by Shales, Mia
Not knowing what to say, Kate was silent. This was a terrible tale. How could someone behave so despicably? His vanity made him beneath contempt.
“He's really not all that bad,” Lindsay said before Kate could react to what she had just learned. “I have to admit he's a warm and responsible family man. He's very fond of his sister and extremely devoted to her.”
“I didn't know he had a sister.”
“His sister Rebecca is twenty three and younger by ten years. Their mother died while giving birth to Rebecca and Matthew, from a young age, took her under his wing.”
“Does she resemble him?” Kate asked curiously.
“Rebecca is very pretty but weak-willed and dependent. She's like a puppet manipulated by her brother who pulls the strings. For a time she and I were inseparable but Matthew did everything in his power to keep us apart. To my lasting regret, he succeeded. She's afraid of him and petrified to do anything against his wishes. I wasn't titled or rich enough for the honorable Camedon family,” he concluded bitterly.
Kate very much wanted to hear more details, but Emma and John were approaching. She stood up and Lindsay followed suit.
“I'm afraid I have to leave the party now but I hope we can meet again. Could I call and invite you out for a cup of coffee?”
“I'll be glad to hear from you,” replied Kate and parted from him. She had to admit to herself that the hope of hearing more about Matthew Camedon was the only reason she wanted to meet Richard. Despite her detestation of the Marquis, she had an unexplainable urge to find out everything about him.
Kate spent the rest of the evening dancing, invited to her surprise, even by heavy-footed Sir Bruton. Once or twice, looking over her partner's shoulder, she caught a glimpse of Matthew Camedon, his expression as inscrutable as ever, looking at her from the other end of the room, but he made no move to approach her.
When the party ended Kate discovered that, just as on the way to the party, Matthew would not ride with them but would drive Lillian Bruton home. Standing unattended as Emma and John made their last round of farewells, Kate saw Matthew in the company of Sir Bruton, his daughter and the older couple Kate had seen earlier at the commencement. Poor Lillian, she thought, it was clear the obligation to escort her to and from the party was irksome. His undisguised ennui in her presence was obvious to the point of insult. Lillian took his arm before it was proffered, and the two turned to leave.
He didn't bother to say good-bye, she thought. Several minutes previously she had seen him talking to Emma and John and had wondered if he would come up to her. He chose not to. As they made their exit, Lillian preceding Camedon, Kate followed him with her eyes. An eerie sensation overcame her. The figures surrounding her merged into a dizzying melange of colors and the voices into the murmur of a distant waterfall. She heard nothing but the beating of her heart as her body felt as insubstantial and ethereal as the air. Everything moved in slow motion. His back towards her, Matthew stopped at the doorway, enabling a large group of guests to leave before him. A slight pause and then he turned his head, the flame in his eyes melting the chocolate brown of hers.
That look! What passion!
Kate could not breathe for a very long minute. A delightful tremor set her thighs quivering, her pulse racing. And the phenomenon Kate had believed would never come to pass occurred. He smiled at her! It was a bare hint of a smile, restrained yet captivating, slow but seductive.
The moment was exquisite to the point of being painful.
She stared at the doorway a long time after he left the room. Something above and beyond her comprehension had taken place, something outside the limits of her experience. She had never felt this way before. Her legs were quite unsteady as she sank into a nearby armchair. She dared not allow herself to imagine, even for a second, a love between the Marquis and her. Absurd; even the idea wasn't in the least bit amusing.
She disliked him from the moment they met and he, for his part, made no effort to endear himself to her. Everything she had learned about him tonight should have disposed her to feel nothing but scorn and loathing and to keep her distance as from a wildfire.
So why did her fingers burn with a singular desire to stroke his face as he looked at her with those golden eyes?
Why, when he smiled at her, did she stand nailed to the spot, allowing the incredible sensation to wash over every pore of her skin?
She had wanted him to turn around. She had known he would. The realization struck her. She had caused him to do so. She had stared at his back, forcing him by the formidable powers of her femininity to pivot and look at her.
Dear Lord, she would have to contend with this attraction. There was no point in denying she was drawn to him by a hunger and passion she never knew her body possessed.
“Here you are,” Emma's voice intruded on her tumultuous thoughts. “Come on, we're leaving.”
Kate rose and obediently followed Emma and John.
Chapter Three
Only when the engine came to life and she heard John and Emma conversing did she allow herself to withdraw once more to the secret recesses of her thoughts. She suddenly remembered Patrick. How odd she should think of him now. For the past few years she had made a supreme effort to clear her mind and erase all memory of the graceless and awkward parting scene. She had managed to suppress any recollection of the man she had gone out with for an entire year.
Kate met Patrick when she was twenty-three, a student on an accelerated academic track that combined studies for the master's and doctoral programs. A professor of French literature, he was teaching at Oxford while on a sabbatical from the Sorbonne. Not handsome in the accepted sense of the word, his black hair and green eyes were set in an interesting face. The charismatic teacher was immediately aware of the doctoral student in his class. Kate was entranced. She had gone out with several men her own age but they all paled beside the electrifying lecturer of thirty-six who tantalized her intellect with his interesting critiques of Flaubert, Stendahl, Balzac and Zola. He wooed her vigorously, pouring on all his charm. The young Kate fell in love, or so she thought at the time, with the beguiling intellectual and the two spent much of their free time together.
Patrick was adamant she keep their affair a secret, his plausible excuse being that too many people would view an affair between teacher and student in an unkind light.
“I'm not concerned about myself, Kate,” he assured her, “but you. I'm worried about your reputation. I couldn't bear to see your career in academia crushed by the jealousy and meanness of some narrow-minded people.”
“But we love each other and when I finish my doctorate we'll get married. You said so yourself, so I don't see the problem. Professor Joyce has accepted me as his assistant for next year so my standing will be equal to yours. I'll be part of the faculty.”
“Well, anyway,” he answered, “for now, my love, I prefer we keep our engagement a secret. It is much more exciting that way.”
Kate did not for one second doubt his words and devoted herself to him heart and soul. Emma, the only one aware of their secret romance, never expressed her views, allowing Kate to make her own decisions.
They did not spend the holidays together. He resisted taking her to Paris, pointing out quite reasonably that he intended to work during his entire stay and she would only be bored. He was relieved to discover that Kate accepted his explanation calmly. She was too completely immersed in her doctorate to pay much attention to his excuses and she was even glad of the freedom and space she would gain in his absence.
“Patrick, I think it’s time our love stopped being such a deep dark secret,” she said to him one day. “I'm beginning to feel uncomfortable about concealing it from my father and sister.”
“Soon. Darling, I promise that very soon the right moment will come,” he implored and she, in her trusting innocence, agreed.
Sunday morning, two weeks after their conversation, Kate decided to surprise Patrick in his apartment and invite him to take a walk w
ith her. She opened the door to his apartment with her key and was amazed to find a woman dressed in a silk robe, staring at her with as surprised an expression as Kate's.
“Who are you?” the two women asked simultaneously.
“I'm Patrick's wife," answered the stranger in a thick French accent. "And you?”
Kate saw comprehension and bitterness reflected in the dark eyes. For a moment Kate was tongue-tied. Patrick's wife said nothing and it was clear to Kate that the woman, in that long stretch of silence, was preparing herself for the worst.
“I’m the maid,” Kate extemporized, surprising even herself. “When I cleaned the apartment a couple of days ago I forgot a piece of paper with an important telephone number. For some reason I was under the impression that Mr. Fosse would not be in today and thought he would not mind if I stopped by and took it.”
“Who are you talking to, cherie?” Patrick's sleepy voice was heard a moment before its owner appeared in the doorway. He stopped short, panic spreading over his features. Kate feared he was about to faint. His lips paled and his body began to shake. Unable to utter a word, he swallowed his saliva nervously as his mouth opened and closed several times in dismal mimicry of a fish, unable to utter a word. Clearly, he had never entertained the possibility that sooner or later he would be called upon to account for his philandering.
Surprisingly, at that moment, she felt absolutely nothing. Of course she was angry. The bastard had misled her for almost a year, but she had to admit she could have been more alert to all those tell-tale signs that didn't presage a happy ending to their romance. Aside from her wounded pride, she was relieved to note the total absence of jealousy and hatred or any of the other emotions a woman in love was expected to feel. Her only sentiment towards him was of contempt mixed with aversion and pity. He really did look pathetic.
“Good day, Mr. Fosse,” she said quickly, discovering with satisfaction that she had enough magnanimity to at least try to save his marriage. “I forgot an important piece of paper when I cleaned two days ago. I hope you don't mind if I take it now.” She approached the desk in the entrance and rummaged through the papers scattered on top before saying disappointedly, “I can't think where it disappeared. I must have thrown it in the wastebasket. I really do ask your pardon Professor.” She could not resist throwing him a long look before retreating to the door. “Au revoir,” she murmured as she closed the door behind her.
Instead of a light-hearted stroll in Patrick's company, she found herself walking alone as she tried to sort out her emotions. Her great good luck was that she had not been truly in love with him. She had been attracted to his academic assurance but had never felt that intense passion, that overwhelming desire that true love arouses between a man and a woman. She shivered to think what might have happened if she had loved him with every fiber of her being, the torment she would no doubt be enduring this very minute, her bleeding heart. The scoundrel. If there was anything Kate loathed, it was lies, disloyalty and hypocrisy.
Kate was determined never to let any man, attractive though he might be, to play a dominant role in her life. No one would break her heart, she promised herself. Kate kept her unspoken oath. She led a rich intellectual life and a tranquil social one, avoiding any serious relationship and fending off the attention of men.
Kate remained lost in thought until the car stopped in front of their apartment. John’s parting was genial. “We'll meet soon, Kate. I can't wait for the weekend in your company. I'm sure you'll be enchanted with Bellewoodplain.”
Kate's positive opinion of him was strengthened. He was a perfect match for her sister. She climbed the entrance stairs, leaving Emma to take her leave of John.
“What a marvelous party,” said Emma dreamily as she entered the apartment fifteen minutes later. Kate, still in evening dress, was preparing a pot of tea.
“I can barely stand,” Kate lamented, “I danced my feet off.”
“I saw you talking to Matthew,” Emma remarked. “I bet you changed your mind about him.”
“On the contrary, my negative opinion has been strengthened. He asked me to dance and I declined.”
“No way!” Emma was thunderstruck. “You can't have been so impolite as to refuse his invitation. We’re going to be guests in his home.”
“So what? He's not doing us any favors. Actually, we're the ones who gave in to John's entreaties to come to Bellewoodplain.”
“Anyway,” Emma sighed, "I do think you're mistaken about him. John is not only very fond of him but admires him and speaks of him with the greatest respect.”
Kate was conscious of her sister's distress at the antagonism that prevailed between the Camedon and her. She decided not to mention her conversation with Lindsay. She had no wish to be the cause, even indirectly, of a rift between Emma and John.
“I promise to behave with nothing less than the most exquisite courtesy toward Matthew Camedon during our stay at Bellewoodplain. You needn't worry. I shall be the ideal guest.”
Emma grinned. “I've no doubt about that. I'm simply dumbfounded that you should refuse to dance with him. He is a very attractive man.”
“I guess it is a matter of personal taste,” retorted Kate.
“Relax,” Emma laughed, “forget what I said.”
Kate was pleased. To her delight, and of course to Emma's, John called every day after the party. The serene and restrained Emma glowed after each conversation and it was clear to Kate that her sister was falling in love. She couldn't have wished for more.
On Sunday Kate met her friend in a coffee shop in the center of town. Margaret Webb came from one of the wealthiest families in London. Her father had made a fortune in the sugar trade and Margaret, an only daughter, was brought up as a princess. To everyone's surprise and especially her mother's, at the age of eighteen she announced that she was going to study medicine. Her parents pleaded with her to forego such a ridiculous notion and concentrate instead on catching a suitable husband. Their headstrong daughter rejected all their entreaties with the utmost scorn and today, at thirty-four, Margaret Webb was a successful psychiatrist. The two women had met several years ago in Mr. Mallory's bookstore when Margaret tried to track down several out of print books. A strong friendship developed and the two visited each other frequently and often went out together. The difference in their economic station never bothered Kate and Margaret was oblivious to it.
They chatted comfortably for two hours, catching up on each other's doings. Kate described the two sisters' encounters with Lord John Bayhem and Lord Matthew Camedon and their intended visit to the latter's estate.
“I've heard of Matthew Camedon. His family is one of the most prestigious in England. His grandmother is a Spanish princess. She married the Marquis William Camedon and they had a boy who later married an aristocratic British heiress. Matthew was the son of this union as was his sister Rebecca who was born many years later. His mother died giving birth to Rebecca and several years later his father was killed in a plane accident. When his grandfather passed away ten years ago, Matthew inherited his title. They say he is a brilliant coolheaded businessman."
"Where do you get all this information?"
"I google, my dear. Don't you?"
"It didn't enter my mind to do so."
"That's because you live in Jane Austen's world of two hundred years ago. At any rate, in the past few months Matthew has been hanging out with Lola."
"The supermodel?"
"Yes."
"Good for Lola. What you say squares with all I've heard about him,” said Kate to her friend, “to me he seemed rude and callous.”
“Perhaps,” Margaret agreed. “I've never met him." They turned to other subjects and the time passed quickly. “Kate," said Margaret before they parted, "I’d like to invite you to London next Monday. You can stay at my place. I have tickets to an extraordinary private concert to be given at the home of Baroness Axbridge. The tenor Olivero Herrera will sing a select repertoire for a hundred invited guests and
I'd be delighted if you join me.”
Kate was surprised. “Me?”
“None other,” Margaret laughed, looking at her friend affectionately. “You know how much I enjoy your company.”
“I know, but won't the baroness mind? After all...”
“Nonsense, the baroness is my friend and has already agreed that my bosom pal Dr. Kate Evans, the most promising star in the Oxford firmament, will be a guest. The baroness dabbles in things literary and will be delighted if among her guests are a few who add a cultured and intellectual luster to the evening.”
“Now I understand,” said Kate, "the wiles you used to get the baroness to include me. I accept. I've never been to a private concert.”
Margaret lightly squeezed Kate's hand on the table and leaned towards her. “The truth is I have another reason I want you with me. Somebody I'm very interested in will be there. A man.”
“That's wonderful. Who is the lucky one?”
“I have to admit the lucky man has no inkling as yet of his good fortune. He’s a Chilean author. You may have heard of him, his name is Jorge-Carlos Andrade.”
Kate's eyes widened. “You're joking. I've read all his books. He's a remarkable writer. Have I heard of him,” Kate snorted. “But isn't he a bit old for you Margaret?” she asked after a short pause.
“He is forty-eight. Fourteen years older than I am. That doesn't bother me. I've always been attracted to older men. The inveterate, trite problem was that they were usually married.”
“Yes, I know just what you mean,” Kate muttered and thanked the Lord her affair with Patrick had never been made public and was known only to Emma.
