When she finally headed back, she found another message from Pam.This one was more pointed: “Hi, Hillary, it’s me again.Listen, we have to meet.I’ll be flying down on Wednesday to see a client.Let’s do lunch.One o’clock.The Four Seasons.If you can’t make it, call me back.Otherwise, I’ll see you then.”
The message was typically Pam, quiet and efficient, knowing what needed to be done and doing it.Beneath the quiet efficiency was insistence, but it was spawned not so much by arrogance as by a passionate conviction.That was one of the differences between Pam and her brother.Pam was an emotional being.She felt.She cared.She bled.
So did Hillary.
But not John.
That thought, more than any other, kept coming back to taunt her through the long, lonely hours of the weekend.Her emotions ricocheted between disbelief and hurt, confusion and despair.She struggled to see the future as it stretched before her, but the bleakness of it made her turn away.It didn’t seem fair.For too long she had held back, orienting her life to John’s.While she cursed him in one breath, in the next she had to curse herself.He had used her, and she had allowed it.
By the time the weekend was over, she was as angry as she was hurt, and the anger gave birth to an idea.Shewas finished with John’s abuse.Life went on, and with it her potential for growth.She didn’t care if her anger at John was the catalyst.She didn’t care if he would be furious at what she planned.She had nothing more to lose.
It was time she made something big of her life.Using John to do so would be poetic justice.
Chapter 2
Pamela St.George was the kind of woman who exuded class without knowing it.Self-confidence wasn’t something she gave much thought to, nor was beauty, but she had both.She could catch her long dark hair in a single thick braid and pair it with an Armani suit, and the next week the socialites would be copying the look.Not that she would notice or care.She had priorities in life, and setting the style wasn’t one of them.
Except when it came to jewelry.Jewelry mattered.Especially jewelry with her name on it.She was a live advertisement for Pamela St.George Originals, for as coveted as her designs already were, she could never overlook an opportunity to make them more so.From strength came power, she believed, and though Hillary wasn’t entirely sure why Pam needed all that power, she didn’t find fault.Pam had borne her share of crosses in life.She still did.
Now, watching her approach in the wake of the maître d’,Hillary felt the familiar mix of jealousy and affection for the woman who was closer to her than her own sister.She wanted to hate her—for her looks, her grace, her success—but she couldn’t.Pam was too good a person, too warm, too genuine, and she’d been too loyal a friend.
As always, she had an aura about her.With her hair caught over one ear in a silver clasp, she looked very much the artist.The bohemian effect was enhanced by a suede outfit whose ragged hemline dusted matching boots, but the closer she came, the more Hillary’s attention was drawn from her clothes to her throat.Like her hair clasp, her necklace was silver, encrusted with a mosaic of stones ranging from pale pink to purple.The semiprecious gems were tourmalines—Pamela’s trademark.
Slipping an arm around Hillary’s shoulders, Pam leaned down to hug her for a long, meaningful minute.Then, with a brief smile to the waiting maître d’, she settled into her chair, resting her menu on the china place setting.Her eyes were on Hillary.
“Are you okay?”she asked softly.
They hadn’t spoken since John’s appearance on television.Even after four full days, Hillary still felt battered.“I’ll survive.Pride has a way of keeping things in perspective.”
Pam studied her for a minute longer before saying, still in her soft voice but with the glint of steel in her eyes, “I’m appalled.You do know that, don’t you?”
“You’re kind.”
“Kindness has nothing to do with it.Common sense does.And compassion.And love.It should have been you.”She rushed on when Hillary suddenly looked mutinous.“I’m saying that first thing, because it’s what I believe, and I have to get it off my chest.If he had to marry anyone, it should have been you.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“For which you should probably thank your lucky stars, though you won’t.You’ve always been a sucker for John.God knows why.He’s arrogant, self-centered, despotic, and sly, all of which spells lousy husband material.Think about it, and you’ll know it’s true.”She touched her head.“Up here, at least.”Her hand fell to her heart.“This is another story.We’ve never talked the wordlove—”
“I don’t love him.”
“No?”
“No.”
“You’ve stuck by him for a mighty long time.”
“Habit,” Hillary said with a self-effacing smirk.
Pam gave her hand a squeeze.“You deserve better.John may be my brother, but I want far better than him for you.Maybe what he’s doing now is a blessing in disguise.Maybe it’ll open your eyes to other men.”
“I’m not looking for other men.”There had been times when she had, but none had measured up to John.Not that she’d tell that to Pam.It would mean analyzing John’s appeal beyond the physical level, and she didn’t understand that herself.There was something beyond habit, something almost irrational that drew her back to him time and again.“I don’t need a man to survive.”
“I know.Still—”
“I’ll be fine.This has been a shock.That’s all.”
“Yeah, but knowing you, you’ll be back defending John within a week.”