by Shales, Mia
“Jorge was widowed three years ago and his name hasn’t been linked with a woman since then. I met him a week ago at a dinner and although I'm convinced he liked me he didn't propose a meeting and hasn't tried to telephone. I think he’s simply shy. He is invited for Monday and that's why I want you to come with me.”
“But Margaret, why do you need me by your side? I'll be a third wheel. I'm sure you'll manage very well on your own.”
“First of all I want to know what you think of him and second, strange as it may sound, I feel as bashful as a sixteen-year old. In the worst case, if he's indifferent or comes with someone else, I'll need all the moral support you can give. And it will be far easier for me if I don't have to return alone to an empty apartment but will be in the company of my best friend.”
“I never imagined you could be so vulnerable. You’re always so strong and independent.”
“I guess sometimes even strong people can feel insecure.”
“I'll come Monday afternoon and stay till Wednesday morning. I suppose that will give me enough time to comfort you if things don't turn out as you want.”
The next day Kate awoke to strong knocking on the front door. A quick glance at the clock by her bed showed seven-thirty. Who could it be? Emma had already left for the bookstore and she was not expecting anyone. The pounding continued. She sprang to her feet, threw on her dressing gown, and strode to the front door.
Her mouth dropped. Jemina stood at the threshold. The eldest of the three daughters of Mildred Hopson, Kate’s deceased mother’s sister, was the least favored by Kate. Although she tried to show affection for her young cousin, it was hard. They had last met three years ago when Kate spent Easter at her aunt’s house in Wales. Jemina was then a fifteen year-old high school student, flighty and dismayingly selfish. Kate was obliged to spend a considerable part of her vacation calming her worried aunt, assuring her that Jemina would be more stable when she matured and would then no doubt show greater sensitivity toward others.
Now here she was on her doorstep. Carrying a large dilapidated valise in her hand, she looked exhausted and agitated. Kate immediately noticed the change in her. Her long hair was cropped and instead of the neat clothes she used to wear she had on torn jeans and a white t-shirt under a black leather jacket. Her eyes were heavily made up and her eyebrows were pierced.
“Come in, Jemina.” Kate took the suitcase and ushered her cousin into the living room. “Sit down. I'll get dressed and make you coffee. Then you can tell me what happened.”
Kate washed quickly. When she returned to the living room she found Jemina sprawled on the sofa, staring vacantly into space. She put up a pot in the kitchen and prepared a tray with hot coffee and a pile of toast and butter. When she it on the table Jemina straightened up and thanked her with a pale smile. She was ravenous and said not a word until she polished off the toast one slice after the other, at intervals gulping loud swallows of coffee under Kate's astonished gaze. The girl had no manners at all.
“Do your parents know you’re here?”
“No. It's none of their business.” She raised her chin defiantly. “You can't kick me out, Kate. You must help me! I have nowhere else to go and I'm not going back home.”
Kate looked on sternly as Jemina took a cigarette and lit it, breathing out a screen of smoke that dispersed slowly in the air. She decided not to say a word for the moment, took a clean ashtray out of a chest of drawers and placed it in front of the girl.
“Tell me what happened,” Kate said in a neutral tone.
“I had a terrible fight with dad. He had a fit when he heard I didn't show up for my final exams and then found out I was absent from classes the whole year.”
“What do you mean 'absent'?”
“Come on, Kate, don't talk to me like my parents. Let's just say I had more interesting things to do than sit through those dull lessons. Anyway, that stupid diploma doesn't mean a thing. I intend to go to London soon and find work. The only problem is I haven't a penny and I thought you might put me up until I work something out.”
“I'm afraid you won't find it so easy to get a job. I don't have to tell you about the high rate of unemployment. And who will hire an eighteen-year old without experience and without an education?”
Jemina laughed and blew several smoke rings towards the ceiling. “You're a pessimist. I'll manage just fine. You can bet on that.”
Kate would not have placed any bets on her cousin, but she kept her opinions to herself. “I must get in touch with your parents. If your mother gives her permission you can stay here for several days until you calm down and can think clearly. I understand your impatience for independence but I would counsel you to consider returning home and completing your studies before jumping headlong into the icy water.”
Kate called Mildred Hopson who assured her there were no objections to Jemina staying with her cousins.
“I'm glad you called,” she said, “I can't control her anymore. Since your last visit she has gotten wilder and wilder. Now that she is eighteen she can do whatever she wants and all I can do is pray she doesn't get into trouble.”
Kate made up the bed in the small guestroom and Jemina dragged her suitcase to the room.
“Don't smoke in the apartment,” Kate warned. “Emma won't like that at all.” Her voice trailed off in mid-sentence as Jemina slammed the door behind her.
“Of course she can stay with us until she finds something,” Emma replied when Kate called the bookstore to tell her of the unexpected guest. “Poor girl, she must be very scared and lacking in confidence. You did the right thing when you invited her.”
“I didn't invite her, she invited herself,” Kate corrected her sister. “I truly hope she finds work, and the sooner the better.”
Richard Lindsay called in the afternoon and Kate arranged to meet him at five.
“Can I join you?” Slumped on the sofa, Jemina listened to the conversation.
“Join me? I suppose so.”
“Thanks, Kate, you're great.” Jemina jumped to her feet. “I'm starved. What are we eating?”
“I'm making myself a sandwich. You can prepare one for yourself if you wish.”
“I'll have whatever you are. You don't mind making two, do you? I'm going to dress.”
I won't be able to take this for much longer, Kate thought and went to the kitchen.
Richard Lindsay was all smiles and compliments when Kate and Jemina entered the coffee shop. Kate introduced her cousin and they sat down.
“How old are you Jemina?” Richard asked after they ordered tea and cake.
“Eighteen, Mr. Lindsay.”
“Call me Richard. What is a beautiful girl like you doing in Oxford? Are you a student?”
“No. I've decided to be on my own. I've left my parents' house in Wales and intend to find work in London.”
“Really,” Lindsay asked interestedly, “what sort of work?”
“Any kind. I want to make lots of money and be rich. Then I'll be able to do everything I've always wanted.”
Lindsay laughed convivially. “Why do you need so much money?”
“Oh, you know, to buy stuff people want to buy.” She smiled sweetly before taking a cigarette out of her pocket.
Lindsay instantly took the packet of matches lying on the table, lit one and leaned forward to light Jemina's cigarette. Kate didn't miss the slight hover of the girl's fingers as she leaned toward the tiny flame, momentarily covering his hand with hers, the cigarette dangling between her lips. Jemina inhaled and lifted her head, breathing the smoke out of her nostrils in two streams.
“Do you think you could help me Mr. Lindsay, I mean, Richard?”
“Jemina! Where are your manners?” Kate scolded, dumbfounded by her nerve and by the suggestive intonation as she pronounced his name. She sounded, almost, as though flirting with him.
Richard chuckled. “Perhaps I can help you.” He drew out a business card from his wallet and handed it to Jemina who took it eagerl
y. “Call me and I'll see what I can do for you.”
Kate was at a loss for words. Jemina was independent and, as her aunt had pointed out, free to do as she pleased, but matters had proceeded in a manner that portended no good.
“I think Jemina should return home to acquire a diploma and some skills before she leaves everything behind and takes off for a city where she doesn't know a living soul,” asserted Kate and the warning look she threw Richard Lindsay was clear and cutting.
“I agree,” Richard replied calmly and Kate felt relieved. She did not want Lindsay's words, so lightly uttered, to raise false hopes in her cousin. Beyond that, Kate suddenly had a disagreeable presentiment about Lindsay. She hoped his invitation was extended in good faith and contained no hidden meanings. Despite her cheek, Jemina was still very innocent and Kate didn't want her to count on the encouraging words of a man about whom Kate herself knew so little.
“Have you heard from Camedon since the party?” Lindsay asked Kate.
“No. But I'll see him at Bellewoodplain in two weeks.” Kate almost bit her tongue. It was foolish of her to tell him that she was to be a guest in the Marquis' house.
“He is showing some interest in you. Who would have believed it?”
A strange smile crossed Lindsay's lips and Kate felt a chill. There was something disquieting and creepy in his smile and in the wintry bleakness of his blue eyes.
“The reason I was invited to Bellewoodplain was to examine an old manuscript in his possession. There is no relationship other than a working one between the two of us.”
“I know Matthew only too well,” he interrupted bitterly, “and if he agreed to host you at Bellewoodplain it has nothing at all to do with work. He fancies you!”
“I think you are mistaken, but it's of no importance. Let's drop the subject.”
“As you wish. And how is your father?” he changed the subject.
“Very well, thank you. I haven't seen him in a couple of days but I plan to visit soon. Would you like me to give him your regards?”
“I can't believe he would remember me. I took his course eight or nine years ago and, as I told you, after Matthew refused to honor his grandfather's will I was forced to drop my studies.”
They continued chatting. Lindsay did not bring up the subject of the Marquis or his sister, and Kate relaxed. He spoke articulately and freely on other matters, every now and then throwing out compliments to the two women in his company. After a while Kate rose to her feet and made her farewells. Jemina parted with a flutter of eyelashes and a seductive smile and Kate barely controlled a strong urge to hit her. The girl was utterly shameless.
That evening, as Jemina showered, Kate called her aunt once again.
“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Mildred said after Kate confessed her worries over Jemina, “after all she’s not a bad girl.”
Chapter Four
Matthew Camedon entered his study in Bellewoodplain. A Rembrandt landscape above the fireplace depicted a stone bridge over a river, small fishing trawls and several country huts. The strongly dramatic light in the painting presaged an imminent storm. Near the window stood a Sheraton writing table with a tooled leather top, paired with a corner chair. Matthew picked up his phone but immediately put it down. Three times this week he had dialed her number and hung up before it rang.
I don't know what I want, he thought, an ironic smile touching his lips, and even worse, I have no idea what she wants.
This was, without doubt, a new predicament for him. He was very young when he discovered there was no woman, beautiful and well bred though she might be that he could not have, and he had certainly taken advantage of this. For a few years, while his grandfather still lived, he had had so many women he could not remember them all. After his grandfather's death, when he inherited his titles and his wealth, he calmed down, choosing his companions with far greater discrimination. His interest in business grew and it was soon abundantly clear he had inherited his forefathers’ gift for turning everything he touched to gold. Matthew Camedon was born with all the advantages one could wish for. He was intelligent, handsome, rich and adored by his family and friends.
His only problem was love. He had never been in love.
Of course there had been several women whose company he had, at one time or another, especially enjoyed, and there had been those towards whom, for short periods, he had a certain feeling, but he had never felt anything that could be defined as love.
The women he went out with always wanted more. They all wished to yoke their lives to his forever, and each was sure she would be the one to cause him to go down on his knees and swear eternal love and faithfulness.
But the Marquis Camedon was in no hurry to commit himself.
He always made his views clear from the start, warning them that he had no interest in tying himself down to any one woman, that he was not seeking a deep or lasting relationship. Even so most of the relationships ended in heartbreak for the woman and indifference on his part.
He was perfectly pleased with his life just as it was.
He sat at the edge of the table and stared at the picture on the wall. Kate Evans was different from all the other women he had ever met. She was very bright and very attractive, but the same could be said of many of the women in his past. No. Something else made her exceptional. A certain nobility, purity and beauty blended with a strong character and firm principles. He could not recall the time a woman, any woman, had refused to dance with him. He had to admit he had not expected such a reaction.
He had not expected her to make such a deep impression on him.
Not a day, not an hour had gone by since he first met her that he didn't think of her, remembering her smooth skin and full, sweet lips, seeing in front of him, again and again, her almond eyes and smooth, silken brown hair.
Damn it, he wanted her desperately.
And he would have her, he promised himself. He did not know how or when but she would most assuredly be his. He would not rest until his passion for her was slaked.
“Milord.”
Miss Stevens, one of the staff of Bellewoodplain, stood in the doorway, a silver tray in her hand and on it the morning mail. His eyes were drawn to an envelope with a Spanish postmark. He had tried to teach his grandmother to correspond via email but she refused to learn. After her husband's death the dowager had moved to the family estate in Norfolk. The daughter of a Spanish grandee, she kept many of the social codes and traditions she had been brought up on. She tended to spend the winter months at the Camedon mansion in Spain, visiting and receiving her numerous relatives. Before her last trip she had invited Matthew and announced, without much beating about the bush, that it was high time he found a wife. He knew that when it came to his grandmother, nothing was said idly.
“And who, may I ask, is the candidate you've selected?” he asked with feigned curiosity.
“Gabriella Estaban, the daughter of Don Francisco Estaban,” his grandmother announced triumphantly. “She is eighteen, beautiful and her mother is related to the king of Spain.”
“Abuela," he used the spanish word for grandmother, "you surprise me. Did you really think I would agree? That I would be ready to consider marriage to a girl whose mother's milk has barely dried on her lips?” He laughed brusquely. “However did you get such an absurd idea into your head? Haven't you heard that arranged marriages have passed from this world? That people marry for love?”
“Bah, love!” she snorted contemptuously. “What is love? After the wedding there will be plenty of time for you to fall in love with your wife.” Her look softened, “you have always brought honor to the family, you were a good son and devoted to Rebecca, but it all has no meaning if you do not have an heir. You need a wife! I've closed my eyes to your escapades and ignored your fondness for models and actresses. A man needs women and I won't argue with you on that point. But when it comes to marriage, things are different. You must marry someone of your own class as did your father and grandfather bef
ore you. Gabriella’s family possesses great riches and property and her parents are part of the king's inner circle. A union of the two families will mean unimaginable wealth. It will be the most talked about wedding in Europe.”
Matthew gazed at his grandmother. Eighty-one, thin and bony, she still wore mourning for her dead husband. Her skin was dusky and her face wrinkled. She had aged much in the ten years since his grandfather's death, he thought, but her black eyes were as penetrating as he remembered from his boyhood.
“Out of the question,” he retorted, focusing his eyes on hers, “forget it. I don't intend to marry Gabriella or anyone else you might choose.”
They looked at each other like boxers in the ring.
“We'll see about that,” she muttered, “we'll see.”
He opened the envelope and began to read the crowded lines written in black ink. His grandmother announced that she intended to come on Friday, in three weeks time, accompanied by Gabriella, for a visit of four weeks at Bellewoodplain.
He cursed. She never gave up. He pitied Gabriella. He had last seen her one and a half years ago. Frail, delicate and outwardly shy she was in truth appallingly spoiled and hysterical, given to unexpected temper tantrums. He could not imagine himself in bed with her, let alone spending eternity in her company. Even the thought was unforgivable. He had no wish to hurt Gabriella but if his grandmother had stuffed her head full of fantasies of marriage to him she would be greatly disappointed. Even if he was incapable of falling in love he intended to marry someone who could at least be his friend, a smart and interesting woman, someone he could respect and be proud of.
He thought again of Kate. Yes, someone like Kate!
On Monday he had picked up the receiver, this time from his London apartment and dialed the number that was imprinted on his memory. Only on the eighth ring was there an answer at the other end of the line.
“Hello?”
