If Ever I Loved You (7 page)

"I think you must be out of your mind," she said gratingly.

"That's very possible," he agreed quite seriously. "After
what you did to me, what you've put me through, it's surprising if I've
retained any sanity at all, but I find that I like being married to an
absentee wife. It doesn't hamper my—uh—movements in
any way. And it's a sure-fire insurance policy against another
ill-advised wedding. This way I can have my cake and eat it too, if
you'll pardon the old cliché."

Gina slumped against the high-backed chair, defeated.
Peter was a stranger, a vengeful stranger, and she didn't know how to
handle him.

The pain in her head had become a pounding agony, and with
a little moan she closed her eyes and lifted her cold glass to press it
against her temples. Peter's large hand covered hers where it lay on
the table and there was concern in his voice as he asked, "Ginny,
what's wrong? Does your head hurt?"

She didn't want him to touch her, but she didn't seem to
have the strength to pull away. "Yes, it does," she muttered. "I think
you'd better take me home."

His hand closed around hers and squeezed it gently. "How
long has it been since you've eaten?" he asked softly.

"I don't know, yesterday, last night I guess."

"Then it's no wonder you don't feel well. You shouldn't
miss meals like that. Finish your whiskey and then start on your salad.
There's no hurry, we've got all evening."

He picked up her hand and rubbed the back of it against
his smooth, freshly shaven cheek. It sent a small shiver down her back.
She opened her eyes and thought she saw regret written on his tanned
face as he said, "It's all right, Ginny Lea, I promise we won't talk
about anything unpleasant again tonight. Just relax and enjoy your
dinner."

She did enjoy her dinner, and as the tension diminished so
did her headache until it disappeared altogether. Peter skillfully
changed the course of the conversation by talking about the new art
gallery his father had built and about his own involvement in it. He
explained that he would no longer be spending so much time abroad since
they had recently hired a buyer who was tops in the field, and Peter
would be taking over the family investment company when his father
retired in the fall.

As the meal progressed and Peter kept her wine glass
filled the subject changed from him to her and she found herself
telling him about her college years, and her progress from a recent
graduate to selling artist to gallery owner. It was all very friendly
and informative, like two old friends getting together after an absence
of seven years.

She noticed that he still called her Ginny Lea and asked
him to use the more adult-sounding Gina instead. She couldn't bear to
be reminded of how terribly young, vulnerable and in love Ginny Lea
Brown had been. It wasn't until late in the evening as they lingered
over dessert and coffee that she made the blunder—she
mentioned her engagement to Stewart Tobias.

She felt Peter stiffen and his eyes, which had been alive
with interest, narrowed and became noncommunicative. "Are you in love
with Stewart, Gina?" he asked coldly.

"Of—of course," she answered, shaken by his
unexpected query. "I wouldn't have agreed to marry him if I wasn't."

He threw his napkin on the table and signaled the waiter
for the bill. "You agreed to marry me and all the time you were
sleeping with Mel Calicutt," he accused.

The sudden attack was so unexpected that she was left
temporarily off-balance and for a moment could only stare. Her breath
caught in her throat as she said, "That's right, Peter. Go ahead and
cling to those vicious misconceptions you've nourished so carefully all
these years, but give me my freedom so I can marry the man who loves
and trusts me."

Before he could reply the waiter approached and while
Peter paid for the meal Gina regained her bearing and silently prepared
to leave.

She should have known from the way he was behaving earlier
that he would never let up. He had deliberately lured her into letting
her guard down so that his next thrust would be all the more painful.
He was determined to make her pay for her supposed sins, and if she
wasn't careful he just might destroy her in the process.

They didn't speak on the way back to Gina's place, but
Peter insisted on escorting her up the rickety outside stairway to her
second-floor apartment. He took her key and unlocked her door then
turned and in a surprise movement took her in his arms and kissed her.
"Don't hate me, Gina," he pleaded thickly.

Before she could react he released her and bounded down
the stairs to his car.

Gina had expected to toss and turn all night but instead
her head had hardly settled into the pillow before she was asleep, and
she woke feeling rested if not exactly enthusiastic about facing the
day. It was foggy, and the gloomy weather matched her apprehensive mood.

Today she would have to talk to Stewart!

Stewart had kissed her good-bye after bringing her home
from the wedding on Sunday and warned her that he was going to hole up
in his mountain home for at least a week and try to catch up on the
writing time he'd lost due to the festivities connected with the
marriage of his daughter. Stewart frequently did this when he was
working on a novel, and Gina knew that he would not contact her again
until his spurt of inspiration ran dry. She accepted it as the price
she paid for being engaged to a successful author with slightly
unorthodox work habits.

After plugging in the coffee maker she phoned her
part-time assistant, Peg Harvey, and asked her to open up the gallery
this morning. She explained that she was going out of town and wouldn't
be back until after lunch. After a quick breakfast she dressed in blue
jeans, a short-sleeved light blue knit shirt and a navy long-sleeved
sweat shirt. It was chilly in the Mendocino fog, but the sun would
probably be shining at Stewart's hideaway.

It was only twenty minutes after seven o'clock when she
headed her aging Datsun 220 north on Highway 1. Just outside of Fort
Bragg she turned east on 20 and immediately started the climb into the
heavily forested coastal mountain range. Within a few minutes the heavy
fog began to lift and by the time she turned off onto the logging road
that wound through the dense stands of sequoia sempervirens, the
redwoods that stretched along the California coast from Big Sur to
Oregon, she had rolled down her windows and was enjoying the warm
sunshine. Gina loved the giant trees with their reddish bark and
slender branches with leaves like those of a pine. An undergrowth of
fern, vines and low bushes covered the ground and added a mustiness to
the tangy odor of pine and cedar.

It wasn't yet eight o'clock when she spotted Stewart's
small brown frame house set well back from the road and nearly hidden
from view by California Black Oak and Pacific Dogwood trees. She turned
the compact car into the long driveway and parked it beside the rose
garden that was blooming profusely in every shade of red, white, yellow
and pink. Her thick-soled shoes crunched across the gravel, and the
four wooden stairs squeaked as she climbed to the covered porch that
ran the full length of the front of the house. She didn't bother to
knock but opened the unlocked front door and walked into the cluttered
living room.

Gina heard the tap, tap, tap of Stewart's ancient
typewriter and knew he was working in his office. She smiled to herself
as she headed down the hall. It was a mystery to her why a man as
intelligent as Stewart Tobias would resist all pleas to invest in a
time- and labor-saving word processor. Instead he clung stubbornly to
the twenty-year-old manual office model typewriter he had bought with
the first paycheck he received for a writing assignment.

She stood unobserved in the open doorway and watched the
large bearded man in faded jeans and a dirty white T-shirt who sat at
the desk piled high with papers and books. His fingers ran expertly
over the battered machine, and the deep creases on his wide brow gave
mute evidence of complete concentration. Her heart seemed to turn over
as she wondered how she was going to say what she had come to tell him.
Would he be hurt? angry? disgusted with her for not telling him before
of her early marriage? He had been so patient with her, but even
Stewart's patience must have a breaking point.

He stopped typing but still he didn't notice her as he
rummaged through the papers on his desk, obviously looking for
something. Gina took a deep breath and spoke. "Hello darling."

He looked up, startled, and for a long moment he didn't
seem to know who she was or how she got there. Then recognition dawned
in his hazel eyes. "Gina!" he gasped and rose from his chair. "What are
you doing here?"

They met in the middle of the room and embraced, but
Stewart's kiss had an absent quality about it. It was the kiss of an
author interrupted at his work who hasn't quite made it back to the
real world yet. He glanced a little regretfully at his desk before he
said, "Come in the kitchen, honey, and I'll pour us some coffee." He
looked at his watch. "It's early, have you had breakfast?"

The kitchen was a disaster. Dirty dishes, empty beer cans,
and the remains of the previous night's T.V. dinner littered the room.
Stewart grinned sheepishly as he opened the window. "Sorry about the
mess but I wasn't expecting company and I hated to take the time to
clean it up."

Gina took two clean mugs from the cupboard and poured hot
coffee from the electric percolator she had given him for his birthday
last year after he'd "treated" her to a cup of boiled coffee warmed
over for the umpteenth time. Ugh! Yes, Stewart definitely needed a
wife, but did he want her badly enough to wait until she freed herself
from Peter Van Housen?
And did she really want him to wait
?

That shocking and unbidden thought caused her hand to jerk
and she spilled the brown liquid on the already stained tile
countertop. Good heavens, what was the matter with her? Of course she
wanted to marry Stewart. She loved him!

She mopped up the spill with a soggy dish cloth and handed
one of the mugs to Stewart as she said, "Do you mind if we go into the
living room? I think we'd be more—uh—comfortable."

Stewart frowned as he walked beside her. "I'm afraid it's
not in much better shape. I really wish you'd phoned before you came,
sweetheart. When I'm writing neither the house nor I are fit to be seen
by anybody."

He led Gina to the brown leather sofa and cleared several
magazines, books and a dirty sweat shirt off it before motioning her to
sit down. He lowered himself beside her, careful not to spill his
coffee, and she turned to him, at once eager and reluctant to explain.

"I'm sorry, Stewart," she began. "I know you don't like to
be interrupted when you're working and ordinarily I wouldn't dream of
just walking in on you this way, but I—I had to see you. I
couldn't wait."

A grin lit Stewart's craggy face. "If I thought you meant
that, my darling, I'd gladly chuck the manuscript and spend the day
making love to you."

Gina felt her face grow hot with embarrassment and she
groaned inwardly. How could she have been so clumsy as to let him think
even for a minute that… ?

"I—I didn't mean that," she stammered and
realized she'd compounded her blunder as a shadow of pain flittered
across his features before he could bring it under control.

"No," he murmured sadly, "I didn't think you did."

She wrapped her hands around the warm mug and took a deep
breath. "I have something to tell you. I know now that I should have
told you months ago, but I had no idea there would be so
many—so many ramifications."

Stewart looked at her questioningly and she knew that the
only way to start was at the beginning. "When I was eighteen I married
Peter Van Housen," she blurted.

Stewart blanched. "You what?"

She took a swallow of her coffee and set it on the coffee
table. "I was very young and naive and I believed him when he said he
loved me, but that was a long time ago. It won't make any difference to
us. I hate him. He's a cruel, arrogant, son of a—"

Her voice had risen and she knew she sounded a little
hysterical but she couldn't seem to control it. It was Stewart's hands
cupping her shoulders and his cool voice that calmed her. "Take it
easy, honey. Just take a deep breath and tell me what happened."

She did, and as the words poured out her thoughts seemed
to pull together and she told the story much as she had told it to
Twyla. She watched Stewart, wanting to gauge the hurt she was
inflicting so she could ease it as much as possible. But his expression
was closed, impersonal, and she had no idea what he was thinking or
feeling.

Almost an hour later she brought her narration to a close
by recounting Peter's abandonment and Mel's confession that he had
arranged for the photograph and then given it to Veronica who in turn
sent it to Peter. Stewart had been sitting quietly and, except for a
muttered oath now and then, had made no comment. Now as she sat with
her head bowed mutely looking at her hands twisted together in her lap,
he reached for her and she snuggled into the safe protection of his
embrace.

As she rested against his chest she could feel the tension
that ran through him and she knew he wasn't as calm and collected as he
wanted her to think. "You're right, Gina," he said. "You should have
told me before. Now I understand why you've been so reluctant to let
any man close to you, why you were in such a state at the wedding and
reception."

His arms tightened around her. "I'll take care of Peter
Van Housen," he muttered grimly. "When I get through with him he won't
hurt you or bother you ever again. I guarantee it."

Gina wished she could just relax and let Stewart handle
the matter, but she knew that was impossible. She hadn't finished her
story, the most important point was yet to come. She disengaged herself
from him and stood. "You don't understand, Stewart. Peter came to see
me yesterday."