She did not speak until after he had driven through the grove of oak trees to the road. “Mr. Sloan is certainly a remarkable looking man, isn’t he?” It was more of a statement than a question and she continued without waiting for an answer, “He’s so huge, but so soft-spoken. It’s a little like being confronted by a grizzly bear that purrs like a kitten.”
He laughed. “Most people have somewhat the same reaction, only you describe him more graphically.”
“I didn’t mean it to be disparaging. He’s really very...charming. Have you been friends for long?”
“I’m not sure you could say we’re ‘friends,’ in the true sense of the word. It would probably be more accurate to say we’re friendly. I first met him about six years ago when he was getting ready to open the restaurant. One of my other clients referred him to me for his insurance coverage.”
“What did he do before opening ‘The Sanctuary’? Was he a professional athlete?”
“No. But it’s only natural to think so with his build. As far as I know though, he’s never played anything more strenuous than an occasional game of golf.”
As they drove through the silent, deserted, tree-shadowed streets, past the darkened homes and shops of the village, he recounted how Jim had told him of enlisting in the Army the day after Pearl Harbor. He had learned to cook, and had briefly worked at it, before entering the service. Because of his size, he had initially encountered considerable resistance and skepticism from his superior officers when he expressed a desire to make use of his ability. But, when he voluntarily spent almost all of his off-duty time in the company kitchen, he finally managed to convince them it was what he was best suited for-especially when the word got around that he was already the best cook in the outfit, and the officers from other companys began finding pretexts for eating most of their meals there, too. It had not taken long for his reputation to reach the upper echelons and he was transferred to the regimental officer’s mess.
From there, he had been sent to OCS and later, in Europe, he had rapidly risen to the rank of Colonel and had assumed full responsibility for the supply and operation of the commissaries established in the rest areas set up behind the advancing Allied Armies. When the war ended, he had remained in the service, but had finally resigned his commission in the Spring of 1950. He had remained in Europe, though, for another four years, studying and working with the chefs of the best restaurants in France, Italy, England, Austria, and even in reviving Germany. Then, he had spent two more years in the mideast, Japan, Hong Kong, and what was then, Indo-China, before returning to the states in late 1956.
Even then, he had worked another four years as a chef before opening his first restaurant in New York City. It had quickly become very fashionable and began to attract the café society crowd and the gaudier elements of show business. With them came the sycophants who were more fascinated by who they saw there than in what they ate. After only two years, he had sold the restaurant when he realized that the time and effort and, above all, the skill that went into the preparation of the items on his menu was being wasted on an increasingly disinterested clientele.
Moving to San Francisco, he had opened another restaurant and managed to attract a steady, appreciative patronage while avoiding the type of notoriety that had infected his New York venture. Unfortunately, the restaurant was located on the edge of the Haight-Asbury district and when the influx of hippies began in earnest in the mid 1960s, he had seen the handwriting on the wall and had sold out before he was forced out.
After that, he had decided to look for a location in a well-established, affluent, suburban community, near a major city, but not within the range of city transportation. He had finally settled on Glen Park when he was sure that the surrounding area could provide the quantity and quality of customers who could appreciate and support the type of restaurant he wanted to operate.
They had long since arrived in front of her apartment building and had remained seated in the car while he continued Jim’s history. He was surprised-and slightly embarrassed-by his own garrulousness, but once started had been unable to find a logical place to stop. Finally though, he felt sure that she must be thoroughly bored with the story-and with him.
“Actually, of course, Jim is a bit of a snob, but a very pleasant and practical one,” he concluded.
She had unfastened her seat belt and sat facing him with her legs drawn up and her left arm stretched along the top of the seat. Her face was in shadow and her voice sounded almost disembodied. “And a very fascinating one, too. At least, you make him seem so.” There was a faint note of irony in her tone as she added, “If you’re not really a friend of his, you’re obviously an admirer.”
She seemed to possess an uncanny ability to perceive and interpret his innermost thoughts. “I admire his dedication,” he admitted. “He’s a man who knew what he wanted and got it.”
The subtle scent of her was carried to him on the breeze coming through the open window behind her. “But, was that all he ever wanted?” she asked.
“I don’t know. What do you mean by ‘all’?”
“Didn’t he ever take time out from his.. .dedication to get married?”
He had guessed it was what she meant by her question. For most women, the meaning of marriage and the word ‘all’ was virtually synonymous-as he felt sure it would be with her. “No. He’s not married now, and never has been that I know of.”
“Then, I presume, he doesn’t have anyone to share his success with.”
He had never thought of Jim as a lonely man, or even as a man alone. In fact, except as a client and an occasional golfing partner, he never thought much about him at all, one way or the other. Now, her insight made him feel slightly guilty about it, and bitter about his own situation. It was on the tip of his tongue to retort that being married did not necessarily insure having someone to share things with, good or bad. But, it would have been too self-serving-and self-pitying.
“Maybe he never felt the need-or maybe he just didn’t care to share his life with anyoneelse. There is something to be said for self-gratification, after all.”
She shook her head, her hair shimmering in the dim light filtering into the car from the apartment building entrance. “Very little,” she said cryptically. Her tone implied that she had good reason for her answer, not because she did not accept the premise for Jim, but because she could not accept it for herself. But, she did not elaborate and in a lighter, faintly chiding tone, added, “You also seem to be a man who would know what he wants, and not just for yourself.”
He felt mildly abashed by her estimate of him. “I’m afraid I’m neither as certain of what I want, or as unselfish, as you appear to think.”
“Didn’t you want to go into the insurance business?”
“I hadn’t planned on it. It was just something I decided to do-when my father died. I wasn’t doing anything else at the time-anything constructive, that is-and it made my mother happy.”
“Have you been sorry that you did?”
“No. But I’ve often wondered what I would have done if my father hadn’t died.”
“Perhaps you would have gone into business with him?”
“I doubt it. We didn’t have that kind of relationship.” Once again, he was saying and revealing things to her as he had never been able or wanted to with anyone else.
“But, in taking his place, weren’t you just trying to carry on for him?”
The suggestion stunned him. He had never stopped to analyze his motives in making his decision. He had always ignored his father’s oblique hints about joining the firm while he was still alive and, afterwards, it had simply seemed an easy solution to the problem of finding something useful to do with his life. The idea that in doing so he was somehow trying to preserve his memory-or his own memory of him-had never occurred to him. And yet, maybe she was not too far from the truth. Many of his clients still spoke fondly of his father, and he enjoyed listening to them. He knew he had learned things about him that he never would have known or appreciated otherwise.
“I’ve never thought of it in that way,” he confessed, “but perhaps you’re right.”
“And you’ve obviously been successful.”
“Yes, but maybe that’s the trouble. Like almost everything else in my life, it was too easy. When you don’t have to really strive to achieve something, it quickly loses its appeal after you’ve got it.”
“I can’t believe that’s happened to you-not after seeing the interest you’ve shown in what happened tonight.”
“That was a little out of the ordinary.”
“Death is very ordinary, no matter how it happens.”
The fatalistic tone of her voice seemed almost shocking. “That’s not an ordinary observation, for someone as young as you.”
“I’m old enough to accept the truth of it, though.”
It was a relief to have the conversation shift from him to her. “You sound as if you’ve had to learn to accept it the hard way-as if you’ve lost someone very close. Who was it-one of your parents?” “No.” She hesitated, then added, “A boy.”
He remembered how she had first looked at him. “Was he the one I reminded you of?”
“Yes.”
“How did he die?”
“Uselessly-in Vietnam.” Her words were bitter, but they had been tempered by time.
“How long ago did it happen?”
“Almost five years. Long enough that I had almost forgotten how much it hurt.”
“Were you in love with him?”
“I thought I was, at the time.”
“Do I really look so much like him?”
“It’s not the way you look to me, but the way you look at me.”
Her frankness was disconcerting. “I’m sorry. I hope I haven’t made you too uncomfortable. But, you are an exceptionally beautiful young woman.”
“Thank you.” She acknowledged the compliment as though she had grown used to hearing it, but still appreciated it. “But, don’t feel sorry. You’ve brought back some very pleasant memories.”
“And some very sad ones, too, I’m afraid.”
“Yes. But they frequently do go hand-in-hand don’t they?” Her smile gleamed whitely in the shadows. “Besides, I brought back some unhappy memories for you, too.”
“On the contrary. They seem considerably happier than before I met you. You seem to have a remarkable gift for perceiving the true nature of things.”
“Sometimes it’s easier to see things as they really are from a distance.”
“Like the forest and the trees, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe that’s the answer to why Jim has never married. By now, he’s far enough away from it to see what it’s really like.”
There was a brief pause and her voice was barely audible over the rustle of the trees.
“What is it really like?”
It was apparent that she had guessed or suspected what it was like for him and her question was an invitation to unburden all his disappointment and frustrations. She was a willing listener and it was an almost overwhelming temptation to take advantage of her sympathy and understanding-along with whatever else of herself she might be prepared to offer. But, it would be the worst kind of selfishness and hypocrisy if he did.
“It’s not good. But that’s as much my fault as it is my wife’s and it doesn’t mean that it couldn’t be anything else.”
“Oh, I’m sure it could-with the right person.”
“The trouble is in knowing when you’ve found the right person.”
“Oh, I’d know.”
“Yes, I think you would-but, would he?”
“If he didn’t he wouldn’t be the right one, would he?”
The incontestability of her logic forced him to grin. “No. I guess he wouldn’t be. And if my wife had had your prescience, maybe she would have realized that about me, and savedus both from making a tragic mistake.”
“Perhaps that should be the other way around.”
It took a few seconds to fathom what she meant. “You’re right, of course. But, I wouldn’t want to give you the wrong impression. I’m no more the proverbial misunderstood husband, than you are the proverbial farmer’s daughter.”
She laughed softly. Her slightly parted lips seemed like an unspoken promise of their next meeting. “It’s barely possible that it’s truer in both cases than either of us cares to admit-even to ourselves.”
“Nothing could be further from the truth in your case,” he told her, returning her smile. “And if there is any truth to it in mine, it’s a whole new story and much too dull and uninteresting to keep you awake any longer.”
“I’m sure it isn’t but it is getting late.” She leaned toward him, her face emerging from the shadows like the moon from behind a dark cloud. “You’ve really been very kind. It was a terrible way to meet, but I’m very glad we did.”
He wanted to keep her with him. There were so many other things he suddenly wanted to say to her-to tell her. His throat felt constricted with the words rushing to his mouth. What came out only sounded inane. “It was infinitely better than not meeting at all.”
She made no reply, but put her hand on top of his where it rested on the steering wheel. He felt the gentle pressure of her fingers before she removed it again. She picked up her purse from the seat between them and turned away to open the car door. He started to open the door on his side, but she looked back at him saying, “No. Please. Don’t bother. I can let myself out.”
She opened the door and the light from the apartment entrance illuminated her legs as she started to get out. His heart was hammering in his chest as he reached out his hand.
“Elise.”
She turned to look at him again, putting her hand in his. He felt certain that he need only make a gentle tug and she would come into his arms without a struggle. Above the sibilant, whispering night sounds, he could hear her quickened breathing and, in the dim light, saw the swift rise and fall of her breasts beneath the sweater. But, he sensed that she was hoping he would not ask it of her-at least, not at that time, or in that place.
Releasing her hand, he said, “I’ll call you tomorrow. Good-night, Elise.”
Her voice was tremulous. “Yes. Please do. Good-night.Mark.”
She got out of the car, closing the door behind her. Crossing the sidewalk she walked up the short flight of steps to the building entrance, and opened the door. As she stepped inside, she turned and waved. He waited until she had disappeared from sight before he started the car and drove away.