Too quickly Daran spoke up in Drew’s defense. “Oh, no. He was really a good boss. I never mind working my tail off for a good cause.”

  “And his is one? I take it you changed your original opinion?” The grin on her mother’s face was evident in her tone.

  “Yes, Mother. It was a good cause. And, yes, I did change my original opinion.” Without elaborating and having made enough of a confession for the time being, Daran veered off on a tangent. “Tell me, Mother. How do you do it? How do you survive the whole rat race of politics? How has your marriage come through the past twenty-some-odd years intact?” It was a question that Daran had never before quite had the courage to ask as bluntly.

  There was a brief silence on the line as her mother contemplated the answer. When it came, however, its spontaneity was as evident as its honesty.

  “I love Hugh. We make it work. Keep in mind, of course, dear, that he is not quite as much on the pigeon’s stoop as one of those senators or representatives. In some ways Hugh has more power from backstage, where he operates.” Daran knew all too well what she meant, and, although she didn’t approve of her stepfather’s tactics all the time, she had to acknowledge that he got things done. “And, though you may not have known it at the time,” her mother continued softly, recalling that time herself, “there was many a day back there when I wondered whether it was worth it. But I did love Hugh. And I was willing to fight to keep him. So I turned myself into the kind of person who could function by his side, day in and day out.”

  A year ago, perhaps even as recently as a few months ago, Daran might have scoffed at the woman as the embodiment of the downtrodden female. But there was nothing downtrodden about Mary Abbott. And now, for some reason, her daughter had mellowed. “Didn’t it ever bother you—not having an identity of your own?”

  A gentle laugh danced along the wire. “Oh, but I did. I had and still have the most interesting and exciting life that I could have imagined. And I am Hugh’s wife and your mother. No other woman in the world can make that claim!”

  In that instant Daran’s admiration of her own mother was at an all-time high. Though her own aspirations were quite different, she had to respect the woman, not only for her determination but for her confidence, her pride, and the devotion which welled so readily within her. “Do you ever wish—” Daran’s own voice softened to a more vulnerable chord “—that you could just go away somewhere, you and Hugh, to live out your lives together, away from all the hullabaloo?” A vision of Drew’s father appeared before her eyes, and she recalled the tragic death of the woman who might have happily shared that isolated cottage in the woods with him, had she been able to survive the years before.

  Her mother’s response brought her back to the telephone receiver in her hand. “I wish that at some point, some small point, of every day of every year. But it passes. After all, this is our life. It’s what we love doing. For the small satisfaction of escaping some of those pressures, we would be left with a very peaceful shell of a life.”

  Daran remained silent for a long time. Finally she sighed. “I wish we had talked of this years ago.” Her voice was quiet, her words heartfelt. This closeness she felt now for her mother was gratifying. “It might have saved me an awful lot of anger over the years. I never quite understood…” The cut in her voice reflected so many different thoughts that she wondered if, in fact, she understood anything more now. But Mary Abbott’s follow-up startled her, pushing all sorting out into the future.

  “Daran, are you trying to tell me something? Is there someone?” With a gasp, she added, “Are you seeing Bill again?”

  “No!” Vehemence gave strength to her denial. “I haven’t seen Bill. It’s just that I realize now that I went into that whole thing with the wrong frame of mind.”

  “Does Bill know you’ve been in Washington?” Daran was too wrapped up in her own thoughts to sense her mother’s misinterpretation.

  “Not that I know of. I’ve kept pretty much to myself except for work with Drew and his staff.”

  Her mother chose her words carefully. “How long will you be in Washington in August?”

  “I’m not sure. A week, maybe more. Why?”

  “Will you be able to come visit us at all before classes begin again in September?” With the skill of the gracious conversationalist, Mrs. Abbott changed the subject.

  Again Daran missed the strategy of the move. Again it was unusual for her. In the past she had been skeptical of every word her mother said, and her every motive for saying it. Now, however, her mind was otherwise occupied.

  “Ah, I’m not sure, Mother. I’d like to try to fly out sometime right around Labor Day, but it will pretty much have to be last minute. There’s so much else happening.”

  Indeed there was, both in her own mind and in her life. As she hung up the telephone several moments later, she wondered about this enlightening conversation she had held with her mother. Her mother had, quite inadvertently, given her the key concepts to help explain the failure of her marriage. It was no longer enough to blame Bill for his insensitivity, his egotism, his physical brutality. Daran had herself to blame, in part. She should have never agreed to marry Bill in the first place. Perhaps, had she known then more of her mother’s deeper feelings, she might have foreseen the disaster. She had not loved Bill enough to mold her life to his. She had had too many hopes and dreams of her own to be able to agree to Bill’s demands of total submission. It was a match doomed from the start.

  What, then, about the future? Suppose her feelings for Drew grew even stronger. Suppose he held more than just a fond regard for her. What then? Could they forge a life together, welded around both his political career and her own as a psychologist? Then she caught herself short. Drew did not love her. The silence of her telephone line gave witness to that! Yet, she couldn’t help but go into her bedroom, remove the leather jewelry case from her dresser, and put the exquisitely glittering diamond studs into her ears. It was a ridiculous picture—the grace of the earrings in comparison to her ultracasual shirt and shorts. Yet it gave her some unfathomable solace to look, to touch, to remember.

  * * *

  If Daran thought that the Senate fight would be a token one, she was greatly mistaken. When she arrived in Washington, on the arrangements of the ever-faithful but strangely harried John Hollings, the office was abuzz with meetings and huddles, phone calls and executive sessions. It was the third week in August. The Rights of Minors Act was to be opened for discussion on the Senate floor two days after she arrived. Immediately she was made privy to the score of amendments that other senators planned to offer to modify the Act to their specifications.

  Where she had expected simply to be a spectator, suddenly she found herself fully in the midst of the fray, studying amendments, listing pros and cons, examining, along with Leo and the others, just what part of the original bill could be sacrificed for the purpose of bargaining.

  Having been without sight or sound of Senator Drew Charles for the better part of three weeks, his appearance, that first morning of her return to the Capitol, was jolting. Magnificent as ever in the aura that enveloped his entire being, he was nonetheless tired, more tightly coiled, and shorter of temper than when she had seen him last. The wan smile she received when he spotted her across the room was a pale imitation of the warm welcome she would have preferred. But it was the work that quickly engulfed them all, such that Daran had no time to brood about the strengths or weaknesses or deeper meanings of one pitiful smile.

  Again she found herself by Drew’s side for much of the day. The hurried pace from his office to the underground subway, then on to the Senate floor became a routine, every minute in transit used for discussion of the item to be discussed when they arrived. From her post with other legislative aides at the rear of the chamber, Daran studied Drew as he managed the bill, delivering the powerful arguments which she had herself fought for in weeks past. In the end, some of the points fell prey, of necessity, to the survival of others. As Drew had explained, it was a matter of compromise. The primary goal was that the bill pass. Opposition was heavy, as it was with any far-reaching new concept. When, after days of arguing back and forth, the roll call vote was taken, she quaked in anticipation.

  Waiting beside John Hollings, as each of the senators’ names were individually called, she chatted softly with the administrative assistant. “He is stupendous out there, isn’t he?”

  The beam of her amber gaze focused sharply on the tall, sandy-haired man who awaited his turn to cast his vote. She was oblivious to John’s own study of her, which took in the warm pink of her cheeks, the fullness of her smile, and the glowing pride that her eyes expressed. “Yes, Daran, he’s quite a man. But you’re going to have to do something about his orneriness. It’s been terrible lately.” The gleam of humor in his eye told only half of the story; the other half John Hollings was too loyal to divulge.

  Recalling the tension she’d seen herself too often in him, she laughed softly. “He’ll ease up once this is over. It’s taken so much of his time and energy.”

  For long moments, the other continued to scrutinize her as the vague murmur of voices in the background registered the fast-sealing fate of their love-child. “What is the count, Leo?” He turned suddenly to the man on his other side.

  “This is a hair-raiser. The tally is thirty-three to twenty-seven. We have a supposed majority of those senators still to vote, but you never can tell until the final call.”

  Daran heard enough to set her pulse to racing. This was the moment she had waited for, had worked for for the past three months. All three of Senator Charles’s staffers stood silently, motionless, as, one by one, the votes came in. When the 57 to 43 result was announced, declaring victory for the Rights of Minors Act and all who would be one day affected by it, she nearly burst with joy. Proper decorum was the operative mode, however—until they reached the protective walls of the offices once more. Then glee rang out loud and clear. It was both a triumph for the children of the country and for the future standing of the junior senator from the state of Connecticut!

  * * *

  “Were you pleased?” Drew asked her later, when the maître d’ had seated the two in a quiet corner of one of the most chic and exclusive restaurants in Washington. It was the very first restaurant she had eaten at in the capital, aside from her hotel coffee shop and the Senate cafeteria. Even now some doubts remained. But the joy of the victory was too great to be blemished by her lingering fear of running into Bill. And, she had reasoned with very mixed feelings, this would be her last night in Washington.

  There was no hesitancy in her response, neither in words nor in the spontaneous smile that softened the slim line of her face. “Of course! The bill had to pass. It’s what we’ve been working for for so long.”

  Looking positively handsome, if still a bit tired, Drew eyed her with gentle chiding. “No, I mean the bill itself. Were you pleased with the final version?”

  As she pondered his question, her tapered fingernail absently rubbed the jagged edge of the elaborate menu. “I might have liked to have some parts stronger.” She grinned sheepishly, recalling her own vehement arguments. “But, on the whole, it’s a good bill. Where does it go from here?”

  Leaning back in his chair, he explained the rest of the process of turning the bill into law. “The House has to act on it, one way or the other. If the form they pass is different from this one, a joint committee will be formed, consisting of representatives of both houses of Congress. Hopefully they will reach a compromise, enabling final passage of the bill.”

  As she absorbed the depth of his gray gaze, locked with her own, Daran recalled how astonished she’d been when, after the festivities in the office that afternoon, Drew had drawn her aside and insisted she join him for dinner.

  “But I haven’t anything to wear!” she had protested feebly, remembering one other occasion when she had thrown him a similar argument.

  “You’ve got two hours,” he had growled back good-naturedly. Mercifully they were out of earshot of the others. “Buy something.”

  That was exactly what she had done. Enjoying herself to no small extent, she had purchased a flowing dress of aqua silk, long-sleeved, deep V-necked, nipped in at the waist, and perhaps the most exquisite dress she ever remembered owning. The approval in Drew’s eyes when he picked her up at her hotel suite was instant reward for the splurge. His own appearance was, as always, breathtaking—his dark suit and tie, and the contrasting light shirt that fit his leanly muscular lines to perfection, his sandy hair groomed carefully, his freshly shaven cheeks a constant temptation to touch. But it was his eyes, with their power to melt and to magnetize, that held her then, as they continued to do now.

  “So, what is the final verdict, Daran? Have you enjoyed Washington?” The light lilt to his voice was at odds with the intensity of those eyes.

  “Yes,” she began slowly, treading her way carefully as she went on. “I’ve enjoyed every minute of it. It has been a truly educational experience, not to mention the satisfaction of being able to go back home and report favorably to the Advocacy Project executive board.”

  Mention of her return to Connecticut was purposely ignored. “You haven’t seen much of the town. Why haven’t you dated?” The bluntness of his query startled her, as did the faintly accusative lowering of his brows.

  “I really haven’t had the time.” She shrugged, feigning nonchalance as she prayed he would leave that particular issue alone. This time her prayer was not answered.

  “I happen to know that you’ve had invitations.”

  “And how would you know that?” Her chin tilted a bit higher in a return of her long-forgotten indignation.

  “It’s my job, Daran,” he answered patiently, if evasively. “My staff is a key to my success on the Hill. Assuming that they have the gray matter to start with, they will work up to par and beyond only if they are happy. I try to keep on top of what’s going on.”

  Nodding her head, she looked down at her menu. The loose darkness of her wavy hair fell around her face in a soft foil for her innermost feelings. By the time she had made a decision on what to order, her composure was, once more, intact. If Drew had wanted to pursue the matter, he must have thought better of it. It was only after he had given her order, then his own, to the waiter that he spoke again, this time on a more neutral topic.

  “When do your classes start again?” His eyes fell to her lips, then quickly caught themselves and lifted once more, leaving her momentarily breathless but otherwise poised.

  “Not until the middle of September. There are some department meetings beforehand, though. I’m planning to teach a new seminar this fall.”

  Under Drew’s gentle and interested prodding, she described the proposal that had been approved last spring. His enthusiasm for the new course seemed as genuine as hers, by the time their food arrived. The rest of the dinner proceeded with easy conversation and superb cuisine. To her own elaboration of her fall schedule, Drew added a summary of the work he would be doing during the next few weeks. With the exception of one sticky confirmation hearing, which prompted a return of the worry lines to his bronzed forehead, he told of a schedule of hearings, meetings, lectures, and two trips.

  As they lingered over coffee, Daran wondered what was to come in the saga of her heart. The warmth of the coffee as it penetrated the inner chill that suddenly gripped her did little to sustain her. The presence of this dynamic man across the small table from her became torturous, wanting as she did to be with him, knowing as she did the unlikelihood of that. As though sensing her train of thought, he leaned forward, forearms on the table. In the atmospheric intimacy of the restaurant, his nearness sent quivers through her.

  “I’m glad you wore the earrings. They sparkle in tune with those amber eyes of yours.” Deeply husky, his tone stole rational thought from her. More than anything she wanted to forget all else and surrender totally to him. More than anything she wanted him to help her, once and for all, overcome the past and its lingering fears. More than anything she wanted him.

  The silence between them was soft and gentle, a soul-reaching interaction as loud as the thunderous hammering of dual pulse beats. Words were superfluous to the visual give and take. When his long fingers stretched to touch the tip of her earlobe, it was in unspoken encouragement of her thoughts. The slow smile that curved her lips was extended to his. It was a beginning. Then she froze. A movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention, and she shifted her gaze to the face at a table not far from theirs. It was Bill! After all this time and on the first occasion she had dared take the chance as blatantly, her worst fear had become reality. The man she had wished never to see again had now, by virtue of his mere presence, destroyed the moment.

  “What is it, Daran?” All huskiness had evaporated, replaced by a deliberate evenness.

  With monumental effort she dragged her eyes away from the horror of nightmares relived in those few short instants of recognition. “I-I think I’d like to go b-back to the hotel now.” Eyes averted from both men now, her hand took her purse and she stood quickly, waiting only long enough for Drew to stand before heading for the door.

  No word was spoken until they were in the car again. “What happened back there?” he demanded, his anger and frustration barely held in check. “I thought—”

  “I’m sorry, Drew.” Frantically she rubbed her forehead in attempt to settle herself. But the shock of seeing her former husband was too great. “I just have to go back. It’s something … very personal.” No more than a whisper, her words seemed to infuriate Drew.

  Jaw tensed, fingers white-knuckled on the steering wheel, he sped through the evening traffic, pulling up with a lurch in front of her hotel. Inhaling deeply, she took the hand that was offered her and submitted to its punishing grip as he helped her from the car and drew her into the lobby, up the elevator, then down the corridor to her door. Searching her soul for the words to explain, she could find none. A shaking hand fumbled for the key, then relinquished it to Drew’s steadier one. She passed ahead of him into the living room, head bowed, innards quivering. Seeing Bill was bad enough; but at that particular moment …