Sensuous Burgundy

by Barbara Delinsky

  With that particular problem temporarily taken out of her hands, Laura was free to concentrate on the dilemma which was, in her thoroughly biased view, infinitely more real. After several days of preoccupation and brooding, she began to sense that Frank had known more than she’d given him credit for when he suggested she take some time off; as it was, she did justice to neither her work nor her quandary.

  By the end of the week Laura was no closer to a decision. Mercifully, she had retained some control over her powers of concentration, such that her time in court and at the office was fruitful, but her personal state of mind was something else. For not only was she confronted with this all-important decision of whether to face Max in court, but she was also increasingly torn by his absence. Any hope she’d held of his loving her eroded daily. Surely, if he loved her, he would be finding the separation as devastating. Surely he would call.…

  Saturday came and went, the only calls coming in during her intermittent stops at her apartment, between errands and other chores, being those from a friend and her mysterious follower. The former was a breath of fresh air, the latter a test of patience. Sandy Chatfield’s scoring of old files had, as yet, turned up nothing. The calls had remained at the slow-pant stage, however, with no further deterioration into obscenity. For this Laura was grateful. She’d almost grown immune to the sound that had so disgusted her initially, though she realized that in truth she felt some relief knowing that both Frank and Sandy now knew about the calls. And Max…Max also knew.

  What was she going to do about Max? If only she knew where he was, what he was doing, what his thoughts were it would make her decision so much easier.

  How she found herself Sunday morning in the eastbound lane of the Massachusetts Turnpike, she wasn’t quite sure. There had been no active decision on her part to drive to Boston; rather, some inner force had directed her. She did not know what she would say to Max if she even found him at home. It was as though she had nothing better to do on this windy March Sunday than to make the two-and-one-half-hour drive to the state capital from Northampton.

  Slender fingers gripped the steering wheel to hold the small car steady in the middle lane. Laura forced herself to face the truth, the real reason she sought Max out. She needed his help, as simply as that, in making the decision that faced her. She needed to know, for starters, whether he’d be pleased or displeased to see her. She needed to know what he thought about the prospect of their facing each other in court, though she feared she already had a rough idea on that score. She needed to know whether they could be honest enough with each other to assess their potential for professionalism given the previous intimacy of their relationship.

  Helpless, she pondered the mess in which she found herself. Why had she permitted herself to be with Max, to get to know him, finally to fall in love? Given the warning signals at that long-ago arraignment, how could she have succumbed to the temptation he offered? But had it been a matter of will? No, she defended herself staunchly, she’d had no control over her heart. It had been destined, perhaps from that first day in court, that she would fall in love with Max Kraig. And now, still dealing with factors beyond her control, she one by one eliminated the miles between herself and the man who did have control of some of those factors. Once she knew a little more she would make her decision regarding the Stallway case.

  Vaguely familiar with the reason-defying traffic pattern of Boston’s streets, she carefully wove her way around Arlington, up Boylston, and down Charles streets, to Beacon Hill, from which point a very proper-looking couple directed her to Max’s address. Nerve ends quivering in trepidation, she found a parking space, locked her car, and turned to look at the three-story town house in which Max lived and worked. It was typical of those surrounding it, cast of red brick and stone, well kept, dignified though unadorned. The windows were huge, as was the black door that loomed before her—much like its owner.

  The wind whipped her hair as she moved up the short walk, bounded on either side by the frozen grass of late winter. She felt cold, then hot, then cold again as she reached out, hesitated, then forced herself to push the small black button just below the brass plate reading MAXWELL KRAIG, ESQ.

  She stood for what seemed an eternity, torn between staying and leaving, hoping and despairing, wanting and fearing, before her call was answered. With the sound of a lock being released, the door was drawn back to present to Laura’s widened eyes the image of a very tired, very disheveled Max. She must have awoke him. She cringed as she studied his eyes for a reaction to her sudden, unbidden appearance.

  At her most optimistic, as she’d weighed the possibilities on the drive east, Max would have burst into his deliciously warming smile and instantly taken her into his arms in ecstatic pleasure. In reality he did not. Rather, an unfathomable expression flitted across his face for a brief moment before being replaced by clear and open anger. Not even in the most pessimistic of those earlier imaginings had she allowed herself to go this far. As the sharp brown eyes impaled her, she felt herself the object of near fury. Unable to function beneath this heart-rending glower, she merely stood and stared frantically up at him.

  “What are you doing here?” It was a voice she’d never heard before coming from the lips she knew so well. Its sound was a knife, stabbing her cruelly, its words harsh and grating.

  Not knowing quite what to do, she shrugged and made light of his displeasure. “It was an easy drive. There weren’t very many cars on the—”

  “Why are you here?” he thundered, his force reverberating through her being.

  “I had to…see you,” she murmured haltingly, her breath falling victim to the dagger.

  He was pure stone, this man who had once been so warm and soft and giving; now he was cold, dark granite. “Yes?” The jaw was tense and roughened, the lips grim. The slight flaring of his nostrils bespoke his attempts at self-control, at containing the disdain that seeped slowly forth.

  Much as she would have liked to, she had come too far to turn and flee. “M-may I come in?” Never had she felt so frightened, yet she invited herself into the lion’s den. It had to be done. To her chagrin, Max hesitated. obviously, he did not want to have her in his house. But why? The thought that dawned on her sent a BB ricocheting off the tender walls of her stomach. Quickly, she qualified her request. “I’m sorry, if there’s someone—”

  “There’s no one here,” he growled impatiently, though still made no move to step aside and let her in.

  With a sigh of defeat her eyes took on a pleading slant. “Please, Max. I won’t take much of your time. But I need to talk with you.” The desperation of her manner hit its mark. Without a word, his large, solid form stepped to the side in a grudging invitation that she accepted immediately and in spite of its subtle menace. Even as her heart cried out in agony at the certainty that her love was doomed, her mind insisted on the verification of that sentence.

  The door closed behind her with a thud, her heartbeat echoing it. She found herself in a square central hallway, closed doors on either side, a longer corridor stretching back, a stairway off it. She turned to see Max standing stiffly by the door in silent indication that the audience would be held here.

  “Well?” He wasted no time. The thatch of dark hair that fell across his forehead—the same that in times past had given him a boyish, appealing look—now gave him the air of a tyrant.

  She hadn’t planned it this way, yet the words tumbled out. “I’m considering removing myself from the Stallway case.” She caught sight of the clenched fists at Max’s side moments before she felt the pain in her own balled hands and knew it to be the digging of long nails into soft flesh.

  “Why would you want to do that?” There finally seemed a drop of annoyance and a perking up of his interest.

  How very easy it would have been to say “Because I love you and doubt my ability to function impartially as your opponent.” How very easy it would have been, had she wanted to make a complete and utter fool of herself. But the
humiliation was too great, even without this final blow, to permit such recklessness. Rather, she became irritated.

  “I don’t want to do that. I’ve waited a long time for this case. But I’m not sure I want to face you across the courtroom.”

  “Why not?” The brown eyes flashed a challenge, not soft and sensual, but hard and daring.

  Astonished by his persistence and sudden—and deliberate, she was sure—lack of insight, she stared, open-mouthed at him. “Well, we have been…a little more than…just friends.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “What diff—” The words caught in her throat, choking her.

  Like the lion readying for the kill, Max straightened and took several steps toward her. Instinctively, she moved back. “What difference does it make that we’ve been lovers!” he charged callously. “People do it all the time. And for your information, little girl, it has nothing to do with friendship or anything other than a pure and basic physical need.” His tone had begun a slow crescendo, anger raising it as he continued. “Are you going to snag your career for that?” The disgust injected in the last word set Laura’s stomach to churning. “Are you?” he prodded irately.

  Knees trembling now, Laura reached to the bannister behind her for support. “I thought—”

  “You thought wrong!” he bellowed, denying her mention of the times—so beautiful they’d seemed then—that they had been together. “And you’ll be a damned fool if you let any pitiful romantic notions interfere with the career you’re so intent on cultivating.” He ran a hand carelessly through his hair in a motion of exasperation. “Go back to Northampton, Laura. I have work to do.”

  Just as with a life-threatening injury a numbness sets in before the actual pain, so Laura was suddenly protected from the worst of the torment by a shock-cushioning shroud. Immune temporarily from the heartache, she felt a growing will of her own.

  “What’s come over you, Max? You seem so…different.” He did look tired and drawn, she noted with well-hid concern.

  Avoiding her question, his voice carried a low warning. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

  “Why not?” Now it was her turn; she deserved an explanation.

  There was a new element of danger when he met her challenge. “Because I’m not sure I can keep my hands off you. And I’m really not in the mood to play the gentle and considerate lover to your sweet innocence.”

  Horrified, she gasped aloud. “That’s not why I came here! I don’t want you to touch me. I just want you to talk to me.” With this sudden turn in the conversation, a knot tightened in her stomach.

  “Laura, go home. There’s nothing to talk about.” Max took a step forward to underscore his earlier threat, his face a steel mask. Laura swallowed convulsively as she made a fast decision.

  “Thank you. You’re right. There isn’t anything left to say. You’ve made it all perfectly clear. And after all, that’s why I drove all the way out here.” Her words were flowing quickly, her belief in them giving her the strength to go on. “I just want you to know, Max, that I didn’t take our relationship as lightly as you did. Had you given the word, I would have gladly given up the Stallway case, given up my whole damned career for that matter.” Without mentioning the word love, she had all but confessed that deepest, most intimate feeling. Max stood still, several feet before her, a mute statue staring down at her. His anger had dissipated, replaced by a total lack of expression, more puzzling than ever. But Laura was beyond the point of analyzing his mood, so embroiled was she in her own cathartic exercise.

  “You know, Max,” she went on, tears building behind her lids to diffuse her view, “you may have been right that very first day, when you wondered whether there was truly a private Maxwell Kraig in existence. I thought I’d found one, but I was mistaken. And I can only be grateful that you’ve helped me discover that error.” Laura was totally unaware of the tears now streaming down her cheeks until Max raised a hand to wipe them away. Flinching, she quickly moved away from him and made for the door, her legs lead pipes, her sides jelly.

  Entirely swept up into the emotional orbit now, she turned at the door to deliver her final argument. “I’m a good lawyer. I always knew that. And I intend to have Jonathan Stallway put behind bars where he belongs. At least he’ll know where he is and why he’s there. I doubt you have that advantage. But, then, perhaps I’m partly to blame for that.” She looked down briefly, sniffing as she wiped her wet cheeks with both hands. Yes, this would be the hardest part to live with. “You’ve helped me to become a woman; I only wish I’d been enough woman to help you become the kind of man you could be.” Her composure reached its limits; her words died. Simultaneously, Max turned his back on her and walked to the bottom of the stairs, placing one elbow on the bannister, the other hand on his hip, one foot raised on the first step, his head bent over.

  Laura could take no more. Leaving the door ajar behind her, she ran along the street to her car, hearing nothing, seeing nothing, aware of nothing but the mechanics of putting the key in the ignition, turning it, revving the motor, and then leaving the home of Maxwell Kraig behind. Far, far behind.

  Totally numb, she covered the miles back to Northampton, stopping but once for gas and a cup of hot coffee. She was in a limbo, thinking neither of the past nor the future. The car radio, usually silent, blared its cacophony of news and music, all shallow, all escapist. It was late afternoon when she arrived at her apartment. And there, finally, the reality of what she’d seen, heard, and said hit her.

  It began with trembling, to which was soon added nausea, fever, and tears, buckets worth of heartache and heartbreak. She cried into the evening until there were no more tears left. Hunched in bed under piles of blankets, she ignored hunger, cold, and the ringing of the telephone in her bid for oblivion. But comfort was to be a long time coming.

  Sleep laid its claim on her misery-racked body intermittently, but by the time morning had arrived and her forehead was as hot as ever, Laura concluded that she was plagued not only by the trauma of a love lost, but by the flu. She dozed, awakening to call the office and inform them of her illness. She even found the strength somehow, to have herself switched through to the D.A.’s office and notify Frank of her decision. She would be trying the Stallway case. Damn it, she would!

  The fever had begun to yield to the power of aspirin when late in the morning the phone rang. Knowing that there might be several calls coming in from the office, she weakly struggled out of bed and to the phone.

  “Hello?” Her croak sounded horrid, despite her efforts to be the bold, strong Laura her colleagues and friends knew.

  “Laura?” Her breath caught at the sound of the deep voice, and she felt a renewed attack of the shakes coming on. “Are you all right? I called the office and they said—”

  “I have the flu. I’ll be back at my desk tomorrow. Please call me then, if there is some legal matter you have to discuss. Good-bye, Max.” Bang. Had that been Laura, so cool and businesslike? Had that been Laura, miraculously controlled and unemotional? Had that been Laura, who’d hung up the phone on her only love? Yes! And she would get over him. She would! Why then did she find herself moments later in a pool of tears, when she thought they’d all been long since spent!

  Time. It was going to take time, she told herself as she sought comfort, curled up beneath the protection of her blankets. In time she would forget the love she’d known so deeply yet briefly. Forget? No, never forget. Not even get over, for she knew that one part of her would always adore Max. Perhaps learn to live with was the proper phrase. Yes, in time she would learn to live with this everlasting and unrequited love. Maybe even in time she would find an understanding man to fill the overwhelming void this love left. Time, that was all, she reassured herself.

  The next morning found her drained of energy, but of normal temperature and impatient intellect. She dressed warmly against the wind and went to the office, determined to let the law do its healing. Back at her desk after
several brief court appearances, she was pale, but psychologically revived by the legal exercise. She returned several calls which had come in the day before, and had barely put the receiver down when it buzzed loudly. Absently, she picked it up, her mind still concentrating on an issue the preceding call had raised.

  “Yes?” she responded softly, out of habit.

  “Laura? You’re back at work?” The familiar voice snapped her instantly out of her thought. Yes, she was back at work and all professional, as Maxwell Kraig had better know.

  “It looks that way, doesn’t it, counselor,” she stated coolly, with a strength which belied her fatigue.

  “You’re feeling all right?” What an actor the bastard was! She seethed inwardly. This time some of her anger did escape.

  “Of course! Why shouldn’t I? It was just the flu!”

  There was a pause at the other end of the line. “As long as that was all…” Sensing some mystery she didn’t quite understand, Laura prodded.

  “What did you think was wrong? Contrary to your expectation, I didn’t fall apart.”

  His voice was deep, almost hesitant in its gentle chiding. “That wasn’t what I expected, Laura. I just wasn’t sure whether…”

  “Whether what?” Had he thought something else unimaginable about her? It wasn’t like Max to hedge so, or to give vent to sighs of such obvious resignation as she now heard.

  “For a while there I wondered if you might be pregnant.” It was spoken almost begrudgingly, this idea that took Laura completely off guard.

  “P-pregnant?” she heard herself stammer. The thought hadn’t even occurred to her, though she knew for a fact that it was not so. Surprise gave way to indignation, as she realized where his fear lay. “No, Max, I’m not pregnant. You can breathe easily that there will be no embarrassing paternity claim made on you. And even if I were pregnant, I’m not as naive as my previous inexperience may have suggested. There are very simple ways of terminating unwanted pregnancies in this day and age.” Appalled by the coldness of her tone and the gist of what she’d said, a wave of weakness attacked her limbs. “No, I’m not pregnant. Was there something else you wanted to ask me?” Her voice reflected the tiredness that dominated her every move now.