A Ruling Passion Page 15

  Nick looked at her. "Or five thousand," he said slowly.

  "Oh, no, I could not possibly need so many. We are a small chain ... But that is not what you meant."

  "No." Tapping his pencil on the table, he absentmindedly ate a piece of cake, then took another. "I could build you a computer, just a printed circuit board, really... combining microprocessors into a custom-made board... small enough to fit in a desk drawer—well, maybe a small cabinet; it has to have a power supply—and then we'd program it... we'd need a keyboard, but that's no problem; we might even have a video screen so we could see the commands while we're putting them in..."

  He looked at Pari and smiled, a wide, gleeful smile. It was the smile of a child who had suddenly made a discovery that changed forever the look and shape of the world.

  "We could program it to do the whole job," he said, taking another piece of cake. "Convert the information from the cash registers to signals that are stored on a tape recorder and then transmit them over the phone lines. Incredibly simple, really. Your own specialized microcomputer. Cheaper and smaller than anything on the market. Probably faster too."

  Pari was watching him. She had no idea what a microprocessor was, or a microcomputer; custom circuit board had no meaning for her. But she understood cheaper, she understood smaller and faster, and she understood what it meant when a man had that absorbed, rapt look of discovery on his face. She trusted it; she trusted Nick. The talk in the valley was that no one saw possibilities as quickly as Nick Fielding; no one put together programming concepts with such brilliance; and no one else had a partner like Ted Mcllvain, with his superb electronic skills.

  "Very good," Pari said firmly. "Tell me how much money you need to build these special micro-whatevers. I want them."

  Nick barely heard her. "It could probably do other things." He ate another piece of cake. "It would already be converting information and transmitting it—why not do four jobs? Or a dozen? What would be the limit? Why should there be a limit at all?"

  "Nicholas," Pari said, "would you like more cake?"

  He looked at the plate. "My God, did I do that?"

  "You did. Would you like more? Or something else? Dinner, perhaps?"

  "No. Thanks, Pari, but we have a project to finish tonight." The diagram drew him, and his glance returned to it. "It's an idea; nobody's done it. Of course there would have to be a limit. But I don't know what it would be. Or what would determine it. We'd have to build—"

  "But later, yes? Right now, before you get involved in anything else, you are going to build this custom board and whatever else for me. You are, aren't you, Nick? I must have it soon."

  He laughed. "An hour ago you hadn't even thought of it."

  "But now I see how badly I need it. I do not need this other thing you started talking about."

  "I was talking about a computer small enough to fit on your desk and do anything you want to do."

  "But as soon as you build my custom board, what more would I need?"

  "I don't know." He looked past her, through the window. The sky was still bright; it was April and the cypress trees were moving gendy in a warm sea breeze. "We don't know all the possibilities of anything until we've built it. But the possibilities ... all the possibilities..." His eyes were still on the sky, and it was a moment before he turned back to her, and stood up. "I'll build yours first. Pari, I promise."

  She nodded gravely. "Thank you." She stood with him, the top of her head just at his shoulder level. "It is not good to interfere with a man's work, and I would be accommodating if you insisted; but, you see, I have my own work, and it is all I have."

  Abruptly, Nick thought of Sybille, who showed no signs, ever, of being accommodating. Would she also say her work was all she had?

  Of course she would. Because even though she had tried to be caring and loving, and he had tried to help her, the premiere of "The Hot Seat" had changed their marriage permanently. From that time on, without pretense, they had let all feelings of closeness dwindle and die. Sybille was where she had been when he met her: she had only her work.

  "I'm sorry," Pari said, searching his face. "What have I said?"

  "If s not you," Nick said quiedy. "My own thoughts got in the way. I appreciate your being accommodating, but it won't be necessary; we'll start on this tomorrow." He took her hand. She swayed toward him and he bent to kiss her forehead, breathing in her heady scent. She was so close the warmth of her body seemed to embrace him, and desire surged through him with a force that made him dizzy. When she lifted her face to his, her lips slightly parted, Nick brought her into his arms, his mouth covering hers and opening it wider, his hunger so fierce it made his tongue a weapon.

  Gently but very firmly. Pari broke free. "We should go slowly," she said. Her eyes smiled, but Nick felt her words as small stabs of reproach.

  "I'm sorry," he muttered. Through the raging of his desire, longing filled him, so deep and bitter he felt like weeping. "I don't usually..." Floundering, he blundered on. "I really am sorry."

  "Oh, Nicholas." He saw the slight shake of her head and the tender amusement in her eyes, and he felt very young. I'm twenty-eight, he thought; Pari is forty-nine. It would have made no difference at all, and he had not even thought of it in his overwhelming desire for her, but he wondered what amused her: his youthful clumsiness or the

  inexperience of a man who had never before strayed from his marriage bed.

  It did not matter. What struck Nick at the moment was that he was, in fact, ready to betray Sybille and he felt no anguish over it. He felt nothing. That may have jolted him enough to make his floundering worse, because it said far more about his marriage than about either youth or inexperience or clumsiness.

  He took Pari's hands in his. "That was foolish of me; you deserve better. I want to make love to you. Pari. I'll wait until you tell me you want me, but you must know how much I want... how much I need..." He cleared his throat. "I suppose that sounds very young to you."

  She shook her head gently. "Why would it sound young? We all have wants and needs, and if we cannot satisfy them one day, we hold them in abeyance for... another time?"

  He smiled, grateful to her, appreciating her tact. "I hope so. I hope I'll be welcome if I come back."

  "Dear Nicholas, you will always be welcome here."

  He took a deep breath. He might still stay. They would talk and have dinner together, and probably spend the night in her bed. But Pari had said what she wanted and he would not try to change her mind. Because she was right: it was better to go slowly. I already rushed once when I shouldn't have, he thought. Rushed off with Sybille before I'd figured out whether I could try again with Valerie. Before I'd even been alone long enough to think things through. I felt so goddam sorry for myself I couldn't wait; I had to—

  He caught himself. Never before had he thought their marriage had been a mistake from the beginning. They'd had some good times; he had thought he loved her. After all, he hadn't been attracted to Pari when he first worked for her, a year earlier; he and Sybille had been close then. Or so busy they hadn't paid much attention to how close they were. Or how far apart.

  "Nicholas, you said you wanted to get home early."

  He smiled wryly. "You're right." Leaning down, he kissed her cheek. "Thank you for being here. I'll call you about the computer as soon as I have a breakdown of costs. Give us a few days." And then he left the velvet and silk room and made the two-hour drive north to San Jose, along the ocean, as afternoon faded into night and the sand dunes and orchards and fields of feathery artichoke plants disappeared into blackness. All the way home, he thought only about computers and inventory and hookups between magnetic recorders and the telephone

  system. It was easier than thinking about Sybille.

  But she was there when he walked in, talking to Ted in the brightly lit kitchen, pacing as she talked. "Ifs just that nothing changes," Nick heard her say as he closed the living-room door behind him and stood in the darkness. "The show is
an absolute success—no one dares refuse to be on it; either they don't have the guts to admit they're afraid or they think they'll be the first to make fools of the interrogators—and we get piles of mail—"

  "Not all flattering," Ted interjected.

  "It doesn't matter. Mail means viewers. They can send hate mail and we'U love them for it as long as they keep watching. We've knocked out the other channels in that half hour; it doesn't matter what they put on, we always beat them. And the cooking show is good. Nothing like 'The Hot Seat,' but it gets better each month."

  "What cooking show?"

  "Oh, something I put together on ethnic cooking, just to let everyone know how versatile I am; nothing important."

  "You get a lot of mail on that too," Nick said, coming into the kitchen. He laid his cheek briefly against Sybille's forehead.

  She gave him a perhmctory pat on his arm. Her eyebrows shot up. "Good heavens." She followed him as he went to the refrigerator, and put her nose to his jacket, sniffing audibly. "Zfw^f that nice? A litde much, but very classy; I'd guess it cost a king's ransom. Or a queen's. Computers make strange bedfellows, is that how you'd put it? If you're getting a drink, make me one, too."

  "What would you like?" Nick asked evenly.

  "Scotch and soda. Light on the soda. Have you spent the whole day in bed with her or did you do a htde business on the side?"

  Ted pushed back his chair. "I'll be in the garage."

  "Don't go," Sybille said. "If he's screwing your clients, you ought to know about it; he's your partner, after all."

  "He's my friend too, and if there's anything I need to know, he'll tell me.

  When he left, the kitchen was silent, except for the clink of ice cubes as Nick filled two glasses. "Are you worried about Ted or about your-selfl*" he asked, handing a drink to Sybille.

  She shrugged. "What difference does it make? You'll do what you want. You always do."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means we came to this damn town because you wanted to; we moved into this shack because you wanted to; we stay in this lousy

  neighborhood because you want to. You know I want to go to New York; you've known it since we got married, but you've never, never thought about moving there. You want to be here. That's all that matters."

  Nick gazed at her. "You haven't mentioned New York since you started work at the station. You said this was the right place for you; you were learning so much you'd need later."

  "In New York. 'Later" meant New York, and you knew it."

  He nodded. "Probably."

  "Well, I've learned it. There's no reason for me to stay here anymore."

  "Except that you have a husband and a son who live here and I can't leave right now Everything Ted and I are building is based on our reputation here; it wouldn't make any sense to go somewhere else and start from scratch."

  "Who said I have a husband? I have someone who's screwing his way up and down the California coast... damn you, how could you! Doesn't it mean anything to you that we're married? I've never even thought about anyone else since I met you! I see a lot of men at work and I don't want to go to bed with any of them, not one of them! But you come home smelling like a whorehouse and expect me to talk about staying here, no matter what, just because you want to. That's what you want, isn't it? Somebody who cleaves to you and doesn't ask questions."

  Nick finished his drink. The ice-filled glass chilled his palm. "But you don't want to cleave to anyone, do you?"

  She was at the refrigerator, taking out the soda, refilling her glass. "Do you want another drink?"

  "Fine."

  "Were you in bed with her all day?"

  "Would it change anything if I was?"

  "It might." She handed him his drink. "No wife likes her husband to play around. That's probably the reason we haven't been getting along. Isn't it? You've been too busy thinking about other women to think about me. That would explain everything, wouldn't it? Anyway, I have a right to know."

  Involuntarily, Nick smiled slighdy. 'We haven't claimed very many rights in this marriage. Are you sure you want to start now?"

  "Don't be clever; you know I hate it. I want to know what you were doing today."

  "Talking about a computer system for a chain of clothing stores."

  "I don't believe you."

  "I know. Sybille, if I said we'd move to New York tomorrow, would that make you happy?"

  She frowned, looking for the catch. "You know it's what I want. I can't stay here; ifs too small and far away from everything, and they won't give me what I want. You don't have to stay here, either. Whatever it is you're doing, you can do it in New York as well as here. There are a few chains of clothing stores in New York, you know. And we'd have places to go at night, things to do—we'd be completely different in New York! If we could just get out of this awful place everything would be better—we'd have a wonderful time—it would be like a honeymoon. We've never even had a honeymoon."

  "And when would we be with Chad?"

  "Oh." She made a gesture. "As much as we are now. Elena would come with us, of course; they're crazy about each other."

  Nick took a drink. "Chad and I are staying here," he said. "You're right about this house; we definitely need a bigger one, with a yard for him to play in, and a school that he can walk to when he's ready, and Omega somewhere else. But we're not leaving San Jose. At least not for a few years. I don't know what will happen later, but right now everything I've got is here and I'm not throwing it away."

  "Everything you've got? Not if I go to New York. Then you wouldn't have a wife here."

  Nick gazed at her. "That's right."

  Sybille flushed darkly. "You don't mean that. We're married. You chose me instead of—anyone else. You're not going to break us up; I won't let you. Nick, listen. We're good together; we need each other. We just haven't had enough time together; that's why I want to go to New York. Everything will be fine there; we'll be starting fresh; we can pretend we're in college and just starting out. Nick? Are you listen-ing?"

  He was looking beyond her, at the dark window. "We're not good together." His voice was flat and hard. "You don't enjoy sex; I'm not sure you ever did. And we don't need each other. You don't care what I do in my work and I don't like what you do in yours. There's nothing left, Sybille, and I can't see any reason to pretend there is."

  "It's that woman!" she cried. 'Tou spend the day in bed with her and then you come back and tell me you want a divorce! You never said anything about a divorce before!"

  "I never let myself think about it before. For God's sake, Sybille, are you happy with me?"

  "I'm happy when things are good. When we're really together. We are good together, damn it, and I do like sex! I love it! I don't know what you're talking about, I don't know what made you say that. Nick, listen to me!" She came to him and put her hands on his shoulders, her bod)' pressed to his. "You can't pretend we're not good togetJier; we have been, lots of times. You can't just throw that away"

  "That's it.>" he asked contemptuously. "A successful fuck is what I'm supposed to hang on to?"

  Her hands dropped away. "I didn't say that was all; I said—"

  "I heard what you said."

  She stamped her foot. "I keep Chad. You can get out if you want to—if you think I give a damn, you're wrong—but you're not tak-ing-"

  "Chad stays with me. Don't make any mistake about that; he goes where I go. You don't care about him, you never have, and you're not going to use him now to bargain with. I'll get out tonight if you want me to, and Chad goes with me."

  "He stays here! No judge in the world would let you take a child firom his mother!"

  Nick gazed at her without answering, and angrily she stared back. But then her gaze flickered and her eyes fell.

  "Please," she said. She looked at him again and he saw panic in her eyes. "Nick, don't leave me. I need you. I've always needed you. I like knowing you're my husband; I like being married to you. I can't stand the id
ea of starting again, just me, and everybody else in couples,

  knowing they have somebody waiting for them at night Stay with

  me, Nick, I'll try to change; just tell me what you don't like and I'll change it. I can do what I decide to do; you know that. You admire that. Don't kick me out, Nick; I've been kicked out before; I can't stand it. Don^t leave m^."

  "I'm sorry," Nick said. The hardness had gone from his voice; instead a deep, weary sadness was there, and when Sybille heard it she knew it was over.

  "Damn you." Her breath rasped. "I told you how I really felt—I practically got down on my knees to you! You don't care about me any more than your girlfriend does! Both of you, going to bed, betraying me, tearing up my life... Damn you to hell, both of you!"

  Nick started to repeat that he had not gone to bed with Pari, but then it struck him that Sybille had not meant Pari. She was not speaking about the present, but about the past. And he was silent.

  Sybille tightened her lips. "You'll pay for me to go to New York.

  You'll pay for me to live there until I find a job. When I'm settled, I'll send for Chad."

  Nick knew it was her way out: she could not admit, to herself or him, that she did not want Chad, especially in New York. He let it pass. If she needed to believe she would send for Chad, he would not contradict her. "Let me know when you're settled," he said. He took a checkbook and pen from his inside pocket. "I can give you a thousand now, and five thousand by tomorrow afternoon; we'll have to talk about how much you think you'll need to live on."

  "A lot," she said flady "I'll need a lot."

  "I'll do what I can." Nick wondered, as he said it, if he meant money or making a life with his son. Both, he told himself Starting right now. "For tonight, we'll go to Ted's," he said abruptly, and without another word he went upstairs, to wake Chad and Elena, and leave the house, and his marriage, behind.

  Chapter 8

  t the studios of the Enderby Broadcasting Network overlooking Trinity Church in lower Manhattan, they had heard of Sybille Fielding. "Smart and tough," Quentin Enderby told his executive staff when he showed them tapes of "The Hot Seat." "Knows what she wants and isn't afraid to get her hands dirty going after it. A nice change from all these pale pusillanimous peddlers of piddling pap and pablum."