by Ann Cristy
"That's balderdash and you know it, my dear. Some of our loftiest peers have married out of their class and they are happy."
"Dev is different. Clare told me that under all that kidding he does about the peerage, he takes his family obligations very seriously. If ever he was forced to marry her, he would end up being very bitter. No doubt he would even end up divorcing her, just so that he could marry someone of his own kind."
"My dear Lydia, that's twaddle. Your trouble is that you're jealous...."
"Jealous? Me? Damn you, Clive—"
Cle didn't wait to hear any more. She felt as though she had just stepped through hot glass. She could feel the burning cuts all over her body as she walked with a fixed stare toward the stairs and the powder room.
She was sure she heard her name, that she heard Dev's voice but she kept the sleepwalker's pace toward the nebulous sanctuary of the ladies room. God, all the ghostly doubts that she had buried in her mind flared into painful life. Dev couldn't be hers...
CHAPTER THREE
Cle stood there shaking, her hands clenching and unclenching at her side, the slamming of the door reverberating through the apartment. Dev was gone. The loud, angry confrontations between them for the last three days seemed to echo through the now silent apartment. Dev was gone. He was gone to England and she was here.
For the past three days, Dev had ranted and raved at her, trying to make her tell him why she had changed her mind about accompanying him to England. No matter what reason she gave him he shouted her down, saying that he didn't believe her and asking why she was doing this.
"Damn you to hell, Cle," he had snarled at her. "What are you keeping from me? Why didn't you ask Toner...No, damn it why didn't you tell Toner you were going? Better yet I would have told him. What game are you playing? I won't have it."
"I told you I'm not going with you. You can't make me go."
"Damn you, I'll tie you in a bag and drag you on that plane." There was murder in his green eyes.
Cle had watched him openmouthed just before he left. She saw the smooth, sophisticated lawyer, the polished solicitor peeled away, stripped to the raw menacing man who looked at her as though he wanted to flay her. That was his last look at her before he flung himself out the door.
She readied herself for work three times. She ran her pantyhose, smeared her lip gloss, pulled a button from her blouse. When she finally looked at the finished product in the mirror, she saw a wraith with banjo eyes, the circles beneath almost the same blue. Her skin was paper white and not even blusher disguised the parchment look. The five pounds that had melted from her frame in the last three days made her skirt swivel at her waist.
When she reached the salon, she went right to her little cubicle, planning to tell Jaime that she would miss the regular conference because she was too busy with the line.
Jaime forestalled this by coming down to her. When he shut the door, closing the two of them into the cell like room, Cle took a deep breath. "You might well sigh. You were thirty minutes late today. I called you every five minutes before phoning the doorman and telling him to buzz me when Her Highness made her entrance. What the hell is wrong with you? Are you sick?" Jaime wrenched her chin around, leaning over her as she sat at her drawing board. "Tell me, Cle. What happened? Are you under the weather?" Jaime's narrowed eyes widened in comprehension. "It's his lordship, isn't it? Has he skipped out on you?"
For a moment Cle wasn't going to answer. She hugged her misery to her like a winter coat in a snow storm. Then she felt too full to hold any more and it
spilled from her mouth. "In a way you could say that. He's gone to England. I didn't go with him."
"Good. It wouldn't have been right for you, Cle. His kind aren't for you. This is where you belong. We're your people."
"I love him Jaime. That's my problem. I think that's been my problem from the start. Oh, I know I loved him right away but I thought it was a modern easy love that I could walk away from with a sad smile and a lot of good memories. I can't. I'm cut to pieces." Cle could feel the smile on her face slip sideways. Shudders crashed through her body like incoming tide on a shore. "I never once thought he would become my whole life. The laugh is on me." The tight dryness of her voice was echoed in her eyes.
"God, Cle, don't! Cry. Do something. I can't bear to see you like this." Jaime's voice had a surprised hurt to it.
"Don't look like that Jaime. I'll be fine. Just don't ask me to come to the conference today."
Jaime had nodded and left her, his face troubled.
In the ensuing days, it seemed to Cle that Jaime hovered close but she barely took note of his presence. She poured every bit of energy she had into the new collection.
She hadn't expected to hear from Dev the first days after his departure, but she had hoped. When a week passed and she hadn't heard from him, she was convinced that he didn't want her around any more.
One day when she was in Jaime's studio, Dev seemed to loom in her mind. She couldn't concentrate.
Finally Jaime slammed down the pointer he was using and threw her a disgusted look. "All right, Cle. You have to get over this. You're no good to yourself or to me. You need to get away for a few days."
"I need to get away for a long time," she burst out, her voice raw, bitter. "I'd like to disappear."
Jaime's mouth opened then shut again. He put his right hand up to his chin, rubbing in slow motion. "Would you now? Get away is that it? That might be arranged, Cle, and it would be a help to me as well as you." He walked over to her and lifted her from the chair. "Go back to your board. I have a few calls to make. I'll come down to you in a little while."
Cle tried to work in Jaime's absence but her mind felt like a sodden sponge. It could hold no more.
She was still doodling on her sketch pad thirty minutes later when Jaime stepped into her cubicle, closed the door, and looked at her with gremlin glee. He opened a brown paper bag and removed a jar of peanut butter and some English crackers and one solid silver knife, gleaming rich in the fluorescent light.
"We celebrate, my dove. I've just talked to Max Brainerd and he tells me he is still interested in having a protégé of mine come out and give him some ideas. He was very enthusiastic when I mentioned your name because he and I had talked of you in our last conversation. He would love you to come. What do you say, Cle? Would you like to work for Brainerd for a year or two, then come back to me?"
"Australia!" Cle looked at him, mouth agape. "I never thought of going so far away."
"It would help you at this point in your life. Then you could always come back to me when you'd gotten over Carstairs."
Cle's eyes flashed to his face, pain like lava flowing through her veins.
Jaime touched her cheek with one finger. "Yes, you'll get over him, little Cleora, then you and I will work together again. That's the way it should be. Not this way, you wasting away, pining like one of those old time heroines. He isn't worth it. You don't fit in his life and you don't want to. This is the life for you. Am I right?"
"I'll... I'll think about it, Jaime. I'll tell you tomorrow what I've decided."
Jaime had frowned but then shrugged.
All the way home Cle prayed that Dev would call. She had never imagined that being parted from him could cause this much pain. She felt as though someone had amputated her arms without anesthesia. The blood dripped from her body and there was no staunching the wounds. She had to have a phone call from him to save her life.
She paced the apartment the whole evening, waiting for the phone to ring just as she had on all the other evenings since Dev's departure. Only tonight the feeling of loss was more intense. Tonight she would make the decision to stay or leave him forever.
At dawn she was lying staring at the ceiling. Dev was so angry when he left. He hadn't tried to make it up. She felt certain he was through with her. Pain had turned into numbness. She had to get out of his apartment. She would leave a note for Mrs. Hubbard telling her that she would be leaving fo
r a while. By the time Dev returned to America in two weeks' time, she would be in Australia, starting a new life.
The following days were awful, but Jaime managed to smooth the rough edges for her. He had insisted that Amy Worden accompany Cle to get her passport and her shots. He swore it was because he didn't want her to shame him that he had given her such a fine collection of clothes for her very own.
Cle tried to protest, but she was so cocooned in misery her words seemed to have no impact. Amy's sympathy was overt and would have embarrassed Cle had she the strength to feel such an emotion.
It seemed to her that an automaton, not her own self, packed her luggage and directed Mrs. Hubbard to send the other things to storage. When the woman asked her about her whereabouts, Cle directed her to send all mail and queries to Toner. She could tell the older woman was displeased by the lack of information, but Cle was determined to cut herself off from all ties to New York until she did, in Jaime's words, "get over Dev." She didn't probe too deeply into the despair that rolled over her at such a thought. She gritted her teeth, willing her thoughts, ahead of her body, to Sydney, Australia, land of sunshine, beauty, and forgetfulness.
She had no memory of getting on the plane after her watery farewells with Amy. Jaime had a grim faced look when he kissed her good bye, surprising Cle by kissing her on the lips.
All her life she had wanted to go to Hawaii. She and Dev had talked of taking a trip to the enchanted islands one day. It was an effort to smile when a young man draped a lei about her neck. She felt a stirring of interest when she looked at Diamond Head against the skyline but she wasn't unhappy that she only had an hour layover. She took little interest after that, deciding to force herself to work so that she would be ready with some new sketches to show Max Brainerd.
They landed at Sydney in the early evening. Cle was unprepared for the daylight, expecting darkness and coolness. She had forgotten that in Sydney it would be like late spring back home, that the approaching Christmas season signaled days on the beach to Australians not days on the ski slopes as it would to a New Yorker.
Max Brainerd met her himself, surprising her. She studied the medium build, sandy haired man in front of her and thought how much like Jaime he looked. She felt the first real smile on her face for days.
Max cocked his head, his bushy eyebrows cafe au lait colored and mobile. "I know. People used to think we were brothers when we studied together in
Paris. Of course I'm much more talented than Jaime, but he's quite good."
Cle laughed.
"Come, my dear, I have a lovely flat for you not too far from the salon. It's the top floor of an old warehouse on a street of lovely little shops. The second floor is the storage area. The third floor is your flat. There is a private elevator that leads from the street and it's quite spacious. A friend of mine owns the building and renovated the top floor for his own use but now his work takes him to London for... whatever is wrong, my dear. You've gone white on me. Are you ill? Jet lag?"
"Nothing really. Maybe a bit of jet lag." Cle smiled weakly, wondering if the word London would ever stop lacerating her.
Cle was glad for the spectacular view as they drove into the city. "Are all sundowns so splendid?" she whispered to Max, afraid to break the kaleidoscope spell cast by the lowering sun.
"Just for tourists, my dear." Max chuckled.
Cle was so busy rubbernecking that she didn't even notice the direction they took. For her the trip was all too fast. The wonderful city bathed in orchid twilight seemed to have the look of the enchanted land of Oz. Cle had a sudden curl of hope inside.
She was delighted with the apartment. It was spacious and had a rough hewn elegance that was both masculine and tasteful. It was nothing like the sophisticated decor of Dev's apartment. Much of the wall space was covered by honey colored paneling. The drapes were swagged back sheers in gold and barely covered the panoramic glass windows that looked out over a park like area. She turned back to a smiling Max. "It's lovely and so homey. I never expected a park."
"Sydney is one big park. It's a beautiful city and I think you'll be happy here. Is there anything I can do to get you settled?"
Cle shook her head, smiling, all at once wanting to curl into a bed and sleep. Sleep! She hadn't slept in so long but tonight she was sure she was going to do just that. "I'll be fine. I'll just unpack an overnight bag for now."
Max nodded his head. "I'm glad you're here, Cle. Jaime praised you to the skies. I'm surprised he allowed you to come he's so fond of you."
Cle let go an inaudible sigh. Jaime hadn't told him about Dev. She was grateful. "Jaime is a good friend and a wonderful teacher. I just hope that I can be of some use to you."
"Oh, I think you can. I'm anxious to see your sketches." He paused for a moment, a slight frown on his face. "Would you like to take tomorrow off and begin the next day?"
"No. I'd like to get started right away. If you could give me directions to the salon..."
"I shall pick you up myself. Say, eight thirty?"
After Max left she roamed the apartment, liking it more and more. She was delighted with the luxury of two bedrooms. She would be able to use one as a workroom. She walked from there back into the room Max called the lounge. It was a huge square room that had a large dining alcove two steps up from one side, and long angled windows all along the side that had the effect of skylights. The random width floors had rich looking Chinese carpets on them in jewel tones of blue and pearl that were a wild but pleasing contrast to the honey paneling. There was a stone fireplace with twin overstuffed couches in blue nubby cloth facing each other over a round honey colored wood table. She wandered from there to the very modern kitchen where again the honey colored paneling was repeated.
Cle sighed with satisfaction and ambled to the bathroom that opened off the master bedroom. She liked the brown and cream marble decor of the bath and sunk into the salted depths of the tub to wash the grime and aches from her body. For one stark moment she had a wish for an inner massage that would take away the pain of wanting Dev.
For the first time in many days she hit the pillow and slept at the same time. She didn't waken until a persistent sound in her ear disturbed her. She blinked at the strange surroundings trying to orient herself. It was a few moments before she realized that the phone was ringing next to the bed. "Yes?"
The laughter was friendly. "It's Max, Cle. It's seven o'clock. Let me pick you up early and we'll have breakfast. Is that all right with you?"
"Oh.. .ah. That sounds good. Give me twenty minutes and I'll meet you at the door." Cle tried to stifle a yawn, blinking her eyes to keep them open.
"Fine. I'll be standing next to the elevator timing you."
Cle could hear Max's laughter as she dropped the phone onto its cradle and streaked for the bathroom, filling her arms with hose and lingerie along the way. She promised herself that she would unpack fully that evening, frowning at the open suitcase with its trailing contents.
The elevator doors opened as her watch told her she had one minute to spare.
A lounging Max Brainerd looked at her openmouthed. "A punctual woman! God, I thought they were extinct."
"Very funny." She gave him a haughty glare. "I'll have you know that I have less trouble with women being tardy than I do men."
"Bushwaugh, my dear. My clients—all females, mind—are invariably late," Max said, his voice a bit pompous.
"And I'll bet that you still keep them waiting," Cle shot at him, willing to wager he had the same attitude as Jaime.
Max's hesitation made Cle snort in satisfaction.
"My dear, would you have me, the great Max Brainerd, cool my heels for a pack of brainless women?" He'd escorted her to his car and held open the passenger door for her.
She held his eye. "Is that why they pick your salon, because they're stupid?" She slid into the car.
"In that way they're smart." Max gave an exaggerated sigh before going round to slip beneath the wheel. "Why didn't my friend
Jaime tell me that you had a biting tongue?"
Cle laughed then looked straight ahead, through the windshield as they pulled into the traffic. "I had a friend who once said that..." Cle caught herself in horror realizing she was going to repeat something Dev had said to her about being "beauty with a viper's tongue."
"What is it, Cle? You've turned pasty white. Are you ill? What were you saying about your friend?" Max fired the questions like missiles, his head going from Cle to watching the traffic in a rapid swiveling motion.
"I'm not ill. I was just going to say that this person thought I had a quick tongue, too." She looked out the window on her side hardly seeing the people bustling to work. Dev. Would she never get him out of her mind?
She made a big effort to listen and respond to Max as he led her into a caf6 type restaurant and proceeded to order for her an American breakfast of eggs, sausage, and toast and oatmeal and kippers for himself. Cle was delighted when they were served a delicious coffee instead of the tea she had expected.
"I would have eaten the kippers and oatmeal, you know," she said, smiling.
"I was just thinking how nice eggs and sausage sounded." Max made a face at her when she laughed.
"Jaime said that you have some fabulous silks that you use. Do you get them from Japan?" Cle sipped her coffee with relish, finding it strong and delicious.
"No. Japan is too expensive. We have a silk industry here in Australia and we get some of our silks from the less industrialized countries in Asia. As you no doubt know, our country has all the climes, from cold to tropical, so we use the woolens too for which we are very famous, but we also can grow the mulberry tree with some success so the silkworm is made quite happy." Max waxed enthusiastic when he discussed the fabrics of his country and, when he realized that Cle was deeply interested, his talk became more detailed.
Both Max and Cle were shocked when they noticed that it was almost eight thirty. They hurried to the salon. Her introduction to the staff at Max's, for that was the name of his establishment, was eased by Max himself, who introduced her to his personal staff. Then he left her in the capable hands of Alistair Nivens who showed her the workrooms, the vault, and introduced her to the modistes and the mannequins.