Fringe Benefits

by Christine Pope

  His mouth thinned. “I’m afraid that is none of your business.”

  I could feel the rage boiling up in me then. Anger at him, anger at the unknown woman who had somehow left him an emotional cripple. Maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe I did have more of my mother and her nuclear temperament in me than I’d like to admit.

  “Actually,” I retorted, “I would say it is my business. You made it my business when you kissed me the other day. And you made it even more my business when you fired me for no fault of my own. So I think at the very least you owe me some sort of explanation.”

  I saw a flash of anger in his face at my words. It was anger tinged with surprise, though, as if he hadn’t expected me to call him out on his behavior. Quite deliberately he drained the rest of the cognac in his glass and set it down on the table.

  “An explanation?” His hands clenched and unclenched against the expensive fabric of his trousers. He shook his head, then said, “Very well.”

  With an abrupt movement he rose and stepped away to stand at the French door once again. The breeze caught in his hair, making the short little lock that dipped over his forehead move slightly in the warm air.

  He wouldn’t look at me, but instead spoke to the darkness outside the salon. “How do all those tales begin? ‘Once upon a time’? Very well. Once upon a time there was a boy, the favored son of parents who loved him very much. He hoped for a little brother, but he was happy enough in his parents’ love. Then, when he was eight years old, his mother became very ill. Doctor after doctor fussed over her, but she died. Cervical cancer,” he added, in a strangely casual tone, as if speaking of the death of a stranger.

  “I’m so sorry,” I murmured, but I didn’t think he heard me.

  Without missing a beat, Pieter continued, “The little boy mourned. His father mourned. But the father healed more quickly, because within two years he had married again. His new wife was young and beautiful, but she didn’t care for children. So the little boy was sent off to school in Switzerland. Unfortunately for the father, her dislike of children didn’t simply extend to stepsons, but to all children. The little boy would have no half-brothers or half-sisters.”

  I felt as if I should say something, but at the same time I worried that any more comments from me would stop the flow of words. All I could do was sit there quietly, knowing I had to hear the rest and yet somehow fearing what he would say.

  “But children are resilient enough. The school in Switzerland was a fine one, although the young man returned to the Netherlands to attend the university in Rotterdam. He studied business in the hope of pleasing his father, since the family owned a large shipping concern. But the two had become estranged over the years, and it didn’t seem to matter all that much what the son did.”

  A grim smile twisted his mouth. “It was at the university that the young man met Anneke. A friend of a friend. She was a student, but a desultory one—she attended the university more as a way to pass her time than to actually earn a degree. And she was beautiful. Very, very beautiful.”

  His words made an ugly spasm of jealousy twist my insides. No woman really likes to hear the man she loves praise a former lover. Especially if that lover was the one responsible for scarring him so badly that he apparently couldn’t bear the thought of opening his heart to anyone else.

  “He fell in love, of course.” He paused, then returned to the liquor cabinet, got himself a fresh glass, and poured himself another measure of cognac. But he was still in enough control of himself that he only took a small swallow before continuing. “Anneke was his world. Oh, he had some slight misgivings at first, simply because he did stand to inherit a large sum of money one day, and several women had already made the mistake of commenting on his potential fortune. But Anneke always laughed and said such things didn’t matter.” Again his mouth twisted in one of those bitter smiles. “So they became engaged. Then the young man’s father had a series of strokes. It seemed he had only a few months left to live. Anneke pushed to move up the wedding so they could be married before the father passed. But the young man felt that wouldn’t be respectful, and waited. The father recovered, although he never regained his power of speech. The doctors said it was possible he could live for many more years.”

  “Did he?” I asked softly. I had a feeling I already knew the answer.

  “No,” Pieter replied. For the first time he met my gaze, and I had to repress a shiver. I don’t think I’d ever seen such a bleak expression on someone’s face. “But he lived long enough for Anneke to become impatient. She went on holiday to Greece with some friends—to take her mind off our troubles, she said. While in Greece she met a man who was newly widowed—a man, ironically, who also owned several shipping companies. He was rich. Very, very rich. Richer than I.”

  It was the first time during his entire speech that Pieter had spoken of himself in the first person. I wondered if that was a good or a bad sign.

  “I think you know where this is going. She married him. Broke our engagement by telegram. I suppose she thought that was a nice, old-fashioned way to do it. And my father died a month later. So if she’d only waited a little longer—”

  You would have been married to a materialistic, shallow little bitch, I thought. I knew better than to say it out loud, though. Very likely he’d already thought the same thing, but having me point it out to him probably wasn’t a very good idea.

  “So you came to Los Angeles,” I said.

  He didn’t bother to hide the look of relief that crossed his features. “As soon as the business was sold, yes.”

  And then he spent the next ten years avoiding any romantic entanglements. I guessed I could halfway understand why—it wasn’t hard to read between the lines and see a man who had been abandoned by all the women in his life, one way or another. No wonder he’d tried to keep himself as emotionally detached as possible.

  I asked, “So why did kissing me seem to be the right thing to do at the time?”

  He remained where he was, halfway across the room from me. Although he stood only a few yards away, it felt as if he was located roughly in the orbit of Saturn. He didn’t reply.

  Fine. I’d never expected this to be easy. I set down the little cordial glass and stood, then moved toward him. I paused a few steps away. “Was it because I was different?”

  His expression was stony. “Perhaps.”

  “But not different enough.”

  Then he did shift his weight, stop to gaze down at me. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that if I had been different enough from all those other women, you would have kissed me a second time. And you wouldn’t have fired me the next day.” I gathered my breath. The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. “You would have been brave enough to take a chance on someone who really did love you.”

  A muscle twitched in his cheek, but otherwise he made no response.

  Goddammit. This was like trudging through a thigh-high snow drift. Wasn’t everything supposed to be all better after you made a bald-faced declaration of love? Well, I’d already stepped off the deep end, so I might as well keep going.

  I said, “Just so we’re perfectly clear, it wasn’t because of your Maserati, or your money, or any of that. I think the day I really feel in love with you was the day you showed me the antique shop. You were so…passionate. Like you were finally able to be yourself when you talked about all those beautiful things and why they’re so important to you.”

  Still he said nothing, but only stared down at me as if I’d suddenly sprouted horns. Was I digging myself deeper with every word I uttered?

  Great. Might as well go for broke and tell him everything. I crossed my arms and said, “Just so you know, I don’t need your money. Someday I’m going to be a land-owning girl.”

  Finally he spoke. “Is that a fact?” He sounded almost amused.

  “Actually, it is. My Uncle Bret told me he’s going to leave his ranch to me, since he doesn’t have any children of his own, and
he likes me best.”

  “I can see why.” Pieter smiled then, and warmth miraculously returned to his eyes. It was like seeing the first spring thaw.

  The tension in my midsection eased somewhat. Was it possible that I had somehow gotten through to him? “How do you mean?”

  “I like you best, too,” he replied.

  I didn’t stop to think. I sort of rushed at him, and then his arms went around me, although gingerly on one side, since he still held the snifter of cognac in one hand. His mouth came down to mine, rich with the aromatic liqueur. Maybe I’d been wrong about that.

  At the moment, cognac tasted pretty damn good to me.

  Twenty

  Eventually we broke apart. Just as well—I needed to catch my breath. Pieter stared down at me, then reached out to brush a lock of hair back from my face.

  “So,” he said.

  “So,” I repeated. My heart pounded away in my chest, although I wasn’t sure if that was an effect of the kiss or some anxiety surfacing that the aftermath of this embrace might be just as unsettling as the first.

  “You do surprise me,” he remarked.

  “Is that a good thing?”

  “Very.”

  This time I was a little more ready for the kiss. It felt as if this was what I had been born to do—to be held in Pieter’s arms, to feel the strength of his body against mine, to smell just the faintest echo of the cologne he wore. His hands moved through my loose hair and down my back.

  Then, very gently, those same hands trailed down my arms. His fingers wrapped themselves in mine.

  “I am beginning to wonder if I purposely overlooked your car and the key just so I would have to see you again.”

  “Subconscious trying to point you in the right direction?”

  “Precisely.”

  He led me over to the sofa I’d sat on previously and indicated that I should take a seat. I did so and was relieved to see him settle down next to me. Those blue eyes searched my face.

  “You’re quite the persistent one.”

  “I suppose so…when it really matters.”

  His mouth quirked just a little at one corner. “Is such tenacity common to people from Montana, or is this quality uniquely yours?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t say I was usually this stubborn. Then again,” and I gave him a sideways glance, “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything so much before.”

  A full smile then. “Ah.” He reached out and took my left hand in his right. His skin was very smooth, but I found him no less masculine for that. The fingers that touched mine just weren’t roughened and callused from hard work in the sun like some of the guys I’d dated back in Montana. “Good thing you knew your own mind so well. I fear mine was considerably more muddled.”

  Talk about your understatements. Would he have ever admitted his feelings for me if I hadn’t been the one to say the dreaded “L” word first?

  “I didn’t have your baggage,” I said.

  The line between his brows deepened for a second, but then his expression relaxed ever so slightly. “Perhaps. But I think the time has come for me to stop using that as an excuse.”

  “She did a terrible thing to you.”

  “True.” Very gently he released my hand. He shifted his weight, and for a second I wondered if he was going to stand up. Instead, he moved so he faced me more directly. “I’ve realized something these past few days. Realized that I’d given Anneke the power to continue to hurt me all these years. I should have let it go. The irony of the situation is that I might never have come to his realization if I hadn’t hurt myself most deeply by letting you go.”

  Once again I told myself not to say anything. Pieter was not a man to speak lightly of his emotions. If he found himself at last in a position where he could articulate what he had been feeling, then I shouldn’t stop the flow of words with a badly timed comment. I only faced him and hoped my expression told him I wanted him to continue. It must have, since he said,

  “When you called that second time, I thought perhaps I had somehow been given another chance. But I wondered. You sounded very cool. I knew I must have wounded you. I feared the wound might have gone too deep for any sort of reconciliation. And then there was your talk of leaving for Berkeley.” His lips tightened for a second, then relaxed. “But I let myself focus on the fact that you had called, despite everything. That gave me some hope.” His eyebrows lifted. “What made you decide to call?”

  I said simply, “I decided I wasn’t going to give up without a fight.”

  He replied by pulling me against him and burying my mouth beneath his once more. There was a punishing urgency about that kiss, almost as if he were trying to convince himself that I really was there, that I really did still want him despite everything. I opened my mouth to his and pressed my body against him. My fingers tightened on his forearms.

  I’m really here. I won’t leave you. I could never be with anyone except you.

  Slowly he pulled away from me, just the smallest bit. His face was still very close to mine. “Thank God for the American frontier spirit.”

  I laughed then. “Montana hasn’t really been the frontier for about a hundred years. But thanks.”

  His eyes glinted. “Compared to Amsterdam, it’s still the frontier.”

  “Point taken.”

  A little silence fell. I gazed at him and wondered if I should kiss him again. If I kissed him a hundred times between now and sunrise, would he begin to understand how much I wanted to be with him, forever and always?

  He spoke. “I will admit that I find myself somewhat at a loss.”

  “Excuse me?” His words put me off a bit. I mean, I’d confessed my love to him, and although he hadn’t said the same to me, his actions had shown he certainly wasn’t adverse to keeping me around. So what was the problem?

  “This is new territory, Katherine. I will not lie and say there have been no women since Anneke. I think you know there have been many. But did I care for any of them?” His shoulders lifted. “This is something entirely different.”

  I began to understand. True, he had been with more women than I probably wanted to contemplate right now. But it was one thing to spend a few weeks amusing himself by taking them out to dinner or to parties or whatever else he did with this time, then bringing them back to the house for a good lay. It was quite another to consider embarking on a real relationship…especially since his one and only true relationship had ended in disaster.

  “I don’t know,” I said frankly. “I mean, I sort of put the cart in front of the horse, didn’t I? Usually the declarations of eternal love come after a few months of going to the movies and eating overpriced food.”

  He laughed then, a real laugh that crinkled the skin around his eyes and seemed to bubble its way up from somewhere deep inside him. “Well, I can’t offer a movie, but perhaps some overpriced food?” Then he did stand up, and offer his hand.

  I took it and said a little uncertainly, “I’m not exactly dressed for Spago—”

  “This is Los Angeles. There are no dress codes here.”

  It turned out he was right. Since he’d had a few drinks already, he summoned a cab to take us downtown, to an amazing Art Deco restaurant in one of the area’s restored historic buildings. I thanked God that I’d taken the time to throw on a semi-nice silky blouse over my jeans, and that I was wearing a decent pair of heeled boots. At least I didn’t completely stand out, although the crowd there was dressier than most I’d seen in L.A., especially on a weekend. I was surprised to see quite a few suits and ties. Maybe they were dining here on their way to the theater or a concert.

  It felt very different from our first dinner at the Italian restaurant the night of Howard Freeman’s party. For one thing, I could sit across the table from Pieter and know exactly what it felt like to have those firm, rather thin lips pressed against mine. I knew how he tasted, knew how smooth and strong his hands were. So maybe I hadn’t run my fingers through his hair
yet, but I could always rectify that situation after dinner.

  I let him order for me. He knew the menu and I didn’t. I was pretty sure whatever he chose would be wonderful.

  The waiter poured the wine and left. Pieter watched me from across the table, while the votive at the center of the table sent odd flickering shadows up against his face. I shivered a little as I watched him. Things between us had changed forever, of course. Wherever this was headed, we’d certainly gone far beyond secretary and employer.

  He took a measured swallow of his wine. “So what do you think?”

  “Of the wine?” I asked, since I’d just sampled it myself. It tasted wonderful, although my uneducated palate couldn’t detect much more than hints of a deep berry flavor.

  His right eyebrow lifted.

  Way to miss the point, Kat. I replied, “I’m trying to keep from pinching myself. I can’t help thinking I must be dreaming.”

  “A good dream?”

  “A wonderful dream. The best I’ve ever had.”

  “Then I’ll have to see that it continues.”

  I knew I’d do my best to do the same. If this was a dream, then I never wanted to wake up.

  The waiter came back with our salads, and we were silent for a few minutes as we dug in. I didn’t know about Pieter, but the second I walked in the restaurant’s door and smelled the food, my stomach had started telling me that yes, it had been hours and hours since I’d last eaten, and what the heck was I thinking? Even something as mundane as salad tasted like ambrosia.

  I had roughly a million questions I wanted to ask and didn’t know exactly where to start. Yes, Pieter had been far more honest in his revelations back at the house than I could have ever expected, but was he willing to continue with the full disclosures?

  Petty as it might have been, one thing had been preying on my mind. I blurted, “Who went with you to Santa Barbara?”