The Carlton Club (44 page)

“Tell me.”

“Last night they admitted a little boy to the pediatric intensive care unit. At first they thought he had what’s called Reye Syndrome—” Leslie stopped abruptly. Eric’s body stiffened, and he lifted his lips away from her head. “Eric?”

“I’m listening,” he said hoarsely, pulling away from her. “I made some coffee, shall I get you some?”

“No, I just need to go to sleep,” she said, following him into the gourmet kitchen with the view of the Presidio. “Anyway, they thought he had what’s called Reye Syndrome. It usually follows chicken pox.”

“I know what it is,” he said flatly.

“You do?”

“Yes. But that isn’t what he had, right?” he added quickly. “He was a victim of child abuse. It was in this morning’s newspaper.”

“The media doesn’t miss a trick,” she said idly, remembering that there had been reporters. Fortunately, she hadn’t been who they wanted this time.

“No. It must have been awful, Leslie,” Eric said. His voice sounded stilted, uneasy. “Why don’t you take a shower and a nap?”

Why won’t you talk to me, Eric? I don’t want to tell you the facts. I want to tell you how I feel. Why can’t you let me? she wondered.

It would have made her angry, except that she saw a look of pain, almost of fear, in his eyes.

He wants to help me, but he can’t, she thought. For some reason he can’t.

Tears spilled. Eric came to her quickly, put his arms around her and kissed her wet eyes.

“Leslie, I’m sorry. Don’t be sad. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Eric.”
I do love you. But we need to talk about this. Sometime. Some other time
.

Eric met her at eight-thirty in the morning at the main entrance of the Veteran’s Administration Hospital. Their nonstop flight to Maui was scheduled to leave at ten. Eric had decided against taking the corporate jet since they were all traveling at different times. Charlie and James were already there. Leslie couldn’t leave until now, thirty minutes after her on call night had ended.

“Good morning,” she said, smiling, kissing him lightly on the lips.

“You look ravishing,” he said.

Leslie had showered and changed into her travel clothes at the hospital. Her white coat and skirt and last night’s colorful blouse were folded neatly in her overnight bag.

“I just look different than every other time you pick me up. No stethoscope, no rumpled white coat, no iodine stains. I also probably look happy. All last night I kept thinking, at the end of this tunnel is five days in Hawaii with Eric.”

“All last night?” he asked as they drove out of the circular drive toward the coast highway and San Francisco International Airport.

“I’m afraid so,” she said. In little bits, since meeting Eric, Leslie had abandoned her practice of staying up all night. If it wasn’t busy she would try to sleep. “We were very busy. I was up all night, but I’m not the least bit tired. I’m not going to waste a second of the next five days sleeping!”

“Part of the next five days is for you to rest. You still haven’t recovered from your month in the ICU.”

“You need to rest, too.”

“I plan to be right beside you the whole time.”

“That makes it a lot more palatable.”

They drove in silence for a while, holding hands.

“Oh, Janet called last night. I’m supposed to be sure that you don’t think that she’s upset that we’re missing her wedding,” he grimaced. “I think that was the message.”

“Her wedding
and
the opening of
San Francisco
. These are five of the most eventful days of Janet’s life,” Leslie said thoughtfully, remembering how excited Janet had been when she called to tell Leslie that they had three weeks to plan her wedding. Her parents were coming out from Lincoln for opening night of
San Francisco
. Janet wanted to get married during their visit.

The guest list was small but important: loving friends and family; Janet’s parents and Ross’s parents; and a few friends like Leslie and Eric. After the ceremony they would all have dinner at the Carlton Club. The next night they would go to opening night of
San Francisco
starring Janet
MacMillan
.

Leslie remembered Janet’s excitement. And she remembered her disappointment when Leslie told her that she and Eric would be in Maui.

“You’re upset,” Eric said.

“No. It’s just too bad. I would like to have been there. She’s a dear friend. But,” Leslie said smiling, “she knows how happy we are for them. I have squandered yet another chance to see the Carlton Club, however.”

“Is that a burning desire of yours?”

“No. Just a burning curiosity. My friends keep choosing it as the place to celebrate their weddings.”

“Maybe we,” he began, then stopped. Maybe we should get married, he almost said. It would have been so easy to say. It was what he wanted to say. But first, they had to talk. He had to tell her about Bobby. And Charlie. She must learn why it was so hard for him to hear about her patients and how he wasn’t sure that he could have another child, that he could risk the pain, again.

They had to rest in Maui. And they had to talk.

“Maybe we?” she asked, curious, her eyes sparkling. She knew what he had almost said. And that he was saving that question for another time.

“Maybe we should have dinner there sometime,” he said, smiling, not looking at her.

She would marry him now. And he would marry her. Even if they didn’t talk about the obstacles they both knew were there, they would go into it blindly because they believed their love could overcome anything.

“Maybe we should!” she answered, laughing.
Take your time, Eric
.

Leslie had one glass of champagne and orange juice—a mimosa—once the plane reached a cruising altitude and slept, curled against Eric, for the remainder of the flight. She awakened, refreshed, as the wheels touched the landing strip of Kahalui Airport on Maui.

“What a warm, lovely fragrance!” she exclaimed as they walked, outside, from the plane to the baggage claim area.

“Welcome to the tropics, darling,” he said, squeezing her. “It’s a blend of plumeria and coconut and sugar cane.”

“I love it.”

They drove across the island along the Mokulele Highway toward Wailea. They drove through green fields of sugar cane blown by the warm tropical wind toward the bright blue Pacific, whitecapped and sparkling in the distance.

“Who else will be here?” Leslie asked. It was time to learn about Eric’s friends. They hadn’t even discussed them.

“My two right hands. My attorney, Charlie, and my architect, James.”

My architect, James. The words thundered in Leslie’s head.

James
. How many architects named James were there in San Francisco? Hundreds.
Hundreds
. Still she didn’t have the courage to ask his last name. It couldn’t be.

“Do they work for you or do they have their own firms?” she asked carefully, her heart pounding.

“Charlie and James are both corporate officers with the company. They don’t work for anyone else.”

Good. That ruled out James Stevenson of O’Keefe, Tucker and Stevenson. Leslie’s heart calmed slightly. Still, James had been working on a project in Hawaii. In Maui.

“This isn’t a birthday celebration, but it is your birthday,” Leslie began slowly, remembering what Eric had said in August. She needed more information. Even though she might not want it.

“Mine and Charlie’s. No, we’re celebrating the opening of a resort we built. It actually opened last week. We thought it would be good to see if it’s really as sensational as advertised, as we advertise it.”

“It’s your resort?” Leslie asked, her uneasiness crescendoing.

“Yes.”
Mine. And yours
. “We’re almost there.”

Three minutes later they reached the entrance. A large sign read: Ocean Palms—An InterLand Resort.

InterLand. Eric’s company. James had never mentioned that name. Or Eric’s. It couldn’t be. It can’t be.

But as soon as Leslie saw the hotel, the beautiful, real life creation of the wonderful sketches James had proudly shown her, she knew. She realized vaguely, as her mind reeled, that Eric was watching her.

“Well?”

“Oh, Eric, it’s spectacular,” she said truthfully, her heart pounding.

It was spectacular. A lush, lovely tropical paradise. The elegant white marble hotel harmonized perfectly, naturally, with the magnificent tropical setting. But that was James’s special talent: his ability to translate his love of nature, his reverence for its grace and beauty, into the buildings he created.

Leslie stood in the breathtaking lobby of the hotel, waiting for Eric to register, eager to retreat to their room, wondering how—if—she could tell him. The lobby itself was a colorful fragrant garden of white, yellow and mauve plumeria trees, red and pink antherium and jade green palms. Priceless oriental rugs lay on the white marble floors. A turquoise blue waterway filled with red and gold and white koi flowed peacefully through the lobby. Beyond the tall, slender white pillars that supported the huge but seemingly weightless structure, Leslie could see the sapphire blue ocean.

Leslie noticed the woman because even in the midst of the awesome splendor of James’s creation she was striking. Her golden blond hair fell, free, to her waist, swaying rhythmically as she walked. She wore a white sun dress, cool, elegant against her golden tan. Her eyes softened as she saw Eric, then widened as Eric moved toward Leslie.

“Eric,” she said smoothly, stretching a beautifully manicured hand toward him, smiling awkwardly at Leslie. It can’t be her, Charlie thought. But those eyes. Those startled blue eyes. Charlie had seen those eyes before.

“Charlie. Hi. Charlie, I’d like you to meet Leslie Adams. Leslie, this is Charlie Winter.”

Charlie and Leslie smiled at each other, both uncomfortable, both trying to appear unruffled.

“Hi, Charlie. I guess it’s fair to say I had a different image,” Leslie said lightly. Too many surprises, she thought, her heart racing.

You’re not who, or what, I expected either, Charlie thought. She had been pacing back and forth in the lobby for an hour, waiting for them, preparing herself to meet the woman Eric loved, forming images of what that woman would be like. She had settled on someone young and dependent and naive. Someone, Charlie realized, like she had been once, before she had been forced to become tough and independent.

But that wasn’t Leslie Adams. Charlie knew Leslie Adams. She knew
about
Leslie Adams. She knew that Leslie could save the life of a colleague and be outraged that the media wanted to hear about her heroism. Charlie knew that Leslie could make a man like James put his belief in traditional morality on hold because he couldn’t resist her.

Charlie knew that she would never like the woman that Eric had chosen to love; but now that woman was Leslie Adams, and Charlie already liked Leslie Adams. She had liked her the instant she saw her blood-stained face on television sixteen months before.

Charlie looked at Leslie. “I had a different image of you, too,” she said pleasantly. Then she looked at Eric, frowned and asked, “Where’s Robert?”

“He’s not coming. It was a last minute decision. He couldn’t get away.”

“Oh,” Charlie said, surprised by her own disappointment. She had been looking forward to seeing him. She hadn’t seen him since their trip to the Orient in June. It would have been easier with Robert here. He made everything easier. He would know what to do about Leslie and James.

But Robert wasn’t here. It was up to her.

“Eric, may I borrow Leslie for about twenty minutes?” Charlie asked suddenly.

“Now? Charlie, we haven’t even gone to the room,” Eric said, surprised but pleased that Charlie wasn’t planning to ignore Leslie. Eric hadn’t been sure how Charlie would react.

“I know. The owner of the pearl shop wants to give each of us, me, Leslie and Lynne a special black pearl.” Charlie watched as Leslie dropped her eyelids at the mention of Lynne’s name. She knows, Charlie thought, but she just found out, too. “It’s a little mystical. She has to meet each of us, then she’ll select the right black pearl. It’s really very nice. The pearls are beautiful.”

“This is an emergency?” Eric asked amiably.

“A true emergency,” Charlie said, nodding solemnly but smiling. I have to talk to her, Charlie thought. A true emergency.

“Do you mind, Leslie?” he asked.

“Of course not!”
It will give me time to find James
.

“Good. I’ll bring her to your room when we’re through. It may be more than twenty minutes, if we get carried away.”

“OK. What are the plans for this evening?” Eric asked. Then he explained to Leslie, “I’m sure that Charlie has something arranged.”

“Cocktails and dinners at the P
ua Aloalo
at seven. Birthday dinner tomorrow at James and Lynne’s condo. Lynne’s making a chocolate fudge and macadamia nut birthday cake,” Charlie added without joy. When she and Lynne had planned it the day before, it had seemed like such a good idea. It would be a chance for them all to get to know Eric’s love. An informal dinner among friends.

“It sounds very nice,” Eric said, unable to interpret the look in Charlie’s eyes. Or the look in Leslie’s eyes. Maybe the next twenty minutes would help. Eric squeezed Leslie’s hand before letting go and said, “See you soon.”

Charlie waited until Eric was out of earshot.

“I assume you’d like to talk to James,” she said flatly.

“Yes,” Leslie breathed. How do you know? she wondered. “Does he know I’m coming?”

“No. James doesn’t know it’s you. Eric doesn’t know about you and James, does he?”

“No.”

“Let’s go to my suite.”

Leslie watched as Charlie dialed the number to James’s condo and heard her tell him lightly that she needed to see him about a business matter. Could he come to her suite? Yes. Now.

While they waited, Leslie noticed the suite, silently admiring the understated expensive decor: top quality wicker furniture with pastel cushions, plush mauve, blue and cream area rugs on the white marble floor, silk curtains, eighteenth century French impressionist paintings and crystal vases overflowing with fragrant tropical flowers. The suite was like the entire hotel, a spectacular celebration of the natural beauty of the Hawaiian Islands.

Charlie’s suite was cluttered with sundresses, belts and sandals strewn haphazardly in the living room. It looked as if Charlie had been trying to select the perfect outfit and had been wracked with indecision.

But who had Charlie been dressing for? Leslie wondered. For her, to make an impression on Eric’s new friend? Charlie didn’t have to try to make an impression. Her natural radiant beauty was irrepressible and unconcealable.