Beloved (9 page)

208

Beloved

Diana Palmer

209

The blood drained out of Simon's face. He stared down at
the older man with dawning comprehension.

"She didn't tell you?
^”
Harry asked gently.
He sighed and
shook his head. "That's like
her, though. She wanted to preserve
your
illusions about John, even if it meant sacrificing your respect
for
her. She couldn't tell you, I guess. I can't blame her. If he'd
only been able to accept what he was...but he
couldn't. He tried
so hard to be what
he thought I wanted. And he never seemed to understand that I'd have loved him
regardless of how he saw his
place in
the world."

Simon turned away, his eyes finding
Tira
across the room. She
wouldn't meet his
gaze. Site turned her back. He felt the pain right
through his body.

"Dear God!" he growled when
he realized what he'd done.

"Don't look like that," Harry said gently.
"John made his own
choice. It was nobody's fault. Maybe it
was mine. I should have
seen that he was
distraught and done something."

Simon let out a breath. He was sick right to his soul.
What a
fool he'd been.

"She should have told you," Harry was saying.
"You're a
grown man. You don't need to be protected from the truth.
She
was always like that, even with John,
trying to protect him. She'd
have
gone on with the marriage if he hadn't insisted on a di
vorce."

“I thought... she got the divorce.''

"He got it, in her name and cited mental
cruelty." He
shrugged. "I don't think he
considered how it might look to an outsider. It made things worse for him. He
only did it to save her
reputation. He
thought it would hurt her publicly if he made it
look like she was at fault.” He glanced at Simon. "That was right
after your wreck and she was trying to take care of you.
He
thought it might appear as if she was having an affair with you
and he found out. It might lave damaged both of
you in the public

His teeth clenched. "I
never touched her."

''Neither did John," Harry murmured heavily.
"He couldn't.
He cried in my arms about it, just
before he saw an attorney. He
wanted to love
her. He did, in his way. But it wasn't in a con
ventional way at all."

Simon pushed back a strand of dark, wavy hair that had
fallen
on his brow. He was sweating because the
gallery was overheated.

"Are you all right?" Harry
asked with concern.

"I'm fine." He wasn't. He'd never be all right
again. He
glanced toward
Tira
with anguish hi every line of his face. But she wouldn't even look at him.

Jill, sensing some problem, came back to join him,
sliding her
hand into his arm. "Aren't you
ready? We'll miss the curtain."

"I'm ready," he said. He looked down at her
and realized that
here was one more strike against him.
He was giving aid and
comfort to
Tira's
worst enemy in the city. He'd done it deliber
ately,
of course, to make her even more uncomfortable. But that
was before he knew the whole truth. Now he felt
guilty.

"Hello. I'm Jill Sinclair. Have we met?" she
asked Harry, smil
ing.

"No, we haven't. I'm—"

"We
have to go," Simon said abruptly. He didn't want to add
any more weapons to Jill's already full arsenal by
letting Harry
tell her about John,
too. "See you, Harry."

"Sure. Goodnight."

"Who was that?" Jill asked Simon as they went
toward the
door.

"An old friend. Just a minute. There's something I
have to do."

"Simon...!"

"I won't be a minute," he promised, and caught
one of the
gallery's sales-people alone long
enough to make a request. She
seemed puzzled,
but she agreed. He went back to Jill and escorted
her out of the gallery, casting one last regretful look toward
Tira
, who was speaking to a group of socialites at the back
of the gal
lery.

210

Beloved

Diana Palmer

211

^“
Half the works are
sold already," Jill murmured. "I guess
she'll make a fortune."

''She's donating it all to
charity," he replied absently.

"She can afford to. It will certainly help her image
and, God
knows, she needs that right now."

He glanced at her. "That isn't
why."

She shrugged. "Whatever you say, darling.
Brrrr
,
I'm cold!
Christmas is week after next, too." She peered up at him. "I
hope
you got me something pretty."

"I wouldn't count on it. I probably won't be in town
for Christ
mas," he said not quite
truthfully.

She sighed. "Oh, well, I might go and spend the
holidays with
my aunt in Connecticut. I do love
snow!"

She was welcome to all she could find of it, he thought.
His
heart already felt as if he were buried in snow and ice. He knew
that Harry's revelation would keep him awake all
night.

Tira
watched Simon leave with Jill. She was glad he'd gone.

Perhaps now she could enjoy her show.

Lillian was giving her strange looks
and when Harry came to

say goodbye, he
looked rather odd, too.
"What's
wrong?" she asked Harry.
He started to speak and thought better of
it. Let Simon tell her

what he wanted her to know. He was
tired of talking about the

past; it was too painful.

He smiled. "It's a great show,
kiddo, you'll make a mint."
"Thanks,
Harry. I had fun doing it. Keep in touch, won't you?"
He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "You know I
will.

How's Charlie?"

"His brother-in-law had a heart
attack. He's not doing well."
"I'm
really sorry. Always liked Charlie. Still do."

"I'll tell him you asked about
him," she promised.

He smiled at her. "You do that.
Keep well."

"You, too."

By the end of the evening,
Tira
was calmer, despite the painful
memory of her
argument with Simon's and Jill's catty remarks.
She could just
picture the two of them in Simon's lavish apart
ment, sprawled all over each other in an ardent tangle. It made
her sick. Simon had never kissed her, never
touched her in any
thing but an impersonal way. She'd lived like a
religious recluse
for part of her life and
she had nothing to show for her reticence
except a broken heart and
shattered pride.

"What a great haul," Lillian enthused, breaking
into her
thoughts. "You sold three-
forths
of them. The rest we'll keep on
display for a few weeks and see how they do."

"I'm delighted,"
Tira
said, and meant it. "It's all going to
benefit the outreach program at St. Mark's."

"They'll be very happy with it,
I'm sure."

Tira
was walking around the gallery with the manager. Most of the crowd had
left and a few stragglers were making their way to
the door. She noticed the bust of Simon had a Sold sign on it, and
her heart jumped.

"Who bought it?"
Tira
asked curtly. "It wasn't Jill Sinclair,

was it?"

"No," Lillian assured her. "I'm not sure
who bought it, but I can check, if you like."

"No, that's not necessary,"
Tira
said, clamping down hard on
her curiosity. "I don't care who
bought it. I only wanted it out of
my sight.
I don't care if I never see Simon Hart again!"

Lillian sighed worriedly, but she smiled when
Tira
glanced to
ward her and offered coffee.

Simon watched the late-night news broadcast from his easy
chair, nursing a whiskey sour, his second in half an hour. He'd
taken Jill home and adroitly avoided her coquettish
invitation to
stay the night. After what he'd
learned from Harry Beck, he had to be by himself to think things out.

There was a brief mention of
Tira's
showing at the gallery and
how much money had
been raised for charity. He held his breath,

272

Beloved

but nothing was said about her suicide attempt. He only hoped the
newspapers
would be equally willing to put the matter aside.

He sipped his drink and remembered unwillingly all the
horrible
things he'd thought about and said to
Tira
over John. How she
must have suffered through that mockery of a marriage, and how horrible
if she'd loved John. She must have had her illusions shat
tered. She was the injured party. But Simon had taken
John's side
and punished her as if she was guilty
for John's death. He'd de
liberately put her
out of his life, forbidding her to come close
even to touch
him.

He closed his eyes in anguish. She would never let him next
her again, no matter how he apologized. He'd said too
much, done
too much. She'd loved him, and he'd
savaged her. And it had all been for nothing. She'd been innocent.

He finished his drink with dead eyes. Regrets seemed to pile
up in the loneliness of the night. He glanced toward the
Christmas
tree his enthusiastic housekeeper had
set up by the window, and dreaded the whole holiday season. He'd spend
Christmas alone.
Tira
, at least, would have the despised Charles Percy for
company.

He wondered why she didn't marry the damned man. They
seemed to live in each others' pockets. He remembered
that
Charles had always been her champion,
bolstering her up, pro
tecting her. Charles had been her friend
when Simon had turned his back on her, so how could he blame her for preferring
the
younger man?

He put his glass down and got to his feet. He felt every
year
of his age. He was almost forty and he had
nothing to show for
his own life. The child he might have
had was gone, along with
Melia
,
who'd never loved him. He'd lived on illusions of love for
a long time, when the reality of love had ached
for him and he'd
turned his back.

If he'd let
Tira
love him...

He groaned aloud. He might as well put that hope to rest
right now. She'd hate him forever and he had only himself to blame.
Perhaps he deserved her hatred. God knew, he'd hurt her
enough.

He went to bed, to lie awake all night with the memory
of
Tira's
wounded eyes
and drawn face to haunt him.

Chapter 5

Simon was not in a good mood the next morning when he went into work.
Mrs. Mackey, his middle-aged secretary, stopped him
at the door of his office with an urgent message to call the gov
ernor's office as soon as he came in. He knew what it
was about
and he groaned inwardly. He didn't want to be attorney
general,
but he knew for a fact that Wally
was going to offer it to him.
Wallace Bingley was a hard man to refuse,
and he was a very
popular governor as well
as a friend. Both Simon and
Tira
had
been actively involved in his gubernatorial
campaign.

''All right, Mrs. Mack," he murmured, smiling as he
used her
nickname, "get him for me."

She grinned, because she knew, too, what was going on.

Minutes later, the call was put
through to his office.

"Hi, Wally," Simon said.
"What can I do for you?"

"You know the answer to that already," came the
wry re
sponse. "Will you or won't you?"

"I'd like a week or so to think about it,"
Simon said seriously.
"It's a part of
my life I hadn't planned to take up again. I don't
like living in a goldfish bowl and I hear it's open season on at
torneys general in Texas."

Wallace
chuckled. "You don't have as many political enemies