A Fashionable Affair Read online

  “Diversions,” Patsy said, quoting Michael.

  “Yes, diversions. I’m afraid he really loved Jane and has just never gotten over her. Jane and I ran into each other at an aerobics class at the Y shortly after Steve and I moved back to Long Island, and as I said, we’ve gotten together regularly since. But I’d rather Michael didn’t meet her again. I’m afraid it might hurt him.”

  “I see your point.” Patsy’s face was carefully expressionless. “Poor Michael,” she said.

  Sally sighed. “I know. As far as I can see, the world is crawling with girls just dying to marry Michael and wouldn’t you know he’d fall in love with someone who wasn’t.”

  Patsy, who numbered among the multitudes dying to marry Michael, felt suddenly unwell. The coffee tasted bitter and her stomach was churning. She looked at the clock. “I’m going to miss Sesame Street,” she said. She reached down and scooped up Matthew once again. “You can tidy up your kitchen and I’ll entertain the kids,” she informed Sally, and with Matthew tucked firmly in her arm, she went off to the family room and Kermit the Frog.

  She was still in the family room, helping Steven to do puzzles, when the doorbell rang. “It’s Brian!” Steven shouted, and jumped to his feet. Matthew stopped banging on his walker tray, looked at his brother, and promptly began to cry. He knew he was missing the action.

  “All right, sweetie,” Patsy said. “We’ll go too.” And with Matthew’s soft warmth balanced on her hip, Patsy went out to meet the girl Michael loved.

  Jane Nagle was small and slim, with long black hair and dark-blue eyes. She had a baby in her arms and a toddler at her knees, and she was laughing at Sally as she recounted her troubles with the toilet. Patsy was astonished by the physical pang of jealousy and dislike that ripped through her at the sight of Jane.

  “Jane, this is my good friend Patsy Clark,” Sally said.

  “Hi,” Jane said with a friendly smile. The blue eyes widened. “She’s even more beautiful in person than she is in the magazines,” she said to Sally in honest surprise. Jane had, Patsy noted sourly, a charmingly husky voice.

  “I know.” Sally sounded rueful. “Can you imagine what my teenage years were like, with a best friend who looks like Patsy?”

  “Come off it, Sally,” Patsy said with a smile. “Nice to meet you, Jane. And can you imagine how I felt with a best friend as smart as Sally?”

  Jane grinned. “What is this? A mutual-admiration society?” Both Sally and Patsy laughed.

  Jane stayed for lunch and Patsy was forced to admit that she was a lovely, charming woman. Patsy would have liked her very much if it weren’t for Michael. As things stood, she disliked Jane intensely and was appalled by her own antipathy. Patsy had never been jealous in her life and was utterly unprepared to deal with such a demoralizing and primitive emotion.

  Jane began to leave at one-thirty, with Sally making every effort to assist her on her way. But Megan, Jane’s daughter, needed a new diaper and Brian had to go to the bathroom, so it was one-fifty by the time Jane had everyone dressed and organized. The whole crowd was in the kitchen making their farewells when the back door opened and Michael walked in.

  “Michael!” Sally said instantly. “How nice that you came in time to see Jane. She’s just leaving.”

  “Jane.” Michael looked startled at first and then, as his eyes rested on the small slender figure of his former love, definitely pleased. “Jane,” he repeated, and smiled. “How are you? Don’t tell me these two Indians are yours?”

  A very faint flush rose under Jane’s fair skin. “Yes,” she replied, “they are. That’s Brian and this”—she shifted the baby slightly in her arms—”is Megan.”

  “They’re beautiful,” Michael said with every appearance of sincerity.

  “Thank you.” There was a stiffness to Jane’s voice Patsy had not heard earlier. “You’re looking well, Michael,” she added with a visible trace of effort. The dark-blue eyes scanned his face. “You look older.”

  Michael grinned. “Thanks a lot, Jane. I won’t return the compliment.”

  For the first time since he had come in, Jane smiled naturally. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I meant you look more—more—”

  “Authoritative,” Patsy supplied helpfully.

  “Yes.” Jane looked at Patsy. “That’s what I meant.”

  “I thought so, too,” Patsy said. “I expect it comes from years and years of bossing people around.”

  “I never boss anyone,” Michael protested.

  “Hah,” his sister said.

  He feinted a movement toward the door. “Hey, if this is going to continue, I’m getting out of here. Three against one is no fair.”

  Jane laughed. “I’m the one whose leaving. I have to get home before my other son gets back from school.” She turned to Sally. “Many thanks for the lunch, Sally. I’ll call you. It was nice to meet you, Patsy.” Lastly, she turned to Michael. “It was good seeing you again, Michael.”

  Michael’s face was oddly grave as he looked at her. “Good to see you too, Jane.” His voice was soft. “Take care of yourself.”

  “Yes.” She smiled brilliantly. “I will. Come on, Brian,” and putting a hand on her son’s shoulder, she steered him to the kitchen door.

  “I’ll help with the car seats,” Sally offered, opening the door and following Jane out, leaving Michael and Patsy alone in the kitchen.

  Patsy didn’t say anything, nor did Michael, for a long moment. Then he looked at her and smiled. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Pretty much. Do you want a bite of lunch? We have time.”

  “That’s not a bad idea. God knows what rot we’ll get on the plane.”

  “Poor baby.” It was Sally coming back into the kitchen. “How about ham and cheese on rye?”

  “Sounds great.” Michael took off his suit jacket and hung it over the back of a kitchen chair and then sat down. He picked up Steven and sat him on his knee and said to his sister, “I didn’t know you still saw Jane.”

  “We ran into each other a while back at the Y.”

  Michael began to tickle Steven. “She looks terrific,” he said over the little boy’s giggles. “I can’t believe she has three kids.”

  “Um.” Sally put a sandwich and a beer in front of him. “All right, Steven. Let Uncle Michael eat his lunch now.”

  Steven reluctantly got off Michael’s lap. “Can I have a drink?” he asked in his best poor-little-waif voice.

  “Sit down, Sally,” Patsy said. “I’ll get him something.” She went to the refrigerator, trailed by the little boy.

  “What are you and Patsy up to anyway?” Sally asked her brother curiously. “And what’s the matter with your car that Patsy had to drive out to be your chauffeur?”

  Patsy slowly poured Steven a glass of apple juice. So that’s what he’d told his sister. Evidently he didn’t want Sally to know he was staying with her. It was a good thing she had kept her mouth shut earlier.

  “We’re going to check on that Illinois shopping center of Patsy’s.” Michael took a long pull of beer. “Fred put quite a lot of her money into buying shares.”

  “Oh God, Patsy,” Sally said, turning in her chair to face her. “I hope this doesn’t turn out to be as bad as it sounds.”

  Patsy put the juice in the refrigerator and came back to the table. “Well”—she forced a smile— “we’ll soon know, won’t we?”

  “Yep,” Michael said cheerfully. He drained the last of the beer and stood up. “Time to go.”

  “When will you be back?” Sally asked as she accompanied them to Patsy’s car.

  “Possibly tomorrow—maybe the day after. It depends on what we find. We’ll leave the car parked at the airport.”

  Patsy rolled down her window. “I don’t think there’s a damn thing wrong with his car,” she remarked to Sally. “He just doesn’t want to leave it in the long-term parking in case it gets stolen.”

  “It needs a new alternator,” Michael said calmly. “B
ye, Sally. I’ll call you and let you know how things went.”

  Patsy smiled. “See you, Sal.”

  “I hope everything turns out okay,” Sally said fervently.

  “So do I.” But, unlike Sally, Patsy wasn’t thinking of any of her shopping centers.”

  Chapter Eleven

  They flew into St. Louis, rented a car at the airport, crossed the Mississippi into Illinois, and headed north on Route 55.

  “The shopping center is supposed to be between Alton and Springfield.” Michael told her as they drove through the industrial areas of East St. Louis.

  “Where would you put a shopping center here?” Patsy asked doubtfully, looking out her window at the steel mill belching smoke against the gray sky.

  “It’s not here,” Michael said patiently. “It’s out in the country, supposedly accessible to both farmers and city workers.”

  “Oh,” Patsy replied even more doubtfully.

  They drove through Alton, another busy manufacturing city, and then gradually the scenery changed and farms started to appear. A sign on the highway indicated that food and lodging could be found at the next exit, and Michael looked at Patsy.

  “It’s dinnertime,” he said. “Do you want to find a motel and stop for the night or do you want to go on?”

  “A motel,” Patsy answered promptly. She sighed. “Do you know, Michael, I’m coming to the conclusion that I’d rather remain in ignorance about this shopping center?”

  “It’s too late for that now,” he replied, and put the blinker signal on for the next exit. It was a gray, dark day and cars were switching on their headlights as they turned off the highway.

  MOTEL, announced a neon sign on the right about a mile down the road, and a No Vacancy sign was underneath. Michael pulled into the drive and circled around to the office. “Wait here,” he said to Patsy, got out of the car, and disappeared inside. He was back in five minutes. “Number eight,” he said, driving to the back of the building.

  Patsy slowly got out of the car and waited while Michael got their suitcase from the trunk. She followed him to the porch and walked through the door he was holding for her. Inside was a typical motel room, with a double bed, cheap fruitwood furniture, and tweedie commercial carpeting. The drapes were drawn, and the room was dark and chilly and smelled slightly stale.

  Michael put the suitcase down and switched on the lights. “Not exactly the Taj Mahal,” he said cheerfully.

  “No,” Patsy said. She put her purse on the dresser and stood there, gazing at it intently.

  “What’s wrong, Red?” Michael asked from somewhere behind her.

  “Oh ...” She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know.

  “Sorry you came?”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  “Well, then,” he sounded very patient, “what is it?”

  She stood where she was, her bent head affording him an excellent view of her slim back and fall of silky hair. “Do you know that scene in A Farewell to Arms, where Frederic and Catherine go to a hotel before he has to leave for the front?” she asked. “It’s a terrible hotel, with red plush and mirrors, and Catherine says she feels like a whore. Well”— Patsy’s gaze never left the expensive tan leather purse that looked so out of place on the cheap dresser top—”now I understand how she felt.”

  There was silence behind her, and when he spoke again, his voice was almost at her ear. “Is that the book you’ve been reading lately? Do I remind you of Frederic Henry?”

  She shook her head and the red curls bounced against her white neck. “No. You don’t remind me of anyone at all.”

  “Sweetheart.” He put his hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him.

  Her brown eyes were wide with unhappiness. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s stupid of me to play the ingénue like this. I’m hardly an innocent virgin, after all.”

  His arms went around her, pulling her close. “Not a virgin, perhaps, but most certainly an innocent,” he murmured, his lips in her hair.

  She closed her eyes and rested against him. How stupid she had been before this, she thought. How could she have mistaken the shallow emotion she had felt for love.

  “Do you want to go on, after all?” he asked. “Or I could get another room for you, if you like.” He sounded as if it wouldn’t matter to him one way or another what she decided to do, but Patsy was too close for him to successfully disguise his feelings. He was tense with forced control. Only Michael, she thought, would understand how she felt. And only Michael wouldn’t try to argue her into a more receptive frame of mind.

  She raised her eyes to his. “No,” she said. “I’d rather stay here with you.” There was a line between his black brows as he looked intently into her eyes. She smiled. “I feel much better, Michael, really. I don’t feel like a ...” She didn’t get the word out because he stopped her mouth with a long, hard kiss.

  Michael’s kisses were like nothing Patsy had ever known before. No one but he had ever gotten beyond the sweet serenity that was the hallmark of Patsy’s personality, no one had ever touched the well of passion that lay hidden deep in the core of her. But with Michael she lost all sense of separateness; what he wanted, she wanted, and her body yielded sweetly before the pressure of his. Her eyes were closed, and when she felt the edge of the bed behind her knees, she went down willingly, drowning in passion, adrift in a land she had never found except with him.

  It took a long time to recover herself again. He was lying quietly, his arms around her, his head on her breast, and she ran gentle, caressing fingers through his hair. A poem from one of her favorite anthologies came slipping, unbidden, into her mind:

  Put your head, darling, darling, darling

  Your darling black head my heart above;

  Oh, mouth of honey with the thyme for fragrance,

  Who with heart in breast could deny you love?

  Who with heart in breast could deny you love? Certainly not me, thought Patsy, her eyes on the thick black hair sliding so easily through her fingers. Not ever me.

  His head stirred a little. “If we’re going to eat, we’d better get going,” he murmured.

  Her fingers kept moving through his hair. “I suppose,” she agreed softly.

  She felt the sweep of long lashes as his eyes closed. “That feels nice.” He sounded sleepy.

  “There’s no need to rush,” she murmured.

  “No.”

  Her hand continued its mesmerizing stroking, and his breathing slowed. In another minute, she knew he was asleep. She lay quietly, with the weight of his head on her breast, and the lines of the poem going around and around in her brain.

  In the end she drifted off to sleep too and didn’t awaken until the following morning. When first she opened her eyes, she was disoriented, not remembering where she was. Then she turned her head to look at the man beside her. He was awake, lying propped on his elbows, watching her. She smiled, slowly and sleepily. Her glorious hair was tumbled on the pillow, her throat and shoulders bare above the drab green cover.

  “Good morning,” she said, her voice still husky with sleep.

  “Good morning.” He didn’t smile back. “It’s raining.”

  “Darn.” Patsy pulled the covers over her shoulder and curled up comfortably. “What time is it?”

  “Seven.”

  “Early,” she said, snuggling her head into her pillow.

  He buried his elbows in his own pillow and rested his chin on his linked hands. “First,” he said, “we’ll have breakfast. I’m starving. Then we’ll track down this shopping center. Then I want to check out some area stores to see if your line of sportswear is on the racks.”

  Patsy sighed. “Simon Legree. All right. As a matter of fact, I’m starving too. And I want my shower. Do you want to shave first?”

  “No. You go ahead.” He sounded preoccupied and withdrawn, and he didn’t even look as she got out of bed and fished in the suitcase for her wrap.

  Patsy put the robe on, collected
her shampoo, and hesitated, looking at his shadowed, unrevealing face. Then she walked to the bed and, bending, kissed the hard line of his cheekbone. “I adore you,” she murmured and went into the bathroom. After she had gone, Michael slowly cradled his brow in his laced hands and closed his eyes.

  They had breakfast at a diner a little way down the road, and since they were both hugely hungry and the service was extremely slow, it was nine o’clock before they were on the road again.

  And it was an hour later, as they were driving along a road, looking at acres and acres of empty land, that Michael said, “This is where the shopping center is supposed to be.”

  Patsy’s heart sank. Until this minute, she realized, she hadn’t really let herself believe that this was going to happen. “Are you ...” Her voice came out as a hoarse croak, and she cleared her throat and tried again. “Are you sure?”

  “It’s the route number specified and approximately the area. We may be a mile or so off, but there isn’t a shopping center in sight, Red.”

  “No. There isn’t.”

  Michael had slowed the car to fifteen miles an hour, and Patsy peered out her rain-streaked side window. “What’s that over there?” she asked suddenly.

  Michael pulled off the road and stopped the car. “Where?”

  “Over there. See. It looks like some kind of building has been started.”

  “Come on, let’s look.”

  The rain was coming down hard and a wind was blowing over the fields, but Patsy didn’t complain as she trudged after Michael through the wet grass. They reached the construction Patsy had pointed out and stopped. “I’m afraid that’s your shopping center, sweetheart,” Michael said gently.

  They were looking at the foundation of a large building. The hole had been excavated and the concrete poured and that was all. The work had evidently been done a while ago, for weeds had grown over the concrete, in some places completely obscuring it from sight.

  Patsy shivered.

  “Cold?” he asked, and reached out to pull her close.

  Patsy pressed against him, absorbing warmth from his body. She looked up, her face wet with rain. “Oh, Michael,” she said desolately.