Rose-Coloured Love
Page 13
That brought her eyes into focus and she stared at him sharply before sighing. “About Lee.”
His face closed. “Yes.”
She searched those light grey-blue eyes, now becoming so familiar to her, and then she said shortly, “All right. Just this once. Then the subject’s closed?”
“I swear.” He just stared back frowningly, in silence, as though he dreaded to ask the question, and she unconsciously began to tense. “What would happen if you were to see him again, say at a theatre, or at a party? How would you feel if you were to find out where he was?”
She rubbed at her nose with thumb and forefinger, and pointed out, “That’s two questions.” He shifted impatiently, and she relented. “All right. I don’t know to the first question. I would hope that I would treat the situation with some grace, but I probably would end up ignoring him. As far as the second goes, I’ve always known how to get in touch with him. Hell, he works at the paper I used to. If it were a matter of me getting in contact with him, I could do it in a minute, with just a phone call. But he was the one who left me. If he didn’t want to come back or get in touch, I didn’t have anything to say to him.”
He looked incredulous, his eyes full of something shocked and dark. “You—knew where he was the whole time? He worked where you worked?”
“That’s how we met,” she said simply, staring at him.
“What does he do?”
“Last I knew, he wrote political commentaries. I suppose he might have had a promotion since then. He might even be an editor by now.” She stirred in her chair.
After a moment, Ryan asked oddly, “Was he any good?”
She had to think about that, a little nonplussed. Then she shrugged. “Yeah, sure. His style was always quite a bit different from mine, and of course we were involved in different subjects, but he was certainly good at what he did. He was quite intelligent.” She regarded him with a little suspicion. “What are you thinking?”
He laced and unlaced his fingers, watching them. They were long on large hands, the nails well kept. “Do you remember when I asked you if you were afraid of your own success?”
“Of course. It was a stupid thing to say.”
He said impatiently, “Forget that a minute. I was just wondering—what if, perhaps, Lee was afraid of your success?”
“What do you mean—that he was jealous?” she asked, incredulously. “But how could he be. Our writing was so different. No, I don’t buy that.”
It was his turn to shrug. “It was just a thought.” Then he stood. “I think I’m going to turn in now. I haven’t had a whole lot of sleep in the last few days.” That was said with some wryness.
“Oh, but—” she started, making a gesture towards him as he began to stride by her. He stopped immediately, looking down at her enquiringly, his head angled, his eyes patient, his expression somewhat wary. She felt another welling of that panic from earlier; time was trickling by so quickly, and soon he would be heading back to New York, with or without her. She dropped her eyes and whispered, “It’s nothing. Good night.”
He drew close and bent over her, pressing his lips to her forehead. She couldn’t think why it made her want to cry. “Good night.”
Left by herself, she brooded in the silence. Her mind kept whirling back to what Ryan had suggested about Lee. Dear heaven, could that have really been what happened? But no, he would have been far more rational about it; he had been a rational man. Wouldn’t he?
She thought of his cautions and admonitions when she had started her first novel. She had discounted it then as part of his cautious nature, but had it been more? Suddenly memories tumbled over themselves in her mind. His resentment from time to time when she would work in the evening instead of going out with him. The cooling of physical relations just before he had left. The reticence he had shown in the face of her popular, and therefore monetary, success. For the first time, and in spite of her initial protest, everything began to make sense.
She had felt rage, hurt and betrayal when Lee had left her, and echoes of those emotions had dogged her footsteps for a year now. For the first time she began to feel a sneaking sense of compassion for him. He had allowed his insecurities to cripple what he had once felt for her when, at the very basest level, her writing hadn’t mattered in the slightest. She remembered Ryan telling her that with a bit of a jolt, and then she ruefully smiled. He had indeed been right, and perhaps that was what made her stories work. There were some things she would always hold to be more important than her writing, it was just that in the last year her perspective had become a bit tangled. Lee had been more important; Helen and the children were far more important; Ryan was now more important. All these things in the background had given her the impetus to write.
Insecurity. She hoped Lee was managing to be happy, but she rather feared that he would always be disappointed in himself for leaving her, and ashamed of how he had tried to justify it, whereas now that she had finally managed to work past her anger, she could put him behind her and go on with her life.
And who was she to judge? Wasn’t insecurity tying her up right at this very moment, making her waver in indecision, making her wonder at the depth of Ryan’s feelings for her? As far as that went, Ryan battled with insecurity also, and it had showed in his angrily declared jealousy of her preoccupation with her past love affair. She felt suddenly sad at the unnecessary pain they all went through, even down to Janie’s surprisingly deep pain at the thought of her departure.
Tomorrow, she thought, I’ll have to make sure I tell her how much I love her. And then she turned her head at the sound of light approaching footsteps. Helen came round the armchair to sit rather tiredly on the couch. She looked at Devan and said, as though reading her mind, “Janie’s afraid that you don’t love us any more.”
“Oh, no!” Devan groaned. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”
Helen said carefully, “I don’t know him very well, but I think Ryan is a good man. Have—”
“I decided? No. I don’t know what to do.” She bowed her head and sighed.
“I just came down to ask,” said her sister, who rose and then came to the armchair and knelt in front of her. “It’s pretty simple if you can manage it, Devan. Just be happy.” With a quick, tight hug, Helen whisked through the downstairs, turning off lights and closing windows and doors. She left the upstairs hall light on as she always did, and then she disappeared quickly into her room.
Devan sat for some time in the small pool of light shining from the single living room lamp. She was alone in her indecision, and somehow she had never felt quite so lonely before. She dreaded going upstairs to her empty bed. She longed for warm skin and low murmurs. She longed for Ryan, and last night had only intensified the longing.
She lifted her head, feeling the light sheen of sweat on her forehead and upper lip. It was hot tonight. She breathed as though labouring under some kind of physical stress. She was suddenly utterly wearily, and she dragged herself out of the chair to turn out the light and ascend the stairs slowly, counting each one. The upstairs hall, the lit corridor. The closed doors sheltering each one in his own darkness, except for Gary’s, for he hated the dark. She paused by Ryan’s door, swallowed hard and felt herself tremble.
And quickly passed by, to splash cold water on her face and brush her teeth madly. But back in the hall again, on her way to her room, his door drew her. She slowly put her hand on the doorknob, slowly turned it, hearing the tiny snick as it unlatched. Then she pushed the door silently open. Her heart was pounding. She knew that just one sound from him, one discouraging noise, and she would bolt for her room. The light from the partially opened door fell over his bare chest, turning silver shadow to human skin. He murmured, and turned his head away from the light, and then froze. Slowly his head came back round, his light eyes staring at her, sparkling.
Suddenly everything settled into simplicity for her, and she whispered, as forthright as he had been, “May I sleep with you, please?”
He sat up, the sheet falling from his torso, and helped her to undress with warm fingers. She came under the covers and against his long limbs, suddenly chilled. His window was open and fresh air gusted gently in from time to time, along with the slight country noises.
“I hoped you would come,” he said, quietly.
She was trembling now from the feeling of his bare length against hers, and she turned to her side and propped herself up on one elbow. She ran her fingers lightly over his mouth. “How could I resist?” she whispered. He pressed a kiss.
Then he stirred beside her, and one hand came up to tenderly stroke at hers, lying now on his chest. “We have some unfinished business, I think.” She could hear the smile in his voice, along with something else, something languorous and exciting.
Her fingers were now tracing through the light sprinkles of hair on his rising and falling chest. “I take it you are referring to this afternoon?” she murmured.
Shadowy gleam of white as he grinned, and he started to rise. She put gentle pressure on his chest to restrain him. “No. I stopped it this afternoon,” she told him. “It’s only fair that I start it tonight.” She drew over him, and then hesitated, doubtfully. “Do you mind?”
At that he laughed, low and incredulous. “Why on earth would I mind?” His hands gently guided her atop him, and ran down her thighs in a caress. “Lady, you have the strangest notions sometimes. What difference does it make who’s on top?”
She leaned over him, her elbows on either side of his head, and as she took his lips she was laughing too, low and deep down, with great delight.
Much later, she lay sprawled exhaustedly against him and listened to his deep, steady breathing. She floated quite close to the edge of sleep, and knew a deep contentment from what she and Ryan had shared. Somehow his last coherent statement had made a deep impression on her, and she realised with some amazement that he had truly meant it. They shared equally in their passion, a give and take, a quiet expectation of responsibility on both sides.
She wondered sleepily if he knew what be was doing to her as she threaded slow, lethargic fingers through the hair at the back of his head. She had once thought she was barren, like an empty hearth, but he had started something glowing deep inside her. It burned steadily, a rose-coloured ember, and she was beginning to suspect that it might last beyond all else, beyond youth, ambition, stamina and physical desire, a warmth to last her through all the winters of her life.
Chapter Ten
After the previous night’s storm, the day was sunny and dewy wet, with sparkling green and yellow leaves and clean washed grass. Devan watched Ryan store everything in the car, and Helen stood beside her, the children close behind. Nobody said very much; there didn’t seem to be anything left to say.
Then Ryan was walking back to the front porch where everything had started just a short time before. He stood and watched silently as Devan turned to Helen to give her a hard hug. “I’ll call you when we get there,” she promised in her sister’s ear. Then she drew back and Helen tried to smile. “This mightn’t even be for that long. It’s just a visit.”
At that Helen did manage a smile, though her eyes sparkled like the wet grass and leaves. “We’ll see.” When Devan turned to the children, Helen said a quiet goodbye to Ryan, who quickly hugged her tight, much to her pleased discomfiture.
Janie looked as though she might screw up her face and break into tears at any moment, and Gary scowled angrily from under his yellowish thatch of hair. “Well,” said Devan, too brightly. “Don’t I get a hug from either of you?”
That brought Janie to her in a rush, and the girl clasped her close before stepping back, her carrot head bowed. Then Gary hurtled to her and nearly sent her over backwards. He practically choked her to death; he even smacked a rough kiss in the vicinity of her nose. That he missed and hit her painfully in the eye, neither was in a state to mention. She stood back and looked at the pair, who stared alternately at the ground and the sky. Her heart welled at the solemn look on their rounded young faces. She searched for something to say to lighten the mood.
Suddenly she hit upon it; her eyes narrowed on the two dangerously. “Wait a minute,” she said slowly. They looked at her, startled. Ryan, who had been rather quiet the last two days, even after last night when she had made up her mind to come with him for a short time, tensed. But Devan didn’t see as she glowered at her niece and nephew, and then, with a wicked, wicked smile, said gently, “I believe I owe you both something.”
Janie’s eyes widened; Gary’s eyes positively sparkled with delight. “What do you mean?” asked her niece, doubtful of the look on her face, as well she should be.
“Do you remember once upon a time, when a beastly little savage scalped me, and a horrid brat then dumped water on my head?” reminded Devan sweetly, taking a step forward. The two looked at each other, and Gary’s face grew as apprehensive as Janie’s as they both edged a step backward. They did indeed. “I believe I promised I’d get you back, didn’t I?” she went on conversationally. “Say your prayers, imps. Retribution has come.”
Whether they understood the meaning of that word or not was to be doubted, but they most certainly understood the meaning behind it, and, with another exchanged, disconcerted look, they decided to bolt. Janie crashed into the house and Gary followed close on her heels, while Devan was in hot pursuit. Helen just smiled and leaned against the porch rail to chat with an amused, patient Ryan while they waited.
Strange sounds came from the interior of the house, bumps and shrieks and roars. Something fell over with a resounding crash that the two on the porch could have sworn made the house shake. After a good ten minutes, Devan finally appeared at the front door, shakily. Her hair was wild, her eyes gleefully dancing. She was breathing heavily, and her blouse was twisted awry; she automatically straightened it as she exhaustedly pushed through the screen door.
She ran her fingers through her hair, utter silence coming from the house, and then said to Ryan composedly, “Ready to go?” Her sister stared at her in horrified fascination, longing to ask what she had done to the children but not quite daring, while Ryan’s shoulders shook in silent laughter.
“I am if you are,” he said.
She whispered to Helen, “Rescue them in a little bit.” And with that cryptic message, they left.
She had managed to bring the children’s mood up, but couldn’t suppress her own feelings any longer as they pulled away from the house that had been home to her for more than a year now. She looked behind her, a strange, yearning emotion threatening to choke her in the throat, and only after the house was well out of sight did she turn round to rummage in her bag for her brush. She straightened her gleaming hair savagely.
“By the way,” Ryan said, “what did you do to them?”
“The children?” she asked. A wan smile touched her lips. “I locked them in Gary’s wardrobe. It is, I assure you, a fate worse than death!” He laughed.
The memory had brought her spirits up, but they soon plunged again. She couldn’t think what was the matter with her. When she had decided to come with Ryan, she had made it very clear to him that it was to be considered an extended visit only, and that she would leave at any time she wished. His response had been mild, without argument. They hadn’t even taken any of her heavier things, just clothes for the stay. But she felt as though she were leaving Helen and the children for ever, and her eyes stung at the thought.
An hour into the drive, across the state line, Devan knew she had made a terrible mistake. She didn’t know this man, didn’t even want to live in New York again, couldn’t think why she was travelling south with him when all she wanted suddenly, intensely, was to be at home playing Monopoly with Janie while Gary threw paper aeroplanes at their heads.
&nb
sp; The morning was spent silently. They stopped for a break and cold drinks in Vermont, and then continued on their way. Ryan was brooding, she could tell, his expression slightly frowning, incommunicable, distant. She slouched in her seat, her safety belt loosened around her slim waist, and stared dreamily out of her open window at the countryside flashing by. Interstate highways, dark blue road, white and yellow painted lines. Green land, blue sky, white cloud. Shadowed, hot interior of the car, steady rhythm. Her head slid to one side, and she dozed.
And woke again to a different feel to the air, noise, traffic. Everywhere there were rushing people. They were coming to a heavily travelled area; she knew by looking around her that New York lay not far to the south-west. She sat up, feeling rumpled and stupid. Ryan looked much as he had about eighty miles back. It was the countryside that had changed. She drew out her brush again and used it on her hair, checking her handbag mirror briefly and then looking about her intently, feeling her senses quicken.
In a flash, it seemed that they were through the surrounding suburbs. And in a crash, it seemed that the city was upon her. Her eyes brightened and sparkled as she looked about her. Dirty and grey; gaudy and bright; old tumbled houses and sleek gleaming skyscrapers; elegant people striding down the avenues; pathetic old ladies digging out of dustbins; children everywhere; a musician playing in the street for money and the love of performing; a juggling man with a monkey sitting on his shoulder and jabbering at passers by. Ultra-luxurious limousines pulling to a stop behind battered ’65 Chevrolets; a group of students dancing in the streets; a bearded black-clad rabbi stepping delicately around three sprawling drunks. New York.