Chapter 9
The following weeks proved it. There was so much more than just sex with Bart. He was so kind and considerate.
There were times when he became a little angry at her insistence in keeping her job.
"I don't understand you, Joy. I want to do things for you and you won't let me. Why?"
"I like things the way they are, Bart. I like working, and it gives me a feeling of independence. Just nothing would bore me. I had enough of that when I first came to New York." Joy was thinking of the weeks with Vicky Neale. They weren't easy to forget. Even now, she would feel an urge to see Vicky again.
This evening, they were spending at his apartment, a lavish penthouse.
Bart shrugged. "Okay, but I still can't see why you don't use the account I gave you at Mandell's. You haven't used it more than a couple of times."
"I don't buy clothes just for the sake of spending money, Bart. I have enough dresses. You've seen to that. You're always bringing me presents."
He leaned over and kissed her. That's what I like about you, always saying and doing the unexpected."
Joy eased from his arms. Rising from the divan, she let her dress ease off her shoulders. There was one thing she had found that Bart enjoyed, watching her undress.
The truth was, she discovered, he liked the preliminaries of love-making as much as the love itself.
Now, as she slowly undressed, his eyes grew animated, hungering, following her every movement.
Down to her bra and panties, she moved close and caught up his hands, urging them to her hips.
A soft laugh escaped her throat as he eased them down over her thighs and then kissed her stomach. The kisses moved, pausing and then moving on. He undid her bra and buried his face in the soft flesh of her breasts.
Joy felt her own desire rise, engulf her. This was the part she enjoyed the most, when his warm lips blazed trails across her body. There was a tactile wonder in the touch of his hands, the caress of his mouth. Then he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. Joy took over. In the weeks of being together, she had learned just how to incite him, make him want her. Pleasing him was almost an obsession. The storm rose, found it's climax and died.
Through half-closed eyelids, Joy watched him. Tonight, he would want her again. She knew it was one of the reasons they had come home early from dinner. It was funny how simple it was to read his mind, know almost his every desire.
Joy thought about what he had said earlier, about her never wanting too much. At first, she had thought she'd take everything she could get, but after one spending spree at Mandell's she had only gone back once to buy a negligee. It just didn't seem right to take for the sake of taking. No. Bart was too damned good to her as it was.
He stirred next to her. His mouth found hers in a long lingering kiss. The second session of love was slower, more satisfying. Their sweat-oiled bodies were glued together before the final rapture came.
They lit cigarettes and relaxed. This was the good part, the contentment of belonging.
"How about a drink?" he asked. "Maybe some brandy. I just got a new lot of imported cherry, twenty-year-old stuff. Haven't tried it myself yet."
Joy nodded, half asleep.
Bart got up to fix some drinks.
Waiting for him to return, Joy flicked another other cigarette from the pack of the small table next to the bed and tried the table lighter. It refused to work. Leaning over, she pulled open the drawer in search of a match. There was a colored photo of a stunning girl in the drawer. A platinum blonde, the girl had haunting eyes that seemed to challenge.
That's Janine," Bart said.
Joy looked up. Intent on the picture, she hadn't heard him return. She gave him a questioning look. "My predecessor?" she asked.
He grinned. "Hardly. Janine is my daughter."
"Oh." Joy bit her tongue. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry. I was looking for a match." She paused. "You've never told me about her."
"I know. I kind of hate to admit I have a daughter, over twenty. Makes me feel old," he said.
"She's lovely," Joy murmured.
He frowned. "Don't let the picture fool you. Janine is a non-conformist. Far as I know, she's in Paris now, studying painting."
Joy's eyebrows lifted. "You mean you don't know for sure?"
Bart frowned. "Janine and I were never close. When her mother died, she took off. That was two years ago. She disapproves of my way of life. And she never writes me or asks for money." He closed the drawer.
Joy got the idea he wanted the discussion closed, and she didn't press the point. After all, it wasn't any of her business.
Bart was strangely silent the rest of the evening. Joy wondered if it was because of Janine. It wasn't.
"I have some business in Europe, Joy. I'd like to make it a vacation as well. Will you come along?"
"Aren't you forgetting I'm a working girl?"
The job will still be here if you want it when we get back. That or another one. Wouldn't you like to see London and Paris?"
"Oh, Bart, I'd love to. Do you really mean it?"
"I mean it. Tell Trantor you're quitting tomorrow. Then do some shopping at Mandell's. When we get to Paris I'll show you what clothes really can do."
"Is it always like this in London?" Joy asked, peering out the cab window at the fog shrouded street lights. "It's been raining or foggy ever since we got here."
Bart laughed. "The weather report is clear for tomorrow. I've rented a car. Well take a drive in the country. I want you to see the moors."
"How much longer will we be in England?" Joy wanted to know.
"Another two days. I'll have my business finished by then."
Joy gave him an inquisitive look. "You never say much about your cases, Bart," she said.
"It's mostly dull legal routine, Joy. Fact is, "I've been cutting down lately. I don't need the money, so why work. What I'm doing here is a favor for a friend."
Joy mused over his answer, in silence. There were times when she wondered about Bart McLane's work. Occasionally, she had seen his name mentioned in the paper, but he never said anything. Articles about him always called him sharp or cagey. Yet she always found him gentle and understanding.
The next day they went for the drive in the country. The wind whipping through Joy's hair felt wonderful. It was fun wandering the narrow roads in an open car.
Bart circled her shoulder with his arm. "Anyone ever tell you, you're beautiful with your hair messed," he taunted.
"You better watch your driving," she taunted back.
A little later, they stopped at a small village inn for dinner. Then they drove on. It was after dark when they got back to London.
As they went to bed, Bart told her they could leave for Paris the next afternoon.
Joy noticed that Bart was in excellent spirits. She decided it meant his business, whatever it was, had been successful.
The week in London had been exciting, but Paris ... Bart seemed to know Paris even better than he knew London. They visited all the famous places first, the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, and one evening the Folies Bergere.
Bart insisted on a trip to one of the exclusive salons. He laughed at her protest when he bought her a gown for six hundred dollars.
"Money isn't any good unless you spend it," was his answer. "As long as we have fun."
They dined at small out-of-the-way cafes. Joy was thrilled with the gaiety, the carefree mood of the French.
Most of all, she enjoyed the breakfast on the small balcony of their suite. It overlooked the city, in a sweeping panorama.
It was such a morning when a telegram arrived for Bart. He frowned as he read it and then stuffed it in his pocket. "I have to fly to Italy. I won't be gone more than a week," he said.
"I'm not going with you?"
He shook his head. "It's just a dull little town."
"I wouldn't mind, Bart."
"No. I wouldn't want you cooped up in some fly-by-night hotel. I'll be busy. Well see Italy later, when I won't have any business to attend to."
Joy looked at him. She didn't like the look in his eyes, the same troubled look she had seen, in London. But to argue with him would only make it worse.
"All right, Bart, I'll stay here if that's what you want." She forced a pout.
He grinned and then kissed her. "Paris will be more fun for you. Now, suppose you help me pack a bag."
An hour later, she rode with him to the airport, but as they parted, she couldn't resist asking, "Is there anything wrong?"
"No, just something unexpected that's come up. Nothing for you to worry about. Have fun. I'll see you in a week or so."
Joy stayed at the airport until Bart's flight took off. Then, she headed for the cab stand. Changing her mind, she decided to walk a while.
Several men gave her the eye, but she ignored them. She saw a sidewalk cafe and found a table and ordered coffee.
Sitting there, sipping coffee, Joy wished she had insisted on going to Italy with Bart. Despite people all around her, she couldn't dispel the sudden feeling of loneliness.
It was the day after Bart left. Joy had finished the lunch she had ordered sent to the suite. Someone knocked at the door.
Assuming it to be the waiter for the lunch tray, Joy opened it. A tall girl stood in the doorway. Joy stared without realizing she was staring. The girl was stunning. And the outfit she was wearing was startling. The slacks, if they could be called that, were of imitation leather, molded to her thighs and legs. She was wearing a silk black blouse, open almost to her waist, revealing the swell of high firm breasts. The entire ensemble was black. It accentuated her short platinum hair. As she stood there, she smiled. Her lips were full and sensuously wide, too full to be called beautiful.
This is Bart McLane's suite?"
Joy nodded without speaking. Suddenly, she recognized the girl. Older, but with the same high cheek bones and haunting eyes.
It was Janine McLane.
"Is Bart here?"
"He's away on business." Joy paused. "You're Janine, aren't you?"
Janine's eyelashes flickered slightly. She nodded. "Bart told you about me? That's a switch." She laughed.
Joy felt uncomfortable under gaze of the taller girl. "I saw your picture quite by accident," she said. "Would you like to come in?"
"I could stand a drink." Janine moved through the doorway past Joy. Her eyes swept the suite. Her laugh was low and sensuous. She turned and looked at Joy with amusement. "I see Bart hasn't changed. He still have to have the best," she said.
Joy had a feeling Janine was referring to more than just the suite.
"How did you know Bart was in Paris?" she asked. She was thinking that Bart hadn't mentioned his daughter. And she had forgotten all about Janine McLane until this moment. Aware of Janine's probing eyes, she wondered just what the girl was thinking.
"I saw the two of you at a cafe the other day. Bart always stays at this hotel when he comes to Paris."
"And you didn't come up ... ? " Joy started.
" ... Didn't barge up and say hello?" Janine cut her short. "It's been quite a while since I've seen Dad. Besides, he doesn't like his women to know he has a grown daughter." She paused. "You're Joy Lansing."
"You seem to know everything," Joy retorted, her voice carrying a slight irritation.
Janine shrugged. "I have some friends back in the states who keep me posted. The truth is, you're the reason I decided to come. I was curious. Bart doesn't usually keep one woman very long. You've lasted far beyond par for the course."
Joy flushed at the insinuation. To cover her embarrassment, she said, "What would you like to drink? I have some wine or if you prefer I can order something sent up."
"I'm partial to wine," Janine smiled.
Joy filled two glasses. It was early for her to have a drink, but she had the feeling she would need it to cope with Janine McLane.
She felt unsure of herself. There was something about this tall stunning creature that bothered her. She wasn't sure what it was.
The way Janine looked at her with those smoldering eyes, shaded with amusement. There was a certain fascination. It was hard to accept the fact she was Bart's daughter, Janine accepted the glass of wine and drained half of it. "I suppose Bart has told you all about me, what he thinks of his black sheep daughter," she laughed.
"All he told me was that you lived in Paris and were studying painting. As I told you, I found your picture quite by accident. I didn't consider it any of my business to ask a lot of questions."
"But you are curious, now. I can see that by the way you look at me. You probably don't approve. Bart doesn't. In fact, he despises me and the life I choose to live. The feeling is quite mutual. You see Dad and I are a lot alike. The only difference is that I don't pretend the way he does."
"I'm not sure I know what you're driving at," Joy said.
"Then, you don't know Dad very well." Janine finished her drink and helped herself to a refill.
"Bart has never pretended anything with me," Joy countered. "But, then, you and I might look at values differently. I know where I stand with him. There's no reason for pretence."
Janine laughed. "I like you. I have the feeling we could be good friends. How long will Bart be away?"
"He said about a week. I've been expecting him to call. I'll tell him you stopped by."
"I'd rather you didn't. My only reason for corning was to meet you, anyway." Janine paused. "It isn't any fun being alone in Paris. Perhaps you'll let me show you the town."
"I've already seen most of it with Bart."
"Not my Paris. Most tourists never see the city." Janine hesitated and her eyes wandered about the luxurious suite. "My place, for example. It isn't like this. I live in a studio loft. There's no stiffness or formality. I don't live in a rut. There's no excitement in being waited on hand and foot."
Joy had a feeling of being challenged. She caught the hidden innuendo in Janine's tone.
"I find nothing wrong in being comfortable," she said.
"I'm afraid you miss my point. I'm talking about freedom, the right to do what you want when you want to do it. It's a feeling like ... Well, now that I've met you, I have a strong desire to paint you. That probably sounds crazy to you. To me, it isn't."
Joy forced a laugh. She was aware of the eyes, again. There was a message in them she couldn't quite fathom.
"It does sound a little ridiculous and, of course, it is quite impossible."
"A week would be more than enough time. I'm no Rembrandt. I do a painting in a few days. The tourist trade doesn't demand perfection. Mostly, they want bargains. For thirty or forty dollars, I paint what they want. I'd do you for nothing."
Joy caught the almost erotic excitement in Janine's voice.
"I'm afraid I couldn't," she said.
"Afraid?" Janine gave Joy a reflective look. "That's what I mean about freedom. You have doubts so your easy answer is not to let go. Stay comfortable in your little niche."
"I do what I want to do," Joy snapped.
"Do you?" Janine's eyes probed at Joy. Then she turned and picked up a sheet of hotel stationary and a pen. from the table. She jotted down an address. "If you want to change your mind, this is where I live. Perhaps you'd like to drop by and let me buy you a drink."
Joy glanced at the address and then looked up at Janine. The eyes challenged her, again. And there seemed to be something else, something that went much deeper.