Free Dangerous to Know by Barbara Taylor Bradford Page B

carefree in his appearance the snap took my breath away for a minute. His hair was tousled by the wind, his eyes very blue beneath the dark brows; he had been forty-one years old that -year, but he certainly didn’t look it. Not at all.
    Nor had he looked fifty-six at lunch last week.
    I had told him this at one point during the meal, and he had laughed delightedly, obviously pleased and flattered by my comment.
    And then he had told me I didn’t look my age either, going on to remark that I appeared to be ten years younger.
    A bit of a mutual admiration society it had been that day. And I had reached out, squeezed his hand resting on top of the table, told him -that we both seemed to be defying time.
    My comment had amused him even more. “You’ve always been my favorite, Vivi. I suddenly realized how much I’ve missed you. We’ve got to see each other more often, my darling girl. Life’s too short not to spend some time with those one genuinely cares about.”
    I had reminded him that he was the one who was constantly traveling the world nonstop, whilst I was either sitting in New Preston or Lourmarin, and was therefore extremely easy to find. “Don’t worry, Vivi, I’ll come and find you,” he had promised, smiling into my eyes.
    And I knew he meant it. But that could never be. Not now. It was too -late.
    Sighing sadly, I moved on, turning the pages, skipping over our winter holiday in Sun Valley, Idaho, that same year, ignoring the photographs of my graduation from Wellesley the following summer.
    But I did pause for a second when I came to the section I had filled with our wedding photographs. Here I was in all my young glory, the sweet little bride in a short, white-silk dress holding a posy of white roses, gazing up at her handsome groom through eyes that saw no one but him.
    My adoration of Sebastian was so patently obvious, and so touching, I felt my throat tighten with the remembrance of our years together as husband and wife.
    I leaned back, staring into space, thinking.
    We were married in July of 1980. The summer of my twenty-second year.
    This was just after I had graduated from Wellesley.
    Once Sebastian and I had become lovers the previous year, I had not wanted to go back to college. Instead I had wished to stay with him, to travel with him, to be at his side all the time.
    He would not hear of my dropping out. In no uncertain terms, he had told me I must complete my education and graduate. That was when we had had our first really major row. Naturally, we had patched things up in no time, since neither of us ever harbored a grudge.
    Still, I have no trouble recollecting the way we had locked horns about that particular issue, and with such ferocity we had both been shaken by my headstrong stubbornness, forceful manner, and dogged determination to get my own way. He won. I lost. But Sebastian con ceded that he had met his match. As for me, I was astounded at myself.
    I had not known I could be such a hellion.
    Ever since our affair had started I had hoped he would ask me to marry him. Nonetheless, I was caught off guard and surprised when he did so.
    He had always gone on so alarmingly about the age difference of twenty years. This was something which had never bothered me in the slightest; he was young and boyish in so many different ways, I never thought of him as being older than I.
    “Who are we going to get to give you away?” he had asked a few weeks before the wedding.
    In the end we had decided that Jack should do it. We had grown up together, he and I, and he was the next best thing I had to a brother.
    The marriage took place at Laurel Creek Farm, in front of a local judge who was a long-standing acquaintance of Sebastian’s. The cere many was held in the beautiful walled rose garden. It was simple and short, and once it was over there was a luncheon in the marquee on the lawn for the friends and family who had attended. Later that afternoon Sebastian and I had driven into New York City