Patterns

Chapter 1

Edward had come to Schetchat Terminal with her, although she had wanted him to stay at the pension. After their quarrel last night, there was nothing more to discuss.

He looked at her now, hostility in his eyes and his chin thrust out stubbornly. "For God's sake, Susan, in all the years of our marriage, this is the stupidest thing you ever thought of doing!" he said.

She was silent, remembering his derogatory remarks last night.

"So, you didn't like what I did," he persisted. "Can't you just brush it aside -- put it in the waste basket?"

"The way you brush me aside? Is that what you mean, Edward?" she almost shouted.

He glanced about him. Together with other passengers, they were standing in the boarding gate area, waiting for the London plane to be called. His photo had appeared in various European newspapers often enough so that he might be recognized. She knew that was what he feared.

Her fingers tightened around her purse. The ticket that would take her away was jutting from the outer pocket like a tiny red flag announcing her freedom. "You might have consulted me. Asked if it was okay. Those designs did belong to me," she said.

"If I stopped and consulted you at every twist and turn of my career, we wouldn't be where we are today."

"You wouldn't be there." Her voice rose. "What about me? Do you think I'll float along with you no matter what you do-what you say?"

"Shhh." His gaze switched to a man about thirty -- Susan's age -- standing by a row of gray plastic seats, watching them. He was dark haired and did not look Austrian like the other men standing nearby, nor English either, although he was wearing a Harris tweed jacket.

The knowledge that they were being observed made her lower her voice. "It will do you good to have me gone-make you realize just how much help I give you in that crazy rag-trade World!"

"I'm not doubting it for a minute. That's why I want you to stay. The Trade Fair here in Vienna will be over in a week. Then, we could go somewhere-Milan, Paris-remember the fraises de bois that we ate in Paris?"

"They only come in the Spring. No one carries wild strawberries now, and anyway, I know what it would be like in Paris. You running to designers' workrooms -- me spending my time alone. Paris is the worst place in the world to be alone," she said softly.

Edward moved farther into the corner, turning his back to the crowd. A few feet away, windows looked out on the airfield, parched and brown from Vienna's long, hot August. Susan's breath caught as always when she saw his profile. Ever since that first night seven years ago when she'd fallen in love, his incredible good looks had always affected her this way. The light shining in picked up the star-like brilliance of his azure eyes, illuminated his blond hair with the cowlick in the exact spot where he might have put it had he, himself, been in charge. He controlled so many things...

"You're being damn foolish..." he began, then stopped.

The man at the end of the row of seats was still watching them, listening to every word. Edward crossed the marble floor to the window and gazed out. A tall man, he was slimmer than he'd ever been -- from too much work, too much smoking, too many phone calls, and not enough time for love.

Take me in your arms, Edward, and I'll come back. Hold me -- whisper in my ear -- tell me what a wonderful wife I am -- tell me I'm more than (what was that dreadful word he had used last night?) Tell me I'm more than "a nothing"!

"We shall be boarding flight 68 for London in a few minutes. Anyone with small children or needing assistance may board at this time," a male voice announced over the loudspeaker.

Edward strode to her side. Susan gazed up at him, suddenly fearful over her decision to leave. Would he kiss her goodbye? The skin around his mouth was taut and white and a muscle was working at the side of his jaw. He did not look at her, but at the crowd beyond. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see passengers picking up their books and carry-on bags in response to the second boarding message now blasting over the intercom. The dark-haired man had already left.

"You won't make it, you know," Edward said to her. "You'll last exactly two minutes in that huge house by yourself."

Her anger flared. Important as he might be, he had no right to predict the future. Picking up her make-up case, she turned on her heel and marched down the ramp, keeping her eyes facing front, determined not to look back or wave. She hurried through the exit door and up another ramp leading to a smiling flight attendant who was standing at the cockpit of the plane. Susan drew her ticket from the pocket of her purse and shoved it in the attendant's hand. In the moment it took to check it and give it back, tears filled Susan's eyes.

Head lowered, she hurried down the corridor of the plane until she found her seat located by the window. To her dismay, the dark-haired man who had been staring at her and Edward in the boarding gate area was sitting in the aisle seat. He stood up to let her pass. His eyes were as dark as his hair, and she wondered briefly how they could display admiration, interest, and reticence at the same time.

Brushing against his knees, she sank down in her seat, the blue upholstery on the chair ahead swimming in her vision. Suddenly, the risk she was taking overwhelmed her. She would lose her husband-lose him for sure. Edward on his own. Edward among all the fashion models and female buyers who gravitated to his good looks like hungry ducks to a scrap of bread on the water.

Ignoring the man at her side, she blotted her eyes with a tissue, then shoved her carry-on case under the seat ahead. Her hands trembled so much it was difficult inserting the metal tab into the slot on her seat belt. A fresh rush of tears came and ran down her cheeks and neck into the Hermes scarf tied loosely around her neck, washing away her make-up as a stream carries away silt. Embarrassed, she turned to the window, avoiding her seatmate's gaze. Her pride had left her no choice. How could she have done anything else but leave?

Outside, a hot breeze blew up a cloud of dust from the airfield, obliterating her view, and she shifted her gaze back to the cabin. The rumble of the plane's engines turned into a roar, the man next to her adjusted his seat to an upright position and the usual brigade of flight attendants hurried down the aisle, glancing right and left. It was a familiar scene that had been re-enacted over and over in her travels with Edward -- enacted now perhaps for the last time. Was it really finished?

The plane moved out of its position at the ramp like a heavy boxcar, then glided more gracefully onto the runway. As it roared up into the air, an awful sense of finality came over Susan. She gazed out the window, picking out the spire of St. Stephan's Cathedral, the Prater, and Ferris wheel. When she saw the roof of the auditorium where she and Edward had been only yesterday, her entire body began to tremble. "Columbus," a nickname he'd been given because of his many fashion discoveries, was minus a wife now. She still loved him, yet she had managed to make the break.

The bright light above the clouds burst into the plane with its customary abruptness and she closed her eyes. It always amazed her that ordinary people could be lifted so quickly to a spot where the sun was always shining. But, despite the warmth coming in through the window, her hands were cold. Tucking them at her sides, she lay her head back, drifting into a state of semi-sleep and remaining that way until the liquor cart tinkled down the aisle.

"Would you like a cocktail, ma'am?" a female voice asked.

Susan opened her eyes and stared at the attendant, an attractive auburn-haired girl. She didn't know what she wanted. She couldn't think. The silence grew embarrassing.

"She'll have a Bloody Mary. So will I," the man beside her said in an American accent.

Turning to the cart, the attendant popped open two cans of spicy tomato juice and while Susan and her seatmate were pulling down their dinner trays, poured it together with vodka into plastic glasses. Grabbing two napkins, she set the drinks before them. The man in the aisle seat laid two pound notes on her tray, but when Susan offered to pay her share, he waved her off.

"That's not necessary."

"Thanks," she breathed.

"If there's a lady who needs a drink more than you, I've yet to see her. I'm Michael Everett."

"Susan Thorwald." She took two gulps immediately, then set down the glass, waiting for the vodka to take effect.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

The square hand, which held his glass, was a symbol of solidity and warmth. For a moment, she wondered what it would be like to have it close around her cold one. "A little. I saw you standing there before the plane was called. How much did you hear?" There was no use pretending the scene in the airport hadn't happened.

"Enough to get the picture."
"It's not a permanent separation," she explained hastily. "Once my husband tries working without me he'll beg me to come back. I do all his bookkeeping. No one but me ever opposes him, you see. It's 'Yes, Columbus; No, Columbus' until I get so frustrated I could scream!"

"That was Columbus Thorwald the famous buyer the man who's supposed to be sort of a fashion oracle?"

She nodded. "Former salesman poor Chicago boy who worked his way up. Yes, that one."

"Why are you so angry at him?"

"He did something last night that I couldn't forgive. Just because we've been married seven years and he's number-one man on the letterhead, he thinks he can do whatever he wants-that nobody else has any rights."

He patted his lips with a paper napkin. "My, how the venom flies! Will you be staying in London long?"

"Not long, actually. We own a house in South Kensington, where we used to stay when we went to London style shows. I'm going to live there until he comes to his senses. He'll see just how independent I can be." She wondered why she was prattling on so. Was it the release of being alone? Was it the Bloody Mary? For some strange reason, she had an urge to confide in this fellow American.

They discussed the strange and different customs of the Europeans and the advantages and disadvantages of living overseas. He interjected philosophy into almost everything that was said. Had Edward been sitting beside her, they would have talked about fashion. Edward had a tremendous enthusiasm for his profession, and her eyes misted again when she thought of the days ahead without him.

"Edward's not awfully famous-how did you hear of him anyway?" she asked.

"I'm a journalist. He's gained quite a bit of print over the years not only in fashion sections, but on the front pages."

"You mean in the States. Are you vacationing in Europe?"

"No, I work in London-for the Times. I was in Vienna collecting information for a news story I'm writing."

Susan swallowed. A reporter was the last person she wanted to meet. "You're not going to write about that little scenario in the terminal?" she asked anxiously.

His laugh was frank and unself-conscious. "Only if a divorce is pending. That would be a juicy story."

"That's the last thing I would do divorce Columbus. We'll work it out and he'll respect me for standing up for my rights. That's all I want-respect."

She pulled out an in-flight magazine from the seat pocket and laid it on her dinner tray beside her drink as a signal that the conversation was over. A reporter! This wasn't the first time her candor had trapped her, but today she had spilled out more than usual because of her anxiety. Would she ever learn?

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Michael also reach for a magazine and flip through the pages until he found the crossword.

She, in turn, opened hers and tried to read, but the tears in her eyes made the words a blur. Opposite the page of print was a perfume advertisement showing a couple fondly gazing at each other across a table. The woman was wearing a diamond tiara and the man a tuxedo. Someday, Edward and I will be like this again, she thought. She glanced at Michael, who was rapidly filling in the blanks of his crossword.

Suddenly, he looked up. "What's a seven letter word for intercept, first letter 'd'?"

She paused. "Deflect?"

He studied the page as if visualizing the word in the blanks, then nodded and began copying it down.

Susan watched him inserting letters in other sections of the puzzle-the clean line of his cheek, the broad hand that held the pencil. After a few moments, she laid her head against the window and closed her eyes. The plane's engines droned on, dulling her worries about the future. When she finally looked down, she saw dark blue water.

"There's the Channel," she said.

Michael reached under the seat ahead for his briefcase and for the first time she noticed there were no rings on his fingers. "I was going to go over my notes before we got to England, but I never did," he said, opening the case and dropping in a notebook that had been lying beside him. The snaps clicked shut, reminding her of Edward's many briefcases. Being a man dedicated to success, Edward would definitely have gone over his notes.

The auburn-haired flight attendant began collecting the empty glasses. Pausing at their row, she smiled at Michael as he gave her his and Susan's.

"Did you enjoy the flight?" she asked, then paused. "Haven't you flown with us before?"

"Probably. I made this same trip last week."

"That's where I saw you, then," she said. She dropped the glasses in the plastic bag she was carrying and with a smile, continued up the aisle.

All it takes is a good-looking man, Susan thought, and we women fall apart. But, it wasn't going to happen to her, not anymore. Not a second time with Edward and certainly not with a stranger.

Copyright © 1986 by Jane Verby