Journey in Time (Knights in Time)

by Karlsen, Chris

  She mumbled another, "No," shuffling the papers.

  Kristen's odd evasiveness puzzled Shakira, but there wasn't time to question her. Shakira hurried down the hall.

  More officious than usual, Judith offered neither an invitation to sit or even an insincere good morning. Instead, she immediately ushered Shakira into Wickersham’s office.

  In spite of her successful years at the firm, Shakira still felt self-conscious and uncomfortable with Wickersham. She sat in the only chair, which happened to be directly in front of his massive desk. Grand Inquisitor to penitent, she had no delusions as to whether he meant the arrangement to convey that message or not.

  "Miss Constantine, it is still Miss is it not?" He waited for her to answer. When she nodded, he continued. Only thin bars of sunlight filtered through the downward slats of the wooden blinds behind him. The artificial light from his desk lamp cast a greyish pallor over his skin and shadowed the hollows beneath his cheekbones. Wickersham laced bony, undertaker's fingers together in prayer fashion on the desk.

  "Miss Constantine, I was informed of some disturbing news. I didn't act on it before now as I wanted to see if you'd do the honorable thing and confess your sin on your own. Since you haven't, I've no choice but to confirm whether the information is true. Are you pregnant?"

  Unnerved by the question, it took a moment to organize her thoughts. "You have no right to ask that," she finally answered, curious where the conversation was leading. He had to know he was on legally shaky ground.

  "Don't play the defense attorney with me. Are you or are you not?

  "Yes."

  "So, the rumors were correct. You are carrying some man's bastard? Whose?"

  The shock of the word "bastard" silenced Shakira for a few seconds. She never equated the ugly label with her baby.

  "Let’s get something straight. I won’t tolerate you or anyone else calling my child a bastard. As to the father--that’s none of your business. I don’t have to say, and I won’t." The toad had no business delving into her condition. It didn't affect her job. She didn't perform any hazardous labor.

  "Well, the father is of no import in this matter. My duty is clear. You are dismissed, Ms. Constantine. Please have your office emptied of all your personal belongings within the hour."

  Stunned by the severity of punishment and surprised by his ignorance of labor law, she challenged the order. "You can't fire me for being pregnant. It's unlawful termination."

  "I'm not sacking you because of your condition."

  Shakira listened for the words she needed to grieve the dismissal. Clearly, the termination stemmed from her pregnancy. No other possible reason existed.

  Sure of his moral high ground, his upper lip curled into a contemptuous sneer as he elaborated. "You're being terminated for violating the firm's morality clause."

  The accusation pinballed in her head. It made no sense. “Violating the morality clause? What are you talking about?”

  "The one you signed when hired."

  "I recall the clause,” Shakira said. “But I never signed anything that related to my personal life as long as I'm not involved in illegal activity."

  "On the contrary, Ms. Constantine, there's a specific paragraph in your contract stating you'll do nothing to embarrass the firm."

  "How does pregnancy embarrass this partnership?" she asked, confused as to how one affected the other. "Besides my family and friends, no one's interested in my baby." Frightened by his implacable expression, she argued, "You can't do this."

  Wickersham's lips thinned into a single pale pink slash. "This is not a seemly pregnancy, born of a virtuous circumstance like marriage. Hate the term all you like, but the truth is your child’s a bastard and an embarrassment. This firm prides itself on the fact the employees maintain a higher standard of ethics, professionalism, and untarnished moral values. Your situation is indicative of conduct unbecoming one of our staff."

  Shakira smirked at the bitter irony. Had she left one medieval place only to land in another? The man did everything except call her a whore. What a perversity. The baby was the product of a marriage and no one would ever know.

  Temptation flared. For a few fleeting seconds she contemplated lunging across the desk and punching Wickersham square on his hawkish nose. He'd love that, love that he reduced her to violence with mere words. She was pretty damn adept with words herself. She also understood men like Wickersham. They all suffered the same weakness, ego. And their egos universally confused envy with affection.

  Wickersham glared when she started to laugh. "That contract I signed-" she stood, flattened her palms on his desk, and arched forward forcing Wickersham to look up at her. "Stick it up your puritanical arse, you insufferable prig. Who are you to pass judgment on people, like the Lord, God Almighty? Call me a Jezebel, or harlot, or whatever term your antiquated mind conjures up. At least I'm not like you. You're a mean-spirited, contemptible, wretch who wants the rest of the world to be as miserable as you."

  She chose her next words with deliberate calculation to inflict the most pain. "You embrace your piety in front of the press. The humble public face plastered on while making sure they record every philanthropic pound you spend. But in the privacy of your elite club, you and your old boy network revel in each other’s shady business deals."

  She leaned closer. "You're nothing, Lionel." One eye twitched with the use of his first name. No one at the firm called him Lionel. "You've no real friends, no loving family. You’ll die alone. All the sterling in the Bank of England won’t buy a sincere tear at your grave. None will mourn you."

  She saw the flash of fear. She struck a nerve. She smiled maliciously, straightened and walked out.

  Out of Wickersham's sight, the impact of her dismissal struck home. She held her emotions together until she reached her office. Her former office.

  Inside, Shakira slid down the length of the heavy oak door. Knees bent, arms stretched out in front of her, she rested on the back of her modest heels and hung her head.

  "Shakira?" Kristen jiggled and twisted the knob. The door opened a crack as she pushed against it.

  "Just a second," Shakira scrambled to her feet before Kristen’s persistent efforts knocked her over. She opened the door the rest of the way and said, "Come on in," over her shoulder and walked away.

  "The mail clerk dropped off a stack of boxes. Wickersham’s sacked you, hasn’t he?” When Shakira nodded, Kristen blurted, “That bitch Judith told him."

  "What do you mean? How'd she know about the baby?"

  "Remember when we talked in the ladies room about the father? Well, after you left she came out of one of the stalls."

  "Then she heard who the father was?"

  Kristen nodded. "Do you think she’ll go to the press now?"

  Shakira thought for a moment "No, the old man won’t risk a lawsuit. But it explains why he asked me about the father. He wanted confirmation. Dickhead."

  "Why didn't you tell me Judith knew--given me a heads-up?" she asked, angry at what she considered a betrayal of sorts. "What if she had tipped the press?"

  "I didn’t think about the newspapers at the time. When Wickersham didn't call you into his office that day, I hoped she had kept it to herself. I'm sorry. I should've told you but I figured you didn’t need the extra worry."

  "Forget it. It wouldn't have made a difference." She gave Kristen a hug. "Look, I just need to be alone right now."

  "Of course," Kristen said and left.

  Shakira stroked the top of the polished mahogany desk, a symbol of her meteoric rise, from a cubby hole in a shared space, to a private office. It had been a milestone day for her.

  There was an upside, she thought bitterly. After Alex's rejection and getting fired, she didn't have anything left to lose.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  "Oh, I’ve definitely been blackballed,” Shakira confirmed. “Nobody comes right out and tells you to your face but it doesn't take too long to figure out what's going on." Slumped over
her kitchen table, chin in palm, she took another swallow of the decaf. She hated unleaded coffee but was forced to drink it since her pregnancy. The caffeinated dark roast she preferred gave her awful heartburn.

  "You can’t be serious." Miranda poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the table. "It’s only been a couple of weeks, perhaps you’re mistaken."

  Shakira took another sip and reiterated the dismal results of her job search. "There’s no mistake. I started sending inquiries with my curriculum vitae the day he sacked me. When I didn't hear back from any of the firms, I began dropping off my resume in person. Top of my class in law school, two-in-one-half years with Wickersham-Longleat, and I couldn't get past the receptionist, let alone an interview.

  “What reason would the firm have to blackball you?”

  “I insulted Wickersham. I’m sure he used his connections with other senior partners to screw me over.”

  “What about your attorney friends outside Wickersham & Longleat? Won’t they give you a good reference?”

  "A couple of my so-called friendly colleagues called. Not to discuss a future with their firms." Shakira waggled her index finger back and forth, "But wanting to know all the dirty little secrets to Alex's case. Did he really do it? What's he like? Did we find a sleazy video or pictures? Nice, huh? I can only imagine what they'd say if they knew I was pregnant with his baby." She sighed and added, "My career here is finished."

  "You're being melodramatic, surely with all the law offices in London, one will want you."

  "I've contacted the A list, the B list, and several on the bubble between the B and C list. The remaining decent ones aren't practices I want to be part of."

  "This is a bad time to get picky," Miranda warned.

  "I'm not being picky without cause. Those other firms with good reputations either do family law or defense work. I abhor family law. I couldn’t take the sniping and the ugliness of divorce work. I'm not opposed to criminal defense work, per se. However, if I had to represent someone who I suspected guilty of some heinous crime, I couldn’t face myself if I got them acquitted and they hurt someone else. I'm not even sure I wouldn't subconsciously undermine the client by not doing the best job possible. It’s why I chose corporate law."

  "What's next, if you can't get a position?"

  "I don't know," Shakira said, although she had knocked around a couple of ideas. "I've given some thought to selling my house and moving away, far away. The farther the better, someplace I don't run the risk of seeing Alex."

  "Have you accidently seen him?"

  "No. But, I'm bound to if I stay in London. For him to ignore my messages is bad enough. I couldn't take running into him and have him ignore me to my face."

  Worse, she feared she’d humiliate herself in front of Alex, beg him to come back, plead like some needy, clinging vine of a woman. Broken hearted, unemployed, sad beyond measure she might be, pitiful she refused to be.

  "Well, if you're thinking of selling you must have another place in mind," Miranda said.

  "I'm going to ask Jack to find me a small house in the area of Duck Bay." Shakira rubbed her temples with her fingertips. "Do you mind if we move to the drawing room?" She left without waiting for a reply.

  Shakira fluffed bed pillows she’d stacked on the end of the sofa. She piled one on top of the other, propped herself up and stretched her legs out. For days, migraines troubled her and lying flat aggravated them. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples again.

  "Are you all right?" Concern obvious in Miranda's frown, she touched a palm to Shakira’s forehead and then to her cheek.

  "Yes," Shakira answered in a bare whisper, moving her hands from her temples to massage her neck. "I'm just overtired, and I've had a blistering headache for the last few days. Nothing seems to help."

  "Can I get you some aspirin?"

  "I've taken two Tylenol this morning already. I'm afraid to take more with the baby and all."

  “Who’s Jack and where’s Duck Bay?” Miranda asked and tossed several magazines from a chair to the coffee table. All were open to pictures of Alex attending various events, each time with a different beautiful woman on his arm.

  "Jack Stone, from Beltane, you've met him." He's an estate agent by profession. His family owns a chain of offices in the Midlands." Shakira laid her head back and covered her eyes with her arm. "Duck Bay is about forty-five minutes north of Glasgow, on Loch Lomond."

  "Why Scotland? You can stay in England and still avoid Alex."

  Shakira brought her arm down and turned toward Miranda. "I told myself I’ll be fine if I run into him. I’m tough. But the truth is I’m not,” she sighed. “I think my getting blackballed is a sign. It’s time to start new. If I stay here some part of me will always dread the prospect of accidentally encountering Alex. And, pathetically, some part of me will always live in the hope I do. The odds of Alex coming to Duck Bay are slim to none.”

  "Can you get hired by a Scottish firm?”

  "Jack's offered me a position as one of the attorneys his family keeps on retainer. I don't know the ins and outs of property law, but I’m a fast learner. I can work from home or the new office he plans to open in Glasgow."

  "What makes you think Alex will never show up in Glasgow? They’ve lots of clubs and bands there."

  "Anything is possible. The odds are improbable, though,” Shakira said. “It’s rare for him to search out new groups. Musicians audition for him or send demo CD’s. He didn't want to come with you and Ian to hear Beltane as I recall."

  "And Jack?"

  "What about him?"

  "Aren't you a little concerned about this?"

  "No. Why should I be?"

  "Well, it sounds to me like he's in love with you,” Miranda said.

  "For God's sake," Shakira groaned at the absurd assumption. "Can't a man and a woman be friends without everyone turning it into a romance?"

  "Some perhaps, but I don’t think in this case it’s platonic, not for Jack anyway. I'll bet he’s opening that office to be near you."

  Shakira considered the idea, weighed the evidence. If he wanted a romantic liaison, he had ample opportunity in the past to pursue her. The more she thought about it, the more she found reasons to deny the possibility. Jack never even tried to kiss her. Oh sure, they'd flirted with each other when the band got together, nothing more. Miranda was imagining things.

  "Jack has more women than any ten men. He doesn't need to add me to his list of conquests."

  "You're not another conquest. He's building you a nest. That's the behavior of a man in love. Mark my words. You'll see I'm right."

  Shakira waved a dismissive hand at her friend. She didn't want to talk about the prospect of Jack being in love with her. She neither wanted, nor needed, another lover. There'd never be another man like Alex.

  "Tell me about the new program you and Ian are working on," Shakira asked, unwilling to think more about Jack or Alex.

  ***

  Shakira awoke to warm, damp, stickiness between her legs and a cool damp feel to the sheet. Alarmed, she reached over and turned on the light. She blinked and squinted until her eyes adjusted, then, with trepidation, looked down. "No!"

  Dark blood smeared the inside of her thighs; clots dotted the sheet beneath her in various stages of coagulation. “No!”

  She threw the blankets aside and tried to scramble out of bed. Her feet hadn't fully found the floor when pain, sharp and breath stealing, doubled her over. It struck her belly like a giant fist that powered in, twisted, and wouldn’t let go. Shakira's legs crumpled. On her hands and knees, panting between cramps, she cradled her abdomen as waves of pain overwhelmed her and blood gushed.

  The worst of the cramps passed in a few minutes. Slowly, she dragged herself to the phone on the far nightstand and called for an ambulance. Maybe by some miracle, she hadn’t lost the baby, their baby, all she had left of Alex. In her heart, she knew different. The circle was complete. Now, she had truly lost everything. Resigned, she made
one more call.

  "Jack?"

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  "Alex Lancaster, you’re the last man I’d expect to see stag at one of these affairs."

  Alex looked the stranger up and down.

  "You’ve led the paparazzi on a merry chase for weeks now. The Tabs say you’ve squired every gorgeous female south of the Scottish border. The rest of us will have to make do with your runoff." The tuxedoed stranger leaned back with both his elbows on the bar, a whiskey in one hand.

  Alex set his cigar onto the edge of the Dorchester Hotel’s logo engraved ashtray.”

  "Do I know you?" he asked, taking the scotch the bartender handed him. He didn’t care for the hint of insolence in the man’s comment. He studied the man’s vaguely familiar face but couldn’t place him.

  "Sorry, I guess you don’t remember me, Neil Tavington. We met last summer. I’m an attorney with Wickersham and Longleat. You were there meeting with Shakira Constantine. We spoke briefly in the lobby."

  The encounter came back to Alex. The obsequious Tavington made a general nuisance of himself and acted an overall boor. When Shakira introduced them, he’d repeated a few off color jokes, jokes in poor taste about Alex’s reputation.

  Alex ignored the man’s extended hand and took a swallow of his Johnnie Walker Blue, fighting the urge to inquire about Shakira. He hadn’t wanted to think about her and hadn’t been able to think of anything else. To his chagrin, he’d resorted to boyish antics and cruised by her house a few times. He set his drink down and in spite of himself, asked, "How is Shakira?"

  Tavington’s ruddy checks flushed redder. "I wouldn’t know. Didn’t you hear?" He turned, propped his foot on the bar’s foot rail, and bent close. A malicious smile of delight crossed on his face as he shared the news. "She was sacked weeks ago-violated the morals clause of her contract."

  "Morals clause?" He remembered Miranda’s mention of the document Shakira signed when she was hired. Shakira wouldn’t do anything immoral. Tavington had to be speaking of a different document.