the Mozart disc on the player turned low. He nursed a beer, lost to the world as he pondered his personal life.
Nicole Wells. He repeated her name to himself in the silence of his head. She had become a problem. A nagging problem, as it so happened.
For two years they had been copains—best buddies in the truest sense.
In Beijing he had saved her life. Inside himself, everything had changed.
He no longer thought of her simply as his best buddy. She was a woman he cared about as a w07nan. He had realized this when he had put his arms around her on the steps of the Martyrs’ Monument in Tiananmen, after pushing her away from the approaching tanks. In fact, he was so filled with relief that she was
safe, for a moment all of his strength had seemed to ebb out of him. Momentarily undone by this surge of unprecedented emotion, he had been incapable of saying a word. Nicky had thanked him, and he had turned her face to his and looked into those cool, appraising blue eyes. Suddenly he was brimming with feelings he did not fully understand.
Ever since leaving Hong Kong he had tried hard to shake off these feelings, but without much success. Off and on, they had continued to both confuse and trouble him, but he was aware of the reasons to some extent. He and Nicky had drawn closer and closer—in fact, had grown to love each other as a brother and sister. Now his emotions were engaged on a different level, and he was not sure what to do about it.
To begin with, he did not want to get seriously involved with any woman because he did not want to care so much for someone that he would feel bound to make a commitment, perhaps get married and eventually have children. For most of his adult life he had believed that this would be unfair, in view of the dangerous life he led as a war photographer.
And certainly he was not prepared to give up that life of travel and excitement. Besides, he enjoyed his freedom, he had no desire to be pinned down by marital obligations. If he was honest, he believed himself to be a bachelor at heart.
And then there was Nicky herself. She was perfect as a friend, but hardly the most suitable candidate for a lover. She was too complicated, too complex by far. And then there were the very obvious logistical problems—she lived an ocean away, and she had one of the biggest careers in American television. Hardly the right ingredients for a harmonious love affair.
Also, for a long time Clee had been convinced that Nicole Wells lived out her life on various battlegrounds—the battlegrounds of the wars she covered, the battlegrounds of network politics, the battleground of her damaged heart.
Furthermore, he could not help thinking that she was still in love with Charles Devereaux, as futile as that was, even though she had never made a single reference to him in the entire time he had known her.
This omission had always struck him as odd, inasmuch as they were best friends.
Arch Leverson had filled him in, however, and he had a fairly good picture of what had happened. In his opinion, and Arch’s, Devereaux had behaved like a louse. But then brilliant and successful women such as Nicky were not necessarily discriminating when it came to men. Very frequently they picked the wrong ones, the bastards.
The clock on the white marble mantelpiece chimed nine and Clee sat up with a jolt, realizing that he had been thinking about Nicky ever since he returned from the office.
What the hell am I,going,g to do about he7
?
The question hung there for a while, and then all of a sudden it occurred to him that he did not have to do anything. She had absolutely no idea that he was harboring these strange new feelings for her. If he was smart and did not reveal them, she would be none the wiser. Very simply, he would go on treating her as a pal. This was the ideal solution, the only solution to his predicament. When he was with her he must behave exactly as he had in the past, and everything would be all
Nicole Wells. He repeated her name to himself in the silence of his head. She had become a problem. A nagging problem, as it so happened.
For two years they had been copains—best buddies in the truest sense.
In Beijing he had saved her life. Inside himself, everything had changed.
He no longer thought of her simply as his best buddy. She was a woman he cared about as a w07nan. He had realized this when he had put his arms around her on the steps of the Martyrs’ Monument in Tiananmen, after pushing her away from the approaching tanks. In fact, he was so filled with relief that she was
safe, for a moment all of his strength had seemed to ebb out of him. Momentarily undone by this surge of unprecedented emotion, he had been incapable of saying a word. Nicky had thanked him, and he had turned her face to his and looked into those cool, appraising blue eyes. Suddenly he was brimming with feelings he did not fully understand.
Ever since leaving Hong Kong he had tried hard to shake off these feelings, but without much success. Off and on, they had continued to both confuse and trouble him, but he was aware of the reasons to some extent. He and Nicky had drawn closer and closer—in fact, had grown to love each other as a brother and sister. Now his emotions were engaged on a different level, and he was not sure what to do about it.
To begin with, he did not want to get seriously involved with any woman because he did not want to care so much for someone that he would feel bound to make a commitment, perhaps get married and eventually have children. For most of his adult life he had believed that this would be unfair, in view of the dangerous life he led as a war photographer.
And certainly he was not prepared to give up that life of travel and excitement. Besides, he enjoyed his freedom, he had no desire to be pinned down by marital obligations. If he was honest, he believed himself to be a bachelor at heart.
And then there was Nicky herself. She was perfect as a friend, but hardly the most suitable candidate for a lover. She was too complicated, too complex by far. And then there were the very obvious logistical problems—she lived an ocean away, and she had one of the biggest careers in American television. Hardly the right ingredients for a harmonious love affair.
Also, for a long time Clee had been convinced that Nicole Wells lived out her life on various battlegrounds—the battlegrounds of the wars she covered, the battlegrounds of network politics, the battleground of her damaged heart.
Furthermore, he could not help thinking that she was still in love with Charles Devereaux, as futile as that was, even though she had never made a single reference to him in the entire time he had known her.
This omission had always struck him as odd, inasmuch as they were best friends.
Arch Leverson had filled him in, however, and he had a fairly good picture of what had happened. In his opinion, and Arch’s, Devereaux had behaved like a louse. But then brilliant and successful women such as Nicky were not necessarily discriminating when it came to men. Very frequently they picked the wrong ones, the bastards.
The clock on the white marble mantelpiece chimed nine and Clee sat up with a jolt, realizing that he had been thinking about Nicky ever since he returned from the office.
What the hell am I,going,g to do about he7
?
The question hung there for a while, and then all of a sudden it occurred to him that he did not have to do anything. She had absolutely no idea that he was harboring these strange new feelings for her. If he was smart and did not reveal them, she would be none the wiser. Very simply, he would go on treating her as a pal. This was the ideal solution, the only solution to his predicament. When he was with her he must behave exactly as he had in the past, and everything would be all
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