She should have broached the subject, very casually, of course. Will you be taking a long plane trip? Do you speak any foreign languages? If you get to Paris, bring me back some Vervaine tea. I suppose the shots must be painful. Are you taking your wife with you? Am I losing my mind?

Ken had come into her office and was staring at her. “You’re talking to yourself. Are you okay?”

No! Jennifer wanted to shout. I need a doctor. I need a cold shower. I need Adam Warner.

She said, “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

“Why don’t you get to bed early tonight?”

She wondered whether Adam would be going to bed early.

Father Ryan called. “I went to see Connie Garrett. She told me you’ve dropped by a few times.”

“Yes.” The visits were to assuage her feeling of guilt because she was unable to be of any help. It was frustrating.

Jennifer plunged herself into work, and still the weeks seemed to drag by. She was in court nearly every day and worked on briefs almost every night.

“Slow down. You’re going to kill yourself,” Ken advised her.

But Jennifer needed to exhaust herself physically and mentally. She did not want to have time to think. I’m a fool, she thought. An unadulterated fool.

It was four weeks before Adam called.

“I just got back,” he said. The sound of his voice thrilled her. “Can we meet for lunch somewhere?”

“Yes. I’d enjoy that, Adam.” She thought she had carried that off well. A simple Yes, I’d enjoy that, Adam.

“The Oak Room in the Plaza?”

“Fine.”

It was the most businesslike, unromantic dining room in the world, filled with affluent middle-aged wheelers and dealers, stockbrokers and bankers. It had long been one of the few remaining bastions of privacy for men, and its doors had only recently been opened to women.

Jennifer arrived early and was seated. A few minutes later, Adam appeared. Jennifer watched the tall, lean figure moving toward her and her mouth suddenly went dry. He looked tanned, and Jennifer wondered if her fantasies about Adam on some girl-ridden beach had been true. He smiled at her and took her hand, and Jennifer knew in that moment that it did not matter what logic she used about Adam Warner or married men. She had no control over herself. It was as though someone else were guiding her, telling her what she should do, telling her what she must do. She could not explain what was happening to her, for she had never experienced anything like it. Call it chemistry, she thought. Call it karma, call it heaven. All Jennifer knew was that she wanted to be in Adam Warner’s arms more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. Looking at him, she visualized his making love to her, holding her, his hard body on top of her, inside her, and she felt her face becoming red.

Adam said apologetically, “Sorry about the short notice. A client canceled a luncheon date.”

Jennifer silently blessed the client.

“I brought you something,” Adam said. It was a lovely green and gold silk scarf. “It’s from Milan.”

So that’s where he had been. Italian girls. “It’s beautiful, Adam. Thank you.”

“Have you ever been to Milan?”

“No. I’ve seen pictures of the cathedral there. It’s lovely.”

“I’m not much of a sightseer. My theory is that if you’ve seen one church, you’ve seen them all.”

Later, when Jennifer thought about that luncheon, she tried to remember what they had talked about, what they had eaten, who had stopped by the table to say hello to Adam, but all she could remember was the nearness of Adam, his touch, his looks. It was as though he had her in some kind of spell and she was mesmerized, helpless to break it.

At one point Jennifer thought, I know what to do. I’ll make love with him. Once. It can’t be as wonderful as my fantasies. Then I’ll be able to get over him.

When their hands touched accidentally, it was like an electric charge between them. They sat there talking of everything and nothing, and their words had no meaning. They sat at the table, locked in an invisible embrace, caressing each other, making fierce love, naked and wanton. Neither of them had any idea what they were eating or what they were saying. There was a different, more demanding hunger in them and it kept mounting and mounting, until neither of them could stand it any longer.

In the middle of their luncheon, Adam put his hand over Jennifer’s and said huskily, “Jennifer—”

She whispered, “Yes. Let’s get out of here.”

Jennifer waited in the busy, crowded lobby while Adam registered at the desk. They were given a room in the old section of the Plaza Hotel, overlooking 58th Street. They used the back bank of elevators, and it seemed to Jennifer that it took forever to reach their floor.

If Jennifer was unable to remember anything about the luncheon, she remembered everything about their room. Years later, she could recall the view, the color of the drapes and carpets, and each picture and piece of furniture. She could remember the sounds of the city, far below, that drifted into the room. The images of that afternoon were to stay with her the rest of her life. It was a magic, multicolored explosion in slow motion. It was having Adam undress her, it was Adam’s strong, lean body in bed, his roughness and his gentleness. It was laughter and passion. Their hunger had built to a greed that had to be satisfied. The moment Adam began to make love to her, the words that flashed into Jennifer’s mind were, I’m lost.

They made love again and again, and each time was an ecstasy that was almost unbearable.

Hours later, as they lay there quietly, Adam said, “I feel as though I’m alive for the first time in my life.”

Jennifer gently stroked his chest and laughed aloud.

Adam looked at her quizzically. “What’s so funny?”

“Do you know what I told myself? That if I went to bed with you once, I could get you out of my system.”

He twisted around and looked down at her. “And—?”

“I was wrong. I feel as though you’re a part of me. At least”—she hesitated—“part of you is a part of me.”

He knew what she was thinking.

“We’ll work something out,” Adam said. “Mary Beth is leaving Monday for Europe with her aunt for a month.”

14

Jennifer and Adam Warner were together almost every night.

He spent the first night at her uncomfortable little apartment and in the morning he declared, “We’re taking the day off to find you a decent place to live.”

They went apartment hunting together, and late that afternoon Jennifer signed a lease in a new high-rise building off Sutton Place, called The Belmont Towers. The sign in front of the building had read Sold Out.

“Why are we going in?” Jennifer asked.

“You’ll see.”

The apartment they looked at was a lovely five-room duplex, beautifully furnished. It was the most luxurious apartment Jennifer had ever seen. There was a master bedroom and bath upstairs, and downstairs a guest bedroom with its own bath and a living room that had a spectacular view of the East River and the city. There was a large terrace, a kitchen and a dining room.

“How do you like it?” Adam asked.

“Like it? I love it,” Jennifer exclaimed, “but there are two problems, darling. First of all, I couldn’t possibly afford it. And secondly, even if I could, it belongs to someone else.”

“It belongs to our law firm. We leased it for visiting VIP’s. I’ll have them find another place.”

“What about the rent?”

“I’ll take care of that. I—”

“No.”