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'You're not taking,' said Clare huskily. 'I'm giving.'
'Oh, but I am. I want more than just a lover and wife, you see. I was hoping that the last six months might have made you more comfortable in the musical milieu, less of an outsider…'
'Well, yes, I suppose I am… a bit.' She was puzzled by his diffidence, the hint of excitement.
'Because you put your finger on it back there, when you were wiping the floor with my beautiful accompanist. Efrem is a wunderkind at wheeling and dealing, and a great friend, but he spends most of his time in New York. He has a business to run and other temperamental musicians to look after. I need someone on the spot— to see off the inevitable sharks, to help humanise my itineraries, to make my appointments and help write my speeches, to protect me from overwork and defend me against the Press, to host parties for me—in short, to make my life liveable again. Does that sound challenging enough, do you think?'
'Oh, David, you don't have to bribe me to marry you,' Clare cried, trying to hide her secret delight.
'It's no sinecure, Clare,' he warned wryly. 'I'm not creating the job simply to give you something to do. If you don't want to take it on, that's fine, but sooner or later I'll have to employ a personal assistant. I'm an artist, for pity's sake, I shouldn't have to lower myself to such sweated labour!'
It was such a perfect imitation of Anna's contempt that Clare laughed. 'I suppose I could do it on a trial basis…'
'The job, yes. The marriage, no. I have another week of engagements in New Zealand and then a fortnight of recording in Chicago. Will you come with me? Or would you rather wait?'
This was said with such loaded patience that Clare couldn't resist. 'Well…'
He sighed. 'I suppose we've waited this long… a little longer won't kill me.' His eyes slitted as he murmured provocatively, 'At least the critics will approve; while I burn for you, so does my music. New fire, they call it…'
Anna's quoted words.
'You're not leaving this country without a ring on your finger.' Clare slid her arms around his neck and moved enticingly within his hard embrace, feeling the heat of him through his formal attire. 'On the other hand,' she teased, 'perhaps we ought to make this a platonic mar… for the sake of your art.'
'The hell we will,' he growled against her satiny throat, one hand plunging into the pale gold of her hair while the other discovered the thinness of her dress. He stroked the shape of her, his fingers sliding against the silk, the silk sliding against her skin, exciting them both. 'When I looked over tonight and saw you glaring daggers at me, it was like a cage door being thrown open. After being so careful all this time not to put pressure on you… I nearly exploded with joy. Love me, Clare de lune, love me the way you did at Moonlight…'
'I do, David, I do.'
He groaned, bunching the thin stuff of her dress in his fist, pulling it so that every dip and hollow of her body was outlined to his longing gaze. His smile was crooked. 'That wasn't quite what I meant, although it's nice to know. But you're right, we can't celebrate our love on bare boards and dust sheets. Now, if the Steinway was here…' He took wicked pleasure in her blush, but she was equal to the challenge.
'I'm sure you'll make love in grand style, even without it.'
'Only with you, darling, only with you.' He cupped her face gently. 'Never doubt me. You may doubt that you're special to me, but I never have. I love you for just being you, shy and serious, fierce and bold. We'll make lovely music together, Clare.' He kissed away the last of her silly fears, tenderly, as if he knew each and every one of them. 'And perhaps one day we can create something even more precious out of our love. A child that is uniquely us.'
Clare stiffened. She had already faced the death of that dream, sweetly regretted but put to rest where dreams belonged. Then she realised—he had said child, not baby.
'You mean… adopt?'
The flicker of shock was smothered by compassion in the dark, velvety gaze. 'You can't have any more children? Oh, Clare, you little idiot, why didn't you tell me? It doesn't make any difference! Is that what you thought? Is that why you took so long to—'
'Not me, you. Tamara told me at Moonlight about your…your vasectomy.'
'My what?' David dropped her like a hot coal.
'Your vasectomy,' Clare faltered. 'She told me that you'd agreed to be sterilised because her mother had been warned not to get pregnant again.'
'Yes, she was told not to risk another baby, but it was her decision to be sterilised, not mine! She wouldn't even consider allowing me to do it. She said no one should be asked to make a sacrifice like that for someone else, even for love. Wait until I get my hands on that wretched girl! And you.. .you thought I would do this, marry you, without bothering to tell you something so vitally affecting your life?' His outrage swung on to Clare, but she was just realising the ramifications of the lie.
'You mean… I could have got pregnant?' She looked at him accusingly. 'I… I thought it was safe!'
'So did I,' he confessed ruefully, and at her frown, 'I did ask you if it was all right…'
'Yes, but I thought you meant, was I enjoying it?' said Clare faintly, as she recalled the circumstances in which his question was asked.
'I think that was fairly obvious,' he teased, and laughed when she buried her hot face in his quaking chest. 'It was mutual, darling. It would have served Tamara right if you had got pregnant and Miles had rounded me up with a shotgun. I shall have a few words with my lying daughter—'
'No, don't. She said it in the heat of the moment, and probably forgot all about it. We're friends now. Let's let sleeping dogs lie.'
'Sleeping dogs? Tamara is very much awake,' said David as he reluctantly ushered Clare out of the temptation of the empty room, 'and busy working the angles. She knows that I want you in my life and she's figured out that I view touring 'en famille' far more liberally that I do a teenage girl on her own. It's also a lot more flexible and enjoyable than dragging around some strange tutor or chaperon you might or might not like. Tamara, when she puts her mind to it, can be every bit as practical as your Tim.'
