Courier of Love

by Della Kensington

  “Plans?” Agatha queried as her eyebrow arched.

  “…oh…yes, I’m going…ah, I have a date with Mr. Corbett.” She swallowed deeply not knowing what to expect in Agatha’s reaction. She felt like a schoolgirl trying to tell a stern teacher that she had lost her assignment.

  Agatha looked intently at Arthur as if to read his reaction or to indicate her disapproval of being left out of some event. Christina couldn’t tell which but she realized that Arthur had not yet told Agatha about their rather altered relationship.

  “A date with Mr. Corbett. How charming. I didn’t know that. Well, we could of course invite him to dinner.” Agatha was faltering but relaxation was spreading across her face.

  For whatever reason, she did not know, Agatha now knew that Arthur was being saved from Christina’s clutches by Clay. Christina mused over the idea with a sense of sadness for Arthur, the possessive relationship of Agatha to her son imprisoning a man for whom Christina had gained much fondness and respect.

  “I don’t think Christina wants to spend one of her last nights here with our stuffy old friends again Mother,” Arthur was rising and moving towards Christina’s chair.

  “Of course not.” A sense of relief in her voice Agatha agreed readily. “You must, however have dinner here, tonight and tea with me at four tomorrow…before your date…with Mr. Corbett,” she paused reflectively. “Mr. Corbett…Clay Corbett…how very interesting,” Agatha mused. Refocusing her attention Agatha raised an instructive index finger, “I must insist. Dinner here; tea at four tomorrow.” Agatha’s tone and affect was becoming sincere and genuinely warm.

  “I think I’ll freshen up and call my father,” Christina announced placing her glass on the table and standing. “I’ll see you at dinner and tea tomorrow…of course, Agatha. I will look forward to it.”

  …

  H. Trent’s reaction went beyond the delight that Agatha had predicted. His reaction was such that Christina feared his state of excitement would endanger his health. He asked her questions faster than she could answer and for the first time in her relationship to him as an adult she felt a sense of separateness and individual worth. The feeling was liberating and wonderful and it gave their relationship a new dimension of parent-child love that she couldn’t quite understand.

  “I know. I know. I feel the same, Dad. I wish I could too but you’ll have to be satisfied with me coming home without the ring on Friday.” Her father’s questions rushed across the thousands of miles between them. “I wish that I could bring the ring home too… No, I’m certain when they learn of the ring the Registry Office won’t waive their rules…. Yes it is with me Dad… Yes it’s safe here at Arthur’s house, I’m wearing it right now in fact... Yes I’ll bring you the pictures Clay took…No Dad… Clay was the photographer that Arthur enlisted. I told you about him the other night... Yes I know…Arthur’s fine…No we didn’t…No he didn’t’…Dad I’ll tell you every detail I promise. Yes…Yes...I love you too. Good night, Dad.”

  …

  After dinner, Christina excused herself and returned to the cottage, her bed looking more inviting than it had since her arrival. She glanced at the note about Emily’s call that Agatha had propped up against one of the two objects that Agatha had referred to as “all those souvenirs;” a bracelet made of seeds that she had bought after Clay had come to her rescue near the jail and a shell she had collected from the beach where Clay had first held her against his body.

  Looking up from the note Christina consciously looked about the room to see if anything had been disturbed during Agatha’s visit. Sad, Christina thought, to live a life so dependent upon controlling those around you and with a sigh, Christina became aware of her tiredness. She rose from the bed, crossed into the living room and picked up Clay’s book.

  Minutes later and underneath a light coverlet Christina began to look slowly through the sensitive and emotionally laden pictures. Tiredness engulfing her senses, Christina eventually closed the book, her arms around its leather binding, she clutched it firmly against her breasts. A feeling of warmth spread throughout her body. Clay’s muscles and spine had felt hard against her forearms like the cool surface of the book. Christina squeezed the book with undulating pressure but in her sleepy mind a reverie of physical sensations now eluded her. She could almost feel him in the rigidity of the book’s spine against her fingertips, smell him in the deep scent of its leather, hear him as the book rubbed against both her and the coverlet, but only almost and in the end, at the edge of sleep, not at all.

  Night closed in around the small figure that was now curled intimately against the book, its images dancing through and against the woman’s mind as it descended the quiet stairway to sleep. Near one of the final steps and just at the threshold of a dream, moonlight through the window of the room caught a facet of the emerald ring that Christina was wearing and as it did a tiny ray of reflected luminance was projected across the leather-bound book and the half-parted surfaces of Christina’s lips.

  …

  The elderly gentleman at the Office of Registry seemed to Christina to be far more interested in sharing anecdotes about “the more significant finds,” as he referred to them, than the discovery of the cannon and ring box. To relinquish the ring into such uncaring hands, she thought, was somehow to betray the young Spanish woman.

  Arthur sensed her reluctance and reassured her. “Mr. Pennwalter will take excellent care of the ring, Christina, and it will probably be put on permanent display in the Capitol building.” He redirected his attention to the elderly man. “Am I right Mr. Pennwalter?”

  “Yes, yes, of course. In fact we will have an official recognition ceremony at some point within the next several months.” He paused, “Once we are certain of the authenticity, you understand, of course”. He was looking over the top of his glasses at the ring still securely held on Christina’s finger. His aging eyes looked up expectantly into Christina’s cautious expression. “You will, of course…hum…Miss Weldon have to give the ring to me first, before we get very far.”

  Christina slowly pulled the ring from her finger and handing it to Mr. Pennwalter said, “Of course.”

  “Very good, ah, yes. Delightful, isn’t it?” Bringing it close to his face Mr. Pennwalter examined the ring.

  “You said a ceremony?” Christina probed.

  “When possible we like to have what we think of as a State Dinner over such matters. We have them rarely but we find too few excuses you understand. Arthur has been to them.” He waved the back of his hand absently towards Arthur.

  “After the dinner we present the recovered object, in this case the ring of course, the cannon I suppose, a slideshow of the underwater search is always a nice touch and the discoverers themselves, when possible. Scholars from all over the islands will probably attend this one.” The elderly gentleman searched his thoughts for anything he might have missed. “Seattle, huh. Quite far away. Yes. Very…but on sufficient notice might you attend such an affair Miss Weldon?” He waited on her answer as he gazed at Christina over his glasses.

  “Ah…yes…I think so. Yes, I’m certain that I could.” Excitement over having an excuse to return to Tortola raced through her. “My father in fact, might well attend himself. Without my father there would be no ring in your hand.”

  Arthur nodded agreement and added; “Such an affair would probably be two months, at least two months in the future.” He looked to Mr. Pennwalter who was busily filling out a form. “Mr. Pennwalter?”

  “At least two months Arthur repeated.”

  Mr. Pennwalter suddenly realized that Arthur was addressing him. “Two months…of course…maybe a little less. God knows we could use a State dinner around here.” His voice lowered, “Frightfully dull at times it is.”

  Christina smiled at the aged face that was now reexamining the ring. Having decided that the ring would be, as Arthur had assured her, safe with Mr. Pennwalter, she queried, “May I? One last look?” Her hand gestured towards the ring.
>
  “Of course. Of course.”

  Over three hundred years before, a young woman filled with dreams but facing the realities of her life, had bid farewell to the ring, perhaps in the same way, Christina thought. One last brief look before entrusting to the hands of another. Mr. Pennwalter gave the ring to Christina with a sense of reverence; Christina held the ring between her fingers and moved its rich green depths slowly before her as she turned and stepped to the window.

  Down the street she could see the harbor where she had said goodbye to Clay yesterday. The sunlight ignited the multicolored jewels and captured Christina’s thoughts in a melody of reminiscence about her last trip to these islands at thirteen, her mother, her fantasies about the ring, leaving Tortola in the days ahead. Tears welling up in her eyes she shut them for a moment and brought the ring to her lips. “May my love go with you,” Christina murmured.

  Her back still to the men, she recovered her control. “Well…I’m going to be late for lunch with Emily. I think I’ll walk, Arthur. No need for you to drive me.” She turned briskly and put the ring casually on Mr. Pennwalter’s desk.

  “No. Take the car would you?” Arthur replied. “I’m going to the office and Jonathan will pick me up later.”

  Christina nodded towards the elderly man. “Mr. Pennwalter.”

  “Miss Weldon. We’ll be seeing you at the ceremony, then?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” Christina replied.

  Chapter 20

  “I think I’ll have the fruit salad, chilled prawns and another ice tea please.” Emily’s eyes traveled after the departing young waiter. “I’d like a good look at what’s pressuring the stitches of those jeans.” Smiling she turned to Christina. “Well, I must say you certainly are looking better than you did at the parade. Boat trips obviously agree with you.”

  “Did you ever consider reading Tarot cards for a living, Emily?”

  “Christina, I have made it my life long business to avoid doing anything for a living.”

  “Oh yes, I know and you are so old. Pushing at least twenty-five.”

  Emily laughed and rested her chin on her hand, “I can remember thirty-one as if it were…let’s see…, sixteen days ago.”

  “You’re kidding me. Are you really?”

  “Why are we talking about how old I am when we started talking about you and…well, I should be delicate…but I won’t be... a boat full of probably sex-crazed sailors?”

  “Shall I tell you about the captain or his son first or should I….”

  “I want to know about Clay…and you.” Emily’s interruption had a serious tone to it. “You have that look Christina that Aunt Emily knows…in here.” Her hand brushed her heart.

  Christina felt a rush of embarrassment and looked towards the center of the restaurant. She turned back to Emily’s gaze and closing her eyes, smiled and ran her hand back through her hair. “Aunt Emily has an astute sense when it comes to matters of love. Oh Emily, I think he feels the same. Well…I think he cares about me, sincerely.”

  Emily sat back in self-pleasure and spread her hands knowingly across the cloth of the table. “So Clay is coming to rest, at last.”

  “What do you mean, coming to rest?” Christina queried, her smile still lighting her face.

  “How much do you know about Clay Corbett, Christina?”

  “Well, I know about Penny.”

  “Penny…, oh Christina, everybody knows about Penny. I mean do you know about his family and why he’s here?”

  Christina was shaking her head apprehensively and Emily’s cursory treatment of Penny’s relationship to Clay sent a disquieting chill across her back.

  “I’m sorry Emily I guess I’m not aware of something you think is important. Is there some sort of problem between Clay and his family that I should know about?” Christina’s feeling of apprehension continued to swell within her.

  Emily reached across the table and reassuringly put her long tapered fingers over Christina’s hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be flip or mysterious about Clay and you, it’s just that I’ve known Clay for a long, long time and I really doubted that he would ever….” Emily caught herself in mid-sentence, “Well…maybe I should explain myself. I feel responsible for something that happened to Clay, though I’m certain, knowing Clay, that he doesn’t associate me with Francesca at all.

  “Francesca?” Christina was totally puzzled and both women fell quiet as the waiter brought their salads and attended their glasses. The young man sensed the uncomfortable interruption and moved away rather quickly.

  “I knew Clay’s wife, Francesca, before they met. I…, well for lack of good judgment, arranged their first date knowing the sort of person that she was. Francesca and I were friends of a sort, at least as friendly as people who live like I do, ever are.” Emily’s tone was self-admonishing and she became visually preoccupied in a pointless examination of her salad.

  Emily continued. “Francesca was never a very nice person. She was one of those people who looked terrific and had everyone’s envy but underneath she was deceitful and quite manipulative. Clay was just out of college, quite vulnerable and as trusting as he was, served himself up as a veritable lamb for Francesca to sink her teeth into.” Emily recaptured a contrived smile, “…not that getting that intimate with Clay wouldn’t be tempting for almost any woman.”

  Christina’s expression of confusion remained and Emily controlled her impulse to pursue the joke. “Oh, Francesca was tremendously attracted to the Corbett family name and of course, their money.”

  “Money?” Christina felt suddenly stupid at having shared her feelings about Clay with someone who obviously knew him so well and knew him also as a person beyond some sort of childish romantic fantasy. The thought brought a sense of panic within her as if yesterday morning she had become intimate with a total stranger. Her breathing felt restricted.

  Clay has kept his family’s position at great distance from himself. His family is old oil, mostly off shore holdings…that’s why he pursues environmental and the social issues related to oceanography so seriously. Some feelings of retribution for his family, I suppose. Anyway, he never accepted the social trappings that surrounded his family and Francesca was a ‘mile-a-minute’ climber quite contained until after she had maneuvered Clay into a hasty marriage.”

  “Are they divorced now?” Christina’s voice was weak.

  “Oh, yes, for many years. Clay insisted on their leaving New York and living on his salary as a photographer. The final blow to the relationship was Clay’s desire to have a family. Francesca did get pregnant but she had an abortion.” Emily’s eyes rolled back, “Clay would murder me for telling you all of this. I just think that if you really love him it is important to understand certain things about him. He’s not very good at explaining himself as you probably know.”

  “Shortly after the abortion, which Clay initially thought was a miscarriage, he talked Francesca into seeing a marriage counselor. He really did want to make a go of it though I’m not certain as to how much he really loved her. One night in a restaurant I ran into Clay and Francesca and she became absolutely enchanted with a British consultant that I was dating. A few days later they ran off together. Clay felt…, well, who knows. I did notice later that he made a real point of staying away from any woman who was even remotely attached to another man. He was hurt deeply I think. For whatever bad qualities Francesca had, I think he loved her sense of adventure and she was very beautiful.”

  Emily took a deep breath, “Clay’s still close to his parents. He doesn’t approve of their business holdings but he loves them. They sail in and out of here several times a year. They will be elated about you. You are perfect for him.”

  Christina was left speechless by Emily’s tale. She had an impulse to encourage Emily to tell her about Penny but she already felt naïve enough in Emily’s knowledge of Clay. Penny, given Clay’s marital experience, was probably a safe, “port in the storm,” a ready-made family to which he had m
ade no dangerous commitments. It bothered her to think this of him in a way but she found herself at another level glad that he had not pursued a greater commitment to the girl.

  “The British Consultant experience probably explains an incident I had with Clay about Arthur,” she paused. “Are you telling me the truth, Emily, the honest to God truth?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “Christina, you are the right person for Clay. Believe me. I wish I were of course,” she paused and devilishly flipped her hair, “but no really, he’s had a very bumpy experience and he needs you.” Emily took a long sip of her drink, “…and you will absolutely enthrall Agatha by leaving Arthur alone.”

  Christina laughed and agreed.

  “Christina, I like you and I like Clay. God knows it is probably hard for him to tell how much I care about him after having brought Francesca into his life and then introducing her to the captain of the English-wife-stealing-team, but I do care very much about him. Please be discreet about what I’ve told you. I sometimes say too much in the interest of openness. Too many therapeutic encounter groups I suppose but Clay is a little fragile and a little shy. He may, just because of fear, not be as ready for a commitment as you are. That is what I guess, I’m trying to tell you.”

  Emily touched her hand again and looked warmly into Christina’s expression, “Isn’t it just the pits that women have to take care of everybody’s feelings...someday, I hope to meet a man that will….” Emily’s voice suddenly filled with emotion and catching her feelings, continued, “Well, anyway I still have my plane tickets and my season schedule. Not maybe as secure as having the same body curled around me each night but interesting and…I shop in nice places.” Her eyes returned to the rear view of the waiter as he was walking past their table.

  By the time she had finished lunch and bid goodbye to Emily, Christina’s desire to see Clay had built a path across her reluctance to bother him while he was working. Driving nervously toward his shop, a potpourri of impulses, doubts and thoughts had woven a fantasy across her need to talk with him about their relationship. Could she tell him that she knew? Would he share her understanding? Would he hold her in happiness at the spontaneity of her arrival; would she even find him there? She suddenly wanted to touch Clay, to reassure him and in some way make him understand the depth of the love she had developed for him and how he could trust it.