***
“Any calls, Martine?” Steven rushed into his office, a sandwich in one hand, a Coke in the other.
Martine drew her eyes up slowly. “There was one call. Let me find it.” She shuffled through papers. “Oh, here it is.” She picked up the note from the top of the pile. “It was a strange call. From a woman. She did not seem to be certain of her own name.”
“What?”
“It was Katherine, then it was Katie, then it was Katie Lee Jackson. What kind of name is ‘Katie Lee’?”
Steven sighed.
I was out for ten minutes. I had no chance even to talk with her! And she can’t make dinner.
He sighed again and started toward his office.
“Don’t you want to hear the message? Ms. Katie Lee Jackson wanted to confirm that she will meet you tomorrow at six o’clock for dinner, at Villa Antonia.”
“She what?” Steven couldn’t contain the smile that spread across his face.
“For an old friend, she doesn’t seem to know you very well. Villa Antonia?”
“She will be there?”
“She said she would be.”
“Terrific!” Steven turned away with the vain hope that he could avoid Martine’s questions.
“Who is this woman, Steven?” Martine followed him into his office. “I don’t know this old friend. You’ve never talked about her. You’re taking her to Antonia’s?”
“She said she is an old friend. She is.”
“A close friend? She didn’t know where you worked, or what you do.”
“We were close, yes. I haven’t seen her in a decade, I guess, ten years.”
“You’re taking her to Antonia’s?”
“Yes, is there anything wrong with Antonia’s?”
“It’s expensive. This old friend who does not know you so well is going with you to Antonia’s?” She paused, as if expecting a reply, but Steven turned to the papers on his desk.
“Tell me, Steven. Tell me about Katie Lee Jackson. I would not want to have to come out to Antonia’s on Saturday to see her. Of course, dinner would be fabulous, and Philippe might be persuaded…”
Steven glared at her. She wouldn’t give up. “Fine. I met Katie about ten years ago when we were both in England for the summer. We agreed to meet again in ten years. We are doing that on Saturday. It’s that simple.”
Martine looked at Steven suspiciously. “You were lovers ten years ago in England?”
“No, we were not lovers.” Steven noted the disappointment on Martine’s face. He groaned. “We were in love, though. We are supposed to find out if we still are.”
“Katie Lee Jackson is the reason you are not married? The reason you prefer painting and reading to, well, to dating, as Americans call it?”
“I suppose so, Martine.”
“I would like to meet the woman who could hold on to you for ten years in absentia! I’d like to meet Katie Lee Jackson. Antonia’s might be a good place for dinner on Saturday.”
***
At five o’clock on Saturday afternoon, Katherine ran through the apartment, chanting, “I’m late! I’m late! I’m late!” undressing as she went.
She jumped into the shower, not waiting for the hot water, shivering as the cold blasted her skin. It had been an absolute zoo at work. She should have left the ER at three and it had been almost four-fifteen before she got away.
She let out an exasperated groan. “I’ll never make it!”
After a four-minute cold shower, she stood at her closet, toweling herself dry and wondering what she should wear.
What does one wear when she meets her fiancé after a ten-year separation?
Katherine was quite sure even Amy Vanderbilt had no answer for that question.
Villa Antonia had white tablecloths—she knew this because she had peered through the open door once. The posted menu was, well, nothing was inexpensive. Still, she had seen diners dressed casually, but she had also seen men in tuxedos. Katherine couldn’t imagine Steven in a tuxedo, but she hadn’t imagined him as a curator at a museum, either.
“I’m going to be late!” She skipped a step as she ran from the apartment and she would have fallen on the ground if her legs had not been moving so quickly.
Katherine was panting when she reached the restaurant. She stopped to catch her breath and to look at her reflection in the window of the store next door. She had chosen black pants with a white blouse and sweater. The necklace and earrings made it all semi-dressy. She saw a woman enter Antonia’s wearing a cocktail dress, accompanied by a man in a dark suit. Maybe she’d made a mistake. But it was five after six, so it was too late to go home and change.
She took a deep breath and followed the couple into the restaurant.
Villa Antonia had dark wood paneling on the walls and Venetian tile on the floor. The maître d’ and the waiters all wore tuxedos. Katherine’s face felt warm as she approached reception. She gazed down at her outfit. It would have to do.
“I’m meeting a friend this evening. He may already have arrived. Mr.—Dr. Steven Richardson.”
“Oh, yes. Dr. Richardson is expecting you. Follow me.” The host led her through the main dining room to a smaller space, off to one side. Katherine glanced around and did not see Steven. Her heart twisted.
The host escorted her toward a corner table, and as they approached, a man stood. He had dark hair and twinkling blue eyes. He was wearing a blue suit, white shirt, and a tie.
She recognized his smile.
“Steven!” She practically shouted his name. Tears filled her eyes, a smile covered her face, and she began to laugh, all at the same time. She held out her hands.
He hugged her gently and kissed her cheek.
“I didn’t recognize you. Last time I saw you, you were wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and hiking boots.”
“You couldn’t see my ears and I likely hadn’t shaved in two days!”
“You weren’t that scruffy.” She laughed.
The host held the chair for her to sit.
“Well, I recognized you. You look just as I remembered.”
“Flattery!”
“No, it’s true. Your hair is shorter, otherwise…”
“Well, thank you.” She smiled. “You are looking good. I would never have imagined you wearing a suit and tie. You don’t look like a painter. You do still paint, don’t you?”
“I do. I have a little studio at home.”
“But you’re Dr. Richardson. And you’re a curator at the Metropolitan Museum. That’s not what I was expecting.”
“Disappointed? You thought I would be like that guy who paints portraits in the park?”
“Oh, no. No! Just surprised.”
“I understand you were surprised when you called, too.”
“I sounded like a twit. Your secretary must have had a good laugh.”
“I didn’t hear Martine laughing, but she certainly was curious. An old friend who doesn’t know much about you?” He mimicked Martine’s accent. “She was certainly full of questions. It was nice of you to call.”
“So, tell me, Steven, what have you been up to for the past ten years?”
He described his year in Italy.
“I wasn’t just bumming around the country, you know. I was enrolled in UGA’s Art Program in Cortina. I was able to travel on weekends and holidays.”
“Lots of adventure.”
“Some. Traveled all over the country. I managed to get a ticket to midnight mass in St. Peter’s. Then there was the prostitute who approached me at the gate to Vatican City once.”
Katherine laughed.
“At the end of the year I went back to England, before coming home. I spent some time around Oxford, met some of the professors. When I graduated, I went to Oxford for my PhD in Art History. Christ Church College.”
“Wow!”
“Stayed on for a couple of years as a lecturer and then accepted my job here.”
“And you are in the Near Eastern Gallery?”
�
�I wrote my dissertation on Greek art. The Museum is trying to strengthen its collection in that area, so they created an assistant curator’s position. We are opening an exhibition of Medieval Greek icons in September. I’ve been working on it for months. Maybe you’ll go to the opening with me.”
“Perhaps so.”
“Martine would be pleased. She is anxious to meet the girl who could hold my heart ‘for ten years in absentia.’ She threatened to show up tonight.” He glanced around.
Katherine laughed. “She wasn’t serious!”
“She’s rather protective.” Steven shook his head. “Now, Katie, what has the girl who held my heart for ten years been doing in that time?”
“Nothing nearly as interesting as you. I graduated from UVA, went to medical school at Emory, stayed on for my internship and residency. I’m a staff physician in the ER at St. Vincent’s Hospital.”
“That must be interesting.”
“It is. I never get bored—something is always happening. And I learn so much. I see diseases, problems I might never encounter in years of practice.”
“You help a lot of people, too.”
“True. I enjoy thinking of my work that way.”
The waiter brought their menus.
“You’re going to love the food here.”
“You’ve eaten here before, Steven? Often?”
“Yes and no. I have eaten here before, not often.”
“Tell me what is good.”
He held up the menu. “You could close your eyes and choose at random. Everything is good.”
Katherine laughed. “You did that once in Scotland, remember? You ordered haggis.”
“And it was delicious.”
They both laughed.
“I’ll ask it this way—what would you recommend?”
Steven scanned the menu. “If you like pasta, then the Fettuccini Antonia is out of this world. It has a cream sauce that I think they serve in heaven. Make sure to order Antonia’s Salad, too. You’ve never tasted dressing like theirs.”
They placed their orders.
“You didn’t have plans for your birthday?”
“No, my roommates are out of town. I worked all day. Besides, how could I pass up an invitation from the man to whom I’m engaged?”
Steven smiled.
“I have a present for you.” He placed a small box on the table in front of her, pale yellow paper, wrapped with purple ribbon. “I hope you like it.”
“You didn’t have to do this.” Katherine carefully removed the ribbon and paper. She opened it slowly, savoring the pleasure of having received a gift from Steven.
Inside was a gold necklace, a thick band with yellow roses embossed in a lighter shade. It was simple, elegant. A card indicated that it had come from an antique store nearby. She caught her breath.
“It’s…it’s beautiful! The roses. Oh, Steven!” She reached up and removed the necklace that she’d been wearing, wrapping it carefully around the card. “Can you fasten it for me?”
She held the necklace against her throat as he leaned over and fastened it.
“It’s the perfect length. Thank you so much! You shouldn’t have.”
“I’m glad you like it. Happy birthday.”
Their entrées arrived. The waiter placed large bowls in front of each of them. Roma tomatoes, red peppers, and chopped spinach tucked into nests of pasta. The waiter spooned sauce over top and then grated fresh parmesan. The smell of cheese and rosemary made Katherine’s mouth water.
“How in the world did you find me? I mean, I’ve been thinking about you. I’ve done that a lot over the years, but especially recently, this last month. I’d pretty much given up hope of seeing you again.”
“I’ve been trying to find you for months. All I knew was your name, your hometown, where you were heading to school. It had seemed so simple when we’d discussed it. I wondered several times, though, if we both knew, at some level, that finding you would be impossible. Anyway, I wrote the UVA alumni association. I wrote both you and your mother in Hamilton—just the city, though, I had no street. The letters never came back, but no response, so…”
“I’m sure they were delivered. Hamilton is not that large and everyone, including the mail carrier, knows my family. My mother was probably protecting me.”
“Well, on Tuesday, I was eating lunch with a lady from the Richmond Museum. I’m consulting with them on an exhibit and a seminar they are sponsoring in October—it corresponds with the one I am doing here in September. She mentioned that she lived in Hamilton.”
“Who was it?”
“Emma Middleton.”
“Aunt Emma?”
“That’s right.” Steven smiled.
“I’d told her all about you, about us.”
“It seems so. She gave me your address.”
The waiter brought the dessert menu.
“The chocolate torte is delicious,” Steven said. When Katherine hesitated, he added, “One is big enough for two. We can split it, if you’d like.”
“All right, let’s split one.”
“As I recall, you must have coffee with dinner.”
Katherine nodded. “I haven’t changed much, Steven.”
He gazed into her eyes. “So it would seem.”
“Is that good?”
“It could not be better.” He reached out and squeezed her hand.
As the waiter left, Katherine smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a dinner this good. It’s a wonderful birthday. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The torte arrived. The dark chocolate filling was set off by the pale crust, and strawberry sauce had been drizzled across the top.
“It’s large enough for four people,” Katherine whispered as the waiter walked away. She took a small bite, closed her eyes, and held it on her tongue while the intense chocolate flavor spread through her mouth.
“It’s divine. It’s so good.”
“I thought you would like it.”
As they sipped their coffee, Steven cocked his head to one side, a curious look on his face. “So, you’re not married. Ever come close?”
“No, never married. Never close. There have been a couple of guys who would have married me.” She thought about Bill Wilson. “One who still says he’s going to.”
“Why have you not married?”
“All sorts of reasons. Too busy, too much schoolwork, too involved in my work. A prior commitment…” She looked into his eyes. “How about you?”
“Same excuses. Same reason. I have something else for you.”
“Not another birthday present.”
Steven reached into his pocket and held up a ring. The gold band appeared to have Celtic figures engraved around it. A single diamond stood on top.
Katherine’s eyes widened. She recognized it. “We saw that ring in a store near the abbey!”
“I bought it the next summer, when I returned to England. I went by the store. It was still in the window. The owner said that he displayed it as an example of his work. He was hesitant to sell it. The engraving is Gaelic. It means love of my life.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“A perfect engagement ring.”
Katherine wiped a stray tear from her cheek.
“I’ve been afraid ever since I sent the flowers. Afraid you wouldn’t want to see me. Afraid you would. Afraid you wouldn’t want the ring…afraid you would.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
Silence drifted between them.
“How about maybe? We haven’t seen each other in a long time. It might be foolish to rush down for a license on Monday, have a wedding on Friday.”
“In Celtic tradition, we’re already engaged by handfasting. All we really need do is share a bed.”
“Would it be foolish?”
“My roommate Becky would say totally foolish. Sara would say go for it.”
“What do you say?”
She dropped her gaze back to the rin
g. “Maybe. Definitely maybe.”
“For me, too.”
They sat quietly for a minute.
“Six months?”
“Six months. Until…until Valentine’s Day.”
***
Bill Wilson and his friends were celebrating. It was only nine o’clock and most of the guys were already teetering on intoxication. The trip had been successful. The fish had been cleaned and packed for travel. Each man would have fish to eat for several months. Bill planned to fry his for the picnic on Labor Day weekend.
“Hey, Bill, you going to marry that girl?” Eugene leaned across the table. “The one you were supposed to see in New York. Are you going to marry her?”
“Her name is Katherine, and yes, I am going to marry her.”
“Everybody! Everybody! Bill’s going to get married.”
A cheer went up from the group, most of whom were not really paying attention, being willing to cheer if Eugene had shouted, “The sky is blue!”
Eugene stopped in mid-cheer. “Why would you do that, Bill? Why would you tie yourself down like that? To one woman?”
Bill sighed. He hated trying to be logical with a man who’d had too much to drink. He knew it was futile to converse with someone who was soused. He tried anyway.
“I’m going to run for office, Eugene, and I need a wife. I need a pretty, young wife who will look at me adoringly when I deliver a speech. One who can be nice to people at receptions, can plan parties, and who will smile when people say dumb things, not argue with them. One who will have my children and keep them out of my hair. Katherine will fill the bill.”
He grinned. “Besides, her father is Tom Jackson. He’s respected in the Party, and he has lots of money to donate to his son-in-law’s campaign. As for tying myself down to one woman,” he smiled and looked toward the bar where Sylvia was waiting, “no one will ever tie Bill Wilson down.”
“Oh.” Eugene nodded and turned to the waitress for more to drink.
Johnny, having heard Bill’s explanation, leaned across the table. “Your ideal doesn’t sound like Katherine Jackson to me, Bill. Have you asked her to marry you?”
“Asked her?” Bill scoffed. “No. I’ll tell her.”
“Why would she marry you, Bill? She has hardly seen you in years. She doesn’t even live near Hamilton anymore.”
The Handfasting Page 4
