Nicholas’s palette of soft colors on walls and tables, and soft light from a crystal chandelier above, flattered Annabel. She was a beautiful woman in any setting, but, as with all gems—velvet providing a better background than concrete—some settings rendered her invaluable.
She was born with bright red hair, which had burnished over the years into aged copper. She wore it full, creating a glowing frame for her face, which was creamy and unlined. Her eyes were, of course, green, as if ordained, and large, and her nose, ears, and mouth had been created with a stunning sense of proportion.
They’d chosen house specials: salmon with a bouquet of enoki mushrooms for her, lobster in beurre blanc for him, after sharing a cold foie gras with a garnish of beluga caviar. A Muscadet accompanied the meal, inexpensive and unambitious. Mac Smith had had enough of complexity and ambition for one day.
Now, with coffee in front of them, they sat back in their heavy armchairs and looked at each other.
“I am disappointed, you know,” she said.
“Obviously. You’ve played ‘the show must go on’ all evening, but the actress keeps showing through the character.”
“Again, Mac, I ask you why?”
“And, again, Annie, I tell you I’m not sure why.” He smiled and held up his hand against what she was about to say. “Maybe we should make a pro-and-con list, like when you’re deciding whether to buy a house. Let’s see.…”
“We? You’ve made this decision yourself.”
“I can be dissuaded. Go along with me. I shouldn’t do it because it will disrupt the quiet lives we’ve settled into. I shouldn’t do it because it’s bound to end up a nasty, public affair that will smear everyone involved. I shouldn’t do it because …” He smiled again, leaned forward, and extended his hand to her. Her smile was smaller, but she placed her hand in his. He held its silken softness and felt its strength. “I shouldn’t do it because the beautiful woman with whom I am very much in love promises to scratch my eyes out if I do.” He made a point of looking at her beautifully lacquered nails.
“Worse, Mac,” she said. “You do this and I will act like a cornered honey badger.”
“A direct attack on the genitals?”
She didn’t answer.
“That’s a powerful entry in the negative column.”
“I should hope so.” She withdrew her hand, picked up her coffee, and sat back, observing him over her cup. He looked tired. The weight of the decision he was about to make pulled down on the flesh of his cheeks and the corners of his eyes. Although he’d shaved before going to Leslie Ewald’s house, a shadow had reappeared. “If I could hold a mirror up to you at this moment, Mac Smith,” she said, “you’d see why you shouldn’t get involved in this.”
He looked at her in turn. There was conviction behind her objections. Nothing frivolous about them. He wished there were a way to bring about a grand compromise, to do the right thing as well as to indulge his instinctive needs at the moment while keeping her happy. At the same time, this urge to compromise was edged with a certain anger at her: He told himself that, ultimately, he would make his choice based on what was good for him, even if it conflicted with what she wanted.
Easier said than done. He did love her.
“Cognac?” he asked. That suggestion wouldn’t prompt an argument.
“No. Don’t do it, Mac.”
“Let’s go.”
“Let’s talk.”
“Not here. Come on, a nightcap at my place. Rufus needs a walk.”
“Know what I think, Mac?”
“What?” He motioned for a waiter to bring the check.
“I think you’re more concerned with what Rufus thinks than what I think.”
“He does have a certain wisdom,” said Smith, standing and coming around the table to help with her chair. “Most of all, he never argues with me.”
They sat in Smith’s den. He sipped a brandy, she an Irish Cream. They said little. Rufus, the Dane, obscured most of a shag rug on which he’d sprawled.
“Okay, I won’t,” Smith said into his snifter. He’d removed his jacket, tie, and shoes, and sat in his reclining chair. Annabel had staked out a corner of the couch where she’d tucked her stockinged feet beneath her.
“I’m sorry, Mac. I’m acting like an irrational woman.”
Smith smiled as he said, “And damned attractive in the process.”
“It’s just that …”
“I think you’re right. I don’t need the aggravation.”
“Maybe you do. Maybe we both do.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Mac, it’s just that we’re falling into a pretty staid and proscribed life.”
“ ‘Boring’ is my translation.”
“Not for me, but I sense a certain restlessness in you, especially lately. Don’t misunderstand. I love being in love with a college professor. It has a certain snobbish ring to it.” She giggled. “And maybe even good for business. But I was thinking as we drove here that maybe getting back into the thick of things is exactly what you need. To make you realize what a nice life a college professor leads, that is.”
He narrowed his eyes as he tried to figure out what she was up to. Did she mean what she’d just said? Or was it the old reverse psychology?
He decided to take her at face value. “What about your threat to turn into Annie Honey Badger?”
“Just the animalistic side of Annie. I take it back. No need to buy a metal cup in the morning.”
“Whew!” He wiped imagined sweat from his brow.
“Take me home,” she said pleasantly, standing and slipping into her shoes. “It was a great dinner.” She pressed closer to him, whispered in his ear, “I love you, Mackensie Smith.” She kissed him on the mouth, pleasantly, then passionately.
“Sure you don’t want to stay awhile?”
“Can’t. You have to think. I want your mind focused on me at certain times. Besides, I have a meeting at eight with a dealer from Rio. Tomorrow night. Stay at my place.”
“One of these days, we should make it one place,” he said.
“One of these days. Maybe.”
In her condo in the Watergate’s apartment complex, Annabel poured herself a glass of orange juice, lit her one cigarette of the day, and went to her small terrace, where she hunched over the railing and looked out across the Potomac. No sense denying it, she told herself: She was still angry at what would obviously be Mac’s decision to become involved with the Andrea Feldman murder.
But she knew it was more than anger she felt; it was something else, and beyond her comprehension at the moment. The fact that it was without definition made it all the more sinister. Yes, that was it. She wrapped her arms about herself as a distinct, sudden chill caused her to shiver. She was afraid of losing Mackensie Smith, not to another woman, but to something else.
In that case, the loss would be final.
She quickly went to bed and invited sleep to blot that dark thought from her consciousness.