by Peter McAra
‘Don’t forget, Kate.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I’m on trial. And you’re on duty. I made a few blunders yesterday, when you weren’t there to help me. I think Princess Laetitia noticed. I don’t want to get on her wrong side, if you understand. Not so early in her visit.’
‘Very well,’ she whispered back. The steam tram moved on and the hansom cab continued on its way to the station.
***
They reached Katoomba, hub of the Blue Mountains. Tom hired a hansom cab for the day and asked the cabby to take them on a tour of the sights. Kate loved the spiky prominence of The Three Sisters, the bottomless valleys that beckoned from the scenic lookouts. What would have passed through the minds of the first explorers as they stood on the very spot the party now occupied? They lunched at a forgettable café. Kate hardly noticed. She let herself melt into the ambience of the magnificent mountains. Her novel, if she ever started to write it, would indeed be the richer for the day’s experiences.
Soon the party decided to move on. They boarded the waiting cab. The driver flicked the reins and the horse strolled on. Soon they reached the nearby village of Blackheath.
‘I say!’ Tom said, pointing. ‘Look at that. Thatched roof and all. Part of an English fairytale. Whoa there, cabby. That sign?’ The cab stopped.
Weekend lettings now available.
Sleeps six in newly refurbished luxury.
Spa and swimming pool.
Apply within.
‘Perfect!’ Laetitia beamed. ‘I was dreaming we’d be able to spend a chummy weekend together. Six of us in a cosy little cottage. We can take morning walks, play cards. And ladies, we might choose to soak in the spa for an hour or two before bedtime.’
Chummy weekend? Where would Laetitia’s weird notions end? Kate wondered again why Tom’s sweetheart, newly reunited with him after months of separation, would want anything other than loving privacy. What strange chemistry must be fermenting between the couple? Tom turned to stare at his sweetheart, eyebrows raised. Like Kate, it seemed Tom was struggling to cope with the sudden change in Laetitia’s character.
‘Very well,’ he said in a voice that flagged confusion. Perhaps he’d decided to capitalise on the moment. ‘I’ll go inside. Take a look.’ He returned in a few minutes.
‘We’re booked. The whole place to ourselves.’ He helped Laetitia down. ‘Apologies, Prudence and Kate. If you two don’t mind sharing what used to be the servants’ quarters? They’ve been fully refurbished, so the landlady informs me. With all the bits and pieces you could ever need.’
‘Thank you,’ Prudence and Kate chorused.
The friendly landlady showed the two women to their modest but comfortable two-bedroom chambers.
‘I do hope you’ll have a relaxing weekend, ladies. Would you like a walk before dinner?’ She handed them a map. ‘There’s a pretty millpond just over the first hill.’
As they unpacked, Kate spoke to Prudence.
‘I seem to have rather misread Laetitia,’ she said. ‘The night after you arrived in Sydney, she was so cold. Steely hard, even. I began to think—’
‘Indeed.’ Prudence chuckled. ‘She’s suddenly transformed from one of Macbeth’s witches to Princess Sugarplum.’
‘Is that her way?’
‘Hardly. I’ve been her secretary for a couple of years now. She’s driven, demanding. Very, very particular. Most of the time, she wears her to-the-manor-born cloak.’ Prudence spread her hands, rolled her eyes. ‘You saw her wearing it last night when you arrived. But today, I can hardly believe what I see and hear.’
‘Perhaps Prince Charming has worked his magic on her?’ Kate offered, laughing to show that she read Laetitia’s overnight change of mood as lightweight comedy. Perhaps the kissing moment in the lane that Kate had spied the night before had broken the ice. What woman could resist a kiss from Tom? Kate knew all too well that he’d been waiting for months for some sweet moments in private with the woman he loved.
The pain of lost love jerked at Kate’s heartstrings again. If only she hadn’t seen that kiss. Would she ever manage to have a sound night’s sleep again? Would she ever catch sight of Tom without revisiting her pain? Would she ever forget the night he’d kissed her as he gently laid her on her bed after the ball, thinking she was in a drugged sleep?
When Kate had seen Tom and Laetitia kiss the night before, she’d concluded that the couple’s love, perhaps withering on the vine over the past months of separation, had burst into bloom again, nourished by the sweet wine of their reunion. Very likely, that was the magic potion that had switched Laetitia’s mood from grey to glowing gold. The vision of Tom’s questing hands caressing Laetitia’s arms, her shoulders, her waist, now became a red-hot knife hacking into Kate’s soul.
In their last days at Kenilworth, Kate had actually let herself admit that she liked Tom a lot. Indeed, she might even love him. How stupid she’d been to let her primal instincts trample over her common sense. But that was the way the world had worked since time began. Lone man meets lone woman in a lonely place. They spend time in each other’s company. Simple biology requires that the woman and the man fall in love, beget many children.
As Kate wafted into her reminiscences, she saw that her feelings for Tom had crept up on her over a string of innocent encounters. His manly smile as he stepped into the study for his lessons on sunny afternoons, still in his dusty work clothes. The times he’d ushered her onto the verandah for a glass of Madeira before dinner, looking into her eyes as they clinked glasses. The moments their hands brushed as they both reached for the same table napkin.
Night after night, she’d relived their time at the Pioneers’ Ball. Now, yet again, she revisited every precious moment of that evening, from the way Tom took her hand to lead her onto the ballroom floor, to her cheek pressing against the warmth of his chest as they danced. As the minutes passed, she paid the price, in grinding pain, for those magic moments.
‘Some rather powerful magic has happened,’ Prudence said as she met up with Kate for their walk before dinner. ‘Laetitia has other men visiting from time to time, but I’ve never seen anything like this.’
Kate shrank into herself. It was time to remind her wicked instincts to behave themselves. Whenever she talked with Prudence, she absolutely must button her lip about her feelings for Tom. She’d known, from the moment he explained why he needed a governess, that he’d given his heart to Laetitia.
Later, as they planned the excursion to Sydney, a part of her had warned her to be on her guard. She must expect that Tom would be head-over-heels for his fine lady the moment they fell into each other’s arms. It had all happened according to the script. But Kate had never realised until now that her pain would cut this deep. For the thousandth time, she ordered herself to get over it. She must, must, must, forget Tom’s stolen kiss, forget the heart-opening moment she’d caught him playing Beethoven naked at dawn, forget all the other accidental sweetnesses they’d shared.
‘You seem a little down,’ Prudence said, looking up from the clothes she’d spread on her bed. ‘We should take our walk now. Breathe a little healthy country air before we head into the village for dinner.’
‘Indeed, I’d rather enjoy that.’
Taking the landlady’s map, they followed a winding path through the green fields. As they walked, Kate sensed that Prudence had decided to adopt her as an assignment, aim to cheer up her confused, always-tired colleague.
‘Forgive the question,’ Prudence said as they climbed a stile. ‘Please tell me so if it’s out of order. But you and Tom. Was there ever anything, well …’
Kate forced a laugh. ‘Good heavens, no. He advertised for a governess, and I won the position.’
‘Why you?’ Prudence said. ‘Wait, let me guess. He chose you from thousands of eager would-be governesses because he fancied your innocent young beauty.’
Kate couldn’t resist a cynical laugh.
‘When I visited him for the interview, he told me I was the on
ly applicant.’
‘He is rather handsome, isn’t he?’ Prudence grinned. ‘If I had to spend my days working beside him, teaching him the finer points of the King’s English, I might go a little weak at the knees occasionally.’
‘Oh no. The lessons have always been strictly business,’ Kate answered, trying to match Prudence’s smile. ‘In the very first hour I met Tom, he told me about Laetitia.’
Their walk over, the pair headed for their chambers and dressed for dinner. With a relieved smile, Tom told Kate and Prudence that Laetitia’s parents had chosen to eat in their chambers, enjoying a meal prepared by their anxious-to-please landlady.
At the village’s Lazy Duckling restaurant, recommended by the landlady, Laetitia chose a table in an old-fashioned booth, furnished with a half-circle upholstered leather bench. As they took their places, she snuggled close to Tom. Before welcoming drinks were served, she began to tease him. Pretending her fingers were coquettish butterflies, she fluttered them over his hands, above the table and under it, punctuating her movements with maidenly giggles. Occasionally, she planted a wet kiss on his cheek. Wine, conversation, and jokes flowed. Kate fought back her yawns, telling herself that the dinner was fun—that this was the real country-style holiday she’d come to know from books.
‘I’m starving,’ Laetitia said, staring at the waiter who persisted in looking the other way. ‘And we don’t want a late night, do we, my darling? Not here in the restaurant, anyway.’ Her smile fired a message to Kate. ‘I’m going to have a word with the maître d’. Tell him the service is terrible.’ She left the booth and headed for the reception desk.
‘How am I performing, Kate?’ Tom whispered, leaning towards her in the closeness of the booth.
‘Very well. Apparently.’ Kate nodded towards Laetitia’s back. ‘I thought you began with a rather bumpy start last night. But …’ She pretended not to notice Tom’s grin. She stared at the walls, the tablecloth, the picture hanging above their booth—anywhere but at Tom. For the last time, she must convince her herself that she didn’t love him. That she had permanently blocked any further little flutters in her wayward heart. That what must surely happen in the next few hours, as the loving couple returned to their adjoining chambers, no longer mattered to her.
As the dinner progressed, Kate risked an occasional glance at Tom’s face. Strictly in the line of duty, of course. His every word must be scrutinised. At first, there were times when he looked positively cross. Then, as the evening mellowed, so did Tom. Sometimes he smirked down at Laetitia, a mildly puzzled expression on his face. Perhaps that was the instinctively shy man’s version of a loving smile.
The waiter cleared the table and presented the bill to Tom.
‘My darling Tom,’ Laetitia murmured, slipping a hand round his waist, ‘I feel so—amorous. Languidly amorous.’ She sagged against him, giggled in his ear. ‘Now there’s a word for you, my darling. You told me you’re working at learning new words.’ She giggled again. ‘We absolutely must head back to the cottage. I am desperately in need of a session in that lovely spa.’
Before Tom collected himself enough to answer, Laetitia turned to Prudence and Kate as they sat opposite. Minutes before, they’d directed their eyes elsewhere. Anywhere but towards the couple.
‘You’ll excuse me, ladies, won’t you?’ Laetitia grinned. ‘Sorry, but the spa’s only big enough for one.’ She eyed Tom, then giggled again.
As they walked to the cottage, Kate tried not to hear Laetitia’s sugary murmurings as she nudged her head against Tom’s shoulder. The second they reached the cottage door, the couple said their goodnights and disappeared.
‘What do you make of that?’ Prudence said as the two women let themselves into their chambers.
‘It would appear that they like each other,’ Kate said. ‘Rather a lot.’
‘Yes. As I said before,’ Prudence murmured, ‘Tom seems to have penetrated Laetitia’s stainless steel heart like no other man has managed. I’m picturing her as she steps into the spa. You don’t think Tom would—’
‘Never!’ Kate struggled to wipe the shocking picture from her tired brain. ‘Tom is a gentleman. Always and forever.’
As soon as she could politely disappear, Kate slid into bed, pleading tiredness when Prudence suggested they enjoy a goodnight port on the verandah. An hour passed. She could not sleep. The harder she tried, the more she knew it wouldn’t happen.
Another hour ground by. She could never sleep while thoughts of Tom dominated her every sense. Somehow, she must break free of the net that had been thrown over the two of them. But how? What would Vida Goldstein do? Very well, Kate must become an independent woman. And how would she achieve that priceless independence? As she lay tossing and turning, the idea exploded into her brain—suddenly, sneakily, but perfectly formed. She must go home.
‘I’ve been thinking, Tom,’ she rehearsed as she lay in the dark. ‘You and Laetitia are in love. It’s as obvious as the light flashing from Sydney’s Macquarie Lighthouse. You don’t need me anymore. I’ve delivered according to my contract. Now I’m simply in the way.’
As she embroidered her plan, she resigned herself to reality. No way in the world would she fall asleep that night. Perhaps hot milk. That often worked when everything else failed. She tiptoed into the kitchen. A few minutes later she sat on her verandah bench in the moonlight, warm glass in hand.
Minutes passed. Then, as her eyes adjusted to the low light of the waning moon, she saw a movement on the balcony of Tom’s chambers. Yes, it was Tom. As she stared at the blurry silhouette, Tom spotted her and waved. What to do? She waved back—a friendly flutter of the wrist. Then he waved again. This time he was signalling her, beckoning her. What did those odd jerky arm movements mean? As she watched, he climbed over the balustrade, shinnied to the ground, and headed towards her. He stopped a few yards away, finger to lips, then beckoned again.
He wanted her to join him. It was impossible for him to call to her. Absolute silence was imperative. She peered at the railing on her verandah. It was easy enough to climb over it and jump down onto the lawn. Tom silently clapped hands as she landed on the soft grass. Then he beckoned again. She followed him as he led the way to a summerhouse in a corner of the garden. As he walked she saw that he wore skimpy pyjama shorts, no top. His muscled shoulders glinted in the faint light as he moved.
‘What are you doing awake at this ungodly hour,’ he whispered as he pointed to a bench, then joined Kate as she sat.
‘Sleeplessness,’ she whispered back. ‘What else? And you?’
‘Mmm. Things.’
‘What things?’
‘Never mind.’
‘I must apologise.’ She hesitated. ‘I’d have expected you to be dead to the world by now.’ She mustn’t in any way hint at the oh-so-fond goodnight he’d very likely just enjoyed with Laetitia. Kate wondered again if he might possibly have shared a little time in the spa with his beloved.
Silence drifted over them. An embarrassing silence. How could it be otherwise? The two of them sat in palest moonlight, each dressed in the minimum nightwear required by modesty. A thought flickered in Kate’s brain like a stray flash of lightning on the night horizon. It wouldn’t go away. She would tell Tom now, while they were alone, while it was dark.
‘I’ve decided to go home,’ she said quietly. ‘Preferably first thing tomorrow morning.’ She waited for him to take in her message. ‘You and Laetitia have fallen in love again so beautifully. Now I’m simply in the way. You don’t need me. I’m neither use nor ornament.’
‘But Kate …’ In the darkness of the summerhouse, she couldn’t see his face, let alone read a message in it, if there was one. ‘You can’t leave,’ he said. His voice sounded strained, painful. ‘We have a contract.’
‘I’ve delivered to the last letter of our contract,’ she said. ‘You and Laetitia. It’s all wrapped up and sealed. Quite obviously.’ He sat rigid, seemingly stunned into silence. That silence became more embarrassin
g as each second dragged by. She stood, looked towards the verandah rail she’d lately climbed over.
‘I’ll say goodnight, Tom. Then tomorrow morning, goodbye.’
He moved so fast he took her by surprise. First, he put a hand on hers as she rested it on the summerhouse bench. His arms closed round her, pulled her close. So close she could feel his heartbeat. Why? When he’d quite possibly just come from an hour or two of blinding intimacy with Laetitia in the spa, then goodness knows what else? He eased the tension of his arms the merest fraction. Then the kiss. There was no time for her to back away. His lips fused into hers, hot, hungry, a reverberating, thundering explosion of passion. This was no polite goodbye. It was raw, desperate.
She lost herself—lost every last atom of the self-control she’d learned to summon whenever he was close. The genie had burst out of its steel box. She returned the kiss. Or rather, some primal force inside her did. The more her mind told her to stop, the more her body did what a woman’s body does when she kisses a man she wants. Wants his hot, hard body—all of it.
The flickering candle that had burned in her heart for months now roared into a pillar of white-hot flame, scorching every part of her yearning body. She wrapped her arms round his neck, let the flesh under her filmy nightie gulp its fill of the sensations it had starved for over too many nights. It had begun when the smiling Tom tied up his horse and walked towards her that first afternoon at Kenilworth. Now his tongue, his hands, his hardness, electrified her body.
Time stopped. She writhed instinctively, ecstatically, at every movement of the warm, hard questing hands on her shoulders, her neck, then inevitably, her breasts. Her every need seemed to be matched, fed, by his. Then—she had no sense of how long they feasted on each other’s lips—he stepped away.
‘I’ll—’ His voice choked—husky, hesitant. ‘Take you to Blackheath station in the morning. It’s just a few minutes’ walk from here. There’s a train at eight.’