The Mistress Deal

by Sandra Field

  His crooked grin relieving some of the tension in his face, Reece said, “I have difficulty with that picture—you’re more likely to take a sledgehammer to my forehead. Don’t you see, Lauren? This is about trust, too. I wouldn’t leave here for anything less than a real emergency—you’ve got to believe me. Because it’s true.”

  She twisted a fold of the sheet between her fingers. “I— I guess I’ll let you in,” she muttered. “If you come back.”

  “I’ve said I will…I’ll call you in a couple of days and let you know how things are going. Now I’d better get in the shower and get out of here.”

  Grabbing his clothes, he headed for the bathroom. Lauren quickly dressed in black pants and a loose mohair sweater, needing the protection that clothing offered. Could she trust Reece? Or was she being an utter fool? Once he’d left, wouldn’t he realize he’d had enough of her? After all, he’d more than made amends for events at the yacht club. He’d given her pleasure and fulfillment beyond her wildest imaginings, and hadn’t that been his aim?

  Why would he bother to come back? He certainly wasn’t in love with her, that wasn’t part of his life plan.

  She brushed her hair, put on earrings and lipstick and went downstairs. The studio looked even messier than it had before she had gone to bed. She ground some coffee and plugged in her espresso machine, trying to keep her mind on what she was doing. Someone had spilled red wine over the counter, and someone else had trodden two shrimps into the hardwood floor. Although Sam’s bottle of wine had been drained, the Calla lilies had been stuck in water in a biscuit jar. She found a vase in the cupboard, sliced their stems and was arranging them when Reece came running down the stairs, doing up his cuff links on the way. He said, “I didn’t set up that phone call to get out of helping you clean up this mess, either. Those are nice flowers,” he added.

  “Sam gave them to me.”

  His lips narrowed. “You planning on falling in love with Sam?”

  “I’m not planning on falling in love with anyone,” she said sharply. “What about you?”

  “Same. Tell me what your favorite flowers are.”

  “Lilacs. The purple ones with the gorgeous smell.”

  “Randolph’s outside, I’ve got to go. Look at me, Lauren.”

  Reluctantly she raised her eyes to his face. His hair was still damp, his eyes very blue. He said strongly, “When I said how wonderful last night was, I was telling the exact truth. And no, it’s not my standard line when I say goodbye. You were wonderful…so passionate, you took my breath away. In an ideal world, I’d be staying right here and making love to you the whole day through.”

  Trust me. That’s what he was saying. “I—it was wonderful for me, too, Reece.” Impetuously she stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the mouth, feeling the contact rip through all her defenses. “Have a safe journey,” she quavered.

  Cupping her chin, he kissed her thoroughly and at length; her cheeks were as red as her sweater when he stepped back. “Talk to you soon,” he said, unlatched her door and was gone.

  Lauren stood very still. The studio was distressingly, horribly empty. Why hadn’t she hugged him? Why hadn’t she told him he’d been incredibly generous last night? That she’d loved his body and everything he’d done upstairs in her bed?

  It was too late now. He’d gone.

  But she’d see him again soon, she thought stoutly, reaching in the cupboard for a coffee mug and discovering they were all dirty. Of course she would.

  He’d said so.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE day Reece left passed fairly quickly, because Lauren was busy washing dishes, lugging down the garbage, and scrubbing the floor. She went to bed very tired, certain that she’d sleep; and as soon as her head touched the pillow was achingly aware of the elusive scent of Reece’s body, and of the empty expanse of sheets. She was alone in her bed; except for last night, she’d been alone in her bed for years. But last night had changed everything.

  She tried recounting the names of all the people at the party, those she’d invited and those she hadn’t; she composed a mental letter to her gallery about her next show; she stared at the rectangle of clouds through the skylight. She felt as though she’d been invaded, as though Reece had flowed through her veins, and was now a denizen of her heart. She was no longer complete, she thought miserably. In just a few hours in her bed, Reece had stolen her hard-earned peace and security.

  Why had she ever opened her body to a man who had a business empire that spanned the globe and a heart guarded against both vulnerability and love? She was entirely capable of reading between the lines: the tragic death of his sister had killed something in Reece. He might desire Lauren, but he wouldn’t fall in love with her.

  She should have sent him away the moment he had walked in her door.

  Eventually she did fall asleep. The next day she focused on business matters, visiting her gallery, paying bills and doing some shopping. When she went to bed at eleven, she fell asleep right away; then woke at three in the morning longing for Reece to be beside her.

  He should phone today. Who knows, maybe he’d be knocking at her door by nightfall, she thought.

  Somewhat comforted, she drifted off to sleep again. The next morning she found out she wasn’t pregnant, a bittersweet discovery even though reason told her the last thing in the world she needed was to bear Reece’s child. The hours of the day dragged by, her back ached, and by five that afternoon she was battling true panic because she couldn’t concentrate on her work, so anxious was she for the phone to ring. Work had always been her refuge; what if she lost even that?

  Then the phone did ring, three times in succession: Sam inviting her to a movie, purple-sarong inviting her to go camping, a research company inviting her to answer a survey. She declined them all with varying degrees of politeness, and was alternately enraged and despairing that her peace of mind could be so dependent upon a phone call.

  At seven-ten, when she’d almost given up hope, the telephone shrilled. She grabbed the receiver and said breathlessly, “Hello?”

  “Lauren? Is that you?”

  “Reece—where are you?”

  “Heathrow. Again.” As her heart leaped with joy that he was on his way to New York, he went on, “Did you listen to the news tonight?”

  She hadn’t. She’d been too preoccupied with cramps, the clumsiness of her fingers and the recalcitrance of the sheet metal she was working with. “Why? What’s up?”

  “I’ve got to go to Ecuador. Three of my staff were taken hostage last night. I’ve hired some professional negotiators to deal with the ransom, but I have to be there, too. Partly for moral support for the three guys that are prisoners, partly to do my own share of the negotiations.”

  His voice was clipped and emotionless. “How long do you think it’ll take?” she asked, trying to sound just as composed.

  “I’ve no idea. Sometimes these things are settled right away, sometimes they drag on for weeks…I’d have phoned you sooner, but Gary and I have been working around the clock on that deal that nearly fell through. Lauren, I’m sorry, I know this isn’t what I promised, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t go down there and see for myself what’s going on.”

  “You’ll be careful, Reece?”

  “Of course I will,” he said impatiently.

  He was a very rich man; he’d be a prime candidate for being held to ransom himself. All the horror stories she’d ever read in the news flooded her mind; her heart felt like a lump of ice in her breast. “Please look after yourself,” she begged.

  There was a small silence. “You really care?”

  This time it was she who was silent. “I—of course I care what happens to you, I wouldn’t want anyone to fall in the hands of kidnappers.”

  “I see,” he said with a trace of grimness. “I can’t promise how often I’ll be in touch, as I’m not sure what conditions will be like down there. But I’ll come back as soon as I can, that I do promise. Do you know
yet whether you’re pregnant?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Good,” Reece said. “Neither of us needs that complication.”

  Suddenly furious, she retorted, “Heavens, no. A baby? In your perfectly controlled life? Way too messy.”

  “Give it a rest, Lauren.”

  “Oh, pardon me,” she snapped. Her fingers tightened around the receiver: a piece of plastic that was her only connection to Reece before he disappeared into dangers all the more threatening for being unknown. Appalled, she said raggedly, “Reece, I’m sorry. My back hurts, I haven’t been able to settle down and work since you left, I’m hardly sleeping—I don’t want you to go to Ecuador thinking I’m angry with you.”

  “If it’s any help, I’m not sleeping, either.” His voice deepened. “All I can think of is the softness of your skin, your beauty, the way you responded to me…I’ll be back as soon as I can, I swear.”

  “I’ll look forward to seeing you,” she said. It was the truth, wasn’t it? Although the words seemed hopelessly inadequate to express the storm of emotion in her breast.

  “I’ve got to go—the jet’s waiting. Take care of yourself, and if I can’t phone you myself, I’ll get someone in my London office to keep in touch.”

  “Thank you…’bye,” she whispered.

  The connection was cut. Slowly Lauren put down the phone and looked around the studio as though she’d never seen it before. A man with piercing blue eyes had severed her from a life she’d painstakingly rebuilt in the years after Sandor. A life in which she’d been more than content.

  She couldn’t go back. The past was just that: the past. And the future was so clouded with uncertainties that there was no refuge for her there, either.

  Work, she thought. I’ll work until I drop and I’ll sleep the rest of the time. And who knows, Reece may be back in only a few days.

  The days dragged by, and turned into weeks. November became December. Punctiliously every third day a man called Ross phoned Lauren from London to report on the negotiations, at first on their total lack of progress because of the outrageous demands of the hostage takers, and later on the inch-by-inch concessions being made by both sides. This was normal, he assured Lauren. She shouldn’t worry, every precaution was being taken to insure the safety of the negotiating team.

  Reece himself phoned four times, the connections so bad that Lauren could scarcely hear him. He sounded tired and frustrated, deeply worried about the safety of his employees, yet unable to accede to the demands of the kidnappers because to do so would have endangered the lives of local inhabitants. Lauren had never felt so helpless in her life; helpless and horribly lonely. As a result she threw herself into her work, staying up half the night for two weeks in a row, and producing a massive sculpture in steel and wood that far surpassed anything she’d ever done and that left her exhausted.

  Besides talking long-distance to Charlie every week, the other thing she did was see a lot of Sam. He was involved in a project in New York, and was more than happy to drop in for coffee or go to a movie with her. Over a leisurely meal in a little bistro in Greenwich Village, he started talking about Clea, painting a picture of an intelligent, high-spirited young woman whom Sam had adored, and who had loved her brother Reece deeply. “Reece was devastated by her death…I don’t think he’s ever got over it. I’d never known him to be in love with any of the women he dated, but after Clea, he was like a block of ice.” Sam buttered a slice of baguette, his thin face abstracted. “Part of me will always love Clea, and I know in my bones we’d have been happy together. But she’s dead, Lauren. She won’t be back…and now I’ve met someone else, in Boston.”

  “Someone nice?” Lauren ventured.

  Sam grinned. “Bright and gorgeous and plays a mean game of tennis.” Abruptly he sobered. “I haven’t dared tell Reece. I’m afraid he’ll think I’ve abandoned Clea. I’ll never abandon her in one sense. But life moves on, and I want a wife and children and a house in the suburbs, all the normal stuff for a guy my age.”

  “I think you should tell him. When he comes back.”

  “And who knows when that’ll be.”

  “It’s got to be soon,” Lauren cried.

  “For someone who swears she’s not in love, you’re sure behaving like you are.”

  “I’m not! I won’t let myself be. Because you’re right, Reece took his heart and put it in the deep freeze and it’d take more than me to haul it out of there. So why would I be so stupid as to fall in love with him?”

  “Then you both miss out.”

  “You’re a born romantic, Sam.”

  “Guess you’re right.” He twirled his linguine around his fork. “Did I ever tell you about Reece’s country place in Provence?”

  Lauren settled back to listen; she loved hearing stories about Reece, about a younger, happier Reece; it all added to the emerging portrait of a complex man who’d loved his family and was now driven by demons she’d do anything to exorcise. As she went to bed that night, she added to the puzzle the fact that Reece had returned the cheque she’d sent him; nor had he published one word about Wallace.

  The next day she went to the library, and on microfiche read the newspaper accounts about Clea’s murder on a sidewalk in Chicago one hot summer day. There were photographs, all too graphic, engraving themselves on Lauren’s brain. The ones of Reece made her flinch, so haggard, so ravaged did he look; so utterly alone, no matter that he was surrounded by people.

  She didn’t take any notes; she didn’t need to. Her spirit heavy, she left the library and walked home. For ten days she worked, like a woman driven, on a small bronze of two figures, a Pietà in reverse, for the man was holding the woman’s body. Then, after a certain amount of research, she mailed a cheque for the exact amount of the sale of her house to an organization in Chicago that worked with street kids. If—when—she saw Reece again, she’d tell him what she’d done.

  Of course she’d see him. He’d promised she would.

  But there were times, especially in the middle of the night when she woke to an unshared bed, that Lauren doubted this. She lost weight, her eyes looked shadowed, and the next piece she embarked on carried her to even darker territory in her unconscious, places she’d never been before. Charlie told her to throw the key to her studio in the Hudson River. Sam lectured her about vitamins and taking a holiday. Even purple-sarong, when she met him one day on Forty-second Street wearing a pair of perfectly respectable jeans, told her to book a flight to a beach in Baja.

  She couldn’t. She had to be home to get the snippets of information that were all that connected her to Reece; she needed the security of friends and familiar surroundings. And then one day in mid-December, when the shops were full of Christmas decorations that seemed to mock her unhappiness, the telephone rang.

  She was expecting a call from her agent. “Lauren Courtney,” she said crisply.

  “I’m back in London.”

  She would have known that voice anywhere. She sat down hard on the nearest chair. “Reece?” she faltered. “You’re home? You’re safe?”

  “Yes, yes, and yes.” His voice altered. “You okay?”

  “I never c-cry,” she gulped, swiping at the tears that were streaming down her cheeks.

  “I thought you’d be happy.”

  “I am—oh, I am.”

  “We got in a couple of hours ago. The families of the three guys who were released were all at the airport…the men’ll need psychiatric assessments, but I think they’ll be fine now that they’re home.”

  “So they were all released?”

  He gave her some of the details, none of which she remembered afterward because she was too busy trying to overcome a maelstrom of emotion. Reece was safe. In London. Safe.

  “You still there?” he said finally; she could almost see his crooked grin.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re being awfully quiet.” She didn’t know what to say; that was one reason. He went on, “I’ve got a ton of stuff to
catch up on over here. I wondered…would you consider coming over for Christmas? Spending it with me in Surrey? I have a place there that I think you’d like.”

  “Just you and me?”

  “Along with the housekeeper and the groundsman.”

  “I—I don’t know that I’d get a flight this late.”

  “I’ll look after that, I’ve got connections. Are you saying you don’t want to come?” His voice was unreadable.

  “You really want me there?”

  “I wouldn’t be asking you if I didn’t.”

  “All right,” she said in a rush. “I’ll come.”

  “How about the twenty-third? We can drive down to Surrey that afternoon.”

  Ten more days, she thought. How will I last that long? “That sounds fine,” she said. “Although there’s one condition, Reece.”

  “Yes?” he said guardedly.

  “We give each other one gift only, costing under twenty-five dollars and handmade.”

  He began to laugh. “That’s fine for you. I’m the original clown when it comes to making anything other than hard cash.”

  “It doesn’t have to be fancy.”

  “This some kind of test?”

  “Sometimes money makes things too easy.”

  “You’re so different from anyone else I know,” Reece said vigorously. “But if this is what it takes to get you here, then I agree.” He hesitated. “How are you, Lauren?”

  He didn’t mean that in the usual way; he really wanted to know. She said with careful accuracy, “Tired. Confused. So happy you’re safe.” Taking her courage in her hands, she added shyly, “Wanting very much to go to bed with you again.”

  “I can’t tell you how I’m longing to hold you in my arms.”

  She gave a breathless laugh. “Ten days isn’t long.”

  “Ten days sounds like forever.”

  Her whole body felt as though it were on fire. “I think we’ll have a very happy Christmas,” she said.

  “I think you may be right. Lauren, I should go, I’ve got a million things to see to. I’ll call you in a couple of days with all the arrangements. Take care, won’t you?”