His One-Night Mistress

by Sandra Field

  “Forgiveness isn’t the issue. I wanted you to understand why I’m not into marriage, that’s all. My father loved my mother. He gave her his soul and she trampled all over it. So I learned very young that love means betrayal and heartbreak.”

  “It doesn’t have to!”

  “A barrier slammed down that night, against knowledge I was too young to comprehend and emotions too terrible to bear. It’s still in place. It always will be.”

  It was the finality in Seth’s voice that destroyed Lia’s last vestige of hope. Her whole body felt ice-cold. Picking up her wrap, she clumsily drew it around her shoulders. “Thank you for telling me,” she said helplessly. “I’d better go…I’ll see myself out.”

  Seth made no move to stop her. Feeling as though her own heart was breaking, Lia hurried out of the bedroom.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  SUMMER had arrived at Meadowland. The flower beds were a riot of color, birds were nesting in the trees and the swimming pool shone turquoise in the sunshine as Lia and Marise frolicked in the deep end.

  Lia should have been happy. Marise was out of school. She herself had only two summer festivals to attend and a benefit concert at Carnegie Hall; so she was able to spend hours of precious time with her daughter. The vegetable garden was flourishing and they had a bumper crop of strawberries.

  Marise had spent a lot of time with Seth; he’d gone to her school closing, and the last three weekends had taken her to his summer home on Cape Cod, where he’d introduced her to sailing and ocean swimming. He’d also dropped in at Meadowland twice with Allan, occasions that had sorely tested Lia’s composure.

  Not once had he mentioned marriage; it was as though he’d forgotten both his proposal and her refusal. Certainly he never mentioned the night a little boy had hidden in the library of the big stone house by the sea. Instead he treated her with a courtesy that scoured every nerve in her body; he might as well have been in Paris as standing in her sun-dappled kitchen.

  Marise loved him, and he loved Marise. That much, she knew.

  He’d never love herself. She knew that, too; and ached every moment of the day from the knowledge.

  Marise splashed her. “Mum, watch me dive all the way to the bottom! Dad taught me how.”

  With a start Lia came back to the present, to her daughter heaving her lungs full of air, then kicking herself deeper and deeper into the water. When Marise surfaced a few moments later, red-faced and sputtering, Lia said, “Great, Marise—you’re a way better swimmer than last year.”

  “Dad’s teaching me all kinds of neat things.” Marise put her head to one side, trying to get water out of her ear. “Why don’t you ever come to Cape Cod with us?”

  Lia should have been prepared for this question; and wasn’t. “It’s better that you make your own relationship with your father, Marise.” She sounded like a self-help book, she thought in disgust.

  “Hasn’t he asked you?”

  “He has a lot of catching up to do…seven years, honeybunch. You don’t need me around for that.”

  Marise’s chin, so like her mother’s, had a stubborn tilt. “You’d like his house in Cape Cod. There’s two kids next door for me to play with…I’m going to ask him to ask you next time.”

  “You mustn’t!” Lia gasped, swallowing a mouthful of chlorinated water.

  “He said I could ask him anything I liked.”

  Cursing Seth inwardly, Lia said weakly, “This is different.”

  Marise was batting at the water with her fingers; her eyes looked more turquoise than green. She said in a rush, “I wish you and Dad would live together. All the time.”

  “Oh, Marise…”

  “You could get married.” Marise’s smile was artless. “In the garden. I could be the bridesmaid. There’s lots of flowers out now, you wouldn’t even have to buy a bouquet.”

  Lia bit her lip. “Sweetheart, it isn’t that simple.”

  “I don’t see why not. Dad’s really nice,” Marise pleaded, a catch in her voice. “He could live here—he likes it here, he said so.”

  Lia stared at her daughter, one word overriding all the rest of the words tumbling in her brain. Selfish, she thought. She’d been utterly selfish the past few weeks. Acting as though marrying Seth only affected her.

  Marise now had two parents, something she’d always longed for. Why wouldn’t she want her parents safely married? Most of her school friends had a mother and a father who lived in the same house, slept in the same bed, came together to parent-teacher interviews. Ordinary. Normal. Of course Marise wanted the same.

  Lia said with attempted briskness, “I promise I’ll think about everything you’ve said, sweetie. Now we’d better get out and get dried off. I want to make strawberry jam before supper.”

  “Okay.” Marise gave a gap-toothed grin. “I’ll beat you to the end of the pool. Then I can help hull the berries.”

  By nine o’clock that night Marise was sound asleep in bed, her fingers still red-stained, and Lia was standing in the kitchen gazing at the neat row of jars filled with ruby-red jam. They’d taste wonderful in February, she thought absently. What in heaven’s name was she going to do?

  Behind her, the phone shrilled. The number that came up was Seth’s. With a superstitious shiver Lia picked up the receiver and said hello.

  “Lia. How are you?”

  Confused. Unhappy. Terrified. “Fine,” she said.

  “I wondered if I could pick Marise up tomorrow morning? She’s been asking to go to the IMAX, and there’s a show on tomorrow evening about whales. I could bring her back the next day.”

  “Sure,” Lia said. “Come early, she’ll want you to have a tour of the garden.”

  “See you around ten, then.”

  She opened her mouth to say she needed to talk to him, but the connection was already cut. Saying a very rude word, Lia slammed the receiver back in its cradle and wiped the sticky spots of jam off the counter. Nancy was on holiday. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she picked up the phone and arranged to have Marise play with Suzy tomorrow morning until about eleven.

  That way, she’d be alone with Seth.

  But only for an hour.

  The traffic was worse than Seth had anticipated, and it was 10:25 before he turned into the long driveway to Meadowland. As always, its serenity tugged at his heart. Lia couldn’t have chosen a better place to bring up Marise, he thought, and steeled himself for the inevitable meeting with Lia.

  He hated them. He spent every one of them being painstakingly polite to her, when all he really wanted was to kiss her senseless.

  He couldn’t do that. Not in front of his seven-year-old daughter.

  He parked by the front door, ran up the steps, knocked on the screen door and let himself in. “Marise?” he called. “Are you ready?”

  Lia walked out into the pool of sunshine on the worn pine floor. “Hello, Seth.”

  She was wearing yellow shorts and a loose white shirt, her hair in a ponytail; her feet were bare, her toenails painted neon-orange. Her slender legs, delicately tanned, made his head swim. Then his heart gave a nasty jolt in his chest as he noticed how tense she looked. Tense, guarded and unhappy. “What’s wrong?” he demanded. “Where’s Marise?”

  “I sent her over to Suzy’s for a few minutes. I need to talk to you.”

  His pulse was now thudding in his ears. “Is she all right?”

  “Yes…I’ve made coffee. Come in the kitchen.”

  The windows were open, the curtains flapping lazily in the breeze. “What’s up, Lia?”

  She poured his coffee, indicating the cream and sugar on the counter. “If you still want me to, I’ll marry you.”

  This time, his heart gave an actual lurch in his rib cage. “You’ll what?”

  “You heard.”

  She was standing braced against the counter, her arms folded over her chest. Keeping his own distance, Seth said carefully, “What made you change your mind?”

  “Marise. She really
wants us to get married. She wants a normal life, Seth—two parents under the same roof. It was selfish of me to think only of my own needs, blinding myself to hers.”

  Seth said, even more carefully, “Are you still in love with me?”

  “Of course. It’s the forever kind of love and I’m stuck with it.”

  There was as much emotion in her voice as if she was discussing the grocery list. Feeling the first twinge of anger, Seth said, “If it weren’t for Marise, you wouldn’t be marrying me.”

  “You got it.”

  She was now gazing out the window as though he wasn’t even there. Her face, normally so expressive, looked blank. As if she’d gone into hiding, he thought, unease adding itself to anger. “How soon do you want to get married?” he asked, keeping his eyes trained on her.

  “As soon as possible. There’s no reason to procrastinate.”

  “You sound so cold-blooded,” he burst out.

  “You’re the one who started this farcical idea of marrying me to stop the gossip.”

  “But now it’s segued into giving Marise what she needs.” He hesitated, knowing he was on the brink of a momentous decision, wondering if he was making a disastrous mistake. “Why don’t we try for two weeks from now? Does that fit your schedule?”

  “I’m playing at Carnegie next week. Otherwise I’m free until early August.”

  He could shift his trip to Australia to later in the month. “Do you want a big wedding?”

  “No!” she said, looking hunted. “A small one. Here.”

  “We have to let the media know. Or else we’re defeating the purpose,” Seth said sharply.

  “Afterward. We’ll let them know afterward.”

  “This is all wrong, Lia—we sound like we’re planning a funeral, not a wedding.”

  She shrank away from him. “I don’t know how else to do it.”

  “When we tell Marise, you could try looking happy at the prospect of marrying me,” he said with brutal truth.

  But even that didn’t rouse her. “I will,” she said. “I’ll look after my end of it, and you look after yours.”

  He wanted her fighting him, he realized with a cold thunk in his chest. The old Lia, fiery-tempered, not giving an inch. Eyes glittering, face lit with passion.

  That’s what he wanted. And that’s what he wasn’t going to get. He said, sounding like a robot, “We’ll sleep together after we’re married. That’s nonnegotiable.”

  “Naturally. Marise is quite old enough to know that Suzy’s mum and dad sleep in the same room.”

  So once again he was back to Marise. “I’ll see about getting the license.”

  “I’ll ask the minister of our local church to do the ceremony. Do you want a ring?”

  “Yes,” he said, “I do. What about you?”

  “I guess so. It’d look better.”

  “So this wedding is all about appearances.”

  “Well, isn’t it?”

  He said flatly, “I think I hear Marise.”

  Through the open window he’d heard someone dump a bicycle on the porch. As the screen door slammed shut, he watched Lia gather herself: as though she were about to play in a concert, she was going inward, he thought, connecting to all her resources. Then Marise came running into the kitchen. “Hi, Dad!” she crowed and flung herself at him.

  He swung her up and over his head, laughing at her, wondering if he’d ever get over the wonder of her existence. “Hi, there. Ready for the movie?”

  “All my clothes are packed, and Robert.”

  Robert was the large, rather dilapidated bear that traveled everywhere with her. “Good. I’ve told your mother I’ll bring you home tomorrow afternoon.”

  Lia said easily, “Marise, we have some news for you. Big news that we hope will make you very happy.” As she glanced over at Seth, she was smiling. “Why don’t I tell her, Seth?”

  He tried to loosen the tension in his jaw. “Go ahead.”

  “We’re going to be married, Marise. Your father and I.”

  Marise looked from one to the other of them, her eyes huge. “Will Dad live with us?”

  Finally Seth found his voice. “Sometimes I have to travel for work, just as your mother does, and sometimes we could spend weekends in Manhattan. But most of the time, I’ll be living here.”

  “Like a real dad?”

  “I’ll do my best,” he pledged, his throat tight.

  Marise threw her arms around her mother. “I won’t mind sharing you. Not with Dad.”

  There were tears sparkling on Lia’s lashes. Suddenly tired of pretense, Seth put his arm around her, pulling her close. “We could get married in the garden,” he said.

  “Can Suzy come?” Marise asked.

  “It’ll be a small wedding,” Lia said, giving Seth another of those brilliant, fake smiles.

  “It’ll be perfect,” Marise warbled and started dancing around the kitchen. “Why don’t you come with us to the movies, Mum?”

  Seth felt a tiny shudder travel the length of Lia’s body. She said calmly, “I have to practice for the Carnegie concert, sweetie. Maybe next time…you should get on your way. I packed a few sandwiches, Seth, and some juice.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “Want to put them in the car, Marise?”

  As his daughter skipped out of the kitchen, he turned Lia in his arms, ignoring her resistance, and kissed her full on the mouth in an impressive mixture of anger, frustration and desire. “There,” he said, “that feels better.”

  She’d been rigid in his embrace. He added, baring his teeth in a smile, “I’ll tell you one thing—it won’t be boring, being married to you.”

  Then he strode out of the kitchen to join his daughter.

  Four days later, Seth was one of the crowd taking their seats in Carnegie Hall. This time he wasn’t in a tuxedo heading for an exclusive box seat; he was in casual clothes, sitting quite far back and to one side on the parquet level, along with a thousand other listeners.

  He didn’t want Lia to see him.

  Above his head shone the circle of lights that memorialized the wedding band Andrew Carnegie had given his wife. An ironic touch, Seth thought, with his own wedding due to happen in just over a week.

  He hadn’t gone to bed with Lia since the night in Prague; he’d invited her back to his brownstone tonight, but she’d refused. She was icily polite with him when they were alone, and overly animated when Marise was around. He wasn’t sure which he disliked more. But if his fiery, argumentative Lia were to return, she wouldn’t be marrying him. He couldn’t have it both ways.

  He’d gotten what he wanted, at the cost of driving Lia underground to a place where she was unreachable: he felt a million miles away from the woman who would be his wife in less than ten days. Was this why he was here, to try to reconnect with her in some way?

  Pretty pathetic, he thought, and settled in his red plush seat to read the program.

  Last night had been even more pathetic. Unable to sleep, he’d prowled around the house from midnight to three in the morning, rearranging books that didn’t need rearranging, doing a wash that could have waited another day. Running from his own questions.

  Why couldn’t he fall in love with Lia?

  That was the only question that mattered. To which he always came up with the same answer: the barrier that had slammed down when he was eight was firmly locked in place.

  He was still behind it, Seth thought as the orchestra tuned up; and it was from behind it that he watched his beautiful Lia.

  She wasn’t his. Not really.

  Because he didn’t love her.

  As she walked onstage in a shimmer of black silk, Seth forced himself to pay attention. But at the intermission, he got up and left the massive brown brick building on the corner of 7th Avenue. Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he walked east on 57th, then north on Madison toward his brownstone.

  Lia had made at least three mistakes in the first movement of the concerto; although she’d recovered each time
with lightning speed, he knew the critics would savage her the next day.

  He felt responsible. Him and his ultimatum.

  But how could they call off the wedding? Marise would be devastated.

  He let himself indoors and ran upstairs, hoping against hope that Lia might have left a message on his machine during the intermission. She hadn’t. And although he stayed up until well past two, she didn’t contact him. He even got up early the next morning, praying that she’d share with him her feelings about two very lukewarm reviews.

  At nine-thirty, when Seth was getting out of the shower, the doorbell rang. He dragged on a pair of jeans, tried to subdue his wet hair and took the stairs two at a time. But when he pulled the door open, it wasn’t Lia standing on the step. It was Eleonore, his mother.

  Seth’s face froze with shock. “Mother—is something wrong?”

  “Are you going to invite me in?” she said tartly. “Or keep me waiting on the front step?”

  “Sure…come in. I’ve got fresh coffee on, would you like some?”

  “For heaven’s sake, put some clothes on, Seth.”

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” he said dryly. “Make yourself at home, I’ll be right down.”

  When he came back, Eleonore was sitting ramrod-straight in the living room in a very expensive chair made by a Finnish designer. She said irritably, “This chair is astonishingly comfortable—I can’t imagine why.”

  He passed her a paper-thin porcelain cup of coffee. Eleonore took a sip and put the cup down on a leather-topped table. For once, she seemed to have nothing to say. Seth said casually, “You got my invitation to the wedding?”

  “Yes. To the fiddle player. I thought you were against marriage.”

  “I am. Marise wants us to get married…so we are.”

  Looking out the window, Eleonore said stiffly, “Will your father be there?”