Lightning

by Danielle Steel

  Liz went to get her a cup of tea, and she spent another hour on the bathroom floor, with Brock alternately holding her and keeping her company. And when she felt a little better, she would talk to him about one of her cases.

  “This is sick,” she said finally. “We do more business in this bathroom than we do at my desk.”

  “Not for much longer,” he reminded her, and it had been worth it. According to Dr. Webber, the cancer was gone, hopefully forever.

  He took her home at five o'clock, and then went back to work and stayed till nine. And before he left the office that night he called her. Sam was away again, and Brock asked if he could drop by for a few minutes to see her.

  “Are you up to it?” he asked gently.

  “Sure. I'd love to see you.” She was still amazed at what had happened between them over the weekend, but the brutal effects of her chemotherapy didn't allow them the time to enjoy it. But she still remembered the delicious hours they had spent in Vermont. They were like a dream, until he appeared at her apartment half an hour later. He had flowers for her, and he kissed her gently the minute he saw her. She was in a nightgown and dressing gown, and the dressing gown fell open as he kissed her and caressed her. She had put on one of her wigs before he came, and he teased her about it and reminded her that she didn't have to wear it for him.

  “I think I like you better without it. It's sexier.”

  “You're crazy.”

  “About you,” he whispered, as he tucked her back into bed and kissed her again. Then he went to the kitchen, and put the flowers in a vase for her. She was looking a lot better than she had that afternoon, and he sat on the edge of the bed and talked to her for a long time, running a lazy finger down her body to all the places that intrigued him. “I'm a lucky man,” he said, watching her. He had wanted her for so long, wanted to be there for her, and to help her. He had wanted to save her from Sam, and now she had come to him, all on her own. It was Kismet.

  “You're a silly boy,” she smiled at him, but it was obvious to her that he was not a boy but a man. She had to remind herself that he was actually younger than she was. He made her feel so safe, and protected, and well cared for.

  “Where's Sam this time?” he asked casually, as he sat next to her on the bed at her invitation.

  “London again. We hardly see him. He says he's just staying till I finish chemo. And then he's moving out. I guess he's looking for apartments. A real estate agent called him last week about a penthouse co-op on Fifth. I guess he's planning to set up housekeeping with his sweetheart.” She tried not to sound affected by it, but she was. It still hurt to think of his betrayal.

  “Are you going to file?”

  “Not yet. There's no rush. It doesn't make much difference. We go our separate·ways now.” But it mattered to Brock. And he knew it was too soon to push her. But he wanted her to himself, he wanted a life with her. He wanted Sam out of the picture.

  Brock stayed with her until eleven o'clock. And then he put her to bed, turned off the lights, and let himself out of her apartment.

  The following night he cooked dinner for her and Annabelle. Afterwards he and Alex worked, and this time when he put her to bed, he had to fight to control himself. She looked so beautiful and he was aching to make love to her again, but she still wasn't feeling well, and neither of them wanted to risk waking her daughter. Annabelle had had fun playing with him, and she had no idea of what was happening. She accepted him as a friend, and there was no resistance.

  By the weekend, Alex felt better again, and Carmen came in on Saturday morning, so Alex could spend the day with Brock at his apartment. They never got out of bed all day, and she had never known that making love could be like that with anyone. He was amazing. They were completely at ease in each other's arms and with each other's bodies. There was nothing to hide, or fear, or hold back. They made love for hours with total abandon.

  And on Sunday, he came to spend the day with her and Annabelle. Alex told her they had to work, but they never did. They went to the zoo, and had lunch, and then they took Annabelle to the playground and watched her with the other kids, as the two of them sat like all the other Sunday parents.

  “You should be with someone your age,” Alex said, but less convincingly than before, when she thought of the previous day they had spent together. It would be hard to give him up now. Everything about him, his mind, his heart, his gentleness with her, his body, were addictive. “You should have kids.”

  “Can you have more?” he asked casually. It wasn't something he worried about. He liked Annabelle, and he wouldn't have been bothered by adoption.

  “I don't think so. I'd been trying to get pregnant again ever since Annabelle, with no success, though no one ever figured out why I didn't. And Dr. Webber says about half the women my age become sterile after chemo. I don't know where I fall in all that, but in any case I'm not supposed to get pregnant for five years, even if I could and by then I would be too old. You deserve better, Brock.”

  “I've been saying that to myself a lot,” he said, teasing her, and she shoved him.

  “I mean it.”

  “It doesn't bother me. I'm not sure I'd be upset if I never had kids of my own. I think adoption's a great thing. Or would you object to that?” he asked, curious. There were still things he wanted to know about her.

  “I've never thought about it. But that might be nice. Don't you think though that one day you'd resent not having a child of your own blood? It's a wonderful thing,” she said, looking at Annabelle, and then at him. “I never knew that till I had her, and realized what I'd been missing. I wish now I'd started sooner.”

  “You didn't have time. Not with a career like yours. I still don't know how you do it.”

  “It's a juggling act. You have to keep your priorities straight all the time, and sometimes you louse it all up. But it seems to work most of the time. She's a great kid, and I try and do as much with her as I can. Sam is pretty good with her too, when he's here.” But so far, nothing Brock had heard about Sam had impressed him.

  They had dinner out with Brock that night, at a deli on Eighty-fourth Street. He told Annabelle funny stories, and did silly imitations. They were all good friends by the end of the day. And the next day he took Alex back to Dr. Webber. He wouldn't let her go alone anymore, she was his now. And then it all began again, the vomiting, the fatigue, and then finally the two or three good weeks until the next time. But the time seemed to fly now.

  They stole what time they could, at her apartment late at night, when Sam wasn't there, which was most of the time, or at his place whenever Carmen stayed. They got hungrier for each other by the day. And once they even got carried away in her office bathroom. He had gone back out with his shirt buttoned wrong and his tie askew and Alex had laughed so hard she could hardly control herself. They were like two kids, but they were having fun, and they deserved it. Alex had paid a high price for all this. And Brock had waited a long time for her. Neither of them had ever been happier, and even Annabelle really liked him, as did Carmen. She was still furious with Sam for all he hadn't done for Alex in the past six months, and it was nice to see her happy now. Even Liz had figured it out and was pleased, although, for their sakes, she still pretended not to notice.

  They worked together all the time now, even more than before, and consulted each other on everything they worked on. Alex shared all her cases with him, and no one found it unusual, since she had been so sick since the fall, and relied on him so much to help her carry her workload. Everyone seemed very impressed by their system, and their results. It was the perfect relationship, and they were together constantly. There was hardly an hour of the day when they weren't, and neither of them seemed to chafe at the other's constant companionship. On the contrary, they loved it.

  Even Sam noticed that she was different these days. She seemed happier and more lighthearted, and the rare times they met at breakfast, she joked with him a little bit, and didn't seem quite as angry.

&n
bsp; It was April when she finally asked him when he was moving out, one morning when Carmen had taken Annabelle to school, and they were both finishing their breakfast and reading the papers.

  “Are you in a hurry for me to leave?” he asked, looking a little startled.

  “No,” she smiled sadly, “but the real estate agents keep calling with co-ops for you. I just figured you'd have found something by now. There can't be that many co-ops in New York.” They were calling night and day now. And Daphne was nagging him about it. She had been patient for long enough, and she wanted him to herself now. He always felt a little torn between coming home at night, not that he wanted to, but he felt guilty about Annabelle, and as though he should be there in the morning.

  “I haven't found anything yet. I'll let you know,” he said coolly. “You're not finished with your treatments yet anyway,” he reminded her. And for a minute, she got the feeling that he was dragging his feet. But she knew he didn't want to leave their daughter.

  “I'll be finished in four weeks,” she said with relief in her voice. It had already been five months, the longest five months in her life, but they were almost over. She and Brock could talk of nothing else, and all the things they were going to do when she finally felt better. They were already going to movies, and had been to the opening of a play. She wanted to go to the opera with him, but she hadn't had the energy. They were talking about taking subscription seats for the following season, but that was a big commitment. “What about you?” Alex asked Sam, trying to sound casual. “What are you doing this summer, or haven't you figured that out yet?”

  “I … uh … I don't know yet. I might go to Europe for a month or two.” He was as vague as possible, but he knew that Daphne wanted to spend time in the South of France, and Simon had told him about a fabulous yacht to charter. It was all a little racier than their usual summer on Long Island and vacations in Maine, but on the other hand, he certainly could afford it, and it sounded like fun. He felt he owed some special time to Daphne after all her patience during the winter.

  “Europe for a month or two?” Alex looked at him in surprise. “Business must be very good.”

  “It is. Thanks to Simon.”

  “What about Annabelle? Will you be taking her with you?”

  “For part of it. I think it will be fun for her.” And Daphne would have her son for a couple of weeks too, although she wasn't very excited about it. But as Alex listened, she suddenly wondered just who his girlfriend was, and how well she would care for her daughter. It was an issue that would have to be resolved before the summer.

  “Annabelle doesn't know you're moving out, you know,” Alex reminded him. They had to face that, but it was still too early, and he hadn't found a place yet. “It's going to be hard for her.” It was going to be hard for all of them, and they knew that. You didn't end seventeen years of marriage easily, even after all this preparation.

  “She's going to be furious with me,” Sam said unhappily, hoping she would like Daphne and make things a little easier for him. Daphne was so young and fun and beautiful, he reminded himself practically, how could anyone not like her?

  “She'll get through it.” They had gotten through a lot of tough things that year. But Annabelle seemed a little less worried about her mother lately.

  “You seem to be doing fine,” he commented, watching her, sensing something different and more womanly about her. She had seemed so dead in those early months, and now she seemed to be coming slowly alive again. It made him feel better about leaving her, and worse at the same time. And much to his own surprise, it also made him miss her.

  “I'm fine,” she reassured him. But talking to him still made her sad, and angry sometimes. It was difficult for it not to. And it was harder still not to think of the girl he was leaving her for. Alex had seen him with her again, in a restaurant, but he still didn't know it. But it had thrown her to see them.

  He was still thinking about Alex when he left for work that day, and remembering how happy they had been, and some of the funny things they'd done together. She had been so wild and zany when he first met her. She was smart, and beautiful, he had always loved her directness and her honesty, her integrity, and her sense of honor. And now she was so much quieter and different. He knew it was all still there, but she felt like a stranger. He couldn't help wondering how much of it was his fault.

  “You're in a sober mood today,” Daphne chided him when she saw him in his office a little while later.

  “No, just working things out at home. We really have to find an apartment.” He wanted to start his new life, so he could start forget the old one completely. Except for Annabelle of coarse. He knew it was time to introduce them. There wasn't much Alex could say now, even if Annabelle told her and he had sensed for a long time that Alex knew there was another woman, although he had never confessed it, and he had no idea she'd seen them. “Have you seen anything you like this week?” he asked hopefully. But it was exasperating. They had looked at every small coop in New York, and there was always something wrong with them. Most of them needed extensive decorating and reconstruction.

  “It's so stupid really,” Daphne complained, “there's always too many bedrooms, or not enough view, or it's too low a floor and too noisy.'” They wanted fireplaces as well, and hopefully a view of the park or the river. They preferred a view of Central Park, and were looking on Fifth Avenue, and he was willing to pay over a million. He could get a mortgage on it, and with the profits from their latest deals, it was not going to be a problem.

  Alex had already said she wanted nothing from him, except support for Annabelle. She was being very fair, and she had her law practice. She didn't want money from Sam. What she had wanted from him he didn't have to give her.

  “Don't be such a gloomy puss,” Daphne cajoled him, as she locked the door to his office and came to sit on his lap, grinding herself slowly against him. It made him smile sheepishly, he knew he was foolish to have regrets about the past. It was over and gone. It had been good then, but this was better now. And as usual, when he slid his hand under her skirt, he found no barriers to his fingers. She wore no underwear, no pantyhose, and he loved that. Once in a while she wore a garter belt and stockings, and she had a fabulous collection of sexy bras, but underpants were something Daphne had long since dispensed with.

  “Do I have any meetings on my calendar this morning, Miss Belrose?” he asked, kissing her, as she unzipped his fly for him and reached into it with nimble fingers.

  “I believe not, Mr. Parker,” she said in proper British tones, “oh wait a minute …yes …” she pretended to jog her memory … “I just remembered one … ah, here it is …” She pulled him out of his trousers and put her lips to him, as he fell back in his chair with a groan of pleasure. Their “meeting” didn't last long, but was extremely pleasurable, and when she left his office shortly afterwards, she wore a smile, and her skirt was slightly crooked.

  Chapter 18

  The needle went into Alex's vein for the last time, and then out again, on an afternoon in May, as Brock sat with her, and she cried with powerful emotions when it was over. She still had six Cytoxan tablets to take, but after that she was free. She had a final chest X ray, a blood count, and a mammogram. She was clean. She had survived six wretched months of chemotherapy, and he had helped her do it.

  She said good-bye to Dr. Webber and made an appointment for a follow-up visit in six months, and even sick as she felt, she felt liberated as she left the doctor's office.

  “What'll we do to celebrate?” Brock asked her as they stood on Fifty-seventh Street, looking at each other in relieved disbelief.

  “I have an idea,” she said mischievously, looking at him, but they both knew that within an hour, she'd be vomiting again. But also for the last time. This would never happen to her again. She felt sure of it. She wouldn't let it.

  They went back to the office, and spent a quiet afternoon. She was sick, but even that didn't seem as bad as usual. Even her body seeme
d to know that it had suffered the last assault, the last vicious attack on her system.

  And that night, she lay in his arms, with her door locked, in case Annabelle woke up. They had finally given up their chastity in her home. And they knew that if Sam wasn't home by nine or ten, he wasn't coming, and tonight was no different.

  “What'll we do now, Alex?” Brock asked her. They had been talking about Long Island again. She wanted to rent a place with him for the summer, and one of the partners had offered her his home in East Hampton, and it sounded very appealing. She just didn't want him to find out about Brock because of the fraternization rule at the law firm, but she didn't think he would. And they had such a good cover, that no one thought anything of seeing them together. “I'd love to take a trip with you,” he said.

  “Where?” She loved to dream with him. Their whole life together had been a dream so far, a promise for the future.

  “Paris …Venice …Rome …San Francisco,” he said more realistically.

  “Let's do that,” she said suddenly. She hadn't taken vacation time in a year, and although she had a lot of time coming to her, she had been out so much she felt she could go away only briefly. “We don't have any court appearances next month, that I know of yet. Why don't we just go for a few days? It would be fun.”

  “You've got a deal,” he beamed at her, and they lay there and talked about it. “Are you going to take the house in East Hampton?”

  “I think so,” she decided as they lay there. Suddenly they could make plans, they could lead a life. They could go away. She was a real person again, with hopes, and dreams, and, with luck, a future.

  The next few weeks were frantic for her. She was still catching up on work, and she was taking on more responsibilities again, for future trials. She took back her full workload, and the last day of Cytoxan came and went, almost without notice. And by the first of June, she already felt stronger and more like herself again. They were going to San Francisco at the end of the month, but before that she and Sam had to deal with Annabelle, and tell her that her father was leaving.