Romance By The Book

by Jo Victor

  “How did it go?” Cam listened for clues in the silence, trying to imagine Alex’s face.

  “All right, I guess.” She sounded so far away. “The whole thing is kind of a blur. Ian says I came across as sane and sensible, but you can’t prove it by me.”

  “How did they take it?”

  “I couldn’t really tell. I thought they all looked pretty grim, but so did Ian and I know he believes me. Maybe they always look like that during an interrogation.” She laughed, but it sounded forced. “I suppose it could have been worse. At least they skipped the rack and the iron maiden. Anyway, it’s over. They said they’d let me know, so now I guess I just wait.”

  “Did you see her?” The question slipped out and Cam silently cursed herself.

  “No. Which is probably just as well.” She sighed. “It wouldn’t have helped much if I’d started yelling or burst into tears. And if she had been there, I’d probably have done both.” She was trying to sound lighthearted, but Cam could hear the hurt just below the surface.

  She clenched her jaw, imagining the pain Alex must be going through, pain she herself was only too familiar with. As much as Rosamund’s involvement with Alex had torn at her, she could have wished for it to last forever rather than see Alex hurt like this—well, she could almost have wished for it. She was human enough that she was glad Alex was free, pain or no pain, especially knowing that Rosamund would have shown her true colors in the end.

  “When are you coming home?” Even to her own ears, she sounded slightly pathetic. She ached to see her, to hold her.

  “Midday tomorrow. I’ll stay overnight with Ian and take the morning train. Nicola’s going to meet me, so you won’t need to interrupt your work.”

  After she rang off, Cam tried to tell herself it was just as well Alex was putting a bit of distance between them. As much as she longed for her, she knew she was not someone Alex likely wanted hanging about just at the moment. Even if Cam could actually manage to get through a conversation without bringing up Rosamund’s name, the very sight of her must be a constant reminder of what that woman had put her through.

  Cam wanted to comfort Alex, but honestly, how would she go about it? Offer to share tips for getting over Rosamund, drawn from her own experience?

  Of course, what Cam really wanted to say to Alex was the one thing she couldn’t give voice to: Let me help you forget her. The last thing Alex needed right now was Cam coming on to her. Not that she’d ever do anything so low as to try and take advantage. But even the most honorable intentions didn’t change the fact that this was the wrong time.

  And especially not when Alex needed all her energy and focus to fight for what was rightfully hers. Alex’s work mattered so much to her—she was so passionate when she talked about Artemisia and how she wanted to tell her story to the world. The letter she had found should have been a triumph and a joy, but Rosamund had ruined that.

  And yet, despite what Rosamund had done, Alex hadn’t abandoned her mission. She had made it clear that, even though the reality of Artemisia’s life hadn’t turned out to be the romantic ideal she had expected, she was still absolutely dedicated to pursuing and publicizing the truth. Cam envied her that sense of purpose, something she herself had never experienced. And she truly admired Alex for holding fiercely to it even in the face of disaster.

  Especially given the anguish she must be feeling at being so betrayed by the one person she should have been able to trust. Cam prayed that Alex hadn’t been deeply in love with Rosamund, and not just for selfish reasons. But even if Alex hadn’t had her heart broken all to pieces, to have a lover turn on you like that, after you had welcomed them into your life and opened yourself up to them, even in the most casual, physical way, was horrible. She must be hurting so badly.

  And the only cure for that was time. However much Cam wanted to be with Alex, she would just have to be patient. If she really cared about her, how could she do anything else? She would respect her feelings. She wouldn’t pressure her. She would wait as long as she had to, for Alex’s sake.

  So what kind of awful person was she that all she could think about was how much she wanted Alex, right now?

  *

  The next few days brought Cam neither clarity nor peace of mind. Alex rang to say she was back in Bramfell, but the conversation was brief. Other than that, Alex might as well have been on the moon for all Cam saw or heard from her. If it hadn’t been for Nicola, she would have had no idea at all what was happening.

  It sounded as if Alex was doing reasonably well, and however much Cam might have preferred to judge that for herself, she was grateful that the news was good rather than otherwise. Nicola was a bit vague about specifics, but she and Alex were clearly working together to deal with Alex’s discovery and minimize the damage Rosamund had done. Apparently Alex’s friend Ian had some sort of plan of his own and was doing everything he could as well. Cam had of course offered to pitch in, in the unlikely event that she could somehow help, and Nicola had promised to call on her if there turned out to be something she could do.

  Meanwhile, Cam was throwing herself into her work as if her life depended on putting in the longest, hardest, roughest days possible, with the result that once in a while she was able to lose herself in the task in front of her for short periods, and at night she couldn’t help but sleep thanks to sheer exhaustion. The rest of the time she spent thinking about Alex, wanting to be with her, and wishing that Prandall and his wretched prize and even Artemisia herself had long since been forgotten by one and all.

  Cam tried to tell herself that perhaps it was better this way. Better for Alex, at least. She eventually worked her way around to the idea that what Alex really needed was not to see her at all, until Alex herself decided the time was right. So even when her schedule eased up a bit, she started deliberately trying to avoid Alex. That meant not walking about the village the way she usually did, and staying away from the café in case Nicola and Alex were there.

  One evening she almost ran into them at the pub. Fortunately she spotted them the moment she walked in, so she was able to turn around and head right back out again before they saw her, but it had been a bit too close for comfort. After that, she went straight home at the end of every day. When the time was right, Alex would ring her. She hoped.

  But she hadn’t factored in her Dawson House responsibilities. One morning the inevitable happened. Aunty Elspeth reported that this time, it was the hot-water heater that had stopped working. Unfortunately, Cam didn’t get the message until she was on the way to Haworth for a job that was going to take the best part of a day. Much as she hated to do it, she had to beg off until the following morning. If Alex was half as unhappy about that as Aunty Elspeth sounded, Cam reckoned she was going to have an interesting time of it when they finally did meet up.

  *

  Alex was not pleased. In fact, she was pretty damn grumpy. Two mornings in a row without hot water did that to a person. She glared at herself in the bathroom mirror. Yup, her hair looked even worse than yesterday. Explosion in a Curl Factory, artist unknown.

  Grace was watching her through half-closed eyes from a perch on the edge of the tub, some instinct having informed her that she could sit there without fear of being disturbed.

  “What are you looking at?” Grace gave her a slow blink, clearly not the least perturbed by her tone.

  Alex turned back to the mirror, despite knowing it was pointless. It was scrunchie time. Which was always so flattering.

  Not that it made any difference, since nobody who mattered was going to see her like this. People who disappeared for days on end with no explanation did not matter. Especially if when you finally ran into them, they turned tail and ran the minute they caught sight of you.

  “What is her problem anyway? I thought we were past all that.”

  Grace tilted her head to one side and mewed inquiringly.

  “Cam, of course. Maybe the woman has an evil twin. Or maybe she’s the evil twin, and it was the g
ood one who was over here when we—goddamn it.” Yet another scrunchie had bitten the dust. Tossing the broken elastic into the trash can, Alex tried again with another—which she was pretty sure was her last one. She wished, not for the first time, that they came in industrial strength.

  “I’ll tell you one thing, though, when she finally deigns to show up and fix the damn water heater, she’s not getting out of here again until I’ve had a chance to give her a piece of my mind. And then some.”

  Once Alex had finally wrestled her hair into submission, she splashed her face with icy water—icy being, of course, the only option. She must have been too enthusiastic with it, because a yowl from Grace was followed by sounds of a rapid feline retreat for parts unknown. Great. Now they were both having lousy mornings.

  By the time she clomped downstairs, she had decided that she wasn’t going one more day with her hair like this, water heater or no water heater, even if it meant she had to do things the old-fashioned way and boil water in a soup pot, the way Mrs. Tate had yesterday for doing the dishes. Maybe she should go old school all the way and use the kettle in the fireplace. Regardless, hauling all that water upstairs was going to be a huge pain.

  But as she walked through the kitchen doorway, she remembered the scullery. She could wash in there, assuming—

  “Ouch!” Something small and hard bounced off her skull just above her right ear and fell to the floor with a clank. “What the hell? Sorry, Mrs. Tate.”

  She didn’t receive a verbal reply, just a raised eyebrow and an admonitory headshake before Mrs. Tate returned her attention to her work.

  Alex knew that whatever it was that had hit her, there was only one possible explanation. Sure enough, when she turned around, there was the culprit sitting on the shelf above the doorway—heaven only knew how she managed to get there—looking down at her. If cats could smirk, Grace was definitely smirking.

  “Payback, huh? Very funny.”

  Apparently satisfied that her point had been made, Grace leaped down with her usual nonchalant elegance and pranced over to the stove. She sat herself near Mrs. Tate’s feet, not quite in the way, and began delicately washing one paw, the picture of well-bred feline innocence. As if.

  So just what had Grace hit her with? Alex looked around and finally spotted something under the table—one of the myriad keys that were scattered throughout Dawson House. This one was more ornate than most and attached to a cord rather than a ring, just like her house key. Something about it looked familiar, but before she could focus her thoughts, Mrs. Tate had her breakfast ready, so she stuck it in her pocket to deal with later.

  Just as she was finishing her meal, Cam came in through the back door. The sight of her apprehensive entrance, scuttling sideways with her head turtled protectively into her neck as she cast a wary glance at the shelf above the doorway, was too much for Alex to withstand. She burst out laughing. But then she remembered that she was angry and made herself stop.

  Cam cringed as three pairs of eyes bored into her. She had a pretty fair notion why Alex and Aunty Elspeth were unhappy with her, but what the bloody hell had she done to upset the cat? She’d fed it the last time she’d seen it, hadn’t she? And proper tinned food, not just table scraps. There was no pleasing some folk.

  Squaring her shoulders now that she had no fear of a surprise attack, she decided the best course was to ignore the storm clouds and carry on.

  Her far too cheerful “Morning, all” earned no response other than glares, the cat accompanying hers with an ear flick. “I’ll just get right to it, shall I?”

  “That would be best,” said Aunty Elspeth dryly before turning her back to busy herself at the sink, filling a large pot. “And in the meanwhile, I’ll just set this on to boil so I can do the washing up with it. Again.”

  Crikey.

  Alex said, “When you’ve finished, Mrs. Tate, would you mind putting some water on for me?” She crossed her arms and looked Cam dead in the eye. This wasn’t going to be good. “I’ve decided I can’t bear to wait any longer to do something with my hair.”

  For one insane moment, Cam considered telling her that her hair looked adorable, which of course it did. It always did. But Alex narrowed her eyes, as if daring her to give voice to what must have been a far too obvious thought. Being possessed of a healthy survival instinct, Cam settled for beating a hasty retreat in the direction of the airing cupboard.

  When she set down her tools and opened the door, she noticed that the cat had followed her upstairs. “What, have you come to tell me you’ve been waiting on me as well?”

  The cat rubbed against her leg and started purring. It occurred to her that the airing cupboard had to be one of the warmest places in the house, and given what she knew of Aunty Elspeth, doubtless it was strictly off-limits to anyone with four feet. Even as she formed the thought, the cat leaped up onto a high shelf and settled herself atop a stack of blankets.

  The cat sneezed once and closed her eyes, her purr fading away as she fell asleep.

  Well, at least someone in Dawson House had forgiven her. The sooner she repaired the water heater, the sooner she’d be back in everyone’s good graces. She hoped.

  She’d been at it a good while with little success when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Moments later, Alex was standing in the hallway. The expression on her face was difficult to read. She certainly looked far less hostile than she had before, but Cam reckoned she was in for it regardless.

  The funny thing of it was, she didn’t even mind. Anything, even a row with Alex, was better than not seeing her. She had gotten so used to not being around her that she’d stopped noticing how much it hurt.

  Alex paused a moment to just look at Cam. It had taken a long time to calm herself down enough to be fairly sure she wouldn’t just march up here and yell her head off—not the best way to open a conversation. Now she was really glad she had gotten her temper under control. The way Cam was looking at her, her eyes so soft and sad, made her feel all twisted up inside.

  “Cam, what’s going on?”

  “I don’t really know. I haven’t been able to find a thing wrong with—”

  “I don’t care about the stupid water heater. What’s going on with you?”

  “Not a thing. I’m all right.”

  “If that’s supposed to be funny, it isn’t. I’m in no mood. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I’m not being funny. And there’s nothing the matter with me.”

  “Then there must be something wrong with me. Because I can’t think of any other reason why you’re suddenly so set on avoiding me that you run away the minute you see me.”

  “Saw me that night at the pub, did you? Sorry. Thought I was fast enough.”

  “But why did you do it? I’ve been racking my brain trying to think what I could have done or said that—wait.” Horror shot through her. “Oh my God. You’ve changed your mind, haven’t you? You think I’m lying about what happened with the letter.”

  “No, lass, no. Never that.” Cam stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

  “What is it, then?”

  “I just thought it would be better if I kept away for a bit.”

  Alex searched Cam’s face, trying to make sense of what she was hearing. “Away from me? Better how? I don’t understand.”

  “I reckoned you’d need time, after what happened. Time to get it all sorted. And you’d find it easier without me underfoot.”

  “It’s true I’ve been really busy. Even with Nicola helping, I haven’t had much time for anything besides the letter and everything that goes along with it. I’m sorry—I know I should have called you. It’s just that everything has been so crazy.” She reached out and took Cam’s hand. “I’ve missed you.”

  “And I’ve missed you.” Cam stepped closer. Only a whisper of air separated them. “So much.”

  Alex gazed into Cam’s eyes. She felt herself starting to drown in them. When Cam reached up and rested her hand gently against Alex’s che
ek, the touch was so light it seemed barely there, but it sent a bolt of heat right through her.

  As Cam began to glide the tip of one finger softly over her skin, Alex closed her eyes. When she felt Cam draw the finger, oh so gently, over her mouth, she parted her lips. Cam continued to trace slowly back and forth along her lower lip. It felt so good Alex tried not to move, not to breathe.

  The moment was shattered by the sound of a feline body landing plop on the floor nearby, followed by the scrambling of paws over wooden floorboards as Grace ran off down the hall. Alex’s eyes flew open as she heard Mrs. Tate’s energetic footsteps on the stairs. Cam sprang back, a look of chagrin on her face. She was actually blushing. It was really cute.

  Checking to make sure the coast was still clear, Alex gave her a quick peck on the cheek—which made Cam blush even harder—before rushing into her room and shutting the door, smothering a fit of the giggles as best she could.

  After she’d gotten herself more or less sober, she eased her door open a crack and listened. Cam was talking to Mrs. Tate. She sounded like she had recovered her own equilibrium fairly well.

  “I reckon it’s just like the cooker and the washing machine. No reason I can see for it stopping working, and when I put everything back together it’s right as rain.”

  “Oh, there’s reason enough, dearie, and we both know what it is.”

  “You-know-who up to her usual tricks. Though I’ve never known her to mess about thus much, least of all in such a short span of time.”

  “I’ve only seen it this bad once before, when that so-called appraiser was making off with bits and bobs from the attic to flog on Portobello Road at the weekends. You could tell how angry she was—and a good job, too, since it was thanks to her we caught him. Long before your time, that was.”

  “Uncle Reg told me all about it when I first went to work for him. He wanted to be sure I knew what was what at Dawson House. So what do you reckon she’s on about this time?”