by Linda Swain
She buried her face in her hands. What am I going to do? Admit that my marriage is a mistake and crawl back to a man who gave me away as if I meant nothing? Can I forgive Ash? Can I ever trust him again?
She sat in the waters of the bath until they were as chilled as her heart seemed to be. Finally, when Ash pounded on the door, demanding her return, her shoulders began to shudder. Who was the man on the other side of that door? Was it the tender, loving man she had begun to love and trust? Or the monster who had appeared to her tonight? I don’t want to find out. But she knew she couldn’t stay in the bathing chamber forever. What do I do? What do I do?
Finally, fearing that he would break down the door if she didn’t come out, she slowly toweled off her tender skin before wrapping herself in one of the robes that had once so delighted her. Cautiously, she released the lock, barely noticing the terrible regret in his eyes, or the way his elegant hands fell limply to his side. Katherine wanted to slip by him and escape, but she knew that she couldn’t, so she waited silently, cringing against the doorway.
It was Ash who finally broke the silence that hung between them. “I cannot make excuses for what I did,” he rasped. “All I can ask is that you give me – no, give us, -- another chance. I promise . . . I will never use the powder again. I never, ever, will touch you again with anything but love. I’m asking you to forgive me.”
The orphan that still lurked inside, the one who so desperately wanted a family, a home, and a husband to call her own, whispered that this was her one chance, perhaps her only chance, to have it all. Folding herself into a nearby chair, she tucked the robe she wore cautiously around her battered body, looking at him with cautious eyes. Is his apology sincere? Does he truly regret what he did? I don’t know . . . why, oh why did he do it? Swallowing the tears that prickled at her eyes, she raised her head as proudly as she dared. “Maybe if you told me what set you off . . . what could cause you to do what you did . . .” She paused and gulped air before continuing to speak, balling her hands into fists which contained bunches of the soft robe wrapped around her shoulders. “I need to understand, Ash. Maybe then, I can forgive. But not before you tell me . . .”
“That song,” he admitted with the sound of bitterness still echoing in his voice. “It was Nicholas’ song . . . the one that you always sang for him. And when I heard you singing it in my ear, all I could remember is that you once sang it for him.”
“But I didn’t arrange for the musicians” she protested softly. “I didn’t even know that they were going to be there. How could I know what they were going to play?” Her voice trembled at the idea of something so natural for her, to sing whenever she heard music, had set such an ordeal into motion. “Oh, Ash, I wasn’t thinking of anything but the music and being held in your arms. I wasn’t thinking of him . . . never him.”
Never him. How those words echoed in his heart, bringing him such agonizing pain to his soul. Sinking to his knees, he tenderly took Kat’s hands, his eyes lingering on the charming bracelet that had somehow survived the brutality of the night.
“Oh, ma belle, my sweet, beautiful Katherine . . .” He groaned, his face twisted in pain. “Please . . . forgive me. We are set to return home in the morning and we will put this all behind us.” He knelt with his brow pressed against her fingers for a long moment, ignorant of the pregnant silence and its volumes of meanings, until he snapped his head up, his eyes meeting hers again. When they did, she saw that the green-gold hue was sparkling, as its colour did whenever he had discovered a new place or gift for her that he knew she would adore. “Yes,” he insisted. “Tomorrow, we will return home and everything will be put to rights again. After all, there is one more surprise in store for you, one that is certain to make you smile.”
Surprise?
She wasn’t certain she could handle any more surprises. Tonight had been full of them, and none had been good ones. She didn’t want to think about anything more than getting through the night and back home to the safety of the club . . . and Nick.
Nick.
He had taught her to stand up for herself; as a matter of fact, he made a point of making certain she could take care of herself. He had taught her, and now it was time to use that knowledge. Ash wants me to forget this ever happened, to sweep it away as though it was nothing more serious than a fly bite on the back of my hand. He raped me, and he wants me to forget it so that he can move on? Kat bit her lip so hard that she tasted blood. What if he does it again? What if he keeps using that powder, even though he swears he won’t, and he does it to me again and again? I don’t think I can bear it, but what do I do? How can I protect myself? Briefly, she closed her eyes, whipping them open again at a sound from Ashton. But it wasn't her husband's face she saw before her eyes, but Nick's features instead. Nick … Nick wouldn’t let him do this. Nick wouldn’t back down. Nick wouldn’t let something like this go without a fight.
She ignored the little voice that mocked her, reminding her of how easily he had let her go, to be married to this man who was turning into someone much worse. There’s nobody in the world who can help you, but yourself sometimes, he told me. And it’s time that I remembered that. I can help myself, she insisted silently. And I will. I’ll explain things to Ash, and God help him if he doesn’t listen.
“Very well,” she said firmly, choosing her words carefully as her body inched away from Ash. “But there is one thing that you need to remember. I was an orphan, and yes, Nick took me in off the streets and gave me a chance to make something of myself. But, more importantly, he taught me how to fight, and to fight dirty if I have to. If you ever . . . and I do mean ever -- touch me like that again, you will find yourself in divorce court so fast your head will spin.”
Pausing to let her words sink in, the moments ticked by Kat, giving her pounding heart time to settle. Now, she thought, now he would pounce. She could see the strain he was placing on every muscle of his body as he forced himself not to move, not to react in some terrible way to her words. Tense seconds passed between them into a gaping eternity that Kat thought would never end. At last, with a low sigh, Ashton rose to his feet, reaching out with his hand.
“Yes, of course, I completely understand, Katherine.” He began to turn away before sliding his eyes sideways to regard her. She didn’t like that pose; she couldn’t read him when he stood like that. His voice was soft; she wouldn’t let herself believe it sounded submissive, but at least he spoke quietly. “Will you at least let me hold you while you sleep? I give you my word that no harm will ever come to you from my hands again.”
Slowly, she allowed him to lead her to their bed, allowed his arms to come around her stiff body. It was a very long time before she slept, and her pillow was soaked with tears when she did.
Chapter Ten
Tim could never have prepared himself for the chaos he walked into the day after Kat’s wedding. Glass lay shattered around like broken tears, tables were overturned, and from the numerous empty bottles of liquor tossed haphazardly around, it looks as if a busload of drunks on a group binge had sampled every bottle in the joint. As his eyes adjusted to the light filtering into the shadows from one lonely lamp, he could only see one drunkard – and he knew exactly who it was.
Sitting at his usual table, empty bottles lined up like soldiers, Nick was half-slumped over the surface the table provided. It was the only table that was still standing, and when Tim hurried to Nick’s side and shook his shoulders, he thanked whatever stars there were that he hadn’t been around to witness the destruction as it happened.
“Boss? Boss, maybe it’s time you went upstairs to sleep it off. You’re in no condition to drive, and I’ve got. . .”
“A mess to clean up,” Nick finished, his voice oddly cold and sober, considering how much he’d had to drink. “It’s a bitch when you own a bar, where every kind of booze is available, and I still can’t get decently drunk.”
Running a hand through his thick brown hair, Tim looked around at the mess that the club
had become. Not that it had been great shakes when he and Nick had first taken it over, but compared to the way it looked now, the place had been a palace.
“We’re gonna fix this place up,” Nick announced with a wavering swipe of his hand. “Gotta fancy it up since our songbird is now married to an aristocrat.” Staggering to his feet, Nick somehow navigated his way across the tattered ruins of what had once been Kat’s stage. “Gonna hire some more musicians, a damn full piece orchestra in fancy clothes. And nothing but the best for our girl. New lighting fixtures, fancy tablecloths, and even those fresh flowers she was always nagging about having on the tables. Yeah . . . this place is going to shine before she comes back. She and that fancy hus . . . husband of hers.” His voice slurred so much that it should have been impossible for anyone to understand him. But Tim did.
It had taken Tim years to read between the lines, to know that, behind the drunken façade, such as the one he was putting on now, Nick was as sober as a judge and hurting like hell. Not that he would admit it, Tim knew, so there was no sense trying to talk about it. It’s just like when old Oliver died, Tim thought. He was the last person I ever saw Nick get close to, and when he died, Nick was just like this. Only thing was, he considered, gazing around at the shambles, that place back then was already a mess, so Nick couldn’t do too much damage. He tried, though. And I couldn’t get him to talk about it then, either.
He’d stood right over there, Tim remembered, turning away from the present and gazing at the spectres of the past. He stared at a spot right along the end of the bar, remembering a younger version of Nick that had leaned against the wall, his cold, dry eyes buried in one arm. Both of them had still been wearing the borrowed black suits they’d worn to Oliver’s funeral, and Tim remembered thinking how the shadowed, too-tight jacket had seemed to leech all the color out of Nick, until only his blonde hair had remained, capping his pale face like a misplaced angel’s halo.
He leaned up, right there, against that wall and drank from Oliver’s special stash until he should have keeled over dead, Tim reflected, and turned his head to focus on the present Nick as he swayed over the remains of Kat’s old stage. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him cry, Tim reflected. Not then, and not now.
He had reached out then, tried to get Nick to open up and talk, but the only thing that had ever seemed to help was allowing his boss – his best friend – to roll up his sleeves and get his hands dirty. So that’s what we’ll do. We’ll just remake the club the way he wants it. Maybe it’ll help, just as it did before, when the old man died. Maybe it will take some of that pain from his eyes.
Watching as Nick slowly made his way up the stairs, Tim took another look at the damage one man had done and saw money floating out the window like dust motes. He sucked in a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them again, the chaos before him hadn’t altered in any way, but he was calmer about the thought of having to deal with it.
And we had less available dough the first time around, he thought ruefully. At least we don’t have to run guns to make up the money this time. We made this place work once; we can do it again. It will just take a lot of effort. And time. But time heals everything eventually – right?
After little more than a shower and a shave, Nick personally tore down the remainders of the old stage, heaving out armfuls of wooden slats and plaster with no more than his bare hands. Once the remains of the stage was demolished, he built an entirely new area, widening the floor of the stage and recessing the back wall of the club so that the apron extended into a proper backstage, dotting the background with a wall representing the sweeping vista of a midnight sky. The ‘stars’ twinkled softly under the new stage lights which Nick wired and put in himself, bringing out the cool dusky blue of the background. Even the long, polished length of the bar underwent a makeover as Nick refitted it with new brass railings which shone like freshly minted pennies, replacing the old, worn barstools with chrome-ringed, white-and-tan accented affairs that were a step up in comfort – but not so comfortable, Nick told Tim, that their clients would put roots down on them.
Nick threw himself into the exhausting work of remaking every inch of the club, happy for the chance to wear out his body so that his mind didn’t have time to think. Part of him recognized that he welcomed the chance to wear himself down to the point where dragging himself up the stairs and shoving Buddy off his easy chair was all Nick could manage before falling asleep in his living room over the club.
Soon the club was moving from a high-end swinging hot spot to a cool hangout for even the most elite. Every morning that Nick hauled himself down the stairs, he could see the club taking shape before his eyes, but both he and Tim knew that it needed more than just an attractive décor.
After all, what was a club without good music to which the patrons could dance? Neither knew anything about music. Finally, out of ideas, Nick roped in Ted’s professional opinion and put Kat’s college friend to work on the task of ensuring that the new musicians were the best that his money could buy. Even the band’s instruments went by Ted’s approval, so that each note played by the band members was of the best clarity and sound.
All of it took longer than Nick might have liked, but it kept him from thinking about the inevitable return of Kat and her new husband. As long as he could exhaust his body, his mind couldn’t interfere. He could keep the images of their happy new life – without him – at bay, locking the despair Nick had carried with him since the afternoon of their wedding deep within him.
But Kat’s face – and the memories he stored of her – was never far from his mind. Sometimes, the vision of her laughing green eyes was enough to drive him into madness, but other times, they spurred him into action. He was doing this for his songbird, he thought, and he wanted everything to be ready before she came back.
At least where that was concerned, Nick received his wish. The club’s grand re-opening occurred just two weeks before Kat was to return. Staring into an empty sky, Nick watched silently as both old and new clientele flowed in, bubbling excitedly about the new look of the place. He smiled and greeted them, accepting the enthusiastic pats on the back and the energetic handshakes without giving any indication that his body was sore beyond description.
Nick drank until he forgot the pain, but there was still a certain satisfaction that he held close to his battered heart when he looked back at what both men had accomplished. Kat may have married money and been inducted into a society I’ll never see, much less been able to give her, but I’ll be damned if she’ll be ashamed of this place . . . of what it means . . . of what she means . . . to me.
* * * *
Ashton woke with a start. Without opening his eyes, he could tell it was morning. The squabbling of the seabirds fighting over scraps from the early morning fishermen floated through the open windows and all was the same. But Ashton knew that all was not as it should have been. Flexing his hands, he reached out blindly for the form who should have been curled up warmly against his body.
She is not here. His eyes flew open as he abruptly sat up, drawing in a breath to call Katherine’s name when he caught sight of her sitting at the little vanity across from the bed, carefully applying cosmetics. Her eyes looked up into her reflection, meeting his gaze as she spoke quietly to him. “You said last night that we were going home. Good; I would like us to leave as soon as possible.”
He swung from the bed, stopping as he saw her draw away. Spreading his hands, he allowed them to drop, forcing a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Bien sûr, my Katherine,” he answered, pleased that his voice was level. “Last night was meant to be . . .” He floundered briefly when her eyes, green chips of ice, burned in her pale face as they met his. “Was meant to be our last night here. Everything has been arranged, and we can be on our way within an hour, if you wish.”
“I do,” she replied softly. “Let’s leave here as soon as possible.”
He shook his head. “Katherine, please. Let us have
breakfast while everything is arranged and our belongings properly packed away. These things take time, and surely, you do not want to forget anything.”
She turned, her eyes cutting him in half. “I’m not hungry. Have some breakfast if you like; I’m going for a walk along the beach. I need some time to myself. Please, enjoy your meal.” Uncertain if he would allow her to leave, she faced him defiantly, her body stiff and tense.
When he simply nodded his head and stepped aside, she breathed a sigh of relief and gave him a modicum of comfort. “I’m not leaving you, Ashton. We’re married… But I need to say good-bye to this fairytale, and get back into the real world.”
He took her hands in his, pressing them firmly to his lips. “Have your walk, say farewell, but not goodbye, for we shall come back here someday. You’ll see.”
She smiled, but there was something empty in her eyes as she slipped past him, vanishing out the door. While he waited for his food to arrive, Ash took the time to tidy the remnants of the previous night, personally packing his shaving kit, placing the cocaine in a private compartment. As he moved to close the clasp, he stared at the packets of powder, reminding himself of the finality of Katherine’s words. “If you ever – I mean, ever – touch me like that again, you will be in divorce court faster than your head can spin.”
The memory of her words set his face into a grim line. Her threat could have more far-reaching effects that she could realize, but he could not fault her for her innocence. Nevertheless, Ashton Montserrat did not easily let go of what he loved, and now he would use every figurative card in the deck to keep his wife.
He glanced at the white powder, every nerve vibrating with desire for its calming effects on his mind. He fought ferociously against the need to indulge, pacing that small bathroom like a caged animal. He would have to be diligent, he told himself. He could never allow his temper to overwhelm him again. Katherine had professed her love for him. That song she had sung had been for him, not Nicholas.