“No,” he said. “I’m sorry, Kat, but no.”
His voice was quiet, sad. There was no irritation in it. Kat sat back in her chair, trying to remain calm.
“Why not?”
“There are a million reasons why not,” Scott said. “But I really don’t want to go ’round in circles with you again.”
“You don’t want to discuss it?”
“What is there to discuss? We talked about it before.”
“We talked about getting tested. About trying for our own child. We talked vaguely about adoption. We didn’t talk seriously about adopting a particular baby. A baby who would be a really good fit for us. Perfect, in fact. You’re just going to dismiss it out of hand, without talking about it properly? Without even thinking about it?”
“Kat, I have thought about it. Because it’s been pretty clear that this was where you were headed.”
Kat stared. Clear to whom?
“That’s not true. How can you know that?”
Scott pushed his chair back, as if he was leaving the table.
“It doesn’t actually matter what I want, though. Does it?” Kat added.
He shook his head. His mouth tightened; she could see annoyance building in him.
“Seems to me you’re unconcerned with my feelings. Listen, Kat. No adoption agency would agree to parents who are still grieving for a child they’ve so recently lost. It’s not fair to the adopted child or to the parents. It’s not possible. You have to accept that.”
“It is possible. I’ve checked—”
“Bullshit. Maybe in a year or so.”
“In a year or so? Why not ten? Or twenty? Why not wait until you retire? We can be the two old codgers, waiting at the school gates. Won’t interfere with your work then.”
“This has nothing to do with work! Taking on a stranger’s child, beginning again with broken nights and all that worry and work for a stranger’s child? No. Sorry, but I won’t do it. And I don’t want you to continue thinking about it.”
He began eating again, not looking at her.
Kat sat rigidly still at the table, watching him.
“We’ll have a few months to think about it some more. Then, well, surely you’ll feel differently?”
“No. I won’t. Ask me again in a year or two.”
“And that’s it?”
“Yes. This discussion is premature, Kat. Really. Wait a couple of years. Then, maybe we can foster a child. Just see how it—”
“No! No. That’s not what I want. We can look after an infant. Bring him up from the very beginning and care for him and give him a good life. We can!”
“Him? You’ve already decided the child must be a male?”
He stood then, pushing his plate away, the meal abandoned. Kat continued talking stubbornly, willing him to stay in the room and listen to her.
“No. No. Of course not. He or she. It doesn’t matter. But look, Scott. We have space now. Money. We were in a one-bedroom apartment when Chris was a baby, and of course it was tough. But we have a bigger house now. You won’t be disturbed at night, I promise. I’ll do the night feeds. I’ll move the baby over to the other side of the house so you won’t be disturbed. You can work as late as you do now. Work as late as you like. A baby won’t interrupt your life at all, I promise.”
Scott gave a long sigh.
“Listen to yourself. How healthy is that? For you or the child? Kat, please. This is totally irrational.”
Kat stood, ran upstairs to the bedroom, slamming the door. Scott was behind her only seconds later, pulling her close.
“Stop. Stop it. You have to deal with realities. Okay? Not fantasies. Not conjecture.”
“Spoken like a true lawyer.”
He took a deep breath.
“You have to get yourself together first. You have to start to heal.”
She pushed him away.
“Heal? Shit. You’ve been talking to Maggie. You’ll be talking about closure next.”
“I just don’t think you need more stress in your life.”
“Is that how you see a child? Just a lot of stress?”
“You don’t need this, Kat.”
She shrugged.
“And you know what I need?”
He moved to the window and stared out into the garden. It was a clear night, the Santa Susana Mountains visible in the distance. Kat waited. At last, he turned from the window.
“I can’t talk about this now, Kat,” he said. He regarded her steadily. There was no warmth in his eyes. “We’ll talk again at another point.”
He turned, walked out of the bedroom. Minutes later, she heard the clink of the wine bottle and glass. He was pouring himself another drink.
Kat called Sarah as soon as the door to Scott’s den closed.
“Oh no. Surely not,” Sarah said. “How can you bear it? And there’s no persuading him?”
“No. Not right now,” Kat said, a tremor in her voice, tears close to the surface. “He might talk about it again sometime. But not now.”
“Oh, Caitlin. Well, I’m so, so sorry, but this girl won’t wait. How devastating for you. This must hurt terribly.”
“I don’t know what else I can do.”
“It’s hard. He is a lawyer. He has that nitpicky legal mind. I never dreamt he would be so intransigent. But look, all things are possible. I could ask Liz Brady to keep your file open. In case he changes his mind.”
“He won’t change his mind.”
“Don’t give up. Please.”
“But how can they do that? Keep the file open?”
“If I tell them to do it, then they’ll do it.”
Sarah paused, thinking.
“You must try to persuade him,” she said eventually. “Try to tread softly, perhaps. Not force him into anything. But I’m certain when he understands how badly you want it, he’ll reconsider. He loves you, Kat. He must want you to be happy.”
“Don’t know about that.”
“Of course he does,” Sarah said. “Try to build a bridge. Anyway, I know this is probably the last thing you feel like doing right now, but I wanted to ask you about visiting my Malibu house. A partner from Milan will be here. We may merge a couple of subsidiaries.”
“It’s a business thing? No. I don’t—”
“He’s only here for one evening and he’s fun and interesting. It will be drinks by the pool, just a few minutes of business talk with Scott. And Glenda, of course. I wish you would come, Kat. I really do.”
“I’d really rather not. Scott and I at the moment, well—”
“It would be a new client for Scott,” Sarah said softly. “He will definitely appreciate it.”
“Ah. I see.”
“So? You’ll come? Please come.”
“Maybe,” Kat said.
Kat ate a sandwich before Scott returned from work the following evening, set the table for one person, and served him a simple grilled chicken breast and fries. Scott looked at her over his eyeglasses.
“You’re not eating?”
“I ate earlier. I wasn’t sure if you would be late. Again.”
Scott shook his head, said nothing more, and ate the meal while reading the newspaper. Afterward, he stood, placed his plate in the dishwasher, and turned to her.
“Sarah has invited us out to Malibu,” he said.
“Oh, really,” Kat said coldly. “Why?”
“To meet an Italian businessman. A possible client. It’s just drinks, conversation. It will be short.”
“Have fun.”
“She’d like you to come.”
Kat, ignoring Sarah’s advice to tread softly, looked at him defiantly.
“And why should I?”
“You might enjoy it. I would like you to be there.”
“Oh, really? Would you now? So I can help you snag the Italian client that Woodruff wants? Right? That’s so very, very important.”
“For Christ’s sake, Kat. It’s drinks in Malibu. I’m not asking you to walk over burning coals.”
“I’ll do anything to help you. You know that. Pity you don’t feel the same way about me. You don’t seem willing to do anything I might want.”
Scott gave a heavy sigh.
“What you want, Kat, is not my presence for something simple like drinks with a stranger. You want a lifetime commitment to something we are not ready for, cannot handle, are not even sure we can do.”
“Do? Of course we can do it. We did it once before.”
“I don’t mean having our own child. I mean being approved for the adoption.”
“We might be able to have our own child if you would agree to get checked out,” Kat snapped.
“Really? And are you planning an immaculate conception, because getting pregnant involves—” He stopped, froze. “Jesus. Sorry,” he said, swallowing.
Kat stared at him. She wondered if she’d heard correctly. The words were cruel. Scott was never cruel.
“Immaculate conception?” she asked, her voice iced.
“I didn’t mean that.”
“What did you mean?”
“Fuck, I don’t know. I don’t know what the hell is happening to us. Look, are you coming to this thing, Kat? Or not?”
He was expecting her to say no. She knew that.
“Well, damn it, yes. I’ll come,” she said. “Why on earth not?”
TWENTY
The interior of the car felt hollow and echoing on the drive to Malibu. Scott said little; Kat stared out the window. On this winter’s day, the ocean looked gray and choppy; clouds scudded across the sky as the wind picked up. The palm trees bowed like dancers. Kat wanted the evening to be over. She wanted to be in bed, with the comforter up to her chin.
Sarah’s Malibu house was a white stone villa right on the coast, surrounded by assorted cacti and swaying palms. Scott parked on the wide, curving driveway and then turned to her.
“You going to stay mad and sulk all evening?” he asked.
“I’ll be your little ray of sunshine, just watch me.”
“Kat, we have to get beyond this.”
She looked at him. He returned her gaze, unflinching, determined. He is not going to change his mind, she realized. He is never going to change his mind.
“I wish I knew how,” she said.
“You think maybe you could just give it a try?”
“Well, yes. I think from now on, both of us should simply devote our entire lives to your career.”
“For Christ’s sake, Kat,” Scott snapped.
Kat blinked, startled. Her husband’s face was closed, tight as a fist. She had seen him angry before; she had seen him irritable. She had never felt so distant from him.
Then, Sarah was in the doorway, calling to them to come inside, to have a drink.
“Welcome, Caitlin,” she said. “To my little beach house.”
“Little?” Kat said.
The house had marble floors, and the view from all the windows was of the ocean and an infinity swimming pool that was designed to look like it was floating on top of the water. Kat paused at the entrance. To have Ojai and this house, too? Sarah, as a schoolgirl, must have dreamed of something like this.
Sarah, at her elbow, studying her reaction, asked, “You like it?”
“Of course I like it. Who could not? The pool is beautiful.”
Sarah led them out to the glassed-in patio, a light space that had views of the water from three sides.
“Come, have a drink. It’s a buffet meal and ready to serve. I’ve sent the car for Luca Bianchi. He should be here any moment. And, oh, here’s Glenda to translate for us. I hope her Italian is as good as she says it is.”
“Glenda doesn’t exaggerate,” Scott said.
Glenda had made an effort. She wore an elegant dress in a soft violet shade, had a new hairstyle, blunt cut and curling into her chin, that flattered her narrow face, and she wore earrings that sparkled with amethyst stones. She appeared anxious as she walked toward them.
“And looking very pretty today,” Sarah said, as if to a little girl just off to a party. Kat saw Glenda’s small smile at this, noted her glance at Scott.
“Thank you, Sarah,” Glenda said. She smiled at Kat, gave a little wave. “The client not here?” she asked.
“He’s not actually the client yet, remember,” Scott reminded her.
“He will be, I’m sure,” said Sarah. “Oh, look. Here’s the car.”
Kat turned to see an attractive middle-aged man step out of Sarah’s Mercedes. He looked like a stereotypical wealthy European playboy: a light linen suit, unnecessary sunglasses, thick silver hair brushed back from his face. His age was evident in the deep vertical lines that ran down each side of his mouth. He wasn’t very tall, but his view of himself as an alpha male was evident in the tilt of the head, the confident stance, the way he surveyed the house, the grounds, even the beach, as if he owned it all. As if he could own it all.
Sarah hurried toward him, and he greeted her warmly with kisses, hugs, exclamations in Italian. She laughed as she led him to them. Kat took a breath. She noted the flash of slightly prominent white teeth, the smooth, graceful walk. The song “Mack the Knife,” with the shark and its pearly teeth, played in her head.
As he approached, he removed his sunglasses and looped them into the top pocket of his jacket. Sarah introduced him to Scott.
“Scott Hamilton, my attorney,” Sarah said as Bianchi shook hands with Scott. “I hope he can advise us today. And this is his wife, Kat.” Bianchi lifted Kat’s hand to his mouth and kissed it, his eyes meeting hers. His eyes were the palest blue, like a winter sky. It was a cool, careful assessment. She tried to smile but was made shy by the measuring gaze.
“Kat with claws? Or Kat with a soft purr?” he asked.
“Both,” she said. He laughed.
“And this is Glenda,” Sarah said. “Scott’s associate and our legal terminology translator.”
“Ah, and your Italian is good enough for this big job?” Bianchi asked Glenda.
“I hope so,” Glenda said.
He raised an eyebrow and unleashed a torrent of language, the rising notes at the end of each sentence indicating that they were questions. He’s testing her, Kat thought. He’s a games player.
Glenda gazed back at him, her smile in place, and she answered at once in Italian, fast and fluently. Kat and Scott smiled. Sarah actually laughed out loud.
“Aha. Our Glenda has obviously been to Italy often,” Sarah said.
“Every summer when I was a child,” Glenda said. “My grandmother lives in Positano.”
“A beautiful place,” Bianchi said, smiling warmly now. “I am glad you are here,” he added. “My English is, I think, good. But with legal matters, I must be clear. Yes?”
“Of course. I’ll help all I can.”
Bianchi gave a low, formal bow. Kat noted that Scott grinned as Glenda looked to him for approval, obviously proud of her score for the home team.
Immediately, Sarah’s cook began setting out food. Kat looked at the table laden with cold salmon, sliced rare beef, cheeses, salads, fresh fruits. It was an impressive spread for just five people.
“Wow, this looks good, Sarah,” Scott said.
Kat turned, surprised, to look at her husband. The jovial voice, the easy smile. There was no trace of the cold anger he had exhibited in the car. He appeared comfortable and at ease, ready to enjoy the evening, as Sarah waved an arm for them all to sit.
“Please. Help yourselves,” she said.
Bianchi was seated opposite Kat. She watched as, superficially charming and alert, he switched from only slightly accented English to fast Italian, which Glenda immediately translated. Occasionally, he would exchange private words with Glenda, and they would laugh together. Glenda had relaxed, blossoming under his attention. She’s really quite attractive, Kat thought as Glenda giggled at something Bianchi said. Scott, always curious about European politics, asked Bianchi about the new players on the political scene in Italy, but Bianchi was not inc
lined to discuss politics. He talked of his trip to New York, of his recent visit to the UK.
Kat, uncomfortable and awkward, listened and thought—a year ago I might have enjoyed this. I would have found it amusing at least. Most people would think themselves lucky to be here: a beautiful view, a lovely house, good food, and the company, if not quite as charming as it appeared on the face of it, was at least interesting. I have lost the ability to feel pleasure, she thought. Feel joy. Feel love. Is my life now to be this quiet, claustrophobic panic? She wondered how long she would need to sit there, pretending to be a normal person, wondered how long it would be before the people around this table talked of work and she could escape to sit quietly inside Sarah’s house or to walk around the pool, stare at the ocean.
Sarah picked up the conversation, guiding it back to the Milan merger. Kat, trying to follow Glenda’s swift translations, Scott’s interventions, found her mind drifting again and wondered if Bianchi would remember her as the woman at the dining table who had nothing to say. She caught Sarah looking at her. As the maid cleared the table, and documents were produced for Scott to check, Sarah tapped Kat’s arm.
“Would you excuse us?” she said to the group. “You don’t need us for a moment. Must show Kat my little den.”
As they walked into the main house, Sarah said, “Kat, you’re so quiet, so pale. You’re not ill?”
“No. I’m fine. Thank you.”
Sarah gave her a long, sympathetic look.
“You haven’t been able to change Scott’s mind yet, then?”
“He’s never going to change his mind no matter what I do,” Kat said. “I’m quite certain of that.”
Sarah stopped in her tracks and turned to Kat.
“Even though he knows how you feel? What this adoption means to you?”
“Even so.”
“I’m sorry, Caitlin. So very sorry. No wonder you feel so . . . well. Damn.”
“Yes. Anyway, what do you want to show me?”
“Come look.”
A few moments later, Sarah opened a door off the main entrance hall. The room she showed to Kat was enormous, with a private terrace looking out onto the ocean. The walls were a pale blue, the sofas a cream linen; the French doors opened to the patio and had a view of the coastline. The fresh-air smell of the ocean filled the room.
Intrusion: A Novel Page 17