Love under contract (9 page)

Gregor was mightily mistaken regarding the subject of their conversations. Catherine told Zara about her work, not the glamorous, good things, but rather the difficult ones, and they also spoke about the contracts, which are signed in this line of work. When Gregor joined them, they interrupted their conversation and Catherine pulled him to her and gave him a kiss.

Zara grinned; he looked really wretched today. He really didn’t tolerate drinking very well, she thought, amused. “My poor boy,” Catherine jokingly felt sorry for him.

“And you two, you’re chatting about the gossip from Hollywood?” Catherine laughed. “That is so typical of a man!! We also have other things on our minds.” She looked at Zara, grinning.

Zara got up to get herself some coffee; she didn’t need to be present when these two were necking.

She passed by Gregor and he watched her go. He noticed for the first time that she had a thong bikini on, and that she probably had the most beautiful rear end that he had ever seen -- tight, small. Not good, he thought, above all not good for his peace of mind.  Catherine had noticed Gregor staring and gave him an elbow in the side. “She’s already naked there; you don’t have to undress her,” she said, smiling indulgently. Gregor smiled, admitting his guilt. These women with their inferiority complexes, Gregor thought, and embraced Catherine. “I admit, she has a perfect body,” Catherine said. “Well, if one likes delicate girls, but . . .” He kissed her and pulled her to him. These women. Catherine, after all, was very beautiful. She thought about her conversation yesterday and whispered in his ear,”Come, let’s go to our cabin . . .” Gregor stroked her hair back and kissed her again. It wasn’t his wish to be alone with her, but rather his guilty conscience, which made him follow her into the stateroom.

Marc saw Gregor and Catherine disappear into the cabin and handed Zara a mug of coffee. “Well, our turtledoves don’t seem to get enough of one another; I wonder if that’s a good remedy for headaches?” Zara laughed. “There’s not much going on in your love life,” Marc suddenly realized. “Oh, Marc . . .” Zara hoisted herself up on the kitchen counter and let her legs dangle. “To be honest, I find men repulsive . . .” Marc raised his eyebrows. “Come now, not all of them, right?” Zara sighed. “They are difficult – and macho.” “Zara, not all men are macho.” Marc couldn’t let this cliché stand. “Now, I have actually not met a single one who was under consideration, who was different.” Zara sighed again, and took a sip of coffee.

“They see me as this little aristocrat, usually want to marry me right away, and then show me off  like a new Ferrari, and immediately want to make plans to have children.” Marc laughed. “Then you have a problem; perhaps you’re looking at the wrong men.” “I’m not looking; they find me.”  “But somewhere there must be one that you like.” This girl, he thought, shaking his head; if only he were some years younger.

“And if, then after a few years, the relationship is over and the next one comes along, and the same thing happens all over again.” She was thinking of her parents, and Marc couldn’t really contradict her, since in his circle of friends marriages didn’t seem to last either.

They heard footsteps and looked toward the door. Antonio came in, carrying a little red package in his hand. He held it out to Zara, smiling. “All best wishes on your birthday, from us,” he said. Zara smiled. Naturally, Antonio had not forgotten her birthday, he never forgot it, in contrast to many others, like her mother.

She took the box and opened it. Marc smiled. He knew what was in it. In a solid, square jewelry box lay an emerald necklace and earrings, which were very old and expensive. They were pieces of jewelry which her mother had sold at that time, because she thought she could thereby save her family inheritance.

“These are incredibly beautiful,” Zara said, touched, and swallowed her tears. She embraced Antonio and Marc. “Many, many thanks . . .” “We know you don’t want to celebrate your birthday since today is also Christmas, as every year.”  Antonio took the necklace out of the box and put it around Zara’s neck. Marc stepped back and looked at it against Zara’s bare skin. The large polished stones with the diamonds were the same color as her eyes.

Zara hopped down from the counter and leaned over the small mirror that hung on the door. “It’s very beautiful, but not fitting for here.”

Since he had been married to her mother, Antonio had given her back a piece of the family jewelry  every year, although his wife didn’t approve. For her, it was a piece of the past that was closed off, that had come to an end.

Gregor was enraged, and completely floored. He stormed onto the deck and found Zara in the cabin cooking. She was preparing a dressing in a glass. She hadn’t had time to turn around when Gregor lit into her, grabbed her by the hand, and held her fast. “What were you thinking!” he screamed at her. Zara flinched and looked at him , flabbergasted. What had gotten into him?  His eyes were dark and looked so angry that she became really fearful. “Let go of me!” she screamed at him and tried to free himself from his strong grip. “You stay right there; what gave you the idea to talk my girlfriend into becoming pregnant?” Zara’s eyes widened and she looked at him in disbelief, and began to laugh loudly. Gregor became even more enraged. “Do you find that funny?” He let her go, and Zara rubbed her arm. That really hurt, she thought. Why is he so upset?

“I didn’t tell Catherine that she should become pregnant. She said she wanted a child with you.” She looked at him and took a step back, until she bumped into the stove. “I can’t, however, imagine that someone would want to have a child with you, but . . .,” she shrugged her shoulders.

Now, Zara felt sure, Catherine would probably not be able to set this plan into action so easily. Gregor lifted his hand, and for a moment he didn’t know what he should do; he simply stared at her. How she stood there, completely unconcerned, in her summer dress, her hair pulled back with a scarf. “How dare you intrude into my private life?” he asked, but his rage was diminishing.

“Catherine is over thirty, it’s perfectly normal that a woman would want children  -- and you, you aren’t dewy-fresh any longer either . . .” Gregor was caught up short. No woman had ever said that to him before. He lowered his hand and words failed him. Zara grinned. “Do you want to hit me?” she asked, impudently. “Don’t ever do that again!” he said and turned to leave. Zara had to laugh aloud after he had gone. She had found another weak-point: he was vain, very vain. He was, after all, only a man. Good to know!

Gregor had an argument with Catherine because she wanted to put him under pressure by suggesting the possibility of a child. She had done it with a great deal of charm, but Gregor had for a time now been sure that he did not want a child with Catherine. At the moment that he held Zara in his arms, something had happened to him; therefore, he was especially angry that Zara had advised Catherine to become pregnant with his child.

In a rage, he sat down on the deck with analyses and business reports and tried to concentrate, but he kept thinking about both of these women. No, actually about only one of them, whom he always saw in front of him, as she sat on the other side with Marc and Antonio cutting a cake, laughing and joking. Were the three of them celebrating something? It doesn’t matter – he just wanted his peace for the remaining five days.

Two weeks after her return Zara sat at Amos’s café and was not feeling particularly enthusiastic. She had actually planned to quit her job and return to Harvard, but as she calculated the running expenses of her daily life, she knew this wasn’t possible. Of course, she still had property in France, but to sell it to finance her studies? She couldn’t; it was family property.

She leafed through the French newspapers, lost in thought rather than reading. She was homesick, and actually was supposed to fly to London again tomorrow, but since the trial and the decision that she couldn’t afford to return to the university at this point, and her social obligations, she was already looking around for a new position. Why not in Paris again?

She sighed. Amos smiled and came over to her table. “So, young lady, what is it?” He put a raisin twist in front of her. Zara looked at the plate and smiled. “Thank you, Amos.” Since there were only two other regular customers in the little café, he sat down with her and closed the newspaper in front of her. “So, tell me,” he said. Zara leaned back on the leather bench. “Oh, nothing bad, I’m just looking for a new job,” she said. “Ah, a new job,” Amos repeated, smiling. “I would have gladly returned to Harvard, but with all of these galas and parties, I can’t afford it.” She looked at him. How could he understand that, she thought; he takes me for a girl in high society who has plenty of money. “I would have to sell family property and I can’t, but I also don’t want to stay at my old firm.” She didn’t want to explain why, since Gregor was also his customer and sort of his friend.

“And your parents?” Zara shook her head. “They already see me as . . . ,” and she gestured with her hand near her forehead, “not quite right in the head because I’m an attorney . . .” And not only the family, but all of her mother’s friends. It was still considered impossible, still inappropriate, with her title and her looks, to pursue a profession instead of marrying and residing in a suitable apartment in Paris or New York.

Amos laughed. “You’ll work it out.” Zara looked at him. “Well, we’ll see . . .” “And where are you looking?” He saw the French newspaper. “Paris, London, or New York.” She tasted the raisin twist and was reminded of Gregor. “I’m homesick, Amos; I’ve been primarily in America for almost five years.” Amos nodded, he could understand that. “I’ve been here twenty years, but each time when I visit my relatives, I have to cry at the airport, because it’s my home.” He thought of the last time that he flew to Israel, and reached for the girl’s hand and squeezed it.

Of course, it was the first thing that Amos told Gregor on his next visit to the café. Gregor hadn’t been there for a while. Amos wasn’t stupid; he only mentioned Zara in passing, by chance, as if it had just occurred to him.

He brought him his coffee and put it down. “I haven’t seen you for quite a while,” he said. Gregor didn’t even look up. “I’ve been traveling,” he mumbled. “And no complaints about our princess at the moment?” Amos asked and pushed a croissant across the table. Gregor looked up and wrinkled his forehead. “I believe she’s not allowed to appear in court anymore.” Goodmann had told him that the firm often sent Zara to London to keep her out of the line of fire, because since she had broken off the engagement with Robert, and it became known that she had not done so with finesse, journalists were calling every day and photographers lurked outside the firm’s building – which was not to the liking of some of their clientele. Theirs was an office specializing in business law and many of their clients didn’t want to appear in the papers, showing them frequenting lawyers’ premises.

“Oh, so that’s probably why she’s looking for another job in . . . ,” Amos paused, to wait for his reaction, “Paris.”

“Hmm. . . ,” was the only response. “I thought she wanted to return to Harvard?” Gregor asked, and was jolted that Zara now wanted to go to Paris. He had seen the documents and also the articles. “Yes, well, the princess doesn’t seem to be wealthy enough to be able to afford that,” Amos added, and knew his report had been received and noted.

Gregor looked at Amos skeptically. “Apparently her lifestyle here is very expensive, but she won’t be starving. Perhaps it’s better that she return to Paris,” he said – and thought the opposite --, since he didn’t want her to go to Paris, definitely not. He had entirely different plans.

“You’re probably right; she’s also homesick,” Amos acknowledged to Gregor, and went to tend to his other guests. Without being noticed, he watched Gregor, who seemed lost in thought. His little plan seemed to be working, Amos thought with amusement.

Two weeks later, Zara had a new job at an office in New York and was often in Paris, without having to move out of her apartment. She was not amazed that this well-known firm contacted her, and she correctly assumed that Gregor was behind it. Amos had disclosed what she had told him – and the thought comforted her a little regarding Harvard; she was definitely on the way to taking revenge.

This evening she had another one of her social obligations. Fundraising for the Juvenile Cancer Network – it sounded good, and did well: People always gave money for children!

She was standing in the foyer of the Pierre Hotel and looked at herself in the mirror. She had on a flowing black silk gown by Yves Saint Laurent, very simple, her hair up, and very high heels. It was long after midnight and she was tired, her feet ached, and actually she had wanted to go home for an hour already.

Zara had a bad feeling. One reason was that Robert was among the guests, and he hadn’t let her out of his sight for even a moment. She didn’t want to encounter him alone. She primped a little, adjusting her curls, and was about to turn around, when Robert appeared behind her and held her tightly by the arm.  “I’d like to see you alone,” he said – and his tone was anything but charming.

What should she have said, after almost two months? It was too late for an excuse. She raised her shoulders slightly and looked at him wide-eyed.  “Do you think that’s wise?” He pressed her against the mirror and leaned in closely, much too closely, Zara thought, and tried to push him away with both hands. She pushed against his chest, but Robert was much taller and stronger than she. “You used me!” She felt his body against hers; he smelled strongly of alcohol.

“Robert, stop it . . .” Zara turned her head; she didn’t want to look into his eyes. “You’re worse than any whore!” he shouted, and she felt his hand on her cheek. He had slapped her and her cheek was burning. “Are you crazy, let go of me immediately!” she screamed in rage. How dare he! Never before had a man hit her.

“No, now I want what you promised me for so long!” He pressed himself against her and she hit him with her fists, as hard as she could.