Then the heat rose again, blotting out all else but the moment, and in the fire they blessedly forgot why they had to part. So they kept it stoked, kept forgetfulness high. They loved and loved again, and by the time exhaustion overtook them, it was nearly dawn.
Pam awoke to the pale midmorning sun in a mussed but lonely bed. Clutching the guilt to her breasts, she sat up. “Cutter?” She pushed the hair out of her eyes and tried again, louder this time. “Cutter?” In the silence that followed, she caught sight of the small piece of paper that lay on the pillow by hers. His handwriting was the same barely legible scribble that had helped get him kicked out of school so long ago, but the only difficulty she had in deciphering it was caused by the tears in her eyes.
“Tu tiens mon coeur. C.”
For a long time she held the note, moving only to wipe at her nose or her cheeks with the back of her hand. Only when she glanced at the clock and realized that her own time was short did she carefully fold the paper in half, then half again, slip from bed, and tuck it into her purse. It would go, she knew, into her dresser drawer with the others, hidden beneath a cloud of lacy bras, satin camisoles, and silk tap pants. Condemning evidence? Oh, yes, but if those scribbles were the only physical reminders she had of him during the long stretches between trysts, she was willing to take the chance.
She brought another physical reminder of Cutter home with her from Paris that November. By January she knew she was pregnant, and she was ecstatic. She had begun to worry that the abortion had scarred her insides so that she couldn’t get pregnant, since four years of marriage to Brendan had produced no children. Now that fear was put to rest. She was being given a second chance. Not only could she make up for the baby she had lost, but she was giving Brendan a gift, too. He knew how much she wanted to be a mother and was as excited as she about the baby.
In August of 1984, Ariana was born. She was a healthy child, with her mother’s delicate nose and mouth and dark eyes that were as familiar to Pam as her own. She was, Pam knew, her father’s daughter.
Chapter 25
Boston, 1988
CUTTER SAT ON A BENCH IN THE Public Garden, his heart swelling as he watched Pam and Ariana approach. They were both beauties—Pam with her dark hair, her elegant features, and her gauzy bohemian look, Ariana with her bow of a mouth, her dark round eyes, and the shiny hair that shimmered on the ruffled shoulders of her tiny peasant dress. Her small hand was in Pam’s, and for every step Pam took, she took a skip and a half.
She was the most beautiful child in the whole of Boston, the whole of Massachusetts, the whole of America. Cutter was sure of it, and it wasn’t simply that she was his child. He’d spent hours looking at others since Ariana was born, and none could compare.
With a grin for Pam, he leaned forward, propped his elbows on his knees, and, as soon as she was before him, said to Ariana, “Hi, angel.”
She gave him a shy smile. “Hi, Cutter.”
He didn’t think he’d ever get used to hearing her sweet voice say his name. He had Pam to thank for it. Although Ariana’s birth had been a death knell for sex between Pam and him, Pam had wanted Ariana to know him, and vice versa. Rather than arrange visits on the sly, she had come right out and introduced him to Brendan as an old friend from Timiny Cove. Brendan knew of Cutter’s occupation and particularly of his involvement with diamonds, and he accepted that Pam and Cutter had a lot in common. So Cutter had been included in things like Christmas parties, Fourth of July cookouts, and even an occasional dinner party. Ariana took to him easily.
Now, sharing his pleasure with Pam in a glance, he looked back at the little girl. “I hear it’s a special day,” he said softly.
Ariana nodded and grinned.
“How old?”
It was a minute of arranging before she had four fingers standing straight and separate.
“Four? Whoa. Four is really old.”
Her eyes grew wide with suppressed excitement and she nodded again.
“Are you having a party?”
She nodded. “Saturday. Wanna come?”
He tapped her tiny nose. “I think the party’s for your friends. You don’t want me along.”
“I do,” Ariana insisted, all serious. She looked at Pam. “He can come, can’t he, Mommy?”
But before she could answer, Cutter said, “I have to be back in New York. That was why I wanted to see you today.” He lowered his voice in a teasing way. “I have something for you.”
Ariana was all excited eyes again. “You do?”
“Yup.”
“Where is it?”
“Behind me.”
Clutching his arm, she climbed up on the bench and peered behind him. A small box was sandwiched there. She tried to pull it out, but couldn’t. So she tugged at his arm to move him. He wouldn’t budge.
“First a hug,” he said.
She reached up for his neck. He helped her, scooping her into his arms and hugging her with a fierce gentleness as he rocked her from side to side. It was a treasured moment. Eyes closed, he savored her warmth, the child smell of her, her delicate feel. He would have held her longer if she had allowed it. But she drew back, wanting her gift. While he continued to hold her with one arm, he reached back with the other and drew out the box. Settling easily onto his lap, she began to pull at its wrapping.
Cutter caught Pam’s eye. “She’s precious,” he said softly.
Pam nodded. “We’re very lucky.”
“She has your nose and mouth.”
“But the eyes and the hair—” She pointed at him.
He liked that thought. There was something about children as a perpetuation of their parents that he found reassuring. He would have hated to die without leaving something of himself behind in the world. Not that he was planning to die in the immediate future, but he knew that he wouldn’t have children with anyone but Pam. Ariana had been unplanned. He didn’t regret her birth for a minute, only the circumstances surrounding it.
“Is she a tomboy, like her mommy was?”
Pam blushed. “Nah. She’s a lady.”
“Like her mommy is. How was day camp?”
Pam waggled a hand. “The part she liked best was coming home.”
“Did you mind?”
“Are you kidding? I loved it.”
Ariana drew in a loud breath as she lifted a small, intricately carved gold box. “Look, Mommy. It’s so pretty.”
Cutter smiled. “Open it.” He helped. No sooner was the lid up than the music began. Ariana drew in another loud breath when a tiny ballerina started turning on her toe. She stared and stared, her eyes filled with wonder. When she darted him a look, he felt that wonder warm him from head to toe.
“Look, Mommy!” Very carefully, she turned the music box Pam’s way.
Pam sat down on the bench to take a closer look. “Oh my. It is beautiful.” She listened with a curious smile. “??‘The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy?’??”
“I found it in Salzburg when I was there last month.”
“It’s wonderful.” To Ariana she said, “What a lucky girl you are to get such a beautiful gift.” She leaned closer to whisper, “Do I hear a thank-you?”
Ariana turned another shy smile on Cutter. “Thank you, Cutter.” As an afterthought, but without any coaching from Pam, she craned her neck and planted a kiss on his jaw. Then, holding the music box gingerly in one hand, she maneuvered herself down from his lap with the other. Skipping across the dirt path in front of the bench, she perched on the base of a statue to listen to the music and watch the ballerina turn.
“She loves it,” Pam said.
“I’m glad. I wanted something special.”
“You found it. Thank you.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Bringing her here.” He shifted his gaze from Ariana to Pam. “Is it awkward?”
“Not really. I had promised her a ride on the swan boats for her birthday. I told Brendan that you were in town and that
we’d probably stop by to say hello. He had no problem with that.”
Cutter thought of Brendan, thought of the times he’d welcomed Cutter to his home, thought of the business discussions they’d had, the give and take. He also remembered other, earlier times when he’d begged Pam to leave Brendan. In the last year or two, he’d come to understand why she wouldn’t—which made him more frustrated than ever. “He’s a nice man. A good man. I wish I could hate him, but I can’t.”
“He likes you, too.”
“He’s a good father to her.”
“Yes.”
Cutter looked at Ariana again. She was holding the music box on her knees, mesmerized by it. In turn, he was mesmerized by her—by little fingers, little shoes, a little nose, a little chin. As he watched, the sun glanced off her hair, giving its light caramel color an even warmer sheen. Pam was right. She had his hair.
“Do you think he suspects anything?” he asked.
Pam, too, was studying Ariana. “I’m not sure. There are times when I think he has to know—but maybe that’s my guilty conscience speaking. If he suspects anything, he doesn’t let on. He adores Ariana. And she adores him. She’s forever climbing all over him.”
Cutter felt a stab of jealousy. At about the same time, he caught a look of concern on Pam’s face. He shot a fast glance back at Ariana, thinking something had happened to her, but she was sitting just where she’d been. “What is it?”
Pam seemed surprised by his question. “Uh, nothing.”
“You looked worried.”
After a minute’s silence, she said, “Brendan’s been more tired lately. He tries not to let me see, but it’s there.”
“Is he working harder than usual?”
“No. If anything, he’s home more. He’s president of the bank. He can do it.”
“How old is he now?”
“Fifty-nine. He used to have checkups often. I remind him now, but he keeps putting it off.” More lightly, she said, “It’s probably nothing more than facing sixty.”
Cutter stretched out his legs and grunted. “I can identify with that.”
Her lips twitched. “Forty? Forty’s nothing.”
“Fine for you to say. You’re not the one turning it soon.”
“But look at you. You’re doing so well.”
He gave a negligent shrug.
“Do you miss modeling?”
“No way.” He had officially retired two years before, when his last contract expired. “I got what I wanted from it. It was a vehicle, right from the start. That’s all.”
“You don’t miss the adulation? The attention?”
He gave a firm shake of his head.
“And the business is going well?”
“Uh-huh.” He was a partner in an investment banking firm that he had formed with three others shortly before he’d stopped modeling. “My partners have the degrees, the experience, the technical know-how. I have the contacts.”
“You have the charisma,” Pam corrected. “You don’t talk all the time, but when you do, you have something to say. You don’t waste people’s time. You give them a feeling of confidence.”
He shrugged. “Something works.” Then he dropped all show of nonchalance, because nonchalance was the last thing he felt when he thought about John. “We’re getting there, Pam. The St. George package is growing.” He paused. “John doesn’t see it yet, does he?”
“No. He’s too arrogant. You’d have to pound him over the head with a takeover before he knew it was happening.”
“Good.” Cutter sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. Yes, he felt satisfaction. He also—still—felt anger and resentment. “That’s exactly how I want it. We’re buying small blocks of stock here, small blocks there. Our clients use their own names or those of their businesses. When we finally group together to form a cohesive entity, John will be stunned. Totally outsmarted. Beaten at his own game.”
Pam exhaled into a grim smile. “That sounds good.”
“How are things on your end?”
She pursed her lips. “I just saw the latest figures. My designs comprise nearly forty percent of Facets’ sales. Granted, I’m not doing the actual jewelry-making anymore, but I hold copyrights on all of my designs.” She tapped her chest with a finger. “Me. Not John. Me. And I’ve checked and rechecked that with two different lawyers. If I were to suddenly pull out, John would be up shit’s creek.”
Cutter had to smile at the expression. It wasn’t often that Pam swore. She had mellowed with age, as he had, but John was the one thing that could get her riled. “Do you see him much?”
“As little as possible,” she said with feeling.
“How much is that?”
“Once a week or so. More when the board meets.”
“Is he civil?”
“Oh, yeah. But I don’t take chances. I make sure there are people around. He’d never misbehave in public. It wouldn’t be good for his image.”
“Does he see Ariana much?”
“As little as possible,” she repeated with even more feeling than before.
“By his choice or yours?”
“Both. He doesn’t like kids. Has no idea what to do with them. That suits me just fine. The less she sees of him, the better. He isn’t the kind of role model I want for her.” She stopped and considered what she’d said. When she spoke again, he heard an element of doubt. “That goes two ways, I suppose. When I’m with John, I’m not the kind of role model I want for my daughter, either. I feel ugly things. I don’t want her seeing that.”
Cutter marveled at her sensitivity. “You’re a good mother.”
“To want to spare her pain?”
“To want her to be a good person.”
“Every mother wants that.”
“Not every mother takes the care to see that it happens.” He hitched his chin toward Ariana. “She’s even-tempered, like you.”
“No, like you. I’m impulsive.”
“Cutter!” Ariana cried.
“Whooops, spoke too soon.”
Ariana was rushing toward him, looking crushed. “It broke. Won’t go anymore.”
Her disappointment made him ache. Reaching for her, he brought her between his legs and arms enveloping her, took hold of the music box. “It wound down,” he explained by her ear. “That’s all. You have to wind it up to get it going again.” Closing the lid, he turned the box over and showed her how to twist the key. Her small fingers were right there trying to help. “It’s kind of hard. Maybe you should have your mommy do it.”
“I can,” she said. Pulling his fingers away, she struggled with the key. In slow, ninety-degree increments, she turned it. After three turns, she stopped.
“More,” Cutter prompted.
She worked the key again, then again. What would have been a simple task for Cutter was painstaking—at least, as he had to sit there and watch Ariana do it. The nice thing was that during her struggles she was close to him again. He suspected that if he ever had her to himself, really to himself, he would carry her everywhere. She was his child. He had helped create her. That she was a human being and growing more human by the day never ceased to amaze him. He only wished he saw her more.
Some of what he was feeling must have shown in his eyes, because when he looked up at Pam, she seemed wistful. As soon as Ariana had scampered off again, she said, “You’re so good with her.”
“Two of my partners have kids. I get practice.”
Pam shook her head. “What you do is natural.” She touched her heart. “It comes from here.”
“It should. I love her.” He sat back on the bench again, but he wasn’t as relaxed as he’d been. “There are times when I want to scream. Everything’s going my way in business. I’ve got good money, a respectable occupation, decent partners, and I’m comin’ real close to getting back at John for all he did.” He let out a breath. “So when that’s done, where am I? I don’t have you, and I don’t have Ariana.”
Pam didn’t say any
thing, but he didn’t expect her to. He had his chance. He could have married her when she’d asked and bluffed things out with John. But he’d been full of pride then. He wanted to do things his own way. Now, watching Ariana play, he felt the hollowness of that pride. He also felt the same small but niggling fear he did from time to time, the fear that too much time had passed, that too many things had happened for him and Pam ever to be together the way he dreamed.
“There are times,” he said quietly, “when I feel like my life has been an endless stream of wanting.” His eyes caught Pam’s. “Most of the wanting has to do with you.” He stretched an arm along the back of the bench so that his fingers could touch her neck. “Since you came along, nothing’s been the same. I love you, Pam.”
For an instant, she closed her eyes and tipped her head back just the tiniest bit, as though to trap his fingers on her skin. But her eyes opened again soon after to direct a mother’s watchful gaze Ariana’s way. “It is ironic.”
“What?”
“What you were saying before about your success in business. The same is true here. Professionally, things are terrific. I have my team of craftsmen. I design on my own time and get the credit for it without having to put in hours at the shop. I don’t have to look at John’s face. The people I’m with look to me for direction, not him. It’s ideal. I have time for Brendan, time for Ariana, time for my mother,” she took a quick breath, “time for you.”
“I wish we had it now,” he said very quietly.
She made a helpless sound.
“I miss holding you.”
“Don’t, Cutter.”
“And kissing you. Touching you.”
She took a shaky breath and whispered, “Stop.”
But he only lowered his voice. “If we were alone I wouldn’t. I’d keep going until neither of us could move.”
“And you’re worried about turning forty?” she cried.
“I’ll be hard for you till the day I die.”
“Shhh.”
“She can’t hear,” he whispered.
“But I can,” Pam whispered back, “and it’s wrong. You shouldn’t be saying those things. You shouldn’t be thinking those things.”
Facets Page 39