Not Even for Love(53)

“Middle-class morality.”

“Precisely,” he said crisply. “With archaic and idealistic ideas about love and marriage.”

He looked down at the ring box and turned it over in his hand. His brows lowered in deep concentration. He was remembering something. “Jordan, this decision of yours wouldn’t have anything to do with the American journalist, would it?”

“Helmut, how absurd,” she said brightly, but ducked her head and turned away so he wouldn’t see the pain that flashed in her dull eyes. “Would you like a drink?”

He ignored the offer. “Jordan, look at me.” Slowly she complied. He saw the heartsickness that was so clearly etched on her taut features. She held her body rigid and straight, as though if she allowed it to relax it would fly into a million pieces and disintegrate. He let his breath out slowly. “Ahhhh, so that’s it.”

“No, Helmut. He had nothing to do with this.” His shrewd skeptical look told her he didn’t believe her. “I swear to you that I haven’t seen him since we were rescued from the mountain.”

“That has very little bearing on your feelings, my dear. Now that I think of it, at that last interview, which Reeves insisted take place that same afternoon, he was in a state of extreme agitation. What happened in that shed where you sought refuge that night?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying, Jordan.”

Yes, she was lying. Something had happened that night. Her life had begun and ended in the space of those hours she had spent with Reeves. For the past two weeks she had moved through her routine like a programmed automaton, though answering the myriad questions of her customers as patiently and courteously as she could.

Through the maze in her mind, she had tried to map out a plan for her future, since Mr. Bauerman’s daughter would soon be arriving to replace her, but she was incapable of thinking beyond one day. Surviving the present required all her effort and concentration.

Now she slumped to the sofa and stared vacantly at her hands. It wasn’t until the cushions sank under his weight that she realized Helmut had sat down beside her. He covered her cold hands with both of his. “You’re in love with him,” he said clairvoyantly.

She nodded miserably. Tears stood in her eyes when she looked up at him. “Helmut, I swear that I had already made up my mind about us before I ever saw Reeves Grant.”

“I believe you, but that’s hardly the point, is it? Does he know how you feel?”

“No.”

“You are a most infuriating creature, Jordan. Why didn’t you tell the man? Do you expect him to play guessing games with you?”

“No, Helmut. It wouldn’t matter if he knew or not. He… he doesn’t … feel the same for me. We’re at cross purposes.”

“I find that hard to believe. The man is a fool to leave you. I’ll have him recalled immediately.”

“No!” she exclaimed, and clutched his arms. “Promise me you won’t try to contact him in any way. In a day or so I’ll be going home. I’ll feel better then.”

He looked at her doubtfully. “I only received one letter from him. The magazine story is scheduled for publication early next year. He said he would let me know when.”

She hated herself for asking, but couldn’t help it. “Where was the letter postmarked?”

“Paris.”

She sighed. “Yes, that’s where he said he was going.”

“Jordan—”

“I’m all right, Helmut. Really I am.” She smiled with more bravery than she felt.

After a while she escorted him down the stairs and unlocked the door. He turned and embraced her warmly, kissing her on both cheeks in a typical European gesture. “My dear Jordan. I’ve enjoyed our time together. It was in this room that I first met you. I’ll always feel a pang of nostalgia whenever I walk by this way. Are you sure you won’t marry me?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” she said patiently. “You’ve expanded my world, Helmut. My outlook. Knowing you has been an education.”

“I’m a prize jackass,” he said.

It was so out of character for him to put himself down that Jordan laughed. “Why?”

He hugged her tightly. “I should have bundled you off to bed when I had the chance instead of honoring your objections to the impropriety. I’ll never forgive myself.”

“It was my constant refusals that kept you intrigued,” she said lightly. “Sooner or later you would have given up and gone away.”

“Don’t be too sure of that,” he whispered as his blue eyes studied the lovely face turned up to his. He cleared his throat. “When will you leave?”