of man one ought to be afraid of, but nevertheless he was only a stranger who had appeared on a beach. It struck her then that she was really a little bit mad to be talking to him at all, standing there alone in the dark. “Really, I can’t. Perhaps some other time.”
“I understand.” The fire dampened a little in his eyes, but the smile was still there. “It’s a beautiful piece though, and the woman in it looks a great deal like you.”
“Thank you. That’s a lovely thing to say.” She was wondering how to leave him. He seemed to have no immediate intention of returning to his house.
“May I walk you back up the beach? It’s a little too dark now for you to be wandering around on your own.” He grinned at her, squinting into the wind. “You might get accosted by a stranger.” She laughed in answer and nodded as they walked down the shallow dune back toward the sea. “Tell me, how did you become so fond of Wyeth?”
“I thought he was the greatest American painter I had ever seen. But then,” she looked apologetically into his eyes, “I fell in love with all the French Impressionists. And I’m afraid I forgot about him. Not forgot, really, but I fell a little bit out of love.”
They walked along comfortably, side by side, the only two people on the beach, with the surf pounding beside them. She laughed suddenly then. It was so incongruous, discussing art with this stranger, walking in the sand in Carmel. What would she tell Kim? Or would she tell Kim at all? For a moment she was inclined to tell no one about her new friend. It was just a moment’s encounter at dusk on a quiet beach. What was there to tell?
“Do you always fall out of love that easily?” It was a silly thing to say, the sort of things strangers say to each other for lack of something better. But she smiled.
“Generally not. Only when French Impressionists are involved.”
He nodded sagely. “That makes sense. Do you paint?”
“A bit.”
“Like the Impressionists?” He seemed to know the answer already, and she nodded. “I’d like to see your work. Is it shown?”
She shook her head, looking out at the waves capped iridescently by the first light of the moon. “No, not anymore. Just once, a long time ago.”
“Did you fall out of love with painting too?”
“Never.” She looked down at the sand as she spoke and then back at him again. “Painting is my life.”
“Then why don’t you show?” He seemed puzzled by her reaction, but she only shrugged. They had reached the place where she had walked onto the beach.
“This is where I get off.” They stood in the moonlight, looking into each other’s eyes. For the madness of one moment she wanted to be held in those strong, comfortable arms, wrapped in his Windbreaker with him. “It was nice talking to you.” Her face was strangely serious as she spoke.
“My name is Ben.”
She hesitated for a moment. “Deanna.”
He held out his hand, shook hers, and then turned away and walked back down the beach. She watched him, the broad shoulders, the strong back, and the wind in his hair. She wanted to shout “Good-bye,” but the word would have been lost in the wind. Instead, he turned, and she thought she saw him wave at her once in the dark.
4
“Where the hell have you been?” Kim was waiting for her in the lobby with a look of concern, when Deanna returned. She smoothed her tangled hair back from her face and smiled at her friend. Her cheeks were pink from the wind, her eyes shining. The word
“I’m sorry. I walked farther than I thought. It took me ages to get back.”
“It sure did. I was beginning to worry.”
“I’m sorry.” She looked remorseful, and Kim’s face softened into a smile.
“All right. But Jesus, let the kid loose on a beach and she vanishes. I thought maybe you’d run into a friend.”
“No.” She paused for a moment. “I just walked.” She had missed it. Her chance to tell Kim about Ben. But what was there to say? That she had met a stranger on the beach with whom she had discussed art? It sounded ridiculous. Childish. Or worse, stupid and improper. And she found that when she thought of it, she wanted to keep the moment to herself. She would never see him again anyway. Why bother to explain?
“Ready for dinner?”
“I certainly am.”
They walked the two blocks to the Pine Inn, glancing into shop windows, chatting about friends. Theirs was always an easy exchange, and the silence left Deanna to her own thoughts. She found herself wondering about the unknown Wyeth Ben had suggested he had. Did he really or was it only a poster? Did it matter? She told herself not.
“You’re mighty quiet tonight, Deanna,” Kim said as they finished their dinner. “Tired?”
“A little.”
“Thinking about Marc?”
“Yes.” It was the easiest answer.
“Will he call you from Athens?”
“When he can. The time difference makes it difficult.” And it made him seem terribly far away. In only two days he already seemed part of another lifetime. Or maybe that was just the effect of being in Carmel. When she was at home, with his clothes and his books or on his side of the bed, he felt much nearer. “What about your client tomorrow? What’s he like?”
“I don’t know. Never met him. He’s an art dealer. The Thompson Galleries. As a matter of fact, I was going to ask you if you wanted to come to the meeting. You might like to see his house. I hear he has a fabulous collection in what he calls his ‘cottage.’ ”
“I don’t want to get in your way.”
“You won’t.” Kimberly looked at her reassuringly, and they paid the check. It was already eleven-thirty and Deanna was glad to climb into her bed.
When she slept, she dreamed of the stranger named Ben.
The phone rang beside her bed as she lay on her back, sleepily wondering if she should get up. She had promised to go with Kim, but she was tempted to go back to sleep. And then take another walk on the beach. The lure of that bothered her. She knew why she wanted to go back, and it was a strange, uncomfortable feeling the way he lingered in her mind. She would probably never see him again. And what if she did? What then? The phone rang again, and she reached over to answer it.
“Rise and shine.” It was Kim.
“What time is it?”
“Five after nine.”
“God. It feels more like seven or eight.”
“Well, it isn’t, and our meeting’s at ten. Get up, and I’ll bring you breakfast.”
“Can’t I order room service?” Deanna had grown used to traveling with Marc.
“The Ritz this ain’t. I’ll bring you coffee and a Danish.”
Deanna realized suddenly how spoiled she’d become. Not having Margaret and one of her perfect breakfasts was becoming a hardship. “All right. That’ll be fine. I’ll be ready in half an hour.”
She showered and did her hair and slipped into a cashmere sweater of a rich cornflower blue, which she pulled on over white slacks. She even managed to look fresh and alive by the time Kim knocked on her door.
“Jesus, you look gorgeous.” Kim handed her a steaming cup of coffee and a plate.
“So do you. Should I wear something more businesslike? You look awfully grown-up.” Kim was wearing a beige
