your life, my darling girl. You’re not going to get rid of me that quickly. By the way, we start shooting in Paris in March, finish in London two months later, and we’ll be doing postproduction there as well, London, I mean.” He drank the Gatorade, placed the glass on the end table.
“It works perfectly, doesn’t it?” she said.
Looking across at her, Larry smiled lovingly, and there was a hint of mischief in his blue eyes as he added, “And I am quite aware that I will, in short order, have a wife to support, so it’s back to work for me. I’ve had enough time off, actually.”
M sat back on the sofa and gave him a long, careful look, her mind working rapidly. Now was the time to tell him the truth. She was dreading it. Finally, after taking a deep breath, she began to speak. “Earlier this afternoon, you said that by not telling me about the problems you had with drugs five years ago, you lied to me by omission. I’m so sorry, Larry darling, but I’ve done the same thing to you, I’m afraid. I’ve lied to you.”
Sitting up straighter in the chair, he threw her a sharp look. “What exactly do you mean by that?” His eyes remained on her face.
Having plunged in, M knew she must be forthright and must get to the point at once. “I haven’t been honest with you, Larry. I’ve been hiding my true identity from you.”
“Have you now?” he said, a note of curiosity echoing in his voice. “I often thought there was something rather odd about you, and I also felt I knew you. I do, don’t I?”
She shook her head. “No, you don’t, not exactly. But you do know my brother.”
“I do?” He frowned, his puzzlement evident. “Who is he?”
She told him.
For a moment Larry seemed startled, then disbelieving, even nonplussed. Finally he nodded. “So I do know you then, don’t I?”
“No, you don’t,” she insisted. “We’ve never met actually.”
He sat studying her. “You’re correct, I don’t think we have been in each other’s company. And I remember something now. I did see a picture of you once, when you were much younger. At your brother’s apartment; he was giving a cocktail party. I asked him who you were, and he said his baby sister, and I made some idiotic remark like ‘When she grows up she’ll be some babe.’ ” Larry sat back, an amused smile flickering.
“My real name is Emma, but my nickname has always been Em. I simply used the single letter M.”
“Well, well, well, so that’s who you are. My goodness.” He suddenly chuckled. “No wonder you want to keep our marriage a secret. I can well imagine how your mother would take over if she knew our plans. And with her in combination with my mother, we’d be done for before we started,” he finished on a note of hilarity.
M laughed with him, happy and relieved that he had taken her news so well.
“Listen,” he said a moment later. “I’m curious about one thing. Why the duplicity? Why not use your real last name instead of Marsden?”
“I didn’t want the baggage that comes with my family. . . . I wanted to reinvent myself, be me and not part of that whole scenario of . . . well, their success . . . their celebrity and all that stuff.”
“I can understand that. I’ve had to cope with the same kind of thing. But here’s another question, Why did they allow it? I mean, let’s face it, a woman of twenty-three alone in New York . . . weren’t they worried about you?”
“I don’t think so, and if they were, they didn’t say anything. And I suppose because they know me inside out and upside down, and reared me, they do trust me, trust my judgment. And they understood that I needed to reinvent myself, that I wanted to do it on my
own terms, and they respected all those things.”
There was a little pause before M asked softly, “You’re not angry, are you? I mean because I didn’t tell you who I really was immediately.”
“No, I’m not, and actually I don’t care who your family is either. I’m marrying you, not them. But I’m glad about your brother because I admire him tremendously, he’s a fabulous guy.”
Rising, Larry went to sit next to her on the sofa and took hold of her hand. “My hat’s off to you, my darling, for doing it on your own. Alone. It’s your success, and nobody else’s, and I know what that must mean to you. But I do have one final question.”
“What is it?”
“Were you ever going to tell me the truth?”
“Of course I was, silly! I would have had to tell you when we got to City Hall, because our marriage wouldn’t have been legal if I’d used a false name.”
Putting his arms around her, he drew her close, nuzzled her neck, and whispered against her hair, “We’ve discussed a lot of things, you and I, but we’ve never talked about babies.”
“Babies,” she repeated, surprised, pulling back, staring up into his face.
“Yes, babies. Our babies, our children. You do want babies, don’t you?”
“Yes, and especially yours, but not yet. I’m just about to walk the walk, start my career as a model. Do you think we could wait for a couple of years?”
“Certainly. But I think we ought to get a bit of practice in, perfect our skills in the meantime.” He kissed her neck and whispered, “Let’s go to bed, M. I’ve missed you so much, and I do need to practice and practice and practice . . .”
She smiled and asked sotto voce, “Are you sure you’re up to it?”
“Can’t you tell?” he responded, gently pushing her down on the cushions, stretching out on top of her. He began to kiss her on the mouth as he opened the buttons of her shirt.
James Cardigan stood up as the maître d’ led Geo to his table at “21,” his favorite in the center of the long back wall, facing the entire room. Once she was seated next to him on the banquette, he kissed her cheek, murmured, “Hi, darling,” and then asked, “Where’s M? Isn’t she coming?”