arms, his shoulders, lightly stroking her fingertips over his cheeks. “It’s all right. You did well with her. Much better than I ever have. She always leaves me defensive and feeling stupid.”
“I thought you said she was in San Francisco.”
“She must have come back to New York right after I did. I imagine she and Father got together and decided she was their best shot to get me to sign the money over to him.”
“That seems logical, but not overly bright, given her blatant tactics. I wonder what her cut is from your father if she succeeds. Probably a very hefty amount.”
“You don’t really think—Well, maybe you’re right. She’ll have to regroup now that you’re here. I wonder what her new approach will be. And she’ll have one, don’t doubt it.”
“I can wait to find out—twenty years, at least. Think we can put her off that long?”
“I’ll try, but I wouldn’t count on it.”
“Just remember, Lindsay, it’s now two of us. For always.”
“I’ll remember.”
They ate at a small Italian restaurant that evening. Lindsay permitted herself one glass of Chianti, a small bit of Taylor’s spaghetti, and a big salad.
“I’ve got a job on Tuesday. We’re talking skin and bones here. It’s February and I’ve got to pretend I’m a snow bunny in tight, immensely tight, ski outfits. The spaghetti is wonderful.”
He smiled at her, slowing his eating to match her pace. “Yes, it is. I’m sorry about your grandmother.”
“Yes, I’ll miss her.”
“And your mother.”
Lindsay frowned as she chewed on a cucumber. “Poor Mother. She wasn’t happy. She was an alcoholic and I can remember back when I was sixteen—before they sent me away to school—that she’d gained weight and her drinking had increased. It was my father’s infidelities and her own weakness. He wasn’t ever faithful, even at first, I don’t guess. I knew it and I was just sixteen.”
“Tell me.”
“I remember once when Sydney was making fun of my mother, the fat alcoholic. She was also mocking Holly, who’s behaving just like my mother did before she finally left my father. Sydney laughed and laughed until I pointed out that Father was more than likely never faithful to her mother either. Why should he be? I thought she was going to hit me. She was red and trembling with rage. She believes her mother was Father’s only true love, and after she died, all the mistresses and wives who followed her were vague copies of the real thing. Father was searching, ever searching, you see, to try to replace his first wife. I don’t even know what her name is.”
Taylor wanted to tell her that sounded just like some of Dr. Gruska’s garbage. “What happened to Sydney’s mother?”
Lindsay frowned, the tomato on her fork forgotten. “Sydney believes her mother died tragically, but she didn’t. I overheard that her mother had remarried and was living in New Zealand or someplace like that. I assume my father had to divorce her in order to marry my mother and then Holly. He’s kept up the pretense that her mother died. Perhaps to hold Sydney, I don’t know.”
Taylor smiled at her. “And you don’t have the meanness in you to tell her the truth.”
“What good would it do?”
“Oh, it might do something. Next time Sydney drops in on us, let’s ask her about her mom. It might just throw her off-stride. It just might do her a world of good to be thrown off-stride. I can’t imagine that she often relinquishes control.”
“No, that would be cruel.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “You’ve got to toughen up, Lindsay. Sydney needs to be taken down a couple of pegs, she needs to know that her life can’t go along according to her dictates.”
“No, it hasn’t always. Why, even the prince—”
“What about the prince? Her husband, right?”
But Lindsay’s head was down. A thick tendril of deeply waving hair fell forward, nearly hitting her salad. Taylor leaned over to tuck the hair behind her ear. She flinched, drawing back.
“No, love, don’t do that. Remember, you’ve got to keep me reassured.”
“Did you make love to this Valerie Balack?”
“Yes.”
He twirled spaghetti around in his spoon and took a big bite. He waited. Please show me some jealousy, he was thinking. Just a dollop of jealousy. Snipe at me. Be a bitch. Turn red and yell.
Instead her shoulders slumped. Defeat fitted her better. She was far more used to defeat.
He said deliberately and slowly, “However, I’ve never in my entire adult life made love with a woman who was more passionate, more loving, more giving, than you.”
She looked up, paling; then her beautiful dark blue eyes darkened further.
“Will you make love with me when we get home?”
She looked at the lettuce now wilted on her plate. When she spoke, she surprised him. “What if I can’t feel anything this time? What if that one time was an aberration, an accident?”
Taylor leaned forward and took her hands between his. He spoke quietly and firmly as a preacher, his voice and look filled with conviction. “I promise you that’s just not true. There’s no going back now that you’ve crossed the line with me. There’s no more frightened Lindsay, no more flinching when I touch you. I would never lie to you.
“I swear that when you kiss me—any minute now, in fact—you’ll want me just as much as you did last night. Once the dam bursts, so to speak, there’s no stopping the flow. You’ll have a lifetime of pleasure with me now. It’s true. You can trust me. You don’t have to worry about it ever again.”
“I never thought of it like that.”
“You’re beautiful and you have some lettuce between your front teeth.”
She howled, clapping her hands over her mouth, and he laughed, slapping her hands away, drawing her face toward him, and he met her halfway over the table and kissed her, once, then again and again until she was flushed and laughing herself. He felt happier than he could ever remember.
Unfortunately, that evening there was to be no repetition of the previous night. Nor was there any chance Lindsay was pregnant. Lindsay was embarrassed, but his matter-of-factness cast a whole new light on things. She came out of the bathroom so pale Taylor stopped in his undressing and stared at her. “Let me guess. You’ve contracted the plague.”
“No, it isn’t plague. It’s worse.”
“Let me check your armpits just to make sure.”
“No, no, it’s just that I can’t—I wondered why I’d put on two pounds and hadn’t eaten anything to deserve it, the water retention, you know, and now…”
“Oh,” he said. “No, that isn’t plague. That’s just plain bad luck. That’s to bring me down off my high and to punish me for being a sex maniac. And you as well.”
“At least it didn’t happen last night.”
“Thank God,” he said fervently, and hugged her. “You hurting?”
“A little bit.”
“Get into bed and I’ll get you some of those magic pills.”
And that was that.
When he held her, finally feeling her body relax as the pills worked, he said, “Don’t you forget I love you even though your body is giving me the Bronx cheer.”
On Tuesday, Taylor cracked “The Case of the Embezzling Wife.” He tended to give his cases names, thinking that when he was eighty and his mind was going on him, maybe he could remember his cases if he identified them well, giving them Perry Mason-type names. He met with the husband at noon to give him the evidence he needed. There was no need to commiserate with the man, he was too furious. He’d already called the cops on his wife and contacted the district attorney.
Taylor was whistling, thinking about the individualized monitoring program he was going to create for the Norman Communication Company to try to trap a hacker. Now that he knew the computer’s control access
