A Lonely Sky (29 page)

He stared at his image. He searched to find the happy and charming persona he presented to the media. According to the news hounds, life couldn’t be better for Sam Lyons. With many successful movies under his belt, a career exploding across Europe and Hollywood, and a beautiful, rich heiress for his wife, how
could
life be better? 

Sam reached for his drink and walked to the hotel window. He drew back the heavy draperies and gazed from his penthouse suite on the early New York evening. How he loved and hated this city. Success brought him here, but his heart begged him to leave. Every trip back to the United States reminded him of Julia. Time failed to heal wounds, and as he marveled at the brilliant New York skyline, he wondered where she was at this moment, what she was doing and whom she was with. Many times over the years he thought to call her, to drop her a letter, but pride stopped him. After all, she could locate him easily enough if she wanted to. Scores of other women did. He wasn’t inaccessible. All she bloody had to do was call. But she never tried, not once in eleven years.

He closed the curtain and headed to the bar. He would not think of her tonight. Their memories would not mar this wonderful opportunity to meet with old friends and take in the opera. But damn it, he still couldn’t get her out of his head.

God knows he had tried. After the mini-series, and the worldwide acclaim his acting received, roles became his for the choosing, and without Deirdre’s influence. He immersed himself in each character, and hoped work would help him forget. Yet acting sometimes cut the wound deeper, for he often won lead roles in epic romances and poured his wasted passion for Julia into each character. Ironically, these roles received his highest critical acclaim. Sam shook his head knowing he wasn’t being rewarded for acting, but rather a release of misspent passion. He emerged a very sought-after actor, and a very tortured soul.

A knock on his hotel room door relieved Sam from his thoughts. He opened the door, welcoming Polly’s old American friends, Archibald, “Archie” Sumner and his wife, Lucy, into the suite.

“Jolly good to see you!” Archie faked a British accent to the amusement of Sam. Nearly eighty, Archie still enjoyed good health and a wicked sense of humor.

“Ignore him, Sam.” Archie’s beautiful, silver-haired wife, Lucy, placed a quick kiss on Sam’s cheek as she spoke. “He’s been talking like that ever since we ran into you at NBC this morning.”

Sam laughed and took their coats. “Drinks?”

Archie glanced at his watch. “Certainly, old chap.”

“Archie, enough with the accent!” Lucy offered Sam an apologetic smile. “He’ll have scotch, and I’ll have a white wine spritzer, if you have it?”

“Of course,” Sam returned the smile. Running into Archie and Lucy this morning buoyed his spirits. Sam had finished taping a segment for
Late Night with David Letterman
when he encountered Archie, a long time board member of NBC, leaving an office. Happy to run into each other, they visited while Archie waited for Lucy to return from shopping.

“So how long has it been?” Sam asked, as he readied the drinks. “I’m thinking the last time we met, other than this morning, was at some society gala of Deirdre’s in London?”

“I think you’re right,” Archie approached the bar. “How is the dear wife?”

“Fine.” Sam chose not to elaborate. Life with Deirdre deemed tolerable. As long as she could boast the name Mrs. Sam Lyons and remain the queen of London society, she remained happy.

“Kids yet?” Archie asked.

“Archibald!” Lucy’s eyes flew open wide as if in horror. “Don’t be so rude!”

Sam laughed at the pair. How they ever fell in love amazed him. Perhaps opposites really did attract? Lucy upheld to the strictest of social manners while Archie simply spoke his mind with a devil-may-care attitude.

Sam reached for a pack of cigarettes. “No, no kids. I’m on the road too much to be a decent father and Deirdre is happy playing mother to her toy poodles.”

Lucy joined Sam and Archie at the bar, and accepted a cigarette Sam offered. “Ruby and Diamond! I remember them! Cute little dogs.” She allowed Sam to light her smoke. “But tell me dear. You’re on the road so often. You must miss Deirdre dreadfully. I am so proud of you two being able to stay together in such a high profile marriage. So many couples seem to divorce at the drop of a hat. Marriage isn’t easy, especially when you’re apart. Here’s to you both for making it work.”

Sam nearly choked on an ice cube. If only Lucy knew how many times he thought about divorcing Deirdre over the years. After all, the marriage was a sham. Cowardice kept him in the marriage the first few years. He had been afraid Deirdre would make good on her promise to blackball his name and ruin his acting career. But as his career soared and his talent spoke for itself, he realized he could leave her anytime. And yet he stayed. Why?

Sam pondered this very question many times over the years. He didn’t love Deirdre. But if he left her, what would he leave her for?  Being married in the public eye provided a sense of security. Although women constantly availed themselves to him, he simply didn’t need or want any of them. He wanted Julia. And if he couldn’t have her, he’d rather remain married. And marriage to Deirdre opened certain high-ranking doors as she had promised, while a long-lasting marriage deemed him respectable in Hollywood and abroad. His acting and commitment to marriage won him respect. A divorce to England’s most notable socialite could only be labeled a scandal and send his name rocketing into the tabloid headlines. And divorce wouldn’t bring him the one thing he wanted anyhow, Julia. Staying married made sense for his career, and it kept Deirdre happy. And if Deirdre was happy, everyone profited.

Lucy’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “You must miss Deirdre so, Sam. When Archie goes away on business, I just don’t know what to do with myself.”

“Yes you do,” Archie said, with a hearty laugh. “And I have the bills to prove it.”

Lucy whacked Archie playfully on the arm and changed the subject. “I am so happy you have McTeel Manor back from the bank, Sam. We were so sorry when you lost it. I kept thinking about Polly and how sad she would have been if she knew.”

“That seems eons ago,” Sam answered, remembering those hard times. “But yes, it’s mine and Barnabas lives there.” With the money rolling in from the mini-series, he had contacted the bank that owned McTeel Manor. As no other buyer had shown an interest in the aging home, the bank proved willing to let Sam settle the accounts and slowly buy it back. Barnabas returned to the manor and helped with the upkeep. Sam spent many a day there since, enjoying Barnabas’s company, or sitting in the large drawing room, reading scripts.

“Would you like to sit down?” Sam said, suddenly remembering his guests and his manners. He came from behind the bar and took Lucy by the elbow. He guided her to a living room chair.

“Oh Sam, you are such a handsome charmer!” Lucy said, as she arranged herself in the chair.

“I bet you have women throwing themselves at you, hey, big guy?” Archie joined them in the living room, preferring to stand.

“Archie!” Lucy shot her husband a shocked look. “Oh, Sam. Tell me you’re not one of those Hollywood types who run around with every starlet or fan who throw themselves your way?  Please tell me you retained your dignified English manners?  Besides, your wife is so beautiful! How could you even think of other women!”

Sam smiled through his lie. “Of course I’m faithful to my wife.” Sex kept Deirdre happy. For him, it was a duty to be done, part of the marriage contract, nothing more. But Archie was right. Earlier in his career he dabbled in the “opportunities” that fame threw his way. Young starlets and adoring fans proved accessible to the handsome, rising star. Yet, even those escapades couldn’t provide the satisfaction he found with Julia. And when AIDS ran rampant through the Hollywood community and Sam saw several friends and colleagues succumb to the devastating disease, he curtailed those extra-marital activities for good.

“Sam, I’m sorry,” Lucy said. “But you seem miles away this evening. Is something wrong, dear?”

Sam pulled his thoughts back to the present. “No. I’m sorry if I seem distracted.” He thought quickly. “Just a tad worried how my interview with Letterman went.”

“I’m sure you did fine.” Archie glanced at his watch again. “We really should head out.”

“I’ll get the coats.” Sam rose and headed towards the foyer where he previously draped Archie and Lucy’s coats over a chair. “I’m delighted to be visiting the opera. Can you believe that I’ve never been to opera in New York?”

Archie and Lucy joined him at the door and donned their evening wear. Sam held the door open as they exited.

“Well, then, Sam.” Archie said. “This will certainly be an evening you won’t soon forget.”

As Sam closed the door behind them, he heard the phone ring. He chose to ignore it. His agent and Deirdre were the only two with his number.

Whatever they needed could wait.

Spencer dashed to Deirdre’s home as fast as his car and feet would take him. Her frantic call and the near hysteria in her voice scared him. Over the years, he’d become accustomed to her frequent calls when Sam was out of town. Usually she needed an escort to some event, or a small home repair that couldn’t wait for a plumber or handyman. He was happy to oblige, and often she thanked him with a nice lunch or drink. During these lunches they talked- simple, superficial conversation about his sagging career, her dogs, or the people they knew. Spencer enjoyed every moment with her.

He chided himself for not being able to rid his heart of her. His wish that her marriage would not last, went unfilled, but the more time he spent with Deirdre, the more he understood her passion for Sam, for it mirrored his for her. It was a longing that wouldn’t let go.

Deirdre’s call this evening worried him. She sounded frightened and horribly upset, a far cry from her usually cool and controlled demeanor. Spencer cared not that the rain poured or that the time crept past midnight. Deirdre needed him.

He found Lydia, Deirdre’s maid, waiting for him at the doorway. Worried etched her rosy face.

“Hurry,” she said, beckoning him into the lavish home. “Mrs. Lyons is upstairs in her room and she’s just devastated. I rang for a doctor who is with her now, but she keeps asking for you.”

“What happened?” Spencer removed his raincoat and handed it to the short, stout woman. “She wouldn’t tell me on the phone. Just kept crying and said I had to come over.”

“Oh, Mr. Budacker, it’s just dreadful.” The housekeeper’s plump face flushed further and her eyes filled with tears. “Her mother, Mrs. Lamont, died several hours ago. Just dropped dead into her plate of crumpets as she took her evening tea.”

Spencer went numb. Penny Lamont dead?  Deirdre would be grieved beyond belief. Although she lived apart from her mother since marriage, Deirdre and Penny remained close. Deirdre never made a move without consulting her mother. She lived to please Penny and the ghost of the late Richard Lamont. The suddenness of this death would rock Deirdre to her core. She didn’t handle surprise well.

“You must go to her, Mr. Budacker,” Lydia urged. “She’s been trying to get hold of Mr. Lyons, but he doesn’t answer his phone.”

Spencer nodded. Breaking into Fort Knox would be easier than reaching Sam. He always seemed to be “on location” filming or in some foreign city promoting his latest movie. And when Sam was in London, he spent inordinate amounts of time with Barnabas at McTeel Manor. Spencer rarely saw Sam except for an occasional drink or quick game of tennis.

The sound of footsteps on the stairwell caused Spencer and the maid to start.

“The doctor,” Lydia announced, as a short, balding man approached.

“I gave Mrs. Lyons a sedative,” the doctor said, addressing the maid and ignoring Spencer. “She’s calmer now.”

“Thank you.” Lydia turned to Spencer. “Go on up, sir. You’ll find her in the second guest room on the left.”

“Very well,” Spencer said, more to himself than anyone else. “Off I go, then.”

He found the room easily enough and paused outside the door to listen. All was quiet. He tapped softly on the massive, ornate door.

“Come in.” Deirdre answered, her voice soft and muffled.

Spencer slowly opened the door and peered in. Deirdre lay on a canopied bed, her face turned away from him.

“It’s me. Spencer.”

She sat up and motioned for him to come in. As he drew closer to her, he noticed her glistening skin, wet with tears falling from sad blue eyes. She wore a pair of light pink, silk pajamas that dared not wrinkle as she lay crying. Her soft, silver-blonde hair fell in luxurious waves to her shoulder. Spencer thought how beautiful she was, even in grief.

“Mother died,” she said quietly, as a fresh round of tears fell. “She’s just
gone
.”

“I know,” Spencer spoke low and soothing as if to a wounded child. “Lydia told me. I’m so sorry.” He resisted the urge to stroke her hair.

Deirdre reached for a nearby tissue box. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye. She just up and
died
.”

“Yes, I know.” Spencer helped her retrieve a few tissues wishing he could find the right words to comfort her.