CS 01 The Grail Conspiracy (8 page)

COTTEN STONE ENTERED HER apartment, thankful to be out of the
New York winter. She was exhausted, not only from the concerns
brought on by her meeting with John Tyler and the mystery of the
box, but knowing the time spent away from Thornton had not healed
her heart. Seeing him again brought back emotions she had hoped
were cold and dead.

Cotten stripped off her heavy coat and scarf and unloaded her
small bag of groceries. The apartment was chilly, and she turned up
the thermostat, hearing the familiar thump as the gas heater kicked
on.

She rubbed her arms for warmth while thinking about Tyler.
She'd become more and more unnerved in his office, realizing as he
described Archer's theory that she'd been in the crypt, seen the Crusader's bones ... held the box. Tyler must believe her to be completely
crazy-and ungrateful. She practically ran out of his office after saying she had all the information she needed. How embarrassing. And
John was so polite, even offering to answer more questions.

Thornton crept into her thoughts.

Thornton.

Just letting herself get so deeply involved with him was another in
a long line of stupid mistakes. Not only was he married, his face was a
household fixture in millions of homes around the country. It would
have been hard to pick someone with a higher profile to jump into
bed with.

And of course there was the box. Another mistake. She should
have left it in the crypt. But wasn't that what she'd done most of her
life-run away from problems, decisions, relationships-hoping they
would disappear?

They never did.

Before putting the cold cuts in the refrigerator, she made a sandwich, then wandered back into the living room to watch the news.
That's when she spotted the blinking light on her answering machine.
There were three messages. She sat on the sofa, pressed play, and bit
down on the ham sandwich.

Beep.

"Cotten? It's Ted. I got your message that you weren't coming
back in today. Are you all right? Why did you leave the edit? What's
going on? Call me."

Beep.

"Cotten, it's Ted again. They've just about finished your piece, but
there's a tape missing. What should they do? We're running it tomorrow night. If I don't hear from you I'll tell the editor to use some
stock cover shots. Call me as soon as you can."

Beep.

"Hi."

Thornton's voice.

Pause.

"I really need to talk to you. I know you think it's over, but it's not.
We weren't just having an affair. I love you. And I know you love me.
Please, Cotten, we've got to talk."

Pause.

"Can't we just meet for dinner? That's all I want. Just to talk. Call
me back. I love you."

The sound of his voice had made her stomach tighten-the same
feeling she got so many times when the phone rang and she knew it
was Thornton ... prayed it was Thornton.

The first time they made love it had been raw lust. They'd had
lunch on occasion, flirted in the hallways, elevators, and stairwells at
work. Then he'd asked her to meet him for a drink one evening. They
met in a hotel bar near SNN and within twenty minutes they were
tearing each other's clothes off in a hotel room eighteen stories above
Broadway. After three clandestine meetings, the first hint of affection
finally entered into their lovemaking. But that vanished quickly on
Thornton's part, while she still yearned for the gentleness, the sweetness, the love in lovemaking. It became evident he only wanted sex.
Nothing more. He denied her accusation, saying it was because they
only had those few stolen moments, and she aroused him so much ...
Cotten wanted to believe him, but almost every time, as soon as they
finished-he finished-he'd leave, take his limo home to his wife
Cheryl while Cotten lay in the rumpled sheets, in the dark, and cried.
She'd been a fool to think anything would ever change. A stint in Iraq
was supposed to make her forget.

Now it started all over again-his voice brooding and full of sincerity. His words full of promises. How could she detest what she
craved? It made no sense. She drank the poison because she loved the
taste.

Cotten glanced toward the kitchen. She could see the stove. The
box was just one more pebble in her shoe.

Picking up the phone, she dialed Thornton's cell. She almost
hoped that maybe he'd be home with his wife and wouldn't pick up.

"Hello," he answered.

"Hi," she said, almost in a whisper.

"Oh, thank God." His voice was urgent. "I've been going out of
my mind. I have to see you."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Please, Cotten. We need to talk. I've made a decision."

There was a long pause.

"Let me guess. You're going to leave her."

"Yes."

Cotten didn't respond. This wasn't a new tune.

"I know I've said it before. This time I mean it."

"Thornton, don't. I'm emotionally exhausted."

"I know I haven't been fair. Just let me see you. Please. You won't
regret it."

I already do, she thought.

Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she said, "All right," flinching even
as the words came out. It was going to be the same old pattern.
They'd meet. They'd talk. They'd have sex. It didn't matter what he
promised.

"Can you meet me?"

Cotten slumped into the couch cushions. "When?"

"I'm working late, but I'll finish up and get out of here in an
hour."

She hung up without answering.

They had often met at Giovanni's in the past-a small out-of-theway restaurant about ten blocks from her apartment. It reminded her of the one in The Godfather where Michael Corleone committed
murder for the first time. Cotten didn't know which of her sins was
worse, adultery or stupidity.

When she entered Giovanni's, the head waiter greeted her. "Good
evening, Ms. Stone. Mr. Graham is waiting." He led her to a table in
the back.

Prints of the old country covered the walls, along with empty
Chianti bottles and plastic flowers.

"Cotten," Thornton said, standing and taking her in his arms.
"God, I'm glad you came." He tried to kiss her, but she turned away.

"Hello, Thornton." She slipped into the chair across from him.

He took her hands in his and rested them on top of the table. "I
was crazy with worry. Ted told me all about your escape from Iraq.
You're a lucky lady."

"In some respects."

"So how was it?" Thornton asked. "Did you get the story you
wanted?"

"Most of it. It's running tomorrow night."

"I know," Thornton said, squeezing her hands. "I previewed it
before leaving work. You did an outstanding job." He paused. "Ted
told me you got upset and rushed out of your edit yesterday. He said
he tried to call you all day today, but you weren't home. They had to
do the edit without you. What happened, sweetheart?"

"Nothing really," she said. "I misplaced a tape and haven't been
able to find it yet."

"Important stuff?"

"It was all important;' she said, pulling her hands away as the
waiter approached.

"Something to drink?" the waiter asked.

"Bring me a big fat Tanqueray and tonic;' Thornton said. "Cotten?"

"Absolut on the rocks with a twist, please."

The waiter left, and Thornton leaned back. "I've got to go to the
doctor and have my clot time checked tomorrow. Pain in the ass.
They can't keep the damn Coumadin levels stable."

She knew he was stalling. "Yes, you've told me that before." Cotten
unwrapped her silverware and put the napkin in her lap, fidgeting
with it.

"Well, who'd have thought you could get blood clots in your legs
just from sitting on a goddamn airplane? Now, with the blood thinner, God forbid, I cut myself shaving-I'll bleed to death."

"Get to the point, Thornton. You're waltzing all around it. Trying
to work up a little sympathy first?"

He reached for her hands again, but she kept them just out of
range.

"I know what you're going to say, that we've been through this ad
infinitum," he said. "But this time it's different. I swear."

"Just tell me what you decided."

"I'm going to ask Cheryl for a divorce."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why? Because I love you. I want to be with
you.

"When are you going to tell her?" Cotten prepared for the catch.

"Right away."

She glared at him.

"Very soon. Just as soon as she gets her decorating business on its
feet. That way she'll have something to preoccupy her while getting
through-"

"Thornton, she's been trying to get that business going for two
fucking years." By the end of the sentence, Cotten had raised her voice
enough that some heads turned in their direction.

He held his hands up, as if to surrender. "Cotten, please."

"This is the same bullshit you've told me over and over. Nothing's
changed, has it? You know as well as I do you can't leave her." Cotten
looked up at the cheap, fake flowers. How appropriate, she thought.
"I'm so goddamn stupid. I knew what you were doing, and I still
came here. I was going to let you sweet-talk me into bed. And while
you fucked me and whispered how you couldn't live without me,
you'd be checking your watch so you wouldn't get home too late and
have to make up some excuse." Cotten rubbed her temples. Her voice
dropped. "I can't take this anymore. I never should have come. Go
home to Cheryl and leave me alone."

She grabbed her purse, stormed out, and cried her way down the
Manhattan sidewalk.

Cotten walked for nearly an hour in the freezing drizzle before
flagging a cab. She'd cried until she couldn't anymore. Maybe she'd
overreacted and been too harsh. What if he really was trying to leave
Cheryl? She was so confused. Maybe she should move out of New
York, even go home to Kentucky. That notion quickly dissolved. She
had to break this off completely and get over it.

She could live without him, she kept telling herself. There was life
after Thornton Graham.

Cotten sat in her living room and stared at the phone on the table
beside her. She knew she would see Thornton at work-there was no
way to avoid it. Setting rules up front would be the best thing. She
wouldn't talk to him unless it was a matter dealing with her job. She
wouldn't answer his calls. And she wouldn't see him alone under any
circumstances. Those were the rules-and that's what she would tell
him. It was over. The end.

The phone rang, and Cotten answered, but not without first looking at the Caller ID.

"Uncle Gus," she said when she picked up. "How are you?"

"Doing great, little girl. Just checking up on my favorite niece."

That was a joke between them. She was his only niece. She heard
him laugh and pictured her uncle's Santa-like frame. Even his hair
was snow white like Mr. Kringle's. She loved Gus and wished he
would lose weight and stop chain-smoking. She heard the click of his
cigarette lighter.

"I haven't talked to you in a while," he said.