You've every right to be angry, but I just can't do this. Not yet."
"You don't want me?" His voice was quiet and oddly flat.
"You know I do." She groped for his hand and tried to soothe his rigid
fingers in hers. "I guess I'm a little frightened, and a little
unsure." Ashamed, she brought his hand to her lips. "I don't want to
lose you, Drew. Please, give me a little more time."
Her sigh shuddered out when she felt his hand relax in hers. "You
couldn't lose me, Emma. Like all the time you need. I can wait." He
brought her close, stroking with one hand. The other curled into a
tight fist in the dark.
IT FELT ODD spending the summer in London again. During her childhood
at least a few weeks of Emma's vacation had been spent there each year.
But it was different now. She was no longer a child. She was no longer
staying in her father's home. And she was in love.
She knew Drew was hurt that she had refused to move in with him. It
wasn't morals-or perhaps only a small part of it was morals. She wanted
the romance to go on a little longer-those lush bouquets he sent to her,
the funny notes that arrived in the mail or were slipped under the door.
She wanted time to enjoy it-the thrill of failing in love. The terror
of being in love. The glassy-eyed, light-headed exhilaration that every
woman has the right to experience at least once.
And most of all, she wanted time to be sure she had at last stepped out
from her father's shadow.
She didn't love Brian any less. Emma doubted she could. But she'd
discovered that she wanted more than her photographs to stand on their
own. Then there was Bev.
For most of her life Emma had been cheated out of a mother. In the
weeks as summer drifted into fall, she made up for a longing of a
lifetime by moving into one of Bev's guest rooms.
If Drew was impatient with her, she had to put him off. She needed this
time with Bev, not to feel like a child again, but to reforge a bond.
How could her new relationship work if she left older ones unresolved?
She had her work. The city where her father had spent his childhood
caught her imagination. Emma could spend hours scouring the streets and
parks, finding subjects. An old woman who came day after day to feed
pigeons in Green Park. The ultratrendy set who walked
Labradors or pushed prams along King's Road. The tough-faced punks who
haunted the clubs.
So she stayed on, a month, then two months longer. She celebrated with
Drew when Birdcage Walk's album settled into Billboard's number twelve
slot. She watched in amusement as Lady Annabelle ruthlessly pursued a
baffled P.M. She cut asters and mums from Bev's garden. And at last,
she took a step forward and submitted prints and a book proposal to a
publisher.
"I'm meeting Drew at seven," Emma called out as she tugged on a short
suede jacket. "We're going to dinner and a film."
"Have fun." Bev gathered up an armful of samples. "Where are you off to
now?"
"Stevie's."
"I thought he was under the weather."