return, and the horror of it had mesmerized her at first, and in May when the world heard that he was dead, she felt a pain in her heart for them that she knew she would always remember. For days she had stayed in bed, claiming to have the flu. But in truth, she had been unable to function. Finally, in a wave of terror, she had called her doctor in Switzerland, and he had been able to reassure her. But what if that happened again? What if Malcolm knew… “I'm not sure it's fair to you.” Marielle lowered her eyes, and tears clustered on her lashes. Suddenly he wanted to pull her into his arms and make love to her. It was the first time she had actually inspired him with any kind of passion, and for an instant he wondered if he really might come to love her.
“Darling…please…marry me… I'll do everything for you…” It was the only language he knew, but she looked up at him with a sad smile, and shook her head.
“You don't have to do that. All you have to do is be kind to me, and you always have been. Too kind. I don't deserve it.”
“That's nonsense. You deserve more than I can give you. You deserve a handsome young husband who is so mad about you he's half insane, and takes you dancing every night. Not an old man you'll have to push around in a wheelchair when you're forty.” She laughed at the picture he painted, it was difficult to imagine Malcolm ever being anything but vital and youthful. He was a powerful, vibrant man who, despite his mane of prematurely white hair, looked ten years younger than he was. The white hair only made him look more important. “So, now that I've told you what the future holds, will you accept my offer?” Her eyes met his, and almost imperceptibly, she nodded. She felt her breath catch as she looked at him, and he pulled her into his arms and crushed her against him. She felt tears fill her eyes as she looked at him. She wanted to be as good to him as he was to her, she wanted to promise him everything, and she swore to herself she would never disappoint him.
The wedding was tiny and discreet. They were married on New Year's Day by a judge who was a close friend of his, at Malcolm's home, with fewer than a dozen of his friends present. She knew no one to invite anyway, except the women she had met when she was working in his office. But they resented her now anyway. Her Cinderella story did not fill them with happiness for her. She had walked off with what they had always wanted, but they had wanted him for very different reasons than she did. They wanted his money, and all Marielle wanted was his protection.
She wore a beige satin suit that he bought for her from Mainbocher, with a matching hat that had been made by Sally Victor. And she had never looked lovelier than she did that day, with her dark auburn hair in an elegant chignon, and her deep blue eyes filled with emotion. She had cried when the judge declared them man and wife, and she stood very close to him all day, as though she was afraid that if she didn't, some evil spirit might come between them.
They honeymooned in the Caribbean, on a private island near Antigua. It belonged to a friend, and there was a fabulous house, a yacht, and an army of discreet, extremely well trained British servants. It had been perfect in every way, and she found that her affection for him was rapidly growing deeper. His thoughtful, gentle ways touched her more often than she was able to tell him. And he approached their physical life together with wisdom, kindness, and enormous caution. He was anxious for a child, but not so much so that he was ever rough or hasty with her, and he spent most of their honeymoon learning the ways that brought her pleasure. He was an experienced man, and she enjoyed the time she spent in bed with him, but there was no hiding from the fact that there was something missing between them. But they enjoyed each other's company, and when they returned to New York three weeks later, they were good friends, and she walked into his house with a confident air, and a bounce in her step that hadn't been there in years. But once home again, the reality of their life together had hit her. They lived in
Once back in New York, he was busy at the office again. He kept to himself much of the time, and led his own life, and Marielle became very lonely. He still enjoyed being seen with her, and he was always kind to her, but it was clear that she was not going to share his entire life, or even his bedroom. He explained that he stayed up very late at night, reading documents, or making overseas calls, and it was important to him to have privacy while he did that, and he didn't want to disturb her. She had suggested that they shift their rooms around, and that he have an office next to their bedroom, where he could work at night, but he was adamant that he didn't want to change anything. And in the end, he didn't. Not one single thing changed in Malcolm's life after he married Marielle, except that they went out together a little more often. But more than once, in spite of his kindness, she felt as though she was still one of his employees.
She got an allowance now, which was discreetly shifted into an account on the first of every month, and he encouraged her to shop anywhere and buy anything she wanted. But the servants were still his, the house still looked exactly as it had before, the people they saw were all his friends, and he still traveled without her when he went on business. In fact, Marielle had traveled more with him before, when she was only an undersecretary to him. She would have been angry at the new secretary who did travel with him, except that Marielle liked her. Brigitte was a pretty German girl from Berlin. Her behavior and reputation were impeccable, and she treated Marielle with enormous deference. She had pale blond hair, and bright red fingernails. She carried herself well, and was highly efficient. More than that, she was always kind to Marielle, to the point of being friendly. As they had been of Marielle, the older secretaries were jealous of her, and Marielle felt sorry for her more than once when she noticed the raised eyebrows of Brigitte's colleagues. Brigitte was always very respectful to her, and very helpful whenever Marielle called the office. And she was particularly nice to Marielle when she got pregnant, sending small but thoughtful gifts for the baby. She even knitted him a blanket, and several sweaters, which also deeply touched Malcolm. The rest of the time, he seemed to scarcely notice her existence. But he had other things on his mind, important business deals, and his wife, and eventually, the son he had wanted so badly.
Marielle had expected to get pregnant easily. She had before, and she was surprised when it hadn't happened after the first few months of their marriage. And after six months, Malcolm insisted that she go to a specialist in Boston. He had taken her there himself, and he had left her at the hospital for the afternoon, while a team of specialists checked her over. In the end, they found nothing wrong with her, and they encouraged her and Malcolm to continue trying. They felt that it was just a matter of time, and they made some suggestions which embarrassed her, but Malcolm was more than willing to try them. But six months later, their suggestions still hadn't worked, and both of them were deeply worried. It was then that she spent a quiet afternoon with her own doctor. He had no new explanations to offer her, and he very gently said that some women just weren't made to have babies. He had seen it happen before, healthy young women who had nothing wrong with them, but simply never conceived. It was no one's fault, but “Sometimes,” he said quietly, “God just doesn't want it to happen.” She was beginning to get hysterical every month when she saw that she was not pregnant again, and the strain of it had started her migraines.
“It has happened before,” she said softly, almost afraid to look at him. It was something she still hadn't told Malcolm, particularly now since she'd been unable to have his baby.
“You've been pregnant?” The doctor looked intrigued. He had wondered once when he examined her, but he hadn't been certain and hadn't asked her. And she had never said anything to him. They had asked her in Boston several times, but she had denied it. But she felt more confidence in this man to keep her secrets to himself. She had found him herself, and he was one of the few people in her life who did not owe any special allegiance to Malcolm.
“Yes,” she nodded.
“Did you have an abortion?” That really worried him. In his experience, women who had the kind of abortions that were available in dark alleys and back streets, were seldom able to have other children. They went to butchers and were lucky if they lived, let alone were still able to have babies.
“No, I didn't.”
“I see…” He looked suddenly more sympathetic. “You lost it.”
“No,” she started to say, and then winced as though he had caused her physical
