The Promise - By Danielle Steel Page 0,46

countryside flew past them as he floored the accelerator of the black Porsche. It was a delicious feeling, almost like flying, and there was no one else on the road. They took a drive almost every Sunday now. Peter picked her up around eleven, and they drove south as far as they wanted. Eventually they would stop somewhere for lunch, and then walk for a while hand in hand, laugh at each other's stories of the past, and eventually drift back toward home. It was a ritual she had come to love. And in an odd way she was coming to love him. Peter was very special in her life now. He was giving her back all her dreams, along with some new ones.

Today they had stopped near Santa Cruz at a little country restaurant decorated like a French inn. They had had quiche and salade niçoise for lunch, with a very dry white wine. Nancy was getting used to meals like this. It was a long way from New England and county fairs and blue beads. Peter Gregson was a man of considerable sophistication. It was one of the things Nancy liked about him. He made her feel wonderfully worldly, even in her bandages and funny hats. But one could see more of her face now. The whole lower half of her face had been finished. Only the area around the eyes was still heavily taped, and the dark glasses covered most of it Her forehead, too, was for the most part obscured. Yet from what one could see, he had not only wrought a miracle, he had done an exquisite job. Nancy herself was aware of it, and just knowing how she was beginning to look had given her an air of greater self-confidence. She wore her hats at a jauntier angle now and bought more striking clothes, of a more sophisticated cut, than she had worn before. She had lost another five pounds and looked long and sleek, like a beautiful jungle cat. She even played with her new voice now. She liked the new person she was becoming.

“You know, Peter, I've been thinking of changing my name.” She said it with a sheepish little smile over the last of their wine. Somehow it had sounded less foolish when she'd discussed it with Faye. Now she was sorry she'd brought it up. But Peter instantly put her at ease.

“That doesn't surprise me. You're a whole new girl, Nancy. Why not a new name? Has anything special come to mind?” He looked at her fondly as he lit a Don Diego from Dunhil's. She had grown fond of their aroma, particularly after a good meal. Peter was introducing her to all the better things in life. It was a delightful way to grow up. “So, who's my new friend? What's her name?”

“I'm not sure yet, but I've been thinking of Marie Adamson. How does it sound to you?”

He thought for a moment and then nodded. “Not bad … in fact, I like it. I like it very much. How did you come to it?”

“My mother's maiden name, and my favorite nun.”

“My, what an exotic combination.” They both laughed and Nancy sat back with a small, satisfied smile. Marie Adamson. She liked it a lot “When were you thinking of changing it?” He watched her through the thin veil of blue smoke.

“I don't know. I hadn't decided.”

“Why not start using it right away? See how you like it. You know, you could use it on your work.” He looked excited at the idea. He was always excited when he spoke of her work or his. And much to her astonishment and pleasure, he viewed her work and his in the same light, as though they were equally important. He had come to respect her talent a great deal. “Seriously, Nancy, why don't you?”

“What? Sign Marie Adamson on the prints I give you?” She was amused at how seriously he was taking her. He and Faye were the only ones who saw her work.

“You might broaden your horizons a little.”

This was not a new subject between them, and she put up a hand and shook her head with a firm little smile. “Now don't start that again.”

“I'm going to keep at it until you get sensible on the subject, Nancy. You can't hide your light under a bushel forever. You're an artist, whether you work in paints or on film. It's a crime to hide your work the way you've