by Joann Simon
During dinner several gentlemen stopped by the table to speak to Christopher and give Jessica messages from their wives with invitations for this or that event. Christopher appeared very reluctant to accept, hedging, refusing an invitation to a reception, another to a large party, before finally giving his acceptance to two smaller dinner parties at the homes of close associates of his.
Jessica fully understood. He was trying to keep her out of sight of Rhea, and at the smaller dinner parties there was less chance of their running into her. Well, she was not going to play along with his plans so easily and allow him to hide her away from his mistress. Let Rhea see husband and wife out together socializing; let her know that Jessica was not giving up the battle without a fight. When the next invitation came, to a large ball that Saturday evening, Jessica responded before Christopher could get a word out of his mouth.
"That would be lovely, and how kind of you to ask us. My husband, determined though he is to devote all of his time to business, does need some respite. We would be delighted to come."
Christopher cast her a sharp, angry glance, but under the circumstances there was little he could say without embarrassing both Jessica and himself. In their room after dinner, however, he had a few terse words for his wife.
"I would appreciate it in the future, Jessica, if you would allow me to decide whether or not we will go out. I told you clearly before we left Connecticut that I would have no time for entertainments."
"You cannot work all the time. You do need to get out and enjoy yourself occasionally—and what business can you conduct on a Saturday evening?"
"Just the same, you might have consulted me about the decision to accept."
Jessica almost snapped back: "I did not notice you consulting me about your refusals." But she held her tongue and casually continued with her undressing. An argument with him now did not fit into her plans and would only turn him that much more quickly toward his mistress's arms.
Jessica took extraordinary pains with her appearance. Her new gowns were in the height of fashion and extremely flattering. Her complexion glowed, and with her hair done in a new, softer style, she was radiantly beautiful.
Few gentlemen at the dinner parties they attended failed to cast admiring glances her way. Both the men and men with whom she conversed were impressed with her, and Jessica made every effort to be at her best; witty, laughing, drawing others out in conversation, responding with charm to their questions, discussing current news and politics with intelligence, yet not presenting herself too strongly.
Although Christopher at times appeared oblivious of the attention his wife received, Jessica knew perfectly well he wasn't. She'd seen the tiny frown on his brow that evening at the dinner party when he'd overheard the compliments extended her by several of the attractive gentlemen present. She knew that his seeming distraction stemmed instead from the worry uppermost on his mind: his near panic that Rhea and Jessica should meet face to face. He was constantly glancing toward the entrance as guests were being announced, and his relief when Rhea Taylor did not walk through the door was visibly apparent, at least to his wife.
In fact, Christopher was keenly aware of his wife; of the color and fabric of every gown she wore, of the way its lines clung to her graceful figure. He was altogether too aware of the sparkle in her eyes, of her radiant smiles and gay laughter. He listened to other men flattering her, saw how truly charmed they were, and felt sharp twinges of jealousy.
It should have been toward him alone that her charm was directed. At last she was herself again—vital, lovely— but because of his own deceit and fears of being found out, he could not open his arms and heart to her to show her his joy, could not tell her of the love he felt and was cherishing more and more as each day went by. If only he were not trapped in this tangle; if only he could wish his involvement with Rhea into nonexistence!
Rhea had to be aware by now that his wife was with him, and she would not be happy. He was terribly afraid that in her anger she might react rashly, somehow get word of their affair to Jessica. He couldn't risk that, yet he hadn't dared send her a written message.
It was almost with relief that he saw her carriage passing outside his office door at lunch the next day. An onlooker would think their encounter accidental. Christopher knew otherwise. She hailed him with a smile.
"Well, what a coincidence. I was just passing after delivering a message for Father."
Despite her warmly casual tone, he saw from the look in her eye that she knew about his wife and was not pleased.
He stepped to the side of her carriage and spoke to her through the open window.
"Good day, Rhea. This is indeed a pleasant surprise."
"A surprise, yes. You are on your way to luncheon? Let me give you a lift."
"I have already eaten, thank you. I just thought to stretch my legs for a moment."
"You have just arrived in town?"
"Several days ago," he responded, although they both knew perfectly well that she'd known of his whereabouts.
"How disappointing that I have not seen you."
"I have been quite busy."
Her green eyes penetrated his; he fought not to turn his gaze away. "Some problems, Christopher, with your business? You usually find some time for relaxation."
He inferred her meaning very clearly. "I imagine my schedule will ease up in the next few days."
She smiled. "Yes. I shall hope to see you then." From her tone, the casual remark could be interpreted only as "I had better see you."
His mind was whirling: how to appease Rhea without Jessica discovering him? He could not simply ignore Rhea; she would not allow that to happen. "I am sure we shall see each other," he said finally, although he had no idea how or where.
"Good. I understand the Fishes are having a ball Saturday evening."
At her words his heart sank. Jessica and he would be attending the party. Nothing could be worse.
Seeing his expression, she smiled. But full satisfaction would come only from Christopher's forsaking his wife and coming to her. She would be patient, though; she would eventually get what she wanted—perhaps sooner than expected.
"Well, I see I am holding up traffic. It was good to speak with you, Christopher. Our conversation has certainly made my day."
CHAPTER 17
Jessica knew of the emotional turmoil her husband was going through since they'd arrived in New York, but as far as his feelings for her were concerned, she was in the dark. She wanted so much to believe that he was beginning to look at her with new eyes; that there was love in those eyes. But she knew that what she thought were signs of change could just as easily be her imagination. Although fairly positive that Christopher had not seen his mistress —Jessica and he had spent every evening together—she did not for a moment believe Rhea would give Christopher up easily. The woman was crafty, and Jessica had no doubts that she would stoop to almost any means to reach her ends. It was Jessica's intention to outfox the vixen this time. She hoped that when Christopher and Rhea finally did meet, her husband would be so firmly intrigued with his newly revitalized wife, that he would have no desire to look elsewhere.
Yet as she dressed for the Fishes' party, she wondered if she had been totally overoptimistic. She glanced to the other side of the room, where Christopher was completing his dressing, the fabric of his white lawn shirt stretched tight across his shoulders as he gazed into his shaving stand mirror and adjusted his neck cloth. He was so tall he had to bend slightly to peer into the glass. She studied his reflection—his strong, even features, his deeply cleft chin, his dark-lashed blue eyes, narrowed now in concentration as he manipulated the folds of white cloth at his neck, one unnecessary wrinkle or crease in which would ruin the effect he was trying to create. At thirty-eight his handsomeness had not diminished; if anything it had been enhanced by age.
She sighed inwardly. How she loved him, in spite of what he was doing to her! It was a warm, overflowing feeling that in that moment of silent
ly watchinghim nearly took her breath away.
Even as he doggedly continued dressing, she knew from the tension in his bearing that he was not looking forward to this evening. He'd made that obvious, yet there was no way he could gracefully back out unless the suggestion came first from her lips. His attitude left Jessica little doubt that Rhea Taylor would be there, and in her fear that his thoughts were even now on that woman, she called out to distract him.
"Do you like this dress, Christopher?" She twirled before him, the sea green of her skirts catching the lamplight.
"Very much so. I do not recall seeing it before."
"You have not. I bought it since we arrived in the city. I paid a visit to the seamstress I used to patronize. She'd done it up as a sample, but when I saw it, I knew it was right for me."
"Indeed it is. You will be the belle of the ball." But his response was so distracted that she wondered if he was really even looking at her.
He was quiet and introspective during the drive to the Fish home, his head averted as he stared through the carriage window to the street. His aloofness increased her own nervous anxiety, but Jessica did not know how to break the silence; not knowing what to say, in the end she sat with glove-encased fingers knotted in her lap.
Eyes turned as they were announced by the footman. Since Christopher had procrastinated so in his dressing, a great number of guests were already assembled, and in any event, such an attractive couple was bound to cause attention.
She saw him force a smile to his lips as he led her forward and they gave their greetings to those they knew. Such was the crush of glitteringly dressed, perfumed bodies that Jessica had difficulty in seeing across the room.
From his greater height Christopher had an advantage over her, and she knew when she felt him suddenly stiffen that her adversary was somewhere present. She strained her eyes in the direction of his gaze; at first could see nothing. Then the crowd shifted and she had a glimpse of Rhea's face, her features accented stunningly by the lustrous black hair arrayed regally atop her head in a coronet of thick braids.
Seeing the woman's singular beauty again, she could understand why so many men were captivated by her, her husband included.
When Christopher had spied Rhea, his smile had disappeared. Now he forced it back to his lips as he made an effort to bring his attention back to the conversation going on around him, but there was an increased tenseness to his movements and his voice.
Whatever Rhea's reaction was at seeing Christopher with his wife, she let none of it show in her expression as she moved about speaking to this one and that. Witnessing the woman's self-containment and confidence, her vibrant beauty, Jessica felt a sudden stab of uncertainty. How wise was her decision to force Christopher into attending this party? Had she miscalculated? Instead of opening his eyes to her own charms and graces, would bringing him face to face with his mistress in his wife's company have just the opposite effect, forcing a comparison at Jessica's expense and drawing Christopher even further into the other woman's web?From the look on his face now, Jessica feared that was precisely the case, and to combat her own misgivings, she placed her hand on her husband's arm. He turned to her, smiled. For an instant the tension in his face softened; then a mask came down over his features, and he turned away to respond to a comment made by the gentleman standing next to him.
Fortunately their movement about the room never brought them in contact with Rhea, although Jessica saw her watching when Christopher took his wife to the dance floor. There was a wicked gleam in Rhea's eyes that Jessica saw revealed when Christopher's back was turned, and her spirits sank further.
Rhea wasn't the only one watching them. Jessica had seen Jerome Weitz come in earlier alone. Now he stood at the side of the floor, his glance going to Christopher and Jessica, then sliding over to where Rhea stood. Jessica puzzled over it; wondered whether the reason for his interest was that he and Rhea had once gone out socially together. Had he, too, been cast aside when Christopher and Rhea had resumed their affair?
Jerome smiled to Jessica when he caught her eye, and later, when Christopher was drawn off by several other men, he came over.
He took her hand and formally bowed over it. "My, but it is good to see you again."
"And you as well. It's been quite some time."
"It certainly has. Well over a year, if I am not mistaken. You are looking as lovely as ever."
"Thank you."
"I was wondering if you would do me the honor of joining me for the next dance—or will your husband object?"
"I would be delighted."
"Excellent."
She discovered as he took her in his arms for the next waltz that he was an extremely proficient dancer, light on his feet, leading her confidently.
"I had heard you were in town with your husband," he said in a moment. "It is good to have you back among us. Apparently you have been enjoying your home in Connecticut."
"Oh, yes, though it's wonderful to be in New York again. I've missed the excitement."
He lifted his brows. "Myself, I would occasionally find the country life a welcome relief."
She laughed. "Are you saying that you are overworked, or only that your social life is too hectic?"
"From time to time a bit of both."
Jessica longed to bring up the subject of him and Rhea and inquire about his observation of them all earlier, but knew she couldn't be so bold. She hoped instead that he would volunteer some information.
But his conversation stayed wide of any potentially touchy subject; and Rhea Taylor could definitely be described as a touchy subject.
As Jessica looked out over Jerome's shoulder, she saw Christopher on the sidelines, watching them. Yet when Jerome led her off the floor and remained to talk for a few minutes longer, Christopher had again moved across the room and was engrossed with a group of men. He did not immediately return to Jessica when Jerome stepped away, and in the interim Patience Fish, their hostess, came up to speak to her.
"My, you are looking lovely this evening, my dear. It is so good to see you and your husband out in company again. Although we see your husband occasionally, we have missed you."
"That's kind of you; and I have missed New York."
"It is a pity your husband does not bring you with him more often."
"Now that our daughter is a little older, I hope that will be possible."
Part of Jessica's mind was on their conversation; the far greater part on the scene being enacted on the other side of the room. Rhea Taylor was moving determinedly toward the group of guests with whom Christopher was conversing. Jessica froze; then in a moment sighed silently when Rhea's progress was halted by an older man who came over to speak to her. Jessica turned her mind back to her hostess. "It was so good of you to invite us this evening."
Patience Pish had not missed the momentary expression of anxiety on Jessica's face. She had heard certain rumors in the past months, but only said: "It is our pleasure—and do not be such a stranger to New York in the future." The last comment was more than just a simple pleasantry, and Jessica did not miss the underlying meaning of her words.
Christopher, although he danced with Jessica, became more and more taciturn as the hours progressed.
Jessica felt only one brief spark of hope, when he came over and commented, "What has Jerome Weitz to say to you? He seems to find it impossible to leave your side."
"Do you think? I think perhaps he is making a special ef-
fort to be pleasant because you have been pulled away so many times in conversation with others."
"As you say," he said shortly, and in a moment was gone again. Although he seemed to be avoiding Rhea, Jessica could only think that with his wife there to witness his every move, what other choice did he have?
Had he and Rhea, either much earlier or through an intermediary at the party, already exchanged some message for a later assignation? Or is fear feeding my imagination? she chided herself.
It was not until clos
e to eleven o'clock that Jessica discovered her husband missing from the drawing room. She wanted to think nothing of it; perhaps he'd gone into the dining room for refreshments. But as her searching glance told her that Rhea Taylor, too, was missing, her stomach lurched. Hoping she was imagining things, she again perused the room, her eye going over every face in the crowd. There was no mistake—
neither was there.
Struggling to hide a feeling of desperation, Jessica circulated through the crowd in the drawing room, trying to avoid other guests' attempts at conversation.
"Yes, it is a lovely ball, is it not? . . . Oh, thank you Mrs. Griswold—-the gown was made here in New York, as a matter of fact. . . . If you do not mind, Mr. Pershing, I will take that dance later this evening."
Escaping the crowd, she went out to the dining room; still she did not spot the two faces she was seeking.
As she was passing down the hallway to return to the drawing room, she noticed the open doors leading off the hall onto a small balcony beyond. The doors were wide, and the evening summer air was scented with earth and flowers from a back garden, a distant salt scent from the bay drifting in.
Jessica stepped out onto the narrow railed expanse, her heart beating rapidly in trepidation. At first she saw nothing; then she looked to her left.
The lamplight from the garden below cast their figures into relief. Their backs were toward her, but their conversation carried clearly to where she stood a few yards away.
"I thought we would never find this chance to get
away." Rhea reached out her hand and rested it on his arm. "It has been a long week. I had hoped for some word from you."