“From here?” She looked surprised. It was strange to be taken care of again, escorted and assisted, picked up and brought back. She had missed it for so long, and now she didn’t quite know how to handle it again. It was like coming back to shoes after months of bare feet.
“Would you rather I meet you after work?”
“Either way.” She looked at him happily, and for a moment neither of them spoke. She had been about to offer him her car, but she couldn’t quite do that. Not … not the Morgan. She felt rotten for not offering it, but she couldn’t.
“Why don’t I give you time to go home and relax? May I pick you up there?” Since he already knew that she was a little bit skittish, they both laughed, but she nodded.
“That’ll be fine.”
“Say at seven? Dinner at eight.”
“Super.” And then suddenly she had a thought. He was almost at the door of the shop, and she quickly walked toward him. “You don’t know San Francisco very well, do you?”
“Not very. But I expect I can find my way around.” He looked amused at her concern.
“How would you like a tour at the end of the day?”
“With you?”
“Of course.”
“That’s a splendid idea.”
“Great. Where will you be around five?”
“Anywhere you say.”
“All right. I’ll pick you up outside the St. Francis Hotel at five. Okay?”
“Very much so.”
He gave her a quick salute and ran quickly down the steps of the shop as Jessica turned back to Astrid.
Somehow she had a hard time keeping her mind on what they were saying as they discussed the sale of Lady J.
“Right, Jessie?”
“Huh?” Astrid was grinning at her when she looked up. “Oh, shit.”
“Don’t tell me you’re falling in love.”
“Nothing like it. But he’s a very nice man. Isn’t he?” She wanted Astrid’s approval.
“He looks like it, Jessie.”
Jessica looked up at her friend and giggled like a schoolgirl. It seemed hours before they had their business settled, although both women were pleased with the results. Jessica got up jubilantly from her desk, pirouetted on one heel of the pretty Gucci shoes, and looked at her watch.
“And now, I have to go.” She picked up her bag, blew Astrid a kiss, and paused happily at the door for a moment. “In fifteen minutes I have to pick up Ian.” With a rapid wave she was out the door and down the steps—without ever realizing what she had said. Astrid shook her head and wondered if she’d ever get over him. More than that, she wondered how Ian was doing. She missed him. And thinking of him threw a damper on her excitement about Jessie’s new friend.
Jessie was already backing out of the drive and on her way to meet Geoffrey.
Chapter 33
“Am I late?” She looked worried as she pulled up in front of the St. Francis. She had run into unexpected traffic on the way downtown. But he looked happy and relaxed, like a man who is looking forward to seeing someone, not like a man who has been kept waiting.
“Oh, I’ve been here for hours.”
“Liar.”
“Heavens! What an outrageous thing to call a man!” But he looked delighted to see her, and allowed himself to lean over and give her a peck on the cheek. She liked the friendliness of it. The hugs before passion ever became an issue. The little touches of the hand, the quick kiss on the cheek. It made things less awesome that way. They were becoming friends. She was falling in like.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Everywhere.” She eyed him with pleasure as she drove up to Nob Hill.
“What a promise. Well, I know where we are now, anyway. That’s my hotel.” She ignored him, and he grinned.
“This is Nob Hill.” And she pointed out Grace Cathedral, the Pacific Union Club, and three of the city’s poshest hotels. From there they swooped down California Street to the Embarcadero, the Ferry Building, and a quick view of the docks. Up toward Ghirardelli Square and the Cannery, where she pointed out the honeycomb of boutiques right after they passed Fisherman’s Wharf (where she had stopped and bought him a well-filled cup of fresh shrimp and a huge hunk of sourdough bread).
“What a tour. My dear, I’m overwhelmed.” And she was having a marvelous time as well.
From there, they went on to watch the old men playing boccie on the rim of the bay, and then up to the yacht basin and the St. Francis Yacht Club. This was followed by a sedate tour past blocks and blocks and blocks of elaborate mansions. After which they took refuge in Golden Gate Park. And her timing was perfect. It was just nearing sunset, and the light on the flowers and lawns was gold and pink and very lovely. It was Jessica’s favorite time of day.
They walked past endless flower beds, and along curved walks, past little waterfalls, and around a small lake, until at last they reached the Japanese tea garden.
“Jessica, you give an extraordinarily good tour.”
“At your service, sir.” She swept him a formal curtsy, and he put a quick arm around her shoulders. It had been a beautiful day and she was beginning to feel as though she really knew him.
She liked his reactions, his way of thinking, his sense of humor, and the gentle way he seemed to care about how she felt. And he seemed so much like her. He had the same kind of free and easy ways, the same craving for independence. He seemed to like his work, and he certainly didn’t appear to be suffering financially. He really seemed the perfect companion. For a while, anyway. And he was nice to her. She had learned to be grateful for that, without leaning on him too heavily.
“What do you like to do more than anything in this world, Jessica?” They were sipping green tea and munching little Japanese cookies in the tea garden.
“More than anything else? Paint, I guess.”
“Really?” He seemed surprised. “Are you good? Stupid question, but one always feels compelled to ask that, useless though it is. People who are any good insist that they’re awful. And of course the bad ones tell you they’re the best.”
“Now what do I say?” They both laughed and she shared the last cookie with him. “I don’t know if I’m any good or not, but I love it.”
“What sort of things do you paint?”
“It depends. People. Landscapes. Whatever. I work in watercolor or oils.”
“You’ll have to show me sometime.” But he sounded indulgent and not as though he took her very seriously. He had a kind of placating, fatherly way about him sometimes, which made her feel like a little girl. It was odd that now that she had gotten used to being a grown-up, someone had appeared who would have let her go on being a child. But she wasn’t sure she still wanted to be one.
When the tea garden closed, they walked slowly back to the car, and Geoffrey seemed to see it for the first time.
“You know, Jessica, it’s really a beauty. These are almost collectors’ items now. Where did you get it?”
“I’m not sure one should admit that sort of thing, but it was a gift.” She looked proud as she said it.
“Good Lord, and a handsome one.” She nodded in silence and he cast her a glance without asking the question. But whoever had given her the car, he knew it was someone important in her life, and most likely her husband. Jessica was not the sort of woman to accept large gifts from just anyone. He already knew that much about her. She was a woman of breeding, and considerable style.
“Have you ever flown? I mean flown a plane yourself.” She laughed at the idea and shook her head. “Want to try?”
“Are you serious?”
“Why not? We’ll go up in my plane sometime. It’s not hard flying at all. You could learn in no time.”
“What a funny idea.”
He was full of funny ideas, but she liked them. And she liked him.
They shared a wonderful evening. The food at L’Etoile was superb, the piano in the bar was gentle, and Geoffrey was delightful to be with. They shared a Chat
eaubriand with truffles and béarnaise, white asparagus, hearts of palm with endive salad in a delicate mustard dressing, and a bottle of Mouton-Rothschild wine, 1952, “a very good year,” he assured her in his clipped English way, but warmed by a smile produced just for her. He always managed to create an atmosphere of intimacy without making her feel uncomfortable.
And after dinner they danced at Alexis’. It was a far cry from the evening she’d spent there with the blind date Astrid had provided. Geoffrey danced beautifully. It was a thoroughly different evening from any she had spent in years. There was luxury and romance and excitement. She hated to go home and see it end. They both did.
They drove to her house in silence, and he kissed her gently at the door. It was the first time he had really kissed her, and it didn’t send rockets off in her head, but it pulled threads all the way up her thighs. Geoffrey was a totally magnetic man. He pulled away from her slowly, with the tiniest of smiles tugging at one side of his mouth. “You’re an exquisite woman, Jessica.”
“Would you like to come in for a drink?” She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to, and the way she said it told him so. She almost hoped he’d refuse. She didn’t want to … not yet. But he was so appealing, and it had been such a long time.
“Are you sure you’re not too tired? It’s awfully late, young lady.” He looked so gentle, so thoughtful, so much like … like Geoffrey. She forced her thoughts back to the present and smiled into his eyes.
“I’m not too tired.” But she stiffened a little and he sensed it. He smiled at her back as she opened the door with her key. She had nothing to fear from him. He wanted much more than she could give in a night. He wasn’t going to rush her. He already knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was for keeps.
She opened the door and turned on some lights, and he lit the candles as she poured cognac into two handsome snifters.
“Is cognac all right?”
“Perfect. And so is the view. This is quite a house.” But he wasn’t surprised. He had expected something like this. “And what a beautiful woman you are … taste … style … elegance … beauty … intelligence … a woman of a thousand virtues.”
“And a fat head, if you don’t stop soon.” She handed him the snifter of cognac and sat down in her favorite chair. “It’s a nice view from here.”
“It is. I’ll be looking for something like this in a few weeks.”
“Will you?” She couldn’t resist a burst of laughter. “Or did you make up that story about moving to San Francisco too?”
He smiled boyishly. “No, that was true. Are houses like this hard to find?”
“You mean you want to buy?” She had assumed that he would rent.
“That depends.” He looked into her eyes and then into his cognac while she watched him.
“Maybe I’ll rent you this place for the summer.” She was teasing, and he raised an eyebrow.
“Are you serious?”
“No.” Her eyes grew sad as she looked into the candle and spoke. “You wouldn’t be happy here, Geoffrey.” And she didn’t want him in “their” house. It would have made her uncomfortable.
“Are you happy here, Jessica?”
“I don’t think of it that way.” She looked back into his eyes, and he was surprised at the pain he saw lurking there. It made her seem suddenly years older. “To me, it’s just a house now. A roof, a clump of rooms, an address. The rest is gone.”
“Then you should move out. Maybe we’ll find a … I’ll find … a larger place. Would you consider selling this?”
“No, just renting. It’s not mine to sell.”
“I see.” He took another sip of his cognac and then smiled at her again. “I should be going soon, Jessica, or you’ll be terribly tired tomorrow. Are you busy for breakfast?”
“Not usually.” She laughed at the thought.
“Good. Then why don’t we have breakfast somewhere amusing before I fly back to L.A. I can pick you up in a cab.” She loved the idea of breakfast with him. She would have preferred to cook it for him and sit naked at the kitchen table with him, or juggle strawberries and fresh cream on a tray in bed. But she almost wondered if one did that sort of thing with Geoffrey. He looked as if he might wear a dressing gown and silk pajamas. But there was a definite sensuality about him too.
“What do you eat for breakfast?” It was a crazy question, but she wanted to know. It suddenly mattered to her. Everything did.
“What do I eat?” He seemed amused. “Generally something light. Poached eggs, rye toast, tea.”
“That’s all? Not even bacon? No waffles? No French toast? No papaya? Just poached eggs and rye toast? Yerghk.” He roared with laughter at her reaction and began to enjoy the game.
“And what do you eat for breakfast that’s so much more exotic, my love?”
“Peanut butter and apricot jam on English muffins. Or cream cheese and guava jelly on bagels. Orange juice, bacon, omelettes, apple butter, banana fritters …” She let her imagination run wild.
“Every day?”
“Absolutely.” She tried to look solemn but had a hard time.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, you’re right … about most of it. But the peanut butter and cream cheese part was true. Do you like peanut butter?”
“Hardly. It tastes like wet cement.”
“Have you eaten a lot of that?” She looked across at him with interest.
“What?”
“Wet cement.”
“Certainly. Marvelous on thin wheat toast. Now, are you serious about joining me for breakfast tomorrow? I’m sure we can get you some peanut butter on croissants. Will that do?”
“Perfect.” She was starting to be Jessie now, and it amused him. He liked everything about her. She kicked off her shoes and curled her legs up in her chair. “Geoffrey ”—she tried to sound solemn—“do you read comic books?”
“Constantly. Particularly Superman.”
“What? No Batman comic books?”
“Oh yes, of course, but Superman has always been my favorite.” He stopped playing for a minute then and looked into his glass. “Jessica … I like you. I like you very much.” He surprised her with the directness of his words, and she was touched by the way he said them. His style was an odd mixture of formality and warmth. She hadn’t thought the combination was possible, but apparently it was.
“I like you too.”
They sat across from each other and he made no move to approach her. He didn’t want to rush her. She was a woman you got close to gradually, after much thought.
“You haven’t said much about it, nothing in fact, but I somehow have the feeling that you’ve suffered a lot. A very great deal, even.”
“What makes you think that?”
“The things you don’t say. The times you back off. The wall you run behind now and then. I won’t hurt you, Jessica. I promise I’ll try very hard not to.”
She didn’t say anything, but only looked at him and wondered how often promises turned to lies. But she wanted him to prove her wrong, and he wanted to try.
Chapter 34
“Well, how was your evening?” Astrid was already at the shop when Jessie got there the next day. Jessie wasn’t getting in as early anymore. She didn’t have to. Or want to.
“Delightful.” She beamed, even more enchanted with their breakfast at the Top of the Mark that morning, but she didn’t feel like telling Astrid about it. “Very, very nice.” She looked cryptic and pleased with herself.
“I’d say he’s ‘very, very nice’ too.”
“Now, Mother. Don’t push.” The two women laughed, and Astrid held up a hand innocently in protest.
“Who needs to push? He sells himself all by himself. Are you in love with him, Jessie?” Astrid looked serious and so did Jessica.
“Honestly? No. But I like him. He’s the nicest man I’ve met in a long time.”
“Then maybe the rest will come later. Give him a chance.” Jessica nodded and look
ed at the mail that was hers. She didn’t like sharing the shop anymore. It was different now. And it was like prolonging the end. She wanted to say good-bye to Lady J and get out of town. This was just like one more divorce. And there was another letter from Ian with the rest of her mail. She took it and set it apart from the rest Astrid noticed, but she didn’t say anything. This was the first time Jessie hadn’t torn up one of his letters. She saw Astrid’s look and shrugged as she poured herself a fresh cup of coffee.
“You know, I keep thinking that maybe I should drop him a note and thank him for the car. Seems like the least I could do. Your mother and I talked about it last weekend.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing much.” Which only meant that Jessie wasn’t telling.
In the end, she threw out the letter he had sent her.
They met with the lawyers for the next two afternoons, and everything was settled. On Saturday morning, Jessie went to three real-estate agents and listed the house as a summer rental. But she wanted careful screening of the tenants; she was leaving all her furniture there. And Ian’s studio would be locked. She felt she owed him that.
It was almost midnight on Sunday when she sat down to write him a note about the car. In the end, she jotted down five or six lines, telling him how pleased she had been, how lovely it was, and that he hadn’t had to do that. She wanted to cancel the debt between them. He didn’t owe her anything. But it took her almost four hours to compose the short note.
Five days later the house had been rented from the fifteenth of July till the first of September, and she was almost ready to leave town. She hoped to be gone in a week. Geoffrey wanted to come up and see her again, and even invited her down to L.A. for a weekend, but she was too busy. She had found leads to two houses and an apartment for him, but she was tied up with her own affairs. There didn’t seem to be room for Geoffrey just then, and she wanted him to stay away until she had closed the house, given up the shop, put away the past. She wanted to come to him “clean” and new, if he would just give her the time. She had to do it that way. Be alone to sever the last cords by herself. It was harder this way, but he didn’t belong in her life yet. She would see him in the country once she was settled.
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