Where You Belong by Barbara Taylor Bradford Read Free Book Online Page A

not,” he answered, turning to look at me. “The storm seems to have blown away before it got started.”
    I nodded and headed for the kitchen to open a bottle of his favorite Pouilly-Fuissé.
    Jake followed me.
    â€œI’ll do that,” he said when I took the bottle of white wine from the refrigerator. He opened a drawer where he knew I kept the bar utensils and found a corkscrew. While he deftly pulled the cork, I took two wineglasses out of the cupboard and set them on the counter next to him, and a second later he was pouring wine for us.
    He handed me a glass, and I said, “I’ve got good news, Jake. Mike heard from Ajet’s brother. Qemal told him Ajet is safe and well in Macedonia.”
    â€œHey, that’s great!” he exclaimed, and clinked his glass to mine. “Here’s to Ajet. Thank God he made it okay.”
    I nodded. “To Ajet.”
    We took our drinks into the living room, where Jake lowered himself into a chair near the fireplace and I sat down in the corner of the sofa, as I always did.
    â€œWhat’s the full story?” Jake asked, peering across at me over the rim of his glass.
    After I told him the whole story, I settled back, studying Jake, thinking how well he looked after a week’s rest in the South. He’d asked me to go with him to Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, but I’d declined, and I suddenly wondered if that might have been a mistake on my part. A vacation would have obviously done me good. His few days in the sun had given him a golden tan, turned his streaky hair more blond than ever, and he was in glowing health. Tonight he was wearing a blue cotton shirt with his gray sport jacket and slacks, and his eyes looked more vividly blue than ever.
    â€œYou’re staring at me,” he said. “What’s wrong?” That was Jake, who was always questioning me about everything in my life. It had been that way since we’d first met in Beirut.
    â€œNothing’s wrong,” I replied at last. “It’s just that you look in such great shape, I think I ought to have accepted your invitation.”
    â€œYes, you should have,” he quickly replied. He spoke softly enough, but I detected a certain undertone of vehemence in his voice. He took a swallow of white wine and then sat nursing his drink, staring down into the glass, his face thoughtful.
    When he looked up at me, he said, “You needed a holiday, and even though you think you look great, you don’t really. The makeup doesn’t deceive me. And you’ve lost weight.”
    So much for my efforts with the cosmetic pots, I thought, and said, “Black makes me look thin.”
    â€œIt’s me you’re talking to,” he answered. “I know you better than everyone, even better than you know yourself.” He put the glass down on the coffee table and seemed about to get up but suddenly leaned back against the rose-colored-linen cushions and closed his eyes.
    After a couple of minutes, I ventured to ask, “Are you feeling all right, Jake?”
    Opening his eyes, he said, “Yep. But I worry about you, Val.”
    â€œOh, please don’t,” I said. “I’m fine. I haven’t lost a pound,” I lied. “Nothing. Nada. Zilch.”
    He shook his head. “Has Mike said anything about your going back to work?”
    â€œHe said I was welcome back anytime I felt like coming in, but to take my time, that it was my call.”
    â€œThe sooner you get back to the agency, the better, in my opinion. You need to be busy, occupied, Val, not walking around the streets of Paris every day and sitting here alone in the apartment afterward. I know you’re suffering. I am too. Tony was my best buddy, but we’ve got to go on, that’s what he would want.”
    â€œI’m trying hard, I really am, Jake. And the walking helps. I’m not sure why, but it does.”
    â€œYou’re less alone when