Dangerous to Know. Barbara Taylor Bradford

at thirteen there had been a certain lusciousness about her, despite the puppy fat. How much older she actually appeared to be in this particular shot, certainly much older than the little girl she really was at the time. And she had had the mouth of a thirty-year-old on her. I knew that only too well.

      I regarded the picture of Jack for a long moment. I couldn’t help thinking he looked like a little old man. His hair was untidy and his dinner jacket was rumpled; his whole appearance was decidedly unkempt. The expression on his face was surly, disgruntled, and with a start I realized he had not actually changed much. He was exactly the same as he had been at fifteen. Jack had never grown up, more’s the pity.

      Flipping the pages, I came to a series of photographs of Sebastian, which I had taken that summer, when we had been on vacation in Nantucket. My favorite was a shot of him standing nonchalantly on the deck of a sailboat belonging to his friend Leonard Marsden. It was called the Rascal, and at the time we had joked about the name being so appropriate for Leonard, who was something of a playboy.

      Sebastian’s white opened-necked shirt emphasized his deep tan, and he was so boyish, so 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 conceded 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 ceremony 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 for dinner, glad to escape, to be alone, and married at last.

      The following morning we set out for Africa, where we were to spend most of our honeymoon.

      Our first stop was London and Claridge’s Hotel. Sebastian had booked a suite for us there, and we were staying for two weeks. He had certain business matters to attend to, and he had also wanted to get me rigged-out properly for our impending African sojourn. “You must have the right clothes, Vivi, you must be comfortable. We have to combat the heat, the sun, the constant travel, and the cold at night,” he had explained to me.

      I had only been to London twice, both times with my mother and Gran Rosalie, and it was a special treat for me to be back there again with my husband.

      I met many of Sebastian’s friends; we went to smart luncheons and elegant dinners; we attended the opera in Covent Garden, and saw several plays in the West End. I relished every minute of it. I was madly in love, and so it seemed was he. We spent a lot of time in bed giving pleasure to each other. He made love to me most expertly, spoiled me outrageously, dressed me fashionably, and showed me off proudly.

      At one point, during the first week of our stay, Sebastian took me on our special shopping expedition for the appropriate clothing for East Africa, our next destination. He bought me lightweight cotton pants, cotton safari jackets, short-sleeved cotton shirts, as well as four pairs of really good soft leather boots and several large-brimmed felt bush hats for protection against the sun.

      At the end of the two weeks in London we flew to Nairobi. This was to be our base for the three or four months Sebastian had planned for us to stay. And as long as I live I will never forget those months in Kenya. I was besotted with my husband, thrilled to be his wife, to share so many things with him, but I was also captivated by Africa the moment I set foot there. It was one of the most spectacularly beautiful places I had ever been to in my life, and I was awestruck.

      Sebastian knew Kenya extremely well, and it gave him a great deal of pleasure to show me his favorite spots, the areas he loved the most, and which had enticed him back time after time. And how truly magical they were.

      Piloting a small plane owned by a friend in Nairobi, he flew me over the vast expanse of land that was the Great Rift Valley. This ran from the north to the south of the country, and was bounded by soaring escarpments so high and formidable they defied description. At times the Great Rift Valley, arid and desolate in parts, seemed to resemble a giant moonscape to me, and when I mentioned this to Sebastian he agreed and said he found it an apt description.

      In contrast were the lush and verdant savannahs where we went on safari. It was here that we either drove or trekked, photographing the extraordinary wildlife—leopard, lion, elephant, buffalo, rhino, cheetah, gazelle, zebra, wildebeest, and giraffe.

      It was from the savannahs that Sebastian took me into the Maasai Mara Reserve, and once more I was stunned and overwhelmed by the beauty of the land and the big game animals roaming across their natural habitat. I felt transported back to the beginning of time, when the earth was young.

      Moving