Tony shrugged. "The world is full of beauty; it all looks the same to me. I'm satisfied to have you; your beauty is special."
"You don't 'have' me, Tony," Elizabeth said quietly.
He sighed and stood up. "Come for a drive with me. We'll go to Ravello and eat ice cream and pretend we're in love. Can you do that?"
"Pretend?" She shook her head. "You don't want me to."
"The hell I don't."
"Well it doesn't matter. Tony, we're having a wonderful time; don't spoil it."
"You said that in Malibu, the day you refused my bracelet."
"Yes, I remember."
"But you're wearing the bracelet."
She gave him a quick look. "It's not a dog collar, Tony. I can't wear it if that's how you think of it."
"I don't . . . Elizabeth, listen to me. I love you. How many times in my life do you think I've said those words?"
"Five or six hundred."
"Oh, Christ, you're not taking me seriously. I've only said it and meant it once. You're the only woman I have ever loved. I love you. I need you. I want to marry you. You make every day bright and the nights even brighter—"
"Wait, Tony. You've already used that line."
"What does that mean?"
"In Paris you said I make your days bright and your nights even brighter."
He flung out a hand. "I'm not a writer; forgive me if I sometimes say the same thing twice. If you'd think kindly of me, you'd realize it means I feel something so deeply I repeat it."
It might be true, she thought. It might also be true that she would never know, for sure. "You're right; I'm not being very nice. I'm sorry, Tony; I believe you."
"Then you might answer me."
"No, Tony."
"You won't marry me?"
"I'm already married. Tony, this is too dramatic for me. I like it when we're good friends and have a good time and give each other pleasure."
"I want more than that, and people do get divorced these days."
"But I'm not. Matt hasn't asked for a divorce; neither have I."
"Why not?"
Elizabeth left the table and stood looking over the edge of the terrace at the smooth water of the bay. "I suppose because we're both concentrating on being very successful—and waiting to see what happens next."
"But you're not still in love with him. Elizabeth, I've made love to you for three weeks; you can't tell me you haven't been falling in love with me."
Below them, a man in a small tug cast a fishing net in a graceful arc over the water. Elizabeth watched it sink without a trace.
Watching her, Tony said, "You are still in love with him."
"I don't know." She turned and ran her hand over his silver hair, smoothing the frown between his eyes. "I've had the most wonderful three weeks, Tony; we work so well together, and enjoy each other, and need each other. Can't that be enough?"
"Do I have a choice?" He stopped her hand and held it. "Best friends. Just as we have been. Unless. . . . Listen, my sweet, you may not realize it, but Europe makes everything different. It's like a bottle of wine; it lowers people's resistance. That's why I was so anxious to bring you here. What if you change when we get back?"
She smiled. "It wasn't Europe, Tony; I wanted to make love to you. I suppose the trip made it easier, but I'd already made up my mind." She paused. "You see, the change came before I ever got here." She walked across the terrace to a steep stairway that descended to the road. "Shall we take that drive?"
"What a good idea." He followed her down the steps and when they were in the small Alfa Romeo he kept at the villa, he leaned over and
kissed her. "Don't worry about anything, my sweet. Just stay close to me and everything will be fine."
She sat back as Tony followed the signs for Salerno, climbing the twisting Corniche until they were high above the sea. He drove easily, almost carelessly, on the narrow road that made hairpin turns, plunged in and out of natural rock tunnels, clung to the rims of spectacular gorges, and cut through steep rock, allowing a brief view of the sea, like a picture framed by cliffs.
Elizabeth held her breath, almost standing on her right foot, as if she were instinctively putting on the brake. "Sit back, dearest Elizabeth," Tony said with a sidelong smile. "I am not going to endanger your life, or mine. We're both far too precious to me."
Elizabeth laughed and began again to enjoy the startling scenery all along the coast, most of it as wild and precarious as if it had just been created, untouched, unreachable, unchangeable. When they reached the small town of Ravello, human touches appeared: masses of hydrangeas and tea roses, their scent so keen Elizabeth could taste it, and small houses clinging to the cliffs. Tony stopped the car in the center of the town, and when they stepped out she slipped off her jacket and half-closed her eyes against the blazing sun. She felt as if she floated at the top of the world.
In the sparkling air, cooler than in Amalfi, they turned in place to look around the square at the Villa Rufolo, famous for its guests—"I've taped interviews there," Tony said—the ancient cathedral, the gardens, and the outdoor cafes and shops. Perched on top of the ridge of mountains along the coast, Ravello was completely at peace. A small cloud drifted lazily across the limpid sky; its shadow followed it on the ground, passing over Elizabeth and Tony and then out to sea. "Hazelnut ice cream," Tony said. "And then a cameo for you if I can find the little man who makes them."
They sat in the small cafe, savoring pale, silken ice cream. Tomorrow they would fly home, with enough interviews for two months and enough notes for Elizabeth to write still more columns and some magazine articles. The sun lay heavy and golden upon them, the air was fragrant with flowers and lemon trees, Tony's hand was upon hers. What more could she want? What more could anyone want?
"Elizabeth," Tony said. He raised her hand and kissed her palm, slowly, caressing it with the tip of his tongue, sending small shocks of desire through her. "Tell me you'll think about marrying me. Just think about it. I don't ask anything more than that and I'll never push you for an answer."
Elizabeth lay her other hand along his cheek, beside his dark eyes, sincere, unwavering, intent on hers.
"All right, Tony/' she said. "I'll think about it."
He pulled his chair to hers and pulled her to him, kissing her. "Dearest Elizabeth, dearest partner, I adore you, I admire you, I desire you, I am yours. Command me: anything you want. From now on you have but to speak. A safari in Africa, the Tsar's jewels in the Kremlin, the perfume of Arabia . . . what can I place at your feet? Where would it please you to go?"
"Across the square," Elizabeth laughed. "I'd like to see the garden behind the hotel and look down at the Bay of Salerno."
"A cheap date," he said, shaking his head. "I hope you'll demand more in the future." Arm in arm, they walked across the plaza. Tony's step was light—because of her, Elizabeth thought. And why not believe it? Why not believe everything he said?
Every day, every night, he made her feel like a young woman caught up in the beginnings of desire; he surrounded her with people who praised her; he made her the center of attention. And he was helping her become more successful than she had ever dreamed—more than most people ever dreamed—by giving her a place, every week, on television.
She probably never would know for sure whether he was acting or not, but why not believe the best, the most comforting, the most loving? Why not relax in his embrace and let his words flow over her like warm, perfumed oils that made her feel adored, desired, needed? Why not? It would make them both happy.
And wasn't that what they both wanted? Just to be happy?
Keegan Rourke's house sat near the top of Red Mountain, catching the last rays of sun that had long since left Aspen in shadow. The angled window walls of the two-story living room met in a point, like the prow of a glass ship and through them Matt watched the last few skiers coming down the mountain across the valley: diehards braving the December cold that plunged to near zero once the sun left the slopes.
He sat in a deep chair of royal blue Egyptian cotton, one of several groups of chairs and couches in hunter's green, burnt orange, and blue, arranged throughout the room, each group surrounding a table of petrified wood polished to a marble gloss. Matt stretched his legs, relaxing after six hours of hard skiing. It was his first vacation since his last time in Aspen. March, he thought. Over a year and a half ago. Involuntarily, he looked across the valley again, this time at the Aspen Alps condominium complex, and the
corner apartment where he and Elizabeth had stayed for a week, ending with dinner at Krabloonick with Rourke. And Nicole.
"Matt, darling." Nicole said from the doorway, "do you mind a cocktail party before Mort and Lita Heller's dinner party 0 "
"Where?" he asked absently.
"The Formans*. You haven't met them. They have a house in Starwood."
"Whatever you want. But if I drink too much. I won't be interesting to ski with tomorrow."
"You are always interesting. Matt. Maybe not always fast, but always interesting."
He chuckled, watching her walk away. She wore a black satin caftan slit to the thigh, and his gaze stayed with her as she went through the study to their bedroom, an enormous room with a stepped-down sitting area facing the same view as the living room and a king-size bed on a raised platform with pushbutton controls for lights and appliances throughout the house. A few minutes later he followed her and went into his bath-and-dressing room: Nicole was in hers, on the other side of the bedroom. "Who are the Formans 0 " he called across the empty room.
"They own a baseball team and some race horses in Kentucky, and a racetrack. They've got some dispute with a congressman over racetrack revenues; they're trying to force him out of office. They're not wonderful —he's rather a boor and she's boring—but they might be useful to you."
"I have nothing to do with Kentucky."
"Today. How do you know what you'll need tomorrow?"
"You mean other than you?" he asked lightly. He pulled on the cashmere turtleneck she had bought him the day before, on her daily shopping tour of Aspen, and picked up the tortoise-shell comb on the dressing table.
"Very handsome," Nicole said, standing in the doorway of his dressing room.
Matt studied her reflection in his mirror. "No one will notice me when they see you." Her hair was pulled sleekly back; she wore narrow black leather pants and a wool and silk tunic woven of black and white nubbly threads; at her throat were twisted strands of freshwater pearls. "But this is a wonderful sweater, Nicole. Thank you."
She gave him a long, slow kiss and he pulled her against him. his hands moving down the silky tunic to her leather pants. She pulled away, smiling. "I'll try to keep you in cashmere; it suits you. Shall we zoT'
They drove down the winding road, their headlights illuminating chalets of rustic barn sidmg and stained glass windows, glass-fronted ranches
with swimming pools and tennis courts shrouded in deep snow, and massive four-level cedar homes tucked into the mountain. Below, the lighted town seemed to grow larger as they descended. It was cold and still in the early evening, reflecting the glow of Victorian street lamps, trees bending to the ground beneath heavy snow, and behind it all, Aspen Mountain's ghostly ski runs and black trees against the cloudy sky.
While Nicole browsed in her favorite boutiques, Matt wandered through the mall, buying a Jim Hayes silver belt buckle for Peter and another for himself; he bought a turquoise pin for Holly and, impulsively —because she was trying so hard to make this trip special for him—a hammered silver bracelet for Nicole.
He gave it to her in the car. 'Thank you for everything you're doing," he said, and slipped it on her wrist.
"I'm just hitting my stride," she said with a smile, then gave him directions to Starwood. As he drove down Main Street she turned her wrist, letting light from the street lamps gleam on the bracelet. "It's lovely. How thoughtful you are."
"The word is grateful. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. I wouldn't have taken time off—"
"—though you clearly needed it, tense and moody as you were."
"—and I wouldn't have asked Keegan to loan us his house; I would have rented one."
"But you wouldn't have found one as lovely. You're too proper, Matt: I've borrowed that house dozens of times. Keegan loves being generous when it doesn't interfere with his plans, and he dislikes Aspen in December. He told me to check with him whenever we want to get away; especially March; he won't be using it then."
"I didn't know that. When did he tell you?"
"We had dinner last week, while you were in Denver. Turn right at the stoplight on the other side of the bridge. Now let me tell you about some of the people you'll be meeting; it's a different crowd from last night."
Each night it was a different crowd, at a different party, and each day a larger group joined them on the slopes. Nicole seemed to know everyone, and she'd filled their calendar for all ten days of the vacation. She had suggested the trip after the November elections, when Matt was working every night to catch up on work left over from the hectic campaign weeks.
He'd been unprepared for the demands on him. Besides the normal routine of keeping track of thirty papers, he had to follow their political coverage; work with his editors on which issues and candidates, both local and national, they would support; and take telephone calls from
morning to night from candidates asking for his editorial endorsement or legislators urging him to support candidates who would vote for their favorite bills.
And after election day, his telephone still rang. Newly-elected congressmen wanted his papers' support for bills in congress; city council members urged him to take this or that position on local problems with police and firemen, garbage collection, mass transportation, school lunches, new highways and state parks.
He and Rourke went over the list once a week, deciding which causes and political figures would get special attention. 'There's that firebrand congressman in Tulsa," Rourke said thoughtfully. "I want him out two years from now."
Matt frowned. "I endorsed him."
"I know that. We couldn't beat him this time, so I didn't raise the issue. But he isn't what we want in Oklahoma, Matt. Read up on him and we'll talk about it again."
"I've already read up on him. I don't make endorsements until I read up on candidates."
Rourke nodded. "I'd like you to take another look. Now, where do we stand on that dam and state park in New Mexico—Nuevo, isn't it? Can we control that woman when she's in the legislature?"
Matt smiled, picturing anyone trying to control Isabel. "No. But there's been a change; I think the people are beginning to want the dam. I'll have editorials and stories in the Albuquerque Daily News and the smaller chains. We have until January, when the legislature meets; we can do a lot by then."
The meetings went on, the telephone calls came in, the work piled up. But Matt reveled in it. He had an empire of thirty newspapers, four television stations and plans for buying more with the backing of Keegan Rourke, and a national network of corporate executives whom he called regularly to share information and advice. It was the headiest time he'd ever known; it seemed nothing was beyond his grasp. But he was also worn out and when Nicole told him he was moody, irritable, and needed a vacation, and she'd arranged for a house in Aspen, he was ready to go.
"Wonderful people for you to meet," she said with satisfaction as she finished filling their social schedule. "They detest tourists, so they come here now, when it's quiet."
She organized everything but breakfast; Matt drew the line there. "If I want an extra hour in bed with you, I don't want to be told we're due somewhere for orange juice and socializing."
Nicole conceded with a low laugh. "No dates for breakfast. I like that extra hour, too."
But in every other way she kept things moving, and the hours sped by in a kaleidoscope of people and talk, skiing, drinks before roaring fires, lavish dinners, late-night dancing, and early-morning lovemaking. By the time they
were halfway through their stay, Matt had met as many political and corporate figures as he had in a year and a half with Rourke. "It's much easier when they're all in one place," Nicole said. "That's why I knew you should be here."
He'd been there before, Matt thought. But he and Elizabeth had seen no one. He felt a brief moment of nostalgia for that quiet anonymity, but it vanished in the blinding glare of this new side of Aspen that pulled Matt to its center. Tall, tanned, handsome, radiating vitality, his dark hair newly shot with gray, his blue eyes deeper and more intense than ever, he was the season's star attraction. And with Nicole's striking beauty beside him, they became the most sought-after couple in that group of the world's rich and powerful who made Aspen part of their yearly peregrinations.
At the Formans' cocktail party Matt was greeted everywhere by name, even by those whose faces were new to him. When Nicole left him to talk to a stockbroker from New York, he made his way through the crowd, holding his vodka with one hand, shaking hands with the other, exchanging pleasantries with worldly men in cashmere and suede, and confident women in silk jumpsuits with snakeskin belts, or velvet pants and fur-trimmed angora sweaters.
At the end of the long room a buffet table had been set up beside the pianist who was pounding out chords in a vain attempt to be heard. From the corner of his eye he glimpsed Nicole's black and white tunic in the crowd and turned to see her talking to a tall red-faced man, deftly taking small dance steps backward each time he tried to put his arms around her. Matt pushed his way to her side.
"Matt, how lovely!" Nicole exclaimed with a little skip that took her almost into his arms. "I thought I'd lost you. May I introduce our host? Roy Forman, Matt Lovell."
"How do," Forman said. "Heard about you from everybody and his cousin. And Nicole talks favorably about you. She's a lovely lady, Nicole. You're a lucky fellow to have her."
"I don't 'have' her," Matt said, shaking the damp hand Forman held out. "But I'm lucky to have her friendship."
"Well, now, if that's the way you want it, senator. I could use a. friendship like that, myself."
Private Affairs Page 45