by Jo Victor
“Not Cameron.” Cam’s eyes flashed a moment of dismay—clearly she’d spoken without thinking.
Alex scented revenge, if only she could run her prey to earth. “What is it, then?”
“Couldn’t say.”
“What, is it one of those tell-you-but-I’d-have-to-kill-you things? For a spy, you give away your secrets way too easily.”
Cam remained silent. She did not look at all happy.
“Hmm. Cam, but not Cameron. Campbell?” No response. “Camilla?” A nervous twitch. Getting warmer. “Camille?” The expression of horror on Cam’s face signaled bull’s-eye. “Camille? Seriously? Oh my God—Camille!”
Cam leaned in and hissed, “Keep your voice down.” She glanced around furiously as if to see if anyone was listening. “Bloody hell, I’ve been trying to get folk to forget that blasted name these thirty years.”
“I can see why. Nothing wrong with the name, but you, my friend, are most definitely not a Camille.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“How on earth did you ever get stuck with it?”
“Mum just loved going to the cinema. Every Friday, there she was, rain or shine. She was especially fond of old American films—Casablanca and so on. She named me in honor of her favorite film star.”
“Camille? Oh, you must mean Greta Garbo.”
“No, Bette Davis.”
“Camille? Bette Davis? Oh, right. Now, Voyager. It’s been a while since the last time I watched that one. Ever seen it?”
“No, I’ve refused on principle. Blasted film almost ruined my life.”
Alex thought for a moment and started to giggle. “You’re luckier than you know. Your name could have been a lot worse.”
“Worse than Camille? The mind boggles.”
“She could have named you—wait for it—Fifi.”
“What, like a bloody poodle? Pull the other one, it’s got bells on.”
“No, I’m serious. It’s the part of the movie where Bette Davis is on a cruise to South America to finish recovering from a nervous breakdown—”
“And what, she falls overboard and gets rescued by a poodle?”
“No, silly, Charles Boyer. Or maybe it was Paul Henreid. Anyway, some Continental guy, super suave. And she doesn’t fall overboard. They run into some people she wants to conceal her identity from—don’t ask me why.”
“No fear on that score.”
“Anyway, her real name is Charlotte but he introduces her to them as Camille. Afterward she asks him why Camille, and I think he points to a camellia plant nearby or something. I’m not really clear about that part, but for sure then he tells her it had to be Camille because the only other French name he could think of was Fifi.” Alex smiled, savoring the moment. “Fifi Carter. I like the way that sounds. Maybe I should start calling you that.”
“Try it on even once and I swear they’ll never find the body.”
A shadow fell across the table. “Temper, temper.” The voice was young, obnoxious, and male. To Alex, he said, “Evening, love. Don’t waste your time on her. Whatever you need, I’ve got it and to spare.” Just the slightest movement of his crotch, which was at eye level.
Alex smiled sweetly. “Going spare, is it?” She was careful to keep her tone bland. “How tiresome for you. But don’t fret, I’m sure you’ll get someone to take it off your hands eventually.” Just the slightest emphasis on hands. His face darkened as her implication registered.
Cam snickered. “She’s got you there, mate.” She stood, and Alex followed suit. “Right, you lot, fun’s over. Let’s get on with it.”
Chapter Seven
Much, much later, after they had mended the tire, returned to Dawson House, and unloaded all the books, Cam accepted Alex’s invitation to step into the kitchen for a cup of tea. The cat was very much in evidence and, to judge by her complaints, clearly on the verge of starvation.
Spotting a plate of biscuits on the table, Cam sat down and helped herself to one, breaking off a corner and reaching down to offer it to the cat.
She was on it like a shot, but instead of tucking in right away, she looked back at Alex, for all the world as if she were checking to make sure she wasn’t being watched. Then she looked Cam dead in the eye.
“Not to worry,” Cam murmured. “I won’t tell.” Something must have communicated—probably the tone—because Milady was now willing to accept the tidbit, which disappeared in short order. Keeping a wary eye on Alex, Cam offered two more morsels, which likewise vanished. The cat scarpered just as Alex turned to bring the cozy-covered teapot to the table.
Alex looked after the disappearing streak of orange fur, shaking her head. Then she sat down, smiling at Cam as she did so. “Mrs. Tate’s gingersnaps are wonderful, aren’t they?” She took one and set it on her saucer. “I can’t decide which I like better, these or her shortbread.”
Cam concentrated on maintaining an innocent expression as she ate what was left of her biscuit.
Alex took the cozy off the teapot. “I don’t know about you, but I’m absolutely exhausted. I hope you don’t have anything too taxing planned for tomorrow.”
Cam smiled. She was tired, but it was a pleasant sort of tired. “Just a bit of electrical work out Haworth way. A good night’s sleep and I’ll be right as rain.”
Alex paused before pouring Cam’s tea. “Milk in first or after?”
“After, please.” Not bad for a Yank. “How about you?”
Alex handed over Cam’s cup and poured her own. “Well, you’ve seen what my tomorrow’s going to be—book organizing galore. I just hope I finish in time to get some actual work done.”
“Just what are you working on?”
“I’m not really sure yet. I’ve got a general approach in mind, but a lot depends on what information I can find in the files here in the house and in the museum archives. I’m hoping to discover something new—something about Artemisia no one else has spotted yet.”
“That’s important, then, that it be brand new.”
“Oh, yes. The terms of the Brockenbridge award are very clear. They want something original, which of course is tough to do after a hundred and fifty years of Artemisia scholarship. But what I really want is to find a way to prove that Artemisia and Lady Melissa were more than just soul mates or devoted friends or some other platonic euphemism.”
“Fancy your chances for the Prandall Prize, do you?”
“Hardly. I just think it’s time the truth was told.”
“And you’re sure of the truth.”
“Oh, please. It’s so obvious they were lovers. Can you imagine anyone writing those poems for someone they weren’t sleeping with?”
“Well, now…”
“Oh—I’m sorry. Here I am assuming you’re interested in Artemisia and her work. Occupational hazard, I’m afraid—imagining that the whole world shares my obsession.” She smiled ruefully. “I do realize that just because you live here, it doesn’t mean you have her every syllable memorized.”
Cam grinned. This should be fun. Taking a deep breath, she began to recite. “Dare I with impious hand profane thy golden tresses pure? Might I those sacred precincts rove…”
Alex’s eyes got bigger and bigger as she carried on, line after line, word perfect to the very end. “Grant mercy to thine acolyte.”
“How on earth did you do that?”
“Not such a numpty as you thought, am I?”
“I never thought you were a—what the hell is a numpty?”
“Clot, pillock, charlie, nit. My granny always used to say it.”
“Oh—doofus, ding-dong, schlub, chowderhead.”
“Wazzock, prat, gooseberry gatherer.”
“You made that last one up, I know you did.”
“Damn. What gave it away?”
“The look on your face. Never play poker, you’ll lose your shirt.”
“You as well. Although that might not be such a bad thing from where I’m sitting.” Had she actually said
that out loud? Alex was blushing. Best to change topic. “When I was about fourteen, the teacher made us learn a whole raft of poems off by heart, and I was class champion. Mum always said my memory was my best feature.”
“I’ll take the Fifth.”
“Ha-ha. ‘Dare I’ was my favorite because it was so over the top. I remember asking why this Artemisia person was rabbiting on about touching some other woman’s hair. She just about turned purple. I thought I’d embarrassed her, but looking back, I can see she was trying hard not to laugh. She said I’d probably figure it out when I got older.”
“Which I assume you did.”
“The very next month, as it happens. I got quite a nice Christmas kiss from a sophisticated older woman.”
“Oh?”
“She was eighteen. Pretty little blonde. She was older, but I was taller. That made it seem more equal, somehow.”
“Your first kiss?”
“Aye. You could say I was a bit of a late bloomer.”
“If you were a late bloomer, then what does that make me? I didn’t get my first kiss until two years ago.”
“Two years ago? Have all the women in America gone mental? A looker like you ought to have them queued up out the door and round the corner.”
Alex was blushing again. “Thank you for saying so, but it’s my own fault, really. I’m hopeless at chatting people up. I’m shy.”
Cam couldn’t stop the laugh that burst out, mentally kicking herself at the change that came over Alex’s face in response. “I’m sorry, but you’re about the least shy person I’ve ever met.”
“Oh, but you haven’t seen me around an attractive woman.”
“Now that’s let the wind out of my sails.”
“Oh, my God! I’m sorry—I didn’t mean that you aren’t attractive, of course you are—really attractive. That is, I’m not saying that I’m attracted to you myself, even though you’re very good looking, although I’m sure I would be, in the right circumstances. What I’m trying to say is that you’re just not the kind of woman I usually…Okay, I’m going to go into that corner right over there and curl up and die.” She buried her face in her hands.
Cam was really laughing now—a big, hearty belly laugh that shook her all the way down to her toes. It took a solid minute to finally die down. “Oh, that was champion. Thank you, Alex.”
Alex peeked out between her fingers.
“Really.” She reached out and gently drew Alex’s hands away from her face. “I haven’t had a laugh that good since, since…I don’t know when. Since before Mum died, I think.” She looked down at their clasped hands and gave Alex’s a slight squeeze before letting go. “Perhaps I’d better go now.”
“Please do, before I say something even worse.”
“I’m almost tempted to stay, just to see what you could come up with.”
Alex walked with her as far as the front door. About halfway to the van, Cam looked back. Alex was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, her head resting against the frame. The porch light played over her face. She was smiling gently at Cam.
Without letting herself think about what she was doing, Cam went back and kissed Alex on the cheek—her lips barely brushing the skin. Then she walked to the van and got in. As she started the engine, she looked over and saw that Alex had a hand pressed against that cheek, as if she could still feel the kiss.
Or at least, that’s what she assumed it was, because that’s the way her own lips felt.
Chapter Eight
Alex didn’t see much of Cam for well over a week. She didn’t think they were actively avoiding each other—at least, she wasn’t trying to avoid Cam—but they never seemed to be in the same place at the same time. One afternoon when she was out for a walk around the village, she caught a glimpse of Cam’s van—no mistaking that thing for any other vehicle—as it pulled around a corner. Twice she dropped into the café with Nicola, only to be told by the barista that they had just missed Cam, who had apparently been looking for Nicola.
Not that there was anything surprising about that, really, since it was obvious the two were old friends. Assuming that was all it was. Alex finally asked Nicola about it one day over coffee. She gave Alex the most peculiar, penetrating look.
“Me? And Cam? Lord, no—whatever made you ask that? It would be like kissing my sister. If I had a sister. Regardless, too much chance of hurt feelings all round. It was bad enough that time I let her set me up with one of her friends and it didn’t work out.”
“What happened?”
“She was nice enough, but she just about drove me daft. Sport mad—worse than my brothers. And not even football like a normal person—all the woman wanted to talk about was cricket. I mean, I ask you.”
“That’s too bad. But what happened with Cam?”
“Oh, she didn’t say much—she wouldn’t, would she? But just for a moment, I caught this look on her face. She was so disappointed. I felt worse about letting her down than I did about the date going wrong.”
“It meant that much to her?”
“I know she doesn’t seem like it, but Cam really takes things to heart. Plus she’s dead romantic.”
Alex smiled to herself, thinking about the way Cam had kissed her. Just the slightest contact of Cam’s lips against her skin, but the very softness of it had utterly charmed her. It had been completely unexpected, but somehow just exactly right.
Nicola sighed. “She wants everyone else to be happy, even if she can’t be.” She looked very uncomfortable all of a sudden.
Alex was dying to ask what that meant, but she realized Nicola had probably been entrusted with a confidence she didn’t want to share. Wishing she had less integrity, or enough deviousness to dig for dirt without being obvious, Alex switched gears.
“So, how long have you two been friends?”
“Oh, yonks. She was at school with my oldest brother, plus she’s some sort of a cousin, so she was always around when I was growing up. Of course, she’s a fair bit older, so we weren’t all that close at first.”
“What changed?”
“What do you think? I developed a huge crush on her when I was thirteen or so. She was really sweet about it, you know. When I finally got up the courage to tell her how I felt, she said she was flattered. And what’s more, she didn’t make a big speech about how I was too young to know what I was feeling or she couldn’t take advantage of me or some such rubbish.”
Alex winced, but Nicola didn’t seem to notice. “Then she managed to work the conversation round to whether there were any girls at school that I might want to ask to the cinema that weekend. That’s how I ended up with my first girlfriend.”
“That was kind. At least she didn’t kiss the hell out of you and then dump you like a used tissue right afterward. Sanctimonious speech included, no extra charge.”
“Oh no. What was her name?”
“Barbara. My dissertation director.”
“Oh, Lord. That can’t be good.”
“You said a mouthful, honey.” Alex shook her head at her own foolishness. “It’s really my own fault. I wasn’t as sensible as you were. For starters, it took me forever to come out, even to myself.”
“That’s hardly your fault.”
“Right. It’s not like I had any clues to help me figure things out. Just because I wasn’t interested in boys at all, ever. And kept getting crushes on the girls in my classes all through middle and high school.”
“I think you’re being rather hard on yourself.”
“Maybe. But I did finally figure out what was what, at university. Unfortunately, I spent a long time crushed out on Barbara. We’re talking at least a couple of years. It’s kind of tricky trying to connect romantically with people when your emotions are already focused on someone.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“Rosamund, right?”
“That obvious, is it? The sad thing is, I don’t even like the woman all that much. But that doesn’t stop my heart pounding and my face
flaming whenever I’m near her. It’s like being thirteen all over again.”
“Well, she is gorgeous.”
“That she is.” Nicola waved a hand as if banishing the apparition of the lovely Ms. Camberwell and her manifold charms. “But let’s get back to your romantic escapades. Apart from this Barbara person, what have you been up to?”
“Not much. The only kind of luck I ever have is bad.”
“Oh, surely not.”
“Seriously. I always seem to go for the wrong women—either they’re not interested, or already in a relationship, or some damn thing. It never fails.”
“Never? Wait just a minute. Do you really mean to say that you’ve never—”
“Not so loud. My lousy track record isn’t exactly something I want to advertise.”
“Well, color me gobsmacked. Try to look on the bright side—at least you can still lure unicorns.”
“Thanks, but I’m not quite as pathetic as that. No unicorns for me—I did manage to get my virtue duly sullied.” Alex mimed checking off an item on a list.
“What, just the one time?” It came out much too loudly and Alex shushed her. Nicola leaned closer, speaking more softly. “Sorry, it’s just that you seem so…”
“So…what? Well, whatever it is, it’s just a facade, believe me. Anyway, after the big fiasco with Barbara, I got really mad. At myself, that is. Once the worst of the humiliation wore off, I decided I was through wasting time and waiting for The One, assuming she even existed. So I went to a bar and picked someone up. Well, let her pick me up.”
“And?”
“And what? We had sex.”
“And?”
“And it was fine.”
“Fine? That’s it? Just fine?”
“If you must know, it was mostly kind of awkward. Not the sort of thing you want to rush right out and do again.”
“That’s awful.”
“Oh, it wasn’t that bad. I certainly don’t regret doing it. At least I won’t have to die wondering.”
“I feel dreadful hearing you talk that way. Alex, with the right person it can be amazing. It can be…everything.”