The Promise - By Danielle Steel Page 0,60
not, but I met a Miss Adamson the last time I was here. At I. Magnin's. I was doing some Christmas shopping…. I bought some luggage, and …” He felt like a total ass, and for what seemed like an eternity she said nothing.
So it was Ben. Damn. How had he found her? And why had he bothered to?
“I … was that you?”
She was tempted to say no, but why lie? “I believe it might have been.”
“Good. Well, at least we've met. I'm actually calling you because I've just seen your work at the Montpelier Gallery on Post Street. I'm enormously impressed, as is my associate, Miss Townsend.”
Marie was suddenly curious. Was that the girl he had bought the luggage for? But she didn't feel she could ask. Instead she sighed and sat down. “I'm glad you liked it, Mr. Avery.”
“You remember my name!”
Oh, Jesus. “I have a memory for those things.”
“How fortunate for you. I have a memory like a sieve, and in my business that's no asset, believe me. In any case, I'd very much like to get together with you to discuss your work.”
“In what sense?” What the hell was there to discuss?
“We're doing a medical center here in San Francisco, Miss Adamson. It's going to be an enormous project, and we'd like to use your work in every building as the central theme of the decor. We're not quite sure how, but we know we want your pictures. We'd like to work it out with you. This could be the assignment of your career.” He said it with tremendous pride, and he was obviously waiting for a gasp at the other end of the line, a shriek of enthusiasm, anything but what he heard.
“I see. And what firm are you representing?” She waited, holding her breath, but she already knew the answer before he said the words.
“Catter-Hillyard, in New York.”
“Well, no thanks, Mr. Avery, it's just not my speed.”
“Why not?” He sounded stunned. “I don't understand.”
“I don't want to get into it with you, Mr. Avery, but I'm not interested.”
“Can we get together and discuss this?”
“No.”
“But I've already spoken to… I—”
“The answer is no. Thank you for your call.” And then, very quietly, she placed the receiver back into the cradle and walked back to the darkroom door. She wasn't going to do business with them. That was all she needed. She was through with Michael Hillyard. He didn't want her as his wife; she didn't want him as her employer. Or anything else.
The phone rang again before she had closed the darkroom door. She knew it would be Ben again, but she wanted to settle the matter once and for all. She strode back to the phone, picked it up, and almost shouted into it. “The answer is no. I already told you that.” But the voice on the other end was not Ben's, it was Peter's.
“Good God, what have I done?” He was half laughing, half stunned, and Marie felt herself relax at the sound of his voice.
“Oh Christ. I'm sorry, darling. I just had someone call me with an annoying request.”
“As a result of the show?”
“More or less.”
“The gallery shouldn't be giving out your number to crackpots. Why don't they take the messages there?” He sounded upset.
“I think I'll suggest that to Jacques.”
Peter was disturbed at the thought of some crazy calling her. “Are you all right?”
“I'm fine.” But she sounded shaken, and he could hear it.
“Well, I'll be there in an hour. Don't answer the phone till I get there. I'll handle it if anyone calls after that.”
“Thank you, my love.”
They exchanged a few more words and then hung up, and she found herself feeling guilty for not telling him the truth about the call. Ben Avery was no crackpot, he just worked for Michael Hillyard. But she didn't want to tell Peter that that was what had unnerved her. He didn't need to know how shaky she still was on the subject of Michael But she was getting better every day. And fortunately Ben didn't call again that night. He waited until the next morning. And then surprised her again as she got ready to go to work.
“Hi, Miss Adamson. Ben Avery again.”
“Look. I thought we got this thing settled last night. I'm not interested.”
“But you don't even know what you're not interested in. Why not have lunch with my associate and me, we'll talk? It can't hurt, can it?”
Oh yes it can, Ben, oh yes it can. “I'm sorry, I'm