One Forgotten Night Read online

  Suddenly Nina was weary to her very bones. She wanted only to crawl back into bed and pretend that the past half hour had never happened. The thought of bed reminded her of Mike, of the feel of his body on hers and the taste of his mouth, and her flesh began to tingle. An alluring image rose up: Mike, naked and warm in her soft gray sheets, welcoming her into his embrace. She looked up, and reality drove that image away. Mike was dressed to leave. His expression was remote and impersonal.

  Thinking that she would have the chance to exchange a few words with him if she walked him downstairs to the front door, Nina started to rise. Then she sank back with a low groan, hand pressed to her forehead.

  “Nina, what is it?” The voice was Mike’s. So was the arm around her shoulders. Nina drew strength from his presence, but she was too absorbed in the now-familiar flashes of white light to respond. The flashes cleared, and Nina saw a vivid little scene: Julien Duchesne’s profile, silhouetted against some sort of flapping white sheet. His fine, fair hair was blown back from his forehead and there was a feeling of motion, and then a glimpse of dark waves flecked with white foam. The image faded, and Nina became aware that Mike was holding her protectively from one side while Julien, on her other side, looked daggers at Mike and clutched her hands. She felt like a football being tugged between two little boys.

  “Oh, stop it,” she muttered crossly, and stood. “Julien, do you have a boat?”

  Julien shot a keen glance at her. “Why, yes, a sailboat. The Diamantina. I keep her at a marina on Long Beach Island. Why do you ask?”

  “Just a memory flash. I’ve been on the boat with you, haven’t I?”

  A look of surprise crossed his features, and he paused for a moment before answering. “Yes. Of course you have. In fact,” he said, “that is where we got engaged.”

  Mike interrupted, his voice sounding harsh and rusty. “I’d think you’d be likely to remember a big event like that. But you hesitated just now, as if you weren’t quite sure.”

  Nina looked curiously at him, not sure what he was getting at, but Julien bit back an exclamation of annoyance.

  “If I hesitated, as you say, it was only because I see no reason to discuss our intimate affairs in your presence, Officer. And now I believe your business here is finished, is it not?”

  Mike swept the room with a single glance. Did Nina only imagine it, or did his gaze linger on her for a moment? If his eyes held a message, she could not read it. She wondered what he could read in her own face; she felt her lips trembling and her eyes filling with tears. Why didn’t he reach out to her? If only he would cross the room to her side, hold her, kiss her. Then everything would be simple. Then Nina wouldn’t have to choose, wouldn’t have to take the risk of reaching out to him—

  “Yes,” Mike said. “My business here is finished.” He nodded curtly. “Miss Dennison. Mr. Duchesne.”

  “Good day, Officer,” Julien said, politely dismissive. Nina opened her mouth to speak, not knowing what she wanted to say, but Mike was gone.

  He pounded down her stairs and out onto the street in a cold fury. At Julien Duchesne, for being the one who was still upstairs with Nina. At Nina, for letting him go. And most of all at himself. Not just for leaving Nina, but for letting himself care about her. For letting her matter so much that his guts were twisted into a knot that grew tighter with each step away from her.

  “Damn it!” He pounded a fist on the roof of his car, and Sig woofed gently in sympathy.

  Mike looked down at Sig. The dog’s absurdly long ears were cocked, his head tilted at a hopeful angle.

  “You wanna go back upstairs, don’t you, buddy?”

  Sig’s tailed wagged.

  “Yeah, me, too. But forget it.” He threw the door of the Grand Am open and, with a resigned snuffle, Sig clambered into the back seat. There he unearthed a rawhide chew toy and immediately settled down, mangling it contentedly.

  “Got an extra one of those?” Mike asked him. “Ah, forget it. It wouldn’t do any good.”

  Sig looked up from his slobbery toy, his brown eyes gleaming in the early-morning light. All Mike could think of was how Nina’s eyes would look in that light, how they’d sparkle with golden lights as he pulled her to him—

  His hands clenched on the steering wheel and he felt close to tears. “You screwed up again, Novalis,” he whispered. “Big time.” From some dark place buried deep in his memories he seemed to hear a woman’s mocking laugh.

  * * *

  After Mike’s departure, Nina tried to relieve the strained atmosphere in her apartment by making coffee and offering a cup to Julien. He sat at the kitchen table, watching her, and she realized that she felt uncomfortable in just her bathrobe. Although the terry-cloth robe was by no means revealing, his gaze was somehow assessing. Or was it possessive?

  “I’m going to change,” she said abruptly. And then, knowing that she would sound ungracious but not knowing how else to say what had to be said, she added, “Please stay here.”

  He nodded courteously. “Of course.” His tone was gentle and understanding; Nina felt a little churlish as she pointedly closed the bedroom door between them.

  The rumpled bed seemed to fill the room, reminding her of what had passed between her and Mike. Was it really only a few hours since he had carried her to this room and laid her on the bed? As she moved to straighten the tangled sheets and tossed pillows, the scent of him rose up from the bedclothes. Burying her face in the bed, she breathed in the mingled musk of their lovemaking and shuddered to the memory of his touch, his lips on her throat, the feel of him entering her. For a moment it was as if he were there in the room with her, strong and comforting.

  “Oh, Mike,” she whispered in a broken voice.

  Then she heard Julien stirring in the kitchen: the scrape of his chair against the floor, the rattle of his cup in the saucer. Who was this fair-haired, gray-eyed stranger, this intrusive, insistent presence who had laid such sudden claim to her? How much of herself had she given to him? Nina gritted her teeth in frustration. Trying to reassemble the fragments of her life was like trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle without ever seeing the picture on the box. New pieces kept turning up, but she had no idea what to make of them.

  Hastily she plumped the pillows and drew the comforter over the sheets. Then she dressed quickly in plain tan slacks and a beige sweater. No makeup, no jewelry. She felt almost defiant about it. I don’t need to try to impress him, she told herself. We’re already engaged. The notion of being someone’s fiancée was utterly strange to her—as outlandish as learning that she’d been shot, or that she had amnesia. But one thing she’d learned from her time with Mike: The way to find answers was to ask questions. And now there were some questions she had to ask Julien.

  She went back into the kitchen. “I think we have some things to talk about,” she said carefully.

  “I agree.” Julien was sitting on the sofa. He patted the cushion next to him, but she perched on a chair instead.

  “You say that we had a whirlwind courtship, that we’ve only been dating for a few weeks,” Nina continued. She looked him straight in the eye. “I don’t know how else to ask this: Were we lovers?”

  Julien smiled, a slow, confident smile that Nina supposed must once have kindled an answering spark in her. Now she felt nothing, only a vague discomfort under his lingering gaze.

  Swiftly he crossed the room to kneel next to her chair, capturing her hands in his. “You really have forgotten everything, haven’t you, darling?” he said. “Don’t worry, we’ll get your memories back. Or make new ones.” His voice was intimate, caressing. It sent a shiver up Nina’s spine. But the shiver, she realized, was one of uneasiness. The whole situation gave her the creeps. In fact, she admitted to herself, she hated it. This man knew her intimately—and she knew nothing about it. It was as though it had happened without her knowledge or consent. It felt like a violation.

  She was about to snap out a rebuff when she caught herself. Take it easy. It’s no
t Julien’s fault. This situation has got to be hard on him, too. So she merely withdrew her hands and said in a milder tone, “Look, Julien, you have to understand. Things aren’t like they were before. I don’t remember us being together. It’s going to take some time for me to feel comfortable with you—with everyone in my life,” she added hastily, seeing the hurt in his eyes.

  Julien sighed and returned to the sofa. “Yes, I see that. But now I must ask you a question.”

  Nina tensed. She knew what was coming. Ever since Julien had burst into the apartment, she had been wondering how she was going to answer this question.

  “Please don’t take offense,” he continued, “but I must know what has occurred between you and that policeman.”

  His tone was almost that of a parent chastising an erring child. And something in his voice—the hint of possessiveness, perhaps—strengthened Nina’s resolve.

  “Julien,” she said firmly, “whatever happened between Mike and me is between Mike and me. It has nothing to do with you.”

  He gaped. “Nothing to do with me? But...but we are betrothed. And I find him in your apartment, both of you half-dressed! What am I supposed to think?”

  “Think whatever you like, Julien,” Nina said evenly, “but remember, as far as I’m concerned, I didn’t even know you until an hour ago. And as for Mike, the subject is closed.”

  He stared at her, white-faced, his thin lips pressed tightly together. She met his eyes and didn’t look away. Gradually the anger faded from his features. He shrugged, smiled ruefully and said, “What choice do I have?”

  “None.” For the first time since Mike’s silent departure, Nina’s spirits lifted a bit. Standing up to Julien had felt good. Not only that, she recognized with surprise, it had felt almost...familiar. The moment of confrontation had carried a haunting echo of memory, as though she and Julien had faced off that way before. Of course, she reminded herself. Armand said we’ve had disagreements in the office. And at the same time they had been dating and falling in love outside office hours.

  She studied Julien for a moment. Tall and slim, clad in a beautifully tailored gray suit, he looked about thirty-eight years old. My fiancé, Nina thought, and I don’t even know how old he is! His features were fine and regular, his whole appearance urbane and refined. He fit right in with Nina’s subtle, tasteful decor. Suddenly a vivid image of Mike swam before her eyes: his messy hair, his wrinkled T-shirts, his dusty loft. Surely anyone looking at Nina’s life would see that Julien was a much better match for her than Mike was. Then why was the thought of Mike like a hand wringing her heart? Why did she ache to be with him now? She was afraid that she knew the answer to that one.

  Julien was looking at her, unspoken questions in his eyes, and she turned away, feeling guilty. She owed this man something, although she wasn’t yet sure what it was. Somehow they had to decide how they were going to proceed.

  As if following her thoughts, Julien said, “Nina, I realize that your amnesia has been a terrible shock to you. I suppose that learning of our engagement came as something of a shock, too, although I hope not an unpleasant one.” He smiled. “I don’t want to force myself on you. All I ask is that you spend some time with me, that you get to know me again.”

  “I guess that’s fair,” Nina said slowly.

  He gave a sigh of relief, and Nina realized that he hadn’t been certain of her response.

  “Good,” he said, leaning forward. “Now I know that everything will be all right. You fell in love with me once. You’ll fall in love with me all over again.”

  Nina looked at his handsome, earnest face, glowing with pleasure and attentiveness, and felt only weariness. And a great emptiness, as if she’d lost something inestimably precious.

  * * *

  At Julien’s urging, Nina spent the day with him. He arranged a perfect day for her, starting with Sunday breakfast at the Fairmont: smoked salmon omelets, flaky croissants and fresh-squeezed fruit juice. Then they went for a long, leisurely walk in the park around the Museum of Art, admiring the first hints of fall colors in the oaks and maples that lined the wide boulevards. Nina continued to feel awkward with him, but nonetheless there were moments when she found herself enjoying his company. I must have been in love with him, she told herself more than once. After all, I’m engaged to marry him.

  There was a lot to like in Julien, she decided. His tastes were elegant and cosmopolitan; apparently he had always had plenty of money. Yet he was not flashy or showy—he simply seemed at home with wealth and style. His manner toward Nina was solicitous and polite. At first she stiffened instinctively when he took her arm to guide her down a flight of steps or help her out of his car, but he appeared to respect the limits she had set and did not attempt any greater intimacies.

  He proved to be a polished raconteur, full of amusing stories about his travels and his adventures bargaining for fabulous gems in the remote corners of the world. The name “Marta” popped up in several of these anecdotes, and Nina said, “You’ll have to get used to me asking a lot of questions. Who’s Marta?”

  “Of course,” Julien exclaimed, “I keep forgetting that everything is new to you. Marta is my sister. She will be astonished to learn that you do not remember her. Marta is quite memorable, as you will see. And, of course, she is your closest friend.”

  Nina blinked. “She is?”

  “Indeed. Like me, she was deeply distressed to hear of your accident. She had to take a later flight, however, so she will be here this evening.”

  “That’ll be nice,” Nina said weakly. Once again she was feeling overwhelmed. In a single day she had acquired not only a fiancé but also a new best friend.

  “Marta is the only one who knew about our engagement,” Julien was saying. “Of course we couldn’t keep it a secret from her.“

  “Of course,” Nina replied mechanically.

  “We were planning to tell Armand this week,” he said, “and then—”

  “Armand! That reminds me,” Nina said, snapping her fingers. “He said something about how you and I had been having some trouble.”

  Julien frowned. “What sort of trouble?”

  “Arguments about the direction the firm should be taking. I wanted to branch out into teaching and design, and you wanted to stick with high-value importing.”

  Julien’s face cleared. “Oh, that,” he said with a light laugh. “I’m afraid you mustn’t take what Armand says too seriously, my dear. As you know, he’s a very emotional man, and now that he’s getting older, I fear he begins to exaggerate. We had some differences of opinion on purely professional matters, but they were nothing serious. And,” he said, looking fondly down at her, “I believe you were coming around to my point of view.”

  “I was, was I?”

  “Oh, yes. I assure you, I can be very...persuasive.” This was said with a look that teasingly hinted at past closeness. Nina moved away slightly. No matter what her relationship with Julien had been, Nina felt no physical attraction to him now. Julien seemed to accept her need to create a distance between them; his attitude betrayed no frustration or impatience. She wondered how long his patience would last.

  Later in the afternoon, after they had returned to Nina’s apartment and were sipping tea in her kitchen, Julien asked her to tell him all about the shooting. She told him what she knew. It wasn’t much. He pressed her for details about everything that had happened in the past few days; he was especially interested in the fact that her apartment had been searched by unknown perpetrators. Armand, it appeared, hadn’t mentioned that incident in his phone conversation with Julien.

  “You’ve no idea what they were looking for?” he asked for the second or third time. “Or whether they found it?”

  “They were probably just junkies, looking for cash,” she retorted wearily. “Why are you making such a big deal of it?”

  “I’m just concerned. Maybe whoever broke in here will come back. It’s not safe for you to stay here. I think you should—”


  “I think I should just forget about it and try to get on with my life,” Nina said firmly. “I’m not moving out of my apartment, Julien.”

  “All right, all right,” he said placatingly. But he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about what he persisted in calling “the accident.”

  “You really don’t remember anything at all?” he probed a few minutes later. “Not who shot you? Nothing about why it happened?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “Amazing. What do the police think?”

  She glanced quickly at him, but his face reflected only sincere interest. She reddened; apparently she had been too quick to imagine a veiled reference to Mike.

  “They figure that it was just a random shooting. A drive-by.”

  Julien shook his head. “It’s unbelievable that such a thing could happen. And the doctors—what do they say about your memory?”

  Nina shrugged. “No one really knows. They say I’ll probably recover my memory, but they don’t know when. Maybe I’ll start remembering more bits and pieces, or maybe it will all come back at once.”

  “I hope I’ll be there when that happens,” Julien said fervently.

  Nina looked at him, eyebrows raised.

  “So that I can see your face when you remember—about us,” he explained.

  “Oh. Listen, Julien, I don’t want to be rude, but it’s been a long day for me, and I’m tired. Perhaps you should go home now. I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.”

  His face fell. “But Marta will be here any minute.”

  “She’s coming here?“

  “Naturally. She wants to see you. I promise you, we’ll leave as soon as she’s had a chance to see that you’re all right.”

  Nina agreed wanly and excused herself. In the bathroom, she rummaged in the medicine cabinet for aspirin and swallowed two. She gazed into the mirror and realized that, with dark circles under her eyes and a glum expression, she didn’t look much better now than she had in the hospital after the shooting. Back where you started, huh?