The Promise - By Danielle Steel Page 0,47

been doing. You have to have a show.”

“No.” She took another swallow of wine and looked out at the view. “I've had all the shows I want to have.”

“Wonderful. I put you back together so you can hide in an apartment for the rest of your life, taking photographs for me.”

“Is that such a terrible fate?”

“For me, no.” He smiled gently at her and took her hand in his. “But for you, yes. You have so much talent, don't be stingy with it. Don't hide it. Don't do this to yourself. Why not have a show as Marie Adamson? There's anonymity in that. If you don't like the show or what it brings you, you scratch the name of Marie Adamson, and go back to taking pictures for me. But at least give it a try. Even Garbo was a success before she became a recluse. Give yourself a chance at least.” There was a pleading note in his voice that pulled at her. And he had a good point about the anonymity of her new name. Maybe that would make a difference. But she felt as though they'd been over this ground a thousand times before. Something froze in her at the thought of being a professional artist again. It made her feel vulnerable. It made her … think of Michael.

“I'll think about it.” It was the most positive response he'd ever gotten on the subject, and he was pleased.

“See that you do … Marie.” He looked at her with a broad smile, and she giggled.

“It feels funny to have a new name.”

“Why? You have a new face. Does that feel funny too?”

“Not really. Not anymore. Thanks to Faye, and to you. I've gotten used to it.” Most women would have given their right arms to get used to that face, and she knew it.

“Should I start calling you Marie?” He was only teasing, until he saw a new light in her eyes. They were mischievous and wonderful and alive.

“As a matter of fact… yes. I think I'll try it on for size.”

“Perfect Marie. If I slip, step on my foot.”

“No problem. I'll just hit you with my camera.”

He signaled for the check and they exchanged a long, tender smile. After lunch they walked through the small beach town, peeking into shops, poking into narrow alleys, and wandering into galleries when something looked interesting. And everywhere they went Fred ran along behind them, equally accustomed to his Sunday ritual. He always waited in the car when they had lunch, and then shared their walks with them afterwards.

“Tired?” He looked at her carefully after they had meandered for an hour. Although she was gradually building up her endurance, Peter, more than anyone, was aware of how easily she tired. But in the seventeen months since the accident, she had had fourteen operations. It would be another year before she felt fully her old self, although anyone who didn't know her well would never suspect her occasional fatigue.

She always looked vivacious, but an hour's walk still required an effort. “Ready to go back?”

“Much as I hate to admit it, yes.” She nodded ruefully, and he tucked her hand in his.

“A year from now, Marie, you'll outrun me in any race.”

She laughed at both the idea and his easy use of her new name. “I'll accept that as a challenge.”

“I'm afraid you'll win. You have one great advantage on your side.”

“And what's that?”

“Youth.”

“So do you.” She said it earnestly, and he laughed with a shake of his handsome head.

“May you always see me through such kindly eyes, my dear.” But as he looked away there was a sad shadow lurking in his eyes. She caught only a glimpse of it, but she knew. There was no denying the age difference between them. No matter how much they enjoyed each other, how close they became, one could not deny the twenty-three-year gap. But she found that she didn't mind it; she liked it. She had told him that before, and sometimes he even believed her; it depended on his mood. But he never admitted just how much it bothered him. She was the first girl who had made him want to be young again, to throw away a decade or perhaps two, decades he had cherished but now found a burden in the face of her youth. “Nancy—” The new name was suddenly forgotten as he looked at her with great seriousness, a question in his eyes.

“Yes?”

“Do you … do you still miss