by C F Dunn
I didn’t miss the slight rise to his lip. Guy loathed white wine and used to make a point of referring to it as a feminine beverage at college functions.
“Or perhaps you would prefer red?” Matthew offered.
Ellie nestled up to Guy on the sofa. “He bought me champagne the other week. I drank most of the bottle myself. I think he wanted to get me just a little tipsy.” She giggled, and Guy gave a tight smile. I chewed an ice cube noisily and sipped iced tea.
Guy waited until Matthew had placed the drinks on the table and returned to the kitchen before raising his glass. “You’re not drinking today, Emma?”
I fought the impulse to point out that what I held in my hand constituted a drink and instead resorted to a polite, “Alcohol doesn’t suit me.”
If he remembered the reference he didn’t show it, but took a slug of wine as he wandered over to the cabinet of curios. I watched him catalogue every item, imagining him storing the information for retrieval and assessment later at his leisure. In an attempt at being companionable, I went to sit by Ellie. “I like your bracelet. Have I seen it before?”
She twisted the silver rope-work bangle on her wrist. “Guy gave it to me,” she said shortly, putting her glass down and standing up. “Do you mind if I show him the cabinet?”
Yes, I did. “No, of course not.”
She joined him, obviously glad not to have to talk to me, opening the door to the cabinet of treasures Matthew had gathered in his journeys around the world. I bridled as Guy picked out the nutmeg.
“Is there any particular relevance to this?” he asked me with a mordant twist, holding the precious nutmeg between thumb and forefinger as if it were dirt. I restrained the urge to leap up and snatch it from his hand, and was on the verge of answering when Matthew came back in.
“Ah,” he said, putting a plate of my favourite olives on the table in front of me, and a calming hand on my shoulder. “I see you’ve found one of my most treasured possessions. It might look out of place, but it helps remind me to keep a perspective on what I value most.” He took the nutmeg from Guy’s hand and put it back where it belonged. “Has Ellie shown you this?” He lifted the dagger from its rosewood stand. “This is a particularly interesting piece. It was given to an Englishman after a dispute in which the Raja with whom he was staying betrayed the laws of hospitality and tried to kill his guest.”
Ellie took it from Matthew, the rubies glowing blood red. “I didn’t know there was a story behind this. Why did he try to kill him?”
“I believe the Raja thought the man a contender for the affections of a particularly attractive princess.” He smiled. “But that was not the case at all.” Ellie gave the dagger to Guy. He removed the blade, inspecting the intricate engraving and detailed gold work.
“This is a very fine piece – mid-eighteenth century?” He replaced the dagger and handed it back to Matthew.
“1733, or thereabouts. Are you interested in weapons?”
Guy cast briefly in my direction. “I am – seventeenth-century military pieces from the Civil War period in particular. I have a small collection, nothing spectacular, but all authentic. I find them a useful tool when illustrating certain topics with my students.” Again, the merest glance towards me. I looked away.
“Really?” Matthew closed the cabinet door. “I have several pieces you might be interested in. Perhaps you can give me some advice?”
Guy visibly preened; there was nothing he liked better than to demonstrate his superior knowledge. I tried to gauge his emotions but found nothing to read. The colours that had been so clearly discernible the other day were indecipherable now. Coffee might have helped, but Matthew would have a fit if he caught me anywhere near the coffee jar.
“Lunch is just about ready,” Matthew said. “Come on through. Emma will take you to the dining room.”
Ellie had relaxed with the wine and the compliment paid to Guy. She led him, chattering animatedly, pointing out the antique furniture and the paintings, and all the while he was looking, looking. When he entered the dining room, he stopped. “Well, well.”
“I thought you’d like it,” she beamed. “It’s all very old. Matthew’s very particular about what he collects; it has to be exactly right.”
“So I see,” Guy said, sotto voce, taking in the early seventeenth-century furniture and ceramics, the paintings and the pewter. “A remarkable collection.” His eyes came to rest on the old etched picture to the left of the fireplace, where they remained long enough to cause my heart to miss a beat. He didn’t comment, but instead shifted his attention to the two swords hanging on the chimney breast. “And these must be the weapons Matthew mentioned: a knight’s sword – late medieval – probably fifteenth-century German in origin, and this…” His hand hovered over the rapier’s hilt, longing to touch it.
“Go ahead,” Matthew said from where he stood in the doorway, “it lifts off the brackets.” Guy eased the sword from its worn leather scabbard with due respect to its age.
He rotated the sword. “Pre-Commonwealth period rapier with a boat-form guard, very well made, well balanced – blade looks like Toledo steel. Belonged to a gentleman I should say; there’s a remnant of gilding in the engraving. It’s not ceremonial – it’s too good for that – and it’s been used in conflict, as the blade is notched.” He studied the elegant quillons and then the detailed engraving. “This might be traceable through the coat of arms on the guard, and the lion’s head pommel probably represents the family.” He looked at Matthew keenly. “Where did you get it?”
Matthew removed the sword from Guy’s hands and replaced the scabbard. “It was given to me,” he said as he placed it on the sideboard between the pewter chargers, where it looked completely at home. “I’ll bring in lunch.”
I felt a swell of irritation as I noticed that Matthew had swapped the exuberant profusion of wild lupines and Maine roses he had picked for my birthday with the flowers Ellie and Guy bought. The bouquet shouted from the centre of the table.
“I haven’t seen a collection so precisely dated as this for a long while, if ever,” Guy deliberated as the door shut. He stroked the wood of the table but was taking in the paintings, the sideboard. “He seems to have a remarkable knowledge of a seventeenth-century interior for a… doctor. That is Matthew’s profession, isn’t it, Emma? A doctor?”
“Surgeon,” I corrected tartly, “and there’s nothing remarkable about it; it’s just what he likes. Sit down, please. I’ll help Matthew bring things in.”
I welcomed the peace of the kitchen and leant against the table. Matthew laid a hand against my temple. “How’s your head?”
“Bursting.”
“I meant your headache.”
“He’s looking at everything, Matthew. I hate the way he’s measuring it all up like a ruddy undertaker.”
He gave me a large dish with something no doubt mouthwatering arranged over the salad I had prepared somewhat grudgingly that morning. “Let him look, it’s not important.”
Ellie momentarily forgot she wasn’t speaking to me as she surveyed the dishes. “Wow, Emma! I thought you said you couldn’t cook. This is amazing, isn’t it, Guy?”
“Amazing,” he echoed, and I didn’t know whether he mocked her or me. I served her, then spooned the spiced savoury sorbet into Guy’s bowl and passed it to him, looking at him squarely.
“Matthew’s the cook; I just do the donkey work. If it had been left to me you would’ve had gravel on toast.” Matthew flashed me a warning and I shut up before I said something I wouldn’t regret. He continued pouring wine. From what I could remember, Guy was always careful about what he drank, but not necessarily how much. He was on his third glass already and Matthew kept him topped up.
Guy admired the contents of his glass. “You keep a good cellar, Matthew” – for a doctor, he might have added. “Not joining us?”
“I ate something yesterday that didn’t suit me. I’m on a self-imposed fast.”
“No food or drink
except water for twenty-four hours,” Ellie added seamlessly, although she needn’t have bothered as Guy had already turned his attention to me.
“Emma, I read your last paper on the schismatic persecution of belief. Interesting – that was a novel line you took.” Roughly translated, that meant he thought it questionable. I counted silently to five before I answered.
“Hardly. There’s a clear division between persecution on the grounds of schism, and that of heresy as defined by punishments recorded in religious court texts from the period I covered.”
“More than three hundred Catholics would disagree with that assumption.”
He trespassed on my territory trying to get a rise from me, but I stood my ground. “It’s not an assumption, Guy; they were executed on political, not religious, grounds. They weren’t tried for heresy, as you well know, but for treason. If it wasn’t for the Papal Bull, Regnans in Excelsis, there probably wouldn’t have been an escalation in executions at all.” He was not my tutor any more, nor I his student. I had outgrown him and he knew it. We weighed each other up over the table.
“Do I detect bias along Protestant lines?” he goaded.
“No, you don’t; you’re just downright touchy when it comes to Catholic matters. I keep my personal beliefs out of it.”
Ellie frowned. “You’re Catholic, Guy? I didn’t know that.”
“Does it matter what I am?”
“Uh, no, sure it doesn’t, but how come Emma knows and I didn’t?”
I gathered the bowls. “Guy’s religious roots are common knowledge among historians of our period, Ellie. He specializes in the Counter-Reformation.”
Guy accepted another glass of wine. “So, what line of research are you following now?”
I outlined a plausible reply and he didn’t offer a comment this time because I don’t think he believed me. Frankly, I didn’t care one way or another. I wanted to keep well away from the subject of the journal. Feeling stubborn and rattled in equal measure, I helped myself to some wine.
“Your recent work is interesting,” I observed over the rim of the glass. “I note you’ve been collaborating with Antony Burridge on his book.”
At my choice of semantics, his mouth warped. “He sought my advice and I was able to offer him some guidance. Originality was never his strong point.”
“Not like you, Guy, is that it?” I didn’t wait for a reply. “Where are you working now?”
“I’m not at the moment. I took a sabbatical to complete my latest book. I’m thinking of relocating to the States and making a fresh start.” He took Ellie’s hand in his, a calculated move. “There are more opportunities here, more avenues to explore.”
Ellie’s face glowed. “With his reputation he should be able to find a position at any university of his choice.”
“Reputation is key, isn’t it?” I said. “So hard won, so easily lost. Universities are pretty choosy who they take nowadays.”
His lids lowered until they became mere slits. “From what I’ve heard, Emma, the question of reputation is something with which you’ve had a recent encounter. How secure is your position?”
I managed to nudge Matthew’s leg before he detonated, and we were saved by Ellie’s valiant attempt to intercede and diffuse the heady tension. “Hey you guys, come on, enough already. This is really good, Matthew. Gran would like the recipe.”
I attempted a smile. “Yes, Ellie, of course; I’m sorry. It’s just a little professional rivalry – it’s endemic among historians.” And the wine I consumed wasn’t helping matters. My head thumped and my temper simmered. It wouldn’t take much to bring me to boiling point. I pushed the glass aside and accepted iced water instead. I was making a real hash of this and I wasn’t proud of myself, but I loathed the way Guy treated Ellie almost with disdain, and how she appeared blind to his neglect. Had he been like this with me and I, too, hadn’t noticed? Until that moment, Matthew had remained quietly observant, although I watched his internal conversation through the fluctuating hues surrounding him. I had witnessed the same quietude before, when Sam misread him and ended up in the med centre. Would Guy do the same? I thought not. Guy’s self-control was disciplined in a way Sam’s could never be, and surely he wouldn’t make the mistake of becoming a victim of his own conceit. Which is why I feared for Ellie because, from where I was sitting, she represented just another piece of a puzzle whose whole picture Guy kept to himself.
The conversation returned to less fraught ground as we served the main course and finished the third. Once or twice I thought I saw Guy trying to focus on Matthew’s hand, only for him to pretend otherwise, and look away. Eventually, we cleared the table and all that remained were glasses, which Matthew kept filled, and delicate chocolates he knew I liked. I passed them around. Guy declined the sweets but accepted a particularly good port. He had become flushed over the course of the meal, and his movements blurred.
“That’s an interesting accent you have, Matthew. Ellie tells me you used to live in Idaho before you moved here, but that it’s not where you come from. How long have you been in the States?”
I suppressed a sharp intake of breath. It might have been the wine talking but he wasn’t the sort to make such a simple mistake. Matthew’s hand hardly wavered as he poured water into my glass. Guy hadn’t said, “Where did you stay in Britain?” or, “Have you lived on the east coast long?” No, he had made a distinction by implication that Matthew was somehow different from other members of his family. It bore all the signs of a hunt as Guy gazed steadily at Matthew.
Ellie laughed a little nervously. “Don’t be silly, Guy. Matthew’s always lived in the States; we all have.”
I kept quiet, but my heart pounded in my throat and I clasped my hands beneath the table in case Guy saw them shaking.
“English furniture, paintings – accent. This room looks like a seventeenth-century recreation. You’re a bit of an Anglophile perhaps?”
Caught between the two men, Ellie seemed unsure which way to turn. “Gramps is really keen to find out where the family originated, isn’t he, Matthew? He’s always said there’s an English connection but he’s never been able to trace it.”
Guy pursed his lips in sardonic disbelief. “Really? I would have thought that given a distinctive name like Lynes and a few dates as a starting point, Emma could have rustled something up for you.” It was fortunate he wasn’t looking in my direction at the time as I felt my skin burn hot then cold. “I’m not a genealogist…” he went on, and Ellie gave a little gasp.
“That’s just what Emma said!”
“… but Lynes is a name from rather close to home, isn’t it, Emma?”
Silence.
Ellie looked first at me as I threw a furious glance at Guy, and then at him. “Have you two met before? You keep talking as if you know each other.”
As if he had orchestrated this moment, Guy leaned forwards in his chair. “I have a confession to make. I have not been entirely honest with you, Ellie. Emma and I knew each other in Cambridge.”
Ellie became very still. “Why didn’t you tell me? What do you mean you knew each other? How? When?” Didn’t he care what effect this might have on her? Altruism wasn’t one of his virtues, nor honesty, but this plummeted to new depths even for him.
“Guy, this isn’t the time…” I cautioned.
“Do you mean Emma hasn’t said?” he questioned Matthew with one arched eyebrow.
“I’m sure she would have mentioned it, if it were important,” Matthew replied evenly, refilling Ellie’s glass with port.
Guy’s mouth turned down. “Unless she had something to hide.” He waited a few seconds for the implication to sink in before continuing. “I believe that complete honesty is the best foundation for any relationship.”
“Huh, right,” I said caustically.
Confusion spread across the girl’s face. “You didn’t tell me you’d already met him, Emma. Is that what you meant the other day? You could have told me outright.”
&
nbsp; With chilling deliberation and a smile short of a leer, Guy addressed her at last. “Emma was one of my students, Ellie; the best I ever had.”
In her bewildered state, she missed the double entendre, but Matthew didn’t. A carmine aura surrounded him instantly and glass disintegrated in his hand, port mingling with shards of crystal. He kicked back his chair, and I came between the two men as I saw Matthew’s hand curl into a wine-soaked fist.
Guy flinched back, trapped by the table. “For Pete’s sake, I only said…!”
“Shut up!” I flared, throwing my table napkin over Matthew’s ruptured skin before Guy noticed it heal, and keeping a restraining hand on his chest until he reined in his temper. I rounded on Guy. “You’ve said enough. What do you hope to achieve with all this?”
He recovered his equilibrium more quickly than he should have done. “I’m sorry but there’s no place for secrecy now. I can’t have this on my conscience any longer. Ellie,” he said, his voice almost breaking with remorse, “Emma and I had an affair. I came to the States to ask her to forgive me, but then I met you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I’m not proud of what I did, but it’s only right that you know.” He turned to Matthew. “I didn’t want to be the cause of any dissension between you and your wife; I thought Emma would have told you.” In one fell swoop he hoped to discredit me in front of my husband and niece by making me out to be a liar or worse – a calculated risk, but it worked. I watched Ellie implode.
“You… you should have told me,” she flung.
“I didn’t know you were going out with Guy until the other day. I tried to warn you, Ellie.”
She leapt to her feet. “But you didn’t say.” Her face crumpled, anger and disappointment flowing freely. “I trusted you – you were my friend – how could you do this? What about Matthew – did you tell him?”
“Ellie, it’s not Emma’s fault…” Matthew put his hand on her back and she threw her arms around him and sobbed into his neck. “Listen to me, there’s more to all this than it looks. Let Emma tell you what happened.”
