For Laura, who prided herself in her high level of self-control and self-understanding, it was an agonizing maelstrom in which she floundered. Her primary principle of separating office from home had been broken, due to an internal weakness she had not even known she possessed. When she was with Max she forgot all but his devastating appeal. But, she realized with a start, the appeal had ceased to be the purely physical one that had so captured her on that first day. The biological attraction was still there, but it had now been joined by so many other things that the pull was stronger each time she saw him.
And the attraction was not onesided. Max seemed as taken with her, at times, as she was with him. He drew her out, enjoyed talking with her, listening to her talk. And his own words confirmed that he found her physically attractive. Why then had he held back? Why had he insisted she answer that telephone, knowing her own heightened state of arousal, as well as his?
That disruptive call had been a strategically timed reminder that for the time being at least, work would have to supersede any other relationship she might wish to have with Max. There were upcoming meetings, then the trial, all of which would demand her utmost concentration. There was no room for romance in the courtroom.
four
ON ONE THING LAURA AND MAX WERE IN complete agreement: The trial should be scheduled as soon as possible. For only when it was over would she be able to realistically assess her feelings for this compelling man. Only when it was over would she be able to resolve the nagging inner tug-of-war between lawyer and woman. In the meanwhile she vowed to keep private meetings between Max and herself at a minimum. If there were others present, it might be possible to avoid a reminder of the awesome physical attraction that ignited into fiery passion at the slightest provocation.
In this matter Laura was only partially successful. Over the next few weeks there were numerous meetings between the prosecution and the defense of the Stallway case. On each of those occasions Laura carefully planned to have other parties present. Often Sandy Chatfield played the unobtrusive role of her bodyguard, a most natural choice considering his involvement in the case. During the pretrial conference itself, it was the D.A. who sat in as Laura and Max turned over witness statements, physical and scientific reports, and Laura supplied Max with the transcript of the grand jury hearings.
Indeed there was always a third or fourth party with them, yet this added presence, while inhibiting any actual physical contact between prosecutor and defender, did in no way lessen the intensity of the visual interchange between the two. Laura’s hopes of remaining neutral to Max’s charm were dashed on the smoldering pyre of his gaze. Be it across the room, over the desk, or through an open door, the effect remained the same. She was ever aware of him, of his warm chocolate gaze branding her a woman even as his more impartial words dealt with her as a lawyer.
To her chagrin it was far from a one-way visual seduction. Laura’s own eyes were a blue flame, dancing at the sight of a strong, note-taking hand, its manly wisps of dark hair curling out from beneath the cuff of his shirt, at the suggestion of the sinuous bulge of a shoulder beneath the same, at the fall of dark hair across the finely creased forehead. In light of these powerful distractions, it was an even greater challenge to maintain the outwardly impervious attitude of the professional. Thankfully, Laura rose to the occasion, as did Max.
If she’d ever had doubts as to his legal comportment, they were dispelled from the first, when he proved to be a courteous and able negotiator. Laura had never dealt with one as concise and clear-thinking. He knew what he needed to shape his case and how to go about getting it. Contrary to so many other experiences she’d had, Max seemed unbothered that, as a lawyer, she was of the opposite sex; there was none of the macho-motivated arrogance she had come to despise. Opposite Max, she thoroughly enjoyed being a lawyer. When she held her own on certain issues, he respected her reasoning, not wasting time arguing pointlessly, and on principle alone, for what was secondary.
It was a lesson that spoke strongly to Laura’s own personal dilemma, the urgency of which was not eased by these sessions. And, when each was over and Max had returned to Boston, there was always that inexplicable feeling of emptiness.
Through these conferences, and more specifically, through the more casual lunches or coffee breaks that accompanied them, Laura gained insight not only into the man as a lawyer, but into the man as a person. In one such instance the D.A. had sat in during the morning’s session, then the three had walked to the soup-and-sandwich restaurant near the courthouse.
“I understand the Civil Liberties Union has approached you on that school matter.” Frank addressed Max after they had ordered lunch.
Max laughed quietly, a deep and throaty chuckle which Laura found to be absolutely musical. “Word spreads like wildfire in this state, doesn’t it!” He cast a sidelong glance at Laura, whose questioning gaze told of her own ignorance on the subject. He started to explain when the D.A. cut him short, taking that job on himself.
“The counselor has been asked to represent a group of children and their parents who are bringing charges of abuse and neglect against the Wilkins Home for Retarded Children. It is still in the talking stage from what I hear. Is that correct, Max?” he asked, turning his attention back to the dark man on his left.
That dark man looked even darker as he suddenly took on a brooding mien. “You’ve got it,” he confirmed tersely.
Curiosity impelled Laura to join the discussion. “I must be out of it, but I don’t recall hearing about this. What are the specific charges?” Her question was directed to Max from a totally personal viewpoint. Her knowledge of the Wilkins Home was limited to occasional newspaper reports and one heartrending visit she had made several years before to the facility as a college student participating in a forum on the mentally retarded. Memory conjured up images of gray buildings, as drab and illkept within as without, worn and inadequate furnishings, an undertrained and shorthanded staff—in short, a pathetic situation. A year after her visit, entirely unrelated to it, there had been a complete overhaul of the home, with long-time personnel being replaced by a newer, supposedly more sympathetic and progressive group.
Sensing her human interest, Max explained patiently, if somberly. “There have been claims of corporal punishment and gross mistreatment of the more severely ill children, not to mention those more self-sufficient who are left to their own devices for hour after hour.”
“But I thought with the new administrators and trained personnel—” she began, puzzled.
Max interrupted vehemently, the slashes by the corners of his mouth turning down in disgust at his own opinion of the Wilkins Home. “All of whom are so wrapped up in their sophisticated theories of treatment that they have no idea how to deal with the reality of the retarded children in their care.” His voice lowered, as did his gaze. “My heart goes out to those kids!”
It was an awakening experience for Laura, this evidence of such deep feeling in Max. Even more surprising was his reaction to the D.A.’s follow-up.
“Will you take the case?” Frank buttonholed him, eying him with the shrewd, political air which was part and parcel of the D.A.’s job. “It is an explosive case to bring to trial. Great publicity. A real gem to add to your treasury…not that your career needs any help.” He chuckled.
Max did not share his humor. “I don’t give a damn about my career! This is an explosive case because the bastards who are responsible for those helpless children and to their nearly-as-helpless parents should be behind bars!”
Laura stared mutely at him, amazed by his forcefulness and equally as impressed. This was, indeed, the type of case that the illustrious Maxwell Kraig would be expected to try. Yet, whereas once Laura might have suspected his motives to be similar to those the D.A. had mentioned, now she saw deep commitment as the motivating force.
“I’m sorry, Laura.” Max’s velvety voice sifted through the sounds in the restaurant. “You’ll have to excuse my language, but I find my pa
tience hard to control on this issue.” His jaw had tensed visibly into a square; Laura wondered whether much of his anger wasn’t directed at Frank for his callous inference. In this she agreed with Max. For the first time, she began to understand the bitterness the good-looking lawyer had expressed the day they had met, when he referred to the public image that was his life.
There was a gentle softness in her voice now, a shaft of support in her blue eyes as she sought to ease his anger. “You’ve got to try that case,” she informed him. “Only someone who feels so strongly about the plight of those children could give them the representation they need.” Her words were heartfelt, and as such, brought an immediate softening to Max’s features. His smile said the only thank you that was needed; his eyes said the rest, burning into her soul. For that brief moment, they communicated without words or touch. It was as though they had forgotten the presence of the third, until he conspicuously cleared his throat, then changed the subject as the waitress brought their food. Laura participated only marginally in the rest of the conversation, so intent was she on assimilating this new side of Maxwell Kraig.
By the second week in February the major matters relating to the Stallway case had been settled. Laura was pleased with the official outcome of her meetings with Max, although she would have liked to have more time to prepare for the trial itself, given her own heavy caseload, than the late March date would allow. But Max’s arguments were valid; the boy had a right to a speedy trial. And Laura knew that she would welcome the conclusion of this particular trial. It was inevitable that she should feel some trepidation in trying her first murder case; the fact that Max was the defense attorney both enhanced the excitement and aggravated the anticipation.
For there had been one side-effect of their meetings on which Laura had not counted—the agonizing physical frustration that assailed her after each one—at night, on the weekends, in her imagination, both day and night. He made no further overtures into her personal realm, though there wasn’t a weekend morning that she did not hold her breath upon awakening, half-hoping that he would be on her doorstep. All too vivid in her memory were the protectiveness of his arms, the gentleness of his hands, the persuasion of his lips, the strength of his manliness. If he missed her, in this most intimate sense, she would never know. Ruefully, she concluded that she had refused his dinner invitation once too often, for he had not risked refusal again. And, yes, she had wanted him to. It was a sad irony, she mused one cold and rainy Sunday afternoon as she half-heartedly appliqued Valentines onto each of the T-shirts she’d bought for her kids, to be presented during class the following Saturday. She wanted to be with Max, to share with him in ways she’d never imagined. Yet there was that basic conflict between wanting him and wanting to avoid involvement with him. The only clear thing was the increasing sense of unfulfillment that shadowed her.
In a desperate effort to sort her thoughts, she put in a call to her brother, to whom she had always, as a child, poured out her heart. In a fortunate twist of fate, he’d had tentative plans to visit a new friend and fellow linguist, a young woman, in Albany. It would take simply a short detour to Northampton for him to visit his “favorite sister.” Laura was ecstatic. The date was set for Friday, the plans calling for Jack to stay over with her before continuing on to Albany on Saturday.
True to his word, Jack arrived at Laura’s apartment in time for a special dinner she had prepared—his favorite recipe of chicken cacciatore over rice with a huge salad. And, true to his word, he opened his ears while Laura told him everything there was to know about Maxwell Kraig, from that most significant arraignment to the most recent conferences. It was a picture of compelling interest and overwhelming desire she painted of her reaction to him, sparing her brother only the intimate details of the passionate encounters that burned so brightly in her memory.
Despite their father’s acquaintance with Max, Jack had never met him, knowing only vaguely of him. He listened intently, questioning her intermittently until she ran out of words and lapsed into an exhausted silence. It was an air of self-pity that had overtaken her, sparked by the seeming contradiction of her feelings. She was jolted by her brother’s gut response.
“It sounds like you’re falling in love.” The concern in his voice did nothing to dull the impaling action of his words.
“What? Of course not!” She denied it with unnecessary force before self-doubt seized her. “At least I don’t think so,” she added more calmly, absently fingering the folds of the linen napkin on her lap. Her long lashes flickered as she raised her eyes once more to her brother’s gentle face. “How could I be, Jack? I don’t know him all that well. I’ve never gone out with him. I don’t even know what kind of car he drives, who his friends are, how his apartment is decorated…”
Jack’s skepticism was heavy. “You’re evading the issue, little sister. Those things don’t make a bit of difference, and you know it! The only thing that really counts, really counts, is you and he together. Does it work?”
Long moments of silence passed before Laura answered. “I don’t know,” she began softly. “I think it does…for me, at any rate.” Her mind was filled with images of spending her life with Max, and even given her limited knowledge of him, she found the prospect, among other things, exciting. But there was so much she didn’t know. Suddenly she looked up, angry at her own unsureness. “This has never happened to me, Jack! I have no idea how to handle it. I still have that case to try against him…” Her voice trailed off as she shook her head in frustration.
Recognizing her confusion, her brother kept his tone patient and understanding. “Do you really want my opinion, Laura?” She looked up at him in anticipation, her expression answer enough to his query. “I think you have to give him a chance. Go out with him. You were really stubborn about refusing his invitations…and foolish. Sometimes, hon, you have to put things into perspective. And from the sounds of it, the man is something extra special to you, which even your precious career has no right to deny. No, hear me out.” He spoke in expectance of the protest that was already forming on Laura’s pouting lips. “You’ve been a…prig. I’m sorry, but that’s the best word to describe it. Laura, there’s more to life than law. And you really don’t have to make the choice between love and a career; millions of women have both nowadays. Let go! Relax! Be the woman that you want to be!”
Laura could be silenced no longer. “But, Jack, I have to try this case opposite him! How can I be the level-headed prosecutor when every time I look at him I melt, my knees get weak, I begin to quake inside?” She bolted out of her seat and walked to the far end of the table, looking back at her brother with an air of defeat. “I’m supposed to be picturing the evidence, and all I can picture is his face just before he kisses me. How do I cope with that, Jack?” She eyed him beseechingly, then followed his movement to where she stood.
Putting his hands on her shoulders in a gesture of brotherly comfort, he calmed her quietly. “You relax, for one thing. Getting yourself all worked up is not going to help. Just let things happen, Laura. If he asks you out, go out with him. You never can tell,” he added with a glint of humor, “he may turn out to be a total bore after the first date.”
Laura turned a cynical eye on him. “You’ve never met Max,” she retorted. “And anyway, I doubt he’ll ask me out again. I think he’s decided he doesn’t want to go out with a…prig.” Guiltily, she owned up to her brother’s assertion, then was actually able to laugh with him when he enveloped her in an affectionate bear hug.
“You never can tell about men,” he murmured by way of backhanded encouragement. “They’re a strange breed.”
Laura was to discover just that the following morning. Jack slept in the second bedroom. After a breakfast of eggs Benedict, a favorite of Laura’s but one which she would not dream of preparing just for herself and therefore rarely had, Jack repacked his suitcase and headed for his car. Throwing her heavy fur jacket over the wool turtleneck and jeans she had unceremoniously donned fo
r breakfast, she walked with him outside, standing by in the cold February air as he stowed the bag in his trunk, then gave her a final hug of affection before he started out.
Laura waved until his car rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. Only then did she see the Mercedes parked across the street, and its owner, his brown hair and sheepskin jacket instantly identifiable, as he slowly emerged from the driver’s seat.
Rendered speechless by a blend of excitement, relief, and anxiety, she stood motionless on the sidewalk as he approached. The angry glint in his eye was the first thing that throttled her, his contemptuous expression the next, as he drew himself to his full height directly before her.
“It’s an experience to sit outside your place for five minutes. I didn’t bargain on seeing last night’s stud leaving, suitcase in hand, no less!” he burst out in scathing proclamation. Laura felt a chill spear her, as an icy blast filtered through to her every nerve end. Before she could find the words of denial, Max’s voice took on a taunting tone. “Innocent Laura! I should have guessed it was all an act. Too much of a tigress to be caged for so long. And to think,” he barrelled on stormily, “that I sat outside for those five minutes trying to find the courage to approach you again. You’re shrewd, all right. You held me off with that damned look of purity. What a fool I am!”
It was the utter contempt in his eyes that set Laura’s stomach churning. She turned and dashed toward the house, stopping at the doorstep only when the firm hand on her arm halted her escape.
“Where do you think you’re running to? I haven’t finished—”
She could no longer bear the fury in his gaze, so disturbed was she by his diatribe. With a trembling hand she waved off his restraining arm. “I don’t feel well…I’m going in…please, let me go.” Struck by both the pleading whisper of her voice and the pallor of her skin, he released her. Sensing freedom, she ran through the door and up the stairs, not quite sure that her trembling knees would carry her all the way, until she collapsed into the sofa and hung her head low, her major concern being to muster the strength to get to the bathroom. To her relief the wave of nausea passed, leaving her only with a thunderously pounding heartbeat and an overall weakness.
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