Chapter 1 : Part 3

Facets
by Barbara Delinsky

(Page 3 of 4)

"I have to know now. It was bad enough hearing it on television. How could you do that to me?" she cried. Once the pain started tearing from her, it wouldn't stop. "How could you do it like that? After all the years, all the time we've been together, how could you let me find out along with millions of other people? Didn't you think I'd be hurt?"

"Not now, Hillary."

He sounded annoyed, but she didn't care. "You don't love her. I know you, John. You don't love her. You love yourself and those damned stores. So why are you marrying her? You have the power you've always wanted. My God, after tonight you'll have newspapers and magazines banging down your door for interviews. You've got money. You've got fame. So why do you want her? She isn't gorgeous. My looks are better. And she can't give you what you need. I'm the one who does that. All these years, it's been me."

His voice was tight. "Hillary, this isn't the time or place - "

"And speaking of time and place, what was last weekend about? You were with me, John. For forty-eight hours you were with me, doing every intimate little thing we've been doing for years. If you were engaged to her, what in the hell were you doing with me?" She wrapped a trembling hand around her middle. "Tell me that, John. What was last weekend about?"

"Last weekend was about us," he answered, clearly angry that he'd been pushed. "It's what we've always been and done."

"But you're engaged to marry someone else!"

"So?"

Hillary's mouth fell open. "So? So you're two-timing her!"

"Janet will benefit from this marriage. She'll get the protection she lost when Turner died. She'll have someone to take control of her life again, which is what she's missed. I never promised her fidelity, and she hasn't asked for it."

"Then you think you're going to keep it up with me while you're married to her?"

"She won't mind."

"Well, I will!"

"I don't see why." He sounded totally serious. "We've been involved before, you and I, while I've been seeing other women."

"But you've never been married to any of them!"

"And you've suddenly turned righteous? Come off it, Hillary. What difference will my being married make?"

"A big difference."

"No, it won't change a thing between you and me. We'll see each other as often as we ever did. My relationship with Janet is a rational thing. It's convenient. It gets hangers-on off both of our backs. It quiets skeptics. I'm not looking for passion from her. I get that from you."

"But you're marrying her!"

"And you refuse to carry on with a married man? Try again." His voice hardened. "What is it you want? Money? Jewels? Company stock?"

His words hit her like a slap in the face. He was so far off the mark, so far from understanding her, even after all the years they'd known each other. As long as she'd been mistress to a man who shunned marriage, she'd been able to abide the other women who had come and gone in his life. After all, she was the one who remained. John always returned to her, and that had been some solace for all else she might have wanted from him. Now, though, he was giving another woman his name, putting another on a pedestal that had previously been empty. The issue was self-respect. Hillary had too much pride to have her relationship with him finally and deliberately spelled out, reduced to its lowest common denominator.

His presence on the other end of the line suddenly grew grating. Given how raw she felt, it was too much. "Go to hell," she muttered and hung up, then stared at the phone, praying that it would ring, that he would call back.

But she knew he wouldn't. He wouldn't give her a sign that he cared, and he certainly wouldn't apologize. He was too arrogant for that. Instead, he would turn off the light in the library and return to his party, well aware that she would know he was doing just that as she sat alone in New York. He would let the pain of her imaginings be punishment for having hung up on him.

And so she felt punished. Picturing him with a parlor full of people, one of whom was certainly his fiancée, all no doubt in awe of him for having pulled off such a smashing publicity coup on network television, was torture. Hugging herself, she rocked back and forth on the edge of her bed, but the movement did little to ease her misery. Nor did prowling through the apartment. She felt odd, empty in a gut-wrenching kind of way, yet filled with emotions that all clamored for her attention. Sadness, pain, anger, loneliness, fear - she didn't know which to address first.

Copyright © 1990 by Barbara Delinsky

About the Author

Barbara Delinsky is the author of many novels, including, most recently, Looking for Peyton Place and The Summer I Dared, which is now available as a premium mass market paperback. Published in twenty-five languages worldwide, her books regularly appear on bestseller lists. She lives with her family in New England.