“Why didn't you want to stay in Boston?”

“Honestly?” She sighed with a gentle smile. “Too much pressure from all of them. I didn't want to follow in Dad's footsteps, I didn't want to do O.B., or be a devoted wife like my mother, just taking care of her husband and children. She thought I should let Mark be the doctor, and I should stay home and make life comfortable for him. There's nothing wrong with that, but I wanted something more. And I couldn't have stood all that gentle Episcopalian, puritanical prodding. Somehow, in the end, they would have wanted me to marry someone fancy, and live in a house just like theirs, and give little social teas for friends just like theirs.” She looked frightened just thinking of it. “That wasn't me, Bernie. I needed more space and more freedom, and new people and my blue jeans. That life can be very restrictive.”

“I'm sure it can. It's really not that different from the same pressures I would have hated in Scarsdale. Jewish, Catholic, Episcopalian, it's all the same thing in the end. It's what they are and what they want you to be. And sometimes you can, and sometimes you can't. I couldn't. If I could have, I'd be a Jewish doctor now, married to a nice Jewish girl, having her nails done at this very moment.”

Megan laughed at his description. “My best friend at med school was Jewish, she's a psychiatrist in Los Angeles now, and making an absolute fortune, and I'll bet you she's never had her nails done.”

“Believe me, she's an exception.”

“Was your wife Jewish?” She was curious about her too, but he shook his head, and he didn't look upset at the mention of Liz, as he smiled at Megan.

“No. Her name was Elizabeth O'Reilly.” He laughed suddenly, remembering a scene a thousand years before. “I actually thought I had given my mother a heart attack the first time I told her.”

Megan laughed out loud and he told her the details of the story. “My parents acted that way when my brother introduced his wife to them. She's as wild as he is, and French. My mother was sure that French meant she had been posing for postcards.” They both laughed at that, and continued telling stories of their parents' foibles, until Bernie glanced at his watch and realized it was eight o'clock. And he knew she had to be back in Napa by eleven.

“Do you want to eat here?” He had assumed they would be having dinner, or hoped so anyway, and he didn't care where they ate, just so they were together. “Or do you want Chinese, or something more exotic?”

She looked at him hesitantly, calculating the time. “I go on duty at eleven …which means I should leave town by nine-thirty” She smiled at him sheepishly. “Would you hate me if we went for a hamburger somewhere? It might be quicker. Patrick gets upset right now if I show up late to go on call for him. His wife is eight months pregnant and he's scared to death she's going to go into labor while I'm tied up somewhere. So I really have to get home on time tonight.” Not that she wanted to. She would have liked to spend hours talking to Bernie.

“I wouldn't mind a hamburger. In fact”—he signaled for their check at L'Etoile and the waiter appeared at once, as Bernie pulled out his wallet—“I know a fun place not far from here, if you don't mind a bit of a mixed crowd.” There was everything from longshoremen to debutantes, but he liked the atmosphere there and suspected she would too. And he was right. As soon as they walked in, she loved it. They ate their hamburgers and apple pie at the longshoreman's bar on the wharf called Olive Oyl's, and she left him with regret at nine-thirty to drive back to Napa. She was afraid she'd be late, and he walked her quickly back to her Austin Healy after dinner.

“Will you make it home all right?” He was worried about her. It was late to be driving to Napa alone, but she smiled at him.

“Much as I detest the words referring to my size, I'm a big girl now.” He laughed at her. She was sensitive about her height. “I had a wonderful time.”

“So did I.” And he really had. It was the most fun he had had in a long, long time. It was easy being with her, and comfortable sharing his most private thoughts and listening to hers.

“When are you coming back up to Napa again?” She looked hopeful.

“Not for a while. I have to go to Europe next week, and Nanny doesn't take the children up when I'm away. It's too much trouble packing up, schlepping everything around. I'll be back in less than three weeks. I'll call you when I get back, maybe we can have lunch up there.” He looked at her with a smile, and then he thought of something. “When are you going home for the holidays?”

“Christmas.”

“So are we. To New York. But we thought we might have Thanksgiving in Napa this year.” He didn't want to be in town for that, thinking of what was no more. “I'll call you when I get back from New York.”

“Take care of yourself, and don't work too hard.” He walked her out to her car, and smiled as she said that to him.

“Yes, Doctor. You too, and drive safely.”

She waved and he looked at his watch as she drove away. It was exactly nine thirty-five. And he called her at eleven-fifteen, from his house. He asked her service to page her if that was possible. And she said she had just walked in the door and hung up her coat when she answered.

“I just wanted to make sure you got home all right. You drive too fast.” He scolded her.

“You worry too much.”

“It's in the genes.” He laughed and in his case it was true. He had worried all his life, but it also made him good at things. He was a perfectionist about almost everything he touched, with excellent results at Wolffs at any rate.

“It's beautiful in Napa tonight, Bernie. The air is crisp and clear and the stars are all out.” The city was swathed in fog, and he was happy in either place, although he would have enjoyed being with her again. The evening had ended too quickly. “Where are you going in Europe, by the way?” She was curious about his life. It was so different from what she did.

“I'll be in Paris, London, Milan, Rome. I go twice a year for the store. I have to stop in New York afterwards for meetings.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“It is. Sometimes.” It had been with Liz. And before that. Lately it was less so. Like everything else he did, it was lonely.

“I had a wonderful time tonight, Bernie, thank you.”

He laughed, thinking of their dinner at Olive Oyl's on the wharf. “It certainly wasn't Maxim's.”

“I loved it.” And then her buzzer went off and she had to leave him.

He could still hear her voice in his ears after he hung up, and just to clear his head afterwards, he walked into his closet, and took a deep breath of the very faint scent of Liz' perfume still lingering there. One had to work harder now to catch it, and he closed the door softly, feeling guilty. He wasn't thinking of Liz tonight, but of Megan. It was suddenly her perfume he longed for.





Chapter 38

Bernie stayed in New York longer than he had planned. This was an important year for ready-to-wear, there were major changes happening in the trade, and Bernie wanted to be on top of things. But he was pleased with the way things had gone when he finally left for San Francisco again. And he didn't remember the scarf he'd bought for Megan at Hermes until they went to Napa. He suddenly remembered it, tucked into a corner of his briefcase, and went to look for it. He found it, and decided to deliver it to her himself. He drove the car into town, and stopped outside the Victorian where she lived, and where her offices were. Her partner said she was out and he left the small tan box for her, with a note that read only “To Megan, from Paris. Best, Bernie.”

She called him that night to thank him for it, and he was pleased she liked it so much. It was navy and red and gold, and it had reminded him of her in her red boots and jeans and yellow slicker.

“I just got home and found it on my desk. Patrick must have left it there for me when you dropped it off. And it's beautiful, Bernie, I love it.”

“I'm glad you like it. We're opening a boutique for them here in March.”

“How fabulous. I love their things.”

“So does everyone. That ought to be good for us.” He told her about some of the other deals he'd made and she was impressed.

“All I did was diagnose three earaches, seven streps, a budding bronchitis, and a hot appendix in three weeks, not to mention a million cuts, splinters, bumps, and one broken thumb.” She sounded disappointed in herself, and he wasn't.

“That sounds a lot more meaningful to me. No one's life depends on my Italian luggage boutique or a line of French shoes. What you do gives some meaning to life. It's important.”

“I suppose it does.” But she was feeling down again. Her partner's wife had had the baby that week, a girl, and she had had that same ache again. But she didn't tell Bernie. She didn't know him that well and he was going to start thinking she was neurotic about other people's babies. “Did they tell you when you're moving back to New York?”

“Not yet. And for once, we didn't even have time to talk about it. There's a lot happening at the store just now. At least it's interesting. Would you like to have lunch tomorrow?” He was going to offer to meet her at the coffee shop in Saint Helena.

“I wish I could. Patrick's wife had the baby this week, and I have to cover for him. I could stop by the house on my way to the hospital to do rounds. Or would that upset Jane too much?” She was being honest with him. She had felt how strong Jane's resistance was when they met before, and she didn't want to upset her.

“I don't see why it should.” He didn't see what Megan did, or at least not as clearly.