outside her studio if she really wanted sun.
Ben glanced at her as he started the car and saw the faint pucker between her brows. “Do we have a problem?”
“No.” She said it softly as he pulled away from the curb. She found herself wondering if Margaret had seen them.
He amused her with stories about some of the gallery’s more colorful artists as they drove across the splendor of the Golden Gate Bridge. He fell silent then for a moment. They were both looking out at the view.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” he asked. She nodded with a smile. “May I ask you an odd sort of question?”
She looked surprised for a moment. “Why not?”
“How is it that you and your husband live here, instead of France? From what I know of the French they don’t, as a rule, like living very far from home. Except under duress.”
She laughed. What he had said was true. “There’s a lot of business to be done here. And Marc isn’t here that much anyway; he travels most of the time.”
“Lonely for you.” It was a statement, not a question.
“I’m used to it.”
He wasn’t quite sure he believed her. “What do you do when you’re alone?”
They spoke in unison with a burst of laughter: “Paint.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“What ever made you come down to Carmel?” He seemed to be riddled with questions. So far they were all easy to answer.
“Kim. She insisted that I needed to get away.”
“Was she right?” He glanced over at her as he took the turnoff that led into the military preserve on the other side of the bridge. “Did you need to get away?”
“I suppose I did. I’d forgotten how lovely Carmel is. I hadn’t been there in years. Do you go every weekend?” She wanted to turn the questions back to him. She didn’t really like talking to him about Marc.
“I go whenever I can. It’s never often enough.”
She noticed then that they had taken a narrow country road and were driving past deserted bunkers and military buildings. “Ben, what is this?” She looked around herself with curiosity. They might have stumbled onto a stage set for a movie depicting the years after a war. The barracks on either side of the road were crumbling and boarded up, and there were wild flowers and weeds climbing onto the road.
“It’s an old army post from the last war. For some reason they hang on to it, though it’s empty now. There’s a beautiful beach down here at the end. I come here sometimes, just to think.” He looked over at her with a smile, and once again she was aware of how comfortable it was just to be with him. He had all the makings of a good friend. They fell into an easy silence as he drove the rest of the way.
“It’s eerie, isn’t it? It’s so pretty and there’s no one here.” His was the only car there when they stopped just before they reached the beach. She hadn’t seen another car since he’d turned off the main road.
“There never is. And I’ve never told a soul about it. I like coming here by myself.”
“Do you do that sort of thing often? Like walk on the beach in Carmel by yourself?” she asked. He nodded, reaching over for the basket in the backseat. He was looking very closely at her.
“I never thought I’d see you again after that night on the beach.”
“Neither did I. It was strange, walking along, talking to you about art. I felt as though we’d known each other for years.”
“So did I, but I thought it was because you looked so much like the Wyeth.” She smiled and lowered her eyes. “I wasn’t quite sure what to say the next day when I found you in my den. I didn’t know whether or not to acknowledge that we’d met.”
“What made you decide not to?” She looked back into his eyes with a very small smile.
“The ring on your left hand. I thought it might be awkward for you if I did.”
It was like him, Deanna realized, perceptive and thoughtful. She saw him frown a little, and sit back in his seat.
“Would it be awkward for you if people knew we were having
Ben glanced at her as he started the car and saw the faint pucker between her brows. “Do we have a problem?”
“No.” She said it softly as he pulled away from the curb. She found herself wondering if Margaret had seen them.
He amused her with stories about some of the gallery’s more colorful artists as they drove across the splendor of the Golden Gate Bridge. He fell silent then for a moment. They were both looking out at the view.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” he asked. She nodded with a smile. “May I ask you an odd sort of question?”
She looked surprised for a moment. “Why not?”
“How is it that you and your husband live here, instead of France? From what I know of the French they don’t, as a rule, like living very far from home. Except under duress.”
She laughed. What he had said was true. “There’s a lot of business to be done here. And Marc isn’t here that much anyway; he travels most of the time.”
“Lonely for you.” It was a statement, not a question.
“I’m used to it.”
He wasn’t quite sure he believed her. “What do you do when you’re alone?”
They spoke in unison with a burst of laughter: “Paint.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“What ever made you come down to Carmel?” He seemed to be riddled with questions. So far they were all easy to answer.
“Kim. She insisted that I needed to get away.”
“Was she right?” He glanced over at her as he took the turnoff that led into the military preserve on the other side of the bridge. “Did you need to get away?”
“I suppose I did. I’d forgotten how lovely Carmel is. I hadn’t been there in years. Do you go every weekend?” She wanted to turn the questions back to him. She didn’t really like talking to him about Marc.
“I go whenever I can. It’s never often enough.”
She noticed then that they had taken a narrow country road and were driving past deserted bunkers and military buildings. “Ben, what is this?” She looked around herself with curiosity. They might have stumbled onto a stage set for a movie depicting the years after a war. The barracks on either side of the road were crumbling and boarded up, and there were wild flowers and weeds climbing onto the road.
“It’s an old army post from the last war. For some reason they hang on to it, though it’s empty now. There’s a beautiful beach down here at the end. I come here sometimes, just to think.” He looked over at her with a smile, and once again she was aware of how comfortable it was just to be with him. He had all the makings of a good friend. They fell into an easy silence as he drove the rest of the way.
“It’s eerie, isn’t it? It’s so pretty and there’s no one here.” His was the only car there when they stopped just before they reached the beach. She hadn’t seen another car since he’d turned off the main road.
“There never is. And I’ve never told a soul about it. I like coming here by myself.”
“Do you do that sort of thing often? Like walk on the beach in Carmel by yourself?” she asked. He nodded, reaching over for the basket in the backseat. He was looking very closely at her.
“I never thought I’d see you again after that night on the beach.”
“Neither did I. It was strange, walking along, talking to you about art. I felt as though we’d known each other for years.”
“So did I, but I thought it was because you looked so much like the Wyeth.” She smiled and lowered her eyes. “I wasn’t quite sure what to say the next day when I found you in my den. I didn’t know whether or not to acknowledge that we’d met.”
“What made you decide not to?” She looked back into his eyes with a very small smile.
“The ring on your left hand. I thought it might be awkward for you if I did.”
It was like him, Deanna realized, perceptive and thoughtful. She saw him frown a little, and sit back in his seat.
“Would it be awkward for you if people knew we were having
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