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Deanna walked sedately beside him, lost in her own thoughts, until they reached the first-class lounge where he generally hid while waiting for a plane. She settled into a chair next to his and smiled at him. But he was already different, already gone, the moment in the car all but forgotten. He checked the papers in his briefcase and looked at his watch. He had ten minutes left, and he suddenly seemed impatient to leave.
“Alors , is there anything we forgot to discuss in the car? Any message for Pilar?”
“Just give her my love. Will you stop there before you go to Athens?”
“No, I’ll phone her tonight.”
“And me too?” She watched the seconds tick by on the enormous clock on the wall.
“And you too. You’re not going out?”
“No, I have some work I want to finish in the studio.”
“You should do something amusing, so you don’t feel alone.”
I won’t, I’m used to it. Again, she didn’t say the words. “I’ll be fine.” She crossed one leg over the other, looking down at her lap. She had worn a new lavender silk dress and the purple jade earrings encircled by diamonds that he had brought her from Hong Kong, but he hadn’t noticed. His mind was on other things.
“Deanna?”
“Hm?” She looked up to find him standing next to her, his briefcase in his hand and the familiar smile of victory in his eyes. He was off to the wars now, gone again, free. “Is it time to go?” Already? So soon? He nodded, and she stood up, dwarfed by his considerable size, but the perfect companion beside him. They were a strikingly good-looking couple. They always had been. Even Madame Duras, his cold-eyed mother, had acknowledged it —once.
“You needn’t walk me to the gate.” He already seemed distracted.
“No, but I’d like to. Is that all right?”
“Of course.” He held the door for her, and they stepped back into the bustle of the terminal, instantly lost among an army of travelers burdened with suitcases, gifts, and guitars. They arrived too soon at the gate, and he turned to look down at her with a smile. “I’ll call you tonight.”
“I love you.”
He didn’t answer but bent to kiss the top of her head, then strode into the passageway to the plane, without a backward look or a wave. She watched until he disappeared, then slowly turned and walked away. I love you . Her own words echoed in her head. But he hadn’t answered. He was already gone.
She slid into the car waiting at the curb, and with a sigh turned the key and drove home.
She went quickly upstairs to change her clothes, and was buried deep in her own thoughts in the studio all afternoon. She sketched absently, and had just gone out on the terrace at last for some air, when Margaret knocked softly on the studio door. Deanna turned in surprise, as the housekeeper hesitantly entered the room.
“Mrs. Duras … I—I’m sorry….” She knew how Deanna hated to be disturbed there, but now and then she had no choice. Deanna had disconnected the studio phone.
“Is something wrong?” Deanna looked distracted, standing there with her hair loose over her shoulders and hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans.
“No. Mr. Sullivan is downstairs to see you.”
“Jim?” And then she remembered Marc-Edouard’s promise that Jim would look in on her. He certainly hadn’t lost any time. Always devoted to his associate’s subtle commands. “I’ll be right down.”
Margaret nodded. She had done the right thing. She knew that Deanna wouldn’t have wanted him upstairs in the studio. She had shown him into the icelike green living room and offered him a cup of tea, which he’d declined with a grin. He was as different from Marc-Edouard as two men could be, and Margaret had always liked him. He was rugged, American, and easygoing, and somewhere in his eyes was always the promise of a rich Irish smile.
Deanna found him standing at the window, looking out at the summer fog drifting in slowly over the bay. It looked like puffs of white