Intimate Page 6

  'Alone?' he asked, a wry hint of jealousy in his quirked eyebrow.

  'My friend Debby comes along occasionally,' she answered. 'But I've gone alone often enough. Does that surprise you?'

  He shook his head. 'There's not much about you that doesn't surprise me,' he laughed. 'Aren't you afraid of a lot of men hitting on you in those blues clubs?'

  'Not really,' she said. 'I've found that people come to hear the music. It's quite safe. Besides,' she added, 'I can take care of myself.'

  'I'll bet you can,' he said, his eyes appraising her as he took her hand. 'Something tells me you'd be a dangerous adversary if a person were foolish enough to push you too far.'

  'Not so dangerous,' she admitted, ruefully recalling her ineffectual attempt to defend herself against the accusation that had cost her her job.

  The guitarist had placed his instrument on a tall stool and disappeared through a swinging door as the small spotlight was turned off.

  'I'd introduce you to him,' said Marsh with a slight smile, 'but he's very eccentric when he's working. Between sets he does exercises in the back room to calm his nerves. Whenever I come here he sees me and makes believe I'm invisible. We play tennis together downtown sometimes, and then he asks me how I liked his playing. When he's away from his music he's quite relaxed. I'd like to have you meet him some time.'

  'I can see that your work brings you into contact with a lot of interesting people,' commented Anna.

  'You're telling me,' he replied pointedly, his large hand cradling her slender fingers as his dark eyes caressed her in the shadows.

  'I didn't mean me,' she laughed.

  'I did,' he insisted with a gentle smile. 'You know, that independent streak of yours reminds me of the best things about life in this town. It's an unpredictable place, because it's full of talents and personalities from a thousand different places, who all came here for their own reasons. Put them together at close quarters, and the sparks are bound to fly. Exciting things happen. We all talk about Chicago as an industrial crossroads, but to me it's a crossroads of people's destinies.'

  His eyes sparkled with sharp introspection as he regarded the lush auburn curls which strayed across the fabric of her sweater.

  'Think of it this way, Anna. Five years ago I was the last person in the world to suspect that a beautiful young woman from Bloomington was arriving in Chicago and, by chance, "falling into" a job at N.T.E.L. Wasn't that the expression you used? Time has many surprises in store for us. For the last five years I've been going about my business, never suspecting that my firm would one day do a job for N.T.E.L., and that I would meet that girl from Bloomington only hours before she left the company. If you hadn't bumped into me outside the elevator last week, we wouldn't be sitting here right now. And one day later you wouldn't have been there to bump into me. But you did, and that makes all the difference.'

  'I must say I never thought of it quite that way,' Anna admitted.

  'Neither did I,' he smiled. 'Until I met you.'

  His reasoning, she reflected, had more than a grain of truth. For the cruel fate that had thrown her life into turmoil was inextricably linked with the chain of events that had brought her into contact with the handsome, thoughtful man who regarded her now. But as she returned his smile she had to remind herself that the deep voice which displayed the breadth of his knowledge and curiosity was also a caressing weapon which progressively weakened her resistance to his daunting masculinity. Marsh Hamilton's charms were as varied as his incisive ideas, and their impact seemed to increase with his every word and gesture.

  The probingly intimate kiss with which he took his leave of her that night was undeniable proof that there was nothing casual about his interest in her, and that he was well aware of the feelings he had kindled in her in so short a time.

  'I'll be through at N.T.E.L. this week,' he said, his long arms locked warmly about her slender waist. 'I'll do the rest of the job at my own office. We're pretty busy at the moment on a number of cases, but I'll make the time to call you. If you don't mind, that is.'

  'I'd like that,' she replied, doing her best to conceal the breathless excitement she felt in his embrace.

  'You're sure you won't be too busy yourself?' he asked. 'I know you have a tough week coming.'

  'I'll make the time to answer the phone,' she teased, her finger grazing the windblown strands of his dark hair.

  'That's my girl!' he laughed. The words coiled around her with quietly persuasive force, for already she could imagine herself joined to this attractive stranger by bonds of trust and intimacy. Her future was a mystery whose unknown course Marsh Hamilton seemed determined to alter, and she could see no earthly reason to struggle against him. Indeed, she felt compelled to quell the traitorous longing which inflamed her towards him with heedless abandon at every turn. Her self-respect dictated that she take the time to know him better before investing unrealistic hopes in him.

  Such scruples seemed the least of her worries as the days passed. Although she had felt reasonably certain that the new week would bring a telephone call from one of the employees she had seen during her first long days of interviews, Anna searched the want ads for additional jobs she might apply for in the days to come. Waiting by the telephone would be too distressing a business. She felt she had to continue taking action, moving forward, to give herself the very best chance of finding a new job before the money she had earned at N.T.E.L. ran out.

  Thus a siege began, marked by a mood of grim determination which was all too frequently interrupted by moments of near-panic. Each morning Anna gathered her courage, dressed warmly, and stepped out into the windy autumn air for another round of applications and interviews. Returning mid-afternoon so as to be at home in case the phone rang, she did her best to remain calm and cheerful. Between trips downstairs to the laundry room, she ironed clothes, dusted tables, vacuumed the floor, trying vainly to prevent her expectant eye from darting to the silent telephone. At last, when the apartment had been cleaned and re-cleaned, the kitchen cupboards reorganised, and her entire wardrobe scrutinised with an eye to what she might wear on her first day in a new job, she admitted defeat and sat down restlessly by the phone.

  Surely, if an employer had called while she was out, he would call back late in the afternoon. If the phone did not ring before five o'clock, that could only mean that no one had called all day. Listlessly Anna read magazines, paged through a mail order catalogue in search of a birthday present for Sally, glanced at an old novel from her college days.

  Prowling the apartment, she felt like a prisoner of the stubbornly mute telephone. She could neither spend the whole day out looking for jobs, nor remain inside waiting for calls that never came.

  Recalling previous job searches, she was uncomfortably certain that a positive response nearly always came within a day or two of the initial interview. After that, one could always be sure that the job had been offered to someone else.

  How could it be that the phone had not rung? There were numerous jobs available, and Anna's qualifications were quite impressive. She had a college degree and an excellent work record, including a promotion to office supervisor. Surely each one of the companies she had visited could use her abilities. It didn't make sense. Unless somehow the disaster caused by Porter Deman's treachery had found a way to communicate itself to the employers who queried N.T.E.L. as her reference. But how? Charles Robbins had promised not to place the accusation against Anna in her personal file.

  Unless he had lied…

  'It's impossible,' she shrugged off her fears. 'Chuck doesn't lie. It can't be the file…'

  By the end of the week the remnants of Anna's optimistic mood had evaporated, and the prospect of the continued search for work seemed a grim ordeal. Before long she would have no choice but to tell Sally her unfortunate news, and journey to the State unemployment office, hoping against hope that she might qualify for benefits despite the ambiguous circumstances surrounding her termination. The thought of the forms sh
e would have to fill out, and the endless waiting, was nothing if not depressing.

  Yet as the tension of her job search became more and more painful, another sort of ferment grew with daunting speed within her breast. For Marsh Hamilton did call, as he had promised. The phone rang when night's calming obscurity had settled over the anguish of Anna's hectic day, and she had to conceal as best she could the happiness that leapt through her senses as she exchanged friendly greetings with him, listened to his news, and expressed forced optimism about her job prospects.

  Behind the relaxed humour of his conversation, the deep tones of his voice seemed to carry the subtle trace of the heated embrace that had joined him to her days earlier. His genial words, superficially casual, actually bespoke the increasing intimacy of their relationship. Each sound caressed her ear with a delightful gentleness, and she could feel his lips close to her own even as they spoke into a receiver miles away.

  Despite herself she felt a schoolgirl's furtive excitement at this marvellous contact at a distance, and a thrill of discovery at each new thing she learned about Marsh. Struggling to contain the undercurrent of eager acceptance that tinged her own responses, she knew that he heard it nonetheless, and felt herself quicken in anticipation of the next time she would see him.

  She was not disappointed, for the charmed weekend that followed seemed to have been taken from an entirely different life, full of sunshine and unlimited hope. On Marsh's arm she explored Chinatown, and tasted the deliciously varied wares at a shabby but renowned dim-sum parlour whose clientele included pilgrims from towns many miles distant as well as local Chinese families. She strolled past the robust, joking vendors on Maxwell Street, and accepted Marsh's gift of a colourful scarf whose blue-green hues took up the deep glow of her emerald eyes. After a quiet dinner in a charming restaurant nestled in the busy streets of Uptown, the couple spent the evening watching a talented theatre company perform experimental plays by local writers.

  The city seemed to have come to life under Marsh's easy, sweeping gaze, and its sidewalks were friendly and familiar under his confident steps. But while the stunning vitality of the urban landscape passed before Anna in a heady panorama, her mind's eye was fixed in fascination on the dark figure of Marsh himself.

  Even as he displayed his almost encyclopaedic familiarity with the city's byzantine political and social fabric, he drew her out on her own opinions and experiences, his attentive eyes resting on her in calm concentration as she spoke. In no time, it seemed, she had bared her innermost ideas on people and things to him, and come to know the reflective personality which underlay his boundless confidence in the skills he put at his clients' disposal.

  Her second full week of job-hunting was worse if anything than the first, she found herself clinging to her memory of Marsh's last kiss, so soft and intimate, as a lifeline which might blunt the cold menace of her solitary ordeal.

  But it was more than a lifeline. The memory clung to her like a bewitching philtre, suffusing her senses by day and haunting her dreams by night. Though her nerves were stretched to their limit in her exasperation over her predicament, a secret yielding stole under her skin at every moment, and when she noticed it she realised that Marsh had not been out of her mind since last she saw him. When she contemplated her tired face in the mirror, the image of his laughing eyes and hard body seemed to look out at her, gently drawing her closer to him, enfolding her in a warm embrace from which all pain was banished.

  'Am I falling in love?' she asked herself in amazement, her gaze riveted to the green eyes glowing under the lush curls of her hair.

  It could not be. She barely knew Marsh Hamilton, and had no earthly reason to believe her heedless emotions might have their counterpart behind his inscrutable eyes. He was simply a part of this mad maelstrom of events that had upset her existence so suddenly—and nothing more. Later, much later, when life was under control once more, it might be possible to think of matters such as love. But not now.

  Yet the taunting question popped ceaselessly into her mind, threatening to eclipse all other thoughts. And she began to fear that where Marsh Hamilton was concerned, she would never be in control of herself.

  Now, as she rose from her bench to leave the quiet gallery and hurry through the Loop's busy streets to her next interview, Anna relaxed inwardly, allowing herself to be buoyed by the certainty that Marsh's knock would come at her door tonight, regardless of the day's events. Having teased her with his promise of a surprise for dinner, he had told her he would arrive by six-thirty.

  'Thank God it's Friday,' she thought with painful irony as the throng of pedestrians on Michigan Avenue engulfed her. She had worked hard this week, and earned nothing. The absurdity of unemployment seemed every bit as destructive as its financial perils.

  'Control yourself,' she thought firmly. 'Be patient. You'll find a job sooner or later.' Resolved to avoid panic at all costs, she hurried towards State Street.

  The afternoon's interviews were cast in the same mould as their predecessors. Mr Morgan, the personnel director whose office was Anna's last stop, seemed to be reciting a prepared speech as he repeated words she had been hearing for nearly two weeks.

  'I must say that your qualifications are very impressive, Miss Halpern,' he said. 'Most impressive. Of course, we do have to interview some other people before making a final decision. We'll let you know one way or the other…'

  After shaking his hand and expressing her thanks with as much sincerity as she could muster, Anna walked to her bus stop with a sense of resignation and relief. The week was over. Two days of rest were now to be hers.

  Pushing through the front door of her apartment building at last, she was anxious to take a hot shower and erase the traces of the day's depressing efforts before Marsh arrived. She inserted her small key in the mailbox and saw the door open to reveal an envelope bearing N.T.E.L.'s logo.

  'My severance pay,' she thought. 'So be it.' The last of her financial resources were now visible. For another two weeks, or three at most, she could survive without additional income. After that, her own fate, as well as Sally's, would be out of her control.

  The urgent sounds of the Friday evening rush hour reverberated outside as Anna sat in her bathrobe before her mirror and applied a touch of colour to her cheeks. Feeling refreshed and energetic after her bracing shower, she began brushing the sleek auburn tresses which fell in gentle waves over her shoulders. To her surprise, the face of a vital, healthy young woman looked out at her from the glass. There was something virtually festive in the expectant green eyes and glowing cheeks under her flowing hair. She had to admit that today's frantic activity had been distinctly easier to bear after Marsh's call last night. She was still admired and respected by someone in this large and lonely city—someone whose irrepressible charm could not fail to distract her from her nagging trepidation.

  The soft outline of her breasts was palpable under the sheer fabric of the dress she chose. For an uncomfortable moment she wondered whether she had unconsciously selected a garment which would show off her femininity too enticingly. As things already stood, she was finding it increasingly difficult to resist the sensual upset that Marsh was so expert in kindling with his every touch.

  'I just don't care,' she admitted to herself in all honesty. Come what may, she needed Marsh Hamilton at this crucial moment of her life, and she was willing to run the risk of a painful struggle against his seductive virility for the sake of his welcome support and interest.

  A rather urgent knock at the door interrupted her reverie, and she opened it to find Marsh standing in the hallway, his arms full of grocery bags.

  'You the lady who ordered the groceries?' he asked playfully.

  'Marsh, what have you done?' she exclaimed.

  'This is your surprise,' he said. 'And your dinner. I don't think I've taken the trouble yet to inform you of my cooking skills. But now you're going to find out all about them. I'm going to make us a real Cordon Bleu dinner tonight.'

 
He took off his windbreaker and stood before her in dark slacks which accentuated the taut strength of his thighs, and a handsome turtleneck sweater. The crisp, vibrant coolness of impending autumn seemed to radiate from him as he smiled into her eyes.

  'I should have told you not to dress,' he said. 'But I'll confess that I imagined you'd be looking like a million dollars tonight, and I couldn't resist seeing it.'

  'That's all right,' she smiled, feeling the appraising penetration of his gaze in all her senses.

  'Before I forget,' he said, reaching into one of the bags, 'first things first. If you'll get me a couple of glasses, we can drink this while it's nice and cold.' He produced a bottle of champagne, its chilled glass beaded with drops of condensed moisture from the warm air, and began peeling the foil around the cork.

  'Well, don't just stand there, girl,' he ordered happily, seeing her standing before him immobilised more by admiration for his virile self-confidence than by surprise. 'Let's go! It isn't every Friday we toast the end of the week with champagne.'

  The cork popped easily under the pressure of his strong fingers, and the effervescent liquid sent sprays of bubbles into the air as Anna held the glasses out to him.

  'Now,' he announced, touching his glass to hers, 'this is how we give a lovely lady a first-class evening after a hard working week. Let me see…'

  Feigning perfectionistic concentration, he reached into the shopping bags and began producing a lush array of good things to eat.

  'Caviare to start, with a touch of scallion,' he murmured, waving a packet of green onions at her distractedly. 'Then a seafood cocktail. A few shrimps, a little lobster: nothing extravagant, not too many calories. We don't want to jade the palate, do we? Let's see… Oh, yes, Caesar salad. Lots of romaine, not too much anchovy, easy on the tabasco. Where's the steak, now? Ah, yes.'

  He glanced critically at her small oven. 'Just as I thought. An old warhorse like that can't broil. I'll pan-broil our entrecotes with cracked pepper and a nice white wine sauce. Now, what's left?' He peered into the bag. 'Of course: a dash of artichoke heart, a little soupcon of a potato, a stalk of asparagus. And then, to finish, my speciality: profiteroles with chocolate sauce.' He looked up. 'That's what we're saving the calories for. Well, Anna, what do you think?'