Lessons In Loving (16 page)

‘Forgive the question,' Prudence said as they climbed a stile. ‘Please tell me so if it's out of order. But you and Tom. Was there ever anything, well …'

Kate forced a laugh. ‘Good heavens, no. He advertised for a governess, and I won the position.'

‘Why you?' Prudence said. ‘Wait, let me guess. He chose you from thousands of eager would-be governesses because he fancied your innocent young beauty.'

Kate couldn't resist a cynical laugh.

‘When I visited him for the interview, he told me I was the only applicant.'

‘He is rather handsome, isn't he?' Prudence grinned. ‘If I had to spend my days working beside him, teaching him the finer points of the King's English, I might go a little weak at the knees occasionally.'

‘Oh no. The lessons have always been strictly business,' Kate answered, trying to match Prudence's smile. ‘In the very first hour I met Tom, he told me about Laetitia.'

Their walk over, the pair headed for their chambers and dressed for dinner. With a relieved smile, Tom told Kate and Prudence that Laetitia's parents had chosen to eat in their chambers, enjoying a meal prepared by their anxious-to-please landlady.

At the village's Lazy Duckling restaurant, recommended by the landlady, Laetitia chose a table in an old-fashioned booth, furnished with a half-circle upholstered leather bench. As they took their places, she snuggled close to Tom. Before welcoming drinks were served, she began to tease him. Pretending her fingers were coquettish butterflies, she fluttered them over his hands, above the table and under it, punctuating her movements with maidenly giggles. Occasionally, she planted a wet kiss on his cheek. Wine, conversation, and jokes flowed. Kate fought back her yawns, telling herself that the dinner was fun—that this was the real country-style holiday she'd come to know from books.

‘I'm starving,' Laetitia said, staring at the waiter who persisted in looking the other way. ‘And we don't want a late night, do we, my darling? Not here in the restaurant, anyway.' Her smile fired a message to Kate. ‘I'm going to have a word with the maître d'. Tell him the service is terrible.' She left the booth and headed for the reception desk.

‘How am I performing, Kate?' Tom whispered, leaning towards her in the closeness of the booth.

‘Very well. Apparently.' Kate nodded towards Laetitia's back. ‘I thought you began with a rather bumpy start last night. But …' She pretended not to notice Tom's grin. She stared at the walls, the tablecloth, the picture hanging above their booth—anywhere but at Tom. For the last time, she must convince her herself that she didn't love him. That she had permanently blocked any further little flutters in her wayward heart. That what must surely happen in the next few hours, as the loving couple returned to their adjoining chambers, no longer mattered to her.

As the dinner progressed, Kate risked an occasional glance at Tom's face. Strictly in the line of duty, of course. His every word must be scrutinised. At first, there were times when he looked positively cross. Then, as the evening mellowed, so did Tom. Sometimes he smirked down at Laetitia, a mildly puzzled expression on his face. Perhaps that was the instinctively shy man's version of a loving smile.

The waiter cleared the table and presented the bill to Tom.

‘My darling Tom,' Laetitia murmured, slipping a hand round his waist, ‘I feel so—amorous. Languidly amorous.' She sagged against him, giggled in his ear. ‘Now there's a word for you, my darling. You told me you're working at learning new words.' She giggled again. ‘We absolutely must head back to the cottage. I am desperately in need of a session in that lovely spa.'

Before Tom collected himself enough to answer, Laetitia turned to Prudence and Kate as they sat opposite. Minutes before, they'd directed their eyes elsewhere. Anywhere but towards the couple.

‘You'll excuse me, ladies, won't you?' Laetitia grinned. ‘Sorry, but the spa's only big enough for one.' She eyed Tom, then giggled again.

As they walked to the cottage, Kate tried not to hear Laetitia's sugary murmurings as she nudged her head against Tom's shoulder. The second they reached the cottage door, the couple said their goodnights and disappeared.

‘What do you make of that?' Prudence said as the two women let themselves into their chambers.

‘It would appear that they like each other,' Kate said. ‘Rather a lot.'

‘Yes. As I said before,' Prudence murmured, ‘Tom seems to have penetrated Laetitia's stainless steel heart like no other man has managed. I'm picturing her as she steps into the spa. You don't think Tom would—'

‘Never!' Kate struggled to wipe the shocking picture from her tired brain. ‘Tom is a gentleman. Always and forever.'

As soon as she could politely disappear, Kate slid into bed, pleading tiredness when Prudence suggested they enjoy a goodnight port on the verandah. An hour passed. She could not sleep. The harder she tried, the more she knew it wouldn't happen.

Another hour ground by. She could never sleep while thoughts of Tom dominated her every sense. Somehow, she must break free of the net that had been thrown over the two of them. But how? What would Vida Goldstein do? Very well, Kate must become an independent woman. And how would she achieve that priceless independence? As she lay tossing and turning, the idea exploded into her brain—suddenly, sneakily, but perfectly formed. She must go home.

‘I've been thinking, Tom,' she rehearsed as she lay in the dark. ‘You and Laetitia are in love. It's as obvious as the light flashing from Sydney's Macquarie Lighthouse. You don't need me anymore. I've delivered according to my contract. Now I'm simply in the way.'

As she embroidered her plan, she resigned herself to reality. No way in the world would she fall asleep that night. Perhaps hot milk. That often worked when everything else failed. She tiptoed into the kitchen. A few minutes later she sat on her verandah bench in the moonlight, warm glass in hand.

Minutes passed. Then, as her eyes adjusted to the low light of the waning moon, she saw a movement on the balcony of Tom's chambers. Yes, it was Tom. As she stared at the blurry silhouette, Tom spotted her and waved. What to do? She waved back—a friendly flutter of the wrist. Then he waved again. This time he was signalling her, beckoning her. What did those odd jerky arm movements mean? As she watched, he climbed over the balustrade, shinnied to the ground, and headed towards her. He stopped a few yards away, finger to lips, then beckoned again.

He wanted her to join him. It was impossible for him to call to her. Absolute silence was imperative. She peered at the railing on her verandah. It was easy enough to climb over it and jump down onto the lawn. Tom silently clapped hands as she landed on the soft grass. Then he beckoned again. She followed him as he led the way to a summerhouse in a corner of the garden. As he walked she saw that he wore skimpy pyjama shorts, no top. His muscled shoulders glinted in the faint light as he moved.

‘What are you doing awake at this ungodly hour,' he whispered as he pointed to a bench, then joined Kate as she sat.

‘Sleeplessness,' she whispered back. ‘What else? And you?'

‘Mmm. Things.'

‘What things?'

‘Never mind.'

‘I must apologise.' She hesitated. ‘I'd have expected you to be dead to the world by now.' She mustn't in any way hint at the oh-so-fond goodnight he'd very likely just enjoyed with Laetitia. Kate wondered again if he might possibly have shared a little time in the spa with his beloved.

Silence drifted over them. An embarrassing silence. How could it be otherwise? The two of them sat in palest moonlight, each dressed in the minimum nightwear required by modesty. A thought flickered in Kate's brain like a stray flash of lightning on the night horizon. It wouldn't go away. She would tell Tom now, while they were alone, while it was dark.

‘I've decided to go home,' she said quietly. ‘Preferably first thing tomorrow morning.' She waited for him to take in her message. ‘You and Laetitia have fallen in love again so beautifully. Now I'm simply in the way. You don't need me. I'm neither use nor ornament.'

‘But Kate …' In the darkness of the summerhouse, she couldn't see his face, let alone read a message in it, if there was one. ‘You can't leave,' he said. His voice sounded strained, painful. ‘We have a contract.'

‘I've delivered to the last letter of our contract,' she said. ‘You and Laetitia. It's all wrapped up and sealed. Quite obviously.' He sat rigid, seemingly stunned into silence. That silence became more embarrassing as each second dragged by. She stood, looked towards the verandah rail she'd lately climbed over.

‘I'll say goodnight, Tom. Then tomorrow morning, goodbye.'

He moved so fast he took her by surprise. First, he put a hand on hers as she rested it on the summerhouse bench. His arms closed round her, pulled her close. So close she could feel his heartbeat. Why? When he'd quite possibly just come from an hour or two of blinding intimacy with Laetitia in the spa, then goodness knows what else? He eased the tension of his arms the merest fraction. Then the kiss. There was no time for her to back away. His lips fused into hers, hot, hungry, a reverberating, thundering explosion of passion. This was no polite goodbye. It was raw, desperate.

She lost herself—lost every last atom of the self-control she'd learned to summon whenever he was close. The genie had burst out of its steel box. She returned the kiss. Or rather, some primal force inside her did. The more her mind told her to stop, the more her body did what a woman's body does when she kisses a man she wants. Wants his hot, hard body—all of it.

The flickering candle that had burned in her heart for months now roared into a pillar of white-hot flame, scorching every part of her yearning body. She wrapped her arms round his neck, let the flesh under her filmy nightie gulp its fill of the sensations it had starved for over too many nights. It had begun when the smiling Tom tied up his horse and walked towards her that first afternoon at Kenilworth. Now his tongue, his hands, his hardness, electrified her body.

Time stopped. She writhed instinctively, ecstatically, at every movement of the warm, hard questing hands on her shoulders, her neck, then inevitably, her breasts. Her every need seemed to be matched, fed, by his. Then—she had no sense of how long they feasted on each other's lips—he stepped away.

‘I'll—' His voice choked—husky, hesitant. ‘Take you to Blackheath station in the morning. It's just a few minutes' walk from here. There's a train at eight.'

***

As the first hint of daylight filtered through the blinds, Kate gave up her struggle to sleep. Tired or not, what woman could sleep after those scorching moments with the man she, well, loved? There was no point in lecturing herself now. She loved Tom. Would always love him. She'd read that every woman meets just one true love in her life. There is one man who will, all through her life, be The One. Most women don't manage to marry The One, nor live happily ever after with him. Life simply gets in the way. They merely dream of him, perhaps on days or nights when the man of the moment has gone stale, or shown he doesn't care, or worse.

Kate tried to console herself with the thought that she'd had Tom all to herself for a string of deliciously teasing weeks. And their last moment together—it would be the perfect pearl in the necklace of memories she'd wear forever. She'd revisit that moment often. On lonely nights, when some crisis loomed, when she was sick or defeated, she'd fondle the jewels in that imaginary necklace. For the rest of her life, she'd use those memories to remind herself that perfect love can actually happen.

Now it was all over. In the next hour or two, she'd leave Tom forever. Quietly, she bathed and packed, taking care not to wake Prudence. It would be too awkward to explain why she was running away. As she carried her luggage to the cottage gate, Tom appeared. Without a word, he stepped close and took her bag, barely letting his eyes move towards her. As they walked the few yards to the station, he turned to her.

‘You really want to leave?' His voice cracked. He swallowed. ‘Now?'

‘Yes,' she whispered, looking down, clenching her teeth against the tears that would well like a river in flood if she released her grip for a second. There was no way in this world she could take up his wordless invitation to talk. The sooner their time together was over, the better. Since they'd arrived in the Blue Mountains, every moment she'd spent close to Tom had been pure pain. Except one. She didn't need to endure that pain again.

They reached the station. As he handed her the bag he'd carried for her, he spoke.

‘Kate.'

‘Yes?'

‘I wish you'd stay.'

‘We discussed that at some length, sir,' she said. ‘Last night. If you remember.'

‘But—'

He held out his arms for a farewell hug. She sidestepped him.

‘Goodbye Tom.' Her voice rang clear. In this pivotal moment, she willed herself to be strong. She blinked away the tears that now threatened to burst through the barricade she'd cemented into place. ‘I hope you and Laetitia live happily ever after.'

‘But wait. I want to …'

His words trailed off as she walked down the platform, away from him. Now she'd become a waif trudging through a blizzard, pulling a sledge through the snow. She'd staked her all on travelling to a far country, driven by an impossible dream. And failed. She must struggle forward, find a safe place to shelter, a place where she could build a new life.

Take hold of yourself, woman! She shrugged off her tattered cloak of self-pity and headed for the line of carriages. The waiting train gave a warning toot. She climbed aboard and took a seat in an empty compartment. Never in her life had she felt so abandoned, so alone.

The train's whistle sounded loud, long. The carriage inched along the platform. Her eye caught a man running alongside the carriage, his face turned towards her, his hand waving frenziedly. Tom. As the train drew away, she caught a last glimpse of his face as he stopped, gasping, unable to keep up. What last minute message was he trying to send her? No matter. If he wanted to tell her something important, he could write a letter.