memory of your face I will take with me to my death, which I know will not be long; months, weeks, who can be sure with cancer. I have … she had to skip the next word … my welcome on this earth and await my end with no fear, only a mixture of profound relief and anticipation. I will be with your mother once more. If I don’t write again, you will know why. Don’t forget what I told you, and your promise to me, Freda. It is all up to you now. I love you, have always loved you, and always will.
Kathryn shuddered, recalling the voice in her nightmares. The letter was not signed, and she couldn’t make out the postmark. Riffling through her kitchen drawers, she eventually found a tiny magnifying glass that had come out of a Christmas cracker the previous year. Using one eye, she read the postmark again: 2nd June, St Lucia, West Indies.
‘I’m absolutely adamant: Calvin is not going to Art School. Have you seen some of the students? I doubt they can string an articulate sentence together. Probably too high on dope.’
It crossed Adam’s mind that the students were there to paint and not to be articulate, but he kept quiet. When Jennifer was in a determined mood, she became totally unreasonable. Past experience had taught him that arguing back invariably made her much worse.
She uncrossed her long, willowy legs and Adam was afforded a brief glimpse of stocking top and a millimetre of black lace. They were sitting in his apartment, facing each other on opposite sofas, like military opponents. Jennifer tossed her head defiantly, a gesture he knew well. It was one of the things he had noticed the first time he had met her. Her dark auburn hair had been longer then, swinging across her shoulders like a slick of russet gloss paint. Two weeks after they had split up, she had cut it and he had to admit she suited it short. The style gave her face a boyish quality, and today, wearing very little make-up and with her creamy skin tanned from twelve days’ vacation in Hawaii, Jennifer looked much younger than thirty-eight. She reminded Adam of a wary colt; fresh, bold and very beautiful.
‘Not all art students are as you describe. In fact, I can name two kids who’ve just graduated and who look more like budding stockbrokers than aspiring Andy Warhols. And I don’t need to remind you about Luke, Matt and Kelly Bronson’s son, who got expelled from Yale last year for taking drugs.’ He spread his hands wide. ‘So it doesn’t necessarily follow …’
‘OK, OK, Adam. I’m sure there are exceptions; we can all pull examples out of the bag if we choose, but that’s not the point.’
‘Well, what is? Correct me if I’m wrong, Jennifer, but didn’t you kick up a storm at a very similar age? Your father told me that he almost went berserk when you took up modelling instead of a business course at Vassar. He still thinks to this day that you would have made a brilliant lawyer.’
‘He’s a stubborn old fool!’
‘Stubborn, I’ll give you, Jennifer. Old, yes; if you call seventy-four “old”. But a fool? Come on, Richard Carmichael is nobody’s fool.’
With a wave of her hand, she snarled through clenched teeth. ‘I didn’t come here to discuss my father, you always were good at changing the subject when it suits you.’ She began twisting the diamond ring she was wearing on her wedding finger.
Adam raised his eyebrows. ‘New ring?’
‘Yes, I’m engaged.’ He felt his stomach contract into a tight knot, followed by a searing pain, as if someone had just injected boiling water into his gut. The reaction made him want to throttle Jennifer, this woman whom he had loved with a passion. Sitting now on his sofa, in an apartment they had shared, she looked so poised and in control. And she was armed with the ability to wound him, so painfully, with a few simple words.
He could hear the contempt creeping into his voice, but was unable to contain it. ‘How can you be engaged to marry when you’re still married to me?’ Not waiting for her reply, he went on, ‘So Jordan Tanner has bought you a ring, big deal. I wouldn’t get carried away if I were you, Jennifer. If his past record is anything to go by, he seems to get through women like most men get through—’
‘Shut up, Adam, or try and say something original. We are engaged to be married when my divorce comes through; anyway, I came here to talk about our son’s future, not to hear you run Jordan down.’
‘Yeah, yeah, you’re right; sorry. Old wounds, you know how it is.’
Jennifer lowered her eyes, concealing the flash of guilt his words had produced. She did know how it was for him.
‘Does Cal know you’re engaged?’
When she looked up to speak, some of the cool edge had left her voice. ‘No, not yet, we’re going to tell him next leave-out weekend. Jordan’s planning a trip to his place upstate.’ She paused, ‘You know, to help find the right moment. I shouldn’t worry, he’s very fond of Calvin.’
Adam doubted there was a ‘right moment’ and he knew, without a shadow of doubt, Calvin did not reciprocate Jordan Tanner’s affection. ‘Cal still harbours hopes of you and me getting back together, so I really don’t know how he’s going to take the happy news.’
Adam shifted in his seat, pulling a cushion out from behind his back. Jennifer stood up to her full five foot eight, stretched, and with both hands on her narrow hips walked across the room, not stopping until she came to the bookcase on the far wall. Picking up an ashtray, she walked back towards him. Adam watched her slow feline movements, they had always aroused him. She lit a cigarette, the smoke rising in front of her face, and she looked at him through slanted eyes.
His hair, normally flowing on to his shoulders, was caught in an untidy ponytail – several strands had strayed and were curling into his neck. The top three buttons of his shirt were open and his initials could be seen, hand embroidered in pale blue, on the inside collar. Jennifer recalled the first time she had kissed that neck; she had noticed the monogram and thought it very chic.
Adam stretched his left leg, worn denim pulling taut across his upper thigh. His jeans rode up to reveal an inch of calf, thick black hair curling over the rim of his tan cowboy boot.
God, you’re an attractive son-of-a-bitch, his wife thought to herself, fighting an overwhelming urge to touch him. She had never stopped wanting him. No man had ever physically satisfied her like Adam Krantz. There was a warmth between her legs as her mind ran rampant with thoughts of him inside her, his mouth on her body, hot and hungry, like a starving animal on a feeding frenzy. Inhaling smoke deeply, she was scrutinizing his face.
‘And how do you feel about the idea of us getting back together, Adam?’ There was something in the way she narrowed her eyes to slits that gave her the distinct look of a cat. An alley cat, Adam thought, realizing with a surge of anger that it was exactly the way she had looked on that afternoon, eighteen months ago, when he had arrived back from London two days earlier than anticipated.
He hadn’t called home but had called Joanne to make a reservation for dinner at the Manhattan Ocean Club, one of Jennifer’s favourite restaurants. The scene remained like a stage set in his head: always in vivid colour – every word, movement, nuance, in excruciating detail. Jennifer was bent over his desk, her blue skirt hiked up around her waist, both legs were spread wide apart, a pair of white lace panties hung from one ankle. Her left breast was exposed; the nipple, puckered and dark,
