Read Online Her Name Will Be Faith by Christopher Nicole - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Christopher Nicole
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looked up at his father. "Couldn't
you come too?"
Jo bent over Tamsin's bed, deliberately not looking at
Michael.
"I... er... well,"
Michael hesitated. "What do you reckon, honey? Would you like me to come?"
Jo stood up and faced him. "Yes, Michael, I
would."
He strode across the room to take
her in his arms. "Oh, my sweetheart," he whispered. "I love you. I'm so sorry. Forgive me."
She hugged him back, and the kids
stood on their beds to join in. "What
about the race?" she whispered.
"Well... maybe they can
manage without me for one weekend."
"Oh, Dad! Then you can teach
me to water-ski," Owen Michael begged.
"And me?" Tamsin squealed.
Jo looked on, beaming. Had it
really worked? Certainly it was time to forget
that crooked smile.
National American
Broadcasting Service Offices, Fifth Avenue — Evening
"God, but it's hot out
there." Jayme, Richard Connors' secretary, deli cately patted perspiration from her neck as she came
into the office; she had nipped out for a sandwich between newscasts.
"Even without the sun I bet you could
fry an egg on the sidewalk. And it's only June. What do you reckon it's
going to be like come August?"
"Worse than Florida,"
Richard commented. He was trying to concen trate on the various weather reports, which were
certainly interesting, but was finding himself instead thinking about Jo Donnelly. He wondered if anything might come of her
suggestion that he do a series on hurricanes. It was something he'd love to tackle, supposing
Kiley would go for it. Although, he supposed, the real decision would come from that snapping turtle on the top floor.
But he wondered even more if she
had suggested the idea – with its implication that they would work together – from a
purely professional point
of view, or if she might have had an ulterior motive? But how could she, happily married as she was
and with kids. Maybe if he and Pam had had kids... but that had been yet another thing on which
they had differed.
Jayme leaned over him. "Anything interesting on
the way?"
"More of the same for us,
I'm afraid. But the first storm of the season is down there. Just came in."
"Where? Let me see."
He prodded the map, as she rested
one breast on his shoulder; she was already half in love with him. "There, in the
middle of the Caribbean. They've just up-rated him into a Tropical Storm; winds around the
center are sustaining 45 knots. So he has
a name: Anthony."
"And is Anthony going to become a
hurricane?"
"Could be. The water
temperature down there is certainly high enough. But he's not going to interest us; starting where
he is, he'll almost certainly head off
into the Gulf of Mexico."
"Now there's a shame," Jayme remarked.
"If he'd come up here, maybe we'd get
some rain to cool things off. You know what, Richard? I'll bet you ten bucks
we're on water rationing before another month is out. Can't you conjure
up a storm for us?"
Richard was studying the charts,
plotting the course of the jet stream. "I don't think I'm going to have to do that,"
he said. "I think one may come along
of its own accord."
JUNE: The First Two Weeks
SUNDAY 4 JUNE
The Four Seasons
Restaurant, New York
The Four Seasons restaurant hummed with muted
conversation around the vast shrubbery
where prospective diners sipped aperitifs and greeted friends and guests. It was a constant source of
interest to Jo Donnelly, as an
Englishwoman, to observe the variety and general informality of clothes
American women wore to dinner in one of New York's leading establishments. In London it was not unusual to see
long gowns and black ties –
certainly most women would be in smart summer dresses, at least, but here no one seemed to bother; skirts
and blouses, suits, slacks, even jeans, were apparently acceptable. A
pity, she thought, so to downgrade a special evening.
Michael smiled at his wife, and
was aware how lovely she looked tonight;
the neck of her white dress was cut wide and low, revealing the deep tan on which a two-carat
you come too?"
Jo bent over Tamsin's bed, deliberately not looking at
Michael.
"I... er... well,"
Michael hesitated. "What do you reckon, honey? Would you like me to come?"
Jo stood up and faced him. "Yes, Michael, I
would."
He strode across the room to take
her in his arms. "Oh, my sweetheart," he whispered. "I love you. I'm so sorry. Forgive me."
She hugged him back, and the kids
stood on their beds to join in. "What
about the race?" she whispered.
"Well... maybe they can
manage without me for one weekend."
"Oh, Dad! Then you can teach
me to water-ski," Owen Michael begged.
"And me?" Tamsin squealed.
Jo looked on, beaming. Had it
really worked? Certainly it was time to forget
that crooked smile.
National American
Broadcasting Service Offices, Fifth Avenue — Evening
"God, but it's hot out
there." Jayme, Richard Connors' secretary, deli cately patted perspiration from her neck as she came
into the office; she had nipped out for a sandwich between newscasts.
"Even without the sun I bet you could
fry an egg on the sidewalk. And it's only June. What do you reckon it's
going to be like come August?"
"Worse than Florida,"
Richard commented. He was trying to concen trate on the various weather reports, which were
certainly interesting, but was finding himself instead thinking about Jo Donnelly. He wondered if anything might come of her
suggestion that he do a series on hurricanes. It was something he'd love to tackle, supposing
Kiley would go for it. Although, he supposed, the real decision would come from that snapping turtle on the top floor.
But he wondered even more if she
had suggested the idea – with its implication that they would work together – from a
purely professional point
of view, or if she might have had an ulterior motive? But how could she, happily married as she was
and with kids. Maybe if he and Pam had had kids... but that had been yet another thing on which
they had differed.
Jayme leaned over him. "Anything interesting on
the way?"
"More of the same for us,
I'm afraid. But the first storm of the season is down there. Just came in."
"Where? Let me see."
He prodded the map, as she rested
one breast on his shoulder; she was already half in love with him. "There, in the
middle of the Caribbean. They've just up-rated him into a Tropical Storm; winds around the
center are sustaining 45 knots. So he has
a name: Anthony."
"And is Anthony going to become a
hurricane?"
"Could be. The water
temperature down there is certainly high enough. But he's not going to interest us; starting where
he is, he'll almost certainly head off
into the Gulf of Mexico."
"Now there's a shame," Jayme remarked.
"If he'd come up here, maybe we'd get
some rain to cool things off. You know what, Richard? I'll bet you ten bucks
we're on water rationing before another month is out. Can't you conjure
up a storm for us?"
Richard was studying the charts,
plotting the course of the jet stream. "I don't think I'm going to have to do that,"
he said. "I think one may come along
of its own accord."
JUNE: The First Two Weeks
SUNDAY 4 JUNE
The Four Seasons
Restaurant, New York
The Four Seasons restaurant hummed with muted
conversation around the vast shrubbery
where prospective diners sipped aperitifs and greeted friends and guests. It was a constant source of
interest to Jo Donnelly, as an
Englishwoman, to observe the variety and general informality of clothes
American women wore to dinner in one of New York's leading establishments. In London it was not unusual to see
long gowns and black ties –
certainly most women would be in smart summer dresses, at least, but here no one seemed to bother; skirts
and blouses, suits, slacks, even jeans, were apparently acceptable. A
pity, she thought, so to downgrade a special evening.
Michael smiled at his wife, and
was aware how lovely she looked tonight;
the neck of her white dress was cut wide and low, revealing the deep tan on which a two-carat
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