Remember

  Clee and Nicky had long understood that conversation was not always necessary, and the silence between them tonight was as companionable as it usually was. Though their relationship had changed radically—and irrevocably—in the space of only a few hours they were completely at ease with each other. Perhaps more than ever, in fact.

  Taking hold of her hand at one moment, Clee said in the quietest voice, ‘We’re good together, Nicky, and good for each other. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ she responded and leaned her head against his shoulder, feeling comfortable, protected with him.

  Clee put his arm around her, held her close, and he could not help wondering what would happen to them, where tonight would lead. He had no idea. All he knew for certain was that he had saved her life in Beijing and in so doing had fallen in love with her. Or perhaps he had loved her for a long time before that, but had only realized it when he had almost lost her. But no matter… tonight he had become her lover and that was good enough for him right now.

  For her part, Nicky was marvelling at the way they had come together so naturally… and marvelling at herself as well. She had not made love to a man since Charles Devereaux had ended their relationship. During the past two years she had built up so many barriers; Clee had made them all come tumbling down. She was glad she had been with Clee. He had made everything seem so easy and simple, and he had aroused such passion in her she had been momentarily startled. She smiled to herself in the darkness. Clee had made her feel like a woman again.

  ***

  Much later, when they were in the kitchen stacking the dishwasher, Clee said, ‘How long are you staying here with me, Nicky?’

  She shrugged lightly, and said, ‘As long as you’ll have me.’

  ‘All this week then,’ he replied, looking well pleased.

  ‘Oh Clee, I forgot for a minute… I’ve got to be back in Manhattan a week from tonight, in order to go to work at the network on Monday morning.’

  ‘Oh.’ He looked suddenly crushed, then instantly his face brightened and he said, ‘Tell you what, we’ll fly to Paris on Thursday night. You can stay with me at my apartment, and I’ll put you on the Concorde on Sunday morning. Does that idea appeal to you?’

  ‘Yes, it does.’

  ‘And you certainly appeal to me, lady.’ Putting down the plate he was holding, walking over to her, he took her in his arms. ‘I don’t know whether it’s occurred to you yet, but you and I have wasted a helluva lot of time.’

  ‘Two years, if you want me to be exact.’

  ‘I aim to make up for it.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘You bet.’ Clee covered her mouth with his for a long voluptuous kiss, and then he took her hand in his and led her upstairs to his bedroom.

  FOURTEEN

  Holding hands, they walked slowly down the Cours Mirabeau, the main avenue in the ancient university town of Aix-en-Provence.

  Nicky glanced around, and she could not help thinking that this was one of the most beautiful boulevards she had ever seen. Long and wide, it had four rows of tall, stately plane trees running down the middle of it, the branches of which intertwined overhead to form an immense, elongated arch.

  Nicky felt as though she and Clee were walking down a pale green tunnel made entirely of leaves. It seemed endless, since it stretched a good five hundred yards or so, and placed at intervals down the centre between the trees were three nineteenth-century fountains which sprayed arcs of crystal-clear water up into the diffused morning sunlight. One side of the Cours, the sunny side, was lined with sprawling cafés; standing in the shade on the other were handsome and ancient buildings, many of them private residences.

  ‘Clee, it’s extraordinary, and so lovely,’ Nicky exclaimed, turning to him, her face a picture of delight.

  ‘Isn’t it just. I knew you’d be impressed, everyone is when they see it. And in my opinion this is the most beautiful main street in any city anywhere in the world. There’s a certain elegance about it—the interplay of the architecture, the trees, the fountains, and the way the space has been so brilliantly arranged, and it’s always at its best in the spring and summer.’ He paused, gave her a smile, and finished, ‘Now, let’s pick a café and have coffee, before we plunge into the old town behind the Cours so that you can visit some of the local ateliers.’

  ‘You don’t really have to come shopping with me,’ she said quickly. ‘Perhaps you’d prefer to browse around a bookstore while I pick up a few gifts.’

  ‘Nope, I’m coming with you.’ He tightened his grip on her hand, glanced down at her, the boyish smile playing around his mouth. ‘I’m not letting you out of my sight for the next three days. I’ve got to make the most of you, honeybunch.’

  Nicky laughed. ‘I haven’t heard that term of endearment for years. My mother used to call me honeybunch when I was little.’

  ‘Isn’t that odd, so did mine,’ Clee said, and led her towards a lively-looking café close to the Fontaine de la Rotonde, the huge fountain which dominated the western entrance to the boulevard.

  Although the café terrace was busy with attractive young people, pretty girls and handsome young men who were obviously university students, there were several empty tables. A couple of these were close to the windows in the shade of an awning and slightly removed from the busy sidewalk.

  Swiftly scanning the area, Clee chose one of the tables near the café’s windows, and as they sat down he said, ‘We can cool off here and watch the world go by at the same time. I love French cafés, they’re so convivial, yet they can also be quite private in a certain way.’ Taking off his sun glasses, he drew close to her and kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘See what I mean?’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled, looking into his eyes.

  A waiter was with them almost immediately and Clee ordered café-au-lait for them both; once they were alone again he relaxed in his chair, and turned to face her. ‘I like most of the titles you wrote down for me last night, but my favourite is Children of the Beijing Spring. I’d love to use that for our book, Nick.’

  ‘I’m flattered!’ Her pleasure was self-evident, and she added, ‘It happens to be my favourite, too.’

  He leaned across the table and kissed her on the lips again. ‘Now that we have a title, we’re in business, babe.’

  ‘With those superb photographs you took, you were always in business, Clee. No question about that, and my text is of secondary importance. After all, it is a picture book.’

  ‘True. On the other hand, the introduction is pretty damned important… not only to underscore my pictures but to explain China, the politics, the events leading up to the Tiananmen demonstrations, and the massacre. Few people understand how it all came about.’

  ‘Yes, I’m well aware of that, and on the plane on Sunday I’ll make some notes. I think I’ll have a bit of reading to do, before I start writing the introduction. Incidentally, I’ve been thinking—’ She broke off as the waiter arrived with the coffee.

  ‘Merci,’ she and Clee said, almost in unison, then she went on, ‘What I started to say is that I’ve been thinking about our working arrangements, and it occurred to me that you might like to spend a couple of weekends in New Milford, at my parents’ place, when you’re in New York later this month. A few years ago, my father built a studio across the lawn from the main house, and I think it’s a terrific place to work. We could really spread out there… you know, arrange the pictures consecutively, and in an orderly fashion, even do a pagination. We could leave everything laid out there on card tables, no one would touch it during the week.’

  ‘It sounds great, but what about your parents? Don’t they use the studio to write in?’

  Nicky shook her head and began to laugh. ‘When Dad built the studio it was actually for my mother, his gift to her. He thought she would enjoy working there. It’s airy, spacious, quiet, and very peaceful.’

  ‘And didn’t she?’

  ‘No. I think perhaps it was too peaceful, if y
ou want to know the truth. She only loved it for about a month. Then she moved back into the house, into the small room which opens off their bedroom. She told Dad she felt more comfortable writing in a room she’d been using for years. That’s true I’m sure, but knowing my mother, she also likes being in the house, in the centre of all of that swirling activity. I suppose it is very lonely writing long, complicated books, without being isolated across the garden, away from my father, the housekeeper, screaming telephones and a busy household.’

  ‘Doesn’t your father use the studio?’

  ‘Not very often.’ Nicky made a small moue with her mouth. ‘I suspect he likes being close to my mother, and also in the middle of all that activity just as much as she does. So he pushes his pen, or rather his word processor, in the library, which is where he has always written his column… that way, he’s close to the kitchen, can pop in for a cup of tea or coffee and chat to Annie, the housekeeper, or Bert, the gardener. Anyway, the point is we could easily set up shop there, if you want to, Clee.’

  ‘Will your parents mind?’

  ‘Of course not! Anyway, since meeting you in Paris last year they’ve been rather taken with you.’

  ‘Is their daughter?’

  Nicky took off her sun glasses, gave him a long look through penetrating blue eyes. Although she was well aware of what he meant, she asked, somewhat coyly, ‘Is their daughter what?’

  ‘Taken with me?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘She’d better be.’

  ‘She is… definitely… absolutely… taken with Cleeland Donovan.’

  Clee bent closer to her across the zinc-topped table and took her hand in his. ‘These last few days have been so wonderful, Nick. It’s never been quite like this before, for me. There’s something I want to say… about you and me… the way I feel about you, darling, and—’

  ‘Please don’t say anything, Clee,’ she interrupted, her voice as low as his had been. ‘Please, not now, not yet.’ She gently extracted her hand, sat back in her chair looking solemn.

  ‘But why not?’ he asked, his expression perplexed.

  Nicky was silent for a moment, then said, remembering the fiasco of her engagement, ‘I want this, want us, to go slowly… I don’t want you—. No, I don’t want either of us to say anything now that we might regret… that we might change our minds about later. I want you to be really sure before you say anything at all to me. And I want to be sure, too. Sure about what I really feel for you.’

  ‘But I am sure,’ he began and stopped, immediately understanding that she was afraid of commitments. ‘I see what you mean, Nicky, and you’re right, of course you are. I know how much Charles Devereaux hurt you.’ The words slipped out before he could stop them. He could have bitten off his tongue, and he stared at her in confusion, appalled at himself.

  She gaped at him, her face draining of its vivacity. Instantly it became terribly still, and closed. She did not say a word, merely bit her lip, and then she glanced away.

  Clee reached for her hand again, held her fingers tightly in his, wondering how to make amends. He was a clumsy fool and he had obviously upset her. She did not have to utter one word for him to recognize that. He had read it on her face the very second he had spoken.

  ‘Look at me, Nick.’

  Gradually she turned her head, brought her gaze to meet his.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologized. ‘Really sorry, babe. I shouldn’t have mentioned his name.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Nicky replied after a few seconds and she forced a smile onto her face. ‘Honestly it is. I just don’t like to talk about him. Whenever I do, unpleasant memories inevitably get stirred up. Anyway, talking about him serves no purpose. He was the past. I prefer to think of the future.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more.’ He took a deep breath, wanting this awkward moment to pass as quickly as possible.

  ‘Clee, you look upset. Please don’t be. It was only natural for you to mention Charles. After all, we were engaged.’

  ‘I’m pretty dumb though, at times.’

  ‘I don’t think you are.’ The dark expression which had been clouding her lovely blue eyes disappeared, and she smiled at him, then picked up her cup, took a sip. ‘The coffee’s gone cold,’ she remarked evenly, ‘shall we order two more hot ones?’

  Clee nodded, motioned to the waiter and gave the order. Then he said to her, ‘You told me you wanted to get your mother some Provençal fabric. I know just the right shop in the old town. They’ll even send it back to the States for you.’

  ‘Hey, that’s great.’

  Nicky began to chat to him about the gifts she wanted to buy, and for whom. Much to his relief her voice sounded normal again, and he relaxed.

  A short while later Clee paid and they left the café, wandered off into the old town situated behind the Cours Mirabeau. They walked through the tiny, narrow streets, stopping to look in the windows of the smart new boutiques as well as the much older establishments selling liqueurs, cheeses, local produce, crafts and fanciful Provençal creations.

  Clee took her into the atelier Fouque, where santons were made. These little figures of local peasants, created from clay or dough, and beautifully painted in bright colours, were amazingly life-like, and Nicky purchased a whole collection of them for her father. After Clee had introduced her to Paul Fouque, one of the great masters of santon making, they stood and watched him at work for fifteen minutes before heading to the confectionary to buy calissons. This local-made almond-paste sweet was Amelia’s favourite, according to Clee, and Nicky wanted to give her a box of it, along with the silk scarf she had bought for her the day before, when Clee had taken her to St Rémy.

  A short while later they walked down to the Souleiado shop. Here Nicky selected several bolts of beautiful fabrics in the colourful traditional patterns of Provence, and arranged for these to be shipped to her mother in New York. Then she picked out several address books covered in similar fabrics for girl friends, and these she took with her, as well as various aprons and other small items.

  They continued to meander through the cobbled streets, stepping into all kinds of little shops, sometimes merely to look around and savour the atmosphere. In one shop, Nicky made a few purchases of lavender essence, bags of lavender, and bags of herbes de Provence.

  When the latter were being wrapped, she turned to Clee and grinned. ‘You do know I can buy all of this stuff in New York, don’t you? At Bloomingdale’s, actually. And exactly the same products, too. But it’s not quite the same as bringing it from here.’

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ he agreed, accepting the shopping bag from the proprietor and guiding her out of the shop. ‘Come on, I want to show you the place d’Albertas, it’s very quaint, and then we’d better be getting back to the farm for lunch.’

  ‘Oh God, not another meal,’ she groaned, and grimaced through her laughter.

  Holding her arm Clee led her towards the ancient square, saying as he did, ‘Speaking of meals, I told Amelia to make a very light lunch, just a green salad, cold chicken and fruit. I’m taking you somewhere very special for dinner tonight.’

  ‘You are? Where?’ She looked at him quickly, her expression curious.

  ‘It’s quite a famous restaurant, people go there from all over the world, and it’s elegant. So if you didn’t bring a dress, Nicky, we’d better go and buy one now. There are several chic boutiques around here.’

  ‘It’s all right, Clee, I came well prepared. I packed a couple of silk dresses. And my pearls, just in case. So you can take me anywhere.’

  ‘Oh I know that,’ he murmured, and leered at her wickedly.

  ***

  Clee’s bedroom was shady and pleasant, the bright afternoon sunlight outside blocked by the wooden shutters, the warm air cooled by the ceiling fan.

  They were lying close together on the bed, bodies touching, resting now after their frantic lovemaking of earlier. Clee had brought her up here after lunch, to rest, he had said, but within minu
tes the inevitable had happened. Clee had started to kiss her and touch her, and she had responded ardently, as always instantly on fire for him whenever she felt his hands on her in that particular way. They had undressed each other, and once they were naked he had taken her to him swiftly, without preamble, and once more their wild ecstasy had begun.

  It now struck Nicky how odd it was that they had known each other for two years and had never ever thought of making love. In the last few days they hadn’t been able to get enough of each other, were unable to keep their hands off each other when they were alone.

  Nicky moved her head slightly on the pillow, in order to look at him.

  Clee was stretched out on his back, as she was. His eyes were closed, his thick dark lashes resting lightly on his bronzed cheeks. He took the sun well, had acquired a tan since he had been at the farm. His whole body was a golden brown, except for the white triangle across his stomach where his swimming trunks had been.

  In repose his face had a gentleness to it, and his mouth, so wide and generous, was vulnerable. She had a sudden impulse to reach out and touch his mouth, but refrained, not wishing to awaken him.

  Cleeland Donovan. She said his name to herself, thinking about him intently. He was a lovely man, a decent man, who did not have one bad bone in his body. He was honest and just and kind and fair. And so very trustworthy. Her mother had a phrase for people who were genuinely admirable. True blue, she called them. Cleeland Donovan was definitely true blue.

  He was her closest, dearest friend and she had loved him like a brother right from the beginning of their friendship. But now he was her lover. They were sexually involved with each other, and obviously well on the way to becoming emotionally entangled. Perhaps they already were. She wasn’t sure what would happen, what would become of them, how long they would be together in this way. But she did know she could trust him implicitly. With her life, as he had proved in Beijing. He was that type of man, courageous and dependable and strong. She felt safe with Clee. She always had, right from the beginning. He gave her a sense of being cared for, of being completely protected.