Thorne's Wife

by Joan Hohl

  When at last the phone did ring, Val jumped, startled by the sound she had waited all day to hear. Running to the instrument, she snatched the receiver from its cradle.

  “Hello. Jonas?” she blurted out.

  “Yes, love,” Jonas replied, in a steady voice. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine,” Val lied. “How are you?”

  “Bushed,” he replied with a tired laugh. “It’s been a very long day.”

  “How was the flight?”

  “Uneventful. Mary Beth, Marge and Jean-Paul slept through most of it.”

  “But not you.” It wasn’t a question; Val knew her husband. “You should have.”

  “I dozed a little.”

  As I did. Val didn’t offer that information. “I’m glad Mary Beth got some rest. I was concerned.”

  “So was I,” he admitted. “But she’s okay now that she’s seen her mother.”

  Val shivered. “How is Lynn, Jonas?”

  Jonas sighed. “She was banged up pretty badly. She was in surgery when we arrived.” He sighed again. “But she is conscious, or at least she was a short time ago when she spoke to Mary Beth. And the doctors are optimistic. They’ve downgraded her condition from critical to serious. But it’ll be a while before she can travel.”

  Val felt a quiver of unease. “Travel?”

  “Of course,” Jonas replied. “We can’t leave her here on her own. Neither Mary Beth nor Marge would have any rest if we did. So tomorrow—” he paused “—later today, I’m going to start making arrangements to fly her home as soon as her doctors give the okay for her to be moved.”

  “I understand.” Val sighed in silent acceptance of what must be. “This means you’re going to have to stay longer than the three or four days you’d planned on, doesn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid so.” This time, Jonas’s sigh was harsh with frustration. “Damn it, I miss you like hell already, and it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours.”

  The endearingly familiar sound of him swearing made Val feel a little better. Enough to smile. “I miss you like hell, too,” she confessed.

  “I’ve noticed lately that you’re beginning to curse pretty often, Mrs. T.,” Jonas said in a low, intimate drawl.

  “It’s the company I keep,” Val explained.

  Jonas laughed, then yawned. “Sorry.”

  “You’re tired. You’d better hang up and go to bed, Jonas,” she said, hating the thought of losing the verbal contract with him.

  “I don’t want to hang up,” he murmured. “I don’t want to lose the closeness of the sound of your voice.”

  “I don’t want to hang up, either.”

  “But I must, love. I’m falling asleep on my feet.”

  Val’s eyes smarted, and her voice was unsteady with the threat of tears. “Good night, darling. I love you.”

  “I remember. And I only adore you.” Jonas’s tone was tender. “Good night, love. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Sniffling, and chiding herself for being a fool, Val hung up the phone and went straight to bed—straight to sleep. She slept around the clock and woke shortly after dawn spread its pink and mauve glow over the summer landscape. Rested and refreshed, she stood at the window, watching the golden glitter of morning illuminate the terrain, wishing Jonas was beside her, yearning inside to share the wonder of it all with him.

  But he wasn’t there, and no amount of wishing could whisk him magically across thousands of miles to her side, Val told herself, turning away from the window. And pacing the length and breadth of the house, as she had yesterday, wouldn’t change the situation either, she continued in the same self-chastising vein. She had work to do…the work she should have taken care of with dispatch the day before, instead of prowling aimlessly.

  “Serves you right for not hiring one of the women the domestic service agency sent out,” Val muttered to herself as she went into the shower.

  “You could’ve hired any one of those women,” she went on a few minutes later, as she stepped into her cleaning attire of jeans and a T-shirt. “They all had excellent references.”

  Throughout the morning, as she went briskly about her chores, Val kept the encroaching silence at bay with the sound of her own scolding voice.

  “That last woman…what was her name? Oh, yes, Grace…mmm, Grace…Vining! That’s it.” Val snapped her fingers. “Grace Vining. She was very nice, the motherly type. I could use a motherly type right now.” Val sighed and murmured, “I wonder if she’s still available?” Deciding to call the agency in the morning, Val finished folding the last of the laundry.

  Val read the Sunday paper while she methodically chewed and swallowed the salad she’d tossed together for lunch. Prince Valiant was in the midst of a battle; Mandrake had everything under control, and Hagar brought a reluctant smile to her lips. She was puzzling over Doonesbury when the phone rang.

  Since she wasn’t expecting Jonas to call until much later, Val took her time answering. She knew from the underlying note of tension in his first words that Jonas was angry about something.

  “What’s the matter?” Val asked after the initial exchange of greetings. “Why are you angry?”

  “It’s obvious, huh?”

  “I can practically see your teeth grinding together,” Val said. “Is it bad?”

  “Not so much bad as annoying,” he answered. “Our Lynn has made the headlines.

  Val frowned. “Because of the accident?”

  “Because of who she was with at the time of the accident,” Jonas explained.

  Val waited a moment, then when he wasn’t forthcoming, she exclaimed, “Jonas! Who was she with?”

  Jonas rattled off a name that Val immediately recognized, simply because it appeared in print with almost boring regularity. She sifted through her memory to recall what she had read about the man. Memory stirred and Val exhaled a sigh of impatience with Lynn. The man in question was handsome, held the title of comte or something, and was impoverished…. At least he had been before his marriage two years ago to the very wealthy and reputedly insanely jealous daughter of one of the wealthiest men in Europe. The man was also some ten or so years younger than Lynn.

  “Oh boy,” Val breathed.

  “Exactly.” Jonas swore.

  “Was he badly injured?”

  “Yes,” Jonas answered. “But not as badly as Lynn. We didn’t get the details concerning the crash until this afternoon, and only then through Jean-Paul.” He paused, and Val could almost see him massaging the back of his neck, as he habitually did when he was angry and frustrated.

  “Jonas, calm down,” she murmured into the silence.

  “Yeah, okay.” His harsh sigh sang over the transatlantic connection. “Anyway, it turns out that they had just left Paris to return to the South of France, after having spent a few days’ holiday together in a friend’s château on the outskirts of Paris. He was driving…thus totaled the Porsche his wife gave him just last month for his thirtieth birthday.”

  “This sounds like the scenario of a bad glitzy movie,” Val observed.

  “I wish to hell it was,” Jonas retorted. “In her own inimitable way, Lynn has managed to create the juiciest scandal of the season. The newspapers are having a field day.”

  “Scandal sells.”

  “Tell me about it,” he said in a dry tone. “And it’ll probably get worse before it gets any better. The wife’s outraged, and already making noises like…” Jonas hesitated, as if searching for a descriptive word.

  “A wife?” Val interjected sweetly.

  Jonas chuckled, and Val could hear the release of tension in the sound. “Purely theoretically, of course, but if it were me, would you make noises?”

  “Of course not, darling,” she purred. “I would very quietly kill you.”

  Jonas roared with laughter. “Love me that much, do you?” he asked when the laughter subsided.

  “That much,” Val confessed. “And more.”

  His laughter ceased, and was replaced by
a low groan. “Oh, Val, what would I do without you?”

  “Forget how to laugh?”

  “Worse,” he murmured. “I’d probably forget how to live.”

  “Jonas.”

  “Oh, hell.” He groaned again. “I’ve got to get off this phone.”

  Val blinked. “Why?”

  “Because I’m getting visions of you wearing a sexy black teddy.”

  “But I’m wearing faded jeans.”

  Jonas’s voice grew low. “The tight ones?”

  Were they? Frowning, Val looked down at herself. They were. “Yes, but how…?”

  Jonas didn’t let her finish. “I knew it. You look sexy wearing them, too.”

  Val absently slid her palm over her hip. “Do I?” She hardly recognized the sultry-sounding voice as her own.

  “Mmm,” Jonas murmured. “But you look even sexier not wearing them.”

  Her face grew warm, her limbs grew weak and her mind formed some erotic visions of him, too. “I miss you.”

  Jonas caught a quick breath. “I miss you, as well. And I want you…now. So you see, if I don’t get off this phone, I’ll be making love to you long-distance. And very likely melt the transcontinental wires in the process.”

  “Good night, Jonas,” Val whispered. “I love you.”

  “I remember.”

  * * *

  Val lived for the daily phone calls from Jonas through the days that followed. To fill the long hours between calls, she kept herself almost constantly occupied.

  On Monday morning, Val made an appointment to see her obstetrician at the end of that week. Then she called the domestic service agency to inquire about the motherly-looking Grace Vining. On learning that Mrs. Vining was not only still available, but anxious to start working as soon as possible, Val asked the woman at the agency to send Grace right over.

  Val liked Grace Vining even more after the second interview, and was prepared to hire her on the spot, if she would agree to one stipulation. Val had decided she would prefer a full-time, live-in housekeeper.

  “Well, what do you say?” Val asked, after she finished showing Grace through the house and explaining what would be expected of her.

  Grace Vining’s rounded face creased with a wide smile. “I think you’re the answer to all my prayers,” she replied.

  “In what way?” Val asked, intrigued.

  The woman sighed. “It’s a long story.”

  Val shrugged. “Okay, come out to the kitchen and we’ll heat some soup or make a couple sandwiches. You can tell me your story over lunch.”

  Grace gaped at her. “But, I can’t do that, Mrs. Thorne!” she exclaimed in obvious shock.

  “Why not?” Val asked with a frown. “Do you have another appointment?”

  “Well, no, but—” Grace shook her head “—you’re my employer and all—”

  “And my name’s not Legree,” Val interjected, motioning Grace to follow her as she headed for the kitchen. “It’s not Mrs. Thorne, either. It’s Val or Valerie,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Whichever you prefer.”

  “Valerie’s a beautiful name,” Grace said, trailing into the kitchen after Val. “I’d like to call you that…. If you’re positive it’s all right?”

  “I insist.” Val tossed her a grin from over the top of the open refrigerator door. “Jonas calls me Valerie only when he’s exasperated with me.”

  “Mr. Thorne?”

  “Yes,” Val said, pulling the makings for sandwiches from the fridge.

  “Will Mr. Thorne be here for lunch?” Grace asked timidly.

  “Oh, no.” Val backed away from the fridge and shut the door with a nudge of her hip. “Jonas never comes home for lunch during the week. And he won’t be here for dinner, either. At least not for a while. He’s out of town and—” Val’s words were buried by the other woman’s exclamation.

  “What!” Grace cried in astonishment. “You’re all alone in this big house?”

  “Well, yes, until Jonas comes home, but—” That was as far as she got before Grace again interrupted her.

  “That settles it then.” Drawing herself up to her full, impressive height, which was a good six inches taller than Val, Grace planted her hands on her ample hips. “I can’t in good conscience allow you to remain alone in this house. With your permission, I’ll move in this afternoon.”

  * * *

  “And she did,” Val finished after relating the tale to Jonas when he called that evening. She had taken the call on the phone in their bedroom and was lying on the bed, the phone balanced on her stomach.

  “She sounds intimidating,” Jonas said, laughing softly.

  “She’s a cream puff,” Val replied, laughing with him. “And she cooks like a dream.”

  “Stir-fry?” Jonas asked with interest.

  “No, but I promised to teach her how to make your favorite dishes.”

  “Oh, stop, I’m getting hungry,” he groaned. “As good as it is, I’m tired of rich French food.”

  Val kicked off her shoes and rubbed the soles of her feet over the spread. “I’ll stir-fry shrimp and vegetables for dinner for you your first night home.”

  “On my first night home, I seriously doubt I’ll be thinking much about food,” Jonas drawled.

  “Oh, Jonas.” Val’s toes curled into the spread’s nap.

  “Valerie, stop that.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop saying `Oh, Jonas’ in that soft, seductive voice,” he ordered. “The memory of it kept me up most of last night.”

  Val giggled at his phrasing. “Really?”

  “Valerie,” his voice was low with warning, “change the subject.”

  “To what?”

  “Hell, I don’t know!” Jonas growled. “Yes, I do. Did Mrs. Vining ever get around to telling you her long story?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it boring?” he asked, hopefully.

  Val sighed. “It’s sad.”

  “Lay it on me. Maybe it’ll put me to sleep.”

  Val smiled. “I know it’s very late there, so I’ll make it short. Then you can go to bed. To begin, Grace is alone. I don’t mean that she merely lives alone, she is alone. As she put it, she and her husband were never blessed with children. And so they lived for each other. Only had a few close friends. He died last year. And since she’s not old enough to collect social security, money’s getting a little tight.”

  “You were right,” Jonas murmured. “That is sad.”

  “Yes.” Val sighed. “At any rate, Grace said she was hoping to secure a live-in position and sell her house.” She paused, then murmured, “Oh, Jonas, she said she couldn’t bear to live with all the memories in the house.”

  Jonas was quiet a while, then he said, “You did say her references are good?”

  “Impeccable,” Val replied.

  “And do you like her?”

  “Oh, yes. And I know you’ll like her, too.”

  “Okay, now Grace has a new house to live in,” Jonas said. “And we’ll give her some new memories to live with.”

  Val’s eyes were misty. “Thank you, darling.”

  “For what?” he asked gruffly.

  “For being you.” She sniffed; he heard her.

  “I’m going to hang up now. I think maybe I’ll sleep better knowing you’re not alone in the house.” His voice lowered to a whisper-soft caress. “Good night, adored one.”

  “Good night, Jonas. I love you.”

  “I remember.”

  * * *

  With the advent of Grace to hold down the home front, Val decided to work full-time rather than half days in the office. She honestly enjoyed her work, and keeping busy staved off the loneliness that enveloped her during the long hours between calls from Jonas.

  On Tuesday, Jonas told her the scandal over Lynn’s accident was beginning to die down in the newspapers. Val breathed a sigh of relief. They didn’t talk long because the transatlantic connection was bad.

  The minute Val he
ard his voice on Wednesday, Val knew he’d had good news.

  “Lynn was moved from the constant care unit into a private room this afternoon,” he told her at once. “And her doctors said that if she continues to improve at the rate she has been, we might be able to bring her back to the States by the middle of next week.”

  “Jonas, that’s wonderful!” Val exclaimed, suddenly needing to be held by him. “I miss you so much.”

  “I know, love. I miss you as much. But at least now I have hope of getting home sooner than I had believed possible when I arrived here.”

  “But, darling,” Val said, bringing up a consideration that threatened her elation, “will Lynn be well enough to endure a flight of that length?”

  The sound of his soft laughter reassured her before he uttered another word. “She will now. I’ve managed to hire a plane from a business associate of Edouard Barr;ages’s. I’ve also retained a private nurse. Lynn, the nurse, Marge and Mary Beth will be returning to the States in it.”

  Though she was reassured by his explanation, Val was also confused. Of course she knew who Edouard Barr;ages was, for the Frenchman was not only an associate of Jonas’s, but Jean-Paul’s former employer, as well. What she didn’t understand was why Jonas had found it necessary to hire another plane.

  “Is there something wrong with the Lear, Jonas?” she asked, frowning as she realized that he hadn’t included either his own name or that of Jean-Paul on the passenger list he had given to her.

  “No,” he answered. “Jean-Paul and I will be flying home in the Lear. But the plane I hired is a large executive jet, complete with a private bedroom. In a bed, sedated, with a trained professional in attendance, Lynn should have no difficulty making the trip.”

  “A bedroom, no less,” Val murmured. “How tantalizingly decadent.”

  “Yeah,” Jonas agreed. “It’s a sight to behold. As a matter of fact, I’m thinking about buying one.”

  “Jonas Thorne!” Now Val could laugh again. “Are you considering membership in the Mile-High Club?”

  “The idea has very erotic possibilities,” Jonas responded in a low, sexy voice that sent a shower of tingles cascading down her spine. “Even though I must admit that I feel a mile high every time we make love in our bed on the ground.”