by Shales, Mia
Kate almost burst into tears. This was conclusive proof that Matthew wanted nothing to do with her.
“You’re talking nonsense. If he didn't want to see you why did he postpone the visit by one week? Why not cancel it entirely? He could have stayed in London and let John entertain us. No. That isn’t the reason. Anyway, I'm convinced that if the only reason for his interest in you is because of the manuscript, then he would have simply brought it up to Oxford.”
Emma was trying to cheer her up but Kate knew she was mistaken. He's stalling, trying to evade her. By next week he'll think up some story to put off their stay at the estate. Kate remembered Rebecca telling her their grandmother was due in Bellewoodplain with her cousin from Spain. He would use that as an excuse to cancel their visit.
The weekend crawled. Kate couldn't concentrate on her book and found herself staring into space for hours on end.
She barely ate and hardly slept, going over and over in her mind all that had passed between her and Matthew. She recalled the first time she set eyes on him in Mr. Mallory's store, the party, the glance he threw her way before he left, the concert, dinner, the night in his apartment, the slurs she threw up in his face. God help me, I'm losing my mind.
Mildred called again on Monday evening.
“Exactly what happened?” asked Emma. “Kate and I want to hear all the details.”
Lindsay pursued Jemina, buying her presents and promising to take her on a trip to Paris. He convinced her that they were in love and on Monday, after Kate left, he helped her pack and took her off to London. The next evening they were arrested on their way to France. During the investigation it was established that Jemina had no idea about the drugs. Lindsay hid a large amount of heroin in her bag without her knowledge, assuming that if they were searched and the drug discovered, Jemina would be blamed. When the detectives arrested them he tried to escape but he was caught almost immediately. One of the detectives had been at the party you were at a few weeks ago and heard him introduce himself to you. The older couple sitting next to you in the cafe were in fact detectives. Jemina's lawyer talked with the prosecutor's office and after she gave evidence and passed a lie detector test, they were convinced that Jemina's part was the result of a set of unfortunate coincidences and they decided to release her without pressing charges."
"Well done. Good for her."
“She's free,” Mildred jubilantly announced, “my poor Jemina is free.”
“Mildred, you mustn't forget she made a few very grave mistakes in judgment,” Emma reminded her, “I hope she's learned her lesson.”
“Yes, you're very right dear. She is right next to me and would like to speak to Kate.”
“Hello? Kate? You can't imagine what a mess I've been through this week because of your Richard Lindsay.”
Kate prayed devoutly for the strength to get through the conversation without losing her temper. “He's not mine and I suggest you refrain from trying to put the blame on anyone else but yourself.”
“Okay, okay, relax. Anyway, they insisted I apologize so I'm doing what I'm told like a good girl. I wouldn't dream of crossing Lord Matthew. Oh, Kate, he's so sexy, why didn't you introduce him to me instead of Richard. I like him much better.”
Kate's heart stood still. “What do you have to do with Matthew Camedon, Jemina? Where do you know him from?”
“Oops, sorry! He forbade us to tell you he was involved. Please, don't make me tell you more than I already have. I know if you insist I'll tell you everything and then Matthew will be angry at me for not keeping my promise.”
“Please, Jemina, I would like to speak to your mother again.”
Kate heard Jemina call her mother to the phone. Her nerves were taut and she was shaking. What was the meaning of all this? What could Jemina possibly have to do with Matthew?
“Mildred, I insist you tell me exactly what Matthew Camedon has to do with Jemina's problems?”
“I'm so glad you asked, love. I felt terrible I had to lie to you. But I did it only because Lord Camedon insisted,” she added hurriedly. “Last Wednesday Lord Camedon called up and said he would like to meet me in order to clear Jemina's name. He introduced himself as someone who had Miss Kate Evans' best interests at heart and of course I saw no reason to refuse. He sent a car around to pick me up at my sister-in-law's house and not just an ordinary car, Kate, but a shiny black Bentley. I couldn't believe my eyes.”
“Please, Mildred, try to stick to the point.”
“The chauffeur took me to a fancy office where I met the Marquis and his lawyer, Sir Goldsmith. The lawyer explained he took care of all the Marquis' affairs and the Marquis had requested he represent Jemina in this delicate matter. The Marquis gave the required amount of money to release Jemina on bail. His lawyer did a superb job and the end result you know.”
“And what about the money you owe Matthew Camedon?”
“He got back the bail money and he refused my offer to pay him the lawyer's fee in installments, so as far as I'm concerned, the matter is closed.”
Unable to continue the conversation, Kate bid her aunt good-bye.
“Tell me what happened,” asked Emma.
Kate told her of Jemina's slip of the tongue and the new information that had been revealed in its wake.
Emma looked pleased. It was clear that the Marquis was madly in love with her sister.
“Why are you smiling, Emma? What is so funny?”
“Nothing, sister, nothing at all.”
The next morning Kate went to visit her father. She found him, as always, deep in a book. She told him of the week's events, leaving out the intimate details concerning Matthew.
“Richard Lindsay,” her father knit his brows, “Richard Lindsay. The name sounds familiar. It rings a bell.” He leaned back in his armchair and drew on the pipe in his hand. “I'll make a few telephone calls and find out something about him. And now, tell me about this young Camedon.”
“What about him?” asked Kate, trying to put him off.
“Between the lines, I get the impression you've taken a fancy to him.”
“Oh, yes. I like him alot, father, and even more than that. But how can I look him in the eye after all that's happened? I'm so ashamed. He's angry with me and I can't blame him,” she added sorrowfully, “he has every reason to feel that way.”
Her father smiled encouragingly. “Matters don't seem as black as all that, child. If that's what he thinks of you, why should he go out of his way to help Jemina? Perhaps you are dearer to him and more important than you think.”
Kate felt a spark of hope. Was it possible that Matthew's feelings were strong enough to forgive the injustice she had done him, to give their relationship another chance? She felt a sudden happiness wash over her. Even if there were only a chance in a million, she would go to Bellewoodplain and try to make Matthew experience once again what he had briefly felt for her.
In the afternoon she began to work on the draft of her book and found to her delight that for the first time in weeks she was able to concentrate. Emma planned to spend the afternoon and evening with John and Kate didn't expect her back until the early hours of the morning.
Her father called in the evening. “I have news that will interest you,” he said without preamble. “Richard Lindsay was expelled from the college after he was caught sniffing cocaine on the university premises. After a thorough investigation it was eatablished that he had faked his high school grades, which were the basis of his acceptance to the college. He was judged and the punishment meted out was a large fine and three years probation. He left Oxford and since then the college has heard nothing from him.”
“Thank you, father, this information is very important.”
“You're welcome, my dear.”
Kate again felt the block in her throat. Over and over again she heard herself blaming Matthew for his lack of compassion and decency, his cruelty and severity. If he never spoke to her again, she would understand. She wrote Emma a message asking he
r to find out Matthew's mobile number. She would call him, thank him for all his help and beg his forgiveness. Kate hoped he would listen to her although she knew he would most likely be aloof and indifferent. She would feel better if she could tell him directly how sorry she was for all that had happened. Emma's response was quick and Kate entered Matthew's number, feeling her heart hammer against her ribs. She heard the dial tone, and then his voicemail, curt and laconic. She didn't leave a message and did not have the nerve to call Bellewoodplain. She would tell him all these things next Friday.
Chapter Nine
Friday, a minute before the hour struck nine, Kate watched from the window which overlooked the street as the Bentley slid to a stop in front of the building. Kate and Emma, ready for over an hour, went downstairs. At the entrance they met the driver who was quick to take their bags and open the back door. Mr. Rawlins was very friendly. He volunteered the fact that he had been the chauffeur at Bellewoodplain for over twenty years.
“Is Matthew's grandmother at Bellewoodplain?” Kate inquired.
“No. Lady Theresa will come from Spain with her cousin next Friday.”
“Do you enjoy working at Bellewoodplain?” asked Emma.
“Very much. The present Marquis, like the previous one, is a fair and generous employer. He's managed to give the workers the feeling that Bellewoodplain is their home and he's always open to discuss problems that arise. More than once he's given assistance, monetary or otherwise, to an employee in trouble. We all admire and love him.”
“What was he like as a boy?” Kate couldn't resist asking.
“Handsome, lively, clever, fairminded and devoted to his family. He was a loving brother to Lady Rebecca and from a young age was mature beyond his years.”
“What does Bellewoodplain look like?” Emma asked.
“Bellewoodplain is one of the best kept secrets in the world of England's historic houses. While the special atmosphere of many houses has been ruined by hordes of tourists, buses and souvenir shops, Bellewoodplain has remained hidden, mysterious and only occasionally open to the general public. Bellewoodplain's beauty lies in its blend of grandeur and informality. Only a small house and an iron gate indicate the path leading up to the house, a narrow path that seems to lead nowhere. But if you continue to the top of a small hill the full sweep of Bellewoodplain's majestic beauty lays below.”
When, after a few hours drive, the car came to the top of the hill described by Mr. Rawlins, Kate had to pinch herself to make sure she was not dreaming. The first thing that struck her were the awesome dimensions of the place. Not even in fairy tales do such marvelous places exist, she thought excitedly. The palace was surrounded on all sides by gardens, ponds and meadows that stretched far into the horizon as far as the eye could see. The skies were clear and the sun's warm rays tinted the house and grounds with gold.
“How many rooms are there at Bellewoodplain?” asked Kate, awed.
“Eighty seven,” answered Mr. Rawlins momentously.
“Eighty seven?!” Kate almost choked.
“There used to be one hundred and forty rooms but the present Marquis, Lord Matthew, instituted sweeping renovations three years ago which resulted in fewer rooms.”
Kate and Emma were struck dumb. The car approached the entrance to the house. Manicured lawns, the carpet of green broken by groupings of flowers in all the colors of the rainbow, ancient trees of various kinds, surrounded the house. Far off to the left Kate could see a large red brick building, four pillars supporting the triangular entrance.
“Those are the stables,” Mr. Rawlins commented. “Lord Matthew keeps some of the best thoroughbreds in England,” he added proudly.
“I've no doubt of that,” Kate said under her breath.
The car stopped at the entrance. An enormous, heavy door opened and John and Matthew came out to greet them.
All Kate could feel at that moment was embarrassment. How could she look him in the eye? John kissed Emma on the lips and Kate on her cheek. Matthew, to Kate's astonishment, followed his friend's lead but in a different order. Before she understood what was happening, he bent his dark head and kissed her mouth. For a fleeting moment his warm lips bore down on hers and Kate felt their burning sweetness. Her lips responded and she pressed them softly against his. Although the contact lasted only a few seconds, to Kate they seemed an eternity. He disengaged himself, turning to kiss Emma on her cheek and Kate struggled to calm herself and restore her heart to its normal rhythm. She knew her face was burning and hoped nobody would notice. Just to be on the safe side she gazed steadfastly at the ground and refused to look at Matthew. They entered the hall, decorated with plaster designs and a series of large paintings depicting a succession of Camedon family scenes. They marched obediently after the men who led them through a long corridor decorated with a collection of swords and breastplates to a chamber where the reigning colors were salmon-pink and peach.
“This is what is usually called the south room,” Matthew commented. The room was the most sumptuous Kate had ever seen, yet she sensed that this was not the official salon but a room reserved for more intimate entertaining. Matthew invited them to sit and a gray-haired woman offered a tray of cold drinks and hors d'oevres. A lively dialog sprang up between John and Emma. Emma sat on a couch and John beside her, one hand around her shoulder. Like a pair of doves, Kate thought. Matthew stood by the fireplace, his hands deep in his pockets, his legs slightly apart in the familiar stance. He joined the spirited conversation and when Emma described her feelings upon first seeing Bellewoodplain, Kate couldn't resist a surreptitious glance at him. He smiled engagingly and nodded.
“I can imagine how you felt. My family has several houses in England and abroad, but of them all Bellewoodplain is the place I love most. Unfortunately most of my time is spent far from here. I try to get here on weekends and for longer stays in summer. After lunch I'll be glad to show you the house and gardens. Tomorrow morning we'll ride. I've already chosen suitable horses for you.”
“When can I read the manuscript?” Kate asked.
“The manuscript can wait until tomorrow afternoon,” John responded. “You'll have a long weekend to examine it. Your only mission today is to revel in the beauty of Bellewoodplain.”
And of its owner, Kate mused. He was more attractive than ever, dressed in pants that emphasized the long muscles of his thighs and a gray shirt stretched tight over his broad chest with the top two buttons open.
Matthew's lips drew up in a faint smile as he became aware of her stare. He started walking over to her chair and Kate unconsciously raised a hand to her neck. She felt the vein pulsing. He sat on the arm of the chair facing her, his hand resting on his knee, and leaned towards her. “I'm glad you came,” he said quietly, “nothing gives me more pleasure than to welcome you here.”
Kate swallowed nervously. He was so courteous and gracious. “You are much too kind. I don't deserve such attention.”
He started to say something but at that moment lunch was announced. They were served in a dining room in the west wing. From the enormous windows they looked over a pastoral scene of gardens and water that barely hinted at the careful planning and sophistication that lay behind it. The room was suffused with sunlight and Kate, feeling the tension that had lain so heavily on her slowly melting away, began to behave more naturally. She spoke little but Emma, John and Matthew engaged in animated conversation and the mood was lighthearted.
After lunch Matthew led them on a tour of the house and then, of the grounds. The overwhelming size of the central chambers such as the grand drawing room known as the 'salon', or the rooms known as the 'blue', 'red', 'yellow' and 'marble', was counterbalanced by the intimacy of the others. Kate's mouth fell open at the beauty of the library and the vast collection it held. She could not help but envy the person who had the great good fortune to be the owner of this property. The galleries were laden with rare works of art - antique sets of silver, gold and porcelain, furniture of past centuries and paint
ings of masters. Impressive family portraits were hung in one of the most beautiful rooms and Kate lingered before two, of Matthew and Rebecca, painted when each was about ten years old.
Following the tour and the accompanying comments on Bellewoodplain's history, they stepped out into the gardens. It was four o'clock and the sun followed its cyclical path to the far horizon. They walked down a long lane of lemon trees and Kate breathed in the scent of the flowers and trees.
“Most of the trees you see were planted over generations by my ancestors,” Matthew explained, “and many of the statues were given to the masters of Bellewoodplain by their house guests.”
Kate could not stifle a cry of wonder when they reached an open glade. There, rising in grotesque denseness from the green grass, was a cluster of plane tree trunks. Kate's eyes gleamed and her lips parted in a smile of pleasure as this magical, hidden corner cast its spell. Matthew, in the midst of an anecdote, stopped short for a moment. He felt an uncontrollable urge to lie her down on the soft grass at the foot of the tree trunks and make love to her. With great effort he concentrated his thoughts and continued his story, never taking his eyes off her.
They continued the tour in the direction of the garden called the 'valley'. “The valley is the focal point of the gardens,” Matthew explained, “as just above it is the source of the natural spring that provides the two lakes and the gardens with water. In springtime the floor of the valley is blanketed with white magnolias. From spring to summer's end, both here and at the borders of the lakes, water loving flowers grow in profusion.” The view was sublime. A thick carpet of lilac, lily and rose petals drifted over the green water.
It was now almost six and the air turned cool. They wended their way back to the house and Emma and John, leading the way, were soon lost to view. Kate and Matthew walked side by side, Kate's shoulder occasionally brushing Matthews arm. He did not speak and she tried to gather enough courage to open a conversation. Finally, by the gilded bronze statue of the Indian god Vishnu, she stopped and Matthew stood still. Disconcerted, she instinctively lowered her head and her smooth, thick hair, shining in the rays of the setting sun, covered her face.