(Ebook - English) - Carrie Alexander - His Mistress

by His Mistress [Lit]

  Calla tipped her chin at a regal angle. "In the first place, I am not a shop girl, although it wouldn't matter to William if I were. Secondly, I am not his date."

  "No?" Mavis said gleefully.

  "No. I am his mistress."

  Mavis looked as though she'd swallowed her buck teeth. Suzanne's rounded cheeks puffed out with a shocked gasp. Every cell in Calla's body froze as she looked past Mavis to a looming William. His eyes went from one woman to the next.

  "Hi, Suzanne," he said. Air whistled out her plump pink lips. "Good evening, Mavis." Her throat worked as she gulped hugely. "Calla?" She drained the flute of champagne still clutched in her hand and reached for the one William had brought. "Have you ladies introduced yourselves?" he asked.

  Mavis drew herself up, eyes beginning to burn with the hot potato of gossip that'd just been dropped in her lap. She simply must pass it on.

  "In a manner of speaking," Calla answered woodenly. The tingling spreading throughout her body wasn't caused by the champagne she'd downed so indiscriminately. Through narrowed eyes, she watched Mavis grab Suzanne by the elbow, twitter a goodbye in William's direction, and plunge into the crowd. "Oh, no," she groaned. "What have I done?"

  "Whatever it is, you'd better collect yourself, honey," said William. "I ran into my parents near the bar and they're on their way over here. And dying of curiosity, I might add." He touched her elbow and moved to stand beside her. Like a bride and groom in a receiving line, Calla thought crazily.

  "Your parents?" she said in disbelief, looking down at her sparkly dress and the blood red tips of her fingers clenched around the crystal glass. "Omigod. Your parents!"

  "Chin up, Calla. It won't be that bad."

  Calla lifted her head. A full-figured woman in a sensible burgundy jersey was parting the crowd like the figurehead of a clipper ship under full sail. Her salt-and-pepper hair was cut stylishly short and she wore no jewelry other than the understated diamonds in her ears.

  "William, you might have told me you'd changed your mind about attending Judge Brock's party," she scolded in a low, smoky voice. "And you must be Calla. How good to meet you after hearing William's rave reviews."

  "He told you about me?" Perplexed, Calla looked toward William for a clue. He'd raved about her?

  "Well, I did prod him with a few judicious questions," Mrs. Justice confessed with a jolly woman-to-woman laugh. "But once he got started, my goodness!" William shrugged sheepishly at Calla's quizzical gaze. "Now where is my slowpoke of a husband?" his mother continued. "He ran across some creaky Yale classmate who'd traveled from Boston to honor Judge Brock, and the old goats can't seem to stop reminiscing about the class of fifty-five. Oh, there he is!" She waved into the crowd. "Cripes, he's bringing that stuffed boor along."

  Calla found herself grinning as the two older men joined them. Her gaze went first to Carl Justice, who was as square and solid as a fortress, with wavy silver-gray hair and a slightly thickened waist. His eyes were much like William's, chips of agate that darkened at the sight of her, making her wonder what he was thinking.

  "Lily?" said a shocked voice. Calla's gaze shot to the tall man just behind Mr. Justice, the Yale classmate from Boston. For a long moment, she didn't recognize him, but her mother's name echoed between them. Realization slapped her in the face, and she reached with blind desperation for the comfort of William's warm hand. She felt like a shattered window in the split second before it broke into a million razor-sharp shards.

  William's head bent toward hers. "Calla, what is it?"

  His deep voice blanketed her fractured heart, holding it together, holding her together. "That man is — he's —" she whispered haltingly in William's ear. "He's my father.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Calla stared into Edward Filbert's green eyes, the only part of him she truly recognized. The last time she'd seen him, more than 20 years ago, he'd still possessed a full head of ginger-colored hair. Now it was thinning and pure white. Age had wrinkled and sagged his skin, added a small pot beneath the custom-made tuxedo.

  Only his eyes hadn't changed. They were cool, sharp and haughty, though rather dazed at the moment. She still couldn't understand why her mother had looked into them and believed the hollow promises his lying lips had uttered.

  "Excuse me," Edward said, belatedly realizing the awkwardness of the moment had stretched too far. This woman was not Lily, but someone very like her. Someone who could cost him a shot at the Supreme Court. He wrenched his gaze away and muttered something about having to give a toast in honor of Judge Brock's 40 years on the bench.

  "Edward Filbert —" Calla breathed. She saw the fear in his furtive glance and knew he was worried she would do something to embarrass him in front of his conservative cronies. How uncomfortable to be confronted by your 29-year-old illegitimate daughter in such a public situation. She might do anything! An hysterical impulse sluiced through Calla's veins and jump-started her brain. She could throw herself in his arms and cry, "Father, at last I've found you!" in a voice loud enough to carry to every corner of the ballroom. She could pick up a bowl of caviar from the buffet and dump it over his head. She could — A strangled gurgle of mirth worked its way up her throat.

  She pushed into the crowd, eyes pinned to the stooped shoulders of her father as he hastily retreated.

  For a few unmoving seconds, William watched Calla go. He saw Edward Filbert's — Why was that name familiar? — frigid glare and sudden right turn to the buffet tables when Calla caught up to him. She hesitated before sweeping toward the exit.

  Then he remembered. Of course! Edward was the name of Lily Quinn's married lover. Calla's father? "Dammit," he said, in a fierce, low voice that nonetheless carried to quite a few straining ears.

  "What's going on here?" demanded Carl Justice.

  "I'm not sure. But I'm going to find out." William charged after Calla, his parents following, then Mavis and Suzanne and several of their interested circle, until he was leading a snaking conga line through the crowded ballroom. The line doubled back when William caught sight of Edward Filbert's balding head and abruptly changed direction. He grabbed the man's shoulder and whirled him about as easily as a rag doll.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" William said harshly. "Don't you recognize your own daughter?"

  Edward Filbert took in the ragged circle of curious faces, the proximity of the newspaper photographers. He winced under the ironlike strength of William's unkind grip. "I don't know what you're talking about," he whined.

  "You ignorant fool," William said with utter disgust. He released the judge's shoulder and the man staggered backward, cringing.

  "I don't know what —"

  "Save it," William growled. He took several menacing steps closer and jabbed one finger into Edward Filbert's chest. "How can you treat Calla with such disrespect?"

  Edward's buttocks hit the edge of the buffet table. He had nowhere else to go to escape the madman stalking him like a ferocious tiger. He puffed up his chest and bluffed. "How dare you treat me with such disrespect! Don't you know who I am? I can have you thrown in jail."

  William's finger jabbed once, then twice, until Edward was bent back across the table, the tail of his tux trailing in a pâté. "I know who you are. And I know what you're not worthy of being called Calla Quinn's father." He yanked Edward up by his collar so they were nose to nose. "I'd love to punch in your slimy face —" the party guests gathered about gasped in unison "— but there's a much better fate for a man like you."

  William opened his fingers and Edward Filbert fell back onto the buffet table with a crash of serving platters. A dish of wild mushrooms in cream sauce flew up on impact and landed in his lap. A tiered tray of hors d'oeuvres tipped over, and stuffed grape leaves pelted the front of his immaculate shirt like slimy torpedoes. Someone screamed as the table collapsed under the sudden weight and Edward fell to the floor in a tangle of flailing arms, overturned bowls, and gooey quail eggs in aspic. A delicate ice sculpture slid dow
n the slanted table and smashed into his head. Edward Filbert fell flat with a groan and a squish of pâté.

  "Wallow in it," William said shortly, and went to find Calla without a backward glance for the aghast guests. Most had never seen anything so outlandish in all their years of party going.

  Having heard the scream and terrific crash from her position by the elevator, Calla was just reentering the ballroom. "What's happening?" she asked anxiously when William met her near the doors.

  "Poor Edward Filbert," he said mildly. "He fell into the buffet."

  Calla stood on tiptoe in an attempt to see over the crowd gathered around the scene of the disaster. "He fell? Or was he pushed?"

  "Something like that." William took her hand. "Why don't we make our getaway before someone thinks to try a citizen's arrest?"

  "William!" she exclaimed. "You didn't! In front of all these people?"

  "The man deserved it."

  "Oh, my," she breathed in dismay. No one had ever defended her honor so forcefully, or, for that matter, at all. She gaped at William, the man she'd thought to be so hopelessly conventional and correct. Laughter suddenly burbled forth from her parted lips.

  "We really do have to go, Calla."

  "Okay." She turned back to look at the ballroom, where some of the guests were beginning to point and whisper, a few of them to laugh. Calla didn't care. "There's one little thing I have to take care of first."

  She picked her way through broken dishes, scattered utensils and splotches of food, carrying the crystal bowl of caviar she'd plucked from its bed of crushed ice on one of the undisturbed tables. Edward Filbert was struggling in the mess, finding it difficult to get to his feet because no one was willing to take his jellied hand and his patent-leather shoes kept slipping in puddles of sauce.

  "Edward?" Calla said in a clear voice. He'd never deserved the title of father. When he looked up, she upended the dish of caviar on his head, giving it a twist and a firm press for emphasis. The sticky globs of fish eggs in his eyes prevented Edward Filbert from seeing the look of satisfaction on Calla's face as she made her way back to William, who'd certainly distributed justice this evening.

  Second thoughts assailed Calla by the time they were safely aboard the elevator. "You're going to regret this tomorrow," she told William, voice muffled because she'd pressed her face to the pleated front of his formal shirt in belated mortification.

  "No, I won't."

  "There might be photos in the newspapers," she moaned. "The gossip will spread like wildfire. And most of it will be true —"

  "I do not care." William said each word with conviction. He cupped Calla's chin in his palms and lifted her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks. He grinned wryly. "Quite some coincidence, our fathers attending Yale at the same time."

  "It boggles the mind." At least, her mind was boggled. They stepped into the formal lobby, and two hotel employees in crisp blue jackets rushed past them to take the elevator up. Calla stared after them with trepidation. "Your parents must be appalled. What are they going to think of me?"

  "Well, last I saw, my father was laughing his head off. I doubt either of them will be too upset."

  Calla wasn't yet placated. "You shouldn't have had to find out about my dirty linen in the middle of the Columbine's ballroom, of all places. I'd wanted to tell you, but I guess I was afraid you'd think less of me if you knew the circumstances I grew up in."

  William stopped her in front of the registration desk with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I wish you had told me sooner because then I would've reassured you that there's only one reason it concerns me — and that's the way it's affected you. Filbert's the only one who should be ashamed of the situation."

  Surprisingly, Calla started to giggle. She smiled up at him, brushing back the mussed waves of her unbound hair. "Maybe I should be glad I don't have to carry Edward's surname!"

  "Well, now," William drawled, "sometimes you feel like a nut —"

  "And sometimes you don't," Calla finished, growing serious again. Her moods were switching back and forth as fast as a carnival ride. "Perhaps that's the reason I've always been so determinedly and gaudily flamboyant. I never wanted to be one bit like a filbert."

  "Thank heaven for that."

  William took Calla's hand and guided her past a grouping of ferns and stiff, gold-brocade chairs on the way to the door. For some time his head had known Calla was unlike his mercenary, social-climbing ex-wife; at last that truth was also lodged in his heart.

  She shook her head in wonder. "You're taking this with such equanimity. Between Edward Filbert's dive into the pâté and what I told Mavis, I thought I'd have to move away to Nome, Alaska."

  William halted. "What did you tell Mavis?"

  Calla's hand stilled on the brass door handle. "I hope you find this amusing. I mean, after pushing you out the rowboat and all, I can't understand what came over me to say —" She took a deep breath and slowly turned to look into William's dark eyes. "I'm afraid I told Mavis Tallyhope that I'm your mistress."

  After a stunned instant, William began to laugh uproariously. The desk clerk arched her brows, carefully keeping a watchful eye on them as she dealt with a guest. "It's not funny!" Calla wailed, hands on hips. "Mavis will tell the whole city! My reputation is already destroyed, but what about yours?"

  William spread his arms wide, a big smile plastered across his face. He'd never had such a good time! "You're just going to have to make an honest man of me."

  "Don't tease me, William Justice."

  "Hey, people are going to think I'm a cad, a playboy. A despicable, loathsome, low-down skunk. You must salvage my reputation, Calla."

  "I'm warning you," she seethed. "Do not tease me."

  "I've never been more serious."

  She goggled with the sudden awareness that he was serious. And her protestations were ruining the romance of the proposal. "Do you realize what you're saying?" she asked, still leery. "Has the exhilaration of sliming Edward Filbert gone to your head? Or is it the champagne?"

  He held up one hand like a Boy Scout making an oath. "Haven't touched a drop. And what I'm saying is that I'd like us to be married."

  "W-what?" she stammered. "Why are you asking me tonight, when everything else has just blown up and is lying in shreds around us?"

  "Why tonight?" William repeated, as much to himself as to her. "Oh, Calla, I'm not sure why. What I do know is that when a moment of such startling clarity, such — quintessence, comes along, I'm not going to argue with it. Perhaps I've been in love with you for weeks now, but it took Edward Filbert to hammer the truth into my stubborn heart. Seeing him being too blind to appreciate you has made me realize how I'd undervalued you, Calla. I will never do that again. If you marry me, I promise to love and cherish you for the rest of our lives." His serious face was suddenly broken by a grin of delighted irony. "I'm sure glad I've found a lady worthy of those vows. So what do you say? Will you?"

  Calla had to wonder why she'd ever thought they needed a picturesque scene to make this moment complete. As far as she was concerned, the lobby of the Columbine, even with a bellboy trundling a cart of paisley suitcases through it, was the most romantic setting in the history of marriage proposals. A rush of pure joy flooded her senses.

  "Of course I'll marry you!" she announced, then launched herself into William's open arms. They clung to each other tightly, kissing and laughing and kissing again, every shared look, each tender caress, fulfilling the sweet promise of love.

  This time Calla Quinn was going to absolutely, positively, no-doubt-about-it marry William Justice.

  The End

 

 

 
-o-filter: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share