“No, I'm not. I have to. And I'm ready. The past is over for me. Completely.”

“So completely over that when we almost had an accident in the car the other day you had hysterics for an hour. It's not over.”

“Darling, you have to trust me. I'm going to do the only thing I've left unfinished, and then I'll be free. I'll be back the day after tomorrow.”

“It's insane.”

“No. It's not.” Her voice was so quiet and firm that it stopped him, and he sat back on the couch with a tired sigh. Maybe she knew what she was doing after all.

“All right. I don't understand. But I have to hope that you know what you're doing. Will be okay back there?”

“I'll be fine. Trust me.”

“I do, darling. It's not that I don't trust you. It's that … oh, I don't know. I don't want you to get hurt. May I ask you a totally crazy question?”

Oh Jesus. She hoped it wasn't that one. Not yet. But that wasn't what he had on his mind as he watched her carefully from the couch. “Go ahead.” She waited, as though for surgery.

“Do you know that Michael Hillyard is in town?”

“I do.” She was strangely calm.

“Have you seen him?”

“Yes. He came to the gallery. He wants me to do some work for a new project of his out here. I turned him down.”

“Did he know who you were?”

“No.”

“Why didn't you tell him?”

Now was the time for her to tell him about the deal with Michael's mother, but it was too late. It didn't matter anymore. “It didn't make any difference. The past is over.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. That's why I'm going to Boston.”

“Then I'm glad.” And then he looked momentarily worried. “Does the trip have anything to do with Hillyard?” But he knew it couldn't. He was seeing Michael Hillyard in the morning.

Marie firmly shook her head. “No. Not the way you mean. It has to do with my past, Peter. And it has to do with only me. I don't want to say any more about it than that.”

“Then I'll respect that.”

“Thank you.”

He wanted to make love to her that night, but he didn't. Instead, he left quietly, with a gentle kiss. He sensed that she needed to be alone.

It was a peaceful night, and she still felt that way when she dropped off Fred at the vet the next morning. She knew exactly what she was doing, and why, and she knew it was right.

She caught the plane with plenty of time to spare, and she arrived in Boston at nine P.M. local time. She thought about driving out that night, but that was asking too much of lady luck. So she put it off until the following morning. She had already rented the car. All she had to do was drive there, and then drive back. She was taking the last plane home.

She felt like a woman with a sacred mission as she went to bed in the motel that night. She had no desire to see the city, to call anyone, or go anywhere. She wasn't really there. It was all like a dream, a two-year-old dream, and she would relive it only one last time.





Chapter 31




“Dr. Gregson?”

“Yes?” He was still distracted when his secretary came into the room. He had just spoken to Marie at the airport. He still had a queasy feeling about the trip, but he had to respect her feelings about something as personal as this. Still, he would feel better when she got back the next day. He looked up and tried to pay attention to his nurse. “Yes?”

“A Mr. Hillyard here to see you. He says you're expecting him. And there are three of his associates with him.”

“Fine. Send him in.” Christ. That was all he needed now. But why not? At least he'd get a look at the boy. He was actually young enough to be his son. What a miserable thought. He wondered if Marie ever thought of that.

The four men came in and shook hands with the doctor, and the meeting got under way. They wanted to enlist his support to make their new medical center a success. They already had fifteen of the more illustrious doctors on their “team,” and there was no doubt that the buildings would be ideally located and magnificently appointed. It was an easy choice to make. Gregson agreed to take new offices there, and was willing to talk to some of his colleagues. But even though his responses were mechanical, he watched Michael with fascination throughout the meeting. So this was Michael Hillyard. He didn't look like a formidable opponent. But he looked young, and handsome, and very sure of himself. And in an unsettling way, Peter began to realize how much like Marie he was. There was a similarity of energy, of determination, and even of humor. The realization made Peter feel shut out, and suddenly, too, he understood. He sat very quietly for a long time, watching Michael and saying nothing at all. He wasn't even listening to the meeting anymore; he was adjusting to the reality he had avoided for so long. It made him wonder, too, exactly why Marie had gone east that morning. Was it really to destroy the last shreds of the past, or to honor them?

For the first time, Peter wondered if he had a right to interfere. Just watching Michael, he felt as though he were seeing another side of Marie, a side he had no knowledge of. This man represented a part of her life that he didn't even understand, a part he had never wanted to know. He had wanted her to be Marie Adamson. She had never been Nancy to him. She had been someone new, someone who had been born in his hands. But now he recognized there was someone else. All the pieces of the puzzle began to fit, and he felt a sense of resignation as well as loss. He had been fighting an unfightable war, and he had been trying to recapture his own past. Marie was indeed someone new, but there were glimpses in her of the woman he had once loved, the woman who had died…. He had cherished those glimpses of Livia as well as the reality of the girl he had brought to life. Maybe he had no right to do that. He had never before had such free rein with a patient, because Marie had had no one to rely on but him. It allowed him to be everything to her … everything except what he wanted to be now. Watching Michael, he realized that his own role in Marie's life had been very like a father's. She didn't realize it yet, but one day she would.

The meeting was over when they stood up to shake hands, and Michael's three associates were already out of the office, waiting for him in the anteroom beyond. Gregson and Michael were exchanging pleasantries, when suddenly everything stopped, and Michael stared fixedly at something over the older man's shoulder. It was the painting she had been doing two years before … it was to have been his wedding present … it had been stolen from her apartment by those nurses after she died. And now it was in this man's office, and it was finished. Mesmerized, Michael walked toward it before Gregson could stop him. But nothing would have stopped him. He stood there, staring, looking for the signature, as though he already knew what he would see. There, in tiny letters in the corner, were the words. Marie Adamson.

“Oh, my God … oh, my God …” It was all he could say as Gregson watched him. “But how? It isn't … oh, Jesus … God … why didn't someone tell me? What in …” But he understood now. They had lied to him. She was alive. Different. But alive. No wonder she had hated him. He hadn't even suspected. But he had been haunted by something in her, and in her photographs, all that time. There were tears in his eyes as he turned to look at Gregson.

Peter looked at him sorrowfully, afraid of what would come. “Leave her alone, Hillyard. It's all over for her now. She's been through enough.” But even as he said it, the words lacked conviction. Just looking at Michael that morning, he wasn't sure that Michael should stay away from her at all. And something deep inside him wanted to tell him where she was.

But Michael was still staring at him with a look of astonishment. “They lied to me, Gregson. Did you know that? They lied to me. They told me she was dead.” His eyes were brimming with tears. “I've spent two years like a dead man, working like a robot, wishing I had died instead of her, and all this time—” For a moment he couldn't go on, and Gregson looked away. “And when I saw her this week, I never knew. I… it must have killed her… no wonder she hates me. She does, doesn't she?” Michael sank into a chair, stating at the painting.

“No. She doesn't hate you. She just wants to put it behind her. She has a right to do that.” And I have a right to her. He wanted to say the words, but he couldn't bring himself to. But suddenly it was as though Michael had heard his thoughts. Michael had just remembered what he'd heard about Marie having a sponsor, a plastic surgeon. The words suddenly rang in his ears, and just as suddenly the anger and pain of two years was upon him. He jumped to his feet and grabbed Gregson's lapels.

“Wait a minute, damn it. What right do you have to tell me that she wants to ‘put it behind her’? How the hell do you know? How can you even begin to understand what we had together? How can you know what any of that meant to her, or to me? If I get out of her life without saying a word, then you have it all your way, is that it, Gregson? Is that what you want? Well, to hell with you! This is my life you're playing with, mister, and it seems to me that enough people have played with it already. The only person who can tell me she wants this thing finished is Nancy.”

“She already told you to leave her alone.” His voice was quiet, as he looked into Michael's eyes.

Michael backed away from him now, but there was hope mixed in with the anger and confusion in his face. For the first time in two years there was something alive there. “No, Gregson. Marie Adamson told me to leave her alone. Nancy McAllister hasn't said a word to me in two years. And she's going to have a lot of explaining to do. Why didn't she call me? Why didn't she write? Why didn't she let me know she was alive? And why did they tell me she was dead? Was that her doing, or… or someone else's? And as a matter of fact”—he hated to ask the question because he already knew what he would hear—“who paid for her surgery?” His eyes never left Gregson's face.