by Linda Swain
One morning, roughly two weeks after Kat’s surgery, Nick entered her room weighted down with exhaustion, only to find her struggling against the effects of her heavy medication. “Hey, kid, settle down,” he murmured, smoothing the sheets around her.
“Nick,” she pleaded, her frail hand reaching out to his. “I want to see my baby. Ash forbids it and the nurses say he’s too frail to be taken from the nursery. But I have to . . . I need to see our son.”
Our son, Nick thought as he called for an aide to bring a wheelchair. She said our son … Waving away the aide’s help, he lifted Kat into the chair and wheeled her down the hall despite the protests of her nurse. “I’m taking her down to the nursery, and there’s nobody who can stop me, you got that?” Gripping the handles with his strong fingers, he wheeled Kat down the hall, stunned by how delicate she had become. Why is Ash keeping her away from the kid? He wondered. Why am I the one taking her to see the baby?
Tossing aside the thoughts, he walked along, ignoring the presence of the anxious nurse who followed along behind them. In a low voice, he tried to prepare Kat for the sight of all those babies in crates, but the cry she gave when she viewed them was too horrible for Nick to ever describe. Reaching out to the thick glass, she pressed it against its dull shine, her eyes brimming with tears. “My baby, Nick . . . I want to hold my baby.”
Crouching alongside, Nick held her hand, keeping his voice low. “Look, right now he’s too little. Give him time to get stronger, then you’ll get to hold him.” A long finger reached out to wipe the tears that streaked down her pale cheeks. He couldn’t help comparing the weeping creature that leaned against his shoulder with the effervescent woman he had once known. She had captured his heart from that first day when she had been searching for her silly dog, and now he struggled against the sinking feeling that the smiling, laughing girl he had once known was gone forever.
He turned his eyes back to the nursery, instantly finding the cubicle that held his – their – son. “You’ll have him, kid, I promise. We’ll get through this somehow.”
She looked up at him, trust brimming in her eyes. “You really believe that?”
Ignoring the clutch in his gut, his eyes evenly met hers, a brow lifting. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”
Chapter Fourteen
Setting aside her sewing, Megan listened squinting into the late afternoon sunlight. She was certain she had heard Ashton returning from another one of his midafternoon visits to Katherine while she was in hospital. Anxious to hear the latest news of both mother and son, she rose from her chair. Megan had yet to visit Katherine herself because she could not bear to leave Anton in the care of the staff while she did. The boy had been inconsolable even when he’d been given a softened version of the events that had occurred. He constantly pined for Katherine, and Megan could not bear to leave him even for a short time. Hurrying up the hall, her hands flew to her mouth when the house suddenly shook with a great crash of splintering wood. Hurrying in that direction, she gasped sharply at the sight that met her eyes. The breath she’d drawn so quickly into her lungs blew out of her in a burning rush as she stared at the sight before her.
Standing in the middle of the nursery, surrounded by a twisted heap of horrid, broken wooden limbs, Ashton gasped for breath, his bare chest heaving in the golden light of the nursery. The remains of his shirt draped the skeletons of the lovingly made furnishings and hand-made clothes he had torn to pieces with his bare hands, and Megan saw that he was sweeping the room with his burning eyes, looking for more to destroy. As he stepped towards the antique cradle, his hands raising and stiffening into terrible claws, Megan read his intent and drew breath swiftly.
“Ashton!” She snapped, her voice taking on the commanding tone he remembered as a child. It rang off the piles of destruction in the room and stopped his movement in mid-stride. As he stood silently, wild-eyed, Megan looked on in horror at the shattered furniture, the destroyed toys, and the shredded books. How did he do all this in such a short time? He’s gone completely mad … Even the magnificent dollhouse he had ordered from the finest European craftsmen lay crushed beneath his feet.
“What has happened? Is Katherine . . .?”
“My son,” he managed before he choked on his grief. His face twisted as he looked at the only mother he had ever truly known. “No . . . . Not my son . . . the baby . . . he died this morning.”
Megan stared toward him, her heart aching to comfort him, when his words stopped her cold. “Not your son?” she questioned softly. “Ashton?”
“That child belonged to Nicholas. It was his whelp.” His face convulsed in a silent sob, and his lips peeled back in a snarl of hatred. “I hope that the father burns in the lowest pits of hell!”
Crossing the floor, she slapped him hard across the face, a stinging blow that rocked the tall man back on his heels. “You will sit,” she snapped, “and compose yourself before you wake Anton. You are not the only one in this household with a broken heart.”
Sinking into a forgotten rocker, Ash looked at Megan with heartbreak shining clearly in his eyes. “I knew that it would be a miracle if the boy survived, but now even that hope is gone.” He looked at his former nurse with bitterness that she had prayed she would never see again in his eyes. “Katherine will never have any other children. Never. This was her only chance – should she, by some miracle, conceive again, the doctor informed me that Katherine would more than likely die, and that I could not bear.” He drew in a deep, shuddering breath that spoke of all the tears he had yet to shed. “He took that chance away for me – from us. It was because of Nicholas that Philippe died. Because she had to go to that damned club – to him.”
He wept then, breaking down in Megan’s arms, his head cradled against her chest as his tears dampened her dress. She recalled the wild and uncontrollable guilt Ash had endured after the death of Christine, and it had taken all of Megan’s wisdom to pull him through it then. Now, it seemed that the same duty once again fell on her.
“That child . . . was not mine,” he gasped, his voice ragged with pain and regret. “It was his . . . and I could see in his eyes that he knew, even when I did not. I counted back the months and I know that I’m right.” Sobs broke from him in great, deep gasps and Megan could see he was fighting even to speak. “She will always run back to him . . . she will never truly be mine.” He drew in another shuddering breath, fighting for the control he did not have. “She lied to me, played me for the fool that I am.”
“Non! Never!” The heat of Megan’s voice penetrated the deep fog of grief that surrounded Ash until his eyes met hers. “She never lied to you, Ashton. You were well aware of her alliance with Nicholas. I remember how you laughed when you took her from him. Tell me, how long was it before you took her body? How little time was there between the last meeting of their bodies and the first of yours? Did you protect yourself? Did you think to protect her? Of course not, you were too determined to claim her body and soul. Now tell me, is it not possible that not even she suspected the truth?”
Silently he thought of her words, of his first taking of Kat in the back of his limousine. Desperately he held onto Megan’s words, that Katherine – his Katherine, -- had been innocent enough to believe that the child belonged to him. Setting his face in a firm line, he stood, looking at the massive destruction he had caused. “Get someone to clean this room. Katherine will be home soon, and I do not wish for her to see it. It will be nothing but a painful reminder for her when she returns and I will not have it.”
“Ashton, do you not think that she would want some . . .”
He interrupted her with a sweeping gesture that halted her words. “Get this room cleaned of everything – I want it gone by morning. In the meantime, I will be in my chambers.”
Yes, Megan thought sadly, you will hide in your suite, taking solace in that white powder that, for so long, you have avoided. I know you, Ashton Montserrat, better than you think. I only hope that you realize in time that
those fine white grains shall be the death of you both.
* * * *
January 1939
Soft morning light streamed through the windows as Kat listlessly watched the rays cross the walls of the private suite that adjoined Ash’s. She had spent the holidays in the hospital, and now, as the New Year began, her recovery had not been as swift as the doctors had predicted. She had yet to fully recover from the death of her son. Both the emotional and physical burdens of her grief weighed on her, and Ashton’s refusal to allow her to visit the tiny grave that marked their son’s resting place only made matters worse. Kat had no closure for her sorrow, no way to move on. First, the doctors had refused to let her so much as hold the frail form of her son after informing her of his death, and now she was banned from even visiting the place where he slept eternally.
Wiping angry tears from her eyes, Kat reflected how Ashton had gone to the gravesite and the service the family had held for Philippe, while she was forbidden to do either. Shuddering away from the memory of how her husband had looked upon his return from the cemetery, she closed her eyes, but the images came nonetheless. His hair had been thrown wildly about by the bracing winter wind, and his eyes had been hot and cold with emotions that had no words. He had sequestered himself immediately in his rooms for the remainder of that day. When he had emerged, he had refused to answer any of her questions about the service.
When she had found out a few days afterwards about the destruction of the nursery, Kat had been even more devastated. All those toys Ash had smuggled in from France … all the clothes I knitted or the furniture I had specially made … Everything’s gone. It’s like he just wants me to forget Philippe even existed! Burying her face in her hands, she wept again.
There had been nothing left anywhere in the house to remind her of the life she had once carried, and the emptiness she still felt within her own body was only amplified by the absence of anything within the nursery or the rest of the house that had once belonged to Phillipe. “You never wanted the baby!” she had shouted at Ashton when, upon first seeing the empty nursery, she had marched down the hall to what was now his exclusive suit of rooms. “You’re glad that he’s gone,” she had accused him, sobbing in his doorway and backing out into the hall when he had risen to move to her side. “You won’t even allow me to grieve – you just want me to forget him! Well, I won’t forget him! He was our son, and if you want to forget him, that’s up to you!”
The look of utter devastation he had given her at her words had given her brief pause, but she had not changed her mind; days later, Ashton still slept alone, and she continued to occupy the suite she had never once used during the heady days of her pregnancy.
In his own rooms, Ashton continued to mull over Katherine’s words. He had been wrestling with them for days now, and they dug further into his soul with each passing hour. How could she think such a thing? He wondered, his heart close to breaking. I am trying to ease her pain, not bring her more . . . I was protecting her. Can’t she see that?
His brow arched as he glanced to the stand on his side of the bed, his hand reaching for the small key that never left his possession. Yes, he thought, it will ease her pain and perhaps break through this barrier that she has built between us.
“Oh, ma belle, ma pauvre belle . . .” he crooned as he unlocked the drawer that held what he called his ‘magical powder.’ As he palmed the package, he exited through the adjoining door, only to find her lying listlessly in her bed. “Here, my darling, take some of this. You are still in pain, and this will help, trust me.”
She was willing to try anything, anything to escape the pain in her heart as well as her body; even the sight of Ashton and the remaining anger she held for him could be set aside if only she could be free of this pain. When the tip of his finger touched her lips, her warm tongue willingly licked it clean, unaware of the erotic visions that flashed through Ash’s mind.
Gathering her in his arms, he remembered the raw pink scar of her stitches, his desire slowly fading.
“Read to me,” she pleaded as the drug began to flow through her system. “I like hearing your voice while you read. Tell me about that phantom of yours – that man that lived beneath the opera house.”
Settling in a nearby chair, Ash began reading, the low timber of his voice rumbling softly through the room. As she drifted into sleep, some slight evidence of contentment evident on her haggard features, a rare smile, brought on by his own use of the drug he carried in his pocket, lightened the planes of Ashton’s face. He watched her sleep, letting his eyes travel over her body. He was hungry for the sight of her, he found, though he was not surprised. He took his fill, missing the light and laughter that had been once so vividly present in her features and then remembered the folded contract he carried in his pocket. Of course … Surely this will bring her smile back to our home. I had forgotten. He was unsure of whether it was the effect of the drugs in his system or the delight he felt at the surprise he had procured for her, but his heart was suddenly racing and he wished that she would awaken once more.
Without Kat’s knowledge, he had at last procured for her the one gift he had always wanted to present to her. It had taken a great deal of machinations and he had called in many favors, but finally he had arranged to grant his Katherine one of her dearest wishes. Not even Nicholas managed this, he thought gleefully, staring at his wife’s slumbering features. No one but I was able to give her this gift.
When she had recovered, a recording studio would be at her disposal, enabling her to record the song written for her so very long ago. And from there … who knows? They will hear her beautiful voice, singing that song, and from there, her fame could go anywhere. Her song … Briefly, he wondered what thoughts the lyrics would bring to her mind. Would she think of the past, to which she seemed to cling, or would she realize the hope of a bright future in the world of entertainment? I cannot know… but if I can busy her with recording contracts and studio work, she will be noticed in the world … Her attention will be everywhere else and she will have no time for that hated club – or for him.
Settling back, he watched his sleeping wife, and in the silence of her room, his doubts began to assail his aching heart once more. Had she truly been innocent of the paternity of that child? Was it even an issue? Was it, perhaps, even possible that Phillipe had been his son? With her coloring, surely there is a chance that our son could have been blonde. After all, he considered, tracing the delicate softness of Kat’s hair again, look at her hair. It is not one color, but instead, it is many, and if these are not golden streaks, then I am not French.
He shook his head, smiling at himself and feeling lighter than he had in weeks. Non. Megan was right. Perhaps Katherine did not suspect the truth. Regardless, he consoled himself, she is mine now, and always will be.
Lightly, he kissed Kat’s cheek, smiling as she murmured in her sleep, and retired to his own rooms. Soon, ma belle, we will reclaim the life we were meant to have together, and even if there is not to be a child of our own to share, we will have each other.
* * * *
Mealtimes had become another problem for them to face in the unsteady road of her recovery. Kat had lost all the healthy weight she had gained during her pregnancy; her cheeks were now gaunt and hallow. Even the most tempting of meals failed to appeal to her. Resorting to using the pain of her surgery as an excuse not to join in family meals, she isolated herself in her rooms. The trays brought to her were returned almost completely untouched, the food artfully rearranged to appear as if she had eaten. Watching this, Ash despaired that the woman he knew would ever return. I have so much to show you! He cried silently. We have so much to share together! I will make you well again, my Katherine. You are young and will be strong – you made my son strong, so now it is my turn to do the same for you! To see her return to good health became his personal mission and fortunately, he had a comrade in the plots he devised to suit this purpose, one he knew Katherine could never resist.
&nb
sp; Stepping through her bedroom door on one such occasion, perhaps a week before Saint Valentine’s Day, he waited until his smile caught her attention. “There is someone here to see you.” Gently, he held Anton in his arms. Throughout her recuperation, Anton had been the only one to bring a smile to her lips, and the sight of him did not fail to bring such an expression forth.
Now, the boy struggled in his father’s arms, a determined look in his eyes. “I want to show Maman!”
Ashton’s laughter was warm. “All right, here you are.” Carefully, Ash set his son down onto his feet and watched as Anton fought to make his weak legs move with the assistance of the heavy braces strapped to his legs.
“See!” he cried as he moved awkwardly across the room. “See, Maman, I have been working very hard. Soon Papa says that I shall be able to even outrun his long legs.” Strenuously, he traversed the way to her bedside, before collapsing against it and sighing heavily in a mixture of relief and exertion.
“Oh, Anton!” Kat hugged the small boy as tightly as she possibly could manage. “This is the most wonderful gift you could have ever given me. I am so proud of you. I knew that you could do it. Vous etes magnifique! Mon grand garcon!” She spoke the words carefully, much to Anton’s delight.
“And you, Maman, your French is improving almost as quickly as my legs!” Anton clapped his hands in delight, but still uncertain, Kat looked at Ash for confirmation.
“I meant to tell him that he was magnificent and my big boy. Did I say it right?”
Oui, Maman, it was perfect,” Anton interrupted insistently, glancing over his shoulder at his father. With a smile, Ashton gestured for him to go on, and the little boy took Kat’s hand nervously. “Maman,” he began, tracing the bones in her hand. “I have done such hard work and … and there is something that you could do that would make me very happy …”