The Invitation

by Jude Deveraux

  “Do you miss your husband as much as I miss my wife?” he asked softly, so softly that Jackie almost didn’t hear him.

  His question was from his heart, so Jackie answered from the same place. “Yes,” she said, then waited for him to speak again. There was an air of sadness about him, a romantic air, she thought and again realized why Terri and the other women were trying so hard to get him married.

  “You know what I miss the most?” When she shook her head, he continued. “I miss having someone who knows me. My wife and I were married a very long time, and she could look at me and say, ‘You have a headache, don’t you?’ Every year at Christmas our grown children give me slippers and ties, but my wife gave me little ships in bottles or scrimshaw carvings of ships, because only she knew of my dream to sail around the world when I retire. She bought all my clothing in exactly my taste, cooked just what I liked. It took us many years together to reach that stage of comfort, and now it’s what I miss the most.”

  Jackie was silent for a while as she thought of Charley and how he’d also known so much about her, both good and bad. “When my husband wanted me to do something that I didn’t want to do, he knew just how to wheedle me into doing it.”

  Edward smiled at her. “Cora always spent too much money. Not on herself but on me and the kids. Sometimes I’d get furious at her, but she always knew just how to soothe me.”

  As the salad plates were taken away, Jackie knew that they were talking about loneliness, the great loneliness that one felt after having been close to someone and then having lost that person. They were talking about the things that they missed. Like the affectionate names Charley had called her. On the day she met Charley, he’d called her an angel and she’d liked that very much, but after a week he stopped calling her his angel. A year or so after they were married she asked him why he’d stopped. Charley had smiled and said, “Because you, my dear, are not an angel. You are a little devil.”

  Jackie feared that she was attracted to William because of her deep loneliness. Wasn’t a warm body better than no body? She and William were actually ill-suited, weren’t they? He was too set in his ways for her, wasn’t he? There were too many differences between them, weren’t there?

  “What are you planning to do in the future?” Edward asked.

  “I’m expanding my freight and passenger service with William Montgomery as my partner.”

  “William Montgomery? Oh, you mean little Billy?” He chuckled. “But I guess he’s not so little anymore, is he? How old is he now?”

  “Twenty-eight,” she said as she gripped the stem of her wineglass.

  “These children do grow up, don’t they? Doesn’t it amaze you that one day you see a child riding his tricycle and the next day he’s getting married?” He smiled warmly at her as the waiter delivered the entrée. “Of course there’s our own mirror, too. One day we’re laughing teenagers and the next we’re middle-aged.”

  Jackie tried to share his smile. Was it a shock to every woman the first time she heard herself referred to as middle-aged? Jackie guessed that thirty-eight was middle age, but the term still seemed more suitable for her parents than for her.

  “You didn’t have any children, did you?”

  “No,” Jackie answered softly. The way he asked the question made her sound as though her chances were over.

  He looked down at his plate, and she could see that he had something he considered important to say. “The woman who marries me will get to have children.”

  “Oh?” Jackie asked encouragingly.

  “Yes.” He smiled warmly at her, obviously liking her enthusiasm. His wife had always felt sorry for any woman who didn’t have children. She said that a woman without children was “incomplete.” “I have a son and a daughter in Denver, and I am proud to say that I have two grandchildren—a boy six months old and a girl two years old. Beautiful, brilliant, talented—” He cut himself off and laughed self-consciously.

  “I’ll be showing you pictures in a minute.” When Jackie opened her mouth to ask to see them, he waved his hand. “Absolutely not. I want to hear about you. You say that you’re planning to expand your flying business. I think it’s wise of you to go into business with a young man like Billy. He has the backing of the Montgomery money, and with his youth he can do the flying for you.”

  Jackie gave him an intense look. “William’s not a very good pilot.”

  “Ah, too bad, but I’m sure you can hire others. Doesn’t he have young cousins who fly? I seem to remember a few of them buzzing around.”

  “I rather like buzzing around myself,” she said, her head down.

  Immediately Edward knew that he had offended her. “Of course you do. Forgive me. I didn’t mean anything. You are years away from retirement. It’s just that retirement is close at hand for me, so I think it’s that way for others too.”

  He was protesting too much, and it was obvious that he was backtracking merely to make her feel better. There was an awkward silence in which Jackie kept her head down and moved her fish about on her plate. She’d ordered fish so she could cut it with a fork; she wouldn’t have liked to ask a man to cut her steak for her. Only William—Stop it! she commanded herself.

  Edward didn’t fully understand what he had said to offend her. When his wife had reached forty—an age Jackie was fast approaching—she had cried for two days. She’d said it was the end of youth and that she didn’t want to be middle-aged. Maybe that was Jackie’s problem. She was refusing to face the fact that she wasn’t a kid anymore. No longer would the newspapers write stories about her being the youngest person to do so and so. Maybe her eyesight was failing, or her reflexes. Maybe she was seeing the younger pilots doing so well, then seeing her own body aging, and it was making her angry. Aging often made a person angry at first.

  Maybe, he thought, she was worried about whether or not she was still attractive to men.

  “I like mature women,” he said. “They know more about life.” His eyes twinkled. “They don’t expect so much of a man.”

  He meant to make light of himself, but Jackie didn’t take the remark that way. “Do you mean that an older woman knows she has to take what she can get in a husband, that she can no longer expect some gorgeous young man to sweep her off her feet?”

  That was not at all what he meant, but he didn’t say so. Something seemed to be bothering her, and he didn’t know enough about her to figure out what it was. He decided it would probably be better just to change the subject.

  “I’m going to sail around the world someday,” Edward said brightly, trying to introduce a whole new topic. A more pleasant one than aging.

  “Are you?” Jackie asked, trying to work up some interest in what he was saying. She knew that he hadn’t meant to demean her by saying that he liked mature women. She was a mature woman. So why did William’s words—“I’d love to marry you and give you as many kids as you want”—echo in her head? He hadn’t said, “as many kids as you have fertile years left.” Could a mature woman have a dozen children?

  “Have you always been a sailor?” she forced herself to ask.

  The question embarrassed Edward, for he knew she thought he’d meant that he was going to sail a boat himself. Considering her skills with a plane, it was understandable that she would assume others were as capable as she was.

  “I meant that I’m going on a cruise ship with a few hundred other people.”

  “Oh” was all that Jackie could reply. She had been in towns when a cruise ship had pulled into port and suddenly every shop, every restaurant, would be overrun with tourists buying anything that could possibly be called a souvenir.

  “Come with me, Jackie,” Edward said, surprising both of them.

  “What?”

  “I’ll make all the arrangements, pay for everything. I don’t expect you to marry me. I’ll book us separate cabins, and we’ll be traveling companions, friends. We’ll see the world together. Or maybe you’ll be seeing the world again.” He reached acr
oss the table and took her hand in his large warm one. “I know we could be friends. I’ve read so much about you, and I’d love to hear all about your exciting life. I’d love to hear about the time you flew those burned children to the hospital and the president called you. You must be full of hundreds of stories.”

  “Rather like taking a radio with you, huh?”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “Taking me with you to tell you stories would be like having your own radio with you at every moment. You could feed me a dinner and I’d perform. Buy me a trinket and you get a story. Pay for a whole cruise and you get relief from the tedium of months on a ship with nothing to do.”

  By the time she finished, he was sitting straight in his chair, and there was a closed look on his face. It was a businessman look rather than an I’m-out-with-a-pretty-woman-for-dinner look.

  “I apologize,” she said, then took a deep breath. “Mr. Browne, I don’t mean to be offensive, but I think you’ve fallen in love with Terri’s glorification of whatever I may have accomplished in my life. I’m a woman, just as your wife was a woman. I’m not a public institution, nor am I an especially good storyteller. I’ve led an exciting life, and I have no intention of retiring yet.”

  Oh, heavens, but she was making a mess of this. This was a very nice person, just like Terri. But why did she have the feeling that ninety percent of Terri’s and Edward’s interest in her was based on her fame? What other reason would this man have had for asking about her? She certainly wasn’t the most beautiful unmarried woman in town. So why was he interested in her?

  He had already answered that question: he wanted companionship. He was fifty-five years old, and he was no longer looking for long legs and a woman to start a family with. At this stage in his life he wanted someone to talk with and what better candidate than a woman who’d traveled all over the world and was “full of stories”?

  After Jackie’s outburst there was no way to salvage the evening. They spent the rest of the meal in awkward silence.

  Chapter Nine

  When Jackie returned home she wasn’t surprised to see the house dark and no sign of William anywhere. What had she expected, that he’d be waiting up for her?

  She shook her head, trying to clear it. There was nothing between her and William, nothing at all, and there wasn’t going to be. He said he loved her, even though she had done everything possible to keep him from loving her. She winced when she thought of flying the airplane upside down and making him ill. Even if she couldn’t return his love it hadn’t been very polite of her to be so nasty about everything.

  As she headed to her bedroom, she felt as though each foot weighed a thousand pounds. William, William, William, her brain kept echoing. He seemed to be all she could think of, yet he was forbidden. He was the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden. “And we know what happened there,” she said out loud as she opened the door.

  As soon as she turned on the light, she knew that something was wrong. At first she didn’t know what it was and for a moment she stood in the doorway looking at the room. It was exactly as she’d left it; she could see nothing different, much less wrong. It was the same in the kitchen, everything as she’d left it.

  Suddenly she realized that that was what was wrong: nothing was different. In only a short time she had grown used to William’s orderliness, the way he put everything away—maybe he put things in the wrong place, but at least they were out of sight. But tonight nothing had been put away. On the kitchen countertops was evidence that William had prepared himself a meal, but the dirty dishes were still in the sink, not even soaking in soapy water. On impulse, she opened the refrigerator door, and instead of the orderliness she usually saw, the contents were in chaos. It looked as though a drunken two-year-old had gone on an Easter egg hunt in the icebox.

  She didn’t know why the disorder in the refrigerator should depress her, but it did. Maybe she should have felt better at this evidence that William was upset at her going on a date with another man, but somehow this made her feel worse. Maybe “hopeless” was the right word. “Jackie,” she said aloud, “you are hopeless. You just met a perfect man who liked you and you’re depressed because your business partner didn’t clean up the kitchen.”

  Despondently she walked through the dark house toward the bedroom. She knew that this was her chance to end things between her and William. In the morning she should tell him that she’d had a marvelous time with a marvelous man and she was very much interested in a future with him. What was that French word? “Insouciance.” Yes, she should deliver her story about tonight with insouciance.

  But instead of playing the lady who doesn’t care, the second she entered the bedroom she flung herself on the bed, the down comforter practically hugging her as she burst into tears. How could her life have taken this terrible turn? Why did she think about William all the time? Tonight there hadn’t been a minute when she wasn’t wondering what he was doing, what he was thinking. She had compared that nice Mr. Browne to William in everything he did and said.

  When she felt a strong male hand on her head, a hand that could only belong to William, she wasn’t surprised at his presence. Wasn’t he always there when she needed him? If her plane crashed into a rock, he was there to save her. If she cut her hand, he stopped the blood. And before, if she and her husband had needed money, William was the one who knew what was wrong and anonymously helped them.

  “You want to tell me what’s wrong?”

  With her face buried in the coverlet, she shook her head. No, she didn’t want to tell him, if for no other reason than because she herself didn’t know what the real problem was.

  It seemed quite natural when William pulled her into his arms. He was leaning against the headboard, his long legs stretched out on the bed, as he pulled her across him, her head on his broad chest.

  “Drink this,” he said, holding a snifter of brandy to her lips, and when she’d taken several deep swallows, he put the glass on the bedside table. “Now tell me what’s making you cry.”

  “I can’t tell you,” she wailed.

  “Then who can you tell if not me?”

  He was, of course, unfortunately right. She couldn’t tell Terri because Terri couldn’t know about William. William was a secret. But William was her friend, had been her friend for as long as she could remember.

  “How was your…date?” he asked, a catch in his voice.

  With her head against his heart, Jackie could feel the emotion inside him. Now she should tell him in elaborate detail about tonight. She should stop William—and herself—from thinking there could ever be anything between them. “It was perfect,” she said. “He was perfect.” The words were at odds with her tone of voice, which said that “perfect” meant “horrible.” The tears started to flow with renewed vigor.

  “Oh, William,” she said, clinging to him, tears wetting his shirt, “I know what I should do. I should marry some man like Edward Browne. He’s perfect for me. He’s the right age, the right background. He’s even the right size for me. Everything is perfect. He’s lonely; I’m lonely. We’re a match made in heaven.”

  William handed her a tissue, and she blew her nose loudly. “He was such a nice man and I was awful to him. I took everything he said the wrong way. He…he called me a mature woman.”

  “That shows that he knows nothing about you,” William said with heavy sarcasm.

  Jackie sniffed. “He didn’t know anything about me. He wanted me to tell him stories about my exciting life. He made me sound like a lady explorer showing slides of the natives.”

  Tears started up again. “But he was so very nice. Why was I so awful to him? And why don’t I ever do what’s good for me? Why don’t I do what I should do?”

  “Why aren’t you in love with this man if he’s so perfect?” William’s words were calm, but with her face against his chest, she could feel his heart racing, feel the tension in his body as he talked of something that meant so much to him.

  �
�Because he’s so…so old,” Jackie blurted. “He’s no fun! Not like you are. You make me laugh. You make me—”

  She broke off to look up at him. “Why are you smiling?” She couldn’t help feeling betrayed by that smile. “I’m pouring my heart out to you, and you’re laughing?”

  “Jackie my love,” he said slowly, pulling her even closer. “Only you would think of me as fun. No other girl in the world has ever accused me of being fun. Many times I’ve been in a group that wanted to do something I considered stupid or dangerous, and when I said no, they’ve called me an old man.”

  “Kids!” Jackie said in derision.

  At that, he chuckled, his hands caressing her upper arm. “You know what I love about you, Jackie?”

  “Nothing about me is lovable,” she said heavily. “I’m an idiot.”

  He ignored that statement. “One, just one of the things that I love about you, is that when you were a child you were an adult, and now that you’re an adult you’re a child. I think that when you were born you were about twenty-five years old and you’ve never changed. And probably never will.”

  “I’m not twenty-five years old. I’m a mature woman. Oh, William, what am I going to do? This man is so good for me.”

  “So’s broccoli.”

  “What?”

  “Broccoli is very good for you. A person should eat broccoli every day. Actually, people should only eat boiled chicken, broccoli, and brown rice. A person should never eat chocolate or ice cream or buttered popcorn.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Edward Browne. He’s broccoli.”

  “Oh,” she said, beginning to understand. “So I guess you think you’re chocolate ice cream.”

  “More like vanilla, I’d say.”

  In spite of herself, she smiled. “You think highly of yourself, don’t you?” As suddenly as it had appeared, her smile disappeared. “William, what am I going to do? You and I can’t…We can’t be together. You know that as well as I do. But I think about you all of the time. Even tonight when I was with that very nice man, I…Oh, William, what am I going to do?”