Fine Things

by Danielle Steel

  “Something wrong?” he asked her eventually, as they both sipped their kir. They discovered that they both loved it, and she had spent her junior year in Provence and spoke flawless French, which impressed him.

  “I don't know …” She sighed and sat back in her chair. She was always honest with him, and he listened easily to her confession. “Something happened today when I looked at that baby.” He waited to hear what she was going to tell him. “It was the first time I felt that terrible ache women talk about …that ache which makes you wonder if you've done the right thing with your life.” She took a sip of the drink and then looked at him almost sadly. “It would be terrible never to have children, wouldn't it? And I've never felt that before. Maybe I'm just tired after last night with that sick baby.”

  “I don't think it's that. Having children has been the best thing that's ever happened to me. And you're smart enough to know that. You know what you're missing, most women don't.”

  “So now what? I run out and kidnap a baby … or get pregnant by my butcher at the market in Napa?” She smiled, but it was obvious that she was also troubled, and he smiled back, only partially sympathetic.

  “I suspect there must be better volunteers than that.” It was impossible to believe that there weren't, and she blushed faintly in the dim light of the room, as the piano played softly behind them.

  “There might be, but I'm not anxious to have a child to raise without a father. I'm not even sure I'm anxious to have any child. But tonight”—her voice grew dreamy, and her eyes had a distant look—“when I held that baby …what a miracle children are.” She looked up at him then, and shrugged. “It's stupid to wax poetic about it, isn't it? I have a good life like this.”

  He spoke for himself as well as her. “Maybe it could be better.”

  “Maybe.” But she wasn't anxious to pursue it. Conversations like that always made her think of Mark, and that still hurt, even after all these years. There had never been anyone like him. “Anyway, think of the diapers I don't have to change. I can just run around waving my stethoscope, loving everyone else's babies.” It sounded lonely to him. He couldn't imagine his life without Jane or Alexander, and he decided to tell her that.

  “I was thirty-seven when Alex was born, and he's the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

  She smiled at him, touched by the confession. “And how old was your wife?”

  “Almost twenty-nine. But I think she would have had him even if she'd been ten years older than that. She really wanted more children.” It was a shame they hadn't had them. A shame she hadn't lived. A shame Mark hadn't either. But they hadn't. That was the reality of it. And Bernie and Megan had survived them.

  “I see older mothers in my practice all the time. I think they're very brave. The good thing is they've done what they wanted to do, had their flings and freedom and established their careers, if that's what they want. Sometimes I think it makes them better parents.”

  “So?” He smiled, feeling like his own mother. “Go have a baby.”

  She laughed openly at that. “I'll tell my parents you said so.”

  “Tell them you have my blessing.”

  “I shall.” They exchanged a warm smile, and she sat back, listening to the piano.

  “What are they like?” He was always curious about her. He wanted to know more about her. He knew she was torn about having children, that she had gone to Radcliffe and Stanford, that her fiance had been killed in Vietnam, that she came from Boston and lived in Napa, but he didn't know much more than that, except that he thought she was a damn fine woman, and he liked her. A lot. Maybe even too much, except that he didn't admit it. He pretended to like her a little. To himself at any rate.

  “My parents?” She seemed surprised at his question, and he nodded. “Nice, I guess. My father works too hard, my mother adores him. My brother thinks they're both crazy. He says he wants to make a fortune and not stay up all night delivering babies, that's why he went into psychiatry instead of obstetrics. But I think he's serious about what he does”— she looked pensive and then smiled—“as serious as he ever is. My brother is practically crazy. He's tiny and blond and looks exactly like our mother.” The thought of it amused Bernie.

  “And you look like your father?”

  “Exactly.” But she didn't seem to regret it. “My brother calls me the giant. I call him the dwarf, and thus began a thousand wars when we were children.” Bernie laughed at the images she created. “We grew up in a nice house that had been my grandfather's in Beacon Hill and some of my mother's relatives are very fancy. I don't think they ever completely approved of my father. I don't think being a doctor was aristocratic enough for them, but he loves what he does, and he's very good at it. I went to a number of deliveries with him while I was in med school, whenever I went home for the holidays, and I saw him save a number of babies who would never have lived otherwise, and one mother I know for certain wouldn't have, if it hadn't been for his skill. I almost went into O.B. because of that, but I'm really happier doing what I'm doing in pediatrics.”

  “Why didn't you want to stay in Boston?”

  “Honestly?” She sighed with a gentle smile. “Too much pressure from all of them. I didn't want to follow in Dad's footsteps, I didn't want to do O.B., or be a devoted wife like my mother, just taking care of her husband and children. She thought I should let Mark be the doctor, and I should stay home and make life comfortable for him. There's nothing wrong with that, but I wanted something more. And I couldn't have stood all that gentle Episcopalian, puritanical prodding. Somehow, in the end, they would have wanted me to marry someone fancy, and live in a house just like theirs, and give little social teas for friends just like theirs.” She looked frightened just thinking of it. “That wasn't me, Bernie. I needed more space and more freedom, and new people and my blue jeans. That life can be very restrictive.”

  “I'm sure it can. It's really not that different from the same pressures I would have hated in Scarsdale. Jewish, Catholic, Episcopalian, it's all the same thing in the end. It's what they are and what they want you to be. And sometimes you can, and sometimes you can't. I couldn't. If I could have, I'd be a Jewish doctor now, married to a nice Jewish girl, having her nails done at this very moment.”

  Megan laughed at his description. “My best friend at med school was Jewish, she's a psychiatrist in Los Angeles now, and making an absolute fortune, and I'll bet you she's never had her nails done.”

  “Believe me, she's an exception.”

  “Was your wife Jewish?” She was curious about her too, but he shook his head, and he didn't look upset at the mention of Liz, as he smiled at Megan.

  “No. Her name was Elizabeth O'Reilly.” He laughed suddenly, remembering a scene a thousand years before. “I actually thought I had given my mother a heart attack the first time I told her.”

  Megan laughed out loud and he told her the details of the story. “My parents acted that way when my brother introduced his wife to them. She's as wild as he is, and French. My mother was sure that French meant she had been posing for postcards.” They both laughed at that, and continued telling stories of their parents' foibles, until Bernie glanced at his watch and realized it was eight o'clock. And he knew she had to be back in Napa by eleven.

  “Do you want to eat here?” He had assumed they would be having dinner, or hoped so anyway, and he didn't care where they ate, just so they were together. “Or do you want Chinese, or something more exotic?”

  She looked at him hesitantly, calculating the time. “I go on duty at eleven …which means I should leave town by nine-thirty” She smiled at him sheepishly. “Would you hate me if we went for a hamburger somewhere? It might be quicker. Patrick gets upset right now if I show up late to go on call for him. His wife is eight months pregnant and he's scared to death she's going to go into labor while I'm tied up somewhere. So I really have to get home on time tonight.” Not that she wanted to. She would have liked to spend hours talking to Bernie.

>   “I wouldn't mind a hamburger. In fact”—he signaled for their check at L'Etoile and the waiter appeared at once, as Bernie pulled out his wallet—“I know a fun place not far from here, if you don't mind a bit of a mixed crowd.” There was everything from longshoremen to debutantes, but he liked the atmosphere there and suspected she would too. And he was right. As soon as they walked in, she loved it. They ate their hamburgers and apple pie at the longshoreman's bar on the wharf called Olive Oyl's, and she left him with regret at nine-thirty to drive back to Napa. She was afraid she'd be late, and he walked her quickly back to her Austin Healy after dinner.

  “Will you make it home all right?” He was worried about her. It was late to be driving to Napa alone, but she smiled at him.

  “Much as I detest the words referring to my size, I'm a big girl now.” He laughed at her. She was sensitive about her height. “I had a wonderful time.”

  “So did I.” And he really had. It was the most fun he had had in a long, long time. It was easy being with her, and comfortable sharing his most private thoughts and listening to hers.

  “When are you coming back up to Napa again?” She looked hopeful.

  “Not for a while. I have to go to Europe next week, and Nanny doesn't take the children up when I'm away. It's too much trouble packing up, schlepping everything around. I'll be back in less than three weeks. I'll call you when I get back, maybe we can have lunch up there.” He looked at her with a smile, and then he thought of something. “When are you going home for the holidays?”

  “Christmas.”

  “So are we. To New York. But we thought we might have Thanksgiving in Napa this year.” He didn't want to be in town for that, thinking of what was no more. “I'll call you when I get back from New York.”

  “Take care of yourself, and don't work too hard.” He walked her out to her car, and smiled as she said that to him.

  “Yes, Doctor. You too, and drive safely.”

  She waved and he looked at his watch as she drove away. It was exactly nine thirty-five. And he called her at eleven-fifteen, from his house. He asked her service to page her if that was possible. And she said she had just walked in the door and hung up her coat when she answered.

  “I just wanted to make sure you got home all right. You drive too fast.” He scolded her.

  “You worry too much.”

  “It's in the genes.” He laughed and in his case it was true. He had worried all his life, but it also made him good at things. He was a perfectionist about almost everything he touched, with excellent results at Wolffs at any rate.

  “It's beautiful in Napa tonight, Bernie. The air is crisp and clear and the stars are all out.” The city was swathed in fog, and he was happy in either place, although he would have enjoyed being with her again. The evening had ended too quickly. “Where are you going in Europe, by the way?” She was curious about his life. It was so different from what she did.

  “I'll be in Paris, London, Milan, Rome. I go twice a year for the store. I have to stop in New York afterwards for meetings.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “It is. Sometimes.” It had been with Liz. And before that. Lately it was less so. Like everything else he did, it was lonely.

  “I had a wonderful time tonight, Bernie, thank you.”

  He laughed, thinking of their dinner at Olive Oyl's on the wharf. “It certainly wasn't Maxim's.”

  “I loved it.” And then her buzzer went off and she had to leave him.

  He could still hear her voice in his ears after he hung up, and just to clear his head afterwards, he walked into his closet, and took a deep breath of the very faint scent of Liz' perfume still lingering there. One had to work harder now to catch it, and he closed the door softly, feeling guilty. He wasn't thinking of Liz tonight, but of Megan. It was suddenly her perfume he longed for.

  Chapter 38

  Bernie stayed in New York longer than he had planned. This was an important year for ready-to-wear, there were major changes happening in the trade, and Bernie wanted to be on top of things. But he was pleased with the way things had gone when he finally left for San Francisco again. And he didn't remember the scarf he'd bought for Megan at Hermes until they went to Napa. He suddenly remembered it, tucked into a corner of his briefcase, and went to look for it. He found it, and decided to deliver it to her himself. He drove the car into town, and stopped outside the Victorian where she lived, and where her offices were. Her partner said she was out and he left the small tan box for her, with a note that read only “To Megan, from Paris. Best, Bernie.”

  She called him that night to thank him for it, and he was pleased she liked it so much. It was navy and red and gold, and it had reminded him of her in her red boots and jeans and yellow slicker.

  “I just got home and found it on my desk. Patrick must have left it there for me when you dropped it off. And it's beautiful, Bernie, I love it.”

  “I'm glad you like it. We're opening a boutique for them here in March.”

  “How fabulous. I love their things.”

  “So does everyone. That ought to be good for us.” He told her about some of the other deals he'd made and she was impressed.

  “All I did was diagnose three earaches, seven streps, a budding bronchitis, and a hot appendix in three weeks, not to mention a million cuts, splinters, bumps, and one broken thumb.” She sounded disappointed in herself, and he wasn't.

  “That sounds a lot more meaningful to me. No one's life depends on my Italian luggage boutique or a line of French shoes. What you do gives some meaning to life. It's important.”

  “I suppose it does.” But she was feeling down again. Her partner's wife had had the baby that week, a girl, and she had had that same ache again. But she didn't tell Bernie. She didn't know him that well and he was going to start thinking she was neurotic about other people's babies. “Did they tell you when you're moving back to New York?”

  “Not yet. And for once, we didn't even have time to talk about it. There's a lot happening at the store just now. At least it's interesting. Would you like to have lunch tomorrow?” He was going to offer to meet her at the coffee shop in Saint Helena.

  “I wish I could. Patrick's wife had the baby this week, and I have to cover for him. I could stop by the house on my way to the hospital to do rounds. Or would that upset Jane too much?” She was being honest with him. She had felt how strong Jane's resistance was when they met before, and she didn't want to upset her.

  “I don't see why it should.” He didn't see what Megan did, or at least not as clearly.

  “I don't think she's crazy about having ladies around.” She meant around him, but she didn't say it.

  “She's got nothing to worry about.”

  She wasn't sure Bernie understood the nature of it. She was protecting her mother's memory, and it was understandable. Megan just didn't want to rock her boat too hard. There was no need for it. “I don't want to upset anyone.”

  “You'll upset me if you don't stop by. Besides, it's time you met Nanny Pip. She's the best member of the family. What time were you thinking of coming by?”

  “About nine. Is that all right or is it too early?”

  “Perfect. We'll be having breakfast then.”

  “See you tomorrow.” And his heart raced at the thought of seeing her again. He told himself it was because she was such an interesting woman and he forced himself not to think of the shining black hair or the sensation he got in the pit of his stomach when he thought of her.

  Megan arrived the next morning at nine-fifteen, after he had set another place for her. And as he put the place mat down, Jane had looked up at him questioningly.

  “Who's that for?”

  “Dr. Jones.” He tried to look noncommittal as he pretended to shuffle through The New York Times. But Nanny was watching him. And so was Jane. Like a vulture.

  “Who's sick?” Jane pursued.

  “No one. She just wanted to come by for coffee.”

  “Why? Who c
alled her?”

  Bernie turned to look at her. “Why don't you relax, sweetheart? She's a nice woman. Now drink your juice.”

  “I don't have juice.” They were eating strawberries, and he looked up distractedly and grinned.

  “Drink it anyway.”

  She smiled, but she was suddenly suspicious of him. She didn't want anyone in their life. They had everything they needed now. Each other, Alex, and Nanny Pip. It was Alex who had started calling her Pip and the name had stuck immediately. Nanny Pippin was too much for him.

  And then Megan arrived, with a big bunch of yellow flowers and a sunny smile for everyone. Bernie introduced her to Nanny Pip, and Nanny pumped her hand with a radiant smile and it was obvious she was impressed with her from the first.

  “A doctor, how wonderful! And Mr. Fine said you were kind to poor little Alex with his ear.” Megan chatted pleasantly with her and Nanny made it clear that she approved of her, as a doctor, and a woman, by lavishing every possible attention on her. She poured her coffee, gave her muffins, eggs, bacon, sausages, and an enormous bowl of strawberries as Jane stared at her with barely veiled hatred. She was angry at her for coming by, angrier at her for making friends with Bernie.

  “I don't know why Daddy asked you to come by,” she said loudly, as Megan praised the delicious food and smiled at her. “No one's sick here.” Bernie was stunned by her rudeness, as was Nanny, who growled at Jane, but Megan smiled at her pleasantly, looking undisturbed by the child's words.

  “I like getting to know my patients when they're well too. Sometimes”—she explained patiently, looking undaunted by the black looks Jane was giving her openly— “it's actually easier to treat someone if you've known them a little bit when they're not ill.”

  “We go to a doctor in San Francisco anyway.”

  “Jane.” It was a single warning word. Bernie wasn't pleased with her. He glanced at Megan apologetically, as Alexander sidled over to her and stood staring up at her.

  “Lap,” he announced. “I wanna sit on your lap.” His English still sounded like an awkward translation from the Greek, but Megan understood him perfectly, and plopped him on her knees, and handed him a strawberry which he shoved into his mouth in one piece as Megan smiled down at him. And as Bernie watched, he suddenly noticed that Megan was wearing the scarf he had dropped off to her the day before. It pleased him to see her wearing it, but almost at the same instant he noticed it, so did Jane. She had seen the box on his desk the day before and asked him what it was. He said it was a scarf for a friend, and Jane had rapidly figured it out. She remembered the Hermes scarves he had brought Liz. And this time he had also brought one for Nanny Pippin. A beautiful navy and white and gold that she could wear with her uniforms and navy coat and brogues, and the hat that made her look like Mary Poppins.