by L C Kincaide
“Now, you are making me blush!” Emma laughed nervously. “Just let that be a secret between us, okay? I wouldn’t want to ruin my reputation.”
He motioned to zip his lips.
“I dread the night knowing what’s in store.”
“You can stay here if you like. If you’d rather not be alone.”
“Can I? I don’t want to put you out.”
“It’s no problem. I’ll sleep out here. The couch is pretty comfy.” He patted the seat cushions.
“There’s a king size bed in there? That’s plenty of room for each of us. I promise to stay on my side if you’re worried.” Emma teased.
He remembered his status as a brotherly friend and grinned back. “No, not worried at all.”
He wouldn’t have minded if she changed her mind, but under the circumstances, it was probably better to stay on a strictly friendly basis.
TUESDAY
~*~
Emma awoke in peace and feeling rested for the first time in months. She faded in and out of sleep as dawn broke, at one point aware of John’s arm draped over her, the sheet and blanket between their bodies. A moment of panic gripped her as her mind worked to remember if anything happened that they will both regret, but neither of them had been drinking, and they only talked late into the night, then ent to bed on their respective sides, she in a borrowed T-shirt. They must have drifted toward the middle and maybe not so strangely, Emma found comfort in that. Later, the water turned on, and now, the heavenly scent of coffee wafted into the bedroom. She smiled and headed for the shower herself.
He glanced up over his newspaper and she met his eyes shyly.
“How d’you sleep?” He said folding the paper away. She looked refreshed and rested, and her damp hair stuck out around her head in honey-dipped wisps.
“Great. You?”
“You did snore, but otherwise…”
She gave him a look.
“Just kidding. Not a peep out of you. Any nightmares?” He asked pouring her coffee.
“No. I haven’t slept this well in months.”
“Can I use that in our ad copy? Ruskin Hotels spares no expense on our mattresses.” He grinned at her.
“I doubt the Chain needs my help, and I don’t think it was the mattress.” She sipped the coffee. “Mmmm… are those pancakes?”
“Yes, I thought we’d go all out. You like sausages and eggs too if I remember.”
He was a good listener and observant. Emma was touched. “You’re a sweetie.” She said.
“I try.”
“You’re probably right, and it’s just my guilt causing the nightmares. I think I was born feeling guilty and stepped it up in the past few months. It really helped to talk last night. Maybe things will go better now.”
“I hope so too. And if you need a shoulder, you have my number. I’ll do some research into family lore when I get back later today.”
“Leaving so soon?”
“I’m afraid so. It’s been great spending time together. We should have done this sooner.”
Emma nodded, aware of impending loneliness creeping up on her.
“Until then, I’ll make mum’s day and ask her about the Everdon gang. No doubt, that will give me nightmares of a different kind.”
“I can arrange a room for you here if you need to sleep on an excellent mattress and see that you to get the family rate.”
They laughed. Then John leaned forward, his expression becoming serious. “My meeting is in an hour, but it should be over by three. We can go for a bike ride or visit a museum, and have dinner afterward, if you’d like to. I’ll reschedule my flight for later.”
“You would do that?” Emma asked surprised and touched.
“Then, that is a yes?” He grinned. “I’d rather not wait until the wedding to see you again, if that’s okay, and we’ll make up for lost time.”
“I’d love that.” She replied happily.
Until now, she’d had no one to talk to about… well, to be honest, about anything that was personal. Nor had she a thing to look forward to.
~*~
“And what do I owe this improved mood of yours to?” Elinor asked.
“I had a good night’s sleep for a change.”
“Ah, so glad to hear it, dear. How was your evening with John?”
“We went to The Wharf for dinner. Great shrimp.”
“I’m sure it was. John is a sweet boy, I always thought.”
Emma wanted to change the subject to family history. She was not about to elaborate on her evening, night nor breakfast with sweet John, though she did agree with her mother on that.
“I’m curious. How do the Ruskins fit into the whole Everdon fiasco? They’re not even related.”
Elinor cringed. “I’d rather you not use that term, Emma. But since you finally ask, you may as well sit down. It is a long story.”
“I was afraid of that.” Emma grinned and took a seat in an armchair.
Elinor called to Esther to make tea, confirming this would indeed take some time, but Emma was prepared for that. If she could learn something of her family history, she may be able to put an end to her continuing misery.
“The Everdon and Ruskin alliance dates to 1890 when Mason Everdon first set foot on American soil. The Ruskins were already well established in commercial enterprises, including landholding and development. They were the original owners of the land that Everdon Manor occupies.”
“So, Mason Everdon bought the land from them, and they were great friends since?”
“I don’t know if they were great friends, but from the photographic record and a few letters that have survived, they were well-acquainted and socialized when Mason was in America. The construction of the manor began soon after he purchased the property, and it took two years, I believe to complete, at least well enough for him to bring Amelia. Margaret, his paternal grandmother joined them, though I and many others feel she ought to have remained in England.”
“Because she started the whole mess… sorry… sequence of events.”
“Yes.”
“But I don’t understand why the Ruskins would also be held accountable. Margaret was an Everdon who killed another Everdon, and even Mason, as pissed off… er... devastated as he was must have known they had nothing to do with it.”
“They participated as witnesses.”
“I’m sorry, but that sounds really lame.”
“I don’t know what to tell you then.”
Emma thought for a bit. “Okay, is there a way to find out which particular Ruskins were around at that time?”
“Naturally.” Elinor rose and went to her desk. She returned with an old photo album encased in ancient leather and stamped in gold lettering — Everdon Family. It looked like the albums in the manor library.
“Is this one from there?” She asked suspiciously, loath to touch it.
“No. This is my personal album.”
“Can I borrow it?”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“I won’t eat it.” She tried to make a joke of it, but her mother’s fixed expression suggested it was pointless to argue.
“You may study it all you like here.” She pushed it toward her and moved the teacups to a safer distance.
Emma opened it to the first page of faded black and white prints that were in good condition considering their age. The photography of the day was in its infancy, and the resolution was far from perfect lending the scenes a soft, ethereal quality. She recognized Mason Everdon, who was always a handsome man in his dark way. Ivy had certainly taken a liking to his portrait even if she denied it. Beside him, more often than not, Amelia stood smiling.
Emma scanned the group pictures, recognizing Maxim Everdon and his w
ife, Elizabeth, who were her great-great grandparents from whom they all originated. An attractive, dark-haired woman close to Amelia smiled pleasantly into the camera in many of the photographs.
“Who is she?”
“That,” Elinor said, “is Lucy Everdon, Maxim’s eldest daughter, or Aunt Lucy, as she came to be known. She traveled to America for a visit and decided to stay.”
“What happened to her?”
“Well, from what I understand, it was she who introduced Mason to her dearest friend, Amelia Bramfield when they still lived in England. After Amelia died, she stayed with her uncle and took care of him in his old age and until he died. Lucy never married and was everyone’s favorite aunt. From what I’ve been told, she was a lovely person. Such a pity she didn’t have her own family. I suppose not everyone has a great love in their lifetime.”
That did seem unfair. Emma hoped she would not meet aunt Lucy’s fate. She really didn’t think she was aunt material.
Martha, Mason’s and Maxim’s younger sister, and her distinguished husband, Sir Nathaniel Langstone made their way into some photos, the Langstones having endured the perilous journey across the Atlantic for a visit. Other Langstones were present as well, which her mother eagerly pointed out, but Emma was interested in the other family.
“Who’s this?” Emma indicated a fair-haired woman with elaborate curls, who seemed to be hovering near Mason in many of the photographs. She pulled out her cellphone and snapped pictures of several photos to examine later on her laptop.
Elinor’s brow wrinkled. “I believe she was Wilfred Ruskin’s daughter, which placed her in the same generation as Mason, Maxim and Martha. I don’t recall her name just now, but Godfrey will certainly know. He’s always kept the most meticulous records. I suppose, in business one must have a knack for such things.” She sipped from her teacup, Royal Doulton like the set in the manor. “I wonder how they are. They took a trip to Kenya to go hot air ballooning over the Masai Mara Game Preserve. Frankly, I have no idea how Godfrey will manage, he has the most dreadful fear of heights, but Frances insisted. She mentioned something about it being on her bucket list, whatever that means.”
Emma snickered. In many ways, her mother was better suited to the Edwardian era she finally escaped from than today’s world. Maybe she spent too much time back there, and it affected her more than it should have.
“It means having specific fun things to do before you die, or kick the bucket.”
“Ah. A rather vulgar term, but I wish them well. I am thrilled everyone has gone on with their lives, now that it is all behind us. And it is behind us.” She looked pointedly at her daughter. “So, Emma, what are your plans for the future?”
“Oh, is that the time?” She closed the album. “I promised to meet a friend in an hour, so I better get going. Thanks for the history lesson.” She pecked her mother on the cheek and breezed out of the apartment.
~*~
The ping from her cellphone alerted Emma from her wardrobe musings. A selection of blouses, T-shirts and sweaters lay scattered on her bed, and her phone was somewhere under the pile. She rummaged among the garments until she found it and smiled when she saw John’s name. The next moment, the smile was replaced with a frown. John was stuck in the meeting that had come to an impasse. He wouldn’t be done until dinnertime.
Disappointed, she replied, and a couple of texts later, they agreed to meet at The Smugglers’ Cove for dinner, one of the upscale restaurants on the harbor.
The degree of her disappointment caught her off guard. She must be more lonely than she realized. Living like a hermit will do that. It occurred to Emma that John was the first man to give her any kind of attention in months, and she didn’t recall if that was her choice or just circumstances. Details of the past year were not something she wanted to dwell on.
Her eyes swept over her going-out wardrobe. What happened to the carefree party girl she used to be? Before last year’s Weekend, she was always out somewhere meeting her pals in the trendiest clubs where she danced until dawn, dining in new restaurants and going to the movies and concerts.
Her cellphone contact list was full of names she now avoided seeing on the display, and gradually, they appeared less often until only the most die-hard of her friends reached out, probably out of desperation, having found themselves on their own with no one else to call.
These days, that is how she liked it — on her own. At first, she needed to keep a low profile because of the investigation into Ivy’s disappearance, which was thankfully over soon. Her mother had warned her about talking to anyone, especially that Jen person, who had been relentless. Ivy had given her name to the woman, but there was no proof of her ever having been to the manor. Jen had found a busted cellphone that looked like Ivy’s, but there was nothing on it to prove it had actually belonged to her. The ghosts of Everdon Manor had wiped it clean. Emma supposed she ought to be grateful to them. If only they would wipe her free of the guilt.
Did anyone else feel the way she did, or were they all happy and relieved to go on with their lives? Emma didn’t begrudge them that. The Langstones and Ruskins too shared in the collective burden. What saddened her was that nothing meaningful was waiting for her. Her brief friendship with Ivy was, in fact, the most genuine one of all, and now she was gone, and Emma missed her and agonized over what may have happened to her.
Her mother repeated that Ivy’s return was a good thing — a wonderful thing they’d all been waiting and working toward, which included inviting many eligible female guests, and yes, enduring years of tradition. She insisted it was Ivy who had sought her out, not the other way around, to bring her back home to him, where she belonged. The night of the party, it had become clear to Elinor it had been much more than finding a mere replacement for Amelia. Emma found that hard to believe and took no comfort in it. If anything, she was more lost than before in her dual life.
Now John appeared, so far the only person who seemed to understand how she felt, knowing what it had been growing up among the ghosts with one foot in the past. Spending time with him was therapeutic — hadn’t she finally slept through the night? And it was more than that. It was wonderful and so liberating to not have to be always guarded in case she slipped up and said something she shouldn’t that related to the Weekends. Really enjoyable to poke fun at the whole tradition too, like an inside joke. As the saying went, you had to be there.
So yes, she was disappointed that he was unavailable until later, and it was a good reminder against getting her hopes up. So often, she could be her own worst enemy.
“How nice.” Emma said glancing around after the waiter took their apéritif order with an obsequious air and departed.
“I’m glad you like it. The company held a Board dinner here once, and I’ve been looking for an excuse to come back. You look wonderful, by the way.”
Emma was happy she decided on a midnight blue dress that accentuated her slim figure though not too clingy. A fringed, pashmina in dusky reds draped over her shoulders. Had he ever seen her in make-up before?
He had opted for a black suit, similar to the Edwardian one she was used to seeing him in, but not with the dreaded stand-up collar, and tonight, his shirt was not buttoned up to his chin.
“You look very dashing, yourself.” She admitted. “I’m sure you’re much more comfortable without the neck brace.”
“Thank you, and an emphatic, yes.”
Their drinks arrived.
“A toast, then.” He held up his glass. “What shall we drink to?”
What indeed? Emma thought. “How about the future? We’ve spent enough time dealing with the past.”
“I couldn’t agree more. To the future.” They clinked their Champagne flutes.
“Mmmm… this is good!”
John smiled. “It’s Kir Royale, Crème de Cassis with Champagne. I had a feeling
you would like it.”
“You’re right! I love it!” Emma sipped the sweet, blackberry-flavored Champagne. She had no idea John was so worldly. Of all the men in her life, she had always attributed such traits to Robert.
Leaning back and sipping her new favorite drink, she let John order for her since he was doing so well. He was full of surprises. She had never considered him her type, her tastes fixated on everything the handsome and dark-haired Robert Langstone was, or what she imagined him to be. John always impressed her as more the preppy outdoor kind of guy, yachting the inlets, his wavy sun-kissed hair flying about, a friend rather than a romantic ideal. Could she have misjudged him? The wine he ordered with dinner was heavenly too.
“So, are you seeing anyone?” Emma blurted out. Too late to take it back now, she thought. He probably was, being a successful, confident hot young guy.
“Not exclusively.” He said casually. “How about yourself? Anyone special in your life since we’re exchanging personal information?”
Emma shrugged. “Not really. Just keeping things casual.” She almost laughed out loud at the way she handled it. No one special. How about, no one at all, or, I can’t remember my last date? Why have him think she wasn’t a hot commodity these days?
“It’s been hard getting really close to someone with all the family stuff we’ve had to deal with. What guy would go along with that? Can you imagine me saying, I have to leave for a dress-up weekend to satisfy a family curse? Matthew got lucky with Rachel. She’s cool with all that, but not many guys are.”
“I see what you mean.” He said. “It’s not something I ever talked about with anyone outside of the family. But, that’s all changed now. No more masquerade weekends and curses. We can all go on with our lives.”
