by Helen Karol
The summer passed without further contact with the Wests and by the fall she was too involved with her first college year to give thought to the couple. By the time Susanna Ainsley West's death was reported in the media, Claire had little time to spare from her own grief. Ironically, the issue of death, which she attempted to avoid the summer before, touched her intimately at an earlier age than it did Julian West. After a stroke, Claire's father was laid to rest in the same cemetery where Julian buried his wife barely a month before.
Claire stood there and for the first time since that gathering nine years ago, was struck by the classical perfection of his profile. From this distance and in the semi-darkness the laughter and worry lines she knew were around his eyes and mouth were not visible and his skin appeared as smooth as the marble sculpture he resembled. His physique was as strong as ever, and he was still lean-hipped, although his chest and shoulders had broadened as he moved into his mid-thirties.
Funny how she could stand here and admire his masculine beauty and yet feel no sexual attraction. Especially when her reaction to Richard, who was less handsome, was so violent. Yet here she was, viewing the most handsome man she knew and the only physical response she could summon was a fond smile as she noticed his dark hair was still refusing to be tamed by the hairstyle she knew he adopted for that very purpose.
She could not see his eyes, but she knew them to be a deep, expressive green. When she first knew him, she felt they mirrored his every emotion. Since then, his name as a fashion designer had become well-known. Claire was familiar with the back-biting and jealousy in the fashion world, and she wondered if, in his success, he had learned to guard his emotions. She remembered, in the last few months, before she went to New York and during his trips there, sometimes catching a hooded expression. Sadly, it occurred to her, the only thing his eyes might now truly reveal were their luxuriant colour.
Just then, Julian turned his head. Catching sight of her, he pushed away from the window and walked to the middle of the room, flicking the main light switch as he went. His face held a questioning look, as if unable to place her. As the light illuminated her, it was immediately swept away by a look of recognition.
"Claire, what are you doing here?"
Claire's heart sank; he didn't seem very pleased to see her, although it was hard to tell from the emotionless mask that had come down almost as soon as he recognised her.
Behind the mask, Julian drank in the sight of her.
She looked taller, but the illusion could probably be attributed to her position on the slightly raised dais at the entrance, which led down into the studio, and to the elegant court shoes she wore on her feet. His gaze travelled from them, up her shapely, slender legs to the hem of her dress, which draped curvaceous hips, emphasising her slim waist, blossoming, over full, firm breasts, revealing the sensuous curve of her white throat. The dress could have been made for her, and Julian wondered if she was on his mind when he designed it.
He retained his hold on his expression, but he was not as successful with his inward emotions. Her skin was pale, compared to the golden beauties who filled the west coast, and it gave her an ethereal appearance, which was enhanced by her wide, grey eyes. She had grown more beautiful, he thought, and even more desirable.
Walking up the couple of steps to stand in front of her, he thrust his hands in his pockets to stop them from reaching up to remove the pins from her upswept hair, so it could slip down and lie like strands of gold against the curve of her cheek. As he drew closer, the scent she wore drifted towards him. It was faint and unfamiliar, and he wondered if he were to bend and place his lips to the soft pulse of her throat if he would recognise it.
"Julian?"
The sound of her voice made him collect himself. What was he doing standing in front of her like a love-struck fool! He moved aside allowing her access to the steps.
"Come in. Would you like a drink?"
He moved past her to a drinks table against the wall in the small seating area apart from the rest of the studio, glad of the actions necessary to prepare the drinks.
"Yes, a gin and tonic would be nice, if you have some."
Claire wandered around the room, watching him as he mixed the drinks, unwittingly repeating the same motions he went through half-an-hour before.
Julian's attitude confused her. As she stood at the door, he had appraised her in a fashion she was used to from men - she was aware men found her attractive. But looking into his eyes, she had been unable to detect even a trace of desire. Why should she? This was Julian, they were merely friends. Reaching his drafting table, she saw the sketches he had been working on.
"I'm not disturbing you, am I? I know I'm a day early." She accepted the drink he handed her. "But I thought you'd be pleased to see me."
During the intervening minutes, Julian had composed himself and he was anxious to establish the familiar rapport that usually marked their meetings. He would be seeing her more frequently now and if he wasn't careful, she would begin to suspect.
"Of course, I'm pleased to see you. Just surprised, that's all. Which, I believe, was your intention?" Teasingly, he ran his thumb up and down her cheek.
Claire moved away. It was the kind of gesture he made often in the past and it reassured her of his continued friendship. But she was vulnerable after the past few months and his sudden tenderness could very well prove her undoing. Much though she would like to, she had no intention of blurting out her woes, like a transparent schoolgirl, the moment she arrived. Turning back, she caught him looking at her, intently.
"What's the matter, do I have a spot on my nose?"
"No. It's just that dress. It's one of mine, isn't it?"
Leaning back against the worktable, adopting an artificial pose, she said sotto voce. "Of course, darling, I never go anywhere unless I'm in a West."
He grinned, relaxing, her little performance releasing the tension in the air.
"Hiring that ad agency was the best thing I ever did. I sometimes think after their promotion it wouldn't matter what I designed."
"Oh no, Julian. Your designs are wonderful. They're so comfortable, the way the fabric falls, they practically caress you." Claire attempted to control the flush she knew was creeping up her neck, suddenly irrationally embarrassed by her choice of words. "I don't know why I never wore them before."
No? Well he had a pretty good idea. His designs were worn by women who were not afraid of their own femininity, and Claire had not always been aware of her womanhood. This was certainly not the case now, every inch of her declared her sex. But he accepted the laughing comment she offered to cover her embarrassment.
"Probably because I couldn't afford them."
Shrugging, he took a sip of his drink, his eyes twinkling at her over the rim, before he replied. "You get what you pay for."
"Mercenary! And here I was hoping you'd offer me a discount."
He laughed. "I'll think about it. Why don't you work on me a while?" He put down his drink. "Have you eaten?"
"Yes, but it was plastic, plane food. I could easily eat again." Taking one last sip, she handed him her drink and he placed it beside his own.
"You usually can. Okay, let's get out of here and find somewhere equipped to handle that horrendous appetite of yours."
"Horrendous! Of all the nerve. My appetite is healthy. You're just used to models who starve themselves, that's your trouble."
He squinted at her as if assessing her and said. "Well, you're alright now, but I'd be careful if I were you, you wouldn't want to fill out too much more."
She was a lot more than alright, but he didn’t tell her so, comfortable with the light-hearted mood their banter had produced.
He shook his head. "A few more pounds and you might have to curb your healthy appetite."
Still shaking his head he walked away, intimating she was a hopeless case.
Claire ran after him, giving him a playful push, and then took his arm in hers. “Just for that you can take me
somewhere really fancy. If you're not going to give me a discount the least you can do is buy me a decent meal."
"Who said I was paying? You're a working woman, you can buy. It's about time you bought me dinner."
"What! I fly three thousand miles to see you and you refuse to feed me. Some friend you are!"
Their banter continued as they walked out, Julian flicking the light switches as they left, darkening the scene of their reunion.
Chapter Two
Over dinner, Claire kept the conversation on professional or general topics. Every time the discussion threatened to move into her social life, she steered adroitly away from the subject. Finally, Julian asked her outright about the man she’d been seeing in New York. It was typical of him; he would only take evasion for so long.
"We split up."
"I see. That wouldn't have anything to do with your transfer to L.A., would it?"
Claire shrugged, feeling miserable. She wanted to confide in him, but not in a restaurant. She put him off. "I'd rather not talk about it, right here and now."
He nodded, but gave her a thoughtful look, he knew her well enough to realise when she was upset.
Attempting to lighten the mood, she asked him teasingly.
"What about you? Still avoiding all the women playing the grieving widower?" She regretted the remark immediately. "Sorry, that was heartless of me."
He smiled. "No, thoughtless perhaps, but not heartless. Claire, Susanna died eight years ago, it's not a subject you have to skirt around."
Glad she had not offended him, Claire continued eating, growing thoughtful. She realised that although she had known him seven years, she'd mentioned that subject to him only once, the first time they met in fact.
The occasion was the night of an annual charity ball she had attended with her father since she was fourteen. A year earlier they went as usual, only a month before her father suffered the stroke he died of. As the occasion drew nearer, she started to become melancholy, the fact that she would not be attending reviving the memory of his loss. When Andrea Saunders offered to provide an escort to take her, she was grateful.
She didn't connect the name, but she recognised Julian at once when he came to collect her at the apartment she had shared with and then inherited from her father. As he opened his car door for her, she noticed he was left-handed and also the mark of his wedding ring. The lighter tone of his skin indicated it had only recently been removed, but Claire knew his wife had been dead for over a year. He noticed the direction of her gaze and rubbed the finger a little self-consciously. Claire was never quite sure why she asked him what she did, with no preliminaries.
"Did you love her a lot?"
His jaw tightened, but he answered her softly.
"Yes, very much."
Once in the car, he drew her out, asking her questions about herself and Claire relaxed in his company. But with that small exchange it seemed had passed an unspoken message. When Julian called her again, to attend another function with him, she never for a second believed it was because he might have a romantic interest in her. Their acquaintance increased and eventually grew into a strong friendship, which brought them together often, until she went to New York for career reasons.
Looking across the table, Claire speculated for the second time that evening about why she had never found him sexually attractive. Now, she thought she might have the answer. Had she subconsciously decided not to compete with the memory of the beautiful woman known to the public as Susanna Ainsley, award winning star, and to Julian as Susanna West, his much loved wife?
Claire narrowed her gaze. It was an illuminating thought - one that opened up new horizons.
As they were preparing to leave, Julian asked where she intended staying. Looking a little sheepish, she informed him that her apartment, which she rented out while she was in New York, would not be vacant till Sunday.
"I was hoping you might put me up until then. I was looking forward to a swim in the ocean tomorrow."
"Oh, so you want a bed as well as a meal," he said, reaching across and taking the cheque from her. Tossing down the necessary money, he ushered her out of the restaurant. Then he answered the second half of her statement as if it had just sunk in. "Are you crazy, the water's cold at this time of year? It's still winter."
"You're the one who's crazy. Winter, I just flew in from snowbound New York, remember." Reaching the car she turned to him. "I could always stay at a hotel if it's too much trouble."
"Be quiet and get in the car," he answered bundling her, unceremoniously, into the vehicle.
As he entered on his side she attempted to throw him a quelling look, but spoiled the effect with her amused eyes. Tossing her head in a very feminine gesture, she told him.
"I’ll thank you to treat me with a little more respect. You might have known me since I was practically a teenager, but I am now a sophisticated, mature woman, in case you hadn't noticed."
Julian stopped, his hand on the gearshift, and looked across at her deliberately, a smile flitting across his lips, an unmistakable inflection in his voice. "Oh, I noticed."
Claire sat back in her seat, crossing her legs, a satisfied curve to her lips.
Later, she sat curled up in the corner of the large leather sofa, which faced the ocean in Julian's living room, as he lit a fire in the fireplace that dominated the north wall. He had taken off his jacket and tie, and his sleeves were rolled up as he went about the task.
Noticing the muscled strength of his forearms and the dark hairs that grew on them, she felt a slight shiver run through her. There was something incredibly erotic about a man's forearms when they were good to look at - and his definitely were. He had nice shoulders too.
As he stood up, his back to her still, her gaze strayed lower. Hmm, that wasn't all that was nice about him. Smiling, she took a sip from the brandy snifter he had settled her with before he began; she hadn't wasted much time stepping out in the direction of those new horizons, had she?
“What are you smiling about?"
"Oh, just admiring the view." she told him, as she nodded out to the ocean with a secret smile.
He helped himself to a brandy and settled his long frame in the armchair across from her, oblivious to the hauntingly lovely view visible through the wall of glass behind him. He had switched on the powerful patio searchlight, the only unnatural light in the scene. It revealed the stretch of sand and the gently lapping waves. Further out, the more turbulent waters were apparent, due to the full moon suspended eerily in the night sky. Julian did not turn to look; that view was available to him often. It had been too long since he had been able to feast his eyes on the sight of her illuminated by moonbeams and firelight.
Claire took her eyes from the scene and settled them on the man across from her, experiencing a disquieting envy of the glass he held to his lips. Pulling her feet from under her, she sat up; this was getting out of hand. She almost jumped when he spoke.
"Well, are you going to tell me?"
She stared at him with wide eyes. How had he known, had she been so obvious? She felt foolish when he elaborated.
"Why you're running away from New York."
Settling back in the corner of the couch, she took a sip of her brandy, allowing the warmth of the amber liquid to slip down her throat, fortifying her. "I'm not running away. I simply took the opportunity of a transfer back home.”
"You don't have to tell me. I just thought you might like to confide in me. You have in the past."
Claire sighed. “I would, it's just not a subject I find easy to broach."
Her shoulders drooped visibly and Julian felt a sudden concern.
"Claire, are you pregnant?"
The quickness of her answer, along with the surprise on her face, reassured him.
"No, of course not."
He probed no further, waiting for her to speak in her own time. Hesitantly, she began to tell him, her words picking up momentum as her story unfolded. They were assigned to cover
a fashion show together, she as the writer, he the photographer. The mutual attraction was instant, and they began seeing one another. A few weeks ago, he told her some people he knew were starting up a new magazine, and they wanted Claire and him to join them.
"He also thought it was about time I moved in with him."
Julian subdued a protective emotion, managing to limit his comments to a dry observation. "How gallant of him."
Claire smiled at the old world charm of the word he used. "Not everyone gets married in less than a month."
Taking another sip from his drink, he didn't reply. How had she known that? He couldn't remember ever telling her. He shrugged mentally - no doubt it was public knowledge.
Continuing, Claire found her words tumbling out in a rush. "I didn't feel I could commit myself to either suggestion, but I didn't want to lose him, so I agreed to think it over for a while. But he started pressuring me constantly for a decision. His persistence started to ruin everything. Our relationship suffered, my work suffered. I'm sure that's why John suggested I take this position. It was an ideal chance really. The job can last as long I like, but I can transfer back to New York if I want.”
“I told Richard I thought it would give us both some badly needed space; time to think. He didn't agree, blew his top actually. We had a bitter argument and he told me if I took the job we could forget the whole thing - he never wanted to see me again. I couldn't let him emotionally blackmail me, so I took the job and here I am."
Having unburdened herself she sat back, feeling dangerously close to tears.
"And you're not sure you made the right decision."
Slowly, she nodded.
"Do you love him?"