by Linda Ford
“Mmm, hmm,” he said, thinking of the beribboned lady who had sat too close to him, claiming an acquaintance from more than a decade ago, insisting he call her Cecily, as she kept referring to him as Reid.
“Cecily moved back with her parents when she lost her husband last autumn.” His aunt clucked her tongue. “She was desolate with grief. Such a loving wife... I was glad to see her looking so well today.”
“Yes.” She didn’t strike him as the grieving widow at all. Her cloying eau de toilette still lingered in his nostrils. He pushed back the window shade, deciding to bring up the topic uppermost in his mind. “With the weather so warm, I was wondering if you wouldn’t like a little trip to the country. It might do you a world of good.”
“A trip? Me? Oh, gracious, I couldn’t possibly travel.”
He looked across at the horrified expression on his aunt’s face. “Pity.”
“Where were you thinking of traveling?” she asked when he said nothing more.
“I have a friend at the club who has a house in Scotland. He’s told me to make use of it for as long as I wish.”
“Scotland! Goodness, as far as that? The trip alone would do me in.”
“I don’t know about that...with the train, it’s not such a grueling trip. You’d wake up and be there. And once you’re there, it would be to relax and enjoy the fresh air. It’s a wonder you can even breathe in the city.”
“You’re right about that. I find myself gasping for air at times, it’s become so noxious.” She shook her head. “And growing worse each day.”
“Why don’t you think about it? Miss Norton and your maid would accompany you to see that you’re comfortable.”
She looked out the window and broke open her black lace fan. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly consider it. Scotland is much too far.”
Well, he’d tried. He’d just have to come up with another solution, his resolve stronger than ever to get Miss Norton out of the city for a while. When was the last time she had had a real holiday?
* * *
The quartet of musicians began the first strains of a Brahms violin concerto. After an hour of hustling about overseeing the serving of tea and cakes to the numerous guests at Lady Haversham’s afternoon musicale, Maddie welcomed the chance to sit down. She glanced at her employer then at Lilah in a corner not far away from her mistress. For the moment, everyone seemed settled.
The music soon soothed her frayed nerves. After a few minutes her gaze strayed to Mr. Gallagher. He sat on the settee between two fashionably dressed, attractive ladies. Maddie judged them to be around her own age. Both were widows with a secure position in society and independent means. The fact alone of having been married gave them a cachet far superior to Maddie’s, as if having procured one husband vindicated them for all time. Even if they never married again, the term spinster could never be applied to them.
Cecily Mason leaned over to whisper something to Mr. Gallagher and he smiled and gave a slight nod. At that moment his glance met Maddie’s. She quickly looked away, feeling her face heat at having been caught staring at him. She clenched her hands together in her lap and tried to appear as if she were merely interested in the music.
When the musicians took a break halfway through, Maddie went to see if Lady Haversham needed anything, but she found the old lady engaged in a conversation. “You’ll never believe what my nephew has convinced me to do!”
Her acquaintance, another elderly lady, leaned forward, her lace cap trembling. “I couldn’t possibly imagine. Do tell me.”
“He has prevailed upon me to accompany him to the Scottish Highlands!”
Maddie stared at her. Lady Haversham traveling to the Scottish Highlands?
“Never!”
Lady Haversham tapped her fan against the lady’s arm. “I told him my constitution was much too delicate, but he insisted the outing would do me good. Imagine a month of that bracing air.”
“Oh, goodness, I don’t think I’d be up to the journey.”
Lady Haversham glanced at Maddie. “Well, I have Madeleine. And my maid, of course. And Dr. Aldwin has given me his blessing. He even recommended a colleague of his in Edinburgh.”
“Does this mean you’ve reconsidered my suggestion, Aunt Millicent?” Maddie started to hear Mr. Gallagher’s low voice behind her.
Lady Haversham looked up at him with a mischievous smile. “I hope I don’t regret this. But Dr. Aldwin thought it an excellent suggestion when I mentioned it to him.”
“Well, I’m glad to have an ally in him.” Mr. Gallagher took a cup of tea a maid offered him. He turned to Maddie with a smile. “Ever been to the Scottish Highlands?”
She wasn’t used to seeing him in a dark frock coat. It set his tanned face off to further advantage. “No. I’m told they are breathtaking.”
He stirred his tea. “They are. I haven’t been up that way in years, but I have a friend who’s offered me use of a place. Did Aunt Millicent tell you?”
“No.” Her glance strayed to her employer, but her attention was on her old friend. “I’m surprised—but glad that she’s agreed to go. The outing should do her good.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.” He continued looking at Maddie, who felt herself blushing under his scrutiny.
“What about your work?” She frowned, remembering the reason he came by almost every day. What if she shouldn’t see him anymore...? The thought brought her up short.
He shrugged. “A week more or less won’t make much difference either way. Since the work is held up in Egypt indefinitely, there’s no undue rush to finish things here. I don’t mind the chance to get out of London for a fortnight or so, I can tell you that. You should enjoy it.”
He would be accompanying them. On the heels of that thought came his last words. She would be going, as well. It finally began to sink in. A holiday away from London, with Mr. Gallagher...
It seemed almost too good to be true. Her heart began to sing with a lightheartedness she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
* * *
When the concert resumed, Reid found himself once again sandwiched between Mrs. Cecily Mason and Mrs. Augustina Drake, both of whom he’d known only slightly in his youth. He shifted on the hard horsehair settee, moving his thigh away from the one lady’s, only to find his other brushing Cecily’s. He hid a grimace when she immediately turned to him with a smile.
“How long do you plan to be in London this time, Reid?”
He smoothed down one end of his mustache with his thumb. “Not long,” he whispered back. An older lady on a straight-backed chair in front of him turned to glare at them, and Reid wished he could offer to exchange seats with her.
“I’ll be sure to invite you to a few functions. There’s so much going on in London now. You must be famished for society.”
He turned his attention back to the music, wondering how many more movements to the piece there would be. He folded his hands on his knees and felt like an accordion. The least movement to ease his muscles would bring him in unwanted contact with two females whose puffy sleeves, ruffled skirts and dangling jewels seemed to be everywhere he moved.
A soft sound in the corner drew his attention. He craned his neck to the back and saw Lilah vomiting on the carpet beside Lady Haversham’s chair.
His aunt motioned to Miss Norton, who had already risen from her place.
Grateful for any excuse to move, Reid stood and headed their way. Before Miss Norton had a chance to bend over the dog, Reid scooped up Lilah, thinking she barely weighed over a pound.
Once outside the drawing room, Miss Norton closed the door softly behind them. “Mr. Gallagher, you needn’t have troubled yourself. I can take care of Lilah.”
“Where should I take her?”
Without another word, she led him to his aunt’s private sitting room and indicated the cushioned basket on the floor. Miss Norton knel
t down and smoothed the dog’s silky head, careful of her pink bow. “There, sweetie, that feels much better, doesn’t it?” The terrier curled up and went to sleep under Miss Norton’s soft strokes.
She met Reid’s gaze across the small basket. “Lady Haversham feeds her too many rich treats and Lilah invariably gets sick.”
He pictured the gaunt stray dogs roaming the streets of Cairo, their ribs prominent through their thin fur. “Spoiled mutt.”
She smiled. “She does keep your aunt company.”
He wanted to say, So do you without being treated half so well, but kept silent.
“You didn’t have to interrupt your enjoyment of the music. Lilah will be all right now.”
“If you call being jammed between two practical strangers enjoyment. I should thank Lilah for giving me a reason to stretch my legs.” He did so now, easing his long legs in front of him.
With a glance in that direction, she resumed stroking the dog. Reid found his gaze lingering on her face. “Botticelli,” he murmured, noting the tint of her cheeks, the downward sweep of her dark golden lashes—
“I beg your pardon?” Her lashes fluttered upward again.
Reid was held by those large tawny eyes, their expression tender, inquiring. He broke the connection and coughed. “Nothing...just a stray thought...”
He forced his attention on the small dog. What was getting into him? This was his assistant, not a painting in a museum...and not a single, attractive woman.
Before he could go any further with his train of thought, Miss Norton stood. “I suppose we’d better get back. Mr. and Mrs. Walker went to a lot of trouble to arrange this afternoon’s entertainment.”
“My sister loves nothing better than organizing entertainments, and as you’ve no doubt observed, my brother-in-law loves nothing better than snoozing through them.” He rose to his feet more slowly and followed her to the door. “Although if I had the choice of facing down a hostile tribe of Bedouins or returning to the drawing room, I’d prefer the former.”
She smiled in understanding and again he was struck by the soft expression on her face. “Definitely a Botticelli,” he said to himself before turning away and holding the door open for her.
Reid endured another hour of music followed by polite small talk with a bunch of people he scarcely remembered and with whom he had little in common. It was early evening by the time he headed back to his club, walking through the Green Park and St. James’s until he reached Pall Mall.
“Good evening, Mr. Gallagher.” The porter took his hat and umbrella from him. “Fair weather, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s a fine evening, John.”
Reid walked across the spacious lobby, nodding to the few gentlemen present. Most were still in the dining room. He decided to skip supper, having eaten more than he was accustomed to at his aunt’s. He was getting tired of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and similar heavy meals almost every evening. He missed the lighter fare of rice or couscous with a sparse serving of goat or lamb, and dates and almonds to finish with, usually eaten around a campfire in the dark desert night.
“Reid!” A tall gentleman with a beard headed across the carpeted floor. “By golly, man, is that you?”
Reid stared a moment trying to place the voice and face. “Cyril? Cyril Melshore?”
“The very one. How are you, Reid? Where the blazes have you been all these years?” The two clasped hands, Reid heartened to see an old friend, one with whom he knew he shared a lot.
“Mainly in Egypt. What about you? The last I heard you’d gone to the Far East.”
“Been there and a whole host of other places. Now I’m an old married man, settled in the suburbs.” Cyril laughed, a vigorous sound in the hushed lobby. The man looked the picture of health and well-being, his thick reddish hair waving back from a broad forehead, a neatly trimmed beard covering the lower part of his face. “I’ve become a family man.”
“I see.” Reid blinked, taken aback for an instant, remembering his friend’s penchant for adventure. He shook away the surprise and held out his hand again. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks. Listen, have you eaten?”
“No—yes, actually. I’ve just come from a relative’s. I feel I’ve been fed the whole afternoon.”
“Where’re you headed then?”
“I was going up to the library.”
“Mind if I come along? We have a lot of years to catch up on.”
“Of course not.” It would be good to talk with Cyril.
The two settled into leather armchairs by an unlit fireplace. A few other gentlemen sat reading newspapers in various corners of the large room.
“I always loved this place. A home away from home.”
Reid looked around the book-lined room. “Yes, a fine haven from the rest of London.”
Cyril grinned at him. “It does take getting used to once you’ve lived in the East.”
Reid steepled his fingers under his chin. “Let’s see...the last time we saw each other, you were heading over to China to clerk in some counting house. As I recall, you were quite anxious to leave Europe.”
He chuckled. “Yes, I wanted nothing more than to explore far-off lands. Well, I ended up in Bangkok. I managed a trading house for several years.”
A footman walked silently by, turning on the lamps.
“So, I’m here in London cooling my heels for a few weeks at least,” Reid summed up after the two had spent a good hour bringing each other up-to-date. “My time isn’t completely lost since I’m cataloging this collection left by my great-uncle.”
“Sounds like a veritable treasure trove.”
“It is an amazing collection.”
“I must get over to the British Museum and see what their latest acquisitions are.” Cyril’s brown eyes twinkled. “You know I live a very staid life now, to work in the City every morning, home every evening.”
Reid shook his head, still amazed at the change. “Well, I’d say you led a pretty adventurous life when I knew you. I guess you deserve to enjoy the fruits of your labors.”
“Yes, I’m grateful I came back from my travels alive and in one piece—and with a sizable fortune,” Cyril added with a gleam in his eyes. “I had known Sarah growing up. When I saw her again, suddenly I was lost. Didn’t stand a chance. I decided then and there it was time to settle down.” He gave a satisfied sigh. “A man reaches a certain stage when life is no longer enjoyable if there’s no one there to share the journey with.” As if realizing how his words sounded, he looked away. “Sorry, old chap. I guess there’s been no one since...”
“No, no one,” Reid said quietly.
Cyril nodded. “Hey, did I tell you about the time I was chased down by a tiger in the jungles of Siam? Caught without my rifle!”
Reid listened as Cyril went on with another story. This time he found his mind wandering, feeling as if the two were a couple of schoolboys trading exploits just to feel good about themselves.
“You say you’re living in the suburbs now?” Reid asked more out of politeness than any real desire to know. Suddenly he felt the full fatigue of a day spent making small talk.
“Yes, in Ealing. It’s a pretty area. I take the train into Paddington every day. You should come out and visit us. We have a small villa, very comfortable.”
“I’m not in London for very long. I’ll be heading up to Scotland next week.”
Cyril showed interest in that, and the two began talking about trout fishing.
After his friend left for the train station, Reid sat awhile longer in the library. He tried reading the paper, but found himself going over his conversation with Cyril. He shook his head, still amazed at the idea of his old friend a satisfied husband living in the suburbs.
In less than a month Reid would turn forty. He thought of the acquaintances he’d already lost. The rest se
emed to be enjoying a comfortable middle age surrounded by family. He stretched out his legs before him, his gaze unseeing on the dark empty grate of the elegant carved-oak fireplace. He stroked his mustache absently. How much longer would he have? Would he, too, catch some fever on his return to Egypt or the Sinai and disappear into the tapestry of his generation?
He rose and stretched, shaking off the gloomy thoughts. He’d get an early night and hopefully be in better shape to accomplish some work in the morning. He remembered his aunt’s surprising announcement this afternoon and wondered why she’d changed her mind about Scotland. He shook his head and smiled. Who could fathom the mind of a woman?
He went up to his room and turned up the gaslight. Everything looked neat, the bed made, his pile of books stacked on the bedside table. Oil portraits of past club members stared down at him from their shadowy positions along the damask walls.
He took off his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair then loosened his tie. He poured himself a glass of soda water, brought up earlier by a waiter who knew his habits. He riffled through the envelopes left for him on a silver tray. An invitation from Cecily Mason for a garden party in Chelsea. His aunt seemed determined to throw him in the company of women she deemed suitable for a lonely bachelor.
Reid donned the light cotton pajama pants favored in the Orient for daytime wear. He had grown to prefer the loose cotton trousers with their drawstring waist for sleeping to a nightshirt. He wound his clock and set it. Then he picked up his wife’s photograph.
He kissed the framed photo as he did each night. “Good night, my dear.” Octavia had been a beautiful woman. It was his favorite picture of her. It had been taken when she was twenty-eight, a year before she died. They had been at a party in London and a renowned photographer had been in attendance. So taken with her beauty, he’d asked her to sit for him and hadn’t even wanted to charge a fee.
Octavia had agreed to the picture, saying she wanted Reid to remember her just like that. Her rich dark hair was worn high on her head. Her deep-set dark eyes looked back at him in that understanding way she had. How little the two of them realized her words would prove so prophetic. He rubbed the polished ebony frame.