Having Faith (5 page)

"You're not really representing Dorothea Win- chell, are you?" Sawyer asked.

"Sure am."

"She's a fraud."

Faith wasn't at all offended.

"Uh-uh. She loved the man. She was with him for ten years. Ten years. And in that time, she took a lot of abuse."

"He chose not to leave her anything in his will."

"He had Alzheimer's. Did he choose, or was he unable to choose? Or did his children prevent him from choosing?"

"You'll lose," Sawyer warned, but playfully. That was the kind of mood he was in.

Faith was in a similar mood.

"Losing is relative. As his common-law wife, she has a right to a little protection. We won't get all we're asking, but something is better than nothing." She sent a perky look up at him.

"And you're a fine one to be talking. You're representing John Donate. Now, if that isn't a lost cause, I don't know what is."

He was undaunted.

"It's a great cause. Donate puts up a building.

Halfway through construction, the city council finds an obscure code that says the building can't be that tall. Donato is expected to lower the building at a million dollar loss. The city owes him. "

"From what I hear," Faith drawled, looking off toward the Aquarium, "Donato obtained his original permit in a slightly, uh, unorthodox manner."

"Y'heard that, did ya?"

"Yup."

"Who'd you hear it from?"

"I'm not telling. Is it true?"

"Now, if I told you that, it'd be a violation of lawyer-client privilege."

"I won't tell anyone," she whispered loudly.

In answer, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.

Their hips bumped. Laughing, they adjusted their gaits to match, and walked on. To the left, the lights of the Marketplace lent a gaiety to the night. To the right, the Harbor was unusually serene. They felt peaceful, happy, totally at ease with the night and each other, and because of that, they talked about things they might not have normally discussed.

Such as the people they'd dated since their respective divorces.

"Brandi Payne? You actually went out with Brandi Payne?" Faith asked in good-humored disbelief as they turned into Union Wharf.

"Sure did."

"I hear she's a bitch."

"You hear right. She gives new meaning to the term swelled-headed. I suppose you have to give her some credit. She came in as the Channel 4 anchor when the station was trailing the other two, and she's brought it to the top. But full of herself? Whew!" "What possessed you to go out with her?"

"We have a mutual friend. He had a party. We met. I asked her out. I wanted to see what the private persona was like, and boy, did I ever.

We ran into Alee Soames and Susan Siler at the restaurant. They were in town to do a signing at the Ritz, and they happen to be a stunning couple. Brandi didn't like that much. She wants all eyes on her. The comments she made to Alee and Susan about their book were bad enough, but the fuss she made about what table we were going to have and whether the service was good enough and whether the butternut squash soup had too much salt were downright embarrassing. "

"Poor Alee and Susan."

"Poor Sawyer."

Faith was grinning as she opened the door to her condo.

"What I want to know," she said, punching out the code to turn off the alarm, 'is whether you took her to bed. " When the alarm didn't stop, she frowned, concentrated, punched out the code a second time.

"That's a very personal question."

"You're a very personal friend. Damn, what's wrong with this?" The alarm was still humming, waiting to be disengaged. Slowly and with deliberation this time, she gave separate emphasis to each digit in the code. Still the alarm resisted.

"I don't believe it," she cried.

"Are you hitting the right numbers?"

"I'm hitting 4-3-8-3; That's my phone number." She put two fingers to her forehead and closed her eyes.

"Alarm code. 8-2-9-2." She had punched in the first two when noise exploded around them. The noise died just as suddenly when she entered the last 2. She grinned up at Sawyer.

"There. All better. But you didn't answer my question. Did you sleep with Brandi Payne?"

"No, I did not."

"Why not? She has a great bod."

"By the time we finished dinner, I was so turned off by the woman herself that I didn't give a damn about her bod." The phone rang.

"Good timing," he said and started toward it. Abruptly he stopped. ' "Uh, it's yours."

Laughing, Faith turned into the kitchen and answered it.

"Yes?" She grew serious.

"Emergency 24?" She frowned.

"My alarm. Oh, my alarm!

I'm so sorry. That was a mistake. I confused my phone number with--no, no, there's no need to call the police. The code? Uh, uh, 3-6-5. Yes.

Thank you. " She hung up the phone and looked at Sawyer, who was leaning against the doorjamb.

"They wanted to make sure I was okay.

Wasn't that nice? If I hadn't given them the right code, they'd have called the police. It's a very clever system. As you can see, none of my neighbors have come running to the door to see whether it's me or a burglar in here. " She thought for a minute. " Maybe I need a dog. You know, something intimidating. A watchdog. "

"But you're afraid of dogs."

"How do you know?" "I was with you once when you were attacked by a poodle. Don't you remember? It was four or five years ago. We'd just come from lunch at Dini's, and there was this adorable little" "Adorable, nothing!" Faith cried, remembering the day.

"That dog was vicious! It was coming right at me with its teeth bared."

"You thought it was coming right at you, but the fact was that it was headed for a schnauzer behind you. And it didn't have its teeth bared.

It was grinning. " He chuckled.

"Boy, were you scared."

"And you laughed. You laughed at me."

"I couldn't help it. It was funny. You're always so serene-looking, even when you're in court, and then this little dog comes along and" "I'm going to change," she interrupted.

"I'm hungry."

"Good idea. What's this?"

She had taken a bottle from under a cupboard and was putting it in his hands.

"Champagne."

"I think I've had enough to drink."

"So have I. But this is special champagne. It was given to me by Dennis and Mary Ann Johnson when we finally found the right baby for them to adopt. The agencies had given them trouble, because Dennis was convicted of marijuana possession eighteen years ago. Not a spot of trouble since, still he has a record. So we went the private route. It took two years, but the baby is perfect." She grinned.

"So this is happy champagne. Open it."

Sawyer looked at the bottle.

"Happy champagne, huh?" He was certainly happy.

"Why not. You go change, while I open it. I'm feeling underdressed."

Faith leaned close, stretched up to his ear and whispered, "Better underdressed than undressed." She came back down, eyeing him quizzically.

"I've never seen you undressed. Do you know that. Sawyer?

I've never even seen you without a shirt on. Why didn't we ever go to the beach? "

"We were too busy."

"We went to movies. You and Joanna and Jack and me. Why not to the beach?"

"The beach is for vacations. We never vacationed together."

"Why not? It would have been fun."

"Maybe we didn't trust ourselves. Go change, Faith. I'm hungry."

"Mmm. Me, too," she murmured and went off toward her room.

Sawyer managed to uncork the champagne without too much trouble. He had more trouble finding fluted glasses, then laughed when he realized what he'd gone looking for. Faith wouldn't have fluted glasses any more than he would. A few wine glasses, yes. Wine glasses were good to have on hand in case company popped in with a bottle. Fluted glasses were for more sophisticated drinking, and since Jack hadn't imbibed any more than Joanna, there were no fluted glasses here.

So he took two wine glasses, filled them with champagne and ambled into the living room. It was small and didn't have much furniture, but what it did have was in good taste. Faith had that. Joanna didn't, which wasn't to say that he hadn't liked the house they'd shared. It had been an old thing on the outskirts of Cambridge. They'd bought it soon after they married, thinking that renovating it would be good therapy for Sawyer, and it had been that. He'd taken pride in stripping and staining the woodwork, putting in a new floor, updating the kitchen. It had given him a sense of accomplishment. Joanna's satisfaction came through his--and through filling the place with homespun things. Nothing matched. She had no eye for style or design. She created a cozy clutter that, unfortunately, began to grate on Sawyer when he grew to want breathing space.

Faith's place, small though it was, had breathing space. He was amazed that he thought so, since he'd had enough wine to create the illusion of closeness and warmth, but he felt perfectly comfortable here.

He walked around the sofa and perched against its back, which ran parallel to the glass sliders that looked out on the harbor. Actually, he mused, the view was sideways. It took in as much of the city as the harbor. As for details, he couldn't see many. The glass was reflecting the room behind him more strongly than anything else.

"Cheers," he said, and held one of the wine glasses out toward his reflection in the glass. He was about to take a sip when his reflection was joined by Faith's. She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, and without her heels, seemed suddenly more petite.

"Come," he told her reflection.

"I want to make a toast."

"Another toast," she breathed. Rounding the sofa, she came to his side and took one of the glasses.

"Cheers," she said.

"/ want to make the toast."

She stopped the glass an inch before her mouth.

"Okay. You make the toast."

"Cheers," he said and took a drink.

She laughed, declared his toast, "Profound," and sipped the champagne.

"Ah," she said when the last of the bubbles had slipped down her throat.

"Nice. Did you miss me?"

"Sure did. I was trying to look out your window, but I couldn't."

"Wait," she said. Holding her glass to the side, she went back through the room and turned off the light.

"There." She returned to the nook he'd found behind the sofa.

"Like it?"

He stood and moved close to the glass.

"Oh, yeah. It's different from mine. You can see the city. And the boats in their slips. You even have a patio."

"You have a balcony." "This is different. Must be the trees. How did you manage to get trees in here?"

"Sanguinetti Landscaping. They specialize in potted things. Nice flowers and shrubs and plants and stuff. I wanted green."

He turned to look at her. She was faintly lit by the reflection of the city lights, and seemed almost ephemeral.

"You're a very wise girl. I don't understand why some man hasn't snapped you up yet."

"I've only been divorced for a year."

"But you're a catch." He returned to the sofa and sat close by her side.

"Didn't someone tell me you dated Paul Agnes for a while?"

"Twice. We went out twice."

"Didn't like him?"

She sipped her champagne.

"Not enough."

"To go to bed with him?" "Right. That was pretty much all he wanted. Why was that, Sawyer?

Why is that? I thought times had changed. I thought AIDS had put the fear of God into singles. But sex has been the one thing that's first and foremost on the minds of the men I've seen since the divorce. Not that I've seen that many. I'm not in a rush to get involved with anyone. I'm busy with work. I rather like being able to come and go as I please. And I'm not lonely, except sometimes a guy will ask me out for dinner or to a show and it sounds like fun. So I go. And it is fun, until we get back here and he wants to come in. If I say no, he's angry. If I say yes, he's into touchy and feely before you can blink an eye, and when I say no to that, he's doubly angry. So I'm damned both ways. It shouldn't have to be like that. "

Sawyer, who'd been sampling his champagne, set the stern of the glass on his knee.

"Know what your problem is?"

"No, what? Tell me. I want to know."

"You're too pretty."

"There's no such thing."

"There is, and you are. You're a striking woman. It may be the way you dress. Or the way you carry yourself. Or your confidence. You're feminine without trying to be. It's hard for a man to look at you and not think of sex."

"You don't."