Coveting Love (Jessica Crawford)

by Schwimley, Victoria

  He motioned for at a team of waiters, and they began setting dishes before them.

  She ignored his invitation at intimacy. “Because, the sooner I get started, the sooner I finish, and the sooner I can return home. I have a fiancé waiting for me to return so we can plan our wedding.” She punctuated the last words, trying to reinforce the fact that she was not an available woman.

  “Aw, come now, Jessica. Oh how I do so love that name.” He looked at Hank and Emily. “Don’t you love that name?” They said nothing but nodded in unison. “Be careful, you might offend my hospitality. You wouldn’t want to do that, would you?” She did not miss the storm that grazed his eyes.

  “Try me.”

  John, growing weary of their sparring match, broke in, “Okay you two. I think that’s enough. I’m calling for a momentary truce between you. Jessica, I think that while we’re here, you should put aside all the past hurts and anger you have, and treat Mr. Stewart with respect. After all, he has opened his home to us, and offered to be our guide. And as for you, Mr. Stewart; I don’t know about your mother, but my mother would be appalled at the way you treat your guests.”

  She glared at Phillip, but spoke to John. “I’m sorry. How unfair of me to drag you into this battle. Mr. Stewart, I apologize. I thank you for your hospitality, and I accept your offer to be our guide.” She smiled at John. “Is that better?”

  She didn’t miss the amusement that tugged ever so slightly at the corners of Emily’s mouth, even though she never looked up from her dinner plate.

  “Thank you,” John said, returning her smile.

  “Well, John, as far as mothers go, mine was not around much to instill such honorable values, but I appreciate your thoughts. I acknowledge my bad behavior and will try to be a better host,” Phillip said.

  “If you will all excuse me, I think I’ll turn in,” Jessica announced, pushing back her chair at the conclusion of the meal. “It’s been a long day.”

  “I think that’s a good idea. In fact, I think we should all turn in. I have a rather full day planned for us tomorrow, and we want to be at our best,” Phillip said.

  Jessica swung around, prepared to do battle again. Then she saw John standing beside Phillip, frowning. She held back, remembering her promise to him. Instead, she smiled as sweetly as she possibly could.

  “Yes, and I would like to write to my fiancée before I go to bed. I miss him terribly. Perhaps I’ll sleep better knowing he is the last thing on my mind before I fall asleep.”

  She smiled with inward pleasure as she saw the darkness spread across his face at the mention of Brandon. She ignored the inner voice that cautioned her about playing games with an experienced viper.

  She returned to the writing desk and picked up the inkblot and pen. She was surprised that there was ink in it, and then frowned as she realized Phillip must have filled it for her.

  Why did it bother her when he made gestures to be nice? Because it was so out of character for him, she didn’t expect it. It made her feel open and vulnerable.

  Out of habit, she picked up her notepad to make a few notes, but realized she didn’t have any notes to make. He was totally in control of this project. She had no idea what she was doing, or what was in store for her and John. She scolded herself for not having been more careful, and for allowing herself to be put in this situation. She would give it to Clair when she got back.

  She opened the desk drawer and took out a piece of stationary, intending to write to Brandon. However, every time she started the letter, she couldn’t think of a way to tell him she was staying in Phillip Stewart’s house. He would be outraged, considering all he had gone through to protect her from him. Each time she started the letter she crumbled the paper, finally admitting defeat. She would try again tomorrow.

  She crossed the room and crawled into bed, where she lay for nearly an hour, trying desperately to fall asleep. Her mind kept wandering to that drawer, the one that held the diary in it. She scolded herself again for thinking of reading it. It was personal; she had no right to pry, but isn’t that the reason people write in diaries, to share their thoughts and lives with other people. She couldn’t shake the idea from her mind.

  Throwing back the covers, she crossed the room and sat at the desk. She ran her fingers over the top and around the corners, savoring the splendid touch of the cool wood. She knew from the diary’s contents that Adelaide thought Randall Stewart hadn’t loved her, but it seemed a lot of love went into the selection of this desk. It was a magnificent desk, delicately carved, made of the finest wood, femininely sized to fit even the most petite of women.

  She opened the drawer containing the diary and reached in to touch it. It would be a shame for all those thoughts to go unread, tucked away in this desk forever. She wondered if she should tell Phillip about it. “After I read it,” she said aloud, lifting the book from the place she had left it, where it had lain for probably many years. She skimmed through it until something caught her eye.

  I’m frightened of him. He has such power to control people. I am fearful for my life. It has been nearly two years since our marriage, and still I have been unable to conceive a child. He is angry about this and threatens my life if I don’t conceive soon. He calls me barren, but I know this is not true. I feel it in my heart. I pray to the Lord every night for a child, but so far, none of my prayers has been answered. I keep to my room these days. Only here can I escape the heavy responsibility of being his wife. I know they talk about me, but I do not care. I feel safer in here.

  Adelaide, December 25, 1939

  Jessica sat back in thoughtful sorrow. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. What a sad way to feel on Christmas day. She recalled her own happy memories of the many magnificent Christmases she and her mother had shared. She would run down the stairs to peek at what Santa had left her. She hadn’t even let on when she figured out it was her mother who left all the beautiful trinkets in her stocking. After presents were opened, they would fix breakfast together. Then they would be off to church, and then down to the homeless shelter to serve Christmas dinner. Afterward, they would either dine at a friend’s house or host a dinner themselves.

  She looked down at the diary. She was interested, too interested to stop. So she read on to the next entry.

  The Lord must have heard my prayers, for I am expecting a child now, my first child, what an exhilarating feeling. I am, for the first time in two years, a happy woman. It must have happened on Christmas evening; he came to me that night, drunk on whiskey. I prayed the whole time it was happening for it to be the night. It far outweighed the most expensive gifts he had given to me that day. They were empty gifts, void of human feeling. But this…this is special. God has answered my prayers. He will not come to me again until after the child comes. He will not need to; he has his lovers. I hope it is a girl. I would very much love to have a daughter.

  Adelaide, January 29, 1940

  I have not written for a while, as I have been ill. I never realized having a child could make you so. I was right about Randall, at least so far. He is acting a proud papa, but he has not come to me. He has stopped in a few times to check on me. It touched me to know that he cared. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could learn to love each other? I must rest now. I need my strength to get through this pregnancy

  Adelaide, April 3, 1940

  The diary entries touched Jessica’s heart. She tried hard to understand what it must have been like to lie with a man that you didn’t love, or have a child with him for that matter.

  She turned off the light and slept. She dreamt that she was Adelaide, and Phillip was his grandfather. She woke with a start and realized it was only a dream. She lay back against the pillows and thought about Phillip. She imagined he was probably much like his grandfather.

  She had seen a gentle side of him since her arrival here. A considerate side of a ruthless man. It unnerved her. She must be careful not to let her emotions run away with her, or cloud her judgment. She had a soft sp
ot for wounded animals, and Phillip Stewart could be any kind of man he thought would bring him what he wanted.

  **********

  CHAPTER 12

  “Phillip, Australia’s lovely!” Jessie exclaimed as they walked through the streets of Sydney. “Although, it’s a bit warmer than I had anticipated,” she added, removing her sweater.

  “It will start cooling off next month. That’s when our winter will start to set in. Then you will need that sweater.”

  “I won’t be here in a month, so I’ll just enjoy the warm weather for the time I am here, but this truly is magnificent. I never dreamed Australia was so beautiful. I’m confused. Why would you want to live in New York, when you were born in such a beautiful country.”

  “You know the old saying, ‘the grass is always greener on the other side'. I used to visit the States with my father when I was a small boy. I loved New York from the moment I saw it. It was so full of life, and dollar signs,” he added, grinning. “Anyway, I went there on a business trip when I was in my early twenties. My father had sent me. It was my first solo negotiation. I met my wife on that trip, and I was immediately taken with her. She had everything I was looking for in a woman. She was beautiful, charming, sophisticated, and filthy rich. It was attraction at first sight.”

  “Attraction? Don’t you mean love-at-first-sight?”

  He shook his head. “No, I mean attraction. Neither one of us have ever really loved each other. That wouldn’t suit our goals in life. Love is what makes people vulnerable. Her father wanted her to marry, thought it would settle her down some, and I, being from Australia, was a perfect challenge for him. He thought I would be green in the business world, and he would be able to mold me to his liking, but he was wrong. You see my father was a wimp of a man, but I had grown up under the influence of my grandfather. I lived with my grandparents most of my childhood. My parents loved to travel. Because of their fondness for travel, my mother couldn’t—or shall I say, wouldn’t—straddle herself down with a child, so she left me with my grandparents. That’s where I learned to love my grandmother so much.”

  “What a shame,” she said sadly.

  He looked at her poignantly. “It’s not a shame,” he said tersely. “I loved my grandmother very much.”

  “Not about your grandmother—I think it’s wonderful that you had such a close relationship with her. I’m talking about your relationship with your wife. It’s a shame the two of you couldn’t take the time to get to know each other and learn to love each other. Tell me what happened with her father.”

  “Actually, there’s a bit of wry humor there. Here’s a man who thought I would worship every move he made, follow him around like a puppy, bend to his will like a puppet-on-a-string. Instead, I shed my Aussie accent and became a part of the New York business world. My grandfather trained me well. It didn’t take long before I was at the top of the most respected list, leaving my father-in-law in the dust.”

  “That’s horrible. What did your wife think of that?”

  He looked at her, eyes twinkling. “Now here’s the one area where we agreed. She hated her father. He was a cruel and dominating man. He tried to rule her even long after we were married. She encouraged my efforts.”

  “There, you see. There is something the two of you have in common, something you could use as a common bond and go from there.”

  “Don’t tell me you moonlight as a marriage counselor. You are a hopeless romantic, Jessica.”

  They came to a stop in front of a small shop. The shop’s exterior was in desperate need of painting. “Here, this is what I want to show you.” He opened the door and Jessica stepped inside. Dozens of paintings greeted her.

  “Is this the gallery you were telling me about?”

  He shook his head. “No, that’s in Melbourne. We’ll get there later in the week. This is a much smaller gallery. You were so interested in my paintings that I thought you might enjoy taking a look around.”

  Before she could answer, a small, well-dressed man emerged from an office. Upon sighting Phillip, he broke into a huge grin.

  “Aw, Phillip, how good it is to see you again. I was beginning to wonder if I would ever see you; it has been such a long time.”

  “Yes, Pierre`, so it has. I apologize, my friend. I have been quite busy lately.” He gestured toward Jessica. “Pierre`, I want you to meet Miss Jessica Crawford. She is my house guest.”

  He picked up Jessica’s hand and kissed it softly. “Such beauty should be a crime; you have stolen my heart with just one glance. She is lovely, Phillip, you are such a lucky man, eh, Phillip,” he teased, nudging him in the side and watching Jessica blush. “Oh, now look, I have embarrassed your guest. I am so sorry, madam. Please, you two have a look around. Then come to my office. We will have tea, okay. Yes, okay.”

  He ran off toward the door from which he had previously come. Phillip took Jessica’s arm and led her around, showing her numerous paintings. One particular painting caught her attention. It was of a woman sitting on a park bench, looking sad. It reminded Jessica of Adelaide, which made her eyes mist. She wiped them quickly, before Phillip noticed. When they returned to the main corridor, Pierre` was waiting for them.

  “Come now, tea is ready. Did you have a pleasant look?” he asked, not waiting for an answer, but running ahead of them to hold open the door.

  Jessica giggled quietly. “I like him,” she told Phillip. “He’s funny.”

  He nodded in agreement but remained silent.

  “So, Miss Crawford, tell me, what did you like?”

  “I liked so many of them, but there was one I particularly liked, the one of the woman in the park. The one that looks so sad.”

  “Oh, I know exactly which one you are referring to. It is one of my favorites, as well. I shall get it ready for you then.”

  Her eyes opened wide. “Oh, no! I couldn’t possibly afford such a valuable painting. I will just have to be content with my memory of it.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Then perhaps you will want more tea?”

  She sighed, relieved. “Yes, please.” She smiled at him.

  After they left the gallery, Jessica heaved a large sigh of relief. “Phillip, I was so afraid I had offended your friend.”

  He chuckled. “No need to worry. I don’t think anyone could offend Pierre’; he is one of the most tranquil people I have ever met. Pierre’ will be fine.”

  “There’s one thing I don’t understand about Pierre’. He appears to have lived here all his life, but yet he has a French name and talks a little like a Frenchman, crossed with—well, I don’t know what.”

  He laughed heartily. “He does that to throw off people. He’s a bit of a tease. Actually, he is Australian, born and raised. His mother was French. She married Pierre’s father and moved here to Australia. The only thing she asked in return was that she be allowed to give her children French names, and teach them about their heritage. He knows as much about France as if it were his native culture. If you really like the painting I would be honored if you would allow me to buy it for you.”

  “No, thank you. It really is a generous offer, but I cannot accept.”

  “Suit yourself.” He glanced at his watch. “As much fun as I’m having, I’m afraid we’d better head on back, before they send out a search party.”

  She looked at her watch in amazement. “I hadn’t realized it was so late. Yes, we had better hurry,” she agreed, quickening her pace.

  Phillip stood back, watching her with admiration. She had been such a delightful person with whom to spend the afternoon. If only he could relate to his wife as well as he could her. She reminded him so much of his grandmother.

  **********

  CHAPTER 13

  I became a mother today. I was so happy, and then they came and took him from me. They said I should rest, but I don’t think I need to; I feel so wonderful. I was horrified to discover that Randall has hired a nurse, a wet nurse nonetheless. I want to take care of my own baby. I t
hink I shall call him Robert.

  Adelaide October 2, 1941

  Jessica skipped ahead in the diary. She couldn’t believe she was actually reading it again. She knew she should be preparing for dinner and the opera that Phillip had informed her they were attending, but she was so involved.

  It has been some time since I last wrote, but my daughter’s birth didn’t go well. They weren’t sure she would make it but she did; she’s a fighter. Now my precious little Robert will have a playmate. I had to have some kind of surgery after Elizabeth’s birth. The doctor told me I would not be able to have any more children. I am thankful for the two that I have. At least I will not have to bear lying with Randall anymore; he will not have any use for me now. He will leave me alone now.

  Adelaide January 9, 1942

  A knock on the door startled Jessica. She quickly marked her place and replaced the book. She picked up the pen and pretended to write the letter she had originally sat down to compose.

  “Come in,” she called.

  “What are you doing?” John asked from the open doorway. “You’re supposed to be getting ready. Now you’re going to make us late.”

  “Come in and shut the door. I want to show you something.”

  He did as instructed, and came to join her at the writing desk. She opened the drawer and took out the diary.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She frowned, disappointed at his lack of enthusiasm “It’s a diary,” she replied in exasperation. “Haven’t you ever seen a diary before?” she added with sarcasm.

  “Gee, I’m sorry, I don’t own a diary. And I don’t go around snooping in the desks of people who do,” he replied, tartly.