Warm Hearts (43 page)

Leslie gave a facetious grunt. “I know what's bothering her. It's Brad.”

“Come on. Brad's not that bad.”

“Tony, he's fooling around, and you know it!”

“What else is new?”

“Diane knows it, too. Discretion has never been one of his stronger points.”

“Yeah, but a lot of the time it's just talk—”

“Which can be nearly as hurtful.”

“Come on, Les. I can't believe that Diane would be threatened by talk. Brad wouldn't go out of his way to humiliate her.”

“You're sure of that?” she asked skeptically.

Tony hesitated, then gave vent to his own frustration. “Of course I'm not sure! The guy may be a great businessman, but we've never been terribly close. I can't know what he'd do. All I do know is that if Di doesn't shape up, he may have just cause to wander.”

“That's an awful thing to say, Tony, particularly since he's the thing preventing her from shaping up! Okay, I'll grant that Diane's had other problems. But can you imagine how she must feel when she hears about each of Brad's little … diversions?
Your
wife was a wanderer. How did you feel?”

“A low blow, Les.”

“And well aimed. How did you feel?”

He pondered her question, then spoke with uncharacteristic seriousness. Gone was all pretense of the invincible male. Left was a man whose home life had fallen apart. “Angry. Hurt. Confused. Embarrassed. Insecure.”

Much the same way Leslie had felt when she'd discovered that Joe Durand was married. Much the way she couldn't help but feel at the thought of Oliver with … other women.…

“Thank you for being so honest,” she said more gently. “Now try to think of Diane living with, or trying to live with, those same feelings.”

There was a meaningful silence. “Isn't that something she's got to work out with Brad? We can't give her much more than emotional support.”

“Exactly. Let me call her. Maybe she'll talk to me. Sometimes just being able to air things helps.”

“You know, Les,” Tony breathed over the phone, “you're a good person.”

“I'm her sister.”

“There was a time way back then when you wanted nothing to do with the Parishes,” he reminded her softly. “We thought we'd lost you to the West Coast.”

“I needed breathing room, Tony. I still do. I guess I'm just fortunate in that I've found plenty of it.”

She heard a riot of sounds in the background, then Tony's voice aimed away from the phone. “Leave him alone, Jason! If you boys don't.… Mark, go upstairs!” The voice returned. “Listen, hon, I've got to run.”

“So I hear. Go ahead, Tony. I'll call Di. And … thanks again for Oliver.”

Her brother smiled warmly. “My pleasure. And many happy returns.”

Mirroring his smile, Leslie hung up the phone. Memories of Oliver warmed her for the moment. Then, unable to shake her concern, Leslie did put in a call to Diane. A disgruntled Brad announced that she was in her room reading and had left orders not to be disturbed. Reluctant to force the issue and possibly increase the tension between husband and wife, Leslie simply left word that she'd call the next day.

It was easier said than done. Round and about her own hectic schedule, she tried to reach Diane at the office three times. Each time she was out. It was not until after dinner that evening that Leslie finally made contact. What ensued was the most unproductive conversation she'd ever held with another adult human being.

“Di?” When there was no sound of recognition, she identified herself. “It's me. Leslie.” When there was still no sound, she prodded gently. “Are you there?”

“Yes.”

“How are you?” When again there was silence, she babbled on. “I tried you last night after I got back from St. Barts, but you were reading.”

“I'm okay.”

“Are you sure? You sound awful.”

“Thanks.”

“I didn't mean that in offense. Just concern.” Silence. “Is everything all right there?”

“Yes.”

She dared. “Brad's okay?”

“Yes.”

“Hey, I'm not interrupting dinner, am I?” There had to be some excuse for her sister's curtness. Perhaps she and Brad were in the middle of a fight, and Brad was standing right there.

“No.”

“Listen, maybe we could meet for lunch one day this week.”

“Maybe. I'll get back to you.”

“How about Wednesday?” Leslie blurted. Tomorrow sounded too obvious.

“I don't know. I'll have to get back to you.”

“Will you?” Even in the best of times, Diane was notoriously bad at returning calls. It was one of the things her business associates were always yelling about.

“Yes.”

“Try to make it Wednesday.”

“I'll call you.”

“Please, Di. I'd really like to talk.” Leslie tried to make it sound as though she were the one with the problem. The subtle suggestion went right over her sister's head.

“I said I'd call you,” Diane snapped back impatiently.

“Okay, Di. Talk with you then.”

Diane hung up the phone without another word, at which point Leslie promptly called Brenda. Between them they were no closer to knowing what to do about Diane.

“Maybe something happened at the office?” Leslie suggested in trying to explain Diane's sudden turn for the worse.

Brenda sighed. “Possible. Not probable.”

As Leslie had talked with Tony, she now raised the issue of their sister's shaky emotional state with Brenda. “So what do we do?” she asked: Of the three other Parishes, Brenda was the only one she'd ever leaned on. Capable and serious in business matters, Brenda had a level head on her shoulders. Ironically, the errors she'd made in her personal life were attributable to this very compulsion for order.

“We keep the lines of communication open. You'll have lunch with her Wednesday—”

“Wait a minute. I was the one who proposed Wednesday. Diane refused to commit herself. I'd put money on the fact that she won't even call me.”

“Then you'll call her again. Try tomorrow night. Bug her until she caves in.”

“I'm telling you, Bren, she really did sound like stone.”

“I know. But she'll be all right.”

“Maybe she needs professional help,” Leslie ventured cautiously, though she could have predicted Brenda's response. None of the Parishes were fans of psychiatry, though Brenda was worse than the others. A computer person at heart, she believed there to be a sane, systematic, physical explanation for just about everything that happened in life. When her first marriage fell apart, she considered it a victim of the occupational hazard of being a full-time working mother. There simply had not been hours enough in her life to accommodate a demanding husband. Larry, her second, was a warmer, more easygoing man who was very satisfied to take Brenda when she was free. In turn, Brenda seemed free more often, though she'd never admit to the deep emotional need she had for Larry. He, saint that he was, was confident enough not to demand such a confession.

“A shrink?” Brenda asked with obvious distaste. “I doubt it. No, there has to be something more immediate that's causing her to clam up and act strangely. You're right. She's always been shaky. Which is all the more reason why something's got to have triggered her now.”

“Well,” Leslie sighed, discouraged, “I'll try to get her out with me. I'll let you know what happens.”

As though her mind's computer had filed one document and called up another, Brenda's voice lightened. “Hey, you haven't told me about your trip.”

Her trip. Mention of it brought an instant spot of warmth to her heart, an instant glow to her cheeks. “It was great.” How much did Brenda know? Had Tony told her about his little “joke”?

“Lots of sun?”

Brenda's what-else-is-new tone said it all. She knew nothing. And Leslie wasn't about to enlighten her until she herself felt more sure of Oliver. On St. Barts he'd been unswervingly attentive. Back here, though, even in spite of a weekend date, it remained to be seen whether his seeming affection would hold up. Once he got back out in that faster, glittery world of his.…

“Yup,” she answered with feigned lightness. “Lots of sun. I got a great tan.”

“And rest?”

“That, too.”

“Good. Okay, then, you'll keep me posted on Di?”

“Uh huh. Bye-bye, Bren.”

Leslie hung up the phone thinking of Oliver. She'd been thrilled to hear from him earlier, after having spent the first agonizing hour at home convinced that he'd never call. Life on St. Barts had been so simple. Life in New York—ah, that was another matter. Theoretically, if she loved Oliver and he loved her, nothing could be simpler. But she could only guess at Oliver's feelings. He was a model and hence, to a certain extent, an actor. On St. Barts she would have sworn he loved her, but that had been part of the illusion she'd chosen to live. Back here, she just didn't know.

The weekend would only be telling to a point. He'd have had five full days to compare her with his other life. If he called on Thursday offering a lame excuse to cancel the weekend, she'd know. But even if the weekend went on as proposed and he was as wonderful as he'd been on St. Barts, would she be able to know for sure that he wasn't simply reliving his vacation fun, simply lusting his way through the weekend, using his home in the Berkshires as a substitute for the villa on St. Barts? Would she ever really know his feelings? More important, could she trust him fully enough to believe them? When she was with him, trust was automatic. But at moments away—at times such as these, of which there would be more and more—she doubted.

*   *   *

For Leslie, the week was a trying one, filled with highs and lows and very little in between. While it was wonderful getting back to work, wonderful being at work where her mind could be occupied, her free time was quite the opposite. She thought of the restlessness she'd felt so strongly before she'd ever left for vacation, and she realized—as she had on St. Barts—what ailed her. The house was quiet. Meals alone were not really meals at all. Despite a backlog of paperwork, evenings dragged. And an empty bed—an empty bed was cold and forbidding. Yet her thoughts of Oliver fluctuated violently. At times she was so very hopeful, so very buoyant and in love. At other times she was as down in the dumps as Diane appeared to be.

Ironically Diane's depression was the only thing that, in Leslie's free hours, gave her respite from her own love woes. As predicted, she didn't hear from Diane. Giving her the benefit of the doubt Leslie waited until Wednesday morning to call, striking out at the office, finally reaching her at home. No, she wasn't sick. No, she couldn't make it for lunch. No, she couldn't talk just then. Leslie hung up the phone more convinced than ever that something very definitely was wrong. On Wednesday night, with nothing better to do but brood about Oliver, she got in her car and drove to Diane's.

Brad answered the door. He was a man of average height, average looks, above-average business acumen and superaverage ego. Beyond that, he was thoroughly charming in a thoroughly contrived way.

He smiled broadly. “Leslie! What a surprise. We weren't expecting you. How are you?” He stood aside to let her in out of the cold but left the door conspicuously open.

“I'm fine. How are you, Brad?”

“Very well. Hey, nice tan you've got there. You must have been somewhere warm.”

Diane hadn't told him. Well, Leslie reasoned, there was nothing so awful about that. Diane would have no cause to keep Brad informed of the details of her family's comings and goings. “I spent last week at the villa. It was beautiful. Is Diane in?”

He shot her his most regretful smile. “She's in but she's sleeping.”

“Sleeping? It's so early. Is she all right?”

“Fine. She's fine. Just been working hard, and I think it's tiring her. She's been concentrating on some new designs for the fall line.”

“I see.” It wouldn't pay to say that Diane had been out of the office every time Leslie had called. “You're sure she's not angry with me? I've been trying to talk with her since I got back, and she's been practically incommunicado.”

Brad gave a loud laugh. “That's Diane,” he said, then feigned a conspiratorial whisper. “It's the prima donna in her. I'm sure she's not angry. She'll get back to you as soon as things clear up a little.”

On the surface the words were innocent. Delivered by Brad, however, who stood with his hand on the open door, they bore deeper meaning. Leslie felt distinctly unwelcome.

She shifted her stance and fingered her keys. “Well, then, I won't disturb you. You will call me if there's any problem, won't you?”

“What problem could there possibly be?” Brad asked, throwing his arm around her shoulder in a spurious show of affection that successfully turned her toward the door.
Not as subtle as usual
, Leslie mused, then reminded herself that she'd never been a great fan of Brad's. Even before he'd launched his playboy routine, she'd found him far too pretentious for her taste.

“Well, if there's anything.…”

“She'll be fine. Take my word for it.”

He sent her on her way with a brotherly kiss on the cheek. Once in her car, Leslie quickly wiped it off and pulled out of the drive, reluctantly concluding that she'd done her best. Yes, she was still worried about Diane. But if Diane didn't want her help and Brad didn't want her help, she could only butt in so far. Besides, she was suddenly in the mood for thinking about Oliver.

As she drove home, she thought of how much more handsome he was than Brad. While she lingered on her living-room sofa over a cup of tea, she thought of how much more sincerely he came across. When she climbed into bed with a book, she thought of how he, and he alone, electrified her senses. Finally, despairing of concentration, she turned out the light and, setting doubts aside, gave herself up to dreams of how beautiful the coming weekend would be.