No More Lonely Nights (67 page)

Clay snickered softly. “You always worry too much,” he said, his voice retaining its affectionate undertone.

“I have a lot to worry about,” Dominique said tartly.

Clay laughed again, as though she had made a joke. Dominique recognized that it was his way of smoothing things over. But, to Dominique’s surprise, instead of changing the subject, he actually addressed her statement. “We ought to talk about that,” he said, his tone soothing.

“Where should we begin?” Dominique said dryly. He wanted to talk about her worries? Since when? With a shock of realization, she was transported back through the years of their marriage. It was as though she were high up in an airplane surveying a landscape in which she had always lived. The perspective was entirely different, and she saw things she had never seen before. He had never occupied himself with her concerns. Never, not in all the years they’d been together. She suddenly remembered her first date with Mark, how she’d confessed her frustration with Sylvia Brussels. They had spent almost an hour discussing her work, her future, her life. When had Clay ever paid so much attention to her interests?

Clay’s voice dropped another register. He said huskily, “Why don’t we start over drinks tonight?”

“Tonight?” Dominique was stunned. “You’re here?”

“Just for one night. Business.” He paused. His voice became wheedling, yet smooth as silk. “I have a lot to tell you.”

Dominique didn’t like the sound of that. It didn’t matter that his tone was friendly. She had learned not to trust his outward demeanor. Her hand tightened on the phone. What if it had something to do with Gabrielle? Or the alimony?

“I can see you for an hour at five-thirty,” Dominique said.

“Great!” Clay said. “I’ll meet you in the lobby of the King George Hotel.”

Dominique didn’t like the bar there. It was dark and gloomy. But it was close. Why argue?

Dominique brushed her hair until it glowed, then applied fresh lipstick and powder. She had changed from the flats she wore in the privacy of her office to brown suede high heels that complemented her butterscotch silk dress. She knew she looked good, but was annoyed that she cared. With a glare of irritation at herself in the mirror, Dominique snatched her handbag from the counter and stalked out of the bathroom. She was undeniably agitated, aflutter with a mix of emotions. She wanted to impress Clay; she couldn’t help it, but she did.

Dominique exited her building and turned in the direction of the hotel, a block away. The air was rich with the threat of a storm. Snow or rain? Dark, lumbering clouds blew across the sky as a strong wind contorted the trees. It made Dominique feel jittery and uncomfortable.

It was soothing to step into the heated dimness of the hotel bar a few minutes later, even if it wasn’t her favorite place. She paused just inside the door, blinking until her eyes adjusted to the light. She surveyed the crowded room, looking from the circular, polished bar to the mahogany tables that surrounded it.

She saw Clay before he saw her. He was attractively tan and turned out in an impeccable dark blue pin-striped suit. His hair had a little white at the sideburns, but was as luxuriant as ever. Dominique had almost forgotten how handsome he was. In the room full of gray businessmen, he stood out like a star.

Dominique squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and walked smoothly across the carpeted foyer. She was gratified to see Clay’s eyes light with surprise and admiration. He hurried from behind the little table and came toward Dominique, arms outstretched. “You look marvelous!” he cried too loudly.

She had intended to greet him with a dignified handshake, but he ignored her proffered hand and wrapped her in a bear hug so tight that it hurt her ribs. “It’s great to see you,” he murmured against her hair.

Dominique was surprised by the extravagance of his greeting, yet relieved that he was so friendly. Their last meeting had been a hostile one in the office of his lawyer.

Dominique laughed uneasily and extracted herself from his grip. Without realizing it, her hand went to her hair. She smoothed it, then dropped her hand limply at her side. She felt awkward and uncertain.

Clay, brimming with confidence as usual, clutched her firmly by the elbow and led her to the table.

He held up his hand to the waitress, who immediately appeared at his side, a look of adoration in her eyes. “Yes, sir?”

“Our usual, Dominique?” Clay asked. A martini already rested on a napkin in front of his place.

Dominique shook her head rapidly. Didn’t he realize that she had only drunk the gin concoction to keep him company? Martinis had never been
her
favorite. “No thanks! I’ve given up mixed drinks. I’ll just have a white wine spritzer.” She looked at the waitress as she said the words, but Clay repeated them as though she had given him her order to transmit. That had been the way they’d done it before.

After the waitress left, Clay settled back in his seat and turned his winning grin on Dominique. “I can’t get over you! How much weight have you lost?”

Dominique, to her dismay, blushed. She said in what she hoped was an offhand manner, “I don’t know. A lot.”

Clay scanned her with an expert eye. “Size six again?”

Dominique hesitated, then said, “I’m not sure that’s any of your business.” She had meant the words as a rebuke, but her voice sounded coy to her own ears.

Clay threw back his head and laughed and Dominique found herself laughing with him. She didn’t know what to say next. She thought of telling him that he looked good, too, but decided against it. She was sure that he already knew it.

“I like your hair that way.” Clay held up his hands like a picture frame. “A little longer.”

Dominique’s arm jerked involuntarily as she automatically moved to raise her hand to her hair, but this time she restrained herself. She didn’t want to appear to be preening under his approval.

The drinks came, and the presence of the waitress gave Dominique time to recover her composure.

Clay raised his glass and said, “Let’s drink to”—he appeared to think the matter over— “good memories.”

He was trying to win her over. But why, Dominique wondered?

Clay took a sip and continued. “Aren’t you even going to ask how I am?” He assumed an expression of mock injury.

“You seem prosperous and fit,” Dominique said coolly.

Clay’s face turned serious. “You used to know me better,” he said wistfully.

“That’s not my job anymore. It’s your wife’s.” Dominique was surprised at how matter-of-fact she sounded.

Clay leaned forward and took Dominique’s hand from the stem of her glass. He covered it with his own. “Dominique,” he said huskily, “I hurt you badly, didn’t I?”

His touch felt familiar, yet oddly inappropriate. She pulled her hand away and placed it on her lap with the other. “Why bring that up?” she said, her voice strained.

Clay hung his head. “I owe you an apology. I was an idiot! And”—he fixed her with an earnest look—“I was cruel.”

Dominique agreed, but she didn’t like the pitiable portrait he drew of her. She met his eyes squarely. “I’ve recovered,” she said crisply.

Clay looked down and said quietly, “I see that. You’ve really come into your own.” He paused, then brought his eyes back to hers. “I almost feel I did you a favor.”

Dominique let out an ironic laugh. “Please, Clay.” How typical of him to try to absolve his guilt.

“Really.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “You’re very sexy this way.”

Dominique was startled by his expression. It held a languid suggestiveness. It reminded her of when they’d first met. She had thought him impossibly attractive then. And now? She had to admit, he still was. He had a manner of looking at her that was somehow… arousing. He was stirring the embers of old, buried emotions.

“Clay,” she asked uncomfortably, “why did you want to see me?”

Clay straightened in his seat, but once more lowered his head. He twirled the stem of his glass between his fingers. “Dominique, sometimes we all do things that are… regrettable, I guess you’d say.”

Dominique clutched her hands together tightly in her lap. What was he getting at? What more could he do to her that he hadn’t already done? She remained silent, in an agony of suspense.

Clay looked squarely at her. “And I hope that people can be forgiven, at least once in a lifetime.”

Dominique swallowed and moved her head in a barely perceptible nod. She wondered if Gabrielle had given Clay a hard time during her most recent visit. Perhaps she had turned against Marie. But the girl hadn’t mentioned any trouble.

Clay spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I made a big mistake with Marie.” He gave Dominique a look of appeal. “Things aren’t working.”

Dominique froze. Her heart thudded. She could almost hear it, pounding and pounding. She held her body perfectly still. “That’s unfortunate.” Her voice was barely louder than a whisper.

Clay shook his head and dropped his eyes. “I was wondering if”—he paused, tore off a corner of his cocktail napkin—“if you still had any feelings left for me.”

Dominique stared at him, unbelieving. Clay wanted her back! How often she had dreamed of this, yearned for it. She remembered the day he left her. She had implored him to stay. She had humiliated herself. Later, she had fought the urge to commit an act of vengeance, for fear of irrevocably alienating him. She had not wished to hate him, for if she hated him, how could she possibly allow him back into her life? At the bottom of all her actions had been the hope that he would return.

Now he was offering himself to her. He was as appealing as ever. More so, now that he was in the role of supplicant. This was the man with whom she’d fallen in love. So why didn’t she feel joyous? Victorious? She didn’t even feel relieved. Only suspicious. Yes, he was attractive. He still affected her physically. But was there any more to it than the titillation of impressing an old flame?

Playing for time, she asked, “Are you divorcing Marie?”

Clay shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He cleared his throat. “Well, you see, we never formally married. We told everyone we did for Gabrielle’s sake. But frankly”—he regarded Dominique with a conspiratorial look—“I was never certain I… had done the right thing in leaving you.” He dropped his lids with an air of embarrassment.

Then why force her from her home? Why cheat her on the settlement? Why brush her off like an annoying insect when she begged him to stay? It was a moment of blinding clarity for Dominique. This was an act! Nothing but an act! Clay didn’t feel remorse—only regret that he had thrown away something that he later realized was valuable. He didn’t care about the damage he had done Dominique, except as it affected her feelings toward him. He was like a greedy little boy who, having won a coveted prize, no longer valued it.

Dominique’s eyes flashed as she said, “You seemed convinced at the time that you were doing the right thing!”

“I don’t know what came over me.” Clay’s expression was sheepish, almost mischievous. As though he were guilty of no more than a harmless peccadillo!

But he had driven Dominique to the point of contemplating suicide. Was he so self-centered that he failed to recognize the monumental upheaval he had created in Dominique’s life?

Dominique squeezed her hands so tightly that the veins on her wrists stood up.

Clay looked humbly at her from under his brows, as though ready to accept whatever punishment she meted out. At the same time, a certain playfulness in his expression transmitted confidence that once she had upbraided him, she would forgive him. He was so accustomed to getting his way with her that he seemed incapable of envisioning another outcome.

Dominique almost pitied him. For the first time in her life, she saw that he would never grow up; he would always be a grasping little boy. He would charm his way into women’s hearts. But he didn’t truly have the capacity to love.

All at once, Dominique thought of Mark. Of his genuine concern for her. His tender caring. His generosity of spirit and his wisdom. His values, his love of family, his unshakable principles. Oh, she missed him! She could hardly stand to think of it.

Dominique picked up her handbag, shoved her chair back from the table, and stood, “Clay, I’m leaving,” she said, too upset for civility.

Clay looked up at her with an astonished expression. “Leaving?” he repeated.

Dominique pushed the thought of Mark from her mind and focused once more on Clay. He looked incredulous. “Go back to Marie,” she said bluntly.

Clay’s face turned a deep red. He sprang to his feet. “You don’t understand…. I’m asking you to marry me again!”

“I understand,” Dominique said in a tone of overtaxed patience, as though addressing a child, “and my answer is no.”

“But—but,” he sputtered, “why?”

So many accusations came to Dominique’s mind. So many judgments. So many harsh truths. But they didn’t provide the answer to his question. She felt an exhilarating sense of liberation as she replied, “Because I don’t love you anymore.”

Dominique hurried from her meeting with Clay to her home a few blocks away. The encounter had left her with a feeling of anger, but also with energy and resolve. It would be interesting to tell Solange about it. She wondered what her reaction would be? Would she think Dominique stupid to reject conciliation with Gabrielle’s father? Or would she cheer her on, once more urging the move to Paris? Solange was wily. Dominique could imagine her turning the encounter with Clay to her advantage. She would argue that it was best to sever all ties with the past, move to Paris, and be truly independent of Clay.

Dominique sighed. Maybe she would keep Clay’s visit to herself. Why stir up another argument? She had promised Michelle an answer by the end of February. Until then, she preferred to weigh her options in peace. She kept telling herself that she should simply say no. That she wasn’t even seriously considering the move. But then Solange and Danielle would start on her again. And their arguments made sense. The lure of Paris was becoming very real.

Dominique unlocked her front door and closed it quickly behind her. She removed her coat and put it in the closet.