Dream 1 - Daring to Dream

by Nora Roberts

  "You're kidding. That's so…"

  "Ordinary?" Kate suggested dryly. "Trite? Disgusting?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, that sums it up. If it's happened before, she's not saying. But I can tell you she's not giving him another turn at bat. She's dead serious."

  "Is she all right?"

  "She seems very calm, very civilized. I'm so bogged down here, Margo, I can't work on her. You know how she is when she's really upset."

  "Sucks it all in," Margo murmured, jiggling the earring impatiently in her hand. "The kids?"

  "I just don't know. If I could get out of here I would. But I've got another nineteen hours before flash point. I'll corner her then."

  "I'll be there inside of ten."

  "That's what I was hoping you'd say. I'll see you at home."

  "I don't know why I'm surprised you'd fly six thousand miles for something like this, Margo." Laura competently sewed stars onto Ali's tutu for her daughter's ballet recital. "It's just like you."

  "I want to know how you are, Laura. I want to know what's going on."

  Margo stopped pacing the sitting room and slapped her hands on her hips. She was past exhaustion and into the floaty stage of endless travel. Ten hours had been typically optimistic. It had taken her closer to fifteen to manage all the connections and layovers. Now, she was cross-eyed with fatigue, and Laura just sat there calmly plying needle and thread.

  "Would you put that silly thing down for a minute and talk to me?"

  "Ali would be crushed if she heard you call her fairy tutu silly." But her daughter was in bed, Laura thought. Safe and innocent. For the moment. "Sit down, Margo, before you collapse."

  "I don't want to sit." If she did, she was certain she would simply fade away.

  "I didn't expect you to be so upset. You were hardly fond of Peter."

  "I'm fond of you. And I know you, Laura. You're not chucking a ten-year marriage without hurting."

  "I'm not hurting. I'm numb. I'm going to stay numb as long as I possibly can." Gently she smoothed a hand over the net of the ballet skirt. "There are two little girls down the hall who need someone in their life to be strong and stable. Margo…" She looked up then with baffled eyes. "I don't think he loves them. I don't think he cares at all. I could handle him not loving me. But they're his children." She stroked the tulle again, as if it were her daughter's cheek. "He wanted sons. Ridgeways. Boys to become men and carry on the family name. Well"—she set the skirt aside—"he got daughters."

  Margo lighted a cigarette with a quick jerk, made herself sit. "Tell me what happened."

  "He stopped loving me. I'm not sure he ever did, really. He wanted an important wife." She moved her shoulders. "He thought he got one. In the past couple of years we began to disagree over quite a lot of things. Or I began to disagree with him out loud. He didn't care for that. Oh, it's no use going over all the details." She waved her hands with self-directed impatience. "Basically we grew apart. He began to spend more time away from home. I thought he was having an affair, but he was so uncharacteristically furious when I accused him, I believed I was wrong."

  "But you weren't."

  "I'm not sure, about then. It doesn't matter." Laura jerked a shoulder, picked up the tulle again to give herself something to do with her hands. "He hasn't touched me in more than a year."

  "A year." It was, perhaps, foolish to be shocked at the idea of marriage without intimacy, but Margo was shocked nonetheless.

  "At first, I wanted us to go to a counselor, but he was appalled by the idea. Then I thought I should try some therapy, and he was beyond appalled." Laura managed a quick, thin smile. "It would get out, and then what would people think, what would they say?"

  No sex. None. For a year. Margo fought her way past the block and concentrated. "That's just ridiculous."

  "Maybe. But I stopped caring. It was easier to stop caring and concentrate on my children, the house. My life."

  What life? Margo wanted to ask, but held her tongue.

  "But I could see in the last few weeks that it was affecting the children. Ali in particular." Gently, she replaced the tutu, folded her hands in her lap to keep them still. "After you left, I decided we had to straighten things out. We had to fix what was wrong. I went to the penthouse. I thought it would be best if we talked there, away from the children. I was willing to do whatever had to be done to put things back together."

  "You were willing," Margo interrupted, leaping up and puffing out an angry stream of smoke. "It sounds to me like—"

  "It doesn't matter what it sounds like," Laura said quietly. "It's what is. Anyway, it was late. I'd put the girls to bed first. All the way over I practiced this little speech about how we'd had a decade together, a family, a history."

  It made her laugh to think of it now. She rose, deciding she could indulge in a short brandy. As she poured two snifters, she related the rest. "The penthouse was locked, but I have a key. He wasn't in the office." Calmly she handed Margo a glass, sat down again with her own. "I was annoyed at first, thinking he'd gone out for a late dinner meeting or some such thing and I'd geared myself up for nothing. Then I noticed the light under the bedroom door. I nearly knocked. Can you imagine how pathetic the situation was, Margo, that I nearly knocked? Instead, I just opened the door." She took a sip of brandy. "He was having a dinner meeting, all right."

  "His secretary?"

  Laura gave a snorting laugh. "Like a bad French farce. We have the philandering husband sprawled over the bed with his jazzy redheaded secretary and a bowl of chilled shrimp."

  Barely, Margo managed to strangle a giggle. "Shrimp?"

  "And what appeared to be a spiced-honey sauce, with a bottle of Dom to wash it down. Enter the unsuspecting, neglected society wife. The tableau freezes. No one speaks, only the strains of Bolero can be heard."

  "Bolero. Oh, Jesus." Her breath hitching, Margo dropped into a chair. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I can't help it. I'm too tired to fight back."

  "Go ahead and laugh." Laura felt a smile breaking through herself. "It is laughable. Pitifully. The wife says, with incredible and foolish dignity, 'I'm terribly sorry to interrupt your dinner meeting.'"

  It was an effort, but Margo managed to wheeze in a breath. "You did not."

  "I did. They just goggled at me. I've never seen Peter goggle before. It was almost worth it. The fresh young secretary began to squeak and try to cover herself, and in her rush for modesty upended the shrimp sauce on Peter's crotch."

  "Oh. Oh, God."

  "It was a moment." Laura heaved a sigh, wondering which of the three of them had felt more ridiculous. "I told them not to get up, I would see myself out. And I left."

  "Just like that?"

  "Just like that."

  "But what does he say? How is he handling it?"

  "I have no idea." Those soft gray eyes hardened into a look that was pure Templeton—tough, hot, and stubborn. "I'm not taking his calls. That stupid electric gate of his has finally paid off." As her gentle mouth hardened as well, Margo thought it was like watching silk turn to steel. "He can't get in because I've instructed the staff not to admit him. In any case, he's only tried once."

  "You're not going to even talk to him?"

  "There's nothing to talk about. I could and did tolerate indifference. I could and did tolerate his utter lack of affection and respect for me and my feelings. But I won't tolerate, not for an instant, his lying and his lack of fidelity. He might think that boinking his secretary is simply his droit de signor. He's going to find out different."

  "Are you sure it's what you want?"

  "It's the way it's going to be. My marriage is over." She looked down into her brandy, saw nothing. "And that's that."

  The stubborn streak was classic Templeton, Margo thought. Carefully, she tapped out her cigarette, touched a hand to Laura's rigid one. "Honey, you know it won't be that easy—legally or emotionally."

  "I'll do whatever I have to do, but I won't play the easily deceived society wife a
ny longer."

  "And the girls?"

  "I'll make it up to them." Somehow. Some way. "I'll make it right for them." Little tongues of fear licked at her, and she ignored them. "I can't do anything else."

  "All right. I'm behind you all the way. Look, I'm going to go down and scare up some food. Kate's going to be starving when she gets here."

  "Kate's not coming here tonight. She always falls into bed for twenty-four hours after the tax deadline."

  "She'll be here," Margo promised.

  "You'd think I was on my deathbed," Laura muttered. "All right, I'll make sure her room's ready. And yours. We'll put some sandwiches together."

  "I'll put some sandwiches together. You worry about the rooms." Which would, Margo thought as she hurried out, give her enough time to pump her mother for information.

  She found Ann exactly where she'd expected to, in the kitchen, already arranging cold cuts and raw vegetables.

  "I don't have much time," Margo began and headed directly for the coffeepot. "She'll be down in a minute. She's not really all right, is she?"

  "She's coping. She won't talk about it, hasn't yet contacted her parents."

  "The scum, the slime." Her legs wobbled with fatigue and made it hard to storm around the kitchen, but Margo gave it her best shot. "And that little slut of a secretary putting in overtime." She broke off when she caught her mother's eye. "All right, I wasn't much better when it came to Alain. And maybe believing he was working out a divorce isn't any excuse, but at least his wife's family wasn't cutting my paychecks." She drank the coffee black to fuel her system. "You can lecture me on my sins later. Right now I'm concerned about Laura."

  A mother's sharp eye noted the signs of exhaustion and worry. "I'm not going to lecture you. It never did any good when you were a child and it would hardly do any good now. You go your own way, Margo, you always did. But your way has brought you here when a friend needs you."

  "Does she? She was always the strong one. The good one," she added with a wry smile. "The kind one."

  "Do you think you're the only one who feels despair when the world falls apart around you? Who wants to pull the covers over her head instead of facing tomorrow?"

  A quick flare of temper made Ann slam down the loaf of bread. Oh, she was tired, and heartsick, and her emotions were bouncing like a rubber ball from joy that her daughter was home, misery for Laura, and frustration at not knowing what to do for either of them.

  "She's afraid and full of guilt and worry. It's only going to get worse for her." She pressed her lips together but couldn't settle herself. "Her home is broken, and whether you can see it or not, so is her heart. It's time you paid back some of what she's always given to you, and help her mend it."

  "Why do you think I'm here?" Margo tossed back. "I dropped everything I was doing and flew six thousand miles to help her."

  "A noble gesture." Ann's sharp, accusing eyes pinned her daughter. "You've always had a knack for the grand gesture, Margo, but holding fast takes something more. How long will you stay this time? A day, a week? How long before you're too restless to stick it out? Before the effort of caring for someone else becomes an inconvenience? Before you rush back to your glamorous life, where you don't have to think about anyone but yourself?"

  "Well." Because her hand was unsteady, Margo set the cup down. "Why don't you get the rest of it out, Mum? Sounds like you've stored plenty."

  "Oh, it's easy for you, isn't it, to come and go on a whim? Sending postcards and presents, as if that made up for your turning your back on everything real you've been given."

  Ann's own worries acted as an impetus for resentments harbored for years. They spewed out before she could stop them, splattering them both with bitterness.

  "You grew up in this house pretending you weren't the daughter of a servant, and Miss Laura treated you always as a sister. Who sent you money after you'd run off? Who used her influence to get you your first photo shoot? Who was there for you, always?" she demanded, stacking slices of bread like a irate cardsharp. "But have you been there for her? These past few years when she's been struggling to hold her family together, when she's been lonely and sad, were you there for her?"

  "How could I have known?"

  "Because Miss Kate would have told you. And if you hadn't been so wrapped up in Margo Sullivan, you'd have listened."

  "I've never been what you wanted," Margo said wearily. "I've never been Laura. And I can't be."

  Now guilt layered onto weariness and worry. "No one's asked you to be someone you're not."

  "Haven't you, Mum? If I could have been kinder, more generous like Laura, more sensible, more practical like Kate. Do you think I didn't know that, didn't feel that from you every day of my life?"

  Shocked and baffled, Ann shook her head. "Maybe if you'd been more satisfied with what you had and what you were, instead of running away from it, you'd have been happier."

  "Maybe if you'd ever looked at me and been satisfied with what I was, I wouldn't have run so far, and so fast."

  "I won't take the blame for how you've lived your life, Margo."

  "No, I'll take it." Why not? she thought. There was so much on her debit side already, a little more would hardly matter. "I'll take the blame and the glory. That way I don't need your approval."

  "I've never known you to ask for it." Ann strode out of the room and left Margo to stew.

  She gave it three days. It was odd. They had never actually lived together in the house as adults. At eighteen Laura had gotten married, Margo had run to Hollywood, and Kate, always struggling to leap over that single year's age difference, had graduated early and bolted to Harvard.

  Now they settled in. Kate used the excuse that she didn't have the energy to drive back to her apartment in Monterey, and Margo claimed to be marking time. She decided her mother had been right about some things. Laura was coping. But the difficult situation was only going to get worse. Already visitors were dropping by. Mostly the country club set, Margo noted, sniffing for gossip on the breakup of the Templeton-Ridgeway merger.

  One night Margo found Kayla camped outside Laura's bedroom door because she was afraid her mama might go away too.

  That was when she stopped believing it would settle down and she would go back to Milan. Her mother was right about something more, she'd decided. It was time for Margo Sullivan to hold fast and to pay back what had been given to her. She called Josh.

  "It's six o'clock in the morning," he complained when she tracked him down at Templeton Stockholm. "Don't tell me you've become that monster of civilized society, Margo—the morning person."

  "Listen up. I'm at Templeton House."

  "That's all right then. It's the shank of the evening there. What do you mean you're at Templeton House?" he demanded when his brain cleared. "What the hell are you doing in California? You're supposed to be putting a business together in Milan."

  She took a moment. It would be, she realized, the first time she'd said it aloud. The first time she would acknowledge the loss of one part of her life.

  "I'm not going back to Milan. At least not anytime soon." As his voice exploded in her ear with questions, accusations, she watched one dream fade away. She hoped she could replace it with another. "Just be quiet a minute, would you?" she ordered with a snap. "I need you to do something, whatever it is that needs to be done, to have my things shipped here."

  "Your things?"

  "Most of it's boxed up anyway, but the rest will have to be packed. Templeton must have a service for that kind of thing."

  "Sure, but—"

  "I'll pay you back, Josh, but I don't know who to call and I just can't handle the extra expense just now. The plane fare cut into my resources."

  Typical, Josh thought and jammed a pillow behind his back. Just typical. "Then why the hell did you buy a plane ticket to California?"

  "Because Peter was diddling his secretary and Laura's divorcing him."

  "You can't just go flying off whenever—What the hell d
id you say?"

  "You heard me. She's filed for divorce. I don't think he's going to fight it, but I can't imagine the whole thing is going to be friendly, either. She's trying to handle too much of it on her own, and I've decided I'm not going to let her."

  "Let me talk to her. Put her on."

  "She's asleep." If Laura had been wide awake and standing by her side, she wouldn't have handed the phone over. The icy violence in Josh's voice stabbed over the line. "She had another session with the lawyer today, and it upset her. The best solution all around is for me to stay here. I'm going to ask her to help me find the right location for the shop. It'll take some of this off her mind. Laura's always better at worrying about someone else than she is at worrying about herself."

  "You're going to stay in California?"

  "I won't have to worry about the VAT tax or Italian law, will I?" She felt hateful tears of self-pity sting her eyes and ruthlessly blinked them back. To ensure that her voice remained brisk and steady, she set her teeth. "Speaking of law, can I give you power of attorney, or whatever it's called? I need you to sell my flat, transfer funds, all those little legal details."

  Details of what she was planning ran through and boggled his mind. Had he thought typical? he mused. Nothing about Margo was ever typical. "I'll draft one up and fax it there. You can sign it, fax it back to me at Templeton Milan. Where the hell is Ridgeway?"

  "Rumor is he's still at the penthouse."

  "We'll soon fix that."

  Personally, she appreciated the cold viciousness in his voice, but… "Josh, I'm not sure Laura would want you rousting him out at this point.'

  "I outrank Laura in the Templeton feeding chain. I'll take care of the shipment as soon as I can. Are there any surprises I should be prepared for?''

  Her American Express bill had arrived just before she'd left. She decided he didn't need another shock just then. "No, nothing worth mentioning. I'm sorry to dump this on you, Josh. I mean that, but I don't know how else to stay here with Laura and get this shop up and running before I'm shipped off to debtors' prison."

  "Don't worry about it. Chaos is my business." He imagined her leaving everything in that chaos to rush off to support a friend. Loyalty, he thought, was and always had been her most admirable quality. "How are you holding up?"