If Ever I Loved You (5 page)

Gina shook her head. "No. He thinks like you did that I
had an unhappy teenage love affair. I didn't see any point in
mentioning a marriage that was never in fact a marriage at all."

"Did you know that Stewart and Peter were acquainted?"

"Good heavens no!" sputtered Gina. "I'd never have come
here today if I had. Not that it really matters. I understand that
after the annulment Peter married Veronica and they spend most of their
time in Europe ferreting out art treasures for the gallery."

"Where did you hear that?" Twyla asked doubtfully.

Gina shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, as if even now
remembering that small bit of gossip wasn't like twisting the knife in
an already mortal wound. "I overheard a couple of artists discussing
the Van Housen gallery shortly after I came back to the West Coast
three years ago and they happened to mention it."

"Did you ever find out why Mel did such a monstrous
thing?" Twyla asked.

"Oh yes," Gina answered. "After Peter stomped out I was
wildly hysterical. I screamed, threw things, and beat at Mel with my
fists. When he finally got me calmed down he readily admitted what he'd
done. He said that Veronica Miller, the woman who had thought she was
going to marry Peter, had found out about Mel's heavy gambling debts
and offered to pay them if he would arrange to have an incriminating
picture made of the two of us. She arranged the picture-taking session
for the class at her uncle's estate and supplied the hidden
photographer. All Mel had to do was make love to me for a few minutes
and then develop the film and arrange for a messenger to deliver it and
the note to Peter just before the wedding. Unfortunately for Veronica
the messenger was delayed, but she accomplished her purpose. A few days
later Peter's lawyer came to me with papers to sign agreeing to an
annulment."

Gina slumped down on the side of her bed and fought the
sobs she felt rising in her throat. Her voice shook as she continued.
"Mel's last words to me were, 'I didn't want to hurt you, baby, but I
was in to those guys for several thou' and they don't take credit
cards.' He left town a few days later, and I finally faced the grim
reality. If Peter had so little faith in my goodness and honesty then
the marriage wouldn't have lasted anyway. It was better that it had
never begun."

The sobs could no longer be held back, and she dropped her
head in her hands and let the tears, that had been pressing behind her
eyes, flow. With a strangled sound Twyla jumped up and knelt before
her. She wrapped her arms around Gina's convulsive form and murmured
comforting endearments as she rocked her back and forth. "Gina, honey,"
she soothed, "do you still love Peter so much?"

Gina's voice was wracked with sobs as she wailed,
"You—you don't understand. My—my love for him
di—died years ago. I—I hate him and I hope
I—I never see him again as—as long as I live."

"Sure you do," Twyla murmured in a tone of disbelief.

Monday morning dawned bright and warm in the renowned
artist colony of Mendocino, California, with just a wisp of a breeze
from the ocean to keep the July sun from becoming too hot. Gina pulled
on her white jeans, tugged a red- and white-striped blouse over her
head and pulled it down to just below her tiny waist. It had a nautical
collar at the back and red laces that crisscrossed the six-inch slit at
the neckline in front. She found her red espadrilles and slipped her
feet into them as she fought back conflicting feelings of anticipation
and dread.

Peter was coming. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but he
would come. She knew it in her bones, and in her flesh, and in the soft
beat of her heart. She wasn't looking forward to it; if there was any
way she could avoid him she would, but this meeting was inevitable. She
knew new that it had to take place before she could truly relate to any
other man, before she could give herself wholeheartedly to Stewart
Tobias.

Saturday had been a nightmare and Twyla, bless her, had at
last tucked Gina into bed and given her a liberal dose of a
tranquilizer that caused her to sleep deeply. She was wakened on Sunday
morning by a concerned Stewart, and it hadn't been difficult to
convince him they should start home for Mendocino immediately. They'd
lost no time in checking out of the luxurious high-rise hotel and
making their way across the Golden Gate Bridge then north to Highway
1, the narrow, winding road that hugs the ruggedly beautiful northern
California coastline.

Stewart had been inclined to make a leisurely day of the
drive, but Gina couldn't leave San Francisco behind fast enough and
urged him not to tarry. Twyla remained neutral. They stopped only once,
at Bodega Bay, for breakfast, and arrived home to Mendocino in time for
a late lunch.

It was during that trip, while Twyla kept the conversation
going with Stewart, that Gina managed to set her thoughts in order. She
realized now that she had just been marking time with her life, that
the shock of the abrupt disintegration of her marriage had left her in
a state of suspended animation. She couldn't give herself to another
man until she'd brought her relationship with Peter full circle and
healed the wound that was still raw.

Gina plugged in the automatic coffee maker and strolled
out onto the balcony that ran the width of her second floor apartment.
She never tired of the sight or the sound of the small bay just across
Main Street and down a slight embankment. It was so peaceful, and in
times of stress she came out here to lean against the railing and watch
the sunbeams playing on the blue-green water, or the white waves
splashing against the rocky shore. By noon the deserted streets below
would be alive with tourists, artists, art lovers and collectors who
during the summer swarm to this quaint Cape Cod-type village with its
ancient clapboard houses, converted now into small independent art
galleries and boutiques.

Gina checked the gold jeweled watch Stewart had given her
for Christmas. Before long she would have to go downstairs and open her
own gallery, known simply as "Gina's," that comprised the entire lower
floor of this house. Gina worked on the ground level, lived on the top
level, and made regular payments to the mortgage company.

She stepped back through the glass doors into the long
living room that fronted the house. At the west end a round walnut
table and two matching chairs provided a dining area that blended in
with the somewhat meager furnishings of the rest of the room. When Gina
occasionally entertained it was very informal, usually a buffet dinner
with over-sized cushions for the majority of the guests who preferred
to sit on the floor, and T.V. trays for the rest.

The old-fashioned kitchen opened off the dining area. Gina
poured herself a cup of coffee and was rummaging through the elderly
refrigerator looking for an orange when the melodious tones of organ
music chimed softly through the house. The doorbell. Another gift from
Stewart who hated the raucous scream most of them made.

Now who could that be this early in the morning
?
she thought, then, remembering the art supplies she'd ordered the
previous week, decided it was a delivery man. "Just a minute." she
called as she hurried to the small entry hall on the east side of the
house and fumbled with the lock before opening the door.

Her breath caught in her throat and her violet eyes
widened as she clutched the doorknob and stared at the tall blond man
who stood on the landing at the top of her outdoor stairway. It was
Peter, looking as sexy as he ever had in custom-tailored brown slacks
that fit tightly around his slender waist and hips and revealed the
muscular firmness of his thighs. His shirt was terra-cotta and tan with
a touch of lemon, worn open at the neck and topped with a lightweight
beige, V-necked slipover sweater.

"May I come in?" he asked in that husky, sensuous voice
that always had sent shivers down her spine. This time was no
exception, and she heard the slight tremor in her voice as she said,
"Yes, of course, please do," and stepped aside so he could enter.

He brushed against her lightly in the narrow passageway
and she wondered if he could hear the pounding of her heart.
This
is ridiculous
, She told herself.
Peter Van Housen
means nothing to me anymore! My stupid emotions are unsettled because I
didn't expect him to come so early in the morning
.

He walked into the living room without waiting to be
directed, and as she followed behind she wondered if her trembling legs
would continue to hold her up. "Won't you sit down?" she said politely,
as though he were a stranger who had come to call. She motioned to the
comfortable but inexpensive russet- and cream-striped sofa. "I'll get
you some coffee."

She turned and made her way quickly to the kitchen, but
escape wasn't going to be that easy. This time
he
had followed
her
and was standing behind her as
her shaking hands poured more coffee on the counter than they did in
the cup. Peter muttered an oath as he took the glass coffee pitcher
from her and set it back on the heating element, then picked up both
their cups and carried them to the pine kitchen table that was covered
with a red- and white-checked cloth.

It was apparent to Gina that he wasn't affected by this
meeting. He was calm and cool and treating her like an overwrought
child. They sat across from each other at the table and she could find
no trace of emotion in either his strong, handsome face or his deep
blue eyes, those eyes that had once leaped with a fiery passion when
they looked at her. Well that's the way she wanted it, she told
herself. He'd never really loved her, and now he was married to
Veronica and they probably had several children, although she couldn't
visualize the super-sophisticated Veronica changing diapers or kissing
little faces smeared with pureed vegetables.

She took a deep breath and hoped her voice wouldn't quiver
as she said, "Why are you here, Peter?"

He raised a dark brown eyebrow. "Surely you aren't going
to tell me you weren't expecting me."

She took a sip of coffee and tried again. "I suppose
Stewart told you where I live?"

"Well I sure as hell didn't find out from you!" he
exploded. "Where have you been for the last seven years, Ginny Lea?"

So there was some emotion under that cold exterior. He
might be human after all. "I—my father asked for temporary
duty on the east coast and was sent to Maryland. I graduated from the
university there four years later and was offered a job here in
Mendocino. I came and stayed."

He glared at her. "You mean you've been here for three
years?" he said gratingly.

She nodded. "My friend, Twyla Sisson, who was an art
teacher of mine at the University of Maryland, was left a small legacy
by an elderly relative. She came out here and bought half-interest in
Gallery By The Sea, which is our most prestigious art
gallery—"

He waved her explanation aside absently. "I'm familiar
with Gallery By The Sea and I've heard of Twyla Sisson. Is she the
reason you came out here?"

"Yes," answered Gina, "she sent me a plane ticket for a
graduation present, and I decided to stay here and work for her. After
a while I started selling some of my own paintings too, and eventually
I bought this place. The gallery is on the floor below."

"I know," Peter said. "I looked through the windows before
I came upstairs." He looked straight at her. "You must not have lived
with Mel long."

She gasped. There it was, the taunting, hateful thrust.
She'd known it was coming, but not when, or how. Peter was still
watching her and she wasn't going to let him see how badly he still had
the power to hurt her. "I haven't seen Mel since the day you and I went
to talk to him," she said simply.

There was emotion in his face now. It was disbelief tinged
with disgust. "Don't lie to me," he snapped. "I returned to San
Francisco after a few weeks and both you and Mel were gone. I was told
you'd left together."

It didn't take much imagination to know who told him that!
Well, there was no sense in arguing about it, he wouldn't believe her
anyway. "It doesn't matter to me anymore what you believe, Peter. Did
you just come here to torment me?"

"Torment
you
!" he hissed. "I
couldn't even begin to dish out the kind of torment you seem to have
mastered. Don't forget, my passionate little artist, that
I
was the injured party in that long-ago calamity." He nearly toppled his
chair as he stood and turned away from her. "How I could ever have been
so gullible—"

He stood there for a moment, tense and silent, and Gina
clasped her shaking hands together in her lap. She wondered if she was
strong enough to withstand a replay of those dreadful scenes she'd had
with Peter seven years ago. Why, oh why had she ever come back to
California? She'd known at the time that it was probably a mistake, but
she never seemed to learn—

Peter's voice broke into her thoughts and it was once
again cool and controlled. "How long have you been engaged to Stewart
Tobias?"

Gina breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't going to pursue
the old argument after all. She answered his question almost eagerly.
"I met him shortly after I came here, and we've been engaged about four
months."

He turned toward her and leaned against the wall. "When
are you planning to be married?"

There was an undercurrent to his tone, and Gina stiffened.
"We—we haven't set a date yet."

"Why aren't you living with him?"

The question and the manner in which it was asked touched
a spring in her nervous system and she jumped to her feet and faced
him. "That's none of your business!" she rasped. "You have no right to
pry into my personal relationship with Stewart!"