A ruling passion : a novel (59 page)

envied you for that! You remember so much about the past, you must remember that too!"

"Don't tell me what I remember! You've always looked down on me, treated me like a stupid country cousin, and I hated every minute of it. It's taken me a long time—"

"The only part of that that's true is that you hated it. And you hated me.

"I never hated—" Sybille bit off the disclaimer that came automatically to her lips whenever anyone accused her of anything. She sat rigidly in her chair, gazing at a painting just to the right of Valerie's head; for some reason she couldn't meet her eyes. "Why not?" she said, and years of hate poured out through her hoarse voice. "Why should I like you? You never gave a damn about me; you did everything you could to make me feel inferior. You flaunted Nick at me, and then when he began to like me you got me kicked out of school so you could have him to yourself. A lot of good that did, didn't it? I was the one he married; not you. And then you dragged me all over New York, to all your precious little shops, so you could show off how generous you were, taking the time to introduce poor little Sybille to those simpering idiots who made

your shoes and your sweaters and your makeup You invited me

to your house for New Year's Eve so I'd feel out of place because I

was the only single person there What have you ever done for

me that I should like you?"

Stunned by Sybille's onslaught, Valerie had taken a step back, but as it went on, her eyes narrowed and she looked at Sybille with contempt. "I offered you friendship; I thought that was what you wanted. But you don't have the faintest idea of what friendship is all about. If you really want to know what I thought of you, I'll tell you. I thought you were a fraud. You were always so sweet and innocent and grateful, so naive and full of nice feelings about everyone... good God, Sybille, did you think we'd believe that? You used to—"

"Shut up!" Sybille cried.

"You used to tell me how much you loved Quentin, and Nick, and Chad, even me, and how you needed help because you were helpless and lost in the big cruel world."

"Shutup! You can't—"

"For awhile I thought you really believed all that, or you'd convinced yourself it was true, but then I changed my mind, especially about Chad, because you never told little stories about him. Parents

usually have wonderful little anecdotes to tell about their kids, but you never—"

"You don't know anything about kids; you don't have any! You don't have anything! I have it all! You think you can make me feel I'm no good, but I'm better than you; I have everything!"

"Do you? I wonder how much you really have. There's something wrong with you, Sybille, something warped, as if you see everything reflected in one of those crazy mirrors at a carnival. I think you got me here—"

'Tou bitch, you can't talk to me that way!" Sybille was on her feet, leaning over the desk. "Get out! Get out! Get out!"

"Let me finish! You got me here to humiliate me, didn't you? To lord it over me because I'm down now. That's just like you; it's what I thought you were like: you're mean-spirited and vengeful and you know how to hate but not how to love—"

"You fucking bitch!" Sybille stabbed at a button on her desk, her finger stiff and furious. "Get in here!" she screamed when her secretary answered. And when the secretary appeared in the doorway, she said, in a strangled voice, "This woman is leaving. Write her a check, whatever we owe her, and make sure she doesn't walk off with any supplies when she goes."

"Walk off!" Valerie exclaimed. "You're crazy; I wouldn't take anything from you. I don't want anything from you."

"You wanted a job. You wanted somebody to take care of you." Sybille's eyes slid over Valerie's. "All those nice security blankets disappeared, didn't they? Husband, bank accounts, all that cushiony life... whoosh. Gone. So you came begging. And I scrounged around and found you a job, but that wasn't enough for you. Who said you don't want anything from me? I took care of you, gave you more than you deserve, and three weeks later you barge in here and tell me I broke a promise, you don't like what you've got, and you expect me to give you everything you want..."

"Sybille, stop it! You can't make things up and pretend they're real!"

"Don't call me a liar! You're the liar; you can't stand it that you had to come to me and beg! You're a liar, you're disloyal, you're too spoiled to do a decent job, and you're a cheap tart—making up to Al Slavin, who's got a wife and four kids, so he'll work on me to give you your precious interview show. But nobody wants to see you on television; nobody wants to see you anywhere! You're a failure; you haven't got a goddam thing in the world, and nobody wants to have a fucking thing to do with you!"

Valerie backed up, away from Sybille's venom. Her stomach was churning; she thought she would be sick.

"Get out of here," Sybille rasped. She sat down and picked up a piece of paper at random, swiveling her chair away from Valerie. "Get the hell out. I have work to do."

Valerie left, stumbling in her haste, She had to get away, as far as possible. Whatever waited for her out there, she would rather face it today than stay another moment in Sybille's orbit. She grasped the doorknob to shut the door behind her. But just before the door closed, she heard Sybille's voice, low and intense, reverberating in the room. "That's eventing. Everything. Finally, this is the real beginning of my Ufe."

Chapter 21

a

m m j need a job," Valerie said. She sat in a leadier chair

1 ^J across die desk from Nick, her head high, her

^ ^^T^ white linen suit slighdy wrinkled from the drive to

1^ ^^F his office in the July heat and humidity. "I have no

1^^ I money. I found out, after Carl died, that it was all

gone, and there were debts ... If s a very long story, but the point is, I need a job, and I thought you could help me."

She was facing the wall of windows behind his desk, her features illuminated by the morning sun. It had been a year since Nick had seen her, at their lunch in Middleburg, and he was struck again by the perfection of her oval face: the steady gaze of her large hazel eyes beneath level brows, her translucent skin, and her tawny hair falling in loose, heavy curls to her shoulders, the lively play of emotions in her eyes and on her fiiU mouth. She had the kind of beauty that made others want to draw close and coax a smile from her; the kind of looks that led most people to the happy belief that great beauty is accompanied by a greamess of soul, since they cannot believe that perfect beauty could mask a warped or evil nature. And so they drew close, thinking that anyone as lovely as Valerie Sterling had to be a person of

such goodness, loving kindness and generosity that she would bring some of her perfections to their lives, warm them, embrace them with her virtues and thus, by some kind of osmosis, impart virtue, even perfection, to them.

Nick, who knew she was not perfect—or at least had not been thirteen years earlier—still found himself believing in the possibility of it as he gazed at her. He found it harder to believe that she was there at all: suddenly a part of his life when, for so long, she had been only a memory that would not fade. He reminded himself of that lunch in Middleburg, when he had been sure she had not changed at all, but, even with that reminder, he felt a sense of excitement and anticipation. He felt, in an odd way, very happy, and that was when he knew that he could love her again.

Or perhaps I've loved her all along, he thought. He did not think that could be true—he did not believe any love could be sustained for thirteen years without contact or hope—but the possibility intrigued him: he liked to think of himself as a constant lover. And why else would he be filled with this happiness .>

Valerie's eyes were shadowed, and suddenly he realized she was worried at his silence. "Carlton died last January," he said. "What have you been doing since then?"

"Nothing. Nothing important." She met his eyes, and a small exasperated breath escaped her. "I was working."

"Where?"

Her head moved higher. "At Sybille's production company. She offered me a job working with two directors, and I took it, but she and I had different ideas about what I could do, so I... left."

He nodded calmly. It sounded as if Sybille had fired her. What a crazy situation, he thought. Sybille's always envied her, and then to get a chance to humiliate her... "How long did you work for her?" he asked.

There was a pause. "Three weeks."

He nodded again, as calmly as before. "And before that?"

"I was living with my mother in New York. We were trying to find a smaller apartment for her; she can't afford to stay where she is. I... thought about marrying again, but that wasn't what I wanted." She leaned forward. "I want to do something interesting, Nick; something important. I have to work, but I can't spend my time at silly jobs that a child could do; I have to do something I like, something I'm good at. I want to do an interview show, or an investigative one, or a newscast, and write my own scripts. You know how long I've been doing it; I've

kept it up. I could have done much more if I'd had the time." She paused, thinking of all the time she had had: hours, days, years, to do exacdy as she wished. So much leisure time, all her own. It had been as much a form of wealth as her considerable fortune, and she had never realized it. "I know you produce some of your own programs; I want you to build one around me."

Nick sat back, amused at her audacity. For a moment he thought she might be disguising uncertainty, perhaps even fear, but a long look convinced him otherwise: she was absolutely serious, and as arrogant as ever. Adrift, almost alone, victimized by her husband, left with no fortune to buoy her up, she was more than brave: she was foolhardy.

"I am good at it, Nick; I can do it," she said. And then, unexpectedly, she added, "It's about the only thing I can do," with a small, ruefiil smile that tore at his heart.

He thought about it. She would be wonderftil on camera; he knew that. He did not know whether she could sustain her wonderftil presence on camera for half an hour or longer; he did not know if she could write. And he had no reason to think she took the world any more seriously now than in the past, even though her fortune was gone. She's not looking for a career, he thought: more likely she's waiting for a man to rescue her, or for someone to find her money, or for some other miracle to happen, and then she'll take off".

But even though he was sure of that, he could not send her away. Not with this odd happiness inside him, and her hazel eyes watching him steadily, waiting for his answer.

"Are you still living in Middleburg?" he asked.

"No. I had to sell the farm." She steadied her voice. "I have an apartment in Fairfax. I plan to move soon, to something better, but I won't go far. I don't want to leave Virginia."

"Good." He picked up his telephone. "Susan, what do we have open now?" Rolling a pencil between his fingers, not looking at Valerie's quick frown, he waited. "With Earl," he said. "That sounds fine. I have a friend here, Valerie Sterling; she may want to talk to you about it. I think she'd be very good."

He turned back to Valerie. "We do have an opening." His voice sounded formal, almost brusque. "We're expanding the staff" for a new program called 'Blow-Up,' and we need another person in the research department."

Valerie's frown had deepened; she looked at him in bewilderment. "Research?"

Nick nodded. "We have nothing else right now." It sounded like an

apology, and he became even more brusque. "It's a good place for you to start. You'll get to know everyone and you'll learn how we operate. A lot of the time we're learning ourselves; everything still seems new around here, and all of us do half a dozen jobs when we have to, to get through whatever the latest crises are. But we do get through them; we don't repeat our mistakes." His voice had grown warm, picking up enthusiasm as he spoke. "We're growing so fast it's hard to keep track of where we were last week and who was doing what. It was like that at Omega, you know... well, no, you don't, but it was pretty much the same. I guess I haven't found a way to start a company without trying to do everything all at once, and I bring in people who are the same, so we charge ahead and then slow down to see where we are, and then start up again, faster than before. It's the most exciting time in a company; nothing comes near it when things get settled and a lot of it gets predictable and routine. So it may be chaotic around here, but it's never dull. And our people don't leave; the five top people I brought in two years ago are still here, and so is everybody we've hired since then. Two years ago this month, in fact, that we started; you can help us celebrate."

Valerie gave a flicker of a smile. "I don't know anything about research."

"You'll learn in no time." Nick's voice was still warm and buoyant with energy. "Earl DeShan runs the department; he'll give you all the help you need."

"But thafs not what I—" She stopped.

There was silence in Nick's office. Valerie stood up, propelled by panic, and walked across the large room. She couldn't believe what was happening: it had never occurred to her that he would not help her. She stood beside an Eskimo sculpture of a bear standing on his hind legs, dancing. It was a superb piece: she had seen similar ones in private collections, and knew how rare and valuable it was. She didn't know Nick liked Eskimo sculpture. She really didn't know anything about him. Once she had been sure he was uncomplicated, so easy to understand. But that was when he had two loves—his work and her —and spent his time at a battered desk in the engineering building or in an apartment furnished with castoffs, with juice glasses for wine.

Now he had an office that seemed so simple she knew how very much it had cost, paneled in mahogany, furnished in leather and rosewood and a fine Navaho rug. It was the office of a successful, ambitious man who had excellent taste and the money to satisfy it. Once that was all she would have thought it was. But now it seemed to her