Malice

by Danielle Steel

  “I never went home again, and that was when I went to Chicago, where my probation officer kept threatening to send me back if I didn't sleep with him. But somehow I managed not to. And you pretty much know the rest. I told you that last night. I worked in Chicago for two years while I was on probation. No one ever knew where I'd been, or where I came from. They didn't know I'd been in prison, or had killed my father. They didn't know anything. You're the first person I've ever told since David and Molly.” She felt drained but a thousand pounds lighter when she finished. It had been a relief to tell him.

  “What about Father Tim? Does he know?”

  “He's just guessed, but I've never said anything to him. I didn't think I had to. But I worked at St. Mary's in Chicago, and now St. Andrew's, because it's my way of paying back for what I did. And maybe I can stop some other poor kid from going through what I did.”

  “My God, my God … Grace … how did you survive it?” He held her close to him, cradling her head against his chest, unable to even begin to fathom the kind of pain and misery she'd been through. All he wanted to do now was hold her in his arms forever.

  “I just survived, I guess,” she answered him, “and in some ways, I didn't. I've only been out with one man. I've never had sex with anyone but my father. And I'm not sure I could. The man who drugged me said I almost killed him when he tried to lay a hand on me, and maybe I would have. I don't think that can ever be part of my life again.” And yet … she had kissed him, and he hadn't frightened her at all. In some ways, she wondered if she could learn to trust him. If he even wanted her now, after all he'd heard. She searched his eyes looking for some sign of condemnation, but there was only sorrow and compassion.

  “I wish I could have killed him for you. How could they send you to prison for that? How could they be so blind and so rotten?”

  “It happens that way sometimes.” She wasn't bitter. She had long since come to accept it. But she realized that if he betrayed her now, and told people about her past, her life in New York would be ruined. She'd have to move on again, and she didn't want to. Telling him had required a great deal of trust from her, but it was worth it.

  “What makes you think that you could never deal with intimacy again? Have you ever tried to?”

  “No. But I just can't imagine doing that, without reliving the nightmare.”

  “You've left the rest of it, and moved on. Why not that too? You owe it to yourself, Grace, and to anyone who loves you. In this case, me,” he smiled, and then he asked her another question.

  “Would you go to a therapist if you needed to?” he asked gently, but she wasn't sure. In a funny way, it would seem like a betrayal of Molly.

  “Maybe,” she said uncertainly, maybe even therapy would be too hard to handle.

  “I have a feeling you're sounder than you think. I don't know why, but I don't think you could come through all you did, if you weren't. I think you're just scared, and who wouldn't be. And you're not exactly a hundred years old, you know.”

  “I'm twenty-three,” she said, as though it were a major achievement, and he laughed at her and kissed her.

  “I'm not impressed, kiddo. I'm almost twenty years older than you are.” He would be forty-three in the fall, and she knew that.

  But she was looking at him very seriously then. “Tell me honestly. Isn't that history more than you want to deal with?”

  “I don't see why. It's not your fault, any more than being mugged on Delancey Street was your fault. You were a victim, Grace, of two very sick people who used you. You didn't do anything. Even when you had sex with him, you had no choice. Anyone would have done the same, any kid would have been terrorized into thinking they were helping their dying mother. How could you possibly resist them? You couldn't. You've been a victim all along. It sounds like you stayed a victim right up until you left Chicago and came to New York last October. Don't you think it's time you changed that? It's been ten years since the nightmare began. That's almost half your life. Don't you think you have a right to a good life now? I think you've earned it,” he said, and then kissed her hard, and with everything he felt for her. There was no mistaking what he was feeling. He was deeply in love with her, and willing to accept her past, in exchange for her future. “I love you. I'm in love with you. I don't care what you did, or what happened to you, I'm just sorry as hell that you had to suffer so much pain, and so much misery. I wish I could wash it all away, and change your memory of it, but I can't. I accept you exactly as you are, I love you exactly as you are, and all I want is what we can give each other now. I want to thank my lucky stars for the day you walked into my office. I can't believe how blessed I was to have found you.”

  “I'm the lucky one,” she said, in awe of his reaction. She could hardly believe what he was saying. “Why are you saying all this to me?” she asked, near tears again. It was impossible to fathom.

  “I'm saying it because I mean it. Why don't you just relax and stop worrying for a while, and enjoy it? You've had a lot of worrying to do for a long time. Now it's my turn. I'll worry for both of us. Okay?” he asked, moving toward her again with a smile and wiping the tears from beneath her eyes. “Okay?”

  “Okay, Charles … I love you.”

  “Not as much as I love you,” he said, taking her in his arms again and holding her tight as he kissed her. And then after a while, he laughed softly.

  “What's funny?” she whispered, touching his lips with her fingertips, which only aroused him further. He was dying for her, but he knew it would be a while before anything happened between them.

  He smiled at her as he answered, “I was just thinking that, never mind your delicate psychology, I think the only thing that's saving you from being ravaged by me, is the pin they just put in your pelvis. Frankly, I think that's the only thing that stopped me.”

  “Shame on you,” she teased, suddenly wondering if she wanted to be saved from him. It was an interesting question.

  Charles took care of her for the next two weeks, coming to the apartment constandy, whenever he could, and sleeping next to her in the bed on weekends. It was a cozy feeling lying next to him, and waking up in his arms in the morning. He told her stories about his childhood, and his parents, who were no longer alive, but whom he had loved very much and had been very good to him. He was an only child, and he'd had a good life, and he knew it. And she told him funny things about Luana and Sally. It was an odd assortment of memories and exchanges. And after the first week, he hired a limousine and took her for a drive in Connecticut on the weekend. They stopped and had lunch at Cobbs Mill Inn in Weston, which was wonderful, and came back to New York relaxed and exhausted.

  Her doctors said that she was doing well, and after another week they told her she could go back to work, but Charles convinced her to take one more week off. And she asked the doctors one other important question, and was satisfied with the answer. She went to visit her friends at St. Andrew's too, arriving by cab, in the daytime, and they were all thrilled to see her. She promised them that she would come back to work soon, but probably not until September, when she would be off crutches.

  And the following weekend Charles took her to the Hamptons for the weekend. They stayed in a cozy little inn, and the smell of the sea was delicious. They arrived late Friday night, and she made him take her for a walk on the beach, even with her crutches. She lay down on the sand, listening to the sound of the ocean, and he sat down next to her.

  “You don't know how great this is. You know, before I came to New York, I'd never seen the ocean,”

  “Wait till you see Martha's Vineyard.” He promised to take her there over Labor Day, but she was still worried about their future. And what were they going to do in another week when she went back to the office? They'd have to keep their relationship a secret. It was odd to think of it. It wasn't an affair yet, but it was much, much more than a friendship.

  “What were you thinking then?” he asked comfortably, as they sat on the beach in the dark.
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  “About you,” she teased him a little bit, and he loved it.

  “What about me?”

  “I was wondering when we were going to sleep with each other,” she said casually, and he stared at her in confusion.

  “What does that mean? Besides,” he grinned, “I thought we already had. You even snore sometimes.”

  “You know what I mean,” She pushed him gently, and he laughed at her. She was so lovely.

  “You mean …” He raised an eyebrow and pretended to look surprised. “Are you suggesting …”

  “I think so.” She blushed. “I saw the orthopedic surgeon yesterday and he says I'm okay … now all we have to worry about is my head and not my pelvis.” As she said it, he laughed, and he was grateful they had had all these weeks to get to know each other without the complications of her history and their sex life. It had been well over a month now, and it was as though they had always been together. They were completely at ease with each other.

  “Is this an invitation?” he said with a grin that would have melted any heart, hers had melted long since, but it dissolved yet again as she watched him. “Or are you just toying with me?”

  “Possibly both.” But she had been thinking about it for days now, and she wanted to try it. She had to know what would happen and if there was any chance at all for a future.

  “Is this my cue to jump up off the warm sand and drag you back to our room by the hair, leaving your crutches behind us?”

  “That sounds pretty good.” She made him feel so young, and in spite of her serious history, she made him laugh all the time, and he loved it. It was so different from his time with his first wife. She'd been so intense, so self-involved, and so nervous. Life with Grace was completely different. She was relaxed, intelligent, giving, caring. She had been through so much, and yet she was still so kind and so gentle. And she still had a sense of humor.

  “Come on, you, let's go back to the hotel.” He pulled her up off the sand, and they made their way slowly back, and then stopped for ice cream.

  “Do you like banana splits?” she asked him casually, as she licked her ice-cream cone, and he smiled. She was like a kid sometimes, and a woman of the world at others. He loved the contrast and the combination. It was the advantage of her youth, and with it came endless possibilities, and a most appealing future. He wanted to have children with her, a life with her, make love with her … but first, she had to eat her ice cream.

  “Yes, I like banana splits,” he said, with a grin. “Why?”

  “Me too. Let's have one tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Can we go back now?” It had taken them four hours to get to the Hamptons in the traffic from New York, and it was almost midnight.

  “Yes, we can go back to the hotel now.” She smiled at him, mysterious and womanly again. It was like watching different creatures appear from behind clouds. He loved her playfulness and the fact that she wasn't quite grown up yet.

  Their room at the inn was done in rose-patterned chintzes and Victorian furniture. There was a sweet marble sink in the room, and the bed was canopied and very pretty. Charles had asked for champagne to be left cooling in the room, and there was a huge bouquet of lilac and roses, her favorites.

  “You think of everything.” She kissed him as they closed the door to their room.

  “Yes,” he said, proud of himself, “and I can't even ask my secretary to do it.”

  “You'd better not.” She eyed him happily as he poured the champagne and handed her a glass, but she only took a small sip and then set it down. She was too excited to drink it. This was like a honeymoon, and the expectation was terrifying for them both, particularly since they didn't know what ghosts would join them.

  “Scared?” he whispered as they slid into bed, he in his shorts, and she in a nightgown, and she nodded. “Me too,” he confessed, and she nuzzled her face into his neck and held him. He had turned off the lights. And there was a single candle burning at the far end of the room. It was unforgettably romantic.

  “What’11 we do now?” she whispered in his ear after a minute.

  “Let's go to sleep,” he whispered back.

  “You mean it?” she asked, looked startled, and he laughed.

  “No … not really …” He kissed her then, almost wanting to get it over with, but not daring to yet, not sure which way to turn or what to do, and he didn't want to hurt her various injuries either. It was all a little more difficult than he'd expected. But as they kissed, he forgot about her broken bones, and the ugliness of her past slipped slowly from her. There was no memory, no time, no other person, there was only Charles and his incredible gentleness, his endless passion and love for her, as he moved ever so gently toward her, and they moved closer and closer, until suddenly they became one and she could feel herself melt into him and she could bear it no longer. It was all so exquisite, and then suddenly they both exploded in unison, and Grace lay in his arms in complete amazement. She had never known anything even remotely like that. There was no similarity at all with what had happened to her before, no memory, no pain, there was nothing but Charles now and the love they shared, and a little while later, it was Grace who wanted him, who teased him and played with him, until he could bear it no longer.

  “Oh God,” he said afterwards, “you're too young for me, you're going to kill me … but what a way to die.” And then suddenly he wondered if he had committed an awful faux pas, and looked at her in horror, but she only laughed. It was all all right now, much to their joint amazement.

  She forced him to buy her a banana split the next day, and they had a lovely weekend. They spent much of it in their room, discovering each other, and the rest on the beach, in the sun, and when they got back to New York on Sunday night, they lay in her bed and made love again, just to make sure it had the same magic in her apartment. And Charles decided it was even better.

  “By the way,” he rolled over sleepily afterwards and whispered to her, “you're fired, Grace.” He was half asleep but she sat bolt upright. What was he saying to her? What was this all about? She looked frightened.

  “What?” She almost shouted the word in the darkness, and he opened an eye in surprise. “What do you mean?” She was staring at him.

  “You heard me. You're fired.” He smiled happily.

  “Why?” She was near tears. She loved working for him, especially now, and she was due to go back that week. This wasn't fair. What was he doing?

  “I don't sleep with my secretaries,” he explained, and then he grinned as he lay there. “Don't look so worried. I have a new job in mind for you. It's a step up, or it could be, depending on how you see it. How would you like to be my wife?” He was wide-awake now, and she looked stunned. She was shaking when she answered.

  “Are you serious?”

  “No. I'm just kidding. What do you think? Of course I'm serious. Will you?”

  “Really?” She still couldn't believe it as she sat looking at him in disbelief and he laughed at her.

  “Of course really!”

  “Wow!”

  “Well?”

  “I'd love to.” And with that, she leaned down and kissed him, and he grabbed her.

  Chapter 13

  Grace never went back to work, and they were married six weeks later, in judge's chambers, in September. They flew to Saint Bart's for two weeks for a honeymoon, and she moved her few belongings to his apartment. He lived on East Sixty-ninth Street in a small, but extremely elegant little town house. They'd been home for exactly a week when they had their first real fight, and it was a lulu. She wanted to go back to do volunteer work at St. Andrew's, and she was horrified that he wanted to stop her.

  “Are you crazy? Do you remember what happened the last time you went there? Absolutely not!” He was adamant. She could do anything she wanted, but not that. And he wasn't budging.

  “That was a fluke,” she kept insisting, but Charles was even more stubborn than she was.

  “That was no fluke. Every one of those
women has a dangerous husband. And you're down there advising them to bail out, and the guys are just as liable to come after you as Sam Jones was.” He had plea-bargained himself into a lighter sentence with parole by then, for his attack on Grace, and the murders of his wife and children. And as far as they knew he was already in Sing Sing. “You're not going. I'll talk to Father Tim if I have to, Grace, I forbid it.”

  “Well, what am I supposed to do with myself?” she said, near tears. She was twenty-three years old and she had absolutely nothing to do until he came home at six o'clock. He wouldn't let her work at the law firm either. She could have lunch with Winnie once in a while, but that was hardly enough to keep her busy. And Winnie was talking about moving to Philadelphia to be close to her mother.

  “Go shopping. Go to school. Find a charity you like and sit on a committee. Go to the movies. Eat banana splits,” Charles said firmly. He was trying to come home to her every day for lunch, but sometimes he couldn't and when Grace turned to Father Tim for support he turned her down too. In spite of himself, and how good she was at the work, Father Tim supported Charles in that decision. She had already paid too high a price for working there, and it was time for her to stop paying for other people's sins. She had her own life to live now.

  “Enjoy your husband, be good to yourself, Grace. You've earned it,” the priest said wisely, but Grace still fumed and was looking for a project. She was thinking of applying to school, but in November it became a moot point, six weeks to the day after they were married.

  “What are you looking so smug about? You look like the cat that swallowed the canary.” Charles had just dashed home to have lunch with her. He was becoming famous in the office for his long lunches, and his partners were teasing him about how much work it was to have a young wife. But he knew that they were all jealous, and would have given anything to be in his shoes … or his boxers. “What have you been up to?” he questioned, wondering if she had found something to do with herself. She'd been unhappy for weeks over his edict about St. Andrew's. “Where'd you go today?”