The theatre was pure delight, the performance far exceeding anything described in the review he’d thoughtfully kept for her from the newspaper critique. Ruth was so enthralled she hardly spoke, even during the interval; her mind just kept replaying the scenes over and over and over.
And when it was over she could only smile up at Kurtis as they left the theatre, her eyes smiling, her entire person at that perfect pitch of excitement.
‘Shall we go on somewhere for a drink, supper?’
‘No, thank you. Anything more would be ... too much, if you know what I mean,’ she replied. ‘Let’s just go...’
‘Home? You need only ask and it shall be done,’ he replied. And so they did, to arrive in the midst of what Ruth could only think of as utter chaos.
They altered the apartment to a cacophony of ringing bells and clattering electronic equipment and flashing lights that brought Ruth to an immediate and confused halt in the doorway, her first thought that what she was hearing was some sort of burglar alarm.
Kurtis was more astute. ‘There goes the rest of our evening, I suspect,’ he muttered, easing her through into the apartment so that he could slide past her and make his way to her room, from whence the bulk of the excitement seemed to originate.
Ruth could only follow, then stand, stalled, in the doorway. The room was an electronic nightmare, technology gone mad! Everywhere she looked, it seemed, machines were humming or clattering or hissing, with paper slithering into one machine, out of another, one telephone beeping, another ringing, a third silently flashing an imperative light.
Kurtis seemed unimpressed. ‘You’ll be sleeping in my bed tonight,’ he muttered, turning to look down at Ruth’s confusion. ‘But you’ll be there alone, from the look of this. Which is probably just as well. Come and we’ll get that sorted out before I throw myself into working gear and get stuck into this.’
Ruth followed as he hefted her luggage and strode down the hall to deposit it in what was obviously the master bedroom of the apartment. Without speaking, he stripped off his dinner-jacket and began undoing his shirt, only to turn suddenly and look at Ruth as if surprised to see her there.
‘Any chance you could put on some coffee while I change?’ he asked, obviously distracted, his attention divided between Ruth and the chaos in the other bedroom. ‘Then I’ll be out of here and you can change, too, if you like.’
He emerged wearing faded jeans and a sweatshirt just as the electric jug boiled, and his smile, although sincere enough, was again touched by the distractions in his mind.
‘You’re a darling,’ he said, reaching out to take the coffee-cup she offered. ‘And I should be shot for not realising this would happen now, just when I’ve got you where I want you.’
He put the cup down, then reached out to take her hands and draw her nearer.
‘I’m sorry, Ruth the witch, sorrier than you can imagine. But as of now you’re on your own, I’m afraid, because the rest of our night together is going to be spent apart. There are some tricky little goings-on in Eastern Canada that must, unfortunately, take priority even over romance.’
‘Can I help?’ she asked, knowing even as she spoke that it was probably a stupid question, so she was relieved by his grinning reply.
‘Only by keeping quiet and out of the way for as long as it takes to sort out. I’m afraid this business is beyond even your powers, my lady witch. Although it would be appreciated if you feel like making some proper coffee. We’re going to need it, I suspect.’
‘Of course.’ But he wasn’t listening, had turned away to pluck up the kitchen telephone, the only one in the place not somehow connected to some sort of gadgetry.
‘Ro? Trouble in French Canada, I’m sorry to say. Right, quick as you can; that’s a good girl,’ he said when the phone was answered, apparently on the first ring. He finished speaking, hung up, and turned back to lift Ruth’s chin so that he could drop a gentle, almost-but- not-quite impersonal kiss on her astonished lips.
‘You’re a good girl too,’ he said with a grin. And was gone, striding into the office-bedroom with the air of a man going into battle.
Ruth stood for a moment, silent, astonished at the pace and speed of whatever was going on. Then she swiftly took herself off to his bedroom and got herself changed into clothing more suitable for whatever role she’d be involved in.
She came back within minutes in her own casual clothes, stifling a yawn as she peeped into the office-bedroom to see Kurtis striding from one fax machine to another, obviously deep in concentration, obviously not wanting to be disturbed. Ruth withdrew, returned to the kitchen and began scrounging through cupboards to find his percolator and the right sort of coffee to go with it.
She was on her hands and knees, prowling through a lower cupboard, when a husky, unfamiliar voice — a woman’s voice — startled her beyond reason by saying, ‘Try the freezer; that’s where the coffee will be.’
Ruth spun round on her knees to find herself staring up at one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen, an utter vision of sophisticated city elegance from nut-brown hair to the heels of shoes that must have cost a month’s wages — for Ruth.
Elegant. There was no other word to describe the woman. Except perhaps exquisite. All the other trite little words like classically beautiful, lovely, striking, stylish: they all seemed just inadequate. Actually the face wasn’t quite classically beautiful, but it certainly was elegant. The figure was near perfection, indeed perfect for the designer jersey dress that clung just right in all the right places. The bright green eyes that looked down at Ruth were calm, assured, seemed to hold just a touch of ... amusement? Whatever, it was sufficient to make Ruth want to crawl into the open cupboard and hide.
A perfectly manicured hand reached down to grip hers, to lift her upwards in a helpful gesture that was somehow more commanding than helpful. Ruth still had to look up; the woman was easily three inches taller.
‘I’m Rosemary Shimmin,’ the terribly cultured voice said, every syllable suggesting it was a name Ruth should somehow know, would certainly never forget. ‘And you, I presume,’ said the woman in tones that combined condescension and patronising in a skilful blend, ‘will be the witch person Kurtis has been raving about.’
CHAPTER THREE
Only when Ruth was on her feet did the woman put the keys in her other hand away in her expensive handbag, and something about the gesture made it more of a message than it needed to be.
These are my keys to his apartment, Rosemary Shimmin might as well have shouted. And I don’t just have them for business, either, phoney witch. I’ve got them, I had them before you and I’ll have them after you and don’t you forget it.
Except that it was nowhere as blatant as that. Indeed, the message was subtle, very subtle. Exquisitely, elegantly subtle. But very, very clear to Ruth’s eyes, for all of that.
Rosemary then spent a moment to brief Ruth on the kitchen, once again illustrating the boundaries of her prior claim, before stalking on splendid legs to join Kurtis in the office.
The night stretched, uncomfortably for Ruth, from that moment. She kept the coffee going, found ingredients to make toast, small nibbles of the type found at cocktail parties, huge sandwiches. The talk from the office-bedroom meant nothing to her; the intimacy so obvious between her host and Rosemary Shimmin at first bothered her, then became a matter of indifference. Rosemary’s delicate sniping, which Kurtis was surely oblivious to in his concentration on the work at hand, was less easy to keep at arm’s length, at times almost impossible to ignore. But it was equally impossible to counter.
Clearly the two had a business relationship; it would have been impossible, Ruth knew, for it to be a platonic one. There were too many signs of that other sort of intimacy, too many small touchings, too many personal comments too intimate to mean anything but what they did mean. This woman had been involved with Kurtis, most likely still was involved, and definitely meant to continue that involvement.
Kurtis himsel
f seemed unaware of the friction between the two women. He was so deeply involved in whatever business was afoot that he barely recognised Ruth except as a presence in the kitchen, and Rosemary appeared little more than another piece of office equipment in the circumstances.
Ruth, with some experience as an operating theatre nurse behind her, recognised that element of the situation with no trouble. She could see that Rosemary, despite her elegance, despite her stunning beauty, was really doing little more than supplying Kurtis with the office equivalent of forceps, clamps, scissors, sutures.
And, she quickly realised, the older woman knew Ruth could see that—and didn’t much like it. The enormous, improbably green eyes gradually began to take on an expression that couldn’t entirely be blamed on the lateness of the hour.
As the tension grew, Ruth thought seriously of simply packing up and getting out. She could take a cab, find a relatively inexpensive hotel somewhere, simply take herself out of the apartment, away from the aura of hostility Kurtis didn’t seem to notice but which was increasing, becoming almost unbearable.
The moment came, but she missed it, was just too tired herself to seize the instant when an idle comment from Rosemary might have given her the chance. Ruth was fading fast and knew it, could hardly imagine how Kurtis seemed to grow visibly fresher as the night progressed with its interminable flurry of fax machines and photocopiers and strident telephones. But he did, and to her great surprise he managed to be aware of her own exhaustion as well.
‘You want to be in bed, my lady witch,’ he murmured as he sipped his umpteenth cup of strong coffee with one ear cocked towards the activity in the office behind him. ‘I’m really sorry about this,’ he added quietly. ‘It wasn’t part of the plan, I can assure you, but it also isn’t anything I can ignore, either. You’ve been a wondrous help, more than you might realise, but that, too, wasn’t part of the bargain. Why don’t you wander off to bed? We’ve got quite a day tomorrow — today — before your plane goes, and if I get just a touch lucky I might get this all sorted out in time to play tourist again.’
‘If you get at all lucky, you’ll be spending the day in bed, asleep,’ Ruth replied. ‘Both of us will, I expect.’
Which provoked a wry grin. ‘Together would be asking just a bit too much, I suppose,’ he said, and chuckled at whatever look the comment must have put in her eyes. ‘Fear not, my lady witch,’ he said then. ‘Timing, for any warlock, is almost everything — even for us apprentice- grade types. You’ll be safe enough, I warrant, even if you should wake at dawn’s early light to find me snuggled up beside you.’
‘Safer than you, sir warlock,’ Ruth finally managed to reply, her head fuzzy, her eyes slumping in tiredness. ‘There are spells to cover such situations, and I’m so tired now I might make a mistake and use one a bit more long-lasting than would suit your future.’
His reply was a quick, light kiss on the forehead with an embrace that was so fleeting as to be non-existent, except that it somehow got her turned round and headed down the hall to his bedroom. As she went, she thought for an instant that she heard him mutter, ‘You may already have,’ but it was so indistinct that she entered the bedroom unsure if she’d really heard it or not, and less sure what it might have meant if she had.
‘I’ll just grab a quick catnap,’ she said to herself as she sprawled on the king-sized bed, flipping a corner of the eiderdown coverlet over her legs as she did so. It must have been a sun-loving cat, because when she woke it was to find the late morning sun pouring through the window and Kurtis Goodwin, as promised, snuggled up beside her.
Ruth found herself tensing with an instinctive yet somehow quite illogical alarm, then as quickly relaxed and raised herself on one elbow so that she could look down and watch the sleeping man beside her.
In slumber, he looked younger, somehow. The closed eyes revealed nothing of their world-weariness, the strong lines that normally bracketed his mobile mouth were softened, the tousled hair could have been any age, but for the shadings of grey.
Easing herself from the bed gingerly, so as not to disturb him, Ruth tiptoed over and quietly closed the heavy curtains, then returned to stand beside the bed, once again looking at Kurtis.
Handsome indeed, she decided, although certainly not in any conventional way. She was turning away, her mind already ahead of her in the kitchen, with the need for coffee, when she was caught by the wrist and dragged back to land upon the bed with a small shriek of surprise.
The shriek faded out as she found herself somehow lying within the cradle of Kurtis’ arms, almost nose to nose with the man she’d been so sure was asleep.
‘Caught, my lady witch?’
His eyes laughed at her; his mouth was twisted in a merry grin even as his fingers trailed a melody along her spine.
Ruth could only stare. Words leapt to her lips only to die in the dryness there, a dryness she knew wouldn’t last much longer, would be moistened by his kiss. Must be!
‘If you’re always this frisky in the morning, it’s back to the old cauldron for another stir,’ she eventually managed to reply. ‘This is no time for such antics, warlock or not.’
‘Antics?’ One eyebrow raised in a quizzical, mocking gesture. ‘Here I’ve been trying to get you into my bed for weeks and when you get here you think it’s antics?’
‘What else? After the night you’ve put in, I can’t imagine you being serious,’ Ruth replied, lying through her teeth. He was serious enough and she knew it, actually hoped for it. Except that she was afraid of it, too.
‘It was a good night. Got heaps done, solved problems, and now we have the day, or what’s left of it, to enjoy ourselves,’ he replied with a hungry-eyed grin. ‘And what better place to start than here?’ His hands never stopped stroking the small of her back, and as he spoke his eyes caressed her face, touched her eyes, her nose, slid down the curve of her cheek, rested briefly on her mouth to ready it for his kiss.
Ruth was torn between wanting to lean into his kiss and wanting — needing — to put some distance between them. Now. Now, before it was too late forever.
And then, as if from some magic mirror, the image of Rosemary Shimmin floated up between them, green eyes laughing at Ruth, perfectly painted lips curled in a sneer of derision.
It was enough! Ruth rolled herself out of his arms, her feet thudding into the bedroom carpet as she almost broke into a run. This was no place for her, and, although her heart cried out in despair at the leaving, her common sense cheered her on.
‘I need coffee,’ she cried over her shoulder, ‘and ... and the loo.’
And you, she thought as she made it to the doorway and turned to see Kurtis lying back on one elbow, his eyes following her with a vaguely bemused expression. And you, but not like this, not now, not here. And she shut the door firmly behind her before she could change her mind.
It was no comfort at all to find the kitchen spotless, all the dishes and glasses washed and put away, all traces of the long night’s foraging removed. Score one more for the elegant Rosemary, Ruth thought, and started to mess it up all over again.
Not a sign of the woman remained in the apartment, and yet, somehow, her presence was all-pervasive. Ruth fancied she could still smell Rosemary’s perfume, could almost still hear her voice.
Kurtis didn’t appear by the time the coffee was perked, the toast made. Ruth debated, then slunk down the corridor and peeped in to see him sprawled across his bed, obviously asleep despite his earlier, momentary friskiness.
Ruth drank her coffee and ate the toast, but her mind was on neither activity. She felt ... somehow cheated. Not by his working through the night; she was adult enough to accept that such was a logical part of his working structure. And not, really, by the presence of the elegant woman who was so obviously a part of his work — and his life. So … what, exactly?
‘And you lie, especially to yourself,’ she muttered aloud, knowing it was true, knowing she did resent Rosemary’s involvement, did resent the woman’s
presence in her weekend. But then Ruth grinned, had to grin, remembering that everything about Rosemary had screamed out that she resented Ruth just as much.
‘I suppose I ought to be flattered,’ Ruth chuckled to herself. And wondered why she wasn’t. Just as she wondered, hours later, why she’d allowed Kurtis to sleep right through until it was time to take her to the airport.
‘I feel abominably guilty about this,’ he said grumpily as they drove to the airport. ‘After all, my lady witch, my entire warlock’s reputation has come adrift. I’d be lucky to maintain even my apprentice grading after this fiasco.’
‘You did what you promised,’ Ruth replied calmly, almost too cool, she thought. ‘You provided bed and board and dinner and the theatre, exactly to plan.’
‘There was more to the plan than that, and well you know it,’ he replied. ‘I never even got to recite “The Highwayman” to you, and I was quite looking forward to that. Ah, well ... perhaps next time.’
But it wasn’t until her boarding call that he turned her into his arms to declare, rather than ask, ‘There will be a next time, Ruth the witch. And it will be soon, I promise you.’
‘I’d like that,’ Ruth replied, truthfully enough. ‘And thank you very much for this time. I really enjoyed it.’ Which was stretching the truth just a little bit, but after all, she thought, wasn’t that a witch’s privilege?
During the flight home, she found herself wishing that somehow she really could be a witch, could really cast spells. Because then, just maybe, she could find a spell to rid her mind of Rosemary’s taunting eyes and haughty, sniping comments.
Kurtis, apparently, had never doubted. She was still very much a witch to him, if his next letter was anything to go by. It arrived less than a week later, thanking her for blessing his humble cottage with her presence and apologising for the various inconveniences caused by his business dealings. All very flowery, very tongue-in-cheek, but all the more delightful for it. No mention, of course, of Rosemary, not that Ruth would have expected any.
A Magical Affair Page 5