Private affairs : a novel (13 page)

Matt had looked up, then quickly down again, but Elizabeth knew he was listening. She hesitated. Only a few months ago she'd enjoyed the excitement Tony brought; now she had no time for him.

"He's your friend," Holly declared. "And mine, too, and he hasn't been here for ages and he wants to hear about my singing—my career, he called it!—and he'D only have a few hours between planes, so can't he come? Mother, he's waiting on the telephone!"

"I'd better say hello, then." Elizabeth stood up. "But we can't invite him here, Holly. Tomorrow is Thursday and we won't have a minute until the paper goes to press. And then we like to have the evening with you and Peter. Maybe he can come some other time . . . we'll see." Still holding her clipboard, she went down the hall to their bedroom and picked up the telephone.

"Dear Elizabeth, it's been five months," Tony said, his voice deep and close. "Much too long. I'm on my way to New York tomorrow and I can be with you . . . or did HoDy tell you all this?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, Tony. . . ." She told him about the newspaper. "Everything has changed," she said. "We're doing all of it together. I even have my own column; remember I told you I wanted one?"

"You told me that when you were seventeen."

While we lay in your bed. And you don't want me to forget. But that was so long ago; I'm a different person now.

Knowing he'd made a mistake, he said warmly, "Tell me about the column. How wonderful you must feel—and scared? At least a little bit?"

"Yes." She was surprised he knew that. "More than a little bit. But sometimes I begin to think I'm really a writer."

"I never doubted it; I've always believed in you. Will you read me something you wrote? If you won't let me see you, at least let me hear what you're doing."

Elizabeth found herself liking him; his voice was honest, and he seemed more interested in her than in himself. "I was just finishing a piece for tomorrow's paper," she said, looking at her clipboard. "Do you really want to hear it?"

"Very much."

"It's about a young woman who works for my parents. It ends this way:

Not long ago, Heather Farrell dreamed of romance; now she's been awakened by a bucket of cold reality. "The world isn't as neat as I thought; as a matter of fact, it's kind of messy, when you think about it." But as she says that, Heather Farrell's stubborn chin lifts and she gives a small, shivery smile of pleasure. She's discovering that kind of messy means life has more possibilities than she ever dreamed of, and she can't wait to go after them, messiness and all.

Tony was silent. "No comment?" Elizabeth asked nervously.

"It's damned good," he said. "More sophisticated than I expected. You always surprise me. You know, I can see your Heather: she probably used to follow like a nice little girl; now I'll bet she walks ahead of everybody."

"How do you know that?"

"I told you: I can see her. You got her, Elizabeth: pinned like a butter-fly to a board. You're terrific. You want a job?"

"I've got a job."

"Not a very big one. How would you like a national audience? I need a new writer for my show. Five grand a week and an audience of millions. It's yours if you want it."

The words rang in her head. Forcibly, she silenced them. It's a fairy tale. It has nothing to do with me. With us. "Tony, Matt and I own a newspaper together. We work together. I'm very flattered, but—"

"You won't take it. I didn't think you would. The offer stands, though,

dear Elizabeth; keep it in mind. Is it all right if I call you now and then, even though everything is changed?"

"If you'd like."

"Obviously not as much as seeing you . . . but we mustn't talk about that. Will you send me a copy of your Heather story?"

"Of course."

"Will you send me all your columns? Better yet, I'll subscribe to the— what's it called? The Warrior?"

"Chieftain, and you know it. But you don't have to subscribe, Tony; I'll be glad to send you my columns."

"No, I want to see the whole paper, every week. Of course I'm always traveling, but when I get home I'll find them waiting, and that way I'll know what you and Matt are up to. And I'll call again soon. Be well, dear Elizabeth. Oh, and give my love to your family."

She hung up and sat unmoving on the edge of the bed. In spite of everything, he still could make her world seem small and slow. He'd been so pleasant, and then he dangled before her an audience of millions and a salary that made anything she could earn sound like pocket money, no matter how big the Chieftain ever got.

Stop it. She looked about the small bedroom, its corners and low ceiling in shadow. She and Matt had bought the blue and black Indian rug at the Crownpoint auction; they'd found the early American wedding ring quilt at an antique shop up the Hudson on a trip to New York state; they'd chosen the Spanish bed on a visit to Mexico City. Everything in the bedroom, everything in the house, they'd chosen together.

And we've chosen our life together now. They worked for no one but themselves and they loved it. And they loved each other. And Tony, with his grandiose offers, had no part in any of that.

Turning out the lamp, Elizabeth decided she wouldn't talk to him again, after all. Even at his nicest, there was something destructive about him. She didn't like the way Holly was beginning to idolize him, either. Next time I'll tell him not to call any more, she thought. I suppose I'll have the Chieftain sent to him; there's no harm in that. But nothing else. We're better off without his play-acting; he can find another audience. He already has millions; he told me so himself.

An audience of millions. But he didn't really mean it, she told herself. He wasn't serious. And even if he meant every word, it would be impossible. I'm doing what I want, and I'm doing it with Matt. And I believe in us.

And she walked back through the shadowed hallway to the lights of the living room, where Matt was waiting.

H A P T E R

♦-•■

s

aul Milgrim was lanky and loose-limbed, with a melancholy face that was transformed when it crinkled into laughter. A street-wise New Yorker and prize-winning investigative reporter, he had been offered jobs by every major newspaper in the country, but all he wanted now, he told Matt and Elizabeth as he lounged in Matt's office, was to work on a small paper in a small town. "I am your perfect managing editor," he told them seriously. "I know everything there is to know about newspapers, but I've had enough of the big time. I want to get back to basics—poke my nose into every part of the operation. Like quitting Macy's to run a small-town general store."

"What happens when you start missing the big time?" asked Matt.

"Won't happen. I've had enough of it for a lifetime: too many of my peers trying to beat me out, too many women, too much booze . . . Good Lord, it's time I slowed down, even settled down." {Heather, Elizabeth thought involuntarily.) "I'm almost thirty-five, getting old—" He saw Matt and Elizabeth exchange a smile. "Did I say something funny?"

"We're forty," Elizabeth smiled. "So thirty-five hardly seems 'old' to us."

Saul contemplated her. "Nobody'd guess." He leaned forward and his

voice lost its casual drawl. "Look, I've been on a fast track since I was thirteen: odd jobs after school until I was old enough to be copy boy on a newspaper; worked my way through college driving a cab and bartending and was editor of the school paper at the same time; worked for six major papers since I graduated, racing after the big stories to beat out everybody else and see my name on the front page; won a few prizes, too. You know all this from my application. Well, I'm tired of racing around. I was married, by the way, for a few months; it fell apart because my fast track had room for sex and chit-chat but not for tender care and a future. What I want now is to relax, think about the world and what I want to do with the rest of my life. And do it on a newspaper in a town that's small but sophisticated enough to get international visitors." He leaned back again. "I like you two; I like your ideas for the paper; I like Santa Fe. It's quiet; it doesn't shout the way New York does. I drove around before coming here; know what I liked best? Narrow streets, laid-back shopkeepers, people who keep their affairs private behind adobe walls instead of flaunting their wealth. And dust."

"Dust?" echoed Elizabeth.

"Good clean desert dust. Has a nice feel when you've been breathing city grit all your life. I figure it'll take ten years for my lungs to clean out and by then I'll know what I want to do with myself. My guess is I'll be so content I'll stay put, rocking on my porch and publishing the Santa Fe Chieftain."

Matt's eyebrows went up. "After you've knocked off the current publisher?"

"Won't be necessary. You'll be long gone; you want bigger and better things than a small town weekly. I recognize the signs." Once again he saw Elizabeth and Matt exchange a look. "None of my business, however; all I want right now is to be managing editor of your paper. Shall I remove myself so you can discuss me in private?"

Elizabeth smiled, liking him so much she was afraid she might wake up and find she'd dreamed him. "Matt pretty much decided from your application, and he was right. So were you when you said you were our perfect managing editor." She stood up and held out her hand. "Welcome to the Chieftain."

Saul stood, his face lighting in a broad smile as he took her hand. "We're going to be friends. What luck. It doesn't always work that way. Must be rough for the two of you—working together and being married."

"Occasionally," Matt said briefly. "But it's what we want." He stood with them and shook Saul's hand. "We're glad to have you with us.

Elizabeth will introduce you to everyone and then we'll have lunch. I'll see you at one. We'll introduce you to blue corn tortillas at The Shed."

"Blue—" Saul shook his head dubiously. "Sounds like an initiation. If I pass, will you give me some ideas about places to rent? And maybe some congenial female friends—?"

"I've already thought of that," Elizabeth said, and led the way to the newsroom.

With Saul's arrival, everything seemed to fall into place. Because he relieved them of so many little details, Elizabeth and Matt could spend more time together, working and relaxing. One Thursday, after the paper went to press, they went for a leisurely drive out the old Taos Highway to browse in ancient churches and have dinner at Rancho de Chimayo, at long last having the anniversary dinner they'd planned the night of Matt's accident. In February they took Holly and Peter skiing at Taos for a weekend, and on other weekends drove into the mountains to Nuevo as they had done so often before, to visit Cesar Aragon and his daughter Isabel and Isabel's daughter Luz.

"I never see you enough!" Luz bubbled to Holly. "Tell me about Santa Fe High and your singing and everything about the boys you're dating!" They sat crosslegged on the floor near the fireplace, carving X's in chestnuts, Luz's dark red curls close to Holly's straight ash blond hair as they both talked at once.

Isabel, tall and large-boned, with black eyes above high cheekbones, put her hands on Elizabeth's shoulders and searched her face. "You look good. A little pale maybe, but it's been so long I'm not sure."

"Isabel," Elizabeth said reproachfully. "We've talked on the telephone; you know how busy we've been."

"Four months without a visit."

Elizabeth put her arms around her. "I'm sorry."

"Well so am I," Isabel said, suddenly brisk. She returned Elizabeth's hug. "Mainly for whining. I'm just jealous because I sit in my little ghost of a valley and make pottery while you're out there having all that excitement. And of course I missed you. There aren't so many good friends around that I can afford to lose one."

"You haven't lost me; the time just got away from me. It won't happen again. I need you; the only friend I've had lately has been my husband."

Isabel laughed. "Not enough, is it? What's going on? You together too much? No place to let off steam?"

Elizabeth glanced at Matt as he stacked firewood with Cesar. "Saul helps," she said. "But I've missed you more than I realized."

Isabel looked at the two young girls beside the fireplace. "Luz missed Holly, too. Pecos High makes her feel out of things. Funny how all of a sudden we feel so far from that big world of yours."

That big world of yours. Once Elizabeth had felt that way after Tony's visits and telephone calls. It doesn't take much, she thought, to make the world seem bigger. But she and Isabel had been friends for sixteen years and she didn't want to lose that any more than Isabel did. "We'll always have room for Nuevo." she said. "It's our peaceful place to unwind. And who else understands me as well as you do?" They exchanged a smile. "We'll make time," Elizabeth said. "I pronii-

Between weekend trips and Saul's increased authority, Elizabeth and Matt settled into a schedule. They worked nearly regular hours: Elizabeth had more time to write her columns; Matt had time to read them before they went to pre>>s; and once or twice a week they went out for late dinners alone, sitting in a booth at the Pmk Adobe or a candlelit corner of the Compound, where other diners recognized them and often stopped by to say they liked the new look of the Chieftain Once m a while a local businessman told them he was planning to advertise m both Santa Fe papers for a change, and see how it went.

The other nights the family ate dinner together, and lingered, talking, at the table as they had before the Chieftain was theirs. There was time, too, for Matt and Elizabeth to sit in their courtyard at night, until the chill air drove them indoors, to slip between cold sheets and warm themselves against each other, mside each other, so much a pan of each other they could not imagine ever being separate again.

Tony did not call. For a time, Elizabeth waited, ready to tell him she was busy and happy and had no time to talk. But after a while she stopped waiting, and then she stopped thinking about Tony altogether. He was pan of the life she and Man had left behind. They had another life now.