Indiscretions - Elizabeth Adler [156]
“Vennie, I don’t know if you’re going to understand this, but there’s something you should know.”
Venetia watched him uncertainly. She tucked her suddenly cold hands into the sleeves of her navy sweater, waiting. Whatever it was, she had the feeling he would rather not have to say it. A sudden thought struck her. Oh, God, please let it not be about Olympe. Was he planning to marry her?
Fitz began to pace the cabin. “When Morgan called me from London to tell me that Jenny Haven was dead and that he was with her daughter, I was stunned. I had met your mother, just once—years ago. But more than that, Vennie, I felt I’d known her forever. I’d fancied myself in love with her since I was thirteen years old when I saw her in Love Among Friends. I can still remember every detail of that movie—all her movies. I saw them a hundred times. You can’t possibly know what Jenny meant to a poor boy growing up in the grim little town I called home … she was silk and satin to a boy used to patched denim. Women like that didn’t exist in real life—not my sort of reality, anyhow. When you’re a woman, poverty means more than just not enough to eat—it means never being pretty or feminine, it means romance buried in the demands of a hungry brood of kids and a husband who drinks too much—to forget that he can’t afford it. Even the young girls I knew were toughened, old before their time. Venetia, Jenny was a young boy’s dream, she helped me through many a bleak and lonely night. I never forgot her. When I heard she was dead it was as though I had lost someone very close to me—a woman I loved.”
Fitz stopped his pacing and looked at Venetia. How could this child of an affluent world, of good schools and solid English traditions, ever be able to fathom what he was talking about?
“Fitz, I didn’t realize …”
“Listen to me,” commanded Fitz. “When I met you, I was shocked. Venetia, do you have any idea how much you resemble your mother?”
“But I’m not the same,” she protested. “I was never like her.” Suddenly she didn’t want to hear what he was going to say.
“Don’t you understand? I never knew what Jenny was really like—only what she looked like! She was a dream, Vennie—I was in love with a dream. That night when we danced and I held you in my arms … you could have been Jenny.”
Worse, thought Venetia, getting up from her chair, it was worse than that. He’d made love to her. “I have to know,” she said. “Tell me the truth. When you made love to me, was it because you wanted me … or …” She couldn’t finish the question.
“I wasn’t sure,” said Fitz softly. “I couldn’t tell if you were Vennie or Jenny. You were my fantasy, my dream girl come true. I knew the way your mouth would feel under mine … I knew you, Vennie. I had loved you forever.”
Venetia remembered that final moment of passion when he’d called out her name. She had wondered then … oh, God, she must know! “Then was it my name you called,” she asked in a voice so low he could barely catch it, “or was it … ?”
Gazing into her blue-gray eyes Fitz wasn’t sure which it had been—but he couldn’t hurt her again. “It was Vennie,” he said. “Of course it was you.”
Tears spilled from her eyes. Was it pain, or maybe relief? Fitz loved her, he had just said so. Hadn’t he? He put his arms around her and she leaned against him, her tears staining his shirt.
“It’s odd,” he murmured, “but I don’t notice the resemblance anymore. When I look at you now I just see you—Vennie. My beautiful young Vennie.”
She caught the implication. “You’re afraid I’m too young for you.” She sighed. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
“That I’m too old for you,” he corrected. “Think about it, Vennie. You’ve got your whole life in front of you. I’ve already lived a dozen lives. You can do anything—open your restaurant, build a business, marry someone your own age, make a life together, have babies …”
“And