Bittersweet

After lunch, they went back to the boat, and first Sam swam, and then he and Paul sailed the dinghy, while India took pictures of them, and around the boat. She was having a great time. Paul and Sam waved to her from time to time, and they finally came back in. Paul took the Windsurfer out then, and India took more pictures of him. It was not an easy sport, and she was impressed by his skill, and the strength with which he rode it.

And then, finally, when they headed back to Harwich, the wind had died down, and they decided to use the motors. Sam was a little disappointed, but he was tired after a full day anyway. It had been a long day, and he fell asleep as he lay quietly in the cockpit. Paul and India both smiled looking at him.

“You're lucky to have him. I'd love to meet the others,” Paul said, looking at her warmly.

“I hope you will one of these days,” she said as the head steward brought them each a glass of white wine. Paul had asked her to stay on board for dinner, and she had accepted.

“Maybe we'll turn them all into sailors.”

“Maybe. Right now they all think that hanging out with their friends is more important.”

“I remember when Sean was that age, he nearly drove me crazy.” They exchanged a smile, as Sam stirred next to her and went on sleeping as she stroked his hair with one hand and held her wineglass with the other. Paul loved watching her with him. It had been a long time since he had seen anyone as loving. Children hadn't been a part of his life in a long time, and sailing with Sam that afternoon and the day before was everything he wished he had shared with Sean, but Sean had never taken any interest in his father's sailboats. “Will you be here all summer?” Paul asked her then, and she nodded.

“Doug is going to stay with us for three weeks in August. And then we'll go back to Westport. I guess we're going to be doing a lot of talking.” Paul nodded as he thought about it. He hoped she would come to some decisions that would be good for her. She deserved it. “Where will you be?”

“In Europe probably. We usually spend August in the south of France, and then I race in Italy in September.” It was a good life, and it sounded like fun to her, and then she asked if Serena would be going with him. “Not if she can come up with a better idea,” he laughed.

It was time for dinner then, and India woke Sam. He looked sleepy and confused when he woke up, and he smiled at her happily. He had been dreaming of sailing the Sea Star and then he saw Paul, and his smile widened, and he told him what he had been dreaming.

“Sounds pretty good to me. I dream about her too, especially when I haven't been on her in a while, but that doesn't happen too often.” He spent a lot of time on his boat, he had told India that afternoon, and did his business via phone and faxes.

The cook had made cold vichyssoise for them, pasta primavera and salad, and a cheeseburger for Sam, just the way India had told them he liked it, with french fries. They had peach sorbet for dessert, and delicious butter cookies that melted in your mouth. The meal was elegant and light, and they chatted as they had at lunch, and after dinner, the captain motored them in slowly to the yacht club. It was hard to believe the day was over. They had been with Paul for thirteen hours, and both India and Sam wished that they could stay forever.

“Would you like to come to the house for a drink?” India asked him as they stood on deck, all three of them looked sad that the day was ending.

“I should probably stay here. I've got some work to do, and your kids will want you to themselves after you've been gone all day. They probably think you ran away to sea, and are never coming back.” It was nearly nine o'clock by then. “Come back and see me soon, Sam,” Paul told him. “I'm going to miss you.”

“Me too.” Mother and son both felt as though they had been on a long vacation, and not just a day sail. Being on board with him had that kind of quality. It had been a wonderful day, and she was grateful for the things he had said to her. He had actually helped her, and she felt calmer than she had in weeks, and before she left, she thanked him for it.“Just don't be afraid to do what you have to,” he said gently. “You can do it.”

“I hope so,” she said softly. “I'll send you some pictures.” He kissed her cheek then, and shook Sam's hand, and they left the boat, feeling tired and content, and knowing they had made a friend. She didn't know if she'd see him again before he left, but she knew that whether she did or not, she would never forget him. In some ways, she suspected he had changed her life forever. He had given her the gift of courage. And with courage came freedom.

Chapter 7

FOR THE next two days, India kept busy with the kids, and she developed the photographs she'd taken on the boat with Sam. She dropped them off for Paul. He'd been off the boat somewhere with his friends, and she didn't see him. And then, much to her surprise, he called her. He said that Dick Parker had given him the number.

“How's it going?” He had a deep, resonant voice that sounded wonderfully familiar to her. They had talked for so long that she felt comfortable with him now, like an old friend, and it was good to hear him.

“Fine. Busy. Dropping the kids off to tennis, and hanging out on the beach with them. The usual. Nothing very exciting.”

“I loved the pictures. Thank you.” She had included a great one of Sam, and he had sat and smiled at it for a long time, remembering the day they had spent together. For the whole day afterward, he'd really missed him. “How's my friend Sam?” They both smiled when he asked her.

“He talks about you all the time. We've heard about nothing from him but the Sea Star.”

“His brother and sisters must be ready to kill him.”

“No, they just figure he made it all up. I don't think any of them really believe him.”

“Maybe you should bring them down and show them.” But when they talked about it, there was no time. The next day he had to go to Boston to pick up Serena. He said they had plans on the Fourth, and the day after they were sailing back to New York. And for no reason she could explain, India felt sad as she listened to him, and knew she was being foolish. He had a life, an empire he ran, a whole world he had to return to, and a wife who was an international bestselling author, and a star in her own right. There was no room in his life for a married housewife in Westport. What would he do? Drive up to have lunch with her? Like one of Gail's rendezvous in Greenwich? Just thinking of it made her shudder. Nothing about what she thought of him was anything like that.

“When do you leave for France?” she asked, sounding wistful.

“In a few weeks. I'm going to send the boat over before that. It takes them about eighteen days to get there. We usually go to the Hotel du Cap around the first of August. That's Serena's idea of hardship travel in a third world country.” But he said it without malice, and they both laughed.

It was a far cry from the kind of places she and Paul had both been to in their past lives, but there was nothing wrong with Cap d'Antibes either. India knew she would have loved it. “I'll call you before we leave. It would be wonderful if you could come back to the boat, and meet Serena. Maybe for breakfast or something.” He didn't tell her that Serena got up at noon, and stayed up until three or four in the morning, usually working. She said she did her best writing after midnight.

“I'd like that,” India said quietly. She would have loved to see him again, and meet his wife. She would have liked a lot of things, most of them both impossible and unimportant. This was the first time she had felt this way about any man since meeting Doug twenty years before, when they were in the Peace Corps. But this time, her feelings traveled in the guise of friendship.

“Take care of yourself, and Sam,” he said, in a voice that was suddenly husky. He felt oddly protective of her, and the child, and didn't know why. Maybe it was just as well Serena was coming. She had called him from L.A. to herald her arrival only that morning. “I'll call you.”

She thanked him for calling then, and a moment later, after they hung up, she sat staring at the phone in silence. It was odd to think that he was so nearby, in his own World, comfortably tucked in to his life on the Sea Star. It was a lifetime away from her own. In truth, although they had had a sympathy of souls, their lives had nothing in common, no shared borders. Meeting him at all had been an accident of sorts, a happenstance of destiny that could just as easily have never happened. But for her sake, and Sam's, she was glad that she had met him.

She lay in bed quietly that night, thinking of him, remembering the day they had shared, the conversations about her life, and what he thought she should do with it, and she couldn't help wondering if she would ever have the courage to do what he suggested. Just telling Doug she wanted to go back to work would cause a hurricane in their marriage.

She took a long walk down the beach the next day, thinking of all of it, with the dog at her heels, wondering what to do now. It would be easiest, it seemed, to retreat back into the life she'd led for fourteen years. But she was no longer entirely sure that she could do that. It would be like going back into the womb again, an impossibility no matter how much goodwill she applied to it. And now that she knew Doug didn't recognize the sacrifices she had made, she wasn't even sure she wanted to do it. If he didn't at least give her credit for it, why bother?

The next day was the Fourth of July. The kids slept late, and that afternoon, they went, as they always did, to the Parkers. The barbecue was in full swing, and all their neighbors were there. There were huge kegs of beer, and a long buffet table covered with the food the caterer had made this year. Nothing was burned, and it all looked delicious.

All of India's children were there, and she was talking to an old friend, when suddenly she saw Paul walk in, in white jeans, and a crisp blue shirt, with a tall, striking woman with long dark hair and a spectacular figure. She was wearing big gold hoop earrings, and India thought she had never seen anyone as beautiful as she watched her laughing. It was Serena. She was every bit as glamorous and poised and magnetic as India had thought she would be. Just watching her make her way through the crowd was mesmerizing. She was wearing a short white skirt, a white halter top, a gold necklace, and high-heeled white sandals. She looked right out of a magazine from Paris. And she had a kind of sexy elegance about her. As she approached, India could see that she was wearing a huge diamond ring, like an ice cube, on her left hand, and she stopped and said something to Paul, and he laughed. He looked happy to be with her. She was a woman you couldn't ignore or forget about, or lose in a crowd. Everyone seemed to turn and look at her, and some knew who she was. India watched her kiss Jenny and Dick, and she accepted a glass of white wine without even acknowledging the server. She looked as though she was totally accustomed to a life of luxury and service.

And as though sensing India watching her, Serena turned slowly in the crowd and looked right at her. Paul leaned over to say something to her then, and she nodded, and they made their way slowly toward her. She couldn't help wondering what Paul had said to her, how much he had told her. … I met this poor pathetic unhappy woman, who lives in Westport …she gave up her career fourteen years ago, and has had a diaper pail on her head ever since … be nice to her…. Just looking at Serena Smith, one knew that she would never be dumb enough to give up her identity or her career, or be treated as a “companion you can rely on to take care of the kids” by her husband. She was sexy and beautiful and sophisticated, she had great legs, and a fabulous figure. India felt like a total frump as Serena walked majestically toward her. And she felt breathless as Paul finally stood looking down at her, with a smile, and touched her shoulder. India could feel an electric current run through her when he did it.

“India, I'd like you to meet my wife …Serena Smith…. Darling, this is the fabulous photographer I told you about, who took all the great pictures I showed you. The mother of the young sailor.” At least he had told Serena about her. But India felt even more inadequate standing beside her. She had the most perfect smile she'd ever seen, and she looked fifteen years younger than Jenny, her college roommate. But Jenny hadn't worn makeup since she was eighteen, and Serena was put together like a model.

“I've been hoping I would meet you,” India said discreetly, afraid to sound like a simpering fan, but also not wanting to appear indifferent. “I read everything you wrote for a while, but my children keep me so busy I never have time to read anymore.”

“I can imagine. Paul said you have hundreds of them. But I can see why. The little guy in the pictures is gorgeous, and apparently quite a sailor.” She rolled her eyes then. “Whatever you do, stamp it out of him quickly. Never let him on a boat again. It's an insidious disease that rots the brain. And once it's too far gone, there's absolutely nothing you can do about it.” She was funny the way she said it, and India laughed in spite of herself, feeling a little disloyal to Paul as she did so. They had had such a good time with him on the Sea Star. “Boats are not my thing,” Serena confessed. “Paul may have told you.” India wasn't sure whether to admit it, as he disappeared to get himself a beer from one of the kegs Dick was presiding over.

“I have to admit, it's a wonderful boat,” India said graciously. “My little boy, Sam, just loved it.”

“It's fun,” Serena said blithely, “for about ten minutes.” And then she looked at India strangely, who prayed she wasn't blushing. What if she guessed how much India liked her husband, and how much she had said to him about her own life. It was easy to believe that Serena wouldn't have been too pleased to hear it. And it was always hard to gauge how much a husband told his wife, or vice versa. She and Doug had kept very few secrets from each other, in her case, only Gail's indiscretions, out of loyalty to her.

“I've been wanting to ask you a favor,” Serena said, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable, and India could just guess what it was…. Stay away from my husband…. She was feeling inordinately guilty. But he was an incredibly handsome man, and she had spent a day alone with him, telling him she was unhappy with her husband. In retrospect, it was embarrassing, particularly if he had told Serena. India was suddenly feeling very foolish. “Ever since I saw your photographs,” Serena went on, as India continued to dread what was coming, “I wanted to ask you a favor, if you have time. We're leaving sometime tomorrow, but I'm desperate for a new book cover photo, and I haven't had time to do anything about it. Any chance you could come over in the morning and take a few shots? I look like death in the morning, and you'll need a good retoucher. A blowtorch will do fine. Anyway, I saw how good your work was. I can never get a decent shot of Paul and you got dozens when he wasn't even looking. Usually, he makes the most godawful faces and looks like he's about to kill someone. So what do you say? I'll understand if it's not up your alley. Paul says you normally do war zones and revolutions and dead bodies.” India laughed with relief at the convoluted recital. Serena didn't seem in the least upset that India had been on the boat with Sam, and taken an indecent number of photographs of her husband. India was so relieved, she wanted to kiss her. Maybe he hadn't given away her secrets after all, at least she hoped not. Or maybe Serena felt too sorry for her to even care.

“Actually, I haven't done ‘war zones’ in seventeen years, and all I do now is Sam's soccer team, and newborn babies for my neighbors. I'd love to do it. And I'm very flattered that you asked me. I'm actually not that great at portraits. I was a news photographer, and now I'm just a mother.”

“I've never been either, and I'm impressed by both. If you want to come over about nine tomorrow, I'll try and drag myself out of bed and not spill my coffee all over my shirt before you arrive. I think just something simple in a white shirt and jeans will do it. I'm sick and tired of glamour shots. I want something more ‘real.’ “

“I'm incredibly flattered that you asked me,” India said again. “I just hope I can come up with something useful.” But she was sure to be an easy subject. She was so beautiful, and had such wonderful bone structure and lovely skin, it was hard to imagine having trouble taking her picture. India didn't even think it would need much retouching. She could hardly wait to do it, and she was happy to be going back to the Sea Star again. It was a chance to see Paul, even if Serena was with him. She was his wife, after all, and very much part of the picture.

The two women chatted for a little while, about the movie Serena was working on, her latest book, and their trip to the south of France in a few weeks, and even India's children.

“I don't know how you do it,” Serena said with admiration. “I never could imagine juggling children and a career, and I always thought I'd have been a dreadful mother. Even when I was twenty. I was never tempted once to have a baby. Paul wanted another child when he married me, but I was thirty-nine, and I was even less inclined to do it then. I just couldn't handle the responsibility, and the constant demands it must put on you, and the confusion.”

“I have to admit, I love it,” India said quietly, thinking of her children. Two of them were playing volleyball nearby while she talked to Serena. India respected her honesty, but she also realized that they couldn't have been more different. Everything Serena was, she wasn't, and vice versa. India was far more down to earth and direct and without any kind of artifice or pretense. Serena was far more artful and manipulative, and in her own way more aggressive. But much to her own surprise, India liked her. She had somehow hoped she wouldn't. But she could see now why Paul loved her. Serena was so powerful that being with her was like riding a Thoroughbred stallion. She was anything but easygoing, and it didn't bother her in the least to be called difficult. She loved it. The only similarity they shared was that they were both very feminine, but in entirely different ways.

India was soft in all the places Serena was hard, and strong in all the ways Serena wasn't. But the shadings in India's character were far more subtle, and that had intrigued Paul. There was very little mystery to Serena, she was all about strength and power and control. India was all about softness and kindness, and far more compassionate and humane. It had struck Paul when they sat and talked for hours on the boat.

Paul came back to talk to them eventually, and he stood for a moment, admiring their contrasts. It was almost like seeing the two extremes that women came in, and if he had dared, he would have admitted that both of them fascinated him in very different ways, and for a variety of reasons.

He was almost relieved when Sam came up to them, and India introduced him to Serena. He shook her hand politely, but he looked uncomfortable while he was talking to her, and it was obvious that Serena had no idea how to talk to children. She spoke to him as though he were a very short man, and the jokes she made in front of him fell on deaf ears. He had no idea whatsoever of their meaning.

“He's awfully cute,” she said when he went back to his friends. “You must be very proud of him.”

“I am,” India said, smiling.

“If he ever disappears, you'll know where to find him, India. Paul will be sailing to Brazil with him in the dinghy.”

“He'd love that,” India said, laughing.

“The trouble is, they both would. But at Paul's age,it's pathetic. Men are such children, aren't they? They're all babies. At best, they grow up to be teenagers, and whenever they don't get their way, they get bratty.” Listening to her made her think of Doug, but not Paul. There was nothing “bratty” about him. He seemed incredibly mature and very wise to her, and she had been very grateful for the advice he'd given her when they last spoke.

They talked for a few more minutes, and confirmed their plans for the next morning, and then Serena wandered off to talk to Jenny for a few minutes before they left, and India went to check on her children, who seemed to be having a great time.

It was late when India and the children got home that night, and everyone was happy and tired. She told Sam then that she was going to meet the Wards at the boat the next morning and asked if he wanted to come with her.

“Will Paul be there?” he asked sleepily with a yawn, and when she said he would, Sam said he was coming. She invited the others to join them too, but they said they'd rather sleep in. The Sea Star was Sam's passion, and they were satisfied to leave it to him. She was only disappointed that the others hadn't seen it, and she knew that if they ever did, they would love it.

She woke Sam up, as she had before, early the next morning, and gave him cereal and toast before they left so he didn't have to bike to the yacht club on an empty stomach. But as soon as they got to the yacht, Paul was waiting for them, and offered them both pancakes. Serena was still in the dining room, drinking coffee. And she looked up when they walked in. Contrary to her warning the day before, India thought she looked fabulous, even at breakfast. She was wearing a starched white shirt, and immaculately pressed jeans, with rubber-soled loafers, and her hair was combed to perfection. She wore it straight and long, and had pulled it back with an elastic. She had a good, clean look, with just enough makeup to enhance her looks but not overwhelm them.

“Ready for action?” she asked India when she saw her.

“Yes, ma'am.” India smiled, as Sam sat down to a plate of waffles, and Paul sat down beside him.

“I'll keep Sam company,” Paul volunteered. It wasn't a sacrifice for him, it was obvious just looking at him how much he liked him. “We'll go out in the dinghy or something.”

“How depressing,” Serena said, and meant it, as she went out on deck and India followed. And the rest of the morning flew by like minutes.

India took half a dozen rolls of film, and she was certain they had gotten some really good pictures. She was pleased to find that Serena was an easy subject.

Serena chatted amiably, and told funny stories about things that had happened on her movie sets in Hollywood and famous authors she knew and the outrageous things they had done. India enjoyed hearing about them. And when they were finished, Serena invited her to stay for lunch, with Sam of course. They had decided not to leave for New York that day, and were planning to leave the following morning.

They ate sandwiches on deck, which Serena said she preferred to the dining room, which she found pretentious and claustrophobic. India had found it anything but, but it was also pleasant eating in the open air, and Paul and Sam came back with the dinghy when the women were almost finished.

“Did you save anything for us?” Paul asked as they joined them on deck. “We're starving!” And they looked it.

“Just crusts,” Serena said cheerfully, but one of the stewards was quick to take Paul's order. He ordered club sandwiches for himself and Sam, with potato chips, and pickles, he added, remembering Sam's fondness for them.

He said they'd had a good sail, and Sam seconded the opinion with a huge grin. He didn't tell his mother that they'd both fallen in, and Paul had righted the little boat again very quickly, but she had seen it, and also that Paul had resolved the problem very swiftly.

After they finished their sandwiches, India said they had to get home to see what her family was doing. And she wanted to get to work on Serena's pictures in the darkroom.

“I'll send you proofs in a few days,” she promised Serena as she stood up. “You can see what you think of them,” she said modestly.

“I'm sure I'll love them. If you make me look half as good as you did Paul, I'm going to use them as wallpaper in our apartment. And hell, I'm better-looking than he is.” She chuckled and India laughed with her. She was a character, and it was easy to see why he liked her. She certainly wasn't boring. She was full of spice and vinegar, and wicked little stories about famous people. Who had said what and done what to whom. Listening to her all morning had been like listening to a gossip column about celebrities. And aside from that, she was not only beautiful, but incredibly sexy. India really liked her, and couldn't help but be impressed by her.

India thanked Serena then for the opportunity to take pictures of her, and Paul for taking such good care of Sam while they were busy.

“He took care of me,” Paul said with a smile, and then he bent to give Sam a hug, and the boy returned it with vigor. “I'll miss you,” Paul said, feeling sad to see him go, but not half as sad as Sam was. He would never forget his days on the Sea Star. “One of these days, you'll have to take a little trip with me,” he promised him, “if your mom will let you. Would you like that, Sam?”

“Are you kidding?” He beamed. “I'll be there!”

“That's a deal then.” And then Paul turned and hugged India. He felt as though he were losing old friends as they walked down the gangway to the dock, and the entire crew waved at Sam as they left. He had won everyone's hearts in the short time he'd been there. They all loved him.

On the way home, India was lost in her own thoughts, and fell off her bike, as she often did when she didn't pay attention.

“Mom, what happened?” Sam looked mildly exasperated as he helped her up. She always did that, but she hadn't gotten hurt and she was smiling at her own awkwardness, and feeling silly as Sam grinned at her. Being on the boat together and sharing its magic had suddenly made them even closer.

“I'm going to have to get one of those geriatric bikes with three wheels for next year,” she said, dusting herself off.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He laughed, and then, as they rode off again, they were both quiet on the way home. They were both thinking about the boat, and the people they had met there. They were impressed with Paul, but India saw him differently now that she knew Serena. Seeing them together brought things back into perspective, about how married he was and what was important in his life.

When she got home, she went straight to her darkroom. And as she worked on the photographs, she was thrilled with what she saw. The pictures of Serena were fantastic. She looked gorgeous, and India was sure she would love them. There was even a nice one of her with Paul, when he came back from his ride in the dinghy. He was draped over the back of her chair, and they both looked very glamorous with the mast above and the ocean behind them. They made a very handsome couple. And India could hardly wait to send her the pictures.

She sent them to New York by Federal Express the next morning, and Serena called her the minute they arrived.

“You're a genius,” the throaty voice said, and for an instant India didn't know who it was. “I wish I really looked like those pictures.” She knew then it was Serena, and smiled.

“You look better. Do you really like them?” India was thrilled. She was proud of them, but Serena had been an easy subject.

“I love them!” Serena confirmed with admiration.

“Did you like the one of you and Paul?”

“I didn't get it.” Serena sounded momentarily puzzled, and India was disappointed.

“Damn. I must have forgotten to send it. I think I left it in the darkroom. I'll send it to you. It's terrific.”

“So are you. I talked to my publisher this morning, and they'll pay you for using the photographs, and of course, a credit.”

“Don't worry about it,” India said shyly. “They're a present. Sam had such a good time with Paul, it's just a little thing I can do to thank you.”

“Don't be ridiculous, India. This is business. What would your agent say?”

“What he doesn't know won't hurt him. I'll tell him I did them for a friend. I don't want you to pay me.”

“You're hopeless. You're never going to get your career going again if you give your work away. You spent a whole morning on it, and then you had to develop them. You're a terrible businesswoman, India. I should be your agent. I can't even decide which one to pick, they're all so good.” Serena went on. She was dying to show them to Paul, who was still at the office. “I'll call you and tell you which one. I wish I could use all of them, India. Really, thank you. But I wish you'd let me pay you.”

“Next time,” India said confidently, hoping there would be one. And after she hung up, she meant to look for the picture of Serena and Paul and then forgot all about it when Aimee came in with a splinter, and she had to remove it.

The next few days flew by, and then finally Doug arrived for the weekend. It was nearly two weeks since she'd seen him. He seemed happy to see the kids, and he was tired after the long drive. And as he always did, he took a swim before dinner. All of the children were home for dinner that night so he could see them. But they went back out to see their friends after dinner as soon as they could. They loved to play tag on the beach in the dark, and tell ghost stories, and visit each other's houses.

The Cape was the perfect place for them, and as he watched them dash out the door, Doug smiled. He was happy to be there. It was the first time India had been alone with him since he got there. They sat in the living room, and India felt awkward suddenly. So much had gone through her mind since she last saw him. Not to mention meeting Paul Ward, and the time she and Sam had spent on the Sea Star, and the pictures she had taken of Serena. There should have been a lot to tell him, but for some reason, she found she didn't want to. She was less anxious than she usually was to share things with him. It was as though she needed to keep something for herself now.

“So what have you been up to?” He said it as though meeting an old friend he hadn't seen since the previous summer. There had been nothing cozy or warm about his greeting, and she realized now there never had been. It was just that now she was noticing everything she had never paid attention to before. She wondered when things had changed between them.

“Not much. The usual stuff.” She had talked to him often enough to hit all the high spots. “The kids are having a good summer.”

“I can't wait to come up next month and stay here,” he said easily. “It's been hot as hell in Westport, and worse yet in the city.”

“How are all your new clients?” It was like talking to an acquaintance.

“Time consuming. I've been staying in the office till nine and ten at night. With you and the kids gone, I don't have to run for the six o'clock train. It makes it a little easier to get my work done.” She nodded, thinking it was a pathetic conversation.

After two weeks apart, they ought to be able to talk about more than his clients and the heat in the city. Not once since he'd arrived had he told her that he'd missed her or loved her. She couldn't even remember the last time he had said something like that to her. And all she could think of now was why she hadn't expected him to say it to her more often. She couldn't help wondering if Paul and Serena's reunions were as lackluster as this, and she doubted it. Serena wouldn't have tolerated it for a minute. Everything about her expressed and commanded passion. But there was nothing passionate about India's relationship with Doug now. In fact, there hadn't been in nearly twenty years. It was a depressing realization.

They waited until the kids came in, talking about nothing in particular, and Doug put the TV on. And when Jessica came home, they turned off the lights and went to bed. India took a shower, assuming he would want to make love to her, and when she came out in a nightgown she knew he liked, she found he was sleeping. He was sound asleep, snoring softly, with his face buried in the pillow. And as she looked at him, feeling lonely again, she realized it was an appropriate end to the evening. And it made a statement about their life together that nothing else could have.

She slipped into bed quietly, without disturbing him, and it took her a long time to fall asleep that night, as she cried softly in the moonlight, and wished that she were anywhere but here, beside her husband.

Chapter 8

DOUG AND India spent the day on the beach the next day. The kids and their friends came and went, and that night Doug took them all out to dinner. They had dinner at a funny old steak house where they went every year, usually on special occasions. And they all enjoyed it.

And afterward, when they came home, Doug made love to her finally. But even that seemed different now. It seemed businesslike to her somehow, as though he didn't care if she enjoyed it. He just wanted to get it over with, and when she turned to tell him she loved him afterward, she could hear him snoring. It had definitely not been a stellar weekend for them.

And the next morning, after the children left, he turned to her with an odd expression.

“Is something wrong, India?” he asked her pointedly as she poured him a second cup of coffee. “You've been acting funny ever since I got here.” She hadn't sounded like herself on the phone before that, either.

And as she looked at him, she wasn't sure how much to tell him or what to say. “I don't know. I have some things on my mind. I'm not sure if this is the right time to discuss them.” She had already decided not to broach the subject of her work with him again, until he came up to join them for his vacation. She didn't want to just drop a bomb on him, and then have him drive right back to Westport. They were going to need some time to talk it over, and she knew that.

“What's bothering you? Something about the kids? Is Jess giving you trouble again?” She had been kind of snappy to her mother that winter. It was hard to believe, even for him, that there was more to life than children.

“No, she's been fine. She's been a big help, actually. They all have. It's not about them, it's about me. I've just been doing a lot of thinking.”

“Then spit it out,” he said impatiently, watching her. “You know I hate it when you do this. What's the big mystery? You're not having an affair with Dick Parker, are you?” He was only kidding. He couldn't even conceive of India cheating on him. And he was right. She wouldn't. He trusted her completely. And the fact that she found Paul Ward attractive was something he would never know, and something she didn't need to tell him. She knew her attraction to him was irrelevant and would go no further.

“I've just been thinking a lot about my life, and what I want to do now.”

“What in hell does that mean? Are you planning to climb Everest, or cross the North Pole in a dogsled?” He said it as though it were inconceivable that she would ever do anything worthwhile or exciting. And for the past fourteen years at least, he'd been right, she hadn't. Except bring up his children. She had become exactly what he expected her to be, “someone he could rely on to take care of the children.”

She decided to cut to the chase then. “You kind of threw me when we talked before we came up here. That night at Ma Petite Amie. I somehow never thought of myself as just a ‘companion, and someone you could rely on to take care of the children.’ Somehow my illusions about us were a little more romantic.” It hurt to even admit it to him, but that was what had started it all, that and the fact that he was adamant about her not working, and refused to understand her feelings about it, or even hear them. But in spite of that, she found it hard to say it to him.

“Oh, for chrissake, India. Don't be so sensitive. You know what I meant. I was just trying to say that after seventeen years of marriage, or fifteen, or probably even ten, you can't expect a lot of romance.”

“Why not?” She looked at him squarely, and felt as though she were seeing him for the first time. “Why can't you have some romance after seventeen years? Is it too much trouble?”

“That stuff is for kids, and you know it. It goes away after a while. It's bound to. You get busy working and supporting a family and catching the six o'clock train to come home at night and when you do, you're dead tired and you don't even want to talk to anyone, let alone your wife. How romantic is that? You tell me.”

“Not very. But I'm not talking about being tired, Doug. I'm talking about feelings. About loving someone and making them feel loved. I'm not even sure anymore if you love me.” There were tears in her eyes as she said it, and he looked uncomfortable and more than a little startled.

“You know I do. That's a ridiculous thing to say. What do you expect me to do? Bring you flowers every night?” He looked irritated by what she was saying.

“No. But once a year would be nice. I can't even remember the last time you did that.”

“Last year on our anniversary. I brought you roses.”

“Yeah, and you didn't even take me out to dinner. You said we could do that next year.”

“I took you out to dinner a few weeks ago, at Ma Petite Amie, that's what started all this. It doesn't sound like such a great idea to me if this is what it leads to.”

“I'm just looking at my life, and wondering what I gave up my career for. I know I gave it up for my kids. But did I give it up for a man who loves me and appreciates what I did?” It was an honest question, and now she wanted an honest answer from him.

“Is that what this is about? You working again? I already told you that's impossible. Who's going to take care of the kids if you go back to work? It doesn't even make sense for us financially. We'd spend more than you'd make on a housekeeper, who probably wouldn't even take decent care of them. As I recall, India, your work brought in a few prizes, and practically no money. So what kind of career is that? It's a career for a kid fresh out of the Peace Corps, with no responsibilities and no reason to find a real job. Well, you have a real job now, taking care of our children. And if that's not glamorous enough for you, and you think you need to start running halfway around the world again, you'd better take a good look at what you're doing. We made a deal when you came back to New York. We'd get married and you'd work until you had kids, and then it was all over. It was nice and clear, and you didn't seem to have any problem with it, and now, fourteen years later, you want to switch the deal on me. Well, you know what? You just can't do it.” He looked as though he were about to storm out of the room, but she wouldn't let him. Suddenly her eyes were blazing. He had no right to do this to her. And he had never even told her that he really loved her. He had diverted the subject completely.

“What right do you have to tell me what I can and can't do? This is my decision too. And I lived by our ‘deal’ as best I could. I did it fairly, and gave you plenty of value for your money, mister. But I'm not happy with it now. I feel as though I gave up too much, and you don't even give a damn about it. To you, it was just some kind of insignificant hobby you think I was pursuing. At least that's what you say and what you act like. If I'd stayed in it, I probably would have won a Pulitzer by now. That's no small deal, Doug. It's a big deal, and that's what I gave up to clean up after our children.”

“If that was what you really wanted, then you should have stayed wherever the hell you were, Zimbabwe or Kenya or Kalamazoo, and not come back to marry me and have four children.”

“I could do both if you'd let me.”

“I never will. And you'd better get that loud and clear now. Because I'm not going to keep having this discussion with you. Your career, such as it was, with or without a goddamn Pulitzer, is over, India. Do you get that?”

“Maybe it's not my career that's over. Maybe something else is,” she said bravely. There were tears running down her face, and she was choking back sobs, but Doug wasn't budging a millimeter from his position. He didn't have to. He had a career and a life, and a family, and a wife to take care of his children. He had it all exactly the way he wanted. But what did she have?

“Are you threatening me?” he asked, looking even more furious. “I don't know who's putting these ideas into your head, India—if it's that fruitcake agent of yours, Raoul, or Gail with her whoring around, or even Jenny up here playing doctor—but whoever it is, you can tell them to forget it. As far as I'm concerned, our marriage rests on your holding up your end of the bargain. This is a deal-breaker for me.”

“Z am not your business, Doug. I am not a deal you're making with a client. I'm a human being, and I'm telling you that you're starving me emotionally, and I'm going to go crazy if I don't do more with my life than just drive Sam and Aimee and Jason to school every morning. There's more to life than just sitting on my ass in Westport, dying of boredom and waiting to serve you dinner.” She was sobbing as she said it, but he appeared to be entirely unmoved by it. All he felt was anger.

“You were never bored before. What the hell has happened to you?”

“I've grown up. The kids don't need me as much anymore. You have a life. And I need one too. I need more than I have right now. I'm lonely. I'm bored. I'm beginning to feel as though I'm wasting my life. I want to do something intelligent for a change, other than waiting to be of service. I need more than that. I put my own needs aside for fourteen years. Now I need just a little something more to keep me going. Is that so much to ask?”

“I don't understand what you're saying. This is crazy.”

“No, it isn't,” she said desperately. “But I will be if you don't start to hear me.”

“I hear you. I just don't like what I'm hearing. India, you're really barking up the wrong tree here.” It was rare for them to fight, but she was completely overwrought now, and he was livid. He was not going to give an inch on this subject, and she knew it. It was hopeless.

“Why won't you at least try to let me do a couple of assignments? Maybe it would work out. At least give it a chance.”

“Why? I already know what it would be like. I remember what it was like before we were married. You were always up a tree somewhere, using field telephones and dodging snipers. Is that really what you want to do again, for chrissake? Don't you think your children at least have a right to their mother? Just how selfish are you?”

“Maybe half as selfish as you are. What kind of mother are they going to have if I have no self-esteem and I'm pissed off all the time because I'm so goddamn bored and lonely?”

“If that's what you want, India, then find a new husband.”

“Do you really mean that?” She was looking at him in utter amazement, wondering if he would dare to go that far. But he might. He seemed to feel just that strongly about it. But her question, and the look in her eyes when she asked it, sobered him a little.

“I don't know. I might. I need to think about it. If this is really what you want, if you're willing to push it this far, then maybe we both need to rethink our marriage.”

“I can't believe you'd sacrifice us just because you're not willing to compromise, and think about my feelings for a change. I've done it your way for a hell of a long time. Maybe it's time to try mine now.”

“You're not even thinking of the children.”

“I am. And I have for a long time. But maybe now it's my turn.”

She had never said anything even remotely like that to him. And he certainly wasn't going to tell her now that he loved her. In fact, as he listened to her, he was almost sure he didn't. How could he? She was violating the deal she'd made with him, sacrificing their children, as far as he was concerned, and jeopardizing their marriage. As far as Doug was concerned, there wasn't much to love there.

And she was desperate to make one last stab at making him understand her. “Doug, what I did wasn't just a job. It was kind of an art form. It was a part of me. It's how I express myself, what's in my mind, my heart, my soul. It's why I never stopped carrying my camera. I need it to let a kind of light shine through me. What you see with your eyes, I see with my heart. I've given that up for a long time. Now I just want a little piece of it back again, like part of me I gave up, and just found I miss too much. Maybe I need that to be who I am. I don't know. I don't understand it myself, I just know that all of a sudden I realize it's important to me.” But she also realized it wasn't to him. That was the bottom line for her husband. He just couldn't understand what she was saying. He didn't get it. And he didn't want to.

“You should have thought of all that seventeen years ago when you married me. You had the choice then. I thought you made the right one, and so did you. If you don't feel that way now, then we have to face it.”

“All we need to face is that I need a little more in my life. Some air, some breathing room, a way to express myself and be me again … a way to feel that I matter in the world too, and not just you. And even more important than that, I need to know you love me.”

“I'm not going to love you, India, if you pull this kind of bullshit on me. And that's all it is, as far as I'm concerned. A load of bullshit. You're being a spoiled brat, and you're letting me and our kids down.”

“I'm sorry you can't hear what I'm saying,” she said, crying softly, and with that, he left the room, without saying a word to her, or reaching out to touch her or take her in his arms, or tell her he loved her. At that moment, he just didn't. And he was too angry to listen to her for another minute. Instead, he walked into their bedroom and packed his suitcase.

“What are you doing?” she asked when she saw what he was doing.

“I'm going back to Westport. And I'm not coming up next weekend. I don't need to drive for six hours in order to listen to you rant and rave about your ‘career.’ I think we need a breather from each other.” She didn't disagree with him, but she felt abandoned by him when she saw what he was doing.

“What makes you so sure that you know what's right for us, and me, and our kids? Why do you always get to make the rules?”

“Because that's the way it is, India. It's the way it's always been. And if you don't like it, you can leave me.”

“You make it sound very simple.” But it wasn't, and she knew that.

“Maybe it is. Maybe it's just that simple.” He stood up and looked at her, with his bag in his hand, and she couldn't believe how quickly their marriage was unraveling, after seventeen years and four children. Apparently, it had to be his way, or no way. The inequity of it was staggering, but he wasn't even willing to negotiate with her, or even bother to tell her he loved her. He didn't love her enough, in fact, to care what she felt or needed. It was all about him, and the “deal” they had made. That was the bottom line for him, and he was not willing to renegotiate the contract. “Say good-bye to the kids for me. I'll see you in two weeks. I hope you come to your senses by then.” He had dug in his heels, but even if she wanted to, India wasn't sure she could change now. In the past few weeks, she had become too aware of what was missing, and what she needed.

“Why are you being so stubborn about this? Sometimes we have to make changes in life, to adjust to new ideas and new situations.”

“We don't need new ideas, and neither do our kids. They just need their mother doing what she's supposed to do for them. And that's all I need from you.”

“Why don't you just hire a housekeeper? Then if she doesn't toe the line, or live up to the ‘deal’ for you, you can just fire her?”

“Maybe I'll have to, if you decide to follow in your father's footsteps.”

“I'm not that stupid. I'm not asking you to let me go to war zones. I just want to cover a couple of decent stories.”

“I'm not asking you anything,” he said in an ice-cold tone. “I'm telling you that at the end of the summer, when we go back to Westport, you'd better be in your right mind again, and ready to give up all this nonsense. You'd better be ready to take care of our kids, and do what you signed on for.” She had never realized how insensitive he was, how totally indifferent to her feelings. As long as she played the game the way he expected her to, it was fine. But with different needs, different ideas, different anything, it was unacceptable to him. He had made himself perfectly clear to her, clearer than he'd ever been, and she hated everything she was hearing. This was a lot worse than just boring. This was vicious.

He walked to the front door then, and turned one last time to look at her, and issue a final ultimatum. “I mean it, India. Pull yourself back together again, or you'll regret it.” She already did, but she didn't say a word to him as he left, and stood silently at the kitchen window watching him drive down the driveway. She couldn't believe what was happening to them, what he had said to her, and what he hadn't. She was still crying when Sam walked in. She didn't even hear him come into the kitchen behind her.

“Where's Dad?” he asked, wondering. He thought maybe he was walking on the beach with Crockett.

“He left,” India said flatly, wiping her eyes as she turned to face him. She didn't want him to see her crying.

“He forgot to say good-bye,” Sam said, looking surprised.

“He had to go back for a meeting.”

“Oh. I'm going across the street to John's house.”

“Be home in time for dinner,” she said, turning to smile at him. Her eyes were still damp, but he didn't see it. He only saw her smiling, and looked no further. “I love you, Sam,” she said softly, and he grinned.

“Yeah … I know, Mom. I love you too.” And then he was gone, and the front door slammed, and she watched him walk across the street to his friend's house. He had no idea what had just happened, but India had the feeling that their lives were about to change forever.

She could have called Doug in the car, she could have told him she'd changed her mind, she could have done a lot of things, but she knew that she couldn't now. There was no turning back anymore, all she could do was go forward.

Chapter 9

DOUG ONLY called her a couple of times in the next two weeks until he came up again. And when he did, the atmosphere was strained between them. He made no reference to what had happened the last time, and neither did India. But she had done a lot of thinking about her marriage, and she'd been tempted to call Raoul, her agent, to put her name at the top of the list for local work, but she had decided to wait until the end of the summer to call him. She wanted to explore the possibilities in her mind, and the risks, and the potential impact on her children. And she needed to talk to Doug again. They had some things to work out, now more than ever. But she didn't want to do anything hasty. She still wanted to go back to work, but the stakes were high, and she wanted to be sure she knew what she was doing.

Doug didn't even try to make love to her and he scarcely spoke to her all weekend. He acted as though she had committed an unpardonable transgression against him. And on Sunday after he left, Jason looked at her with eyes fall of questions. He was the closest to his father.

“Are you mad at Dad?” he asked her directly while he helped her set the table.

“No. Why?” She didn't want to say anything to the children about their earlier conversation. They didn't need to know about the chill between them. There was no point upsetting them. It had been hard enough spending the weekend with Doug virtually not speaking to each other.

“You never talked to him all weekend.”

“I guess I was just tired. And he had a lot of work to finish up before he comes back for his vacation.” He was coming back to stay for three weeks the following weekend, and she was no longer looking forward to it. But maybe it would do them good. She hoped so. She still couldn't believe he was willing to put their marriage on the line just because she wanted to do a few stories. It hardly seemed worth it. But she was also not willing to promise him that she wouldn't do them. That seemed too unfair to her. It all did.

Jason seemed satisfied with her answer, and went back out to meet friends on the beach, and he brought two of them home for dinner. But even their meal was quiet that night. It was as though they all sensed that something was wrong, although they didn't really know it. But children were like animals sometimes, without knowing things, they sensed them. She was lying in bed reading that night, when the phone rang. She wondered if it was Doug, calling to apologize for another lousy weekend. At least this time there had been no threats, no ultimatums, and no explosions. Only silence and depression.

She reached for the phone, expecting to hear Doug, and was startled instead to hear Paul Ward. His voice was so clear he sounded as though he were standing in her bedroom.

“Where are you?” she asked, surprised to hear him. She couldn't imagine why he was calling, unless he was coming back up to the Cape, and wanted to invite Sam to join him, as he had promised. Sam was prepared to remember that promise forever.

“I'm on the boat. It's four o'clock in the morning, and we're coming into Gibraltar. I decided to make the crossing to Europe on the Sea Star” It sounded very brave to her, but she knew that he had done it often and loved it. He had told Sam all about it over lunch at the New Seabury yacht club.

“That sounds pretty exciting.” India smiled, hearing him. He sounded so happy on his boat, sailing across the ocean. “I assume Serena isn't with you?”

He laughed at her question. She had already known the answer to that one. “No, she's in London, meeting with her British publishers. She flew over on the Concorde. What about you? How are you?”

“I'm fine.” She wondered if she should tell him the truth, about her fight with Doug, and his ultimatum two weeks before. She knew he'd be upset for her. “What's it like out there?”

“Wonderful. Peaceful. We've had great weather and an easy crossing.”

“You'll have to tell Sam all about it.” She still wondered why he had called her. Particularly at four in the morning his time. Maybe he was just bored, and wanted someone to talk to.

“I was thinking about you. I was wondering how you are, and how your plan to go back to work was going. Have you talked about it any more with your husband?”

“I have,” she sighed, “two weeks ago. He hasn't spoken to me since then. He was just here, and we had a very chilly weekend, and I don't mean the weather.” It was nice to be able to talk to him. For some reason, he felt like an old friend, although she wasn't sure why. But Gail was still in Europe and there was no one else she wanted to confide in. “He more or less said that if I go back to work, at all, he'd leave me. Or at least he hinted at it. He said it was a deal-breaker for him.” She sounded discouraged as she said it.

“And what about for you, India? How do you feel about it?”

“Pretty lousy. He just doesn't want to know how I feel about it. I don't know, Paul … I think he means it. It's a big decision, and it may not be worth it.”

“And if you give in to him? How will you feel about it?” He sounded as though he cared about what was happening to her, and she was touched by it.

“I think I'll feel kind of dead inside if I back down,” she answered him. “But losing my marriage is a high price to pay for a little self-esteem and some independence.”

“You have to make that decision, India. No one else can make it for you. You know what I think.”

“I know what Serena would do,” India said with a rueful smile. “I wish I were as gutsy as she is.”

“You are in your own way. You just don't know it.”But in her heart of hearts, India knew she wasn't. Serena wouldn't have put up with Doug for five minutes, but she wouldn't have married him either. India had, and now she had to I've with it. But the thought of letting him threaten her depressed her. He wasn't giving her much to go on these days, no warmth, no understanding, no support and no affection. And she realized now that he hadn't in a long time. They had just been involved in the mechanics of raising their children. And suddenly that wasn't enough any longer. “How's my friend Sam?” Paul asked her then, and they both smiled as they thought of him.

“Sound asleep right this minute. He's been having fun with his friends, and telling everyone about the Sea Starr

“I wish he were here with me. … I wish you were too,” he said in an odd tone, which ran the same current of electricity through her she had felt before when talking to him. There was something powerful about him, and she wasn't sure what he was saying, or why he was calling. He wasn't making any kind of overt pass at her, and she somehow knew that he wouldn't. But she also sensed that he liked her. “You'd love the crossing. I just know it. It's so peaceful.” It was one of his favorite things to do. He read and slept, and took the watch whenever he felt like it, as he had just done. It was why he had called her at that ungodly hour. But he had been thinking of her all night, as he looked out over the ocean, and finally decided to call her. “We'll be going to the south of France in a few days. But I have to do some business in Paris first. Serena is going to fly over to meet me. Paris is just her cup of tea. Mine too,” he confessed. It was one of his favorite cities.

“I haven't been there in ages'. India said dreamily, remembering the last time she'd been there. She'd been very young and stayed at a youth hostel. She was sure he stayed someplace like the Ritz or the Plaza Athenee or the Crillon. “Where do you stay?”

“At the Ritz. Serena loves it. I sometimes stay at the Crillon. But she prefers the Ritz. I'm not sure I can tell the difference. I don't speak French, she does, of course. I always feel like a fool trying to talk to cabdrivers and negotiate my way around Paris. Do you speak French, India?”

“Enough to get around and feed myself. But not enough to make intelligent conversation. I actually learned a lot when I spent six weeks in Morocco once, but my French friends all made fun of my accent. But at least I can get by in a taxi, or at the press club.”

“Serena spent a year at the Sorbonne. She speaks amazing French.” Serena was, in every possible way, a tough act to follow. More than tough. Impossible. But no one was ever going to follow in her footsteps. It was easy to see that they were crazy about each other. “When do you go back to Westport, by the way?”

“Not till the end of August.” They didn't have a lot to talk about, but it was nice just listening to him, and knowing where he was, at four o'clock in the morning. “The kids have to go back to school then. And I have to get them organized.” He laughed at the thought of it. He wanted something more for her, and hoped she would have the courage to reach out and take it. “How long will you be in Europe?”

“I'll Labor Day. But Serena has to go back to L.A. before that. I'm not sure she minds. She builds herself outs, so she doesn't have to stay anywhere for too long. She's very independent, and she gets antsy, particularly on the boat.”

“She'd hate it here then. I don't do anything but lie on the beach all day, and come up to the house at six o'clock to cook dinner.”

“It sounds like the good life to me, and the kids must love it.”

“They do. But life is a lot more fun on the Sea Star, believe me. That seems like the perfect existence.”

“It is. For the right people. You have to really love that life, being on boats, sailing and being out on the ocean. I think it's either in your blood or it isn't. It's not an acquired taste for most people. You fall in love with it early, like I did. I was about Sam's age when I first realized how much I loved it.”

“I never knew how wonderful it was until we sailed on your boat. It's an incredible way to start. I'm afraid you've spoiled me forever. Not to mention Sam, who'll never want anything less now.”

“Oh yes, he will. He's a real sailor like me. He even loved the dinghy. That's the true test, and he passed it with flying colors.”

“I think I'll stick to the big ones.”

“That's probably a good decision. There'll be a lot of beautiful boats here, especially some lovely classics. One of these days, I'm going to buy one. Serena will probably divorce me when I do it. One boat is bad enough, but two boats? I don't think I'd have the guts to tell her.” He laughed at the prospect.

“She probably expects it of you,” India said, laughing. It was so good to hear him, and talk to him. If she closed her eyes, she could just see him standing on the deck of die Sea Star, with Sam beside him, or talking to her in the cockpit, while Sam chatted with the captain. They had had such a terrific day when they sailed with him.

He told her then about the races he was going to in Sardinia, and the people he was going to see, the Aga Khan among them.

“It's a shame you travel in such shabby circles, Paul,” India teased him. “It's a long way from Westport.”

“So is Botswana, and you need to get back there,” he pushed her. He could sense that she still needed encouragement and prodding. Maybe now more than ever, with her husband threatening her. It was so rotten of him to do that. Paul hated to think of her wasting her talent, but he suspected easily that Doug was threatened. He didn't want India to have a more interesting life than he did. It would make his life seem meaningless and boring. Paul couldn't help wondering if Doug was jealous of her.

“Sometimes I wonder if I'll see any of those places again,” she said sadly. “I can't even get Doug to Europe.”

“I wish you were here with us. I know you'd love it. By the way, I saw the mock-up of Serena's book cover with die picture you took on it. It looks fantastic.”

“I'm glad. It was fun to do it.” India smiled, thinking of the morning she had spent with her.

They talked for a few more minutes, and she thought he sounded tired. It was late for him.

“I'd better go now,” he said after a few more minutes of chatting with her. “We have a little navigating to do. We're getting closer. And the sun will be coming up soon.” She could just imagine him on the boat, talking to her, as they approached Gibraltar. It sounded exquisitely exotic. And very romantic. “I suppose you'll be going to sleep now.” He liked thinking of her there, in her quiet life on Cape Cod. It seemed wonderfully peaceful, and he was glad he had been there to meet her. “Think about the Sea Star, and hopefully, one of these days, you and Sam will be on it again.”

“I can't think of anything nicer.”

“I can,” he said, and there was a sudden silence between them. She didn't know what to say then. She was glad she had met him, and she valued the friendship he offered her. Enough not to jeopardize it, or say anything foolish she'd regret. But he didn't say anything more to her either. They both knew better.

She thanked him for calling, and they hung up a moment later. And she did exactly as he had suggested. She lay in bed and thought of him sailing toward Gibraltar on the Sea Star. She imagined it all lit up as it had been when it drifted past her house that night when he'd been there, looking like a magic island filled with dreams and happy people. And now she could see him on the bridge, alone in the dark just before the dawn, heading toward Gibraltar. But she didn't dream of Paul that night, or his pleasant life on the Sea Star. Instead, she had nightmares about Doug, and he was shouting at her. That was her reality, and the one she had to resolve or live with. For her, the Sea Star was nothing more than a dream, a distant star in someone else's heaven.

Chapter 10

WHEN DOUG arrived in Harwich for his three-week vacation, there was still tension between them. The subject of her working never came up again, nor did any of the things they'd said before, but the remaining aura their words had left behind hung over them like a constant cloud of vapor. At times, India felt as though she could hardly see through it, and she felt as though she were moving through a fog, and living with a stranger. The children noticed it as well, but none of them said anything. It would have been too frightening for any of them to acknowledge the malaise that remained tangible but unspoken and unresolved between their parents. It was like a bad smell that hung in the air and couldn't be ignored. But it was only in the last few days of their stay in Harwich that India finally said something to him.

“What are we going to do about all this when we go back?” she asked cautiously. The children were out, spending final moments with their friends. There was always a kind of frenzy about the end of the vacation. Usually, they gave a barbecue, but they had decided not to this year. That in itself was a statement of sorts, but India didn't question Doug's decision when he said he didn't want to do it. Neither did she. She was tired of the pretense that everything was all right between them. For the first time in seventeen years, it wasn't. The angry seeds that had been sown in June had grown into a tree whose branches had begun to choke them. And India didn't know whether to chop it down, or hope it would wither on its own. The solution to the problem was still a mystery to her.

“What do you mean?” Doug pretended not to know what she was talking about, but it was hard to ignore the unfriendly atmosphere between them, and she wanted to do something about it before they went home, and it poisoned their daily routine. It was bad enough to have sacrificed the summer to it, but a line had to be drawn somewhere before it was too late.

“It's been a pretty lousy summer, wouldn't you say?” India said, looking across the kitchen table at him. They had just had lunch, and neither of them had said a word to each other.

“We've both been busy. Some years are like that,” he said vaguely, but they both knew it was a lie. No year had ever been like this between them, and she hoped it would never be like this again.

“You've been busy, and we've both been upset and angry. I'd like to know where things stand. We can't go on like this forever. Something's got to ease up, or we'll both go nuts.” It was just too lonely, never speaking to each other, never touching, each of them trapped on separate islands with no boat, no bridge to join them. She had never felt as alone as this in her entire life. She felt abandoned by him, deserted. He felt she had betrayed him, by saying the things she had, pressing him about going back to work, and asking him to give more than he ever had.

“Maybe I should ask you where you stand? That's what this is all about, isn't it? Your pushing me about going back to work. Is that what you still have in mind when we go back to Westport?” But she was no longer sure now. The price was high. Maybe too high. He had said it was a deal-breaker, and she believed him, and she wasn't prepared to break the deal they had, not yet at least, and maybe never.

“All I wanted to do was let them know that I'd be willing to do a story from time to time, preferably close to home, and nothing on a long assignment. I just want to open the door a crack.”

“That crack will eventually flood our lives and drown us. You know that. In fact, I think it's what you have in mind, India, and you know it.”

“You're wrong, Doug. I turned down the job in Korea. I'm not looking to destroy our lives, just save mine.” But she had realized it was more than that. Even if he let her do an assignment from time to time, it didn't solve the problem of how he felt about her, how dry and dreary he felt about their life. She knew now that she was something less than the woman he loved. She was a helpmate, a convenience, a caretaker for his children. But there was no passion in what he felt for her, no excitement, no romance. She could no longer fool herself about their marriage—whether she worked or not.

“I told you very clearly,” he went on, “how I felt about your working. None of that has changed. What you do about it is your choice. If you want to take that chance, go ahead.”

“That's a pretty terrifying challenge, Doug,” she said, with tears in her eyes. “It's like daring me to jump off the roof, without telling me if there will be a net to catch me when I fall.”

“What difference does it make? You don't seem to care about that anyway, do you? You're willing to sacrifice our kids, our life, and the agreement we made, to do what you want. If that's what you want, then take the chance.” It was as if he was daring her to do it.

“I'm not that stupid. But you have to realize that you're taking a chance too. If you don't care what I feel, you have to realize that sooner or later it's going to take a toll on us. In fact,” she said quietly, thinking of the past few weeks, and even the month before that, “it already has.”

“It sounds like we're screwed either way.” He looked nonplussed. The only real emotion he still seemed to have about it was anger, and absolutely no compassion for her, or at least that was how she felt about it. “Do whatever you want, India. It sounds like you will anyway.”

“Not necessarily. I don't want to be irresponsible. And I never wanted to cause a revolution,” she said sadly.

“Sure you did, India. That's what this is all about. But let me just tell you clearly one more time. You can't have everything you want. You can't have me, and our family, and a career. Sooner or later, you're going to have to make a choice here.” But the choice he was asking her to make would cost her her self. That was the problem for her now.

“I guess you've made that pretty clear. And if I don't go back to work? Then what? You think I'm wonderful and fabulous and devoted and you adore me and are grateful for the rest of my life?” She said it bitterly, and she suddenly remembered the things Paul had said about giving up too much, and what it would do to her in the end. She didn't want to be bitter and miserable, and feel cheated for the rest of her life, as she did now.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Doug said, looking angry. “I think you've gone completely crazy, and I wish I knew who put this crap into your head. I still think it was Gail.” It had been a lot of things, a lot of people, a lot of dreams she had finally remembered, which she had given up for so long. It was something Gail had said in June, and the things Doug hadn't, and talking to Paul, and meeting Serena. And now it was all the thinking she had done for the past three months, and Doug's coldness to her. He hadn't touched her since July. She knew it was her punishment for all she'd said. And she couldn't help wondering now how long the punishment would continue.

“You act as though you expect an award for being a wife and mother. India, that's your job. I don't get an award for doing mine. They don't give Pulitzers or Nobel prizes for leading a normal life. This is what you signed on for. If you're expecting a prize for this, or if you're expecting me to kiss your feet every time you pick the kids up at school, India, don't. I don't know what's gotten into you, but if you want to be a career woman, or a photographer floating all over the world, you're going to have to pay a price to do that.”

“I feel like I already have just for talking to you about it, Doug. You've been punishing me for the last two months.” He didn't answer, and all she could see in his eyes was ice and anger.

“I think you've been unfair, dishonest, and you've betrayed all of us with what you're saying. You never told me you'd want to go back to work one day. but never said anything about that.” It was obvious how betrayed he felt from everything he'd done to her since she first said it.

“I didn't know,” she said honestly. “I never really thought I'd want to go back, and for all intents and purposes, I don't. I just want to do a story from time to time.” By now, it was a familiar chorus between them.

“That's the same thing.” He stood up then, and looked at her with rigid disapproval, and what looked to her like strong aversion. “We've said enough about all this. Make up your mind.”

She nodded, and watched him go, and she stood in the kitchen alone for a long time. She could see her children playing on the beach as she looked out the window, and she wondered if it would really be as terrible for them as he said. Would it be such a shock, such a blow, such a betrayal? Somehow she just couldn't bring herself to believe that. Other women worked and traveled and still managed to take care of their children, and their kids didn't all end up in jail and on drugs as a result. It was Doug who wanted her there every moment, nailed to the floor, doing the job he had hired her on for, without offering her either compassion or love. It was Doug who was forcing her to make the choice. But a choice between what and what? Did she owe him total obedience, like a galley slave, with the chance to be little more than his housekeeper and companion? Or did she owe herself something more? She knew what Paul would have said.

And as she stood there, thinking about it again, she knew it was hopeless. He was never going to come around, or agree to what she wanted. In fact, she had no choice, unless she was willing to give him up. And for now at any rate, that still seemed too high a price to pay for just a taste of freedom.

She said nothing to him when she went into the bedroom to pack their things. She made no announcement, she never told him she'd made up her mind. She just gave up. The dreams she had came at too high a price, and she knew it.

She was very quiet that night at dinner, which was unlike her. She told the kids to pack their things the next day, and she did everything she had to, to close the house. She didn't go to see the Parkers to say good-bye, or anyone else that year. She just did what was expected of her, what her “job” was, as Doug said, and when it was time to leave, she got in the car with the others.

They stopped at McDonald's on the way home, and she ordered for the kids and Doug, fed the dog, and ate nothing herself. And when they got home and unloaded the car, she went inside, and Jessica turned to her father.

“What's wrong with Mom? Is she sick or something?” They had all noticed it, but she was the only one who dared to ask him.

“I think she's just tired,” Doug said calmly. “It's a big job closing the house.” Jessica nodded, wanting to believe him, but her mother had closed the house every summer, and she had never looked like that. She looked drawn and pale and unhappy, and more than once Jessica was sure she'd seen tears in her mother's eyes when India thought no one was looking. Her parents never said a word to each other on the entire trip back to Westport.

And finally that night, India said something to Doug. She turned to look at him as they were getting ready for bed, and fought back tears as she told him. “I'm not going to take my name off the roster. But I won't take any assignments if they call.”

“What's the point of that? Why not do it cleanly? If you're not going to take the jobs, why let them call?”

“Why not? Eventually they'll stop calling anyway. It's just good for my ego when they call to know they still want me.” He looked at her for a long moment, and then shrugged. He wanted not only her heart, but her liver and her kidneys. It wasn't enough that she had given in to him, he wanted to drive home the point. Even though he knew he'd won. He wanted to be sure the subject would never come up again. He wanted to know he owned her. And more importantly, he wanted her to know it.

He didn't thank her, didn't praise her, didn't tell her she'd done a great thing for mankind, or for him, and that he was grateful for it. He just walked into their bathroom, closed the door, and took a shower. India was already in bed when he came out half an hour later.

He turned off the lights, slipped into bed beside her, lay there for a while, and then finally turned toward her in silence, and ran lazy fingers down her back.

“Still awake?” he whispered.

“Yes.” In some remote part of her she was waiting for him to tell her he loved her, that he was sorry it had been so rough for her, that he would cherish her and make her happy for the rest of her life. Instead, he reached a hand around her in silence and touched her breast, and she could feel her whole body turn to granite. She wanted to turn around and slap him for what he had done to her, for what he hadn't said, for how little he cared about her feelings, but she said nothing to him as she lay with her back turned to him in the darkness.

He tried caressing her for a little while, and she showed no reaction, and didn't turn toward him as she always had. And after a while, he stopped.

They lay side by side in the dark, with a chasm between them the size of an ocean. It was an ocean of sorrow and pain and disappointment. He had defeated her, he had won. And she had lost a part of herself. All she had now was a job. She could cook for him, clean for him, drive for their children, and make sure they were warmly dressed in winter. She could ask him how his day had been at the office, when he wasn't too tired to answer. She could give him what she had promised him years before, for better or worse. And as far as India was concerned, this was worse. And better was far, far behind them.

Chapter 11

GAIL HAD called India several times when they got back from Harwich, but they had missed each other. She left cheery messages on the answering machine but she was never home when India called her back. They had spoken to each other twice after Gail got back from Europe, and she had a feeling something was wrong, but India insisted everything was fine when she asked her.

Gail said the trip to Europe had been more fun than she expected. Jeff had actually been more entertaining than usual, and by some miracle, despite long hours in the car, the kids managed not to fight with each other. It had been the best trip they'd ever had.

The two women didn't actually run into each other until the first day of school, and they finally met in the parking lot after Sam and Gail's twins had gone inside. But the moment Gail saw her, she could see that something terrible had happened to India that summer.

“My God, are you all right?” India hadn't had time

to braid her hair that morning. She'd had to do double car pools for Jessica, and the other kids, and she felt frazzled and knew she looked a little wild and disheveled.

“I didn't have time to brush my hair,” she said, running her hand over the blond mane with a smile. “Do I look that bad?”

“Yes,” Gail said honestly, with worried eyes examining her, “but it's not your hair. You look like you've lost ten pounds.”

“What's wrong with that?”

“Nothing. Except you look like someone died.” She had. But she hadn't wanted to tell Gail about it. “What happened to you? Did you get sick this summer?” Gail looked genuinely worried.

“Sort of,” she said vaguely, trying to avoid Gail's eyes, but as usual, she was unsuccessful. Gail had a terrier quality to her when she wanted to know something.

“Oh, Jesus. Are you pregnant?” But she didn't look like it. She looked miserable and dead inside. There was a lot more wrong with her than morning sickness. “Have you got time for a cappuccino?”

“I guess so,” India said limply. She had some things to organize at home, a stack of laundry to do, and a list of women to call to confirm her car pools.

“I'll meet you at ‘Caffe Latte’ in five minutes.”

They both got in their cars, and Gail was already ordering for them when India got there. She knew exactly the way India liked it. Cappuccino with a splash of low-fat milk, two sugars. Five minutes later, they were at a corner table, with two chocolate-covered biscotti between them.

“You didn't say anything when I called you in Harwich. What in hell has been going on with you this summer?” Gail was upset as she looked at her. She had never seen India so miserable or so lifeless, and she only hoped she didn't have some terrible physical problem. At their age, there was always that to think of, like breast cancer. As Gail watched her, India took a sip of the cappuccino and said nothing for a moment. “Is it you and Doug?” she asked with a moment of insight.

“Maybe. Actually it's me. I don't know…. The ball started rolling in June and it's turned into an avalanche since then.”

“What ball?” What was she talking about? But Gail just sat there and listened for a minute, while India said nothing. “Did you have an affair on the Cape?” She knew that was preposterous, but it was worth asking anyway. You never knew about people. Sometimes the quiet, loyal ones like India fell the hardest. But if she'd had an affair, it certainly didn't look like it had gone well.

“After you and I talked, before school let out,” India began to explain painfully, “I started thinking about working again. It was when I turned down the job in Korea. I don't know …maybe that was what did it … I honestly don't know what did. But I started thinking that I might enjoy doing stories again once in a while, nothing big, just like the one in Harlem.”

“That was pretty big, India. You should have won an award for it. It was a very important piece of journalism.”

“Well, anyway, I was thinking that I could do stories around here … in New York … in the States at any rate, as long as it wasn't for too long, or too far away. … I thought maybe I could find someone to help with the kids if I did that.”

“That's terrific.” Gail looked pleased for her, but it was obvious there was more to the story. “And then what?”

“Doug went crazy. He basically threatened to leave me if I did, to put it in a nutshell. We practically haven't talked to each other all summer, or done anything else with each other, for that matter,” she said darkly, and Gail was quick to get the gist of her meaning.

“It sounds like he's being an asshole,” Gail said bluntly.

“You might say that. He put it in no uncertain terms. He basically forbade me to do any assignments. He said I had betrayed him, that I was breaking the ‘deal’ I made with him when I married him, that I'd destroy our family, and he wouldn't put up with it. Basically, my choices are that I can do some work and he'll walk out on me, or I can keep my mouth shut, keep doing what I've done for fourteen years, and stay married. It's that simple.”

“What's the payoff here for you? What do you get out of it if you sacrifice your talent for him, just to soothe his ego? Because it sounds to me like he's threatened, and he's bullying the hell out of you. What's he offering you to sweeten the deal?”

“Nothing. And that's the other thing …” India said as tears sprang to her eyes as she put down her cappuccino. “We had sort of a dumb conversation in June when he took me out to dinner. He made it sound like I'm some kind of a workhorse he bought years ago. He ‘expects’ me to take care of his kids, and just be there. But to tell you the truth, Gail,” the tears overflowed then and rolled down her cheeks slowly, “I'm not even sure he loves me.” India's voice caught on a sob as she said it.

“He probably does.” Gail looked at her sympathetically, she felt sorry for her. India looked so desperately unhappy. “He just may not know it, or how to show it. He's not that different from Jeff. He thinks I'm part of the furniture, but if he ever lost me, it would probably kill him.”

“I'm not sure Doug feels that way. He made it sound like he owns me, but not like he loves me. I don't think he does. And if he does, I'm so mad at him anyway, I'm not even sure I care anymore. It's the most godawful feeling … I feel like my whole life fell apart this summer.” Gail watched her as she listened, wondering what else had happened. She suspected there was more to it, although what she had heard was enough to upset anyone. India felt ignored, unloved, and unimportant to her husband. “Anyway, I told him I wouldn't take any assignments anymore, even the ones like Harlem. I'll keep my name on the roster, but I won't take anything they give me. I just can't do it. I think he really would leave me. We argued about it for two months, and it wrecked our whole summer. If I hold out for what I want, it'll destroy our life, and I don't want that.”

“So you give up what you want?” It made Gail's blood boil, but the theory wasn't unfamiliar to her. “And what did he say? Did he thank you} Does he get it?”

“No. He just seemed to expect it. But the night I told him, he tried to make love to me for the first time in nearly two months. I almost hit him. And he hasn't touched me since then. What I don't know is where I go from here …what do I do? Suddenly all the things I did without even questioning them don't feel right anymore. I feel like I lost a part of myself this summer, and I don't know how to get it back again, or if I ever will. I feel like I gave him my heart and my insides.” Looking at her, Gail was truly worried. It was obvious that India felt destroyed over what had happened, and she wasn't sure what to say to make her feel better. To Gail, this was why women had affairs, and cheated on their husbands, to find someone who made them feel loved and cherished and important. And Gail knew, maybe even more than India did, that Doug had taken a hell of a chance with his position. He may have thought he'd won, but Gail wasn't so sure yet. India was really hurting.

“What else did you do this summer, other than cry, and fight with Doug? Did you have any fun at all, go anywhere with the kids, meet new people?” She was trying to distract her. It seemed like all she could do now. And at the question she asked, India brightened.

“I met Serena Smith,” she said, wiping her eyes, and blowing her nose in the paper napkin. She looked and felt awful, which confirmed to Gail what she had thought in the first place. Doug Taylor was an asshole.

“The writer?” Gail looked interested immediately. She had read everything she'd ever written. “How'd you manage that?”

“She was a friend's college roommate, and her husband came to Harwich with his sailboat. Sam and I went out on it with him, and he was wonderful to Sam. We got to know him before Serena got there. I did a book cover shot for her, and she seemed pretty happy with it.” Talking about Serena reminded India that she had brought the photograph of Serena and Paul back to Westport with her, but she still hadn't had time to send it to her.

“Who's she married to?” Gail said, finishing her cappuccino.

“Paul Ward, he's a financier of some kind,” she said, looking pensive for a moment, and Gail stopped as she watched her.

“The Paul Ward? The Wizard of Wall Street?” “I guess so. He's a nice man. She's very lucky.” “He's also gorgeous. He was on the cover of Time last year for some big deal he made. He must be worth billions.”

“They have a wonderful sailboat. But she hates it.” India smiled as she said it, remembering their conversations about Serena's aversion to the Sea Star, and the funny things Paul said about it.

“Wait a minute.” Gail narrowed her eyes at her friend with increasing interest, and suspicion. “Are you telling me you went out on the boat with him, before she got there?”

“She was in L.A., working on a movie.”

Gail was never one to mince words, and she had

known India for years. There was something in her

friend's eyes now that caught her attention. “India, are

you in love with him? Is that part of all this?” She was

more astute than India wanted to believe, or would allow herself to acknowledge, even about her own feelings.

“Don't be silly.”

“Bullshit. The guy looks like Gary Cooper or Clark Gable or something. Time magazine called him ‘indecently handsome, and ruggedly alluring.’ I remember what he looks like. And you and Sam went out on his boat with him? …Then what?”

“We kind of made friends. We talked a lot. He's very smart about people. But he's also crazy about Serena.”

“That's nice for her. What about you? Did he come on to you on the boat?”

“Of course not.” Even the question was offensive. She knew Paul would never have done that. Nor would she have let him if he had. They respected each other.

“Has he called you?”

“Not really.” India's eyes told a different story, and Gail saw it instantly. India was protecting something, as though she had a secret about Paul.

“Wait a minute. There is calling, and not calling. What is ‘not really’? Not really is calling and getting a busy signal. Did he call you?” She was digging, but she also had India's best interests at heart, and India knew that. And nothing would have shocked Gail if it had been a different story, but it wasn't.

“Yeah. He called me. Once. From Gibraltar. He was on the boat, on his way to Europe.”

“On his sailboat? It must be the size of the QE II” She looked impressed and India laughed at her.

“It's pretty big, and really wonderful. Sam loved it.”

“And what about you? Did you love it too?”

“Yes. I loved it. And I liked him. He's a wonderful man, and I think he likes me. But he's married, and so am I, and my life is falling apart and it has nothing to do with Paul Ward, believe me.”

“I understand that. But he might provide a little relief from your miseries. Did he ask to see you?”

“Of course not. Anyway, he's in Europe.”

“How do you know?” Gail was fascinated by him, and by India meeting such illustrious people.

“He said he was going to be there till after Labor Day.”

“With Serena?”

“I think she was going home early.”

“Did he ask you to join him?”

“Will you stop? There is nothing to this, I promise. He said he'd love to have me on the boat with my children sometime. He's a friend, that's all. Forget it. And I'm not going to have an affair with anyone. I just gave up my career, or any hope of it, forever, for my husband. If I wanted to lose my marriage, I could take an assignment, for chrissake. I don't have to have an affair to fuck my life up any further.”

“It might actually help it,” Gail said thoughtfully, although for once she didn't really think so. India wasn't the type to enjoy it. She was too straight-arrow to play the games Gail did, and Gail loved her for it. She had a lot of respect for her, and she was sorry to see her in such bad shape now, and she had no idea how to help her. She thought Doug was a fool, and an insensitive bastard, but if India wanted to stay married to him, there wasn't anything anyone could do about it to help her. She had to play the game his way. No matter what it cost her.

“Maybe he'll call you again sometime,” Gail said hopefully, but India only shrugged. She knew he wasn't the answer to her problems.

“I don't think he'll call,” India said quietly. “It's really kind of pointless. We got along wonderfully, but there's no way to continue a friendship like that. Our lives are too complicated. And I really like his wife. I might do some more pictures for her.” India was completely adapted to her situation.

“Will Doug let you take pictures of her?” Those were the boundaries of her life now, and she had to live with them. Like prison walls. Or a life sentence.

“Maybe. I didn't ask him. But he might. That's pretty harmless, and all I have to do is go into the city for an afternoon. I could even do it for her, without having her give me credit.”

“What a waste,” Gail said sadly. “You're one of the best photographers in the country, the world maybe, and you're just flushing it right down the toilet.” It really made her angry, especially seeing India so depressed about it.

“Apparently that was the ‘deal’ I made with Doug when we got married, although he didn't spell it out quite that clearly. I said I'd give up working, I don't think I ever said I'd burn all my bridges.”

“Then don't. Don't take your name off the roster. Maybe he'll back down eventually, after he stops beating his chest over it. It's all about ego, and control, and a lot of other unattractive stuff men do to make them-selves feel important. Maybe in a year or two, he'll feel differently about it.”

“I doubt it.” That was very clear now. She just had to put one foot in front of the other, and do just what Doug expected of her.

And with that, India stood up. She had things to do at home. She hadn't even made their bed before breakfast. Lately she felt as though she had lead in her shoes, and everything seemed to take longer than usual. Even getting dressed, and she couldn't be bothered to do her hair or wear makeup. She felt as though her life were over. It all seemed so pointless.

They walked slowly back to their cars, and Gail gave her a hug and stood facing her for a minute. “Don't rule out Paul Ward entirely, India. Sometimes guys make great friends, and I don't know why, but I get the feeling that there's more to this than you're admitting to me … or to yourself maybe. There's something about the way you look when you talk about it.” It had been the only time her eyes had come alive or her face had been animated all morning. “Don't give it up, whatever it is. You need it.”

“I know,” she said softly. “I think he just feels sorry for me.”

“I doubt that. You're not exactly a pathetic figure normally. You're beautiful, smart, fun to be with, funny. He's probably attracted to you, maybe he's just one of the rare ones who's faithful to his wife. That's always a possibility, depressing as that is.” She grinned wickedly and India laughed at her.

“You're hopeless. What about you? Any new victims for lunch or the motel circuit?” They had no secrets between them, or they hadn't until now. India hadn't wanted to admit to her how attractive she found Paul. It was better left: secret. And there really was nothing to it. It was probably all a figment of her imagination. But the call from Gibraltar hadn't been. He'd probably just been bored, or maybe lonely after the crossing. But he could have called Serena instead, and he didn't. India had turned it around in her head a number of times after he called her, wondering why he had, and finally decided it didn't matter.

“Dan Lewison has a girlfriend,” Gail informed her. “And Harold and Rosalie are getting married in January, after the divorce is final. And there's no one new on the horizon.”

“How boring. Maybe I should give you Paul's number,” she teased, and they both laughed.

“I'd love it. Anyway, kiddo, take it easy. Don't be sad. And when Doug comes home tonight, kick him in the shins, it'll do you both good. And besides, he deserves it.” India didn't disagree with her, and she waved as she got into her car and drove off to the chores that were waiting. But she felt better after seeing Gail, and unburdening herself to her. There wasn't much she could do to change her life right now. But at least talking to someone about it was something, and it had helped her.

She picked the kids up after school, as usual, and took Jason and Aimee for their tennis lessons. Sam went home with a friend and came home in time for dinner. And Jessica was all excited about being a sophomore. Two seniors had actually looked at her, and one of them had actually said something to her. And mercifully, Doug stayed in the city to have dinner with clients. India just wasn't in the mood to deal with him. And she was asleep when he came home on the last train, and slipped into bed beside her.

He was already up and in the shower when she got up the next morning, and she put on her jeans and a sweatshirt without combing her hair, and ran downstairs to let the dog out and make breakfast.

She put the Wall Street Journal and The New York Times at Doug's place, and started a pot of coffee. And while she was pouring cereal into bowls for the kids, she glanced at the paper, and saw Serena on the front page. What startled her was that it was the picture India had taken of her that summer. She was surprised to see it in The Times, with her name along the side in a small credit line, as she unfolded the paper, and then she gasped as the cereal spilled all over the table.

For a moment, she felt as though all the air had been squeezed out of her as she read the headline. There had been a plane crash on a flight from London to New York the night before, and the FBI suspected a bomb planted by terrorists, though as yet no one had taken responsibility for it. Serena had been on the plane, and there were no survivors.

“Oh my God,” she said softly as she sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, with her hands trembling as she held the paper. The story in the newspaper said that the plane had taken off, as usual, after a slight delay due to a mechanical problem of some kind, and the plane had exploded without warning two hours out of Heathrow. There had been three hundred and seventy-six people on board, among them a congresswoman from Iowa, a British M.P., a well-known ABC newscaster returning from a special he had done the week before in Jerusalem, and Serena Smith, internationally known bestselling author and movie producer. And all India could think of, as she looked at the photograph she had taken herself, were the things Serena had said while she took pictures of her that summer. It had been almost exactly two months before, and India knew without a moment's doubt that Paul would be devastated.

She didn't know what to do, whether to write or to call, or how to reach out to him. She could only imagine how he felt, and she felt terrible for him. Serena may well have been difficult, and she may not have liked his boat, but she was an extraordinary woman and it had been obvious to Serena, as it was to everyone else, that he was crazy about her. The article said that she was fifty years old and was survived by her husband, Paul Ward, and a sister in Atlanta. India was still reading the article when Sam came down to breakfast.

“Hi, Mom, what's wrong?” There was cereal all over the table, and India looked as though she'd seen a ghost. She was as white as the empty cereal bowl sitting before her.

“I … it … I was just reading something.” And then she decided to tell him. “Remember Paul, with the Sea Star?” She knew he did, but she had to identify him somehow. “His wife died in a plane crash.”

“Wow!” Sam looked impressed. “I bet Paul is really sad. She didn't like the boat though.” That was equally important to Sam, and clearly showed her as defective. But he was nonetheless sorry for Paul, as she was. And as they were talking about it, the others came down, and Doug was with them.

“What's all the excitement about?” he asked, there was an atmosphere of hysteria in the kitchen, mostly caused by the appearance of their mother. It was obvious, just looking at her, that something terrible had happened.

“My friend Paul's wife was exploded by a bomb,” Sam said dramatically, as the others talked about it with interest.

“That sounds unusual,” Doug said, helping himself to a cup of coffee. “Paul who?”

“Paul Ward,” India explained. “He owns the yacht we visited this summer. He was married to Serena Smith, the writer.” She had told him about it, and he remembered instantly, and raised an eyebrow.

“How did she manage to get in the way of a bomb?” He looked somewhat nonplussed.

“She was on a plane that went down last night out of Heathrow.” Doug only shook his head in disapproval, and picked up the Wall Street Journal He had no sense of how upset his wife was. And he left, without saying another word, ten minutes later, after eating a muffin. He said nothing to India as he left, and the children were still talking about the crash when they were picked up by their car pools. She was grateful she didn't have to drive them.

And she sat in the kitchen afterward, staring at the paper, and thinking of Paul. He was all she could think of now, and how distraught he must have been. But she didn't dare call him. The phone rang as she sat there. It was Gail.

“Did you see the paper?” Gail sounded breathless.

“I just read it. I can't believe it.” India sounded vague and distracted.

“You never know what's going to happen, do you? At least I guess no one suffered. They said it exploded in a blinding flash in less than a second.” They had been seen by another plane flying above them.

“I can't begin to imagine how he feels. He was so much in love with her.” But he had nevertheless managed to call India from his boat, Gail wanted to point out, but didn't. And when he recovered from the blow, he would be a free man, which might just create an interesting dilemma for her, or so Gail thought.

“Are you going to call him?”

“I don't think I should intrude,” India said, and then she remembered the photograph she had taken. She could send it to him now. It was a beautiful picture of both of them, and he might want to have it.

“You could go to the funeral. I'm sure they'll have some kind of memorial service for her in a few days. He might like to see you,” Gail said practically, ever helpful.

“Maybe.” They talked about it for a few minutes, and then hung up. And India went to look for the picture. She found it in a stack of papers she'd been meaning to get to in her darkroom. She had never gotten around to sending it to Serena, as she had promised. And she stood and looked at it for a long time, looking first into Paul's eyes, and then Serena's. Just the way they sat together spoke volumes. He was draped across the back of her chair, and she was leaning her head against him, on the Sea Star, and she was beaming. It was hard to believe she was gone, so instantly, so totally, so quickly. It must have been even harder for Paul to absorb. And as India thought about him, she realized he was probably still in Europe, on the Sea Star. Or flying home by then, after they notified him. She had no idea what one did in a case like this. But it was obvious to her, as she thought about it, that it was better not to call him.

Instead she sat among the breakfast dishes on the kitchen table, and wrote him a letter, telling him how sorry she was, knowing how devastated he must be. It was a short but heartfelt note, and she enclosed it with the photograph, and drove to the post office to send it.

She felt as though she were moving underwater all afternoon. She just couldn't get over what had happened, and she still felt shell-shocked when she picked up the children at school.

She managed to get dinner on the table that night, but when Doug came home, she still hadn't combed her hair since that morning.

“What happened to you today? You look as though you'd been kidnapped.”

“I'm just upset,” she said honestly, needing to share it with him finally. “I feel so badly about Serena Smith.”

“You couldn't have known her that well. You only met her once or twice, didn't you?” He looked disinterested, and puzzled by her reaction.

“I did a shoot with her, for the back of her next book. It was the picture they ran in The Times this morning.”

“You never told me,” he said, his mouth setting into a thin line.

“I must have forgotten. Her husband was crazy about her. He must be just sick over it.” India looked distraught as she explained it to him.

“These things happen,” Doug said blandly, and started talking to Jason, as India felt her heart sink. There was no sympathy whatsoever left between them. There was nothing, only the lingering resentment of the summer, like the acrid smell of smoke after an electrical fire. It seemed to her as though everything they had once had had been burned to ashes in the meantime.

And after the children were in bed that night, India turned on the news to see what they said about the accident. There was a major story about the plane going down, and a smaller one about Serena. There were interviews with several people about the crash, and a spokesman for the FBI. And when the anchorman mentioned Serena being on the plane again, he said arrangements were being made for a memorial service at Saint Ignatius Church in New York on Friday. And India sat there for a long time afterward, staring at the TV, as they talked about sports and the weather. But she was thinking about Gail's suggestion that she go to the service.

“Are you coming to bed?” Doug asked quietly as she sat there. She still hadn't combed her hair or showered. It seemed totally irrelevant now in the face of the crash. She was completely engrossed in what had happened to Serena.

“In a while,” she said vaguely, and walked into the bathroom, closed the door, and sat down in her jeans, on the toilet. She was thinking about Paul, and about his wife, and their ruptured life, that had exploded in a million tiny shards over the Atlantic. And then, somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized she was thinking about her husband, and the fact that she no longer wanted to sleep with him. She even hated getting into the same bed with him, and that couldn't go on forever. She had no idea what to do about it. It was easier to just sit there, grieving for Paul and Serena, instead of for herself and Doug and their crippled marriage.

She took forever in the shower, and washed her hair, hoping he'd be asleep when she got out, but he was in bed reading a magazine when she got there. And he turned to look at her with a cool expression.

“Are we going to keep playing these games for much longer, India?” Nothing about the way he spoke to her made him either alluring or inviting. She viewed him now like the warden in a prison, which was hardly conducive to a seductive sex life.

“What games?”

“You know what I'm talking about. If you stayed in the shower any longer than you do these days, you'd melt and go down the drain. I get the message.”

“You were the one with the message all summer.” She suddenly felt angry and cornered, and tired and depressed. What had happened to them in the last three

months? Their relationship had become a nightmare. “It seemed pretty clear that you had no interest in me, until I told you I wasn't going to take any more assignments, and then you decided it was okay to lay a hand on me again. That's not particularly touching. You got what you wanted, so now you think you own me. Well, you do. But maybe you need to be a little subtler about it.” She had never said anything like it to him, and they both looked shocked when she said it. He recoiled from her almost as though she'd slapped him.

“It's certainly helpful to know how you view things.”

“You made it pretty obvious. You decided to get laid as soon as you got what you wanted. You didn't even bother to thank me, or acknowledge the concession I made, or tell me you loved me.” All she wanted was to know that he cared about her and loved her.

“That again,” he said, with a look of extreme irritation. “You don't exactly create an atmosphere in our bedroom that inspires that kind of declaration.”

“Well, I'm sorry,” she said, her eyes blazing now. She was tired of it, all of it, and particularly his attitude about their sex life. Now that he had flipped the switch to the green light again, after two months of ignoring her, he was upset that she wasn't more willing. But he did absolutely nothing to repair the hurt he had caused her all summer. “Maybe you should have put that in our ‘deal’ too, sex whenever you're in the mood, and who cares when I am.”

“Fine, India. I get it. Forget it.” He turned off the light and left her sitting in the darkness, fuming with anger. And with that, he lay on his side, turned his back to her, and in two minutes he was snoring. Their argument didn't seem to have distressed him. And she lay there for hours, hating him, and wishing that she didn't. She knew that what she had said to him had been hurtful, but after everything he'd said and done to her, he deserved it.

She closed her eyes finally, and tried to think of Paul, sending him good thoughts of sympathy and friendship. And when she fell asleep finally, she dreamed of Serena. She was trying to tell India something, but as hard as India tried, she couldn't hear it. And somewhere in the distance, she saw Paul crying, and standing all alone. But no matter how hard India tried in the dream, she couldn't get to him.

Chapter 12

THE PAPERS were full of the crash for the next few days, and India read everything she could about it. She sat for hours in the kitchen, poring over the stories. They didn't know much more than they had at first. Several Arab groups were being accused of it, but no one had taken responsibility. Though it made little difference to the families of the victims. And India had seen nothing about Paul in the papers. In his undoubtedly grief-stricken state, he was keeping well out of sight. And India's heart ached for him.

And then finally, on Thursday, there was a notice in the paper that Serena's memorial service would be held the next day at Saint Ignatius. She sat holding the paper in her hand for a long time, and she was still debating about it that night, when she and Doug went upstairs to bed. The atmosphere between them had been strained all week. There had been no way to erase the things they had said to each other three days before, and no way to forget them. Their words, as well as their actions, had done considerable damage. But she thought she should at least talk to him. It was all they had left now.

“I'm thinking of going to Serena Smith's funeral tomorrow, in the city.” She was holding a black suit in her hands as she said it. Doug had bought it for her for Christmas and it seemed the right thing to wear for the service.

“Isn't that a little silly? You hardly knew her. Why get all emotional about a stranger you met once last summer?” He just didn't understand, but he also didn't know about the bond she had with Paul, and Serena was a link to it. But she couldn't explain that to him.

“I just thought it seemed respectful, since I took her picture.” It was the simplest way to explain it, and Paul had been nice to Sam. She felt as though she owed him something. She hadn't heard from him since she sent the picture, but she didn't expect to. Whatever else was happening, she was sure he had his hands full. She just hoped he had gotten it, with her letter.

“It makes you look like a stargazer.” Doug looked at her irritably. “Just because she was famous doesn't mean you knew her.”

“No, but I liked her.”

“I like a lot of people I read about too, but I wouldn't go to their funerals. I think you should rethink it.”

“I'll see how I feel about it tomorrow.”

And when they woke up the next day, it was raining. It was a gray, gloomy day, with a heavy rain, and a brisk wind that made an umbrella useless. It was a perfect day for a funeral, and would make it even more depressing.

Doug never said a word about it to her when he left

for work, and she was busy with the children and ran errands in the morning. But she was free that afternoon, which ultimately made the decision simpler. The service was set for three o'clock, and at noon, she showered and put on the suit. She wound her long hair into a chignon, and put on a little makeup. She put on black stockings and high heels, and the suit looked well on her. As she looked at herself in the mirror before she left, she could see vaguely why people often said she looked like Grace Kelly. But she wasn't thinking of herself as she drove to the station. She was thinking of Paul and how he must feel. Just knowing how he felt made her heart heavy.

She left her car in the parking lot, and caught the 1:15 train to New York, and an hour later she was there. If anything, it was raining harder by then, and it was difficult to find a cab. She arrived at Eighty-fifth Street and Park Avenue five minutes before the service, and the church was jammed to the rafters. There were men in dark suits, and expensively dressed women. The entire literary community was there, she learned afterward, but she didn't recognize them.

People from Hollywood had come too, and many of their friends. Every pew was filled, and there were people standing along the side aisles as the service began with a Bach sonata.

It was all very proper and beautifully done, and extremely moving. And after Serena's agent, her publisher, and a friend from Hollywood spoke, Paul Ward made his way to the altar, and gave a eulogy to his wife that had everyone sobbing. It was dignified, and respectful of her many accomplishments and enormous success, but then he talked about Serena Smith, the woman. He made them laugh and cry, and think about what her life had been about, and when he wished her farewell, there wasn't a dry eye in the church. He had somehow managed to get through it, but he was sobbing as he returned to his seat in the front pew, and India could see his shoulders shake as she watched him, and ached to reach out a hand of comfort to him.

He was the first to leave the church after the service, and no one stopped him as he disappeared into a limousine, still crying. And a moment later, India saw a younger man, whom she assumed to be his son, join him. He looked just like him. There was no receiving line, and everyone was so upset, most of them disbanded very quickly and disappeared into the rain, as India watched the limousine that carried Paul drive away, and hailed a taxi. She had never taken her eyes off him during the entire service, and she was quite sure he had never seen her. But she had only gone there out of respect for both of them, and to give support to Paul. And maybe Doug was right, she could have done as much by thinking of him at home in her living room in Westport, but she had wanted to be here, and she was glad she had come.

She stopped to call Doug from the station. She told him she had come to town for the service, and asked if he wanted her to wait there so she could take the train home with him. Otherwise, she was going to catch the four-thirty and get home in time to make dinner.

“I'm going to be late anyway, don't wait for me,” he said curtly. “I have to meet some people for drinks at six. I won't be home till nine. Don't bother saving dinner for me. I'll eat on the way home, I'll grab a sandwich or something.” He sounded distant and cool, and she suspected he was annoyed she had gone to Serena's service. She wondered if he was annoyed because he never knew her. But whatever his reasons, he was anything but warm. “Did you see lots of famous people there?” he asked a little crassly, and she sighed. He really didn't understand what she was feeling.

“I didn't expect to see people I knew there.” Except maybe the Parkers, but she hadn't seen them in the crowd, although they might have been there.

“I thought that was what you went for, to see all the stars who knew her.” It was a nasty thing to say and she had to force herself not to snap back at him.

“I went to pay my respects to a woman I admired. That's all. It's over. I'd better go so I don't miss the train. I'll see you at home.”

“See you later,” he said, and hung up. He seemed so devoid of emotion these days, so unable to empathize with her. She wondered if he had always been like that, and she had never noticed, or if he had gotten worse after their battles over the summer. Whatever it was, it left her feeling very lonely. But not as lonely as Paul, she was sure. She couldn't get the image of him out of her mind, as he left the podium sobbing. He had looked completely destroyed, and her heart had gone out to him as she watched him.

All she could think about on the way home was Paul, and the conversations they'd had on the Sea Star. The rain had stopped finally when she got home, and the children were all there, and they looked happy to see her.

“Where were you, Mom?” Sam asked as she came through the door and took off her raincoat.

“At Serena Smith's funeral,” she said simply. “It was very sad.”

“Did you see Paul?” he asked with interest.

“Only from a distance.”

“Was he crying?” Sam had the ghoulish fascination of all boys his age with tragedy, death, and drama.

“Yes, he was,” India said sadly. “He looked terrible.”

“Maybe I'll write him a letter,” Sam said sympathetically, and his mother smiled at him, as the others listened, but didn't say much. They had never met Serena, and Paul was Sam's friend.

“I bet he'd like that.”

“I'll do it after dinner,” Sam said, and went back to watching TV. And half an hour later, she had dinner on the table, hamburgers again, and frozen french fries. But no one complained, and they all had a lot to say over dinner, which compensated for India's somber silence. She couldn't get Paul out of her head, or her memories of Serena.

And she was still wearing the black suit when Doug got home at nine-thirty. “You look nice,” he said, with a look of surprise. She had been looking pretty shaggy lately. She had been so depressed, she didn't seem to care what she looked like. But the suit he'd given her looked very stylish and showed off her figure.

“How was it?” he asked, about the service.

“Sad.”

“That's not surprising. Do you have any food left? I never had time to pick up a sandwich. I'm starving.” She had thrown the last of the cold hamburgers away

hours before, and there wasn't much in the refrigerator except some cold turkey slices and frozen pizza. She was going to buy groceries in the morning. He settled for fried eggs and an English muffin. And for the first time in months, he asked what they were doing that weekend.

“Nothing. Why?” She was surprised at the question.

“I thought maybe we should have dinner or something.” Things had been going from bad to worse between them, and he was getting concerned. Even Doug couldn't ignore it anymore. The point had finally been brought home to him when he realized she no longer wanted to have sex with him. As long as it had been his decision, it didn't bother him. But her lack of interest was beginning to worry him. And he thought dinner out might help them.

But India thought he made dinner with her sound like a painful obligation. “We don't have to, if you don't want to,” she said simply.

“I wouldn't have suggested it, if I didn't. Do you want to go back to Ma Petite Amie?” It was the first sign of peace he had offered, but she wasn't ready for it, and she still had terrible memories of the last time they had been there.

“Not really. Why don't we go out for pizza or something?”

“How about pizza and a movie tomorrow night?” It was worth a try at least. If she was going to spend the rest of her life with him, she was going to have to make peace with him sometime. It was a far cry from the love she longed for, but this was all they had. She felt as though she were making friends with her fellow passengers on the Titanic. No matter how good the service was, they were still going to wind up at the bottom of the ocean. She had begun to feel that for a while now.

“That sounds fine.” She had nothing to lose but time. He had already destroyed her heart and her self-confidence. Going to a movie with him couldn't do much more damage. So why not?

She took off the suit after she put the kids to bed, and eventually went to bed herself. But Doug made no advances to her tonight. After their last round, he knew better. They were going to have to start small, with pizza and a movie. And after that, they could see what happened. He figured in time, with a little bit of attention, she'd come around.

They went to sleep as they had for a long time now, without saying good-night to each other. She was almost used to it. And she lay lost in her own thoughts for a long time, listening to him snoring. If nothing else, in lieu of any tenderness between them, it was a familiar sound to India, and by now the loneliness was an equally familiar feeling.

Chapter 13

THE DAY after the funeral, Doug took Sam to his soccer game, and India helped Jessica clean out her closets. She had more junk in them than India had ever seen, and she was carrying armloads of Jessica's outgrown clothes to give away when the phone rang.

She assumed it was for one of the children, as usual, and made no effort to answer. She dropped the clothes on the garage floor, and walked back into the kitchen while it was still ringing. And finally, sounding exasperated, she answered.

“Yes?”

“Hello?” The male voice was unfamiliar and sounded like a grown-up, although lately the boys who called Jessica were sounding a lot more like men than children.

“I'm sorry. Who is this?”

“It's Paul Ward. I was calling for Mrs. Taylor.” Her heart skipped a beat as he said it, and she sat down at the kitchen table.

“Paul …it's me…. How are you?” All she could think about was his face covered in tears as he left the podium at Saint Ignatius.

“Numb, I think. Someone said you were there yesterday. I'm sorry I didn't see you.” The crew of the Sea Star had flown back for the service, out of respect for Paul, and one of the stewardesses had told Paul she'd seen her.

“I didn't expect you to. It was a beautiful service. Paul …I'm so sorry. … I don't know what to say.” She truly didn't, and she was so surprised to hear him. She hadn't expected him to call her.

“I got your letter … it was wonderful. And the picture.” She could hear that he was crying. “I love it. How are you?” he asked, trying to regain some normalcy. He had wanted to thank her for coming, and for writing to him. But now that he was talking to her, he felt overwhelmed with emotion. He knew how kind she was, and her gentle ways, and reaching out to her somehow made him feel more vulnerable than he had in days. He still hadn't absorbed what had happened. He felt stricken.

“I'm okay,” she said, sounding unconvincing.

“What does that mean? Are you going back to work?”

“No. It turned into World War ?? for the rest of the summer.” She sighed then. “I just can't do it. He put it to me very clearly. It's not negotiable. Maybe it's not important.”

“You know it is,” he said gently, “it's about what you need. Don't lose your dreams, India …you'll lose yourself if you do. You know that.” It was something Serena never would have done. She had always been true to herself, no matter what it cost her, and they both knew that. But she hadn't been married to Doug Taylor. She hadn't made a “deal” with him. And Paul would never have given her the ultimatum that Doug had.

“I gave up those dreams a long time ago,” India said quietly, sitting in her kitchen. “Apparently, I don't have a right to take them back now. We're going out to dinner tonight for the first rime in months. Our life has been a nightmare all summer.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” he said sadly. He felt sorry for her. She was wasting herself, and she knew it. They both did. “How's my friend Sam?”

“Wonderful. He's out playing soccer this morning. He said he was going to write you.”

“I'd like that,” he said, but it didn't sound like the old Paul, the man she had met on the Sea Star. He sounded tired and sad and disillusioned. He had just lost his dream, and he had no idea how he would live without her.

“What about you?” India asked gently. “What are you going to do now?”

“I'm going back to the boat, and float around for a while. I took some time off from my work. I wouldn't be any good to them right now anyway. I'm not sure where I'll go. The boat's in Italy, and I thought I'd take it down to Yugoslavia and Turkey. I don't care where we go, just so it's far away, and all I see is water.” It was what he needed now to heal him.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked, wishing she could think of something. All she had had to offer him was one picture.

But Paul answered quickly. “Call me sometime. I'd love to hear from you.” And then his voice broke again, and she could hear that he was crying. “India, I'm so lonely without her. She's only been gone for five days, and I can hardly stand it. She drove me crazy sometimes, but she was so terrific. There's no one like her.” He was crying openly with her, and India wished she could reach out and touch him.

“No, there isn't anyone like her,” she agreed. “But she wouldn't want you to fall apart. She'd be furious over it. You have to cry and scream and stamp your feet, and sail around on the Sea Star, and then you have to come back and be strong for her. You know she'd want you to do that.”

“Yes.” He smiled through his tears, thinking of it. “She'd have been pretty rude about it.” And then they both laughed. “I'll tell you what,” he said then, as he stopped crying for the moment. He had been crying on and off for five days, and he felt as though he was going to do it for a lifetime. “I'll pull myself together eventually, if you promise me you won't give up your dreams completely. India, you mustn't do that.”

“I can't hang on to them, and my marriage. It's just that simple. There's no compromise here. It's all or nothing. Maybe he'll relent one day, but not now.”

“Just see what happens, and keep your options open for a while.” And then he sounded worried. “Did you take your name off your agent's roster?”

“No, I didn't.”

“Good. Keep it that way. He has no right to blackmail you into abandoning your talent.”

“He can do anything he wants to, Paul. He owns me, or at least he thinks he does.”

“He doesn't, and you know it. Don't let him. You're the only one who can allow him to do that.”

“I gave it all to him seventeen years ago. He says we made a ‘deal,’ and he expects me to stick to it.”

“I won't tell you what I think of his theories,” Paul said, sounding stronger again, like the man she had met and been so struck by that summer. “Or his behavior,” he added. He didn't even know Doug, but Paul thought he was treating India very badly. And it was obvious that she wasn't happy with him. If she had been, Paul wasn't so sure he would be calling. But in an odd way, just as friends, they needed each other. “I thought about you a lot this week, India. About the things we talked about last summer. It's funny how one can be so sure that one has everything all sewed up forever. We're all so damn confident and sure that we know it all, and have it all, and then it gets blown to smithereens in a second and we have nothing. That's how I feel. All those lives wasted on that plane, children, babies, young people, people who deserved to live …just like she did. I keep thinking I wish I had gone down with her.”

She didn't know what to say to him for a minute. In a way, she didn't blame him, but he hadn't and he had to go on now. “That wasn't meant to happen. You're still here, and she wouldn't want you to waste it.”

“No, the terrorists did that for me. They blew my life to bits, and everyone else's.”

“I know.” It seemed wrong to tell him that in time he'd feel better, but he would someday. It was just the way life worked. He would never forget Serena, or stop loving her, but in time he would learn to live without her. He had no choice. “It'll do you good to be on the Sea Star” she said quietly, as she saw Aimee walk across the room and out again, and she wondered when Doug and Sam would be home. But she was still alone in the kitchen.

“Promise that you'll call me?” he said, sounding desperately lonely, and she nodded.

“I will. I have the number.”

“I'll call you too. Sometimes I just need someone to talk to.” She wanted to be there for him, and she was touched that he had reached out to her.

“You helped me a lot this summer.” And then, with a sense of her own despair, she felt as though she owed him an apology or an explanation. “I'm sorry to disappoint you.”

“You're not disappointing me, India. I just don't want you to let yourself down, and regret it later. But you won't. You'll see. Sooner or later you'll get up the courage to do what you have to.” And do what, she wondered. Defy her husband? If she did, she knew she'd lose him, and she didn't want to.

“I'm not there yet,” she said honestly, “and maybe I never will be.”

“You will be. One day. Just tuck those dreams of yours into a safe place somewhere, and remember where you left them.” It was a sweet thing to say, and she was touched by the entire conversation.

“I'm glad you called, Paul,” she said gently.

“So am I.” He sounded as though he meant it.

“When are you leaving?” She wanted to know where he was now, so she could imagine him, and reach out to him if she had to.

“Tonight. I'm flying to Paris, and then switching planes and going on to Nice. The boat is going to pick me up there.” The crew had already flown back that morning, and it was a short distance from Portofino to Nice. He knew they'd be there for him. And then he sighed, as he looked around the room where he was sitting. It was filled with pictures of Serena, and the treasures she had collected during the years of their marriage. He couldn't bear to be there. “I guess I should sell the apartment eventually. I can't stand being here. Maybe they can do it while I'm gone, and put everything in storage.”

“Don't move too quickly,” she said wisely. “Give it time, Paul. You don't know what you want to do yet.”

“No, I don't. I just want to run away and turn the clock back.”

“You can do that on the Sea Star,” she said gently, as Doug walked into the room and stood behind her. “Take good care of yourself, try to be strong,” she urged him, as Doug left the room again to look for something. “And when you're not strong,” she said softly, “call me. I'll be here.”

“I know. Me too. I'm always here for you, India, if you need me. Don't forget that. And don't let anyone make you think they own you. They don't.” They both knew he meant Doug as she listened. “You own you. Got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take care….” She could hear tears in his voice again. He was on an agonizing roller coaster of emotion, and she felt so sorry for him.

“Take care of yourself, Paul. You're not as alone as you feel right now. Try to remember that. And in her own way, she's right there with you.”

He laughed through his tears then. “This is probably the only way I could have gotten her to stay with me on the Sea Star, but it's a hell of a way to do it.” If nothing else, it was good to hear him laughing. “Talk to you soon, India.”

“Thanks for calling,” she said, and they both hung up then. She sighed, and stood up to see Doug standing in the doorway, frowning at her.

“Who was that?” He looked angry as he asked her.

“Paul Ward. He called to thank me for a photograph of Serena I sent him.”

“It sounds as though the grieving widower is recovering very quickly. How long has she been gone? Less than a week now?”

“That's an awful thing to say.” She looked horrified at what he was implying. “He was crying on the phone.”

“I'm sure he was. That's the oldest ploy in history. All he has to do is whine a little bit, make you feel sorry for him, and bingo. You fell for it like a ton of bricks, India. You sounded like you were talking to your boyfriend.”

“That's disgusting. He's a nice man and a decent person, and he's heartbroken over losing her. He's just terribly upset and very lonely, and we struck up a nice friendship this summer.”

“I'll bet you did. His wife wasn't there then either, was she? I remember your telling me she wasn't there the first time you told me about him. So where was she then, if she was so madly in love with him?” He was filled with venom and suspicion, and ready to accuse her.

“She was working, Doug,” India said quietly. “Some women do that.”

“Is she the one who filled your head with all that garbage? Was he part of that scheme?” Doug was just aching to despise him, and India was angry at him for it. Whatever she felt for Paul, she had no intention of acting on it, or even letting Paul know, let alone her husband. She wasn't even sure herself exactly what she felt for him, and whatever it was, the affection she felt for him had chosen the path of friendship. And there was no reason for it ever to go any further. “I think you're a fool if you don't see what he's doing here, India. And I don't want him calling here again. You sounded like you were talking to your lover.”

“I don't have a lover, Doug,” she said icily, suddenly unable to stop her own rage. She hated what he had been saying to her. “If I did, I might be happier than I am now. But in any case, Paul Ward is not that person. He loved his wife, and he had a deep respect for her, and her career, something which you know nothing about. And I suspect he's going to mourn her for a long time.”

“And when he stops, you'll be there for him? Is that it? Maybe you'd like being the mistress of a man with all that money.”

“You make me sick, Doug,” she said, and walked back up to Jessica's room to finish her closets. She didn't even want to see Doug, and for the rest of the afternoon she avoided him completely. But the atmosphere was no better between them when they left for dinner. She didn't even want to go out with him, but she thought that if she didn't, it would cause more trouble.

If she had thought about it, she might have been flattered that he had expressed jealousy over Paul, but the way he expressed it was so offensive that it only made her angry. And what he had said to her was disgusting. Paul Ward was very certainly not her lover, and never would be. He was only a very good friend. Of that, she was certain.

The meal she and Doug shared that night was strained, in spite of his allegedly good intentions in taking her out. But what he had said to her that afternoon had doomed his efforts to failure. They scarcely said a word to each other while they ate. And the movie they went to was so depressing, India just sat and cried through the whole film, and she felt worse than ever when they got home, and Doug paid the sitter. As far as India was concerned, it was a disastrous evening, and Doug didn't think it had been much better.

He was feeling discouraged as he walked upstairs, and neither of them wanted to go to bed, so they sat in chairs and turned the TV on, and watched an old movie they had both liked. It was actually better than the one they had seen in the theater. They ended up staying up late, and they went down to the kitchen for a snack at one o'clock in the morning.

“I'm sorry about what I said today,” he said suddenly, looking at her unhappily, and his unexpected remorse surprised her. “I know he's not your boyfriend.”

“I should hope not,” she said primly, and then she unbended a little bit. “I'm sorry about the things I said too. It sure hasn't been easy lately, has it?” Everything had been so difficult. Every conversation, every exchange, every hour, every contact.

“I guess sometimes marriage is like that,” he said sadly, and then what he said next touched her. “I've missed you.”

“Me too,” she smiled. It had been so lonely without him. During the last few months he'd barely spoken to her, and been so angry at her for suggesting she do a few assignments, it had been as though he'd been away all summer.

They finished their snack and went upstairs. The kids were all in bed, and India gently closed the bedroom door behind them. They both got ready for bed, and Doug turned the TV off, and when she came to bed, he was awake. And this time when he reached out for her tentatively, she didn't turn away or refuse him. He took her gently in his arms, and made love to her, though there wasn't the passion she wished there had been. He seemed awkward with her after so long, and he never told her he loved her. But this was the life they shared, the “deal” they had made, and for better or worse, he was her husband. This was what she had, and what she had to make her peace with.

Chapter 14

INDIA AND Doug limped along for the next two months. They had glued things back together again, but the glue no longer seemed as firm as it once had been. But at least the kids kept her too busy to think about it. And she knew for sure that nothing was going to change now. Doug was who he was, and he had made himself clear about his expectations. All she had to do was continue to live with them. That was the hard part.

She saw a lot of Gail at Sam's soccer games, and at parent meetings and dinners at the high school. They had both those age groups in common. And as she had before, and undoubtedly would again, in October, Gail had confided to India that she was seeing a new man, and as usual, he was someone else's husband. But at least she seemed happy.

“So how's it going?” she asked India late one afternoon, as they sat freezing in the bleachers. “Has Doug finally calmed down?”

“Pretty much. He's got a lot of new clients, and he's busy. We haven't talked about any of the sensitive subjects since the summer.” Their sex life wasn't what it had once been, but every now and then they made whatever attempts they could to revive it. There were parts of their relationship that just hadn't recovered from the blows it had been dealt over the summer. But India had resigned herself to what she had, rather than fighting for what she wanted.

“Has Paul Ward ever called again?”

“No, I think he's in Europe.” It was the first time she had ever lied to Gail, but it was something she didn't want to share with anyone, and the information was so potentially explosive if it fell into the wrong hands that she had decided not to confide in her. But he had called, though not often.

He had called her in September again, and twice in October so far. He always called at odd hours, usually when she was home alone, around dinnertime for him, and when he correctly assumed Doug would be at the office. He never said anything inappropriate, and so far he had always sounded desperately lonely. He had even sounded a little drunk once, but Serena hadn't even been gone for two months, and India knew better than anyone how hard it was for him. The boat had been in Yugoslavia the last time he had called her, and he didn't sound as though he was having much fun, but he wasn't ready to come home yet either.

He never said anything about seeing her, or about when he'd be back, though she wondered if he would return to the States around the holidays to see his son and grandchildren. Or maybe that would just be too painful. He had told her before that he and Serena had usually gone skiing in Switzerland for Christmas, and he had already vowed never to go to Saint Moritz again. He never wanted to see again the places he had been with her, never wanted to tread the same paths, or remember the dreams he had shared with her.

“That rules out a lot of places,” India had teased him, and he had laughed a little. He was having a very hard time readjusting. He always asked how things were going for her, and she was honest with him. She had made her peace with her situation, although she was no longer very happy. But she still refused to try rocking the boat again. She was satisfied, she claimed, taking pictures of her children, and Paul scolded her for it. He thought she should allow herself to be braver, but she wasn't. She was very different from Serena. But he seemed to love talking to her, and derived a lot of comfort from it.

India never asked what he was going to do next, if he was going to go back to work, she never asked him for anything, or pressed him in any way. She was just there when he called, with her soothing voice and gentle ways, and it was exactly what he wanted. There was no promise that they would meet again, no allusions to an affair. He was extremely circumspect with her, but always warm, always kind, always interested in what she was doing, and whenever she explained her feelings to him, unlike Doug, he always got it. He was a gift in her life in many ways, and she no longer told Doug when he called her. She didn't want to deal with his accusations that Paul wanted to be, or was, her boyfriend. She was not Gail. She was an entirely other kind of woman, and Paul knew that. She was honorable in every way, and had a great deal of integrity, more so, in his eyes, than her husband, who had blackmailed her into what he wanted.

India hadn't heard from Paid in two weeks when the phone rang one afternoon, shortly after noon, in her kitchen. She thought Paul was back in Italy by then, and it would have been six o'clock at night for him, which was usually when he called her.

She answered the phone with a smile, expecting to hear his voice, and was surprised instead to hear Raoul Lopez's. She hadn't heard from him in six months, since she'd turned down the job in Korea.

“What are you up to these days, India? Are you getting tired of your kids yet?”

“Nope,” she said firmly, feeling stupid now for leaving her name on their roster. It was just going to make him mad at her when she refused another assignment. Doug was right. She should have taken herself off it.

“I was hoping for a different answer. I have a proposition for you,” he said, sounding excited. The call had just come in, and she'd been the first one he'd thought of. It was perfect for her.

“I'm not sure I should even let you tell me, Raoul. My husband was pretty upset about Korea.”

“What about Korea? You didn't do it.” He was right, of course, but in the end it had provoked three months of discussions and a near revolution. And she didn't want that to happen now, no matter how good the offer. “Just listen to me for a minute.”

“There's a royal wedding in England. Dignified, safe, all the crowned heads of Europe will be there. The magazine that called us on this wants someone who knows how to behave. They don't want one of their sloppy staffers. As they put it to me ten minutes ago, ‘they want a real lady’ to just blend in with all the fancy people. It's in London, you wouldn't be risking your life for once. And while you're there, I have another story for you. It's some kind of underground prostitution ring, somewhere in the West End, involving ten-to fourteen-year-olds. It's an acute form of child abuse. And you'd be working with the police there. Whatever you get on it will run in all the international press, syndicated obviously. It could be a fabulous story. And you could wrap up the whole thing in a week, both the wedding and the kiddies.”

“Oh shit,” she said, as she listened to him, she had to admit it sounded tempting. Maybe she could sell it to Doug on the wedding. But the story that excited her was the one about ten-year-old prostitutes, it was an outrage, and she would have loved to expose it. “Why do you call me with these things, Raoul? You're going to destroy my marriage.” She sighed as she said it.

“I call you because I love you, and you're the best there is. Look what you did in Harlem.”

“That was different, it was an hour away on the train, and I could get home in time to fix my kids dinner.”

“I'll hire a cook for you while you're gone. I'll cook for them myself, but, India, please don't say no to me again. You've got to do this.” He was desperate for her and she could hear it, and she was excited about the stories.

“When is it?” she asked, sounding worried. Maybe if she had a little time she could talk Doug into it, or plead with him, or promise to shine his shoes forever if he'd let her do it. She was dying to do the story and she didn't want to turn Raoul down again.

“It's in three weeks,” he said, pretending to sound vague, as she calculated.

“Three weeks?” She worked the dates out again, and frowned as she came out at the same place she had the first time. “That's Thanksgiving.”

“More or less,” he said, still praying she'd do it.

“What do you mean ‘more or less’? Is it Thanksgiving, or isn't it?”

“All right, all right. It's the Thanksgiving weekend, but you'd have to be there on Thursday. There are two huge events right before the wedding, and all the heads of state will be there, including the President and the First Lady. You could have turkey with them, or better yet, take one with you.”

“I hate you. This is not funny. Doug is going to kill you.”

“I'm going to kill him if he doesn't let you do it. India, you have to. Look, do me a favor and think about it. Call me back tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Are you crazy? You're giving me one night to tell my husband that I'm leaving him and my children for Thanksgiving? What are you trying to do to me?”

“I'm trying to save you from a boring life, and a husband who doesn't appreciate your talent. Not to mention a bunch of kids, however cute they may be, who don't deserve to have the use of one of the most talented photographers in the world as their personal cook and chauffeur. Give me a break here, India. I need it. So do you. Just do this one for me.”

“I'll see what I can do,” she said somberly. “I'll call you tomorrow … or the day after. If I'm still alive then.”

“I love you.” He was beaming, and praying she would do it. She would be perfect for both jobs. “Thanks, India. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Just remember to feel guilty when they find my body dumped in the shopping mall in Westport.”

“Tell him to grow up and realize who he married. He can't keep you locked up forever.”

“No, but he's trying. I'll call you.” She stood in the kitchen for a long minute when she hung up, and realized she was actually shaking. She was terrified to say anything to Doug, but she was as excited about the assignments as Raoul was, particularly the tough one. But the wedding would be fun too. She was dying to do it. But how was she ever going to tell Doug? She sat down on a stool to think about it, and then headed out to the market.

She bought all the foods he liked best, and was going to make him a fabulous dinner that night. Even a little caviar. She was going to make all her specialties and his favorites, and serve him wine, and then they would talk …and he'd kill her. But at least she could try it.

Doug was thrilled when he came home that night, and saw what she was making. She had bought a Chateaubriand, and she was making his favorite pepper-corn-and-mustard sauce, baked potatoes, French-cut string beans, stuffed mushrooms, and smoked salmon with caviar to start with. And when he sat down to dinner with her and the kids, he felt like he'd died and gone to heaven.

“Did you smash the car up today, Mom?” Jason asked her casually, ladling sour cream into his baked potato.

“Of course not,” she said, looking startled by the question. “Why would you ask that?”

“It sure is a great dinner. I figured you'd done something that would make Dad mad. Really mad,” he corrected, glancing at the caviar.

“Don't be silly.” But he was very clever, more so than his father, who had no suspicions whatsoever. He was sitting comfortably in his favorite chair, looking lazy and sated after dinner. She had made chocolate mousse for dessert, with Mexican Wedding Cookies, his favorite. It was anything but subtle.

“What a dinner!” He smiled as she came to sit next to him in the living room after cleaning up. The kids were all upstairs doing homework. “What did I ever do to deserve that?”

“You married me,” she said, sitting on a little stool near his feet, and praying that the gods would be kind to her on this one. Just this once. Just one time. She was prepared to beg him. She was dying to go to London, even if it was over Thanksgiving.

“I guess I just got lucky,” he said, leaning back in the chair and rubbing his stomach.

“So did I,” she said sweetly. It was the friendliest exchange they'd had since the summer. But not without an ulterior motive this time. “Doug …” She looked up at him then, and in an instant he knew that it was a setup. There was blood lust in her eyes, and he couldn't help wondering what it would take to satisfy it.

“Uh-oh,” he laughed, still amused by it. “Was Jason right? Did you smash up the car, or someone else's?”

“My driving record is intact, your insurance is unchallenged, and the car is in perfect order. You can check it.”

“Get arrested for shoplifting, maybe?”

“Now, there's a thought.” She decided to get it over with. She had to. And she had to call Raoul tomorrow, or the next day. “I got a call today,” she confessed.

“From whom?” He knitted his brows as he listened. It was like asking her father if she could go on a date at fourteen, only ten times harder and more scary. A hundred times maybe. She knew only too well how Doug felt about this.

“Raoul,” she said simply.

“Not that again.” He sat up in his chair and glared down at her on the footstool.

“Just listen. It's the most civilized job they have ever offered me, and they wanted a ‘lady’ to do it.” She had already decided not to tell him about the prostitution ring in the West End. He would never let her do that, even if it was in London. But maybe the wedding …”Someone terribly important is marrying into the British Royal Family, and they want someone to cover it. All the heads of state will be there, and the crowned heads of Europe, and the President and First Lady….”

“And you won't be,” he said firmly. “They can get any photographer to do that.”

“But they want me, or Raoul does. Doug …please … I'd love to do it.”

“I thought we already went through this. How often are we going to have to fight this battle, India? This is why I told you to get your name off his roster. He's just going to keep calling. Stop torturing me over it, and yourself. You have kids …you have responsibilities …you just can't run out the door and forget about that.”

“Doug, we are talking about a week. One week. That's all. The kids are not going to commit suicide because I'm not here on Thanksgiving.” And with that, she looked panicked as she said it. She hadn't meant to tell him that part until later. But it was all out now, at least as much as she was going to tell him.

“I can't believe this. You're asking me if you can leave us for Thanksgiving? What do you expect me to do, cook the turkey?”

“Take them to a restaurant. I'll make a real Thanksgiving dinner before I leave, the day before. They'll never know the difference.”

“Even if they don't, I will. You know what our agreement is. We went through all that this summer.”

“I know. But this is important to me. I need to do it.”

“Then maybe you don't need to be married, or have children. I'm not going to put up with a wife who isn't here for Thanksgiving. You might as well go to a war zone if you're going to do that.”

“At least I'll be safe at the wedding.”

“Unless terrorists bomb it, like they did your friend's plane. Now, there's a thought. Are you willing to take that risk?” He was willing to push every button he had to.

“I could just stay home in bed for the rest of my life too. Why not do that? I mean, hell, Doug, the Russians could bomb Westport, if they ever get their shit together.”

“Why not just get your shit together, India, and grow up finally? All that crap is behind you, or at least it should be.”

“Well, it isn't. It's still part of me, and it always will be. You have to understand that.”

“I don't have to do anything,” he said, sounding angry as he stood up, and left her sitting on the footstool. “I'm not going to agree to this. If you want to go anyway, that's your business. But don't expect to stay married to me, if you do it.”

“Thanks, Doug, for making the choices so clear to me,” she said, standing up and looking at him squarely. “You know what? I'm not going to let you bully me anymore, or blackmail me. This is who I am, who you married. You can lay down all the rules you want, but you can't threaten me,” she said calmly, with no idea where the words had come from. But suddenly she knew exactly what she was doing, and where she was going. To London. “I'm going to go over there and do this story. I'm going to stay for a week, and then I'm going to come back and take care of our kids, just like I always do, and you, for that matter. And you know what? We'll survive it. You can't tell me what to do anymore, Doug. It's not fair. And I won't let you.”

He listened to her without saying a word, and she was shaking as she faced him. And then he turned and walked up the stairs and she heard the bedroom door slam. But she had done it. She had dared to reach out and grab what she wanted. She had never done it before, not with him, and she was terrified, and she felt fantastic. She realized now that he had been doing this to her for years. It was his ultimatum that had brought her back from Asia seventeen years before, to marry him. He had told her in no uncertain terms that if she didn't, she'd lose him. And because she'd lost her father when she was young, she thought that the worst thing that could happen to her was to lose Doug. But what she'd discovered seventeen years later was that it was actually worse losing herself, and she had almost done that. She didn't believe she'd lose him now, and if she did, she'd face it. But she hoped not.

She waited awhile to go upstairs, and when she did, he was in bed, with the lights off. But she couldn't hear him snoring.

“Are you awake?” she whispered, and there was no answer, but she could sense that he was, and she found she was right as she approached him. She stood at the foot of the bed in the dark, and saw him stir, but he still said nothing. “I'm sorry it had to be this way, Doug. I would have liked it better if you agreed to let me go. I love you very much …but I have to do this … for myself. It's hard to explain that.” It wasn't, actually, but it was impossible for him to understand it. He wanted to lay down the law and threaten her over it. That had always been his power over her, that and the terror that she'd lose him. But she couldn't stay frightened forever. “I love you, Doug,” she said again, as though to reassure him and herself. But there was no answer. And a moment later, she went into the bathroom to take a shower. And she stood there with the warm water running down her back and a smile on her face, seemingly forever. She had done it!

Chapter 15

SHE MADE Thanksgiving dinner for them, just as she had promised, the night before Thanksgiving. It was the perfect meal, and they looked like the perfect family, except that Doug scowled most of the way through dinner. It was no secret to anyone how he felt about her leaving.

She had told the children herself, and after the initial shock, they were all excited for her, especially the girls, who thought covering the wedding sounded terrific. Neither of the boys cared much. But none of them had the reaction that Doug had thought they would about it. None of them felt abandoned or angry, or as though she was never coming back, as she had when her father went to Vietnam for six months, or equally terrifying places before that. This was pretty tame, and they all understood that. They were disappointed she wouldn't be there for Thanksgiving with them, but once they knew she was going to make a real Thanksgiving dinner for them, they were perfectly happy, contrary to Doug's predictions.

She was leaving for London on the morning of Thanksgiving, and Doug and the children were going to have yet another Thanksgiving dinner with friends in Greenwich, since neither Doug nor India still had living parents. She realized now too that it was why she was so dependent on him, and his approval. Other than the children, she had no one else.

The children devoured everything in sight, and Jason said it was the best dinner she'd ever made, and she thanked him. And afterward, they all sat in the living room and watched movies, as India and Jessica cleaned up the kitchen. And she sent Jessica to join the others when Doug came in to talk to her. He was looking angrier by the minute.

“Aren't you embarrassed to turn them into orphans for the holidays?” he asked pointedly, still trying to make her feel guilty.

“They're not orphans, Doug. They have a mother who works occasionally, and they seem to understand it a lot better than you do.”

“Tell me that when they start flunking out of school, as a way of expressing their displeasure.”

“I don't think that is going to happen,” India said firmly.

Gail had promised to pick up her car pools for her, and the sitter she used most frequently was coming to the house every day from three o'clock until after dinner, and Jessica had promised to help her with the cooking. Everything was in order, and she had left six pages of neat instructions. The only problem was her husband. But India had never felt stronger about anything in her life. Paul had called her that week and had told her he was proud of her, and she had promised to call him from London. The Sea Star was in Turkey. And he said he would be anxious to hear from her.

“You're going to have to reckon with me when you get back, India.” Doug threatened her again, as he had for weeks. He seemed to have no hesitation, and no shame, about doing that to her. But she refused to listen. She wasn't even sure what had finally changed, but she knew she couldn't live in a box anymore, the one he had built for her fourteen years before allowed her no wingspread. She knew better than anyone that she had to do this. No matter what it cost her. Not doing it would cost her even more. And now she understood that. And Raoul had been ecstatic when she called him. They were paying her a decent sum, though nothing fabulous, and she was going to use it to do something nice with the children, maybe take a trip somewhere, or go skiing after Christmas. And of course she wanted Doug to join them, if he was willing. So far he said he wasn't.

She let the children stay up late, since it was a holiday, and in the morning, before she left, she went into each of their bedrooms. They were all asleep, but they stirred as she leaned down to kiss them, and the general consensus was “Have a good time, Mom,” as she promised to call them. She had given each of them the name of her hotel, and her number. And it was pinned up in the kitchen. She had left everything organized to perfection. And she was startled at how easy it all was, and how smoothly it had gone. The only problem was her husband.

She walked back into their bedroom to say good-bye to him, and he glared at her. He had been awake since she got up, but pretended he wasn't. But now he just sat there, and they both knew he had lost some of his power to terrify her and make her do what he wanted. It was not a change he welcomed.

“I'll call you as often as I can, I promise,” she said as though to a child, he looked like one as he sat there and watched her, and made no move to come toward her.

“Don't bother,” he said curtly. “I have nothing to say to you until you get back.” He looked as though he meant it.

“And then what? You throw me out in the snow? Come on, Doug, be a good sport about it. Please? Wish me luck. I haven't done this in years …it's exciting for me.” But he wasn't happy for her. He looked irreversibly angry. And he wanted her to be frightened of the repercussions.

She still was, but not enough to turn down the assignment. He had finally pushed her too far. “I love you, Doug,” she said simply, as she walked out of the room. She did love him, but she wondered if he loved her. He didn't answer her, and she walked down the stairs with her camera equipment neatly packed in a bag over her shoulder. The bag had been her father's. And she picked up her suitcase and went out to the shuttle waiting to take her to the airport.

It was a short ride, they stopped to pick several people up, and for the first time in years she felt independent. It was the first time she had gone anywhere without her children, and the feeling of freedom was overwhelming.

After she checked in at the airport, she walked around the terminal and bought some magazines, and then she called Raoul to see if he had any last instructions. He told her he'd fax her if he had any new information about the second story, but other than that, he had nothing. And then she boarded the plane, and headed for London. She was due in at nine o'clock that night, and she was going to be picked up and taken to a ball the Queen was giving for the couple in the Painted Hall at the Royal Naval Academy in Greenwich. She had brought a long velvet skirt, a velvet blouse, and a string of pearls, and she was going to change in the limousine on the way in from the airport. It was more than a little different from her old assignments, but she could hardly wait to get there.

She read and slept on the flight, and ate a little dinner, and she looked out the window for a while, thinking about the children she had left, who had been the boundaries of her life for so long. She knew she'd miss them, but she knew that they'd be fine for the short time she'd be gone. And then she thought about Doug, and the things he had said to her, the power he had wielded over her for so long, and the reasons he'd done it. It seemed so unfair, and so unnecessary, and now when she thought about it, she wasn't angry, but sad. If he had let her go graciously, or let her grow over the years, it would have been so much kinder. But all Doug wanted was to control her, to make her do what he wanted. And thinking about it was depressing.

She was dozing when they landed at Heathrow, and then the excitement began in earnest, along with the realization that she had spread her wings at last and done something she wanted, not because it was good for someone else, or she was expected to, but because it was what she wanted to do. She almost crowed with delight as they landed. She hadn't been in London in years, and she could hardly wait to see it. And what better way to do it?

The driver they had promised her was waiting just outside Customs, and he drove into town as quickly as he could, while she changed her clothes in the backseat and combed her hair as neatly as possible under the circumstances. She felt a little more disorganized than she wanted to, but when she looked in the mirror, she decided she would pass inspection. And she wasn't here to look beautiful, she was here to take photographs. No one was going to care what she looked like.

As they approached the Royal Naval Academy, she saw that there were cadets outside in formal uniforms, holding antique muskets and rifles, and they stood at attention as guests came in and out, and the surroundings were very impressive. The buildings framed an enormous square of lawn, and the domed chapel was built in 1779.

She took a couple of quick shots of the outside, and hurried inside to the party. And as she came up the steps, she looked up and saw the extraordinary paintings all around and on the ceiling. It was a cross between Versailles and the Sistine Chapel. And there were at least four hundred people dancing, and almost the moment she walked in, she began shooting. It was easy to spot her subjects. Prince Charles, the queens of the Netherlands, Denmark, and Norway. She recognized all of them, as well as the President of France, several Crown Princes, and then she saw Queen Elizabeth in the distance, surrounded by guards, and chatting easily with the Prime Minister, and the President and the First Lady. She had had to show her pass when she entered, but she slipped it into her pocket after that, and spent the next four hours gliding discreetly from one group to the other. And at two A.M., when the party broke up, she knew she had gotten what she'd come for. It was the same warm feeling she'd had years before when she knew she got her story, although this time her subjects couldn't have been more different.

The Queen had left hours before, and the rest of the illustrious guests filed out decorously, saying what an extraordinary party it had been, and some of them went to see the chapel. India took the last of her roll of film there, and then climbed into her car, and headed back to the city.

They had gotten her a small room at Claridge's, which had been one of the promised perks of the job, and as she walked into the lobby with her camera, and her bag, she suddenly realized she was exhausted. It was two-thirty in the morning there, which was only eight-thirty in the evening for her, but she had been working for hours, traveling and covering her story. It felt just like the old days, although her work clothes then hadn't included velvet skirts and evening shoes. She had worn combat boots and camouflage, but she knew that she would remember the sights she had seen that night forever. The Painted Hall was surely one of the grandest sights in England, and the people who had been there that night were forming the course of history in Europe.

She could hardly wait to get undressed and into bed, and she was asleep almost the minute her head hit the pillow. She didn't stir until she heard the phone ringing, and she couldn't imagine why anyone would call her at that hour. But when she opened her eyes, she saw there was daylight streaming into the room. It was ten o'clock on a cold November morning in London, and she had to be somewhere at noon. She had slept right through her alarm clock.

“Hello?” she said sleepily, stretching and looking around the room. It was small, but pretty, done in pale blue flowered chintzes.

“I thought you were supposed to be working.”

“I am. Who is this?” For a minute, she thought it was Raoul, but it didn't sound anything like him. And then suddenly she knew. It was Paul, calling from the boat in Turkey. “I didn't recognize you for a minute. I was dead to the world. Thank God you woke me.”

“How's it going?” He sounded happy to hear her.

“It's really fun. Last night was terrific. Everyone in the world was there, as long as they had queen, prince, or king in front of their name. And the Painted Hall is amazing.”

“It is, isn't it? Serena and I went to a party there once, for a very nice man, a maritime author named Patrick O'Brian. He's one of my passions. The Painted Hall is quite something.” He had been everywhere, it seemed to her. But even Paul was impressed by the people who had been there, when she told him about it.

“I think I got some really great pictures.”

“How does it feel to be working again?” He smiled at the thought of her, tucked into her little room at Claridge's. He could almost see her. And knowing what it had taken to get there, he knew what a victory it was for her, and how much it meant to her. He was glad she had done it.

“It feels terrific. I love it.” She had also told him about the second story, and he was concerned about her, but figured she knew what she was doing, and the police would protect her. “How are you, Paul?” He was sounding a little better these days, though she knew Thanksgiving probably hadn't been easy for him, but he had avoided the issue by staying in Turkey. “Any interest in coming to London while I'm here?” She threw it out as a possibility, but she didn't really expect him to take her up on it, and knew instinctively that he wouldn't. He was still hiding from real life on the Sea Star.

“I don't think so,” he said honestly. “Though I'd really like to see you, India,” he said with a smile. “You're probably too busy anyway to hang around with old friends.” In the past five months, they had actually become that. She had shared all her terrors with him, and her disappointments with Doug, and he had cried on her shoulder more than once since he lost Serena. In a short time, and from great distances at times, they had been through a lot together. “I think I'm afraid to come back to civilization.” It was still too painful for him, and she knew it.

“You don't have to yet.” She knew he was handling most of his business by fax and phone, and his partners were managing the rest in his absence. It was better for him to stay on the Sea Star. The boat seemed like a healing place for him.

“How were the kids when you left?” He had thought a lot about her the previous morning.

“Fine. Better than Doug. We celebrated Thanksgiving the night before, and he hardly spoke to me. I don't think this is going to go down too smoothly. There are bound to be repercussions.”

“Just steel yourself for them. What can he do, after all?”

“Throw me out, for starters, figuratively speaking. He could leave me,” she said in a serious tone. It was obvious that she was worried about it.

“He'd be a fool if he did that.” But they both knew he was, although Paul saw it more clearly than she did. “I think he's just making noise to scare you.”

“Maybe.” But she had come anyway. And she was here now. “I guess I'd better get dressed, before I miss the next party.”

“What is it today?” he asked with interest.

“I have to check my itinerary. I think it's the lunch given by Prince Charles at Saint James's Palace.”

“That should be entertaining. Call me tonight and tell me all about it.”

“I'll probably be home pretty late. I have to go to another dinner tonight, before the wedding.”

“This sounds like a really tough story.” He was teasing her, but he felt like her guardian angel. He had seen her come through all the agony it had taken her to get there. And now he wanted to share the victory with her. “I'll be up late. You can call me, now that we're almost in the same time zone. I think we're going to head for Sicily tomorrow. I want to hang around Italy for a while, and Corsica. Eventually, I want to wind up in Venice.”

“You lead a tough life, Mr. Ward, with your little houseboat you can take everywhere with you. I really feel sorry for you.”

“You should,” he said, with more seriousness than he intended. But she knew how lonely he was from their previous conversations. He still missed Serena unbearably, and she suspected that he either drank or cried himself to sleep more often than he admitted. But it had only been three months since he lost her.

“I'll call you later,” she said cheerily, and after they hung up, she went to stand at the window, and looked down on Brook Street below. Everything looked very tidy and very familiar and very English. She was so happy to be here. And she reminded herself that she had to buy lots of postcards for the children. She had promised to do that, and she wanted to go to Hamley's, if she had time, and buy some toys or games for Sam, Aimee, and Jason. She had to find something more grown up for Jessica than for the others. If she had time between stories, India was thinking of going to Harvey Nichols. But first she had to get to work. And she was still thinking of Paul when she sank into the enormous bathtub. She loved talking to him, and she hoped that one of these days she would see him. He was a terrific friend to her, even long distance.

And for the rest of the afternoon, she was busy taking photographs of royals again. She had a great time, and she found that she knew one of the other photographers. They had done a story together once in Kenya. It had been nearly twenty years since she'd last seen him. He was Irish and very funny. His name was John O'Malley, and he invited her for a drink in a local pub after the party.

“Where the hell have you been? I figured someone finally shot you on one of those crazy stories,” he said, laughing, and obviously pleased to see her.

“No, I got married and had four kids, and I've been retired for the last fourteen years.”

“So what made you come back now?” he asked with a broad grin. He had taken all the pictures he needed and was sipping Irish whiskey.

“I missed it.”

“You're daft,” he said with absolute conviction. “I always knew that about you. I'd like nothing better than to retire with a wife and four kids. Of course, this isn't exactly a dangerous story like our old ones, unless the royals attack us. And they could, you know. If they start a fight over the hors d'oeuvres, you could start a war here. And then, of course, there's the IRA, lovely people that they are. Sometimes I'm ashamed to admit that I'm Irish.” They talked about the terrorist bombing in September then, and India told him a friend's wife had been on the plane.

“Damn shame. I hate stories like that. I always think about the children. Kill an army. Bomb a missile plant. But don't, for God's sake, kill the children. The bastards always do, though. Every damn country that gets pissed off, they kill the children.” He had spent time in Bosnia, and hated what he'd seen there. Croat children beheaded by the Serbs while their mothers held them. It had been the worst he'd seen since Rwanda. “Don't worry about me, my dear. Man's inhumanity to man is one of my favorite subjects on my second whiskey. On my third, I get romantic. Watch out then!” He hadn't changed in years and it was fun talking to him, and he introduced her to another journalist who joined them at their table. He was Australian, and not nearly as sympathetic as John O'Malley, although he had a dry sense of humor as he commented on the party. He said they'd worked together years before, in Beijing, but she no longer remembered, and he didn't look familiar. By the time they left the pub, O'Malley was pretty well oiled, and she had to get back to Claridge's to change again before she went on to the next party. She was grateful it was the last one before the wedding. It was held in someone's home, a spectacular affair on Saint James's Place, with liveried footmen, a ballroom, and chandeliers that blazed with candles. And when she got home at midnight, she called the children. They were just sitting down to dinner. She spoke to each of them, and they sounded fine. They said that they'd had fun in Greenwich the day before, and they missed her, and on Saturday their father was taking them skating. But when India asked to say hello to him, he told the children to say he was busy. He was cooking dinner. He could have come to the phone easily, she always did while she was cooking. And the phone had a long cord, which would have reached. But she got the message; he had told her he had nothing more to say to her, and apparently he meant it.

She felt a little lonely when she hung up, after talking to them, and she decided to call Paul. She thought he might still be up, and he was, and she told him all about the party. It was nice being able to speak to him at any hour, and to tell him what she was doing.

They talked for a long time, and Paul knew the people who gave the party. He seemed to know everyone who was there, and he was amused at her descriptions. It had been an interesting evening, filled with aristocratic and distinguished people. She could see why they had decided not to just send a staffer, and was flattered that they had offered it to her instead.

“What time is the wedding tomorrow?” he asked finally with a yawn. He was getting sleepy, and the sea had been a little rough that night. But it never bothered him, in fact he liked it.

“Five o'clock.”

“What are you going to do before that?”

“Sleep.” She grinned. She hadn't stopped since she'd been there. It was just like the old days, but in high heels and long dresses. “Actually, I want to stop in and see the police. They left a message for me, and I'm going to start working on the other story on Sunday.”

“You don't waste much time, do you, India?” Serena had been like that too, but he didn't say it. She was always working on something. A new book, a new script, a revision, a set of galleys. He missed it. He missed everything about her. “Call me tomorrow and tell me about the wedding.” He loved her life, and being able to talk to her at any time of day or night. He couldn't do that when she was in Westport.

“I'll call you when I get back to the hotel.”

“We'll be sailing tomorrow night.” He particularly loved the night sails and she knew that. “I'll be on watch after midnight.” But she knew he could talk to her from the wheelhouse. “It was nice talking to you tonight. You remind me of a world I keep telling myself I've forgotten.” He just didn't want to be there without Serena. But hearing about it from India was amusing.

“You'll come back to it one of these days, when you want to.”

“I suppose so. I can't imagine being there without her,” he said sadly. “We did so many fun things. I can't imagine doing any of it on my own now. I'm too old to start again.” He wasn't, but she knew he felt it. He somehow felt that losing Serena had aged him.

“You sound like me now. If I'm not too old to come back to work, you're not too old to come back to the world when you're ready.” There were fourteen years between them, but neither of them ever felt it. At times they seemed like brother and sister, at other times she felt the same electricity between them she had sensed since the beginning. But he never made reference to it. He didn't want to be disloyal to Serena. And he still felt guilty for not going down on the plane with her. He could see no good reason to have survived her. His son was grown, his grandchildren had a good life. There was no one who needed him now, and he said as much to India. “I do,” she said softly. “I need you.”

“No, you don't. You're on your way now.”

“Don't be so sure. Doug wouldn't even speak to me when I left. Wait till I get back to Westport. There will be hell to pay, and you know it.”

“Maybe. Don't worry about it now. You have plenty to deal with before you have to face that.” But they both knew she would in a matter of days. She was going home on Friday. She wanted to be with her children for the weekend.

“I'll talk to you tomorrow,” she said, and then they said good-night, and she hung up. It was odd how comfortable they were with each other. As she sat and thought about him it was as though she had known Paul all her life, instead of just since the summer. They had both come a long way, over some hard places, since then. He more than she had. But her road hadn't been easy either.

She was lying in bed in the dark, drifting off to sleep, when the phone rang again. She thought it might be the kids, or Doug, but it was Paul again, and she was surprised to hear his voice.

“Were you asleep?” he asked cautiously, in a whisper.

“No. I was just lying here in the dark, thinking about you.”

“Me too. I just wanted to tell you how much I admire what you've done, India …and how proud I am of you….” He had called her just to say that.

“Thank you …that means a lot to me.” As he did.

“You're a wonderful person.” And then he added, with tears in his eyes, “I couldn't get through this without you.”

“Me too.” She whispered. “That was what I was thinking when you called me.”

“We'll get together one of these days. Somewhere. Sometime. I'll be back. I just don't know when yet.”

“Don't worry. Do what you have to.”

“Good night,” he said softly, and after she hung up, she closed her eyes and fell asleep, and as she did, she was smiling, and thinking about him.

Chapter 16

THE WEDDING the next day was a grandiose affair, filled with pomp and ceremony. And India knew without even developing them that she had gotten fabulous pictures of it. The bride looked incredible in a Dior gown. She was delicate and petite, and the train seemed to reach for miles behind her. And her mother-in-law had given her an exquisite little tiara. Everything about the wedding was perfection. It was held in Saint Paul's Cathedral and there were fourteen bridesmaids. It looked like a fairy tale, and India couldn't wait to show her children the pictures. At least then they could see what she'd been doing in London.

The reception was at Buckingham Palace, and she was home early this time. She called Paul at ten-fifteen, and she had called the children just before that. They had just come back from skating and were drinking hot chocolate in the kitchen. And this time, when she asked for Doug, they said he was out, but she wasn't sure if she believed them. It was unlikely they'd be home with-out him. But she didn't want to press the issue. And as soon as she hung up, she called Paul. He said he was sitting in the main salon and reading. He wasn't going on watch till midnight.

“How was it?” he asked, curious about what she was doing. He liked hearing about it.

“Unbelievable. A fairy tale. It must have cost a million dollars.”

“Probably.” And then he laughed, he sounded as though he were in good spirits. “Serena and I got married at city hall. And afterward, we bought chili dogs on the street, and spent the night at the Plaza. It was a little unorthodox, but actually very romantic. But Serena was so determined not to marry me, that I figured when I got her to say yes, I'd better nail her down without waiting another minute. She spent our entire wedding night telling me what she wasn't going to do for me, and how she was never going to be a proper wife, and telling me I would never own her. She lived up to most of it, but I think eventually she forgot to make me live up to all the things I agreed to.” He still talked about her constantly, but one of the many things he liked about India was that she didn't seem to mind it.

“Looking at that bride today, knowing what we do about life, you can't help wondering if it will work out, or if they'll be disappointed. It must be a little embarrassing after a wedding like that if it doesn't.”

“I don't think that makes much difference. We did okay with our chili dogs and our night at the Plaza.”

“You probably did better than most,” India said sadly. Weddings always made her nostalgic. Especially lately.

“You did all right,” Paul said quietly. He was feeling relaxed. He had been drinking a glass of wine and reading when she called. He loved to sit and read for hours.

“How was the sailing today?” she asked with a smile, knowing how much he loved it, the rougher the better.

“Pretty good.” And then he changed the subject. “Did you go to the police about your assignment?”

“I spent two hours with them before the wedding. That is a nasty little investigation. They're using kids as young as eight as prostitutes. It's hard to believe they would do that.”

“It sounds like an ugly story.”

“It will be.” But it was more up her alley than the wedding, although it had pained her to see the photographs of the children they were using. They were planning a raid in two days, and they had invited her to be there when they did it.

“Will it be dangerous for you?”

“It could be,” she said honestly, although she wouldn't have admitted it to her husband. He didn't even know about the story, and she was not going to tell him.

“I hope it won't be dangerous for you,” Paul said cautiously. He didn't want to interfere in her work, or her life, in any way. But he didn't like to think about her getting injured.

“They'll have to be careful because of the children. But the guys who run it are a tough group. The police think some of the girls were sold into slavery by their parents.”

“God, that's awful.” She nodded as if he could see her, and they went on to talk of pleasanter subjects.

He told her about the book he was reading then, and his plans in Sicily. And he was excited about going to Venice. He had never taken the boat there.

“I can't think of anything more beautiful than being in Venice on the Sea Star,” she said dreamily, thinking of it.

“It's a shame you and Sam won't be with me.”

“He would love that.”

“So would you.”

They chatted for a while, and then he said he had to adjust some sails, and check the radar, but he said he'd call her the following night. They had talked about Annabelle's, and Harry's Bar, and Mark's Club, and all his favorite hangouts in London. But he also knew it would be a long time before he went back there.

And from the next morning on, her days of elegance in London would end. From then on, she would be working with police, hanging out in smoky rooms in blue jeans, drinking cold coffee.

She read some of the material the police had given her that night, to give her further background on the story, and the men who were running the operation. They sounded like monsters, and just thinking about children Aimee's age being used as prostitutes and slaves turned her stomach. It was a world her children would never know and could never have imagined. Even as an adult, she found it unthinkable, just as Paul had.

She went back to meet with the police the next day at noon, and at eight o'clock at night, she was still with them. After they finished their plans for the raid the next day, two of the inspectors took her to dinner at a pub nearby, and it was interesting talking to them. They drank a lot and gave her a wealth of inside information. And when she got back to Claridge's, there was a message from the children. They sent their love and had all gone to a movie. There was another one from Paul, but when she called him back, he was busy. But he called again as she was getting ready to leave the next morning.

“Sorry about last night. We hit a storm. The wind was fifty knots,” but it was obvious, from what he said, that he loved it.

She told him what she'd learned from the police then, and that they would be conducting the raid that night at midnight.

“I'll be thinking of you. Be careful,” he said soberly.

“I will,” she promised, thinking how odd it was talking to him. There was never any talk of romance between them, and yet he talked to her sometimes like a husband. It was probably out of habit, she assumed, and because he missed Serena. He had never given India any real reason to think he was interested in her in that way, except for the fact that he kept calling. But their conversations were more like the meanderings of old friends than the bonding of two lovers.

“I don't know what time I'll be through. Probably at some ungodly hour of the morning.”

“I hope not.” He was getting an increasing sense of the danger she would be in. The men who ran the prostitution ring were not going to walk away from it with their hands in their pockets, and Paul was suddenly afraid that they might come out with guns blazing, and India could get hurt, or worse, in the process. “Don't take any chances, India. Screw the awards, and even the story, if you have to. It's not worth it.” But it always was to her, and always had been, though she didn't say that to him. But now she had her children to think of, it wasn't like the old days. She was aware of that, and intended to be careful. “Call me when it's over, no matter what time it is. I want to know you're safe. I'm going to be very worried.”

“Don't be. I'll be with about fifteen cops, and probably the equivalent of a SWAT team.”

“Tell them to protect you.”

“I will.”

After she hung up, she ran to Hamley's as quickly as she could, to get some things for the children, mostly souvenirs, and she bought a great pair of shoes and a funny hat for Jessica at Harvey Nichols, and was back with the police by noon, just as she had promised.

And for hours after that, she did nothing but listen to them, take notes, and take pictures. And at midnight, when they struck, she was as ready as they were. She went in right behind the first team, with a bullet-proof vest they'd given her, and her camera poised for action. And what they saw in the house on Wilton Crescent in the West End was heartbreaking and beyond pathetic. Little girls of eight and nine and ten, chained to walls and tied to beds, whipped and abused, and drugged, and being raped by men of every age and description. And much to the police's disgust, they rounded up two well-known M.P.S along with them. But more importantly, they had caught all the men, and one woman, who ran it. India had taken hundreds of photographs of them, and the children. Most of the little girls didn't even speak English. They had been brought from the Middle East and other places, and had been sold by their parents.

They were sent off to children's shelters and hospitals to be checked and healed and tended to. There had been more than thirty of them. And India knew it was going to make an incredible story, although it broke her heart to see them. She had carried one child out herself, a little girl of about Sam's age, with cigarette burns and whip marks all over her body. And she had cried piteously as India held her, and carried her to the ambulance. A huge, fat, ugly man somewhere in his sixties had just finished having sex with her when India took her. She had wanted to hit him with her camera, but the police had warned her not to touch him.

“Are you okay?” Paul asked anxiously when he heard her. True to her word, she called him the minute she got in, at six o'clock in the morning. He had stayed up all night, worrying about her.

“I am. Physically. Mentally, I'm not so sure. Paul, I can't even begin to describe to you what I saw tonight. I know I'll never forget it.”

“Neither will the world, after they see your pictures. It must have been just awful.”

“It was unspeakable.” She told him a few of the things she'd seen and he felt sick listening to her. He was sorry she had had to see it. But he supposed she'd seen worse in her younger days, but nothing more heart-wrenching than the little girls they'd rescued. There had been a few boys too, but not nearly as many.

“Do you suppose you can get some sleep now?” he asked, even more worried. But at least she hadn't been injured.

“I don't think so,” she said honestly. “I just want to walk, or take a bath, or do something. If I lie down, I'm going to go crazy.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be. Someone had to do it. And it might as well be me.” She told him about the little girl she'd carried to the ambulance, and the cigarette burns all over her tiny, emaciated body.

“It's hard to imagine any man doing things like that to children.” And then he asked, “Are you finished with the story?” He hoped so, but she wasn't. She had to go back for the next few days, to wrap it up. But she said she'd be through by Thursday. And then she was flying back to New York on Friday. He had almost wanted to ask her if she wanted to fly to Sicily to meet him on the boat for a couple of days, but he knew she couldn't. And he wasn't sure yet if he was ready to see her. In fact, he was almost sure he wasn't. But he would have, if it would have helped her to forget the story. It was certainly a universe apart from the wedding.

They stayed on the phone with each other for a long time, and the sun came up over London as they talked. He felt as though he were there with her, and she was glad she had him to talk to. Doug would never have understood what she was feeling.

Finally, he told her to get into a hot bath, try and get some sleep, and call him later. And after they spoke, he walked out on deck and looked out to sea, thinking of her. She was so different from Serena in every way, and yet there was something so innately powerful about her, something so clean and strong and wonderful that it terrified him. He had no idea what would become of them, or what he was doing. And he didn't even want to think about it.