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A Kiss Too Late
Ellen James


There's a Naked Man in Her Bed!Even worse, it's her ex-husband. Sexy, handsome, exciting–Adam Prescott's always been able to sweep Jen Hillard into bed. He's just never cared enough to sweep her into his heart.But now that Jen's finally found the nerve to make a new life for herself, how could she have let this happen? Silly question. Well, okay, so what if she's done the one thing she'd sworn she'd never do–let Adam back into her bed? She's damned if she'll let him back into her life!Her heart? Well, that's another matter. He's always been there.







Dear Reader,

What happens when “I do” turns into “I don’t”? I’ve always been fascinated by the romance and drama of marriage–all those adventurous ups and down between husband and wife. After eighteen years of marriage, I know a little about the adventure from firsthand experience! But not too long ago, the storyteller in me started to ask some intriguing questions: What happens when a husband and wife simply can’t live together any longer? Can they divorce, yet fall in love with each other all over again? Can they solve the problems that pulled them apart in the first place–or will they keep repeating the same mistakes over and over, no matter how much they do love each other?

A Kiss Too Late is my answer to those questions. Telling the story of Jen and Adam has been a special experience for me. It’s the first time I’ve written about two people who share a history. I found out just how much the past can intrude on the present, causing all sorts of trouble for my characters–and all sorts of fun for me. I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing is. I’m delighted that I have the chance to share it with you.

Sincerely,

Ellen James




A Kiss Too Late

Ellen James







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE (#u488d6114-7ff2-5c89-a6ea-c7e7edacf5aa)

CHAPTER TWO (#uc87cf1a2-f8b5-544e-9e4b-65b9516da0d3)

CHAPTER THREE (#uced454a0-c1c8-5839-976f-0bd8e8993b87)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u11c3431c-6455-5401-8896-714a5961d1e8)

CHAPTER FIVE (#ue2848012-1406-5fc9-8abb-7f4e90e97da1)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE


J EN AWOKE to the smell of warm flesh and stale wine. As she opened her eyes, she tried to convince herself she was dreaming. It had to be a dream–the rumpled clothes strewn across the floor, the large hand draped over the curve of her hips, the singular gust of snoring next to her. Surely only one person in the world snored in that restless manner: Jen’s ex-husband, Adam Prescott. That had to be it–she was having yet another dream about her ex-husband.

Jen closed her eyes and stretched. But when she opened them again, the hand remained firmly placed on her bare skin. And the snoring continued. With a sense of foreboding, Jen turned her head inch by inch on the pillow. A moment later she was gazing, appalled, into the sleeping face of her ex, stubborn features, luxuriant mustache and all. This was no dream! Adam Prescott was truly sprawled here in the flesh, his powerful, solid body tangled in her sheets. Oh, Lord. What had she done? What madness had she allowed?

Jen couldn’t help a gasp escaping her lips. It didn’t wake Adam, but his hand slipped lower, settling possessively on an intimate part of her thigh. Jen froze. Now the events of last evening came tumbling back into her mind in humiliating clarity. Adam’s visit to New York–the first time she’d seen him since their divorce a year ago. His invitation to dinner at that posh restaurant, where they’d both had too much wine to drink. Far too much wine, for Jen had started to look at Adam through a hazy, romantic glow. And then the taxi ride back to her apartment, and the moment when Adam had taken her into his arms…

She stifled another gasp. How could she have been so stupid? She’d done the one thing she’d sworn she would never do–let Adam Prescott back into her bed!

She slipped away from him, leaving his warmth for the chill, early-morning air. Shivering, she glanced around. Her bedroom looked like a crime scene: discarded clothes, shoes tossed aside with abandon, even a dead-still body. Her dismay increasing by the second, Jen gazed once more at her ex-husband’s face. Even in his sleep he seemed to be frowning a little. Then, without waking, he turned on the creaking mattress until his back was toward her. How wretchedly appropriate–Adam Prescott making love to her and then turning his back.

Jen scooped up what clothes she could find on the floor and made a beeline for the living room. Today she was actually grateful for her haphazard housekeeping skills. Her unfolded laundry was piled on the coffee table, and she rummaged through it. She found fresh underwear and a pair of jeans–but no shirts. Cursing herself, she shrugged into the blouse she’d worn last night. The silken material still seemed to harbor the expensive scent of Adam’s cologne….

Jen rooted under the sofa, found a pair of sneakers and jammed them on her feet. She grabbed her purse, ran a comb through her hair with a shaky hand, and then tiptoed past the bedroom. One glance told her that Adam still slept.

Cursing herself some more, Jen let herself out of her apartment and fled the scene. Hadn’t she learned anything during her year in New York?

* * *

WHEN ADAM PRESCOTT AWOKE, his head felt like it was stuffed with wads of cotton. He sat up slowly, grumbling to himself. What the hell had he done? What mess had he gotten himself into? Unfortunately it took him only a moment to remember where he was–the hovel that his ex-wife called home these days. He glanced around, noting the racked bureau, the threadbare carpet, the wallpaper grimy with age. Jen had left their spacious brownstone in Boston and their summer house in Newport for this seedy apartment in New York City. Was she crazy?

Admittedly last night Adam himself hadn’t paid much attention to his surroundings. He’d been too busy holding Jen in his arms, relearning the curves of her body, the sexy tangle of her dark hair, the smoky depths of her eyes….

It had been damn good between them. That was the thing–sex had always been damn good between them. He’d missed it with Jen. He couldn’t pretend otherwise.

Adam swung his feet down, waiting for the pounding in his skull to subside. He swore fluently. Maybe last evening he’d been a little drunk, but this morning he was stone-cold sober. And he knew it had been a mistake. No matter how good it had felt to hold Jenny, it had damn well been a mistake. Why hadn’t he left well enough alone? He harbored no illusions: there’d be trouble because of the night he’d just spent with his ex-wife. Big trouble. Knowing Jen, he could count on it.

He made a circuit of her small apartment and found that she’d left. He wasn’t surprised. She’d run away from him a year ago, and she still seemed to be running.

No longer able to ignore the sour taste in his mouth, Adam went into Jen’s cramped bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. Only one toothbrush poked out of a mug on the shelf. Adam smiled faintly. It was obvious that Jen didn’t make a habit of sleep-over guests.

He closed the cabinet door, rinsed out his mouth with a glob of toothpaste and then went to get dressed–not an easy proposition, considering that his attire seemed to be strewn willy-nilly across the room. They had both been impatient last night–very impatient.

After what felt like a scavenger hunt, Adam finally managed to find all his clothes–suit jacket tossed over a chair back, pants strewn on the floor, shirt crumpled at the end of the bed. At last, fully dressed, he glanced around again. He still couldn’t get over the sorry state of this place. The bedroom window was barred like a jail cell. Water stains pocked the low ceiling, and pipes rattled in the flimsy walls, as someone in the apartment next door used the plumbing. This place was a genuine dive. What did Jen think she was doing here? What was she trying to prove?

Okay, so she’d been making some cockeyed bid for independence ever since their divorce. She wouldn’t accept any money from him. He’d had his lawyer contact her a dozen times, but to no avail. Yet Jen obviously couldn’t even afford a decent place to live. Was this her idea of happiness and self-fulfillment? He just didn’t get it.

Adam took his wallet from his back pocket and extracted several bills in the largest denominations he had. He tucked them under a bottle of lotion on the bureau. At least now he wouldn’t have to worry about his ex-wife’s starving to death.

He left her apartment and stepped onto a musty elevator that shook all the way down to the lobby. Outside, the blare of car horns greeted him. This was what Jen came home to every day. What the hell was going on with her?

He flagged a taxi and settled in for the drive downtown. He had plenty of time to stare at the graffiti-scrawled walls, the abandoned scaffolding of once-ambitious construction projects, the trees barricaded behind iron fences. Adam disliked New York and always had. Boston was his city–big, rowdy, friendly. New York was just too damn tense.

At last the taxi burrowed its way among the skyscrapers of the financial district. A perpetual dimness lurked here, the old stone buildings rising like muted brown ghosts. Adam swung out of the cab and strode into one of the buildings. Now a perfectly noiseless elevator took him gliding smoothly upward. The atmosphere was hushed, as if the preoccupations of investment bankers demanded absolute quiet. That was something else Adam disliked–investment bankers. Yet today he had an appointment to meet with one. It had finally come to that.

The offices of Fowler, Meredith and Company on the forty-ninth floor were sleek and bland, all the walls and furniture in the reception area a subdued off-white. Even the sunlight filtering in through the blinds seemed off-white, a watered-down version of the real thing. An equally subdued secretary brought Adam a cup of hot coffee. He could use that, all right. He’d almost finished with it by the time he was ushered into the office of Jefferson Henshaw, a partner in the prestigious acquisitions-and-mergers department.

Henshaw looked too young for the exalted position he held, a shock of wispy blond hair falling over his forehead like a schoolboy’s. Adam grimaced to himself. The last thing he needed was to deal with some hotshot fresh out of Harvard business school. He glanced at the framed diplomas on Henshaw’s wall. Adam’s list of dislikes was growing this morning. He didn’t trust a guy who framed his diplomas in teak like they were works of art.

“Mr. Prescott,” said Jefferson Henshaw. “Pleasure to meet you. Have a seat.” He spoke a shade too heartily, his handshake a bit too firm, as if he’d been coached in some business-etiquette class to present a forceful image. With heavy misgivings, Adam sat down on the other side of his desk.

“I can tell you I already have Darnard Publishing very interested in your newspaper,” Henshaw said, still in hearty mode. “You’ve picked a good time to sell.”

More like sell out–that was how it felt to Adam. If he sacrificed the Boston Standard, he’d be betraying his family heritage. The problem was that family-owned newspapers didn’t thrive in today’s economy. It was a knowledge that Adam had been fighting for a long while. He’d put everything into the Standard, and the paper still wasn’t breaking even.

“I’m looking at various possibilities,” Adam said grimly. “Going public is an option.”

“You start selling public stock, and you run the risk of losing any control of the paper at all. Let Darnard buy you out, and you can probably work a deal to stay on as editor.” There was the slightest condescension in Henshaw’s voice, as if he couldn’t understand why anyone would want to be the editor of a middling New England paper like the Standard. Hell, was this what it had come to? Adam was being patronized by some snot-nosed kid who was supposed to be the newest financial wizard. Today Adam felt every one of his forty years, and then some.

“I don’t enjoy the idea of editing a newspaper I don’t own,” Adam said.

“Darnard is the best way to go, believe me.”

Adam shrugged. He knew that Darnard Publishing was a corporate conglomerate currently expanding into television, as well as gobbling up newspapers and magazines. If Adam agreed to the deal, the Boston Standard would become just another link in a nationwide media chain. It would no longer be the family paper that Adam’s great-grandfather, Benjamin Prescott, had founded more than one hundred years ago.

Adam stood abruptly. “I’ll think about it.”

Henshaw frowned. “I’m ready right now to go over the details.”

“I’m not.”

“Mr. Prescott, I thought you were ready to seriously negotiate. You can’t keep these people dangling–”

“Let them dangle.”

Several minutes later, Adam was striding down the street, hands jammed into his pockets. It took him a while to realize where he was headed–Battery Park, to the pier where you caught the Statue of Liberty ferry. Although Adam disliked New York, he’d always had a fondness for the Lady, and there she was, with her great flowing robes and spiked crown. To the world she might represent freedom, but to Adam she held a much more personal appeal–she reflected belligerent determination, a determination to choose what was right despite all obstacles.

If only Adam could choose what was right for his newspaper. As for his ex-wife, hell, he’d never been able to figure out what was right where Jen was concerned. Last night had proved that all over again.

Adam turned and began striding in the opposite direction.

* * *

THE LUNCH RUSH at Gil’s Deli in midtown Manhattan started to pick up speed at around eleven in the morning. Nearby office workers sought out the place, intent on beating the crowds for Gil’s famed homemade sausage and potato salad. Jen, one of the deli’s newer employees, still worked the sandwich bar, not yet trusted to mix the secret recipe for potato salad. She stood behind a long counter, lackadaisically slapping mustard and mayonnaise on slices of whole wheat bread.

“What’s up?” asked her friend Suzanne, coming along to replenish Jen’s supply of pickles, romaine lettuce and Swiss cheese. “You’ve been distracted all morning.”

“Nothing,” Jen muttered. “I’m fine. Just fine and dandy.” She tossed a lettuce leaf and two slabs of ham on the thick, crusty bread. One decisive cut of her knife, and a number five, cheese-and-ham-on-wheat, lay waiting before her.

“Something’s wrong,” Suzanne said calmly, breaking out the pastrami. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

“I can’t talk about it.”

“You’ll talk,” Suzanne said with an air of confidence. Jen tossed two slices of rye bread down on the counter and dug into the mustard jar. Then she glanced at her friend in exasperation. She’d quickly bonded with Suzanne, whose placid demeanor hid implacable drive. This morning, as usual, Suzanne’s hair was swept back into a careless ponytail, and she wore her favorite uniform–corduroy pants and a madras blouse. In spite of Suzanne’s casual appearance, however, she was a focused, single-minded person, intent on accomplishing the goals she’d set for herself. She juggled her job at the deli with a full load of class work, and she intended to be a lawyer someday. She was already tenacious in cross-examination.

“What happened?” she asked. “Come on, Jen. You stormed in here, hardly said good-morning and–”

“I’ve made a complete ass of myself!” Jen raised her voice more than she’d intended, and several interested faces swiveled toward her.

Suzanne’s expression remained unconcerned. “Everyone makes an ass out of herself now and then. Why should you be different?”

“Damn,” Jen said in despair, but she never once stopped wielding the mustard. Unbidden, memories of the night before came back to her. Adam kissing her in the foyer of her apartment building. Much later, Adam standing beside her bed, both of them fumbling with zippers and buttons…

Jen’s face burned. She worked in silence a few moments, advancing from rye to pumpernickel and sourdough. “Lord…I slept with my ex-husband last night,” she said miserably. “He shows up unannounced, informs me that my mother is getting married of all things, and I’m supposed to help with the wedding. And after that we…well, I can’t believe I let it happen.” There–it was out. The dreadful, mortifying truth. All Jen’s bad judgment exposed. Suzanne, however, appeared unperturbed.

“What’s so awful, Jen? The way you explained it before, your ex is gorgeous and rich. I still can’t figure out why you left him.”

Jen struggled with an all-too-familiar frustration. It seemed no one understood why she’d left Adam. Not her mother, not her friends…not even Adam himself. She pulled over a tray of sesame-seed buns and scowled at them.

“Outwardly Adam is a very…charismatic person. He sweeps up everyone around him. But inwardly, when it comes to emotions, Adam doesn’t let anyone get too close. He never let me get too close, that’s for damn sure.”

Suzanne waved a piece of Swiss cheese. “I still don’t understand. Your mother has money–tons of it. Your ex has money–tons of it. But you’re here slogging it out, trying to land a job as an actress. Jen, your mother could probably build you your own theater. And if you’d let your ex pay alimony, you’d be rolling in dough, instead of slicing it.”

Jen thought she heard a touch of envy in Suzanne’s voice. Suzanne was very pragmatic, always counting dollars and cents. It must annoy her that Jen had walked away from so much family wealth. But Jen felt stifled by it–smothered. Two years ago, when she’d turned thirty, she’d begun to realize that never once had she proved anything on her own. The Hillard name–and then the Prescott name–had buffered her. Oh, she could have kept coasting along, safe and protected, never pursuing her secret yearnings. She could have done that–but courage had demanded otherwise.

She sighed deeply. “Speaking of acting jobs,” she said, “I have an audition this afternoon. Will you cover for me?”

“Only if you relax about your night with the ex. It’s no big deal.”

Jen thought very much otherwise. She attacked a batch of caraway rye. “All I know is that Adam had better not be there when I get back. I left him in the apartment–asleep. I don’t know how I’ll ever face the man again!”

* * *

HOURS LATER, Jen hurried down the street, threading her way through the crowd. Even after a year in New York, the novelty of the place still hadn’t worn off. She loved everything about it: the theater posters plastered one after the other on the walls, the fruit and candy stands with their cheerful umbrellas, the exotic shops and palm-reading rooms tucked into odd corners, the pots of flowers brightening the fire escapes, the high narrow buildings jutting up all around. She’d never known any other town like it. Boston didn’t compare; it just didn’t have the same excitement. As for Newport, well, she’d grown up in Newport. That was where she’d first fallen in love with Adam Prescott, reason enough to stay away from the place.

Jen glanced at the address she’d scribbled on a scrap of paper. The small theater where she’d be auditioning today didn’t even qualify as off-off-Broadway, but no matter. Jen followed any prospect she could find. And now she had an agent–a serious young man named Bernie who actually returned her phone calls. That was worth something right there.

She pushed open the door and stepped into a dim foyer, then found her way to the theater proper, where rows of wooden seats sloped toward the stage. A cluster of people stood murmuring together several feet from Jen. The air was dank in here, the stage curtains sadly worn and drooping. Even so, the familiar reactions that any theater evoked for her kicked in: the tightening of anticipation in her stomach, the sense of magic. Ever since she was a kid, it’d been like this. When she was nine, her parents had taken her to see a play for the first time. She still remembered it–Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. All the lights shining on the stage, the glittering costumes, the vivid backdrops–every detail had imprinted itself on her young mind. She had vowed right then that someday she would be an actress. It had taken her two decades to finally put that vow to the test….

Jen stirred from her reverie. Taking a deep breath, she walked toward the group of people. A bored-looking woman with dyed red hair turned to her.

“Not another one,” she said wearily. “You’re too old for the lead, you know.”

Jen gritted her teeth, but managed a polite smile. It seemed she was always too old for the lead. “I’m just looking for work,” Jen said. “Any work.”

The red-haired woman gave her another bored look. “The aunt’s part is a possibility. The spinster aunt. Here’s the script–start at scene two. George will read with you.”

Now Jen’s anticipation turned to apprehension. She climbed the steps to the stage and sat down on a folding metal chair. George turned out to be a grizzled man who mumbled his lines so that Jen could hardly tell what he was saying. She stared at the script in front of her, trying to conjure up some idea of the proper emotions for a spinster aunt. But all that came to her were vague feelings of bitter resignation.

Then George mumbled her cue and Jen responded automatically. Her voice sounded tinny and unconvincing even to her own ears. She couldn’t help wondering what Adam would say if he saw her here. He’d probably be incredulous–damn him. He’d probably laugh. His thirty-two-year-old ex-wife actually thinking she could break into a field brutal enough to girls ten years her junior. Adam would probably tell Jen to wake up and forget her dreams.

Somehow Jen got through the rest of the audition, knowing it was a miserable failure. Of course, the fake redhead had hardly seemed to be paying attention. She thanked Jen perfunctorily and went back to her conversation. Jen walked slowly from the theater and out to the bustling street.

She’d never botched an audition this badly before, not even during her first days in New York. Last night Adam Prescott had come back into her life. She’d allowed him to take her into his arms–and she’d allowed him to shake her confidence, as well.

She couldn’t allow it to happen again.




CHAPTER TWO


J EN STARED out the window of the bus, already certain she was making a mistake. She didn’t want to return to Newport. She wasn’t ready yet. But here she was, traveling up from New York, regretting every mile that rumbled under the wheels of the bus, regretting every mile that brought her closer to home.

She knew she’d see Adam again, of course. He’d be here for her mother’s wedding; he was practically an adopted son of the Hillard family. But it had been only a week since the tumultuous night Jen had spent with him. Her face heated just at the memory.

A book lay in her lap, open but unread. She slapped it shut and stuffed it into her carryall. The bus was now traveling through the narrow streets of Newport, Rhode Island, and she tried to resist the quaint beauty of the town: the old wooden houses standing cheek by jowl, the vines trailing from window boxes, the showy rhododendrons sprouting everywhere like colorful balloons.

When the bus pulled up at the station, Jen had to force herself to get off with the rest of the passengers. She felt tense as she made her way into the station with her carryall and one small suitcase. She tried to reassure herself that she wouldn’t be staying long in Newport. A few days–would it really be so bad? Afterward she’d return to New York and to the life that truly mattered to her.

“Hello, Jen,” said a voice behind her, the unmistakable voice of Adam Prescott. Jen drew in her breath. She’d expected to have a little more time to prepare herself. What was he doing here, anyway?

She couldn’t turn to face him–she just couldn’t! Not after that impetuous night they’d spent together. Jen remained frozen where she was, her back turned to Adam. Unfortunately, even though she wasn’t looking at him, she felt his presence like an overwhelming force. Her nerves seemed to tingle uncomfortably, just because she knew he was there….

At last Adam came around in front of her, and she actually had to look at him. She struggled to present an aloof facade, but she didn’t think she was very successful.

“Hello, Adam,” she said stiffly. “It’s…a surprise to see you. I thought you’d still be in Boston.”

He gave a faint, skeptical smile. “You don’t have to be polite with me, Jen.”

She gazed at him. Adam had always been much too direct for her liking. And he was much too attractive and too self-assured. His dark brown hair with distinctive hints of gray waved back from his forehead. Prematurely gray hair was a Prescott family trait, and Adam had started to show the first silvery streaks when he was in his early twenties. He was forty now, and the Prescott trademark had worn well on him. Everything wore well on the man, including that dark luxuriant mustache of his. If possible, he looked even better than he had a week ago….

He was indulging in a perusal of his own. “I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye the other day,” he said quietly.

“Still, you managed to leave your message.” She rummaged inside her carryall, found an envelope and thrust it at him. “There. I’m returning your money. I hardly expected payment for…services rendered.” She was furious, but somehow she kept her voice cool.

Adam stared at the envelope. “I think you know that wasn’t my intention. I was worried about you, Jen. After seeing how you live, it doesn’t make sense…”

Jen sighed. “Let’s drop it, all right? Everything. What happened in New York was a mistake for both of us.”

He pocketed the envelope, regarding her with a dissatisfied expression. Jen gazed into his dark brown eyes a trifle too long. He was unsettling her all over again. Why did he affect her this way? Somehow she managed a shrug.

“I expected the chauffeur to come for me. I can’t imagine you tearing yourself away from your newspaper. Did my mother bribe you?”

“I arranged to take a few days off. And I volunteered to pick you up. I thought we could finally clear the air about a few things.”

“We’ve done enough damage already,” she said tightly, but Adam had taken her suitcase and was leading the way out of the station as if he expected her to follow automatically. Hadn’t it always been like that, Adam leading, Jen expected to follow?

She stood in the middle of the station, watching Adam’s broad-shouldered back retreat. No matter that his shoulders looked wonderful in that dark, silk-woven jacket. Surely after all this time she knew how to resist his appeal.

She’d never been good at resisting him, that was the problem. Even during those painful times of their marriage, she’d longed for him, ached to have him near. With Adam, she’d always been like tinder waiting for the touch of flame. In the end, there’d been only one solution. Her one hope of making a life for herself had been to leave Adam.

Now he reached the door and turned to glance back at her, waiting. She was tempted to let him wait, but she couldn’t ignore practicalities. She’d have to go with him, or walk–and if he had something he wanted to say to her, he’d stick around until he’d said it. She knew him well enough to know that. With another sigh, Jen went to the door and out to the parking lot with Adam.

He tossed her suitcase into the trunk of a tasteful sedan that managed to convey a hint of recklessness in its lines, as if at heart the vehicle was actually a race car. Adam himself was rather like that, his appearance subtly polished but suggesting reckless energy underneath.

Jen slid into the passenger seat, and a few seconds later Adam wheeled the car out of the lot. Pressing a button on his side, he lowered Jen’s window. Feeling contrary, she found the button on her side and raised the glass. But soon the car became too hot, and with a grumble she lowered the window again.

“You used to do that a lot,” Adam said. “Even before we were married, remember? We’d go out to dinner, and you’d insist on being the one to pay the tab. You’d argue with my opinion about a concert or a play or a book. You’d argue with me about anything.”

Jen found herself tensing again. She’d been so young when she’d fallen in love with Adam. Young, in love and at the same time needing desperately to declare her independence. From the beginning, Adam’s powerful personality had inspired both fascination and rebellion in her. It had made for a volatile combination.

“Oh, yes, I remember,” she murmured. “But you never understood–”

“I knew what was going on. I’m not dense, Jenny.”

Jenny. It had been his own private name for her, a name that no one else had ever used. It seemed to have slipped out just now almost against his will. He stared straight ahead, not saying anything more. Jen stared straight ahead, too. The silence was potent, filled with all the unspoken recriminations and misunderstandings between them.

Jen made an effort to concentrate on the scenery. After a short while they left the crowded downtown streets behind and began driving along the ocean. A few people were out with their fishing poles, and gulls sunned themselves on the rocks. Out on the water, sailboats skimmed easily along. Jen wished she could enjoy the relaxed view, but she was only growing more keyed up in Adam’s company. And clearly he was determined to have his say. He pulled off the road and onto a point that overlooked the water. Waves surged against the rocks below, the ocean restless. Adam seemed restless, as well. He swung out of the car as if too impatient to sit still any longer.

Jen climbed out, too, and went to stand a short distance from him. Offshore, a tall ship rode the swells. It was a big, four-masted schooner at full sail, a ship that could have materialized straight from the nineteenth century–the past merging into the present on this lazy summer afternoon.

At last Jen glanced over at Adam. “If you’re going to talk about the other night, please don’t. We both had too much to drink, that’s all. We got carried away.”

The breeze ruffled Adam’s hair until it was no longer so impeccably groomed. His voice was gruff when he spoke.

“I had a lot more I wanted to tell you that night. I didn’t get a chance. The fact is, you’ve been trying to avoid me this past year, Jen. And you’ve also been avoiding your family. That isn’t right. They need you, and you can’t go on letting them down.”

Jen stared at him. “That’s what you wanted to tell me? You wanted to give me a lecture on my family? I suppose I should’ve known.” She kicked a small stone. “And I’m not hiding out in New York, trying to avoid you. I’m simply leading my own life. A good, happy life, by the way.” She stopped. Why did she feel so defensive around Adam? Why was she trying to justify herself to him?

His features were set in the hard, uncompromising lines so familiar to her. “A good life?” he echoed skeptically. “Don’t forget, Jen, I’ve seen your apartment. I don’t know what the hell you’re doing in New York, but that’s not the point. New York’s only a couple of hours away. You’ve been acting like it’s in another country, always making excuses why you can’t come home. And that is hurting your family. All I’m trying to tell you is–don’t do it on my account. You can start coming home again.”

She made an attempt at laughter. “Now you’re giving me permission to return. I guess you never really understood me or why I left you. And obviously you still don’t understand.”

“Explain it to me, then. Let’s straighten this out once and for all.”

Anger churned inside her. This was typical Adam Prescott–behaving as if she was someone he had to bring into line.

“I tried to explain it to you, Adam. A hundred times I tried. But you never listened.”

They stood facing each other on the rocky outcropping, the waves splashing unheeded below. Adam jammed his hands into his pockets.

“This is about the newspaper,” he said, “isn’t it? You always resented how much time I put into it.”

She made a gesture of futility. They’d been apart all this time, and still it seemed their arguments were destined to follow the same path.

“Adam, I knew from the beginning how important the Standard was to you. That wasn’t the real problem.” It dismayed her how fresh her memories were–how readily she recalled the pain and disappointment of trying to get through to Adam. During their marriage she’d been like someone pounding and pounding on a door, never to have it opened, never to know what was on the other side. How ironic. Living with Adam so many years, but never being allowed to know his private thoughts or emotions. She’d begun to wonder if she knew her own husband at all.

She still didn’t really know him. Even now, his expression grew shuttered. “I gave you everything I could, Jen. Everything I had to give.”

“It wasn’t enough.” She heard the edge of bitterness in her own voice. “Let’s not start this all over,” she said quickly. “I’m here for my mother’s wedding, and that’s the only thing that matters.”

Adam studied her. “Don’t let another year go by before you visit your family again.”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen after this,” she said, perhaps too sharply. “I’ll just have to see how it goes with my great-uncles and with my mother. As for you and me, Adam…well, let’s not have any more…unfortunate episodes.”

“I call it lovemaking.” His tone was final, yet he looked dissatisfied. He gazed at Jen a moment longer, frowning slightly. Her own gaze lingered involuntarily on the bold, expressive contours of his face. A week ago he had reawakened the passion between them, and now the familiar desire stirred in her again. She still wanted him. She still longed for his touch. Hadn’t she learned anything–anything at all?

She turned away and was relieved when he went back to the car and pulled open the passenger door for her. She slid into her seat, and a moment later they were on the road.

“I’m surprised you haven’t remarried,” she said when the silence grew awkward. “You wanted children, after all.” Jen paused for only a second. The issue of children had been one of the major sore spots in their marriage, and she felt it best to skim over the subject. “Anyway, these days it seems there’s always a story about you in the society columns, and a picture of you with some new woman.”

He drove the car smoothly along the winding ocean road. “I didn’t know you read the social pages,” he remarked.

“I don’t read them. It’s just that you can’t help glancing at a picture of someone you know. Besides, you give the gossips a great deal to talk about.”

“You believe the stories, Jen?”

“I believe the photographs.” She stared out the windshield, refusing to mention the jealousy that twisted through her every time she saw a picture of Adam escorting yet another lovely socialite. “The women you choose, they’re gorgeous,” she said in an offhand manner. “Apparently you didn’t waste any time after I was gone.”

“You made it clear you wanted nothing more to do with me. You’re still making that clear–even after I shared your bed.”

Dammit, why couldn’t they stop talking about that…incident? Jen feared her relationship with Adam was like a package she kept trying to wrap up and put away, only the paper kept tearing and the string kept coming untied. It certainly didn’t help to be sitting beside him like this, his closeness almost taunting.

Adam turned off the road and stopped the car in front of the heavy iron gates that guarded Jen’s childhood home. She frowned at them. She’d always detested these gates, convinced they’d been meant more to imprison the Hillard family than to keep intruders away.

Adam leaned out his window and punched a series of numbers on the security panel. A second later the gates buzzed and swung open ponderously. Adam drove through, the gates clanging shut behind the car.

“I don’t even know the security code anymore,” Jen said. “My family trusts you more than they do me.”

Adam slowly took the car under the elms of the drive. “I know it bothers you, that I’m still on good terms with your family.”

“I don’t understand how you get along so well with them,” Jen murmured. “I can never seem to agree with them about anything. I never seem to agree with my mother, that’s for certain.”

“Give your family a chance for once. You might be surprised.”

“Surprised–I seriously doubt that. Some things never change.”

He stopped the car in front of the house, although perhaps “house” wasn’t precisely the right term for such an ambitious structure. The Hillard mansion had been built in the late 1800s, at a time when Jen’s ancestors had harbored a fondness for Tudor architecture. The place resembled an English country estate, with its mullioned windows, stone walls, myriad chimneys and even a few conical towers. Architecturally the place was impressive, Jen supposed.

“Welcome home,” she said wryly. “I never did trust this house. When I was a kid, I used to feel lost in there.”

Adam sat with both hands resting on the steering wheel. “Jen…is it really so bad coming home?”

“It’s uncomfortable at the very least.”

“I could go in with you right now. It might help ease things.”

Jen glanced at him. “It’s better if I do this alone.”

“Maybe some things do change, Jenny,” he said in a quiet voice. “You seem different now. Stronger, I think. More independent, that’s for damn sure.”

Gazing into Adam’s dark eyes, she felt trapped in the intimacy of his car. It seemed that long ago the touch of his lips and the caress of his hands had branded her in some irrevocable way. Perhaps she resented him for that, more than anything else. Adam had been her first lover. And, in spite of his emotional distance, he’d been a very good lover. Too good. She’d begun to fear she would find no other man who could compare with him that way.

She pressed the window button, raising the glass all the way up. “I appreciate your meeting me at the station,” she said rather stiffly.

“There you go again, being polite.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “Okay, forget polite. All I know is, I’m not looking forward to going in that house.”

“I suspect you can handle your family. In a way, you handled all of us a year ago. This time just go a little easier.”

She turned from him. How like Adam to align himself firmly on the side of her family. That was the way it had felt back then: all of them, including Adam, lined up against her.

She scrambled out of the car. Adam deposited her suitcase and bag on the veranda, then jangled his keys in his hand.

“Positive you don’t want me to come in with you?” he asked.

“Positive.”

Adam gave her a fleeting smile and climbed back in his car. Jen watched it disappear down the drive. And she wished, quite suddenly, that she’d let Adam stay here with her, after all.

* * *

ADAM DROVE BACK OUT the gates, only to slow the car to a halt. He couldn’t explain why he wasn’t phoning the newspaper. He usually checked in to see how things were going; he rarely took this much time off. Hell, he shouldn’t be taking off time at all, not when he had Darnard Publishing looking to close a deal with him. They were making a generous offer for the paper. Very generous. Yet Adam still couldn’t force himself to sign on the dotted line.

Now he thought about Jen. That his ex-wife was a distraction there could be no doubt. More than a distraction. These days she seemed to have gained a special vibrancy, as if living in that run-down apartment of hers in New York actually suited her. Of course, she still had the patrician air that was her hallmark. That was the joke: for as long as Adam had known Jen, she’d fought against her aristocratic heritage, despising the fact that her maternal ancestors boasted a distant connection to Stuart royalty. And yet Jen moved with a naturally aristocratic bearing, something she couldn’t disguise. It showed in the confident way she walked, the way she could make even faded jeans and a T-shirt seem like the latest fashion. Meanwhile, her gray eyes betrayed the passion she tried to keep hidden underneath….

Damn. She was getting to him all over again. He’d hoped he’d worked Jenny out of his system that night in New York. He’d thought it would be safe, going to pick her up today and setting her straight about her family. He’d been wrong. Of course, he’d been wrong about Jenny plenty of times before.

Adam started the car moving again, but he didn’t call the paper. Instead, he went down the road and turned in at yet another pair of gates. A few minutes later he swung the car around in front of a rambling, gabled villa built of mellowed stone. It had been his parents’ home, the house where he’d grown up. He rarely came here anymore, and he couldn’t explain the impulse that had brought him today.

Adam climbed the porch steps and unlocked the front door. He moved restlessly through the dim, musty rooms with their shrouded furniture and drawn curtains. A caretaker cleaned and dusted the rooms periodically, yet still the place smelled of decay to Adam. All about him, the air hung heavy and stale from disuse.

He knew he ought to have sold the house years ago. After all, he wasn’t a sentimental person. But it was one more thing he couldn’t explain–why he held on to a house that felt more and more like a mausoleum with each passing year.

Adam frowned as he paced the drawing room. He didn’t care for niggling emotions he couldn’t explain. Now he glanced at the portrait of his parents that still hung in an alcove. It was a realistic portrayal, showing his mother and father turned toward each other, focusing solely on each other rather than gazing out at the rest of the world. Adam paused and studied the portrait for some moments. That was a mistake, of course, for he felt remnants of the old sensations rise within him–sorrow and guilt and anger. But it had all happened such a long time ago. Surely with a little effort he could make himself forget.

Adam turned from the portrait and strode outside, gazing across the wide lawn. Off among the trees he could see the rooftop of the Hillard house. His family and Jen’s had lived side by side for decades, and Adam couldn’t help feeling protective toward Jen’s two great-uncles and toward her mother. He didn’t like the sadness he’d sensed in them, ever since his divorce from Jen and her refusal to visit Newport.

Adam gazed speculatively at the Hillards’ rooftop. That was a problem he could tackle–convincing Jen her family needed more from her. He just had to make sure his involvement didn’t go beyond that.

Where Jen was concerned, he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.




CHAPTER THREE


J EN GLANCED once again at the elaborate clock that presided on the mantelpiece. She’d always disliked that clock, with its fussy, scrolled trim in gilded bronze. Nonetheless, the minute hand accurately indicated that Jen had been waiting in the living room for almost half an hour. This was so typical of her mother. Visiting her was like trying to see a head of state. The housekeeper had sternly ushered Jen into the living room, instructed her to remain there and stalked off to inform “madame” of this intrusion. Throughout the years, Jen’s mother had employed a long line of equally stern housekeepers, who invariably considered it their duty to obliterate any homey detail in the Hillard mansion.

As Jen attempted to find a comfortable spot on the silk-brocade sofa, she felt more and more like someone waiting to petition the Queen. But she rejected the alternative of going upstairs to search for signs of life. Her great-uncles were never home at this time of day–not that Jen could have counted on them to ease the tension. At any rate, Jen would just wait here and let her mother make a grand entrance, if that was what she wanted.

At last the tap of heels sounded in the hall, and Beth Hillard appeared in the doorway. She smiled graciously, as if to an audience.

“Jenna, come here and give your poor old mother a kiss.” Beth Hillard looked anything but poor and old. A slender woman of fifty-six, she could easily have passed for ten years younger. Her hair was still as dark as Jen’s, her skin still fresh and barely lined. If on occasion Beth cultivated an air of frailty, it was simply to put others off guard. In reality, Beth Hillard was a shrewd, determined woman.

Now she held out her arms, and Jen went to give her a dutiful hug. As usual, a cloud of fragrance enveloped her, a floral perfume that Beth had been using forever. It reminded Jen of roses preserved under glass, and it always made her stomach tighten with some vague apprehension. Today was no different.

“We won’t quarrel this time,” Beth murmured against Jen’s ear, like someone delivering a subliminal message. “Absolutely not.”

Jen extricated herself from the embrace, battling a familiar annoyance. “If I recall, Mother, last time you were the one who quarreled with me.”

Beth surveyed her daughter. “Never look to place blame, dear. It’s unladylike. Besides, today I’m willing to make allowances. I absolutely refuse to get upset.”

Jen stifled a groan of frustration. During the past year, her mother had stirred up several arguments with her, usually via the telephone. On one awkward occasion, she’d insisted on meeting in New York. Lunch with Beth had not been a pleasant encounter, by any means.

Now Beth led Jen back to the sofa and urged her to sit. “Come, let’s have a chat. You must be terribly surprised that I’m marrying Phillip–on the spur of the moment like this!”

Jen noted the sparkle in her mother’s eyes. “Considering that you’ve been engaged to the man for years, Mother, ’surprised’ isn’t exactly the term. Let’s just say I’m happy for you and Phillip. Really I am.”

“You know, Jenna, I’ve been foolish to make Phillip wait so long,” Beth said. “I’m glad I’ve finally made up my mind to go ahead. And that brings us to the subject of you and Adam…”

“I don’t quite see the connection,” Jen muttered.

Beth tucked up her feet and settled back in a corner of the sofa. In her bright turquoise blouse and flowered skirt, she made a splash of color against the pale cushions. Beth always dressed to stand out among subdued surroundings; it was part of her flair.

“I want to know how you’ve reacted to seeing Adam,” she said. “Let’s be frank, dear. Don’t tell me the experience didn’t affect you.”

Jen struggled with another surge of annoyance. “Mother, how many times do I have to tell you it’s over between Adam and me? It was an underhanded trick, sending him to New York to tell me about the wedding.”

Beth shrugged. “I just think you ought to get your feelings out in the open. Let’s be honest. You can’t deny that Adam is someone special.”

Jen hated it when her mother went into her honesty mode. Usually it meant Beth wanted other people to be honest, leaving Beth free to pass judgments and proffer advice. It was particularly irritating when the subject turned to Adam.

Jen stood abruptly and went to stare out the window. A lawn as perfect as green velvet sloped down toward the Hillards’ own private beach. Nothing about the place had changed. The grounds were still exquisitely manicured, looking untouched, as if no one ever strolled across them. And Jen’s mother still behaved as if Jen and Adam were meant to form an alliance. That was how the Hillard family had viewed it all those years ago: an alliance, not a romance. Jen suspected that even Adam had seen it in those terms.

She swiveled away from the window and faced Beth again. “Mother, you have to stop. You have to accept the truth about Adam and me. It’s over.”

Now Beth assumed a philosophical air. “You’re just kicking up your heels a little, that’s all. You never had a chance to be on your own before you got married, so you’re doing it now. You just have to get it out of your system.”

Jen clenched her hands into fists. “I’m not just getting something out of my system, as you put it. I’m building a life for myself.”

“One you’re quite mysterious about, if I do say so. What do you do, Jenna? I’m aware you haven’t touched any of the funds in your accounts. How on earth do you support yourself?”

Jen wouldn’t answer that question. No one in her family would understand her job at the deli, or how she lived. And her acting aspirations were too private, too special, to share right now.

“Mother, I’m doing just fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Well, I do worry.” Beth swung her feet down from the sofa and gazed at her daughter in consternation. “If only you’d had children with Adam. That would’ve anchored you.”

“Anchored,” Jen echoed. “Let’s not get into this again, Mother.”

Beth paused, apparently considering different tactics. “I’d always hoped that you and Adam would discover the joys of parenthood together. His poor dear parents dreamed of that, too, you know….”

It was Beth’s guilt treatment, something she used with particular effectiveness. Jen refused to be swayed by it today, but she reflected on her mother’s words. It was true that the Hillards and the Prescotts, long close in friendship, had always harbored the hope that eventually Jen and Adam would marry and produce children of their own. The marriage had taken place, indeed, on the eve of Jen’s twenty-first birthday. She’d been wildly in love, and she’d imagined Adam felt the same way. She’d wanted to believe their union actually had nothing to do with family expectations. More than anything, she’d wanted to believe they were destined to be together for very personal and private reasons. Jen had been so damn naive back then.

Beth spoke again, still working on the guilt angle. “I don’t understand you, Jenna, no matter how hard I try. If you can’t make up with Adam, why don’t you find yourself another husband? Someone suitable, of course, someone–”

“Someone appropriate,” Jen finished. “Yes, I know. Someone with the proper family background who can live up to the Hillard standards.”

“The right candidates are available. Look at me. I managed to find another man who can live up to the standards of our family. In fact, I’m sure your father would be very pleased that I’ve chosen Phillip.”

Undeniably, Phillip Rhodes possessed flawless credentials. Master of his own considerable fortune in real estate, there was no danger that he wished to marry Beth Hillard for her money. Phillip and Jen’s father had even been good friends. Jen could well imagine her father nodding his head in approval, endorsing the wise step his widow was about to take–the step of forming another proper alliance.

Jen pushed both hands through her hair. “Look, Mother, I really am happy for you and Phillip, so let’s forget about me for the moment. This is your time. Let’s talk about plans for the wedding. I’m ready to pitch in and get to work.”

Beth smiled complacently. “I’m so glad to know that, dear. Because you’re going to be a big part of the ceremony. You and Adam both, that is. You see, Adam is going to be the best man, and you’re going to be the maid of honor!”

* * *

JEN WALKED QUICKLY through the grove of linden trees that marked the end of Hillard property. Prescott property began on the other side of the trees. For years, the Hillards and the Prescotts had been neighbors, the two families united in physical proximity, as well as in purpose and outlook. But Jen had always considered this grove between the two estates as a sort of no-man’s land, belonging to neither of the families. It had often been her refuge, a place where she could simply be by herself, away from the combined demands of the Hillards and the Prescotts. It was only natural to come here now. She began to pace.

“Hello, Jenny,” said Adam from the other side of the trees. Jen stopped abruptly. Just the sound of his voice seemed to transform her surroundings. Suddenly this grove seemed too outlying, too secluded.

Jen felt an odd mixture of defensiveness and anticipation. She turned and peered through the branches. “Adam, what are you doing out here?”

He walked toward her. He’d taken off his jacket, but his tie was still loosely knotted. “I have to admit I got curious. How’d it go with your mother?”

Jen frowned at him. “I suppose you already know she plans for me to be maid of honor–with you as best man, naturally.”

“The best man has a lot of responsibilities,” he remarked. “Taking charge of the ushers, being the toastmaster, supervising the rest of the wedding party.”

Jen glanced at him sharply. “I never should’ve let my mother finagle me into this.”

“You could always tell her you don’t want to do it.”

“She is my mother.”

“So we’re both in. I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other the next few days.”

Jen leaned against a tree trunk. “At least we can try not to get in each other’s way.”

“We can try,” he agreed.

“What I mean to say is, I think it would be easier if you didn’t come looking for me like this. Why did you come, Adam?”

For once he appeared at a loss. He didn’t say anything for a moment. When at last he did speak, he surprised Jen.

“This place is where I first kissed you,” he murmured. “Do you remember?”

“Of course I do,” she said reluctantly. “But I never thought you remembered.”

“You were, what, seventeen? I considered you much too young for me, but you seemed determined to show me otherwise.”

Poignant memories drifted over her, but she resisted them as best she could. “What’s the point, Adam? It was all so long ago.”

Sunlight glimmered down through the leaves, and a breeze from the ocean stirred the branches. Adam crossed to Jen, a look of purpose in his eyes. She pressed back against the tree trunk, feeling the scratch of bark through the thin material of her blouse. Adam was standing very close to her now. He raised his hand and gently, experimentally, ran his thumb over the tender surface of her lips. Jen caught her breath at his touch. She felt herself trembling, and she couldn’t move away from him.

“Do you remember when I first made love to you?” he asked, his voice husky.

Her eyelids drifted downward as he continued his light, seductive caress. But he was seducing her most of all with words and with those memories. Oh, she’d been crazy for him. Nineteen years old, and it had seemed to her she’d been saving herself all her life for Adam. She’d been so impatient to have him, and he’d taught her well the secrets of her own body. Too well….

“When I made love to you in New York, it was like the first time, wasn’t it, Jen?”

It had been better than the first time, that was the worst of it. In New York, she’d brought to Adam all the experience he himself had given her. Their passion had been all the more intense for its familiarity. But she needed more from a man than physical passion. Far more.

She slipped away from him, furious at the tears pricking her eyelids. “Don’t do this, Adam,” she said, her voice shaking. She glanced away from him. They stood together among the trees, and Jen realized she would never find any neutral territory here. Her “no-man’s land” was an illusion. In Newport she would always be haunted by all the poignant memories of her time with Adam–the man she had once loved so desperately.

“Leave it alone, Adam,” she said tautly, wishing she could return to New York this very instant.

Instead, all she could do was retreat to the house where she’d never truly felt at home.

* * *

THERE WERE MANSIONS in Newport far grander even than the house where Jen had grown up. Tonight, for instance, she found herself wandering reluctantly about the spectacular edifice known as Hampton Court. Light from the chandeliers glittered on the marble fireplaces and gilded mirrors of the ballroom, and the ceiling frescoes and the carved wall panels only added to the atmosphere of exuberant Victorian excess. A hundred years ago, a wealthy society matron named Alda Hampton had thrown lavish parties here in her efforts to outdo other wealthy society matrons. This evening’s gathering was an echo of those splendid affairs. The house now belonged to friends of Jen’s mother, and they’d spared no expense in celebrating her impending marriage. At one end of the room, a chamber orchestra played on a dais. At the other end, tables had been laden with every variety of seafood: lobster, crab cakes, shrimp bisque, stuffed clams.

Jen continued to wander on the outskirts of the party, sipping a glass of champagne. She wasn’t in the mood to socialize. She preferred smaller, more intimate gatherings, not large groups like this. But she knew that her uneasy mood couldn’t entirely be blamed on the noise and chatter that surrounded her. The way Adam kept getting under her skin was what really vexed her.

At this very moment Adam was nearby, sharing a conversation with a group of people. As if sensing her gaze, he turned and glanced at her. It seemed to her that even from this distance, she could see a hint of mockery in his dark eyes. She couldn’t look away. One glance, and he had captured her. Her fingers tightened around the glass of champagne. But the fizz of warmth through her body had nothing to do with alcohol.

“Having a good time, dear?” Beth Hillard appeared at Jen’s elbow, her gaze assessing.

Jen finally dragged her eyes away from Adam’s. “You don’t need to worry about me, Mother. This is your celebration. Have fun.”

“Yes, it’s so pleasant to have an unexpected party like this.” Beth was her usual immaculate self, hair perfectly waved, makeup expertly applied. Now she glanced about the crowded room with an air of contentment. “Ah, there’s Adam,” she said in a too-innocent voice. “He looks particularly dashing tonight.”

Unfortunately Jen found that she agreed. Adam’s masculine, broad-shouldered frame looked especially attractive in the slate gray jacket he wore. And no matter how restrained his outward demeanor, he conveyed a sense of energy coiled underneath. His vitality seemed to draw Jen even from here. She turned so that she couldn’t see him anymore.

“Mother, I wish you and I could talk about something besides Adam.”

Beth gave her daughter a disapproving glare. “You’re not giving him a chance. I’m quite certain he wishes a reconciliation with you–whether or not he realizes it.”

Trust Beth to disregard reality completely. Still, Jen couldn’t help glancing at Adam again. By now a few couples were dancing, and Adam was among them. He was executing a waltz with a striking blonde Jenna didn’t know. She tried to ignore her immediate, instinctive discomfort at the sight. Let Adam Prescott dance with all the blondes he liked!

Jen’s mother became distracted by the approach of several friends, and Jen was able to slip out onto the terrace. Leaning against the balustrade, she gazed at the ocean. The evening had deepened into night, and the line between water and sky was barely perceptible. The noise of the party was subdued out here, and Jen tried to lose herself in the sweet, humid fragrance of the air.

“You have a habit of running away, Jenny.”

She stiffened at the sound of Adam’s voice and went on staring at the ocean. The stone balustrade was cool against her hand, and she tried to focus on that sensation rather than Adam’s nearness. “I’m not running away. I just don’t like this type of party. So many people…”

“So many of the wrong people, you mean,” he said, coming to lean next to her.

In some ways, Adam knew her very well. Too well. “I’ve never really belonged in this world,” she said, gesturing to include the ornate mansion and the expansive grounds that swept down to the bluff. “Everything’s on such a grandiose scale. I prefer things small and manageable. I’d rather look at one single wild rose than acres of garden flowers. But you belong in this world, Adam. You’re very comfortable in it.”

“And that gives you one more reason to despise me,” he said. The light spilling from the ballroom revealed the hard lines of his face.

“I don’t despise you,” she answered. “Believe it or not, I’ve gone on with my life. I haven’t spent every minute thinking about you.” That wasn’t entirely the truth. Jen had spent a lot of time over the past year thinking about Adam.

He studied her intently. “Tell me about this life of yours in New York City.”

She stiffened again. She’d never told Adam about her secret dreams, knowing instinctively he would dismiss them as absurd and farfetched. She knew how farfetched they were. She didn’t need a dose of Adam’s cynical realism.

“I’m happy,” she said. “That’s all you need to know.”

“From what I can tell, you’ve carved out a lonely place for yourself. Is that how you want it? No family around, no kids…”

She set her glass down on the balustrade, the champagne no longer enticing her. “I can see where this is headed. But I had good reasons for not wanting children while we were married. Dammit, Adam, you were never around. You didn’t have any time for me, let alone a baby.”

“We could have worked it out. I would have made adjustments–”

“No. You wouldn’t have. You refused to change for me. Would a child really have made the difference?” She took a deep breath, struggling to calm herself. It dismayed her that Adam could still provoke her emotions so easily.

“Be straight, Jen,” he muttered. “It wasn’t just about my working too much. You always behaved as if you’d be jealous of any child we’d have–as if you’d resent my giving attention to someone else.”

Turmoil churned inside Jen as she gazed at him. “Maybe if you’d really been in love with me, maybe then I wouldn’t have been afraid children would come between us.”

“Your idea of love is completely unrealistic.” Adam sounded impatient. “You expected us to be enthralled with each other twenty-four hours a day. But marriage should be a partnership, not a ticket on an emotional merry-go-round.”

“Well put,” she said caustically. “Except that I’m no longer asking you to be enthralled. You’re off the merry-go-round. You’re free.”

“It’s not as simple as that.” Adam stepped closer and drew her into his arms. Startled, she placed her hands against his chest and frowned at him in the glimmering light from the ballroom.

“Don’t do this…”

“We’ve proved that at least one thing is right between us. Very right, Jenny.”

His touch was dangerous, sparking memories of all their secret, impassioned hours together throughout the years. “It’s not enough,” she said, her voice unsteady.

Adam didn’t answer. He and Jen stood clasped together in the shadows. As the music drifted out from the ballroom, he moved her into a dance. They swayed together, and she found her cheek nestled against his chest, certainly a deterrent to rational thought. They had always danced well together, moving so naturally in each other’s arms, and tonight was no different. She trailed her hands up over his shoulders, raising her face toward his as if she possessed no will of her own.

She trembled in his arms, alive to his touch, and knew she had to do anything she could to break the spell between them. “Adam…there’s something you should realize,” she said. “My mother wants to get us back together. Let’s not make her think she’s succeeding.”

He drew Jen even closer. “Your mother has nothing to do with this,” he said.

“She’s up to something, I tell you.”

Adam wouldn’t listen, and against her own will, Jen relaxed deeper into his arms. The pounding of the ocean against the shore seemed to grow louder, until she could almost feel the rhythmic throbbing of the waves–or was that simply Adam’s heartbeat next to hers? It was difficult to tell where one sound began and the other left off. And then she realized that the music had ceased entirely. In fact, an expectant sort of silence seemed to weight the air. From the direction of the ballroom, someone gave a discreet cough.

Jen pulled away from Adam, only to find her mother peering out at them. Even from this distance, Jen could see the satisfied glint in her mother’s eyes. Behind Beth Hillard, several other faces peered out with interest, too. It was impossible to tell how long Jen and Adam’s embrace had provided a source of entertainment for the other guests, but Jen’s mother fairly beamed. She gave Adam and Jen a perky little wave from the doors of the ballroom.

“Damn,” Adam said. And Jen had to agree.




CHAPTER FOUR


O UT OF SORTS. That was the only way Adam could describe how he felt this morning. Out of sorts, as if everything in his life had subtly shifted and become just a little displaced. Could he blame this sensation on his problems with the newspaper? Or could it be the fact that his ex-wife was back in town? Back in Newport.

Adam didn’t know the answer. Apparently he didn’t know a whole hell of a lot about his life anymore, and that bothered him as much as anything. He was accustomed to being in control. Not that long ago he’d known exactly where he was headed, but these days it seemed that all the familiar signposts were gone.

For the moment, Adam stood in front of the Newport offices of Hillard Enterprises, the shipping firm that had provided his ex-wife’s family with a substantial fortune over the past few centuries. The firm was a venerable one, originally founded by Jen’s shipbuilding ancestors in the early 1700s. Not that Jen’s forebears had been all that respectable; the family history included tales of smuggling and privateering–more than a few skeletons in the closet. These days, however, Hillard Enterprises occupied itself with the mundane details of supervising its fleets, calculating tonnages and monitoring worldwide freight rates.

Even with branches in New York, San Francisco and London, the firm still maintained its original small building in Newport–almost a museum, really. Adam studied the place: its bricks mellowed with age to an ocher red, the ancient window sashes painted a fresh white as if to belie their years, the hipped roof giving the structure a rather ponderous, top-heavy air. Heritage. The place was all about heritage. It stirred something in Adam, some restlessness he couldn’t quite define. More vague dissatisfaction, it seemed. He didn’t like it, but once again he didn’t seem able to do anything about it. He also didn’t seem able to do anything about the way his ex-wife kept coming to mind. Jen, with her gray eyes and her dark hair tumbling to her shoulders….

Adam pushed open the front door of Hillard Enterprises and passed through a room where relics of the business were carefully preserved: yellowed maps, old-fashioned typewriters and adding machines, framed photographs of Hillard ships through the generations, even a crusty old anchor dating back some two hundred years. Adam climbed a simple, graceful staircase of polished pine, walked down the second-story hallway and knocked on a closed door.

“Come in,” called a voice that quavered just a little, like a scratchy phonograph recording. Adam pushed open the door and walked inside an office where the walls were paneled in more glossy pine. All of this honey-colored wood gave the room an impression of airiness, as if Adam had just stepped into a forest clearing. Jen’s great-uncle William was seated by the window in a slatted chair, taking full advantage of the early-morning sunlight. Recently old William had been complaining that Newport weather had become too brisk even in the summer. William liked to theorize about changes in the earth’s atmosphere, refusing to admit that his own advancing years might account for stiff joints and cold toes.

“Adam–right on time,” William said with obvious approval. Adam shook William’s hand with the requisite formality. He’d known William Hillard all his life, and he also knew how much William appreciated the small grace notes of respect.

Now Adam took a seat across from the elderly gentleman. “You made things sound pretty urgent on the phone, William. I came right over.”

William nodded. “Yes, it’s a matter of some importance. But where is Thomas? He knows we can’t start without him. He does this sort of thing on purpose–”

“Contain yourself, Will,” Thomas Hillard said from the doorway. Thomas, William’s older brother, had turned eighty this year. He walked slowly and stiffly into the room. As stubborn as his sibling, he refused to make concessions to his age and wouldn’t use so much as a cane to help himself get about. The Hillard brothers had other similarities. They were both tall and thin, and they both had snowy white hair. In some ways, however, the two old men were a study in contrasts. William wore outmoded flannel trousers and an equally outmoded cardigan; Thomas wore an elegant, hand-tailored suit. William favored drab, unobtrusive colors; Thomas sported a jaunty red handkerchief in his jacket pocket. The two old guys reminded Adam of a set of mismatched bookends.

William watched with a frown as his brother lowered himself inch by inch into a chair. “You’re almost late, Thomas.”

“Check your watch, Will. I still have fifteen seconds to spare.” Thomas finally settled all the way into his chair and gave Adam a roguish smile. “You’re in for it today, my boy. Will’s on a tear about Jenna.”

Somehow this didn’t come as a surprise to Adam. William was always on a tear about his great-niece.

“I’ll explain, given the chance.” William stared at his older brother, looking peeved, but that was nothing new, either. William always looked peeved with Thomas. “Adam, we’re worried about Jenna. Very worried, I might add–”

“Speak for yourself, Will,” Thomas interrupted. “I’m not worried about Jenna at all. It’s the best thing she could do for herself, kicking up her heels in New York. Let her have at it, that’s what I say.”

William looked more annoyed than ever. Now he pointedly ignored his brother, addressing Adam once again. “We called you here so you could do something about Jenna before it’s too late. This escapade of hers has gone on long enough. Keep her in Newport, Adam. That’s what we’re asking.”

Thomas interrupted once more, lifting a hand that shook slightly. “Calm yourself, Will. I think it’s fine that Jenna wants to be an actress in New York. Just fine.”

Now it was Adam who glanced at Thomas. “Jen? An actress? What are you talking about?”

Thomas’s expression seemed purposely bland. “You haven’t suspected? But it’s true, you know. That’s why Jenna ran away to New York–to become an actress.”

Adam stood and began pacing. This office, for all its sunlight and airiness, felt too confining. Perhaps it was the age of the place, or the age of its inhabitants, but Adam felt restless. Besides, he was having a difficult time accepting this claim Thomas had just made. Jen, an actress. He’d been married to her all those years, and she’d never once mentioned anything about wanting to act.

“It can’t be true,” sputtered William. “It can’t possibly… But, Tom, if you knew something about Jenna, why didn’t you tell me?” William sounded hurt, like a kid asking why he hadn’t been allowed to join the sandlot baseball game. Occasionally that happened–William seeming to echo the long-ago child he’d once been, longing to be let in on his older brother’s secrets.

Thomas appeared pleased to have stirred up a reaction. He was always trying to stir up his younger brother. “I’m telling you about Jen now, Will. Not that it’s a very sporting thing to do–she’s made it clear she doesn’t want anyone to know what she’s up to.”

William looked offended. “You seem to know all about her. Are you implying that she’s confided in you?”

Thomas looked complacent. “Let us say she almost confided. I was speaking with her yesterday, and she started to tell me about her acting class. She tried to catch herself, but it was too late. After that, I made a few phone calls. I still have friends in the theater, you might remember, and I’ve learned that Jenna’s been making the audition rounds in New York.” Old Thomas leaned back with all the satisfaction of someone who’d just displayed his trump card.

“You investigated…and you didn’t tell me,” William muttered.

Adam thought about Jen. She’d always loved to attend the theater, but she’d never confessed to having any serious acting aspirations. It bothered the hell out of him that his own wife hadn’t confided in him….

“Adam, it’s more imperative than ever that you do something about Jenna,” William continued. “It’s absurd for her to be alone in New York chasing some wild fancy. What are the chances she’ll succeed? The odds are against even the most talented…” For just a moment, William sounded forlorn, and Adam could guess why. Almost fifty years ago, William, too, had chased a wild fancy, causing his own brief scandal. He’d announced to his parents that he wished to be a novelist, instead of joining the family shipping concern. Against all their admonishments, he’d moved into a small apartment in Boston and proceeded to write. He’d actually completed a novel and sent it off to one editor after another. Unfortunately even the Hillard name hadn’t helped him sell the book. He’d given up in discouragement and returned quietly to the family fold.

Adam rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t know if his ex-wife had any acting ability or if this really was just some crazy dream of hers. No matter what, though, her great-uncle William was right. The odds were against Jen. She’d chosen a very difficult career, one notorious for its harsh disappointments.

Adam wasn’t prepared for the sudden protectiveness he felt at this moment. Protectiveness for his Jen–

Except that she wasn’t his Jen anymore. Why couldn’t he seem to remember that?

“Adam, you look perturbed,” Thomas commented, a gleam in his eye as if he hoped for a ruckus of some type. “I’ll bet you don’t like the thought of Jenna’s being an actress, either. Maybe you and Will should join forces–lock the poor girl up and prevent her from going back to New York. Between the two of you, I’m sure you could manage it.”

“I’m talking about a realistic plan to dissuade Jenna!” William snapped. “For once in your life, take something seriously, would you?”

“If I took life seriously, I’d be long dead by now. In fact, I’m amazed you’re still ticking away…”

Adam watched the great-uncles go at each other–Thomas trying to stir up a reaction, William obliging him by getting peeved. For decades these brothers had been doing the same thing, locked in familiar, time-worn patterns. Over the years Adam had developed affection for the two difficult old men, but today it was being tested.

He went to the door of the office, glancing back for a moment. “Forget it, William,” he said. “I’m not going to interfere in Jen’s life. Whatever she wants to do, she can do it. I already asked her to come to Newport more often for visits. I can’t ask anything else of her.”

William looked disappointed. Thomas looked disappointed, too, but no doubt for different reasons. He’d probably been hoping to cause more trouble.

“Forget it,” Adam said again, and then he left the offices of Hillard Enterprises, feeling more dissatisfied and out of sorts than ever.

* * *

JEN DISLIKED being here in the rambling garden behind St. Matthew’s Church on Seabell Lane. This place stirred too many conflicting emotions in her, no matter how lovely the surroundings–wisteria vines growing over the arched gate in competition with the yellow trumpet flowers, a forsythia hedge adorning the brick wall, drifts of David’s harp and lady’s mantle spreading a froth of greenery along the walk. This was the same church garden where generations of Hillards and Prescotts had taken tea with a succession of pastors and pastors’ wives. This was also the very same garden where Jen had married Adam twelve years ago. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to remember the promises she’d made that dazzling summer day.

Now it was another dazzling summer day, the sun shining down through a sky as clear and deep and translucent as blue glass. The beauty was lost on Jen. She felt tension radiating along her neck and through her shoulders. She just wanted her mother’s wedding rehearsal to be over and done with, but it hadn’t even started yet. Reverend Kiley was deep in consultation with the under-pastor in regard to some minute detail of protocol, the musicians couldn’t decide where to set up, and the groom had abruptly disappeared ten minutes ago. For that matter, the best man hadn’t yet arrived.

As if she’d compelled his appearance with her thoughts, Adam came walking through the gate. He looked good–he always looked good. Those hints of silver in his hair only made him seem all the more virile, and she knew from experience that his mustache had an unexpected, enticing softness….

Jen curled her fingers into her palms. Adam made her feel as if she were sitting in a darkened theater, watching a movie projected boldly on the screen–a movie in which the leading man overshadowed every other player by the sheer force of his presence.

When would it stop being like this? One glance at Adam, and her tension had turned to something different–a disquieting awareness of him. She watched as he came purposefully toward her. Adam always moved with purpose.

He stopped beside her, his silk tie casually loosened, his shirtsleeves rolled up over strong forearms.

“Hello, Jen,” he said, his gaze intent on her.

“Hello, Adam.”

For a moment it seemed that would be the extent of their conversation. Adam, however, didn’t excuse himself and go off to speak to someone else; that would have been too easy. Instead, he remained beside Jen, allowing the silence between them to grow heavy and potent.

Just when she thought she’d have to blurt out something–anything–to break it, Adam nodded toward the opposite side of the garden.

“Your mother seems upset,” he remarked.

Jen followed the direction of his gaze to where Beth Hillard was deep in consultation with the Reverend Kiley’s wife. Jen, too, had already noticed the subtle lines of strain on her mother’s face. Usually Beth appeared so on top of things, an optimistic manager of people and events. But at this moment Beth wasn’t managing anything, not even her own wedding rehearsal. She just stood there, listening to the pastor’s wife and looking almost…anxious. Jen couldn’t help being worried about her mother; Beth simply wasn’t the type to succumb to prewedding jitters.

“You’re very observant,” Jen said to Adam. “Most people wouldn’t realize anything’s wrong with Mother. They’d just think she was being a little restrained.”

“We both know that your mother being restrained is enough of an oddity,” Adam said dryly. Jen couldn’t help smiling at that, and for a moment she and Adam seemed to share something–a sort of insider’s knowledge, born of their long history together. But then Adam spoke again, and this tenuous sense of intimacy vanished.

“Maybe I’m not so observant,” he said. “One thing escaped me entirely–the fact that you want to be an actress, Jen.”

She glanced at him. “How on earth…? Uncle Thomas, I suppose.”

Jen should have expected something like this, particularly where Uncle Thomas was concerned. He was the most sympathetic of her relatives, and she had a habit of letting her guard down around him. Of course, sooner or later someone in her meddlesome family had been bound to find out. She’d just hoped that she’d have a bit more time to establish herself in New York before it happened. She hadn’t wanted anyone judging or dissecting or analyzing her plans until they were a little more substantial, a little more shaped.

Now Jen glanced over to where her two great-uncles sat together on a wooden bench among the delphiniums. They looked so…old. They were both officially retired, although they still spent long hours at the offices of Hillard Enterprises, keeping an eye on things. It had to be difficult for them, knowing that the family business must pass into younger hands. Worst of all, there were no Hillard heirs to take over. William had never married; Thomas had gone through two marriages and a few volatile love affairs without producing any progeny. Jen had never been able to envision a career in shipping, and she’d supplied no children who could eventually do the job.

The familiar guilt swirled over Jen, the stifling sense that the whole burden of the Hillard name rested on her, and that she had failed to carry it. She’d refused to have kids with Adam, she’d divorced him, she’d gone off to New York to pursue her own idea of happiness… By Hillard standards, she’d been amazingly selfish. Yet her own choice had seemed clear. She could either continue being selfish, or suffocate–

“Don’t look so disgusted with your great-uncles,” Adam murmured at her elbow. “If Thomas pokes his nose into your life, he’s just hoping for some excitement. Not to mention the fact that he genuinely cares about you, Jen. And William…William is very concerned that someone in New York might hurt your feelings. You know how sensitive he is about artistic rejection.”

Oh, yes, poor Uncle William and the novel no one would publish. It was a famous family story, although William himself refused to talk about it anymore. Jen suspected, however, that William still guarded that manuscript somewhere, the pages moldering away in a desk drawer or ancient filing cabinet, a constant symbol of his failure. William hated rejection of any kind, and somehow he’d seemed the most hurt of anyone when Jen had left for New York.

Damn. Jen had been afraid it would be like this coming back to Newport, all the old guilt and the old tenderness taking her over. Because no matter what, she truly did love her great-uncles and her mother. She cared about them and worried about them and wanted desperately for all three to be happy and well. She just couldn’t live with them.

“You don’t need to appeal to my better sentiments,” she told Adam in a low voice. “I’m not completely unfeeling, you know. It’s just that– Don’t you realize, Adam? For the first time in my life, for the very first time, I’m doing something on my own, without help from my family, from you, from anyone.” She wondered at this sudden impulse to explain things to him. How would he possibly understand? Adam stood here now, stroking his mustache in a judicious manner as he observed her. It was a disconcerting gesture on his part–first of all, because it gave her the unaccountable desire to reach out her fingers and stroke his luxuriant mustache herself. That was distracting enough. But Adam really did seem to be contemplating her in judgmental fashion, like a professor wondering how to bring a recalcitrant student into line. It put Jen immediately on the defensive, giving her even more knots of tension in her shoulders.

“I can’t figure it out,” Adam said after a moment. “All those years of ours together and I never once suspected that you wanted to be an actress. How could something like that slip by me? Just tell me that.”

Jen folded her arms. “It annoys you, doesn’t it? Finding out that something about me was outside your control. But it’s not that simple, Adam. It’s not like I went around all the time wishing I could be an actress and hiding the wish from you. For such a long while I pushed the whole idea away. I mean, it seemed so foolish, so impossible. I’d never acted in my life. I had no reason to believe it was something I could do…” Her voice trailed off. Once again, she was explaining too much to Adam. It made her feel more foolish than ever, but somehow she had to finish.

“It wasn’t until…until our marriage got into serious trouble that I started thinking about what I really wanted to do with my life. And that was when I knew I had to give it a shot. I had to see if I could be an actress. I had to know I’d tried at least. So that’s what I’m doing now. I’m trying.” She didn’t mention the immense insecurities about the endeavor that assaulted her every day–every minute, really, if she was honest. But she was going ahead. She could be proud of that much.

Adam continued to study her. “You’ve been away from me a year,” he murmured. “An entire year, all that time attending acting classes and going to auditions. But your life is still a mystery to me. I don’t know what you’re doing to support yourself. I don’t even know if there’s a new man in your life.”

Jen flushed. She could feel the heat rising through her body, reaching her face, staining her cheeks. More confusion churned inside her. She simply could not admit the truth about that to Adam. In the year she’d been in New York, she hadn’t been with any other man. Oh, she’d gone on a few dates, that sort of thing, but nothing serious. And that was part of the problem. No doubt she needed to be with another man, someone who could erase the memory of Adam’s kisses, the memory of Adam’s caresses….

Jen felt her flush deepen, and she had to glance away from Adam. She was thirty-two years old, and yet she had known only one lover in her life, one love. No wonder Adam still had such power over her senses. But she hadn’t met anyone in New York who attracted her the way Adam did. It was a hopeless circle. Jen almost laughed thinking about it, even though it wasn’t a particularly humorous situation.

“So I’m being nosy,” Adam admitted, when she didn’t answer him. “So I’ll stop. You don’t have to tell me anything.”

This was a surprise–Adam’s backing off before he obtained what he wanted. Jen glanced at him suspiciously, but it seemed at last the rehearsal was starting. The groom had reappeared, the violinists and cellist had finally set up, Jen’s mother looked comparatively more composed, and Reverend Kiley had opened his prayer book with a flourish.

As best man and maid of honor, Adam and Jen were obliged to walk down the aisle together, the aisle in this case being the flagstone walk that traversed the length of the garden. Twelve years ago, Jen had walked down this exact same path in her beaded silk wedding gown, a great-uncle ready on either side to give her away.

“Steady,” Adam said, as if reading her thoughts. He placed his hand under her elbow. “Remember, you’re not the one getting married in two days. You don’t have any reason to be nervous this time around.”

“I’m not nervous,” she muttered back. “Not in the least.” Jen stared straight ahead and saw the pastor smiling nostalgically at her and Adam. Reverend Kiley, after all, had been the one to perform their wedding ceremony all those years ago. How many other memories would assault Jen before this rehearsal was over?

Just then she heard a beeping noise, as if her own agitated pulse had suddenly acquired sound. The noise, however, was coming from Adam. He had one of those obnoxious little beepers, it seemed, heralding some important phone call.

Adam frowned, but he excused himself to use the telephone inside the church. The rehearsal came to an awkward halt, and Jen reflected wryly that she’d just been abandoned while walking down the aisle.

Adam returned a few moments later. He glanced at Jen and then at the rest of the wedding party. “I’m very sorry, but there’s something of an emergency at the newspaper. I’ll have to drive into Boston. Please go on without me. I’ll have Jen fill me in on what I miss.”

All Jen could do was stare at him. She saw the expression on his face, the focused intensity that always came to him whenever he spoke about his newspaper. So things hadn’t changed over this past year–not at all, it seemed. Adam couldn’t take even a day or two off without the Boston Standard intruding.

He gazed at Jen for another minute or so, his expression growing enigmatic. But then he turned, striding away, going out through the garden gate–and vanishing from her sight.




CHAPTER FIVE


A DAM COULD TELL that something was wrong with Russ Billington. He could tell that, not by looking at Russ, but rather by examining the story in front of him. For years, Russ had been one of Adam’s best reporters, dependable for his accuracy but also for his ability to bring unusual insight to just about any story. However, this one was neither accurate nor insightful. Adam glanced up.

“Okay, Russ,” he said quietly. “Mind telling me what’s going on?”

Russ Billington sat on the other side of Adam’s desk, looking harried. Russ had been with the Boston Standard ever since graduating from college. He’d started out as a reporter, and he’d remained a reporter. He’d never wanted to move up, never wanted even to be an associate editor when the opportunity arose. As far as Adam could tell, Russ had liked his job, was good at it and hadn’t asked for much more from life. He’d seemed one of those rare people content with what he was doing. But now, well, the quality of Russ’s work had been steadily slipping for the past few months, and this was the worst so far.

Russ leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees as if he suddenly felt tired. “I know it’s bad,” he said. “It shouldn’t have happened, I realize that–”

“It didn’t just happen. You wrote the thing. Lord, if Sandra hadn’t caught this, you could’ve caused us one hell of a mess. Think about it.”

“That’s all I’ve been doing–thinking about it,” Russ said with an edge of anger to his voice. Maybe he was mad at Adam, maybe at himself. Adam pulled the copy in front of him again. Russ had put together what should have been an in-depth story regarding recent problems with parole violators.

“Hell, Russ. This just isn’t like you. Usually you’re so thorough. But this reads like you just tossed it off. Obviously you didn’t try to interview one person who actually had any facts in the case.”

Russ stood up abruptly. To all appearances, he seemed the same as usual–a bit flabby around the middle because he kept making plans to get to the gym but somehow never managed it, his thinning hair cut just a little too short in back because he never made the effort to find a good barber. Yes, Russ looked just the same–but something had to be way out of kilter for him to write like this.

“Trouble with your personal life?” Adam hazarded. Not that Russ had much of a personal life. He was a long-term bachelor.

“Everything’s fine,” Russ muttered. “Just fine.”

“Health? Finances? Just spit it out, whatever it is,” Adam said.

“It’s nothing. Let it go. This won’t happen again, I’m telling you–”

“It’s already happened too many times. That’s why Sandra’s been checking your work so carefully. Russ, take some time off–two weeks to straighten things out. Because if you can’t straighten things out, I’ll have to let you go–permanently.” Adam spoke gruffly. He’d always been able to fire an employee when necessary, but Russ Billington was someone special. He didn’t want to fire the guy, but Russ needed to help him out with this.

Russ just stood there, face gone stony. “I don’t want any time off. All you have to do is give me one more chance. That’s all I’m asking.”

“You don’t have a choice in the matter, Russ. Two weeks–that’s what I’m giving you. Make the best of it.”

Russ turned and strode out of Adam’s office, banging the door behind him. Adam leaned back in his chair, feeling more than discontented. It seemed to him that Russ might very well represent the problems with the Boston Standard right now. Russ was an excellent reporter who for some reason or other seemed to be burning out. And the Standard was an excellent paper also in danger of burning out.

Adam glanced around his office. It was large, messy and comfortable. The shelves along the walls were wide and deep, able to hold any number of books, magazines and newspapers. Adam’s desk was the bulky, green-metal type, big and solid, with enough space for all the pieces of computer equipment that sprouted from it like so many electronic mushrooms. The desk even had a few corners free for piles of research reports, as well as scatterings of layout designs, print tests and ad broadsheets. It was a capacious office, the sort of place where you could settle down to work and not be overwhelmed by your clutter. Adam liked it, liked spending hours surrounded by his own friendly chaos. At least, he’d liked spending hours in here before that odd restlessness had taken him over of late.

Adam stood and moved toward the blinds at the glassed-in portion of his office. They were the old-fashioned wooden kind that made a rattling noise and were always getting snarled in their own cords. Adam supposed he should replace them, but they’d been installed way back when his grandfather was editor in chief of the Standard.

Adam had lowered them earlier so he’d have some privacy for his talk with Russ. Now he raised them and stared out at the newsroom. It was late, and the day’s commotion had died down. Some of the reporters still worked at their desks, but tomorrow’s early-morning edition was already humming on the presses downstairs and most of Adam’s staff had gone home to eat a meal with their families. It occurred to Adam that he’d been eating dinner alone more often than not the past few weeks. It was usually a mediocre dinner, too. Either he’d grab some potato chips and a stale sandwich at the vending machines down the hall, or he’d go across the street to the café that overgrilled its burgers. His appetite for good food seemed dampened.

A knock came at his door and Sandra Koster, the managing editor, poked her head inside. “Got a minute, Adam?”

“Sure. But I thought you’d left already.”

Sandra plunked herself down in the chair across from his desk and gave a heartfelt sigh. “I was just on my way out, but I had to come in first and tell you how sorry I am I interrupted your vacation in Newport. It was just that we were in such an uproar, and I felt you should know what was going on. Then again, maybe I ought to have handled everything myself…” Sandra was a fine manager, but occasionally she had the unfortunate habit of second-guessing her own decisions. Adam wasn’t concerned, though. He’d promoted Sandra only recently to this position, and he figured all she needed was a little more experience at taking charge.

“You had to call me,” he said. “This damn system is still too touchy. We don’t have all the glitches worked out yet. Wonder if we ever will.” The newspaper’s mainframe computer had crashed today, setting off a chain reaction that had shut down the entire photocomposition system. It made Adam long for the old days, the less sophisticated days of typewriters and Linotype machines. But finally they’d gotten things up and running again.

“Then on top of everything, to have Russ botch a story the way he did…” Sandra muttered. “It’s been the most awful day. The worst.” Suddenly, unexpectedly, her eyes filled with tears, and she looked like she was going to start sobbing any minute. Adam felt his gut tighten. A woman’s tears–he’d known far too many of those while growing up. Even now seeing a female cry always produced the same reaction in him–impatience, distrust, but almost a weariness at the same time. Jen, though, she’d never been much for weeping. Adam had always been grateful for that.

Sandra’s tears had begun trickling down her cheeks. What was happening? Was his entire staff going to fall apart at the seams while he watched? First Russ, and now Sandra.

She didn’t actually begin sobbing, though. She just let the tears run down her face while she searched through her pockets. “Damn,” she said. “Damn! I’m sorry, Adam. I feel really stupid. You can’t imagine how stupid I feel right now.”

Adam figured it was time to lower the blinds again. They stuck a little, but he finally managed to bring them rattling down. Then he sat behind his desk and waited.

He was good at waiting out another person when the occasion demanded. Jen had often accused him of trying to unnerve people with his silence, but he knew when words weren’t necessary.

Sandra was silent for a long moment, too, and she avoided looking at him. She’d found a crumpled tissue in one of her pockets and used it to blot the tears trickling down her cheeks. It didn’t seem to do much good; more tears just came leaking out. Adam continued to wait. He’d never had this much uninterrupted time to observe his managing editor. Of course, she’d never sat and cried in his office before. Sandra was undeniably attractive, with clear blue eyes–when they weren’t reddened by tears–curling brown hair and a pleasant hint of roundness to her body. Attractive, yes, but even so, she didn’t possess Jen’s grace, Jen’s innate air of confidence….

Adam couldn’t believe he was doing it again. In the year he and Jen had been apart, he’d developed an irritating habit of comparing every woman he met with his ex-wife. And somehow, in one way or another, they always came up lacking. He’d have to get over the habit–it was a damned nuisance.

Finally Sandra blotted the last few tears from her face. “I think I’m under control now,” she said, although her voice was a bit shaky. “I thought I was handling things so well–the divorce, you know…”

Adam nodded carefully. He knew that Sandra had recently been divorced. He also knew she had something more to say; he could sense it coming. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to hear anything about Sandra’s private life.

“My ex-husband is seeing someone,” she said. “Some girl who’s barely twenty, for heaven’s sake. I could deal with that much, I really think I could, but last night I found out she’s going to move in with him. You know who told me? My own son. My own child. My eight-year-old informed me that his father is soon going to be living with some juvenile twit… Oh, I know it’s crazy, Adam, but I’m so jealous and furious about it. I’m a basket case, I really am.”

Adam had the uneasy feeling that those tears were going to start again. But he felt a reluctant empathy with Sandra. The thought of his own ex going to bed with someone else–yeah, he understood the jealous part. It was driving him a little crazy, not knowing if Jen had some other guy in her life. He hadn’t seen any signs of a man in her apartment that time, but still…

“Divorce is tough,” he said. He knew it wasn’t a particularly helpful statement, but it seemed to get Sandra’s interest. At least she wasn’t crying anymore.

“How long has it been for you now?” she asked.

“A little over a year.” He stopped there. He didn’t like talking about his divorce. He didn’t like admitting he hadn’t been able to hold on to his wife.

“Please tell me that things get better,” Sandra said, sounding rueful. “If I could just believe they will get better…”

“They will–trust me,” Adam said, perhaps a shade too heartily. His own experience with Jen was more complex than he’d like it to be. After his initial sense of loss, he’d managed to adjust to single life. He’d immersed himself in the newspaper more than ever, and in his few off hours he had started seeing other women. No matter that he kept comparing those other women with Jen, things had actually started to go along pretty well. But then Beth Hillard had announced she was getting married and had asked Adam to deliver the message personally to Jen. He’d obliged, seen Jen–made love to her–and his new life had been out of kilter ever since. So who was he to offer advice to fellow sufferers?

“I think I feel better now,” Sandra said with obvious resolve. “I’m sorry I dumped all this on you, Adam, but it helped to talk about it.” She stood and went to the door. “Thanks for lending an ear. Good night.”

“How about dinner?” he asked, surprising himself. It wasn’t an invitation he’d planned to offer, but he went with it. “I’m starved, and I imagine you are, too.”

Sandra hesitated, staring down at the tissue wadded in her hand. “I don’t know…”

“I suppose you have your son waiting for you.”

She grimaced a little. “Actually, no. He’s sleeping over at his father’s tonight, and I guess that’s just one more thing that’s been getting me down. All day I’ve dreaded going home to an empty house.”

“It’s settled, then.” Feeling a welcome energy, Adam grabbed his jacket from a chair back and shrugged into it. After another moment, Sandra gave a nod, capitulating.

“Why not? It so happens I am starving. Blubbering and making a fool of myself really worked up an appetite.”

Adam liked her ability to poke fun at herself without being too self-deprecating. She was a nice woman. She was also a woman who stirred none of the turmoil that his ex-wife could provoke in him. He’d always felt relaxed around Sandra, and he could do with a little relaxation tonight.

He escorted her out to his car, and soon they were traveling through downtown Boston as the last of dusk gave way to night. Driving here was something of a free-for-all, cars and trucks and buses squeezing haphazardly in and out of lanes, pressing around each other frenetically but with little malice. It always made Adam feel like he was in a car rally, and it got his adrenaline going. He and Jen had often joked that you could tell where you were in this city just by people’s driving habits. Downtown, drivers were inventive, but in the suburbs, they stayed in their own lanes.

Jen again. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and made an effort to concentrate on the woman beside him, not the woman in his head.

“How’s your son handling everything, Sandra? Brian, isn’t that his name?” Adam thought back to the last company picnic and seemed to remember a little boy with curly hair just like his mom’s. He tried to keep tabs on his employees’ families without being too intrusive. After all, he subscribed to the belief that a boss should be cordial while maintaining an appropriate distance. That, of course, brought up another question–what was he doing taking his managing editor out to dinner?

He didn’t have an answer, so he merely listened while Sandra talked about her son.

“Brian seems to be okay, he really does. But how do I know for sure? I mean, maybe the divorce has caused some horrible, irrevocable scars that won’t surface for years and years. Maybe he’ll turn out to be a neurotic, or a psychopath. I lie awake at night and worry about it.”

Adam downshifted and wheeled around a corner. “Do you always imagine such disasters?”

“I’m a worrywart,” she confessed. “But it’s parenthood that’s made me that way. I have this philosophy. I believe that if I worry and stew enough, somehow I’ll prevent anything really bad from ever happening to Brian. It doesn’t make any sense, I know, but there it is. Don’t all parents get silly ideas like that? Of course, you’ll find out someday,” she added hastily, as if remembering too late that Adam didn’t have any children of his own. She seemed embarrassed and lapsed into silence.

The way Adam looked at it, there were two types of parents. The first type behaved as if having children was the most stunning, all-encompassing activity in the world and felt sorry for anyone who didn’t share the happiness. Such enthusiasts generally equated the term “nonparent” with “nonperson.” The other type of parent took you aside and warned you with bitter, graphic descriptions never, ever to let yourself in for the grief, disillusionment and pain of spawning children. Adam suspected that Sandra belonged to the first category, the kind of parent who treated you as if your lack of children was some pathetic, unmentionable disease. Of course, he’d wanted kids himself. Maybe that was why he was so aware of the whole thing.

He parked in front of the Hamilton Tower, gave his key to the parking attendant and ushered Sandra inside to the elevator. A few moments later they emerged on the fiftieth floor. The restaurant here was one of Adam’s favorites, good food combined with understated comfort, and the windowed walls provided a glittering view of the city lights below. Carl, the maître d’, greeted Adam with his usual affability.

“Mr. Prescott, haven’t seen you in a while. I know exactly what table you’ll like…”

Once they were seated and perusing the menus, Sandra glanced around. “Imposing,” she commented. “When you suggested dinner, I was hoping maybe you meant that taco takeout place everyone in the newsroom is raving about–not that this isn’t just fine,” she amended quickly. “Of course it’s fine. It’s just that– I’m really making a fool out of myself tonight, aren’t I?” She set down her menu, looking chagrined.

“Take it easy,” he told her. “You’re not up for employee review right now.”

Sandra stared at the menu again with great concentration, as if determined not to make any more social gaffes. She was an odd sort of person–very earnest, raw around the edges, unexpectedly humorous, intelligent, but at times unsure of her own abilities. When he’d first hired her some four years ago, she’d brought excellent recommendations with her–high marks from the journalism school she’d attended at a small state college in Vermont, praise from the editors she’d worked for at two dailies in Pennsylvania. Adam had promoted her first to city editor, then to managing editor. She seemed well liked by other staff members, but in fact, she was too afraid not to be liked. Take the problem with Russ Billington. Sandra hadn’t wanted to be the one who would come down hard on Russ. It was fully within her authority to do so, but she had backed off from being the bad guy and had deferred to Adam.

Adam knew he had to find a way for Sandra to become more resolute in her job. She was denying her own talents, her own chances for greater success. He considered the matter, but then caught himself. It seemed, he was subjecting Sandra to an employee review tonight. Maybe he should just try to enjoy a decent meal and some congenial companionship.

Sandra, however, deferred to him again when it came time to order the wine. “Whatever you’d like,” she said. “Anything’s fine with me.”

How different it would be if Jen were sitting across from him. Jen would have argued with him about the merits of different wines. And when at last a vintage could be decided upon between the two of them, she would have required to taste the wine herself, never accepting that it was Adam’s prerogative to do so. He smiled a little.

“You’re thinking about your ex-wife, aren’t you?” Sandra asked abruptly.

He gave a reluctant nod. “Yes…I was thinking about Jen. I seem to be doing more and more of that lately. I’m sorry to be so distracted….”

“Don’t be,” Sandra said with obvious relief. “I mean, I think about my ex-husband far too much myself. Isn’t it crazy? I brood about Don a lot more now than I did when I was actually married to him. I brood about him and that twenty-year-old he’s taken up with…”




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