Текст книги "Rage of Angels"

Автор книги: Sidney Sheldon

Соавторы: Sidney Sheldon
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 25 страниц) [доступный отрывок для чтения: 10 страниц]

He walked over to her desk, picked up a pad and pencil. “Shoot. Who is it?”

She started to say Adam’s name, then stopped, feeling like a fool. What business had she prying into Adam Warner’s private life? For God’s sake, she told herself, all he did is ask you to have dinner with him, not marry him.“Never mind.”

Ken put the pencil down. “Whatever you say.”

“Ken—”

“Yes?”

“Adam Warner. His name is Adam Warner.”

Ken looked at her in surprise. “Hell, you don’t need me to run a check on him. Just read the newspapers.”

“What do you know about him?”

Ken Bailey flopped into a chair across from Jennifer and steepled his fingers together. “Let me see. He’s a partner in Needham, Finch, Pierce and Warner; Harvard Law School; comes from a rich socialite family; in his middle thirties—”

Jennifer looked at him curiously. “How do you know so much about him?”

He winked. “I have friends in high places. There’s a rumor they’re going to run Mr. Warner for the United States Senate. There’s even a little presidential ground swell going on. He’s got what they call charisma.”

He certainly has, Jennifer thought. She tried to make her next question sound casual. “What about his personal life?”

Ken Bailey looked at her oddly. “He’s married to the daughter of an ex-Secretary of the Navy. She’s the niece of Stewart Needham, Warner’s law partner.”

Jennifer’s heart sank. So that was that.

Ken was watching her, puzzled. “Why this sudden interest in Adam Warner?”

“Just curious.”

Long after Ken Bailey had left, Jennifer sat there thinking about Adam. He asked me to dinner as a professional courtesy. He wants to congratulate me. But he’s already done that over the telephone. Who cares why? I’m going to see him again. I wonder whether he’ll remember to mention he has a wife. Of course not. Well, I’ll have dinner with Adam on Friday night and that will be the end of that.

Late that afternoon, Jennifer received a telephone call from Peabody & Peabody. It was from the senior partner himself.

“I’ve been meaning to get around to this for some time,” he said. “I wondered if you and I might have lunch soon.”

His casual tone did not deceive Jennifer. She was sure the idea of having lunch with her had not occurred to him until after he had read about the Abraham Wilson decision. He certainly did not want to meet with her to discuss serving subpoenas.

“What about tomorrow?” he suggested. “My club.”

They met for lunch the following day. The senior Peabody was a pale, prissy man, an older version of his son. His vest failed to conceal a slight paunch. Jennifer liked the father just as little as she had liked the son.

“We have an opening for a bright young trial attorney in our firm, Miss Parker. We can offer you fifteen thousand dollars a year to start with.”

Jennifer sat there listening to him, thinking how much that offer would have meant to her a year earlier when she had desperately needed a job, needed someone who believed in her.

He was saying, “I’m sure that within a few years there would be room for a partnership for you in our firm.”

Fifteen thousand dollars a year and a partnership.Jennifer thought about the little office she shared with Ken, and her tiny, shabby four-flight walk-up apartment with its fake fireplace.

Mr. Peabody was taking her silence for acquiescence. “Good. We’d like you to begin as soon as possible. Perhaps you could start Monday. I—”

“No.”

“Oh. Well, if Monday’s not convenient for you—”

“I mean, no, I can’t take your offer, Mr. Peabody,” Jennifer said, and amazed herself.

“I see.” There was a pause. “Perhaps we could start you at twenty thousand dollars a year.” He saw the expression on her face. “Or twenty-five thousand. Why don’t you think it over?”

“I’ve thought it over. I’m going to stay in business for myself.”

The clients were beginning to come. Not a great many and not very affluent, but they were clients. The office was becoming too small for her.

One morning after Jennifer had kept two clients waiting outside in the hallway while she was dealing with a third, Ken said, “This isn’t going to work. You’re going to have to move out of here and get yourself a decent office uptown.”

Jennifer nodded. “I know. I’ve been thinking about it.”

Ken busied himself with some papers so that he did not have to meet her eyes. “I’ll miss you.”

“What are you talking about? You have to go with me.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in. He looked up and a broad grin creased his freckled face.

“Go with you?” He glanced around the cramped, windowless room. “And give up all this?”

The following week, Jennifer and Ken Bailey moved into larger offices in the five hundred block on Fifth Avenue. The new quarters were simply furnished and consisted of three small rooms: one for Jennifer, one for Ken and one for a secretary.

The secretary they hired was a young girl named Cynthia Ellman fresh out of New York University.

“There won’t be a lot for you to do for a while,” Jennifer apologized, “but things will pick up.”

“Oh, I know they will, Miss Parker.” There was heroine worship in the girl’s voice.

She wants to be like me, Jennifer thought. God forbid!

Ken Bailey walked in and said, “Hey, I get lonely in that big office all by myself. How about dinner and the theater tonight?”

“I’m afraid I—” She was tired and had some briefs to read, but Ken was her best friend and she could not refuse him.

“I’d love to go.”

They went to see Applause, and Jennifer enjoyed it tremendously. Lauren Bacall was totally captivating. Jennifer and Ken had supper afterward at Sardi’s.

When they had ordered, Ken said, “I have two tickets for the ballet Friday night. I thought we might—”

Jennifer said, “I’m sorry, Ken. I’m busy Friday night.”

“Oh.” His voice was curiously flat.

From time to time, Jennifer would find Ken staring at her when he thought he was unobserved, and there was an expression on his face that Jennifer found hard to define. She knew Ken was lonely, although he never talked about any of his friends and never discussed his personal life. She could not forget what Otto had told her, and she wondered whether Ken himself knew what he wanted out of life. She wished that there were some way she could help him.

It seemed to Jennifer that Friday was never going to arrive. As her dinner date with Adam Warner drew closer, Jennifer found it more and more difficult to concentrate on business. She found herself thinking about Adam constantly. She knew she was being ridiculous. She had seen the man only once in her life, and yet she was unable to get him out of her mind. She tried to rationalize by telling herself that it was because he had saved her when she was facing disbarment proceedings, and then had sent her clients. That was true, but Jennifer knew it was more than that. It was something she could not explain, even to herself. It was a feeling she had never had before, an attraction she had never felt for any other man. She wondered what Adam Warner’s wife was like. She was undoubtedly one of the chosen women who, every Wednesday, walked through the red door at Elizabeth Arden’s for a day of head-to-toe pampering. She would be sleek and sophisticated, with the polished aura of the wealthy socialite.

On the magic Friday morning at ten o’clock, Jennifer made an appointment with a new Italian hairdresser Cynthia had told her all the models were going to. At ten-thirty, Jennifer called to cancel it. At eleven, she rescheduled the appointment.

Ken Bailey invited Jennifer to lunch, but she was too nervous to eat anything. Instead, she went shopping at Bendel’s, where she bought a short, dark green chiffon dress that matched her eyes, a pair of slender brown pumps and a matching purse. She knew she was far over her budget, but she could not seem to stop herself.

She passed the perfume department on the way out, and on an insane impulse bought a bottle of Joy perfume. It was insane because the man was married.

Jennifer left the office at five o’clock and went home to change. She spent two hours bathing and dressing for Adam, and when she was finished she studied herself critically in the mirror. Then she defiantly combed out her carefully coiffured hair and tied it back with a green ribbon. That’s better, she thought. I’m a lawyer going to have dinner with another lawyer.But when she closed the door she left behind a faint fragrance of rose and jasmine.

Lutèce was nothing like what Jennifer had expected. A French tricolor flew above the entrance of the small town house. Inside, a narrow hall led to a small bar and beyond was a sunroom, bright and gay, with porch wicker and plaid tablecloths. Jennifer was met at the door by the owner, André Soltner.

“May I help you?”

“I’m meeting Mr. Adam Warner. I think I’m a little early.”

He waved Jennifer toward the small bar. “Would you care for a drink while you are waiting, Miss Parker?”

“That would be nice,” Jennifer said. “Thank you.”

“I’ll send a waiter over.”

Jennifer took a seat and amused herself watching the bejeweled and mink-draped women arriving with their escorts. Jennifer had read and heard about Lutèce. It was reputed to be Jacqueline Kennedy’s favorite restaurant and to have excellent food.

A distinguished-looking gray-haired man walked up to Jennifer and said, “Mind if I join you for a moment?”

Jennifer stiffened. “I’m waiting for someone,” she began. “He should be here—”

He smiled and sat down. “This isn’t a pickup, Miss Parker.” Jennifer looked at him in surprise, unable to place him. “I’m Lee Browning, of Holland and Browning.” It was one of the most prestigious law firms in New York. “I just wanted to congratulate you on the way you handled the Wilson trial.”

“Thank you, Mr. Browning.”

“You took a big chance. It was a no-win case.” He studied her a moment. “The rule is, when you’re on the wrong side of a no-win case, make sure it’s one where there’s no publicity involved. The trick is to spotlight the winners and kick the losers under the rug. You fooled a lot of us. Have you ordered a drink yet?”

“No—”

“May I—?” He beckoned to a waiter. “Victor, bring us a bottle of champagne, would you? Dom Perignon.”

“Right away, Mr. Browning.”

Jennifer smiled. “Are you trying to impress me?”

He laughed aloud. “I’m trying to hire you. I imagine you’ve been getting a lot of offers.”

“A few.”

“Our firm deals mostly in corporate work, Miss Parker, but some of our more affluent clients frequently get carried away and have need of a criminal defense attorney. I think we could make you a very attractive proposal. Would you care to stop by my office and discuss it?”

“Thank you, Mr. Browning. I’m really flattered, but I just moved into my own offices. I’m hoping it will work out.”

He gave her a long look. “It will work out.” He raised his eyes as someone approached and got to his feet and held out his hand. “Adam, how are you?”

Jennifer looked up and Adam Warner was standing there shaking hands with Lee Browning. Jennifer’s heart began to beat faster and she could feel her face flush. Idiot schoolgirl!

Adam Warner looked at Jennifer and Browning and said, “You two know each other?”

“We were just beginning to get acquainted,” Lee Browning said easily. “You arrived a little too soon.”

“Or just in time.” He took Jennifer’s arm. “Better luck next time, Lee.”

The captain came up to Adam. “Would you like your table now, Mr. Warner, or would you like to have a drink at the bar first?”

“We’ll take a table, Henri.”

When they had been seated, Jennifer looked around the room and recognized half a dozen celebrities.

“This place is like a Who’s Who,” she said.

Adam looked at her. “It is now.”

Jennifer felt herself blush again. Stop it, you fool.She wondered how many other girls Adam Warner had brought here while his wife was sitting at home, waiting for him. She wondered if any of them ever learned that he was married, or whether he always managed to keep that a secret from them. Well, she had an advantage. You’re going to be in for a surprise, Mr. Warner, Jennifer thought.

They ordered drinks and dinner and busied themselves making small talk. Jennifer let Adam do most of the talking. He was witty and charming, but she was armored against his charm. It was not easy. She found herself smiling at his anecdotes, laughing at his stories.

It won’t do him any good, Jennifer told herself. She was not looking for a fling. The specter of her mother haunted her. There was a deep passion within Jennifer that she was afraid to explore, afraid to release.

They were having dessert and Adam still had not said one word that could be misconstrued. Jennifer had been building up her defenses for nothing, fending off an attack that had never materialized, and she felt like a fool. She wondered what Adam would have said if he had known what she had been thinking all evening. Jennifer smiled at her own vanity.

“I never got a chance to thank you for the clients you sent me,” Jennifer said. “I did telephone you a few times, but—”

“I know.” Adam hesitated, then added awkwardly, “I didn’t want to return your phone calls.” Jennifer looked at him in surprise. “I was afraid to,” he said simply.

And there it was. He had taken her by surprise, caught her off guard, but his meaning was unmistakable. Jennifer knew what was coming next. And she did not want him to say it. She did not want him to be like all the others, the married men who pretended they were single. She despised them and she did not want to despise this man.

Adam said quietly, “Jennifer, I want you to know I’m married.” She sat there staring at him, her mouth open.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.” He smiled wryly. “Well, there really was no sooner, was there?”

Jennifer was filled with a strange confusion. “Why—why did you ask me to dinner, Adam?”

“Because I had to see you again.”

Everything began to seem unreal to Jennifer. It was as though she were being pulled under by some giant tidal wave. She sat there listening to Adam saying all the things he felt, and she knew that every word was true. She knew because she felt the same way. She wanted him to stop before he said too much. She wanted him to go on and say more.

“I hope I’m not offending you,” Adam said.

There was a sudden shyness about him that shook Jennifer.

“Adam, I—I—”

He looked at her and even though they had not touched, it was as if she were in his arms.

Jennifer said shakily, “Tell me about your wife.”

“Mary Beth and I have been married fifteen years. We have no children.”

“I see.”

“She—we decided not to have any. We were both very young when we got married. I had known her a long time. Our families were neighbors at a summer place we had in Maine. When she was eighteen, her parents were killed in a plane crash. Mary Beth was almost insane with grief. She was all alone. I—we got married.”

He married her out of pity and he’s too much of a gentleman to say so, Jennifer thought.

“She’s a wonderful woman. We’ve always had a very good relationship.”

He was telling Jennifer more than she wanted to know, more than she could handle. Every instinct in her warned her to get away, to flee. In the past she had easily been able to cope with the married men who had tried to become involved with her, but Jennifer knew instinctively that this was different. If she ever let herself fall in love with this man, there would be no way out. She would have to be insane ever to begin anything with him.

Jennifer spoke carefully. “Adam, I like you very much. I don’t get involved with married men.”

He smiled, and his eyes behind the glasses held honesty and warmth. “I’m not looking for a backstreet affair. I enjoy being with you. I’m very proud of you. I’d like us to see each other once in a while.”

Jennifer started to say, What good would that do?but the words came out, “That would be good.”

So we’ll have lunch once a month,Jennifer thought. It can’t hurt anything.

11

One of Jennifer’s first visitors to her new office was Father Ryan. He wandered around the three small rooms and said, “Very nice, indeed. We’re getting up in the world, Jennifer.”

Jennifer laughed. “This isn’t exactly getting up in the world, Father. I have a long way to go.”

He eyed her keenly. “You’ll make it. By the way, I went to visit Abraham Wilson last week.”

“How is he getting along?”

“Fine. They have him working in the prison machine shop. He asked me to give you his regards.”

“I’ll have to visit him myself one day soon.”

Father Ryan sat in his chair, staring at her, until Jennifer said, “Is there something I can do for you, Father?”

He brightened. “Ah, well, I know you must be busy, but now that you’ve brought it up, a friend of mine has a bit of a problem. She was in an accident. I think you’re just the one to help her.”

Automatically Jennifer replied, “Have her come in and see me, Father.”

“I think you’ll have to go to her. She’s a quadruple amputee.”

Connie Garrett lived in a small, neat apartment on Houston Street. The door was opened for Jennifer by an elderly white-haired woman wearing an apron.

“I’m Martha Steele, Connie’s aunt. I live with Connie. Please come in. She’s expecting you.”

Jennifer walked into a meagerly furnished living room. Connie Garrett was propped up with pillows in a large armchair. Jennifer was shocked by her youth. For some reason, she had expected an older woman. Connie Garrett was about twenty-four, Jennifer’s age. There was a wonderful radiance in her face, and Jennifer found it obscene that there was only a torso with no arms or legs attached to it. She repressed a shudder.

Connie Garrett gave her a warm smile and said, “Please sit down, Jennifer. May I call you Jennifer? Father Ryan has told me so much about you. And, of course, I’ve seen you on television. I’m so glad you could come.”

Jennifer started to reply, “My pleasure,” and realized how inane it would have sounded. She sat down in a soft comfortable chair opposite the young woman.

“Father Ryan said you were in an accident a few years ago. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“It was my fault, I’m afraid. I was crossing an intersection and I stepped off the sidewalk and slipped and fell in front of a truck.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Three years ago last December. I was on my way to Bloomingdale’s to do some Christmas shopping.”

“What happened after the truck hit you?”

“I don’t remember anything. I woke up in the hospital. They told me that an ambulance brought me there. There was an injury to my spine. Then they found bone damage and it kept spreading until—” She stopped and tried to shrug. It was a pitiful gesture. “They tried to fit me with artificial limbs, but they don’t work on me.”

“Did you bring suit?”

She looked at Jennifer, puzzled. “Father Ryan didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“My lawyer sued the utility company whose truck hit me, and we lost the case. We appealed and lost the appeal.”

Jennifer said, “He should have mentioned that. If the appellate court turned you down, I’m afraid there’s nothing that can be done.”

Connie Garrett nodded. “I didn’t really believe there was. I just thought—well, Father Ryan said you could work miracles.”

“That’s histerritory. I’m only a lawyer.”

She was angry with Father Ryan for having given Connie Garrett false hope. Grimly, Jennifer decided she would have a talk with him.

The older woman was hovering in the background. “Can I offer you something, Miss Parker? Some tea and cake, perhaps?”

Jennifer suddenly realized she was hungry, for she had had no time for lunch. But she visualized sitting opposite Connie Garrett while she was being fed by hand, and she could not bear the thought.

“No, thanks,” Jennifer lied. “I just had lunch.”

All Jennifer wanted to do was get out of there as quickly as possible. She tried to think of some cheering note she could leave on, but there was nothing. Damn Father Ryan!

“I—I’m really sorry. I wish I—”

Connie Garrett smiled and said, “Please don’t worry about it.”

It was the smile that did it. Jennifer was sure if she had been in Connie Garrett’s place she would never have been able to smile.

“Who was your lawyer?” Jennifer heard herself asking.

“Melvin Hutcherson. Do you know him?”

“No, but I’ll look him up.” She went on, without meaning to, “I’ll have a talk with him.”

“That would be so nice of you.” There was warm appreciation in Connie Garrett’s voice.

Jennifer thought of what the girl’s life must be like, sitting there totally helpless, day after day, month after month, year after year, unable to do anything for herself.

“I can’t promise anything, I’m afraid.”

“Of course not. But do you know something, Jennifer? I feel better just because you came.”

Jennifer rose to her feet. It was a moment to shake hands, but there was no hand to shake.

She said awkwardly, “It was nice meeting you, Connie. You’ll hear from me.”

On the way back to her office, Jennifer thought about Father Ryan and resolved that she would never succumb to his blandishments again. There was nothing anyone could do for that poor crippled girl, and to offer her any kind of hope was indecent. But she would keep her promise. She would talk to Melvin Hutcherson.

When Jennifer returned to her office there was a long list of messages for her. She looked through them quickly, looking for a message from Adam Warner. There was none.

12

Melvin Hutcherson was a short, balding man with a tiny button nose and washed-out pale blue eyes. He had a shabby suite of offices on the West Side that reeked of poverty. The receptionist’s desk was empty.

“Gone to lunch,” Melvin Hutcherson explained.

Jennifer wondered if he had a secretary. He ushered her into his private office, which was no larger than the reception office.

“You told me over the phone you wanted to talk about Connie Garrett.”

“That’s right.”

He shrugged. “There’s not that much to talk about. We sued and we lost. Believe me, I did a bang-up job for her.”

“Did you handle the appeal?”

“Yep. We lost that, too. I’m afraid you’re spinning your wheels.” He regarded her a moment. “Why do you want to waste your time on something like this? You’re hot. You could be working on big money cases.”

“I’m doing a friend a favor. Would you mind if I looked at the transcripts?”

“Help yourself,” Hutcherson shrugged. “They’re public property.”

Jennifer spent the evening going over the transcripts of Connie Garrett’s lawsuit. To Jennifer’s surprise, Melvin Hutcherson had told the truth: He had done a good job. He had named both the city and the Nationwide Motors Corporation as co-defendants, and had demanded a trial by jury. The jury had exonerated both defendants.

The Department of Sanitation had done its best to cope with the snowstorm that had swept the city that December; all its equipment had been in use. The city had argued that the storm was an act of God, and that if there was any negligence, it was on the part of Connie Garrett.

Jennifer turned to the charges against the truck company. Three eyewitnesses had testified that the driver had tried to stop the truck to avoid hitting the victim, but that he had been unable to brake in time, and the truck had gone into an unavoidable spin and had hit her. The verdict in favor of the defendant had been upheld by the Appellate Division and the case had been closed.

Jennifer finished reading the transcripts at three o’clock in the morning. She turned off the lights, unable to sleep. On paper, justice had been done. But the image of Connie Garrett kept coming into her mind. A girl in her twenties, without arms or legs. Jennifer visualized the truck hitting the young girl, the awful agony she must have suffered, the series of terrible operations that had been performed, each one cutting away parts of her limbs. Jennifer turned on the light and sat up in bed. She dialed Melvin Hutcherson’s home number.

“There’s nothing in the transcripts about the doctors,” Jennifer said into the telephone. “Did you look into the possibility of malpractice?”

A groggy voice said, “Who the fuck is this?”

“Jennifer Parker. Did you—”

“For Christ’s sake! It’s—it’s four o’clock in the morning! Don’t you have a watch?”

“This is important. The hospital wasn’t named in the suit. What about those operations that were performed on Connie Garrett? Did you check into them?”

There was a pause while Melvin Hutcherson tried to gather his thoughts. “I talked to the heads of neurology and orthopedics at the hospital that took care of her. The operations were necessary to save her life. They were performed by the top men there and were done properly. That’s why the hospital wasn’t named in the suit.”

Jennifer felt a sharp sense of frustration. “I see.”

“Look, I told you before, you’re wasting your time on this one. Now why don’t we both get some sleep?”

And the receiver clicked in Jennifer’s ear. She turned out the light and lay back again. But sleep was farther away than ever. After a while, Jennifer gave up the struggle, arose and made herself a pot of coffee. She sat on her sofa drinking it, watching the rising sun paint the Manhattan skyline, the faint pink gradually turning into a bright, explosive red.

Jennifer was disturbed. For every injustice there was supposed to be a remedy at law. Had justice been done in Connie Garrett’s case? She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was six-thirty. Jennifer picked up the telephone again and dialed Melvin Hutcherson’s number.

“Did you check out the record of the truck driver?” Jennifer asked.

A sleepy voice said, “Jesus Christ! Are you some kind of crazy? When do you sleep?”

“The driver of the utility truck. Did you check out his record?”

“Lady, you’re beginning to insult me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jennifer insisted, “but I have to know.”

“The answer is yes. He had a perfect record. This was his first accident.”

So that avenue was closed. “I see.” Jennifer was thinking hard.

“Miss Parker,” Melvin Hutcherson said, “do me a big favor, will you? If you have any more questions, call me during office hours.”

“Sorry,” Jennifer said absently. “Go back to sleep.”

“Thanks a lot!”

Jennifer replaced the receiver. It was time to get dressed and go to work.

13

It had been three weeks since Jennifer had had dinner with Adam at Lutèce. She tried to put him out of her mind, but everything reminded her of Adam: A chance phrase, the back of a stranger’s head, a tie similar to the one he had worn. There were many men who tried to date her. She was propositioned by clients, by attorneys she had opposed in court and by a night-court judge, but Jennifer wanted none of them. Lawyers invited her out for what was cynically referred to as “funch,” but she was not interested. There was an independence about her that was a challenge to men.

Ken Bailey was always there, but that fact did nothing to assuage Jennifer’s loneliness. There was only one person who could do that, damn him!

He telephoned on a Monday morning. “I thought I’d take a chance and see if you happened to be free for lunch today.”

She was not. She said, “Of course I am.”

Jennifer had sworn to herself that if Adam ever called her again she would be friendly yet distant, and courteous but definitely not available.

The moment she heard Adam’s voice she forgot all those things and said, Of course I am.

The last thing in the world she should have said.

They had lunch at a small restaurant in Chinatown, and they talked steadily for two hours that seemed like two minutes. They talked about law and politics and the theater, and solved all the complex problems of the world. Adam was brilliant and incisive and fascinating. He was genuinely interested in what Jennifer was doing, and took a joyous pride in her successes. He has a right to, Jennifer thought. If not for him, I’d be back in Kelso, Washington.

When Jennifer returned to the office, Ken Bailey was waiting for her.

“Have a good lunch?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Is Adam Warner going to become a client?” His tone was too casual.

“No, Ken. We’re just friends.”

And it was true.

The following week, Adam invited Jennifer to have lunch in the private dining room of his law firm. Jennifer was impressed with the huge, modern complex of offices. Adam introduced her to various members of the firm, and Jennifer felt like a minor celebrity, for they seemed to know all about her. She met Stewart Needham, the senior partner. He was distantly polite to Jennifer, and she remembered that Adam was married to his niece.

Adam and Jennifer had lunch in the walnut-paneled dining room run by a chef and two waiters.

“This is where the partners bring their problems.”

Jennifer wondered whether he was referring to her. It was hard for her to concentrate on the meal.

Jennifer thought about Adam all that afternoon. She knew she had to forget about him, had to stop seeing him. He belonged to another woman.

That night, Jennifer went with Ken Bailey to see Two by Two,the new Richard Rodgers show.

As they stepped into the lobby there was an excited buzz from the crowd, and Jennifer turned to see what was happening. A long, black limousine had pulled up to the curb and a man and woman were stepping out of the car.

“It’s him!” a woman exclaimed, and people began to gather around the car. The burly chauffeur stepped aside and Jennifer saw Michael Moretti and his wife. It was Michael that the crowd focused on. He was a folk hero, handsome enough to be a movie star, daring enough to have captured everyone’s imagination. Jennifer stood in the lobby watching as Michael Moretti and his wife made their way through the crowd. Michael passed within three feet of Jennifer, and for an instant their eyes met. Jennifer noticed that his eyes were so black that she could not see his pupils. A moment later he disappeared into the theater.

Jennifer was unable to enjoy the show. The sight of Michael Moretti had brought back a flood of fiercely humiliating memories. Jennifer asked Ken to take her home after the first act.

Adam telephoned Jennifer the next day and Jennifer steeled herself to refuse his invitation. Thank you, Adam, but I’m really very busy.

But all Adam said was, “I have to go out of the country for a while.”

It was like a blow to the stomach. “How—how long will you be gone?”