Still here, she thought, surprised, and turned around. Alex sat before the computer, frowning in concentration, glancing now and then at notes spread on the desk beside him. A pencil was stuck behind his ear. He was as absorbed in his work as Claire had been, and after a moment, smiling, she turned back to her drawing table. She felt ver' good. She liked the feeling of comradeship in the bright studio with the darkness outside, the energy that flowed from the two of them as they created in their different ways, the friendship of their conversation and the silent sharing of her space, even better, now that they were both working, than it had been when she worked alone and he waited for her. Still smiling, she opened out a fresh sheet of paper and bent over it. making final renderings of all the icws of her new bottle in ink and watercolor.
When she was finished, she had four sheets, and she spread them out for the paint to dry. The tapping of keys had stopped and she turned. Alex was turning on the printer, and he met her eyes with a rueful smile. "I've made myself at home. I apologize again; I don't usually overstay my welcome."
"You didn't. I've enjoyed having you work here."
"Well, it's been a wonderful respite for me; I haven't had a space like this since I had a house with a separate office."
"Why don't you use it again.^" Claire asked, surprising herself. Did she really want someone to share her space on a regular basis.'' "I know it's a long way from your home, but you're welcome to work here whenever you want, whether I'm here or not." I guess I do want it, she thought, and thought again that he did not feel like an intruder; he felt like a friend.
Alex's eyebrows had gone up. "That's a very generous offer."
Hannah stood in the doorway. "Alex, are you staying for dinner.?"
"No," he said firmly, and stood up. "I'm going home."
"You haven't printed out your work," Claire said, smiling.
He smiled ruefully and sat down again, then turned back to her. "I'd rather make a copy on a disk, if you have an extra one, and load what I've written into my computer. I'd bring it back in a day or two. Would you mind.'^"
"No, of course that's what you should do." Claire opened the bottom drawer of the desk and brought out a blank disk, newly formatted. "There's no rush to return it; I have plenty."
Alex nodded as he struck the two keys that recorded his text on the screen onto the disk. He removed the disk and turned off the computer. "Now I really am going. I've almost finished the article, by the way; I've written more in the last three hours than I have in a week. I should have a copy to you tomorrow or the next day."
"Dinner.'^" Hannah asked, looking at Claire.
"No, I'm going out. I thought I'd told you."
"You had. I thought you might change your mind."
Not a bad idea, Claire thought, and wondered what Hannah saw that told her Claire would rather stay home than go out with Quentin. She shook her head. "I'm committed for tonight. Some other time, I hope you'll stay," she said to Alex.
"I'd like that." He slid the disk and his notebook into his briefcase.
"I'll be downstairs," Hannah said. After she left, the room was quiet. Claire began to gather up her chalk and pens to put them away.
"I like Hannah," Alex said. "Whatever else she's up to, she seems to keep a devoted watch over your house."
"You're amazing. No wonder you're a wonderful writer; you see things so clearly. Yes, she watches over us. Once I called her our fairy godmother."
"I like that; we all could use one. Ask her if she has a friend." He slipped the dustcover over the computer and went to Claire. They shook hands. "I'll send you the manuscript, probably tomorrow. And I might take you up on that offer of dinner."
"I hope you do." She glanced at her neat desk. "You don't leave any sign that you were here."
"I hope I leave something behind," he said quietly. "At least friendship."
"You do," Claire said. "I'll see you out." She led the way to the hall and glanced back once before going downstairs. The studio seemed brighter than ever, for having been shared.
Gina and Roz paid for the new riding boots, and Roz looked at her watch. "We have time to buy you some riding pants. You can't keep borrowing mine."
"Why not.^" Gina asked absently. She was holding up a denim, fleece-lined jacket. "This is perfect for this time of year. I have to try it on." She pulled off her leather jacket. "Your pants fit me perfectly; why shouldn't I keep borrowing them.'"'
"Because you need your own clothes, and you know it. If you want to ride competitively—"
"I want to be in the Olympics."
"In borrowed pants.^"
Gina grinned. "Probably not. But I'd rather not spend the money right now; things are a little tight."
"For God's sake, Gina, I'll pav for them; you'll pav me back later."
"I'm quitting my job, remember.'"'
"And you'll be working fifty or sixty hours a week at the farm. You're good for it, Gina. Come on; as long as we're in New York, we might as well do everything at once."
"You're right. And I want you to know that I'm having a
wonderful time. Probably something like Claire and Emma, when they went on their first shopping spree. There's nothing like seeing something and saying. Til take it.' I'll take it," she said to the salesclerk, holding out the denim jacket. "And could you bring me a few different pairs of riding pants to try on.^" She watched the clerk walk away and leaned back against the counter. "Roz, I have a hypothetical question."
"Do you want a hypothetical answer.'"'
"No, I want to know what you think. Suppose you heard that something was going on that would make something else illegal, and the something else is going to happen in a few months even though the people in charge know it shouldn't happen. Are you following this.'"'
"So far. You don't want to make it simple and just tell me what you're talking about.'"'
Gina sighed. "I guess so. What if you heard there was something wrong with one of the PK-20 products, like causing severe reactions in some of the women testing it.'"'
Roz stared at her. "That's what you heard.'"'
"I heard it from someone who saw a couple of memos about test results on the eye restorative. There was semiserious stuff like conjunctivitis, and, this is the killer, somebody went blind in one eye."
Roz shook her head. "It can't be. I would have heard. I was still with Hale when the tests were done."
Gina put out her hands. "I don't know. Either it's true, which means somebody doctored the test results, or it isn't, which means the person who told me dreamed it up. And I don't think she did."
The salesclerk returned and they followed her to a dressing room with two armchairs and a rod for hanging clothes. Roz sat in one of the chairs. "If it's true, they'd have to put off the release date until they find out what's causing the problem, and fix it."
"It may not be fixable. It sounds to me like a chemical allergic reaction. You know, like some people are allergic to peanut butter; most people do fine, but a percentage actually die from it. If that's what's happening, and if the reaction is to a key ingredient, maybe even the proprietary one, they'd have to scrap the whole line and start from scratch. Do you see Quentin doing that.'"'
Roz looked at Gina. "You think it's true."
"I lean that wav. On the other hand, I saw the cumulative test
reports and they didn't have a single word about allergic reactions."
"So it isn't true."
"Well, that's the problem. It is or it isn't." Gina stepped out of her slacks. "Which one should I try on first.^"
"The black. Very classy. How could you find out.''"
"I haven't the faintest idea. I thought you might think of something."
"Is anybody talking about changing the release date.'' Or not releasing the line at all.^"
"Not a soul. They're going ahead full steam. You never heard anything.'"'
"I'm not part of their inner circle anymore. They've all decided Hale got a rotten deal."
&nbs
p; Gina met her eyes in the mirror. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay. I expected it, and most of them I won't miss. I'll miss Quentin; he's such a cold, calculating son of a bitch he always makes me feel better about my life, just because I've got room for love in it."
"He doesn't.?"
"Not that I've ever seen. Though maybe he's different with Claire; he hovers a lot when they're together. Is she in love with him.?"
"She says she's not, but she seems to be fascinated by him, probably because he's so different from anyone she's ever known. I think I'll take these."
"Good. Now try the brown. He's got a lot of charm, when he wants to use it. Get him talking about his travels and he's wonderful; he's been everywhere and he's got a good eye and he doesn't forget anything he's ever seen. But he makes his own world, and the people who want to be close to him have to follow his rules or they're out."
"Would he release the PK-20 line even if some of it might be dangerous.?"
Roz was silent. "Sure," she said at last. "He makes his own rules." She watched Gina try on the other pants. "I suppose I could talk to Hale, but he'll guess it came from you."
"You can't do that," Gina said swiftly.
"Why not.? They're not going to come after you. like the Mafia or something."
"I don't know what they'll do; you just said Quentin makes his own rules."
"Gina, they wouldn't do anything to you. Why would they.-^"
"It's not me." Gina hesitated. "I hadn't even thought of this, but I don't like what I'm thinking. Look, the person who told me about the memos was Emma—she saw them on Brix's desk one day when she was waiting for him—and if they think I'm involved, they'll get to her; they know how close I am to her mother, and to her, and how else would I know about it.^ I've never been involved with the PK-20 line. So, if Brix thought Emma had seen the memos, and told me, or anybody, about them, would she be in danger.'^"
"No, of course not. They're businesspeople; they don't go around knocking off people. Anyway, whatever Emma saw might not be true. Maybe somebody made a mistake and saw problems where there aren't any. If the reports are fine, doesn't that settle it.?"
"It ought to." Gina stepped into her skirt and tucked in her blouse. "And maybe it does. You could be right; lots of times the people who run tests come up with different interpretations of the data."
"What happens then.'^"
"They run more tests or they get more people to read the data and see what interpretations they come up with. Testing is tricky, you know, because your subjects don't live in sterile glass bubbles: all the time they're using your new product they're eating and drinking and washing themselves and putting on makeup and traveling God knows where, with what kinds of pollution . . . you just can't control what they do and you never know how much of that affects their reaction to your product."
"So why were you so worried.'"'
"Because." Gina pulled on her suit jacket and picked up her raincoat. "Because everybody who watches television or reads a newspaper has heard about corporate cover-ups—Ford, Dow, GM—and for every one we hear or read about I wonder how many hidden ones there are, that never get found out."
Roz thought about it, "You said they run more tests. Are they running more tests on PK-20.?"
"Emma says Brix told her they are."
"Then it sounds like they're taking care of it. I don't think
you should do anything. Are there some people in the lab you can call after you've left, to find out the results of the new tests?"
Gina nodded. "I can keep up with things pretty well. That's what I'll do. And I might nose around a little bit before I take off. I have to be careful, though. If it weren't for Emma ..." She shook her head. "I can't take that risk."
They left the dressing room. "But listen," Gina said. "If I hear anything else, I'm going to have to find a way to blow the whistle on those guys. I have a responsibility to do that; I can't just turn my back. Except, what do I do about Emma.''"
"She can hide out on the farm," Roz said as they walked to the sales counter. "But it won't come to that; I can't believe it would. I love you, Gina, and I love your imagination, but this time you've gotten carried away by it. This whole business is one of those things you read about and see on television; it never happens to anybody you know."
THIRTEEN
(.(.
s
O much to be thankful for," said Hannah, carving the turkey. She stood at the head of the table, her face flushed from bustling about in the warm kitchen since early morning. With a neat stroke she severed the drumstick and laid it on the silver platter. "Claire won the lottery, and now she has her own company, and Emma's started a brilliant career, and we have this splendid house, and we've added Gina and Roz to our fam-ily."
"And Hannah came to us," Claire said.
"Well, yes, absolutely." Hannah's crinkly face beamed. "I've never had such a Thanksgiving, with so many good things all at once."
"I'll second that," said Gina. "I want to propose a toast to—"
"Oh, wait until I've finished carving," Hannah said. "Only a few more minutes. And I forgot the corn bread; it's in the oven. Would somebody—"
"I will," said Claire, and went to the kitchen.
Gina followed her, letting the door swing shut behind her. "I wanted to get you alone for a couple of minutes; it's been so long since we had some time together."
"Not since the horses won you over," Claire said, smiling.
"Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about; I wanted to tell you before we tell anyone else. There's a lot more going on than the horses."
Claire nodded.
"What does that mean.'^ You nodded."
"Gina, why don't you just tell me what you have to say? I think I know, but I might be wrong."
"You're not usually wrong about people. Well, the thing is, Claire, it's not just the horses and it's not just that wonderful farm. It's Roz."
"Yes," Claire said.
"So it's not a big surprise." Gina looked at her hands, then opened them out. "I didn't know. Honest to God, Claire, all these years, I never knew. I would have told you if I had; of all people, I would have wanted to be honest with you. But all I knew was that I didn't want to get married—I couldn't even imagine being married—and I was always happier alone than dating. I hated dating. Everything about it made me feel like I was in the wrong place. You knew that; I've told you often enough. I thought it was just that I was dating the wrong guys, but there never was a right one, somebody I could just relax and be comfortable with. I thought it was something I'd grow out of, or I'd wake up one day and find I was like everybody else I knew, but nothing changed, and finally I thought, well, what the hell, I wasn't meant to be married; lots of people are happily single all their lives. And I had you and Emma for my family, and that was enough for me. At least, I thought it was enough for me, until I met Roz."
"Claire.^" Hannah called. "Is something wrong with the corn bread.?"
"Our drill sergeant," Gina said with a grin. "Listen. You did figure it out, right.? I mean, it's not a shock.?"
"Of course not. I was wondering when you'd get around to talking about it."
"I was going to, that night at Roz's, when she told you she was divorcing Hale, but we just weren't ready. But now—"
The door swung open and Hannah marched in. "If there's a problem with the—oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."
"We were just talking," Gina said. "Everthing's fine. I'll get the bread." She took the covered basket from the warming oven and followed Claire and Hannah into the dining room. "Shall I pass this.?"
"Yes, and now we'll hac a toast," Hannah said when (iina was seated. She held up her glass of vodka and waited for the others to lift their glasses of wine. "I'd like to say. for myself, first
that I'm very glad to be here, and second that it is a new and most enjoyable experience to have a women's Thanksgiving. At first I thought we would be sadly dull without men, but I couldn't think of
any we might have. Quentin and Brixare out of town; Hale and Roz have gone separate ways; and Forrest is with his family on Long Island. Alex of course is with his sister's family, and who knows if he would have accepted in any case.^ But I need not have worried. We are a congenial and merry group with much to talk about and much to be thankful for, and that's Thanksgiving in a nutshell. And so I drink to our small and happy family."
"I like that," said Claire. "There's no other place in the world I'd rather be, tonight, and there are no other people I'd rather be with."
Emma took a sip of wine. Something was happening as she sat there: she was feeling better than she had for weeks. It was as if a weight had been lifted from her, and she felt cozy and warm and safe. Snow had fallen during the day and had begun again just before they sat down to dinner; Emma could see large lazy flakes against the window, and she imagined them piling up outside like a stockade, higher and higher, keeping them safe from danger. Looking at the festive table Hannah had set with a fine linen cloth and tall white candles in French ceramic holders, and small bunches of chrysanthemums at each place, Emma felt a sudden, piercing love for her mother and her home. She missed Brix the way she always did when she was not with him, but today, for the first time, she had to admit that it was a relief to be away from him. Like being on vacation, she thought ruefully.
She was so ashamed of the way she had crouched at his feet that she could not bear to think about it; she kept pushing the memory away whenever it flooded in upon her. But the worst part of it was that she knew she would do it again, or whatever it took, if he once again threatened to send her away, and that made her feel helpless and angry at herself. Sometimes she even hated herself. And tonight it made her dread tomorrow at the same time that she couldn't wait for tomorrow.
But right now, this moment, while she sat here amidst the comforting smells of turkey and corn bread and pumpkin pie, with the reds and yellows of the chrysanthemums shining up at her like tiny suns and the candles casting a flickering glow on the loving faces around her, Emma felt as if she were suspended for
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