There was a note of pleading in his voice, almost as if it was really important to him to know the truth. But she'd told him the truth, over and over and over, and she wasn't going to sink into that quagmire again. She took another sip of her drink before she answered. "We've been all through that, Peter, and my answer still stands. I loved you, and I thought you loved me. I never had sex with Mel or any other man, and I'm through defending myself to you. Now are we going to talk about the annulment or are you going to take me home?"
Before Peter could answer the waiter arrived with the oversized menus. Gina hadn't eaten all day; the thought of food made her ill and the sight of the menu with its dozen or so entries was depressing. Maybe a cup of broth and some crackers. Peter took the decision out of her hands by ordering for both of them. Split pea soup, tossed salad with the house dressing, stuffed salmon, baked potato with sour cream, and a bottle of Chardonnay. She protested that she couldn't possibly eat all that but neither Peter nor the waiter paid any heed.
When they were alone again he turned his full attention back to her. His blue eyes moved slowly over her taut face and rested on her slightly parted lips. "I told you, there was no annulment. If you don't believe me you can have your attorney check."
Gina shifted uneasily under his gaze. "I intend to. How could you marry Veronica if you were still married to me?"
His eyes narrowed. "I couldn't, and I didn't. I spent a lot of time in Europe and so did Veronica, and once in a while we'd run into each other. We were both staying at the same ski resort in Switzerland at the time of her accident."
He winced slightly, acknowledging a painful memory, then continued, "She went down the slope too fast and lost her balance on a curve. It—it was a long way down the side of that mountain."
Gina shivered as her mind portrayed the horror of the situation, and Peter paused thoughtfully. "It was up to me to notify her parents and make the arrangements to send her home. I don't know how the rumor got started that we were married. We didn't even travel together."
Gina was appalled at the feeling of relief that swept over her, relief that Peter had never married anyone else. Why should she care? He was nothing to her anymore. Nothing, that is, but an obstacle to her own marriage plans. How on earth was she going to tell Stewart?
The waiter arrived with bowls of thick steaming soup, and when he left Peter picked up the conversation as though he had been reading her mind. "Have you told Stewart yet?"
She jumped guiltily. "Told him what?" she asked evasively.
"That you can't marry him because you're married to me."
Gina choked on her soup. "Not for long I'm not. Are you going to file for annulment or shall I?"
Peter looked grim. "No."
She raised her eyebrows questioningly. "No what?"
"No, I'm not going to file for annulment and neither are you."
She dropped her empty spoon on the table. What new form of anguish had he devised for her now?
She glared at him. "Don't count on it! I'll contact a lawyer tomorrow."
He shook his head. "It won't do you any good."
"And just what is that supposed to mean?" she snapped.
He nonchalantly finished his last spoonful of soup before he replied. "If you petition for an annulment I'll swear that the marriage was consummated."
The shock that tore through Gina left her mute, which she realized later was just as well. If she'd opened her mouth she'd probably have screamed with pure frustration.
Who was this man who was tormenting her? He wasn't the gentle loving Peter Van Housen who had courted her with such tenderness and passion. Neither was he the agonized bridegroom striking out at her in his shock and pain. This man was cold and cruel and deliberately toying with her battered emotions. What's more, he was enjoying it!
She was vaguely aware that the waiter had appeared with their salads, and while he was clearing away the soup bowls and replacing them with the iced plates, the wine steward arrived with their wine. By the time the ceremony of tasting and approving and pouring had been completed, she had managed to pull her scattered thoughts together and find her voice.
"I think you must be out of your mind," she said gratingly.
"That's very possible," he agreed quite seriously. "After what you did to me, what you've put me through, it's surprising if I've retained any sanity at all, but I find that I like being married to an absentee wife. It doesn't hamper my—uh—movements in any way. And it's a sure-fire insurance policy against another ill-advised wedding. This way I can have my cake and eat it too, if you'll pardon the old cliché."
Gina slumped against the high-backed chair, defeated. Peter was a stranger, a vengeful stranger, and she didn't know how to handle him.
The pain in her head had become a pounding agony, and with a little moan she closed her eyes and lifted her cold glass to press it against her temples. Peter's large hand covered hers where it lay on the table and there was concern in his voice as he asked, "Ginny, what's wrong? Does your head hurt?"
She didn't want him to touch her, but she didn't seem to have the strength to pull away. "Yes, it does," she muttered. "I think you'd better take me home."
His hand closed around hers and squeezed it gently. "How long has it been since you've eaten?" he asked softly.
"I don't know, yesterday, last night I guess."
"Then it's no wonder you don't feel well. You shouldn't miss meals like that. Finish your whiskey and then start on your salad. There's no hurry, we've got all evening."
He picked up her hand and rubbed the back of it against his smooth, freshly shaven cheek. It sent a small shiver down her back. She opened her eyes and thought she saw regret written on his tanned face as he said, "It's all right, Ginny Lea, I promise we won't talk about anything unpleasant again tonight. Just relax and enjoy your dinner."
She did enjoy her dinner, and as the tension diminished so did her headache until it disappeared altogether. Peter skillfully changed the course of the conversation by talking about the new art gallery his father had built and about his own involvement in it. He explained that he would no longer be spending so much time abroad since they had recently hired a buyer who was tops in the field, and Peter would be taking over the family investment company when his father retired in the fall.
As the meal progressed and Peter kept her wine glass filled the subject changed from him to her and she found herself telling him about her college years, and her progress from a recent graduate to selling artist to gallery owner. It was all very friendly and informative, like two old friends getting together after an absence of seven years.
She noticed that he still called her Ginny Lea and asked him to use the more adult-sounding Gina instead. She couldn't bear to be reminded of how terribly young, vulnerable and in love Ginny Lea Brown had been. It wasn't until late in the evening as they lingered over dessert and coffee that she made the blunder—she mentioned her engagement to Stewart Tobias.
She felt Peter stiffen and his eyes, which had been alive with interest, narrowed and became noncommunicative. "Are you in love with Stewart, Gina?" he asked coldly.
"Of—of course," she answered, shaken by his unexpected query. "I wouldn't have agreed to marry him if I wasn't."
He threw his napkin on the table and signaled the waiter for the bill. "You agreed to marry me and all the time you were sleeping with Mel Calicutt," he accused.
The sudden attack was so unexpected that she was left temporarily off-balance and for a moment could only stare. Her breath caught in her throat as she said, "That's right, Peter. Go ahead and cling to those vicious misconceptions you've nourished so carefully all these years, but give me my freedom so I can marry the man who loves and trusts me."
Before he could reply the waiter approached and while Peter paid for the meal Gina regained her bearing and silently prepared to leave.
She should have known from the way he was behaving earlier that he would never let up. He had deliberately lured her into le
tting her guard down so that his next thrust would be all the more painful. He was determined to make her pay for her supposed sins, and if she wasn't careful he just might destroy her in the process.
They didn't speak on the way back to Gina's place, but Peter insisted on escorting her up the rickety outside stairway to her second-floor apartment. He took her key and unlocked her door then turned and in a surprise movement took her in his arms and kissed her. "Don't hate me, Gina," he pleaded thickly.
Before she could react he released her and bounded down the stairs to his car.
Gina had expected to toss and turn all night but instead her head had hardly settled into the pillow before she was asleep, and she woke feeling rested if not exactly enthusiastic about facing the day. It was foggy, and the gloomy weather matched her apprehensive mood.
Today she would have to talk to Stewart!
Stewart had kissed her good-bye after bringing her home from the wedding on Sunday and warned her that he was going to hole up in his mountain home for at least a week and try to catch up on the writing time he'd lost due to the festivities connected with the marriage of his daughter. Stewart frequently did this when he was working on a novel, and Gina knew that he would not contact her again until his spurt of inspiration ran dry. She accepted it as the price she paid for being engaged to a successful author with slightly unorthodox work habits.
After plugging in the coffee maker she phoned her part-time assistant, Peg Harvey, and asked her to open up the gallery this morning. She explained that she was going out of town and wouldn't be back until after lunch. After a quick breakfast she dressed in blue jeans, a short-sleeved light blue knit shirt and a navy long-sleeved sweat shirt. It was chilly in the Mendocino fog, but the sun would probably be shining at Stewart's hideaway.
It was only twenty minutes after seven o'clock when she headed her aging Datsun 220 north on Highway 1. Just outside of Fort Bragg she turned east on 20 and immediately started the climb into the heavily forested coastal mountain range. Within a few minutes the heavy fog began to lift and by the time she turned off onto the logging road that wound through the dense stands of sequoia sempervirens, the redwoods that stretched along the California coast from Big Sur to Oregon, she had rolled down her windows and was enjoying the warm sunshine. Gina loved the giant trees with their reddish bark and slender branches with leaves like those of a pine. An undergrowth of fern, vines and low bushes covered the ground and added a mustiness to the tangy odor of pine and cedar.
It wasn't yet eight o'clock when she spotted Stewart's small brown frame house set well back from the road and nearly hidden from view by California Black Oak and Pacific Dogwood trees. She turned the compact car into the long driveway and parked it beside the rose garden that was blooming profusely in every shade of red, white, yellow and pink. Her thick-soled shoes crunched across the gravel, and the four wooden stairs squeaked as she climbed to the covered porch that ran the full length of the front of the house. She didn't bother to knock but opened the unlocked front door and walked into the cluttered living room.
Gina heard the tap, tap, tap of Stewart's ancient typewriter and knew he was working in his office. She smiled to herself as she headed down the hall. It was a mystery to her why a man as intelligent as Stewart Tobias would resist all pleas to invest in a time- and labor-saving word processor. Instead he clung stubbornly to the twenty-year-old manual office model typewriter he had bought with the first paycheck he received for a writing assignment.
She stood unobserved in the open doorway and watched the large bearded man in faded jeans and a dirty white T-shirt who sat at the desk piled high with papers and books. His fingers ran expertly over the battered machine, and the deep creases on his wide brow gave mute evidence of complete concentration. Her heart seemed to turn over as she wondered how she was going to say what she had come to tell him. Would he be hurt? angry? disgusted with her for not telling him before of her early marriage? He had been so patient with her, but even Stewart's patience must have a breaking point.
He stopped typing but still he didn't notice her as he rummaged through the papers on his desk, obviously looking for something. Gina took a deep breath and spoke. "Hello darling."
He looked up, startled, and for a long moment he didn't seem to know who she was or how she got there. Then recognition dawned in his hazel eyes. "Gina!" he gasped and rose from his chair. "What are you doing here?"
They met in the middle of the room and embraced, but Stewart's kiss had an absent quality about it. It was the kiss of an author interrupted at his work who hasn't quite made it back to the real world yet. He glanced a little regretfully at his desk before he said, "Come in the kitchen, honey, and I'll pour us some coffee." He looked at his watch. "It's early, have you had breakfast?"
The kitchen was a disaster. Dirty dishes, empty beer cans, and the remains of the previous night's T.V. dinner littered the room. Stewart grinned sheepishly as he opened the window. "Sorry about the mess but I wasn't expecting company and I hated to take the time to clean it up."
Gina took two clean mugs from the cupboard and poured hot coffee from the electric percolator she had given him for his birthday last year after he'd "treated" her to a cup of boiled coffee warmed over for the umpteenth time. Ugh! Yes, Stewart definitely needed a wife, but did he want her badly enough to wait until she freed herself from Peter Van Housen? And did she really want him to wait?
That shocking and unbidden thought caused her hand to jerk and she spilled the brown liquid on the already stained tile countertop. Good heavens, what was the matter with her? Of course she wanted to marry Stewart. She loved him!
She mopped up the spill with a soggy dish cloth and handed one of the mugs to Stewart as she said, "Do you mind if we go into the living room? I think we'd be more—uh—comfortable."
Stewart frowned as he walked beside her. "I'm afraid it's not in much better shape. I really wish you'd phoned before you came, sweetheart. When I'm writing neither the house nor I are fit to be seen by anybody."
He led Gina to the brown leather sofa and cleared several magazines, books and a dirty sweat shirt off it before motioning her to sit down. He lowered himself beside her, careful not to spill his coffee, and she turned to him, at once eager and reluctant to explain.
"I'm sorry, Stewart," she began. "I know you don't like to be interrupted when you're working and ordinarily I wouldn't dream of just walking in on you this way, but I—I had to see you. I couldn't wait."
A grin lit Stewart's craggy face. "If I thought you meant that, my darling, I'd gladly chuck the manuscript and spend the day making love to you."
Gina felt her face grow hot with embarrassment and she groaned inwardly. How could she have been so clumsy as to let him think even for a minute that… ?
"I—I didn't mean that," she stammered and realized she'd compounded her blunder as a shadow of pain flittered across his features before he could bring it under control.
"No," he murmured sadly, "I didn't think you did."
She wrapped her hands around the warm mug and took a deep breath. "I have something to tell you. I know now that I should have told you months ago, but I had no idea there would be so many—so many ramifications."
Stewart looked at her questioningly and she knew that the only way to start was at the beginning. "When I was eighteen I married Peter Van Housen," she blurted.
Stewart blanched. "You what?"
She took a swallow of her coffee and set it on the coffee table. "I was very young and naive and I believed him when he said he loved me, but that was a long time ago. It won't make any difference to us. I hate him. He's a cruel, arrogant, son of a—"
Her voice had risen and she knew she sounded a little hysterical but she couldn't seem to control it. It was Stewart's hands cupping her shoulders and his cool voice that calmed her. "Take it easy, honey. Just take a deep breath and tell me what happened."
She did, and as the words poured out her thoughts seemed to pull together and she told
the story much as she had told it to Twyla. She watched Stewart, wanting to gauge the hurt she was inflicting so she could ease it as much as possible. But his expression was closed, impersonal, and she had no idea what he was thinking or feeling.
Almost an hour later she brought her narration to a close by recounting Peter's abandonment and Mel's confession that he had arranged for the photograph and then given it to Veronica who in turn sent it to Peter. Stewart had been sitting quietly and, except for a muttered oath now and then, had made no comment. Now as she sat with her head bowed mutely looking at her hands twisted together in her lap, he reached for her and she snuggled into the safe protection of his embrace.
As she rested against his chest she could feel the tension that ran through him and she knew he wasn't as calm and collected as he wanted her to think. "You're right, Gina," he said. "You should have told me before. Now I understand why you've been so reluctant to let any man close to you, why you were in such a state at the wedding and reception."
His arms tightened around her. "I'll take care of Peter Van Housen," he muttered grimly. "When I get through with him he won't hurt you or bother you ever again. I guarantee it."
Gina wished she could just relax and let Stewart handle the matter, but she knew that was impossible. She hadn't finished her story, the most important point was yet to come. She disengaged herself from him and stood. "You don't understand, Stewart. Peter came to see me yesterday."
She started to walk restlessly away from the couch, then turned and looked back at him and clenched her fists as she continued, "He says that he never filed those annulment papers. He says we're still married. That I'm still his wife!"
Chapter Five
Gina watched the blood drain from his face as he stared at her, a look of shocked disbelief etched in his features. "Why would he keep the marriage intact all these years when it was he who walked out on you?" Stewart roared.
Gina shook her head. "I don't know, I was as stunned as you. He said something about an absentee wife giving him protection from making the same mistake again."
If Ever I Loved You Page 5