Impossible

by Danielle Steel

  She turned the lights off at eleven o'clock, and was sound asleep when the phone rang. For a minute, she had no idea where she was, and then she remembered. The voice on the phone was deep and familiar.

  “I'm downstairs in the lobby” was what he said for openers.

  “Who is this?”

  “It's Liam.”

  “I was sleeping.”

  “How's your headache?”

  “I think it's better.” She didn't want to tell him she'd never had one.

  “I need to talk to you.” He sounded anxious.

  “I'll call you tomorrow.” She didn't want to see him. It would just make her sadder. She had left him where he belonged that night, in the pub, with all those excruciatingly young women.

  “I don't want to wait till then. Please, Sasha …let me come up and see you.”

  “I don't think that's a good idea.” She was wide awake now. “We've got everything where it belongs. We're friends again. Let's not screw it up by discussing what went wrong and why it did. You're happy. I'm happy. We don't need to go over it again.”

  “I don't want to go over anything. I just want to see you.”

  “I look the same as I did two hours ago, in a nightgown instead of blue jeans.”

  “Please …I know you're leaving in the morning.” He sounded sad.

  “I'll call you from Paris.” She was firm.

  “I don't want to talk to you in Paris. You're here now. I want to see you.”

  “Are you drunk?” she asked, sounding worried.

  “No. But I will be if you don't see me.” He laughed.

  She sighed, thinking about it. There wasn't a single good reason to see him. And several bad ones. She was still attracted to him, and she didn't want anything crazy to happen.

  “Shit… all right… come on up, but if you do anything stupid, I'll call security and have them throw you out.”

  “I won't do anything stupid. I promise.”

  She got out of bed, put on a dressing gown, and walked into the living room of her suite. He was there before she had finished tying the belt on her bathrobe. He knocked once. She opened the door and looked at him. He looked tall and lean and beautiful, and the same stirrings were there, but this time she didn't heed them. She stepped back from the door and waved him in, looking sleepy.

  “I'm sorry…I don't know why, Sash… but I had to see you.”

  “Well, now you see me.” She smiled at him, and sat down in a chair, as he walked over, kneeled down, and put his arms around her.

  “I'm sorry I was so stupid before. I thought you were demeaning me, and it drove me crazy. I wanted to go with you that night, and I wanted you to be proud of me. I just didn't know how to say it.”

  “I didn't handle it well either. Sometimes that happens. The crazier you got, the more I dug my heels in. I told you it was impossible. It never could have worked between us.”

  “It's still possible, if you want it to be. I've been doing a lot of thinking.”

  “Don't start that again. I don't want to argue with you. And I'm not going to do anything stupid.” She crossed her arms over her chest as she said it, which took a considerable amount of effort. What she really wanted was to put her arms around him, but she wasn't going to let that happen. She still had feelings for him. And he'd been drinking. A lethal combination, as they had proven too many times.

  “How was your date last night?”

  “Charming, intelligent, respectable, and unbelievably boring,” she said, without thinking, and then stared at him. “I can't believe I just said that. I had a perfectly nice time, with a perfectly decent person. I don't know why I said that.” She was upset by what she'd just said. The words had just slipped out.

  “Probably because it's true. Sasha, I love you.” He said it with a look of desperation. “And I don't give a damn if we keep us a secret. I realize now that it would have to be. It would make a mess if it weren't. I don't care if we never go to parties together. I just want to be with you, and share what we had before I blew it all to shit in Paris.”

  “You didn't blow it all to shit,” she said kindly, “we both did. This was never meant to be. I told you, Liam. It's impossible. How stupid are we both going to be? We got lucky. We hurt each other, but we didn't do an incredible amount of damage. Next time we could, and end it very badly. Let's just quit while we're ahead. I'll be the art dealer, and you be the artist.” As she said it, he stood in front of her, leaned down, and kissed her. And hating herself for it, she responded. “Okay, so I love you. It doesn't change anything. I'm not going to do this. It's impossible. Impossible. How many times and how many ways do I have to say it?” He kissed her again, and this time when he stopped, she was breathless. “Liam … don't… please… we'll just drive each other crazy again …” He couldn't stop kissing her, and she couldn't stop kissing him.

  “I'm already crazy,” he said miserably. “I have been ever since I was stupid enough to walk out on you in Paris.”

  “You weren't stupid… and I don't want you to be my secret. You were right. You deserve better. And I can't give it to you. I'm not ready to tell the world I have a boyfriend or a lover or whatever you are who's ten years younger. It makes me feel like a dirty old lady.”

  “Nine,” he said between kisses.

  “Nine what?” He was confusing her with what he was doing. Her head was spinning.

  “It's nine years, not ten. Don't exaggerate.”

  “All right, nine. I'm still not ready to tell people. And you deserve better than being a secret.”

  “I'd rather be your secret than your nothing.”

  “I'm your dealer.”

  “I want you to be my woman.” And all she wanted as he kissed her was to be his woman. But as soon as she would be again, everything would get crazy and confusing, just as it had in Paris. “And I want to be your very own wacky artist.” She laughed at him then.

  “Well, you're that in any case, even if all I am is your dealer.”

  “Sasha, give it a chance again … please, for both our sakes. I really love you.”

  “I love you, too. I just don't want us to drive each other crazy. And we would. You know it. I would do something that would freak you out. I'd insult you without meaning to. And you'd show up at a board meeting wearing a loincloth and sneakers.”

  “A loincloth?” He backed up and looked at her. “A loincloth? I don't even own one.”

  “Then buy one,” she said, smiling. “Every wacky artist should have one. You could wear it to parties I take you to.”

  “What about a toga? I could show up at a board meeting or a black-tie dinner wearing my bedsheets.” He grinned.

  “That's too easy,” she said to him between kisses. She was in his arms by then, and he was carrying her into the bedroom. He deposited her on the bed where they had made love for the first time. He stopped and looked at her then, and she lay on the bed and looked at him.

  “I won't make you do this if you don't want to,” he said softly.

  “I should hope not,” she said, with a look of amusement. “Oh God, Liam… what are we doing?” She loved him, but she was frightened.

  “We're starting where we left off, only better,” he said, sounding convinced.

  “How do you know it will be better? Maybe it will be worse.”

  “I know because I love you more than I did two months ago. I know because I want it to work. I want to prove to you that it is possible, and that you were wrong when you said it wasn't. I want you to be wrong.”

  “So do I,” she whispered as she held her arms out to him. He untied her bathrobe then, and she took off his clothes. She wanted to believe it was possible. She wanted it to work with him. She wanted to be everything he wanted, and she wanted him to be her dreams. And as he made love to her, they both found everything they had missed and longed for for the past two months.

  Afterward she looked up and smiled at him, and this time she had to laugh.

  “I can't believe we'r
e doing this again. What a couple of lunatics we are, Liam.” In spite of herself, she looked pleased.

  “You're a lunatic.” He grinned at her. “I'm only a wacky artist,” he said, looking proud, and feeling as though he had come home again.

  Chapter 10

  The next morning they made love again before he left. They took a shower together, and laughed about what they were doing again. There was a sense of humor about their relationship now, a kind of wonderment, an ease and sense of goodwill about it that they hadn't had before it ended in Paris. She wanted more than anything to believe it was possible. But with the difference in their lifestyle and age, she was still afraid it wasn't. It all depended on how tolerant they could be of each other. In her opinion, therein lay the key to their success: an ability for each of them to let the other be who they were. She had no idea if either of them was capable of that. This time it was going to take skill, luck, and magic for it to work.

  He kissed her before he walked out the door. Standing in the doorway in her bathrobe, she watched him saunter down the hall. She was terrified that it was still impossible, but she was unable to resist him. He turned and smiled at her, and as their eyes met, everything inside her melted. She loved him more than ever before, this time for who he was.

  She was smiling broadly when she met Xavier in the lobby for breakfast half an hour later. Liam had promised to meet her in Paris that weekend, and she had another idea as well. She had been planning a trip to Italy, to see new artists in May. She wanted him to come with her, and was going to mention it to him that weekend.

  “You look like the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary,” Xavier commented with a grin. “What's up, Mom?” He was wondering about the date she'd had the night she came to London, and he asked her about it. “Someone special?”

  “Nope. Nice, but boring.” She liked Phillip Henshaw, although she had no chemistry with him. But now that Liam was back, Phillip had flown right out the window, and didn't even know it. She knew what she was doing with Liam was insane, but she felt compelled to try it again. She reminded herself that doing the same thing again and again, and expecting a different result, was the definition of insanity. But there was absolutely no way she could resist him, and she didn't want to. She was so happy he was back in her life. She could hardly wait for the weekend. They had talked about her coming to London to see him on weekends too, but she was afraid she'd run into Xavier. She was definitely not ready to tell her children. First, they both wanted to see if this could work. She was betting on it, and so was he.

  Her driver took her to the airport, and when she got back to Paris, she was all smiles. Bernard and Eugénie saw it the minute she walked into the gallery.

  “Well, you're in a good mood,” Bernard commented drily. And when she got home that night, she was happy to see Socks. She was happy to see everyone now that Liam was back. Something was so different and so much better with him in her life.

  She had a busy week at the gallery, and when Liam arrived on Friday night, she was waiting for him. She had made a cassoulet, which he said he loved, pasta, salad, and even bought fancy pastries for him at Fauchon. They ate in the dining room, put the music on, and lit all the candles. It felt like a honeymoon to both of them. And on Saturday she invited him to join her in Italy for three weeks in May. He was ecstatic. Everything was better than it ever had been for both of them.

  He drove to Paris every weekend for the rest of April. They went to Deauville for one of them. They stayed in a funny old hotel and walked on the beach and gambled. Miraculously, no one in her life seemed to know what was going on. He arrived late on Fridays, lay low on Saturdays, and on Sundays they walked around, or drove into the country. They went to mass at Sacré Coeur, visited Notre Dame, and walked in the Luxembourg Gardens. They never ran into anyone she knew, and she turned down all invitations on weekends. Not because she was hiding him, but because she wanted to savor every moment she could spend with him. And once or twice, they dined with his artist friends in the Marais, who nearly fainted when they found out who she was. Most of them were half her age, which made her uncomfortable, but she knew being with them was something she had to tolerate for his sake. They told them they were friends. She knew he needed to see his friends. She saw hers, and the clients she entertained during the week, while he worked in London. They both knew it would be too complicated if he spent the weeks in Paris, and there would be no way they could keep their secret, with her gallery right in the same house. They had agreed this time to keep their affair quiet, until they felt more secure with each other again.

  They left for Italy on the first of May. They began their trip in Venice just for the fun of it, and spent four glorious days like a honeymoon at the Danieli. He had flown in from London, and she from Paris, and they met there. They did all the tourist things, rode in a gondola under the Ponte dei Sospiri, which the gondolier said would bind them to each other forever. They had sumptuous dinners, shopped, visited churches and museums, and sat in cafés. They were the happiest days they'd ever shared.

  From Venice, they rented a car and drove to Florence, where she was meeting with four artists. They did the same things in Florence they had done in Venice, and had lunches and dinners with the artists in between. She liked two of them very much, and thought their work was right for the gallery. She was uncertain about the third, and said she needed to think about it. They were unusual sculptures and possibly too big for her space. And the fourth artist was charming, but she disliked his work immediately. She told him kindly that she couldn't do him justice, and their gallery wasn't worthy of his work. She liked letting people down gently. There was no point hurting their feelings, or crushing them with unkind rejection. As Liam watched and listened, he liked how she did things. She was a good person and a nice woman, and he loved sharing what she did.

  They went to Bologna and Arezzo, spent a week in Umbria, driving through the country and staying in small inns. A few days in Rome. A visit to an artist on the Adriatic Coast, near Bari, and they spent the last days of the trip in Naples, visiting an artist whom Sasha had warned him was utterly insane, but she was also very charming, had six children, cooked them a fabulous dinner, and Sasha adored her work, as did Liam. She did enormous paintings in vibrant colors, which would be a nightmare to ship. But by the time Liam and Sasha left her, they were all in love with each other, including the artist's Chinese lover of twenty years who was the father of her six kids. They were beautiful children. And it was a fabulous trip, for both of them.

  They spent their last weekend in Capri, in a small romantic hotel. They were both sad at the prospect of going back to real life, and their own worlds. She loved waking up with him in the morning, going to sleep in his arms at night, discovering things together, meeting people, and sometimes just walking around while they shared pieces of their history, or laughed. They had both had difficult, somewhat lonely childhoods. He because he had been a talented artistic misfit in a supremely conservative and unimaginative family, and she because her father had been a cold taskmaster much of the time, although he loved her very much. It was only once she was an adult that he had come to respect her, and her opinions. Liam's family never had, and he still paid a high price for the ridicule and rejection he had suffered at their hands. They had both been shortchanged by not having their mothers present as they grew up. Liam remembered his as a warm, wonderful woman who adored him, and in whose eyes he could do no wrong. He was still looking for the unconditional love he had gotten from her and no one else, and sometimes Sasha felt that he expected her to mother him now. That kind of unconditional love was a lot to expect from anyone who had entered his life later on. Love between adults and lovers was always somewhat conditional, and often fell short of expectations, particularly when not all needs were reciprocally met. She had similar memories of her own mother, and she sometimes wondered if people always believed that those who had died had loved unconditionally. Perhaps they hadn't, or wouldn't have later on. But her mem
ories of her mother were as sweet and gentle as his recollections of his. She wondered sometimes what it would be like if her mother were alive now, although she would have been very elderly, eighty-eight years old. Sasha had turned forty-nine on their trip. Liam had woken her up that morning singing happy birthday to her, and she groaned thinking of it. He had given her a simple gold bracelet he had bought for her in Florence. She never took it off once he put it on her wrist, and knew she never would.

  The age difference between them still bothered her at times. There was no avoiding it. They seemed to have more in common than she once thought, the loss of their mothers, their passion for art, the things they enjoyed doing when they were relaxed and had more time. Galleries, museums, churches, shops. When removed from daily stresses, they were both fairly easygoing, loved traveling together, and were curious about life. They were drawn to different kinds of people. She gravitated toward venerable elders, perhaps because of her much older father and the people she'd been exposed to with him all her life. She was impressed by reputations and education, as well as talent. Liam was instantly attracted to all things different, unusual, new, and young. She liked innovation and eccentricity in art, but not in people. When they sat in a café, she watched older people. Liam always gravitated toward youth and within minutes had met every young person in the place. He was most comfortable with people in their twenties and thirties, she preferred people her own age, or older, which created a gap of many decades between the people they wanted to meet and spend time with. It was a difference between them that they both had to learn to respect and tolerate, which was not always easy to do. It bored her to hang out with traveling students, and even young artists. She felt she had nothing to say to them, and wasn't interested in their juvenile ideas. Liam felt there was much to learn from the young, and he identified with them to an unusual degree, for a man his age. Watching him with them, Sasha felt like he was one of them. Liam seemed to feel that way too. And he also said that talking to the people who interested her put him to sleep. It was definitely a stumbling block between them. But traveling on their own, isolated from their familiar lives, they were both somewhat more willing to investigate and explore new worlds.