Remember (18 page)

The coffee was served, and the wine waiter came back and asked if they wished to have cognac or any other after-dinner drink. Nicky shook her head.

“No, thank you,” Clee said.

Once they were alone, Nicky leaned into Clee. “I haven’t told you about my fall special,” she said. “I decided to call it Decade of Destruction,’ a title Arch wasn’t completely sold on, to tell you the truth. But I’m going to fight like hell for it. It’s perfect for my show.”

“What’s the subject?” Clee asked, intrigued. “As if I didn’t know.

The last few years of wars and uprisings and revolutions, right?”

“More or less. That’s how I’m starting it, but I’m leading right into the nineties, and, in a way, sort of forecasting what’s to come—that’s the decade I’m referring to—1990 to the year 2000. The decade of destruction.”

“Why doesn’t Arch like the title?”

“He does, actually, but he thinks the network will balk, that they’ll say it’s too depressing.”

“That figures. Still, you’re a big number, and surely your opinion carries some weight.”

“Only some. About this much,” she said, measuring a tiny space between her thumb and forefinger. “You don’t know networks.”

“I thought you were going to do a special about the child soldiers, the kids we’ve seen fighting in Cambodia, Iran and all over the world,” Clee said. “The little kids toting guns for their governments.”

“I am, but that’s for next spring.”

They talked for a while about the two programs she was planning, and Clee decided that perhaps after all he had imagined the change in her.

She looked and sounded perfectly normal to him now.

A short while later, when they were leaving, Nicky had no alternative but to stop at the English couple’s table, and she introduced Clee.

“Anne, I’d like you to meet Clee, and Clee, this is Anne.”

He shook hands with the Englishwoman and she smiled up into his face, he thought she was one of the loveliest-looking women he had ever seen.

He also realized that she did not resemble Nicky facially—they simply had the same blond coloring.

“And, Philip, this is Clee,” Nicky went on, and Clee let go of Anne’s hand in order to greet her husband.

“We’re so sorry you can’t come over to see us in Tarascon,” Anne said.

“But perhaps we’ll meet again one day.”

“I hope so,” Clee replied.

“Keep up the good work,” Philip said to him. “I’m a great admirer of yours—of your extraordinary photography.”

“Thank you,” Clee said. He was about to suggest they meet on the terrace a little later for an after-dinner drink when Nicky took hold of his arm, gripped it tightly and edged away.

“It’s been lovely to see you both, but we really must go,” she said to Anne and Philip. “I’m afraid I still have to pack.”

“Of course,” Anne said. “And bon voya,ge, darling.”

As they walked to the car, Clee remarked, “She’s a really beautiful woman, but her resemblance to you is negligible. By the way, you didn’t tell me their name, I mean their surname.”

There was a silence.

Finally Nicky said, “They’re not married. He’s called Philip Rawlings

.”

“And Anne?”

Nicky cleared her throat. “She’s Anne Devereaux—Lady Anne Devereaux

.

” Clee stopped and swung to face her. “Is she related to Charles?” he asked, surprise reverberating in his voice.

“Yes.”

“His sister?”

“No. His mother.”

“But she’s so young-looking!”

“She’s fifty-eight. She had Charles when she was only eighteen .

” “Her husband, where’s he?”

“He’s dead. He has been for years.”

“So Philip is her boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“She cares for you a lot, Nick, but then I’ve already said that.”

“Yes,” Nicky responded softly. “She thought of me as the daughter she’d never had.”

Clee said nothing. He unlocked the car door and helped Nicky in.

As they drove off in the direction of Saint-Remy he decided not to ask any more questions about Anne Devereaux. He knew that Nicky was touchy about Charles, and he did not want to make her uncomfortable.

Nicky hardly spoke on the drive back to the farm. She appeared to be far away.

Clee stole surreptitious glances at her from time to time, and he noticed how rigidly set her face had become. Even in profile this was quite apparent. Eventually he put a tape in the player in the dashboard and concentrated on his driving. He made himself relax and was soon lost in his thoughts.

After a while Nicky leaned her head against the car window and closed her eyes.

Clee was not sure whether she was dozing or merely feigning sleep. His heart sank. The evening that had begun so wonderfully, so auspiciously, had suddenly fizzled out. He realized that he was

vaguely angry, not just distressed, and he was aware that this was because of the change in Nicky, or rather what had wrought it. She had been reminded of the past tonight, and in the strongest possible way.

He cursed Charles Devereaux under his breath. That man seemed to have an uncanny way of coming back to haunt Nicky—and now, indirectly, him.

this is one of the best scripts you’ve ever written, Nick,” Arch said, handing it to her across his desk.

“I’m glad you like it,” Nicky replied, looking pleased as she took it from him. “But let’s not forget that I had some help from Ellen, Sam and Wilma, not to mention you. It was a team effort.”

Arch shook his head. “No, it wasn’t. Basically, it’s all yours.

It’s definitely got your inimitable stamp on it, and you were in cracking form when you wrote this.”

“Thanks,” she said, smiling at him.

“Incidentally, we’re coming up with some great footage to go with the script,” Arch volunteered. “Stuff we found in the archives, as you said we would. The show’s going to be a prizewinner, Nick, very powerful.” He leaned forward intently. “Listen, I’ve made a couple of changes, only minor ones, if you wouldn’t

mind looking them over now.

They’re on pages six, twenty, and forty-one .” Nicky read the changes he had made, as well as his explanatory notes in the margin of each page. Then she looked up and nodded quickly. “You’ve really strengthened some of my points. Thanks, Arch. And the changes are fine, I think this does it—let’s go with this script. There’s nothing else to add.”

“You’re right, and since you approve, I’ll get the script out to retype immediately.”

Handing it back to him, Nicky remarked, “I suppose you’ve spoken to our venerable president of news again—about the title?”

“I sure have, and Larry’s with us. He agrees Decade of Destruction’ is a great title, and appropriate, and he’s pushing it through, so don’t worry. In any case, you know Larry’s never been one to shy away from doom and gloom. In fact, he thinks viewers are fascinated by catastrophes, and I’m inclined to agree with him.”

“So we’re all set to go?” Nicky asked. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“You betcha! I also got an okay from Larry for your other special—the one about the gun-toting kids. Have you had any thoughts about titles yet?”

“My working title is Innocents with Guns.” What do you think?”

“Not bad, Nicky, not bad at all.” Arch leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. After a moment he gave her a long, steady look.

Nicky said, “What’s wrong? What is it?”

“Nothing’s wrong—on the contrary, everything’s right. Larry wants to move you in another direction next year, Nick, and he’s going to talk to you about it.”

“What kind of direction?” she asked sharply, suddenly wary.

“He wants you to do some different stuff, maybe just a fraction lighter than—” “Hey, wait a minute,” she cut in peremptorily. “I’ve always covered hard news, politics and wars! What are you trying to tell me?

That he wants to pull me off my assignment as chief war correspondent for the network?”

“No, no, I’m not saying that at all. Just hold your horses and listen.

Don’t get so excited, okay?”

“Okay. Shoot. I’m all ears.”

“Larry’s talking about your specials, that’s all. He thought that after Decade,’ which he plans to air in November, and the special on the kids with guns, which he’s programming for next year, that you yourself might want a bit of a change. He was thinking of a series of interviews with world leaders—the president, Mrs. Thatcher, Gorbachev.

So, how do you feel about it?”

“Not sure, and I’ll tell Larry that when we have our meeting.”

She shrugged. “But it could be interesting, I suppose.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”

“Don’t be misled by my tone, Arch, I’m interested. Very interested, as a matter of fact. But you know me well enough to realize that I’ve got to have an angle, come up with a strong point of view, for my specials.

They can’t be wishy-washy. And I’m not averse to change. On the contrary. Actually, I like innovations.”

“I know that, and so does Larry, and in any case, he’s looking to you, and to me, to come up with some suggestions.” He flashed her a wide grin. “You can even interview movie stars, if you want.” Nicky shook her head, though she was also grinning. “No, thanks.

I’m not going to try to compete with Barbara Walters. She’s the best at that, and we all know it.”

“Barbara also interviews political leaders, Nick, and she does a really good mix of celebrities at times. It might be worth thinking

about that type of show. Let’s not forget that her specials get very big ratings. And I mean big.”

“I told you, she’s the best. And I certainly don’t want to be second best. I’ll stick to my formula. Anyway, I prefer to come up with some ideas of my own.” She sat back in the chair and sighed lightly. “To tell you the honest truth, Arch, a change might be what I need. I felt a bit exhausted after Beijing. Sort of burnt out.”

“I know you did, and you looked it, Nicky. But I guess it was burnout time for all of us in June.” There was a little pause before he said, “You’re looking great now. I guess Provence did you a world of good—a7u being with Clee, of course.”

“It was great,” Nicky replied, her voice instantly lighter, happier.

“And he’s great.”

“Do I hear the sound of wedding bells?”

“Oh, Arch!”

“Hey, Nick, it’s me you’re talking to. Arch Leverson. I’ve known Cleeland Donovan a long time, and I can assure you that he’s crazy about you. Hell, honey, it’s written all over his face.

When we had dinner at Twenty-one’ last week I knew he had it bad for you.” He gave her a penetrating look. “I guess I find it hard to believe that you don’t feel the same way he does.”

There was a moment’s hesitation on her part. “I do care for Clee,” she admitted finally, sounding suddenly shy. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean there’s going to be a wedding.” All of a sudden she walked over to the window and stood staring out, a faraway look settling on her face.

It was a beautiful Wednesday morning in the middle of August.

Nicky gazed at a sky that was an intense, vivid blue without a single cloud. The skyscrapers of Manhattan shimmered in the brilliant sunlight, and she could not help thinking how extraordinary the city looked from up here on the forty-ninth floor of the American Television Network building. There’s no city like it in the whole world, she thought, and she knew that wherever she lived she would always be a New Yorker at heart. She had been born here, had lived here for the biggest part of her life. It was her city. Just as Paris was her city in its own special way, she had such happy memories of her years spent there as a child.

It would be no hardship for her to live there again….

Turning around, Nicky leaned against the wide window ledge and gazed across at Arch. Taking a deep breath, she said in a cool and careful voice, “Are you worried about me marrying Clee and moving to Paris, Arch?”

“Hell, no, Nicky, how could you possibly think a thing like that?” he asked, his voice rising several octaves in indignation.

“Because if you are, don’t forget that I have a binding contract with this network, and I would never attempt to break it. Never.

Nor would my agent let me.” Without pausing, she plunged on, “And in any case, whatever happens in my personal life, I have every intention of continuing my career. I love my work. It’s a very big part of my life, and it always has been. I’ve been a broadcast journalist since I left college, as you well know, and it’s in my blood. I wouldn’t be myself without it.”

Arch pushed back his chair and rose, his expression was serious.

Slowly he walked over to her and took hold of her by the shoulders, saying, “I don’t care about this network or your contract. I only care about you, and about what happens to you. I want you to be happy, Nicky, and if Clee’s the right guy for you, and if you think you can make a decent life with him, then I say go for it, grab it. Listen, honey, life’s all too brief and difficult and painful, so if you have a chance of making it work with a good guy, then for God’s sake do it .

Don’t think about anything, or anybody, only yourself.” Nicky hugged Arch to her, touched by his concern for her. Then, pulling away from him, she smiled up into his face.

“Thanks for that, Arch. Your affection for me means such a lot, and I appreciate the moral support you’ve always given me, that you’re giving me now.” Clearing her throat, she added, “And he is a good guy, isn’t he?”

“And then some, Nicky, there’s no man I know who is a better man than Cleeland Donovan. As my mother would say, he’s a real nensch.

” Holding his arm, she led him over to the sofa, where they sat down together.

Nicky said, after a moment, “I must admit, I have been worrying a bit.

I mean worrying about how I would work it out—my career and Clee and living in Paris, if we ever did decide to get married.

Mind you, let me hasten to add, he hasn’t proposed to me.”

“Give him half a chance and he will.”

“I’m not as certain as you are about that, Arch. Clee has always been reluctant about settling down, and for several good reasons.

He—” “I know the reasons,” Arch interjected a trifle impatiently, “he’s told me often enough. He doesn’t want to expose a wife and family to grief and pain, should he get himself killed in the line of duty, and he doesn’t want to give up the challenge, excitement and danger of being a war photographer. Isn’t that what you were going to say?”