Remember (42 page)

She zipped the bag, lifted it off the bed and took it to the door.

“Yes, I am,” she said. “And I’m grateful to you for making me. I almost lost my nerve at the last minute.”

He stood up from his chair and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Nicky Wells lose her nerve. Never!”

She smiled. “But I did. You gave me the courage to face Anne, to tell her that Charles was dead.”

“You owed her that, Nicky, in view of the relationship you have with her, all she had meant to you, still means, and the kind of woman she is—a wonderful woman.”

And then he added, a little ruefully, “God knows if we’ll ever get to Provence at this rate—there’s always something preventing us from going down there. Problems at my office, Yoyo arriving, and now all this.”

“Oh, don’t let’s worry about Provence,” she murmured, looking into his eyes. “We’ve got the rest of our lives to go to the farm .” A huge smile spread across his face. “Does that mean you’re saying yes?”

“Yes, I’m saying yes.”

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He hugged her, then held her away from him. His smile grew bigger, and he exclaimed, “But if you marry me you’ll be living in Paris. What about your big career in American television?”

She laughed, and shrugged her shoulders lightly. “I’m going to let Arch worry about that. He’ll find a way to work it all out.”

Clee bent forward and kissed her. “I promise you I’ll be the best husband.”

“That means a lot, coming from a man who’s a bachelor at heart, like you.”

“Not anymore I’m not. Come on, let’s go!”

Downstairs, Anne and Philip were waiting for them in the small entrance hall, and Anne said, “Your car just arrived, but you’ve plenty of time to get to Heathrow, so don’t worry, you won’t miss your plane.”

“Thanks for everything, Anne,” Nicky said, embracing her. Against her hair, she murmured, “I’m going to marry Clee.”

Anne gently extricated herself from Nicky’s arms and looked deep into her bright blue eyes. Her own, so similar in color, filled with sudden tears. She smiled through them and said, “I’m so happy for you, Nicky darling. And it’s I who should be thanking you for being such a good friend—” Philip said, “I couldn’t help but hear what you said, Nicky.

Congratulations to both of you.” He shook Clee’s hand, and then opening his arms to Nicky, he said, “Thank you for caring enough to come and tell us everything, Nicky.”

“It was the only thing I could do.”

The four of them went outside and said their good-byes, and Nicky and Clee got into the car. The driver turned on the ignition and they rolled slowly down the gravel driveway, heading for the huge front gates. When they came to the bend in the corner, Nicky looked back.

Anne and Philip were still standing on the steps, waving, and behind them, glimmering in the fading afternoon light, was Pullenbrook. The first time I came here, Nicky thought, I fell in love with a fascinating man, an extraordinary woman and a great house, which might have been my home one day. I thought my life was going to be here with them. It was not meant to be, and I’ll probably never come back. But I’m leaving a little bit of my heart here, and I’ll always remember .

. .

everything.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

BARBARA TAYLOR BRADFORD was born in Leeds, Yorkshire, and was a reporter for The rorkshire Evening Post at sixteen. By the age of twenty she had graduated to London’s Fleet Street as both editor and columnist. In 1979 she wrote her first novel, A Woman of Substance, and that enduring best-seller was followed by five others, Voice of the Heart, Hold the Dream, Act of Will, To Be the Best, and The Women in His Life. The first five have been made into television miniseries.

Her novels have been published in eighty-two countries and twenty-four languages, with more than thirty-five million copies in print.

Mrs. Bradford lives in New York City with her husband, film producer Robert Bradford.

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