Precious Bones (12 page)

Tonight, she wanted everyone to be happy
, and she was even willing to forgive Pippa for snatching happiness where she could.  Maybe it would all work out.  After all, she never expected to find herself climbing the stairs of Richard’s house en route to his – no -- their bedroom as Mrs. Carlisle.  That thought made her go cold with nerves again, and she admonished herself for being silly, and walked into the room.  The chamber was bathed in candlelight, and she looked around the lovely room, taking in the large, four-poster bed with silvery blue hangings, and the heavy matching curtains at the windows.  The carved wooden furniture was buffed to a sheen, the floor shiny with polish in the light of the candles. 

Connie’s trunk was already standing against the wall
; her nightdress laid out on the turned down bed.  Agnes had taken out her silver-backed hair brush and left it on the dresser in front of the gilded mirror.  Connie sat down on the low stool, covered in brocade matching the bed hangings, and looked at herself in the mirror.  Her face was flushed and her eyes shone in the shifting shadows of the room.

She slowly began to pull out the pearl
-studded pins and lay them on the dresser one by one, before finally letting her hair cascade to her shoulders, the heavy locks released from their binding.  Connie reached behind her to undo the lacings of the bodice, but found that she couldn’t reach.  This was a rich woman’s gown meant to be unlaced with the help of a lady’s maid.  She wondered if she should call for Agnes, when she heard Richard’s voice from the doorway. 

“May I be of assistance?”  He was leaning against the doorjamb, his frame all but filling the opening.  He had removed his coat and doublet and was just wearing his breeches and shirt.  The light of the candle reflected off the pearl swinging from his earlobe
, and he looked like a storybook pirate coming to the rescue of the damsel in distress.  Connie stood up and turned her back to him, giving him access to the laces.  She could feel his hands brushing against her bare skin as he deftly undid the laces and took off her bodice, leaving her in her skirt and chemise.

  Richard untied the skirt and it pooled at Connie’s feet as it slid down the length of her body. 
She was about to step out of it when Richard wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her against him.  She could feel his heart beating steadily against her back as his lips brushed her neck and bare shoulder.  The sensation left her weak in the knees, and she leaned into him, letting him move aside the curtain of her hair and kiss the nape of her neck.  Richard slowly turned her around looking down into her upturned face.  She was no longer afraid.  Just filled with emotions she couldn’t understand. 

Connie reached up and undid the ties of his shirt, exposing his smooth chest.  She touched him with her fingertips, feeling the warm skin of his chest.  Richard’s mouth came down on hers
, making her feel weak with something she couldn’t name.  He lifted her up and laid her on the bed, getting in next to her.  Connie could feel the racing of her heart, as he untied the laces of her chemise, his hand pushing it off her shoulder and exposing her breast.  She instinctively put her hand over it, but Richard gently moved it aside replacing it with his own.  She felt his thumb caress her nipple and a strange wave of pleasure washed over her, as his mouth followed where his hand had been.  She closed her eyes allowing herself to enjoy the gentle sucking of his mouth, as his hand slid up her thigh finding her secret place.  His gentle fingers left her moaning with pleasure, and when he finally pushed up her chemise and made her his wife, she allowed her body to follow its age old instinct and joined him in the timeless rhythm of love. 

As Connie lay next to Richard with her head on his shoulder, feeling weightless and content, he lifted her face with his finger to look into his eyes.  They were dark in the shadows of the room, but she could see the joy in them.

“You do love me a little,” he whispered, smiling at her.

“
More than a little.” She kissed him, wrapping her arm around his waist and feeling his manhood grow stiff again with desire.  He rolled her onto her back, and as he took her again, she thought that she liked being married.

Chapter 33

July 2010

When I opened my eyes, the gentle haze of the summer morning filled
the room.  The sheer curtains at my window were rippling in the gentle breeze, and the sound of birdsong could be heard over the rumble of cars in the street.  I suddenly remembered last night and looked over to my right.  The pillow still held the indentation of Adrian’s head, but the bed was empty where he had lain.  Adrian had tucked me into the comforter leaving me cocooned in its warmth. 

A scrap of pa
per was peeking out from under my alarm clock, and I reached out a hand to take it.  It simply said, “Call me if you need me. -  A.T.”  So he was gone.  I snuggled back into the comforter not wanting to rise.  Despite the horrible events of the day before, I felt slightly better.  Adrian’s presence left me wrapped in an invisible bubble of cotton wool, shielding me from the tidal wave of grief and betrayal that was ready to break over me once again.  I needed just a few more moments of peace before facing the ugly truth that this morning brought. 

Today was the first day of the rest of my life, a life which would no longer contain Tristan
, with whom I thought I would spend the rest of my days and raise a family; or Joanna who had been my friend and confidant.  As soon as I began to think these thoughts, the bubble burst, and I was smashed against the rocks of my despair by the rushing waves.  I pulled the blanket over my head and curled into a fetal position.  I wished that Adrian was still there, solid and comforting, and tactful enough not to ask any prying questions.  I berated myself for being a pathetic weakling and forced myself out of bed.  I needed to take a shower, throw some food into my hollow stomach, and find something to occupy myself with so completely, that I wouldn’t think about the fact that Tristan hadn’t even bothered to call to make amends.

I was just pouring myself a cup of coffee, my hair still damp from
the shower, when I saw a shadow pass in front of my kitchen window and heard a knock on the door.  My first instinct was to pretend I wasn’t at home, but running away from things had never been my way, so I set down my cup on the counter and went to open the door.  I wasn’t surprised to find Tristan standing on my doorstep looking as if his night had been much rougher than mine.  His shirt was rumpled and he smelled of alcohol, his hair tousled, and his face covered in the stubble of a day-old beard.  I simply stood aside to let him pass, following him into the kitchen and picking up my cup of coffee as calmly as I could.  Seeing him looking so miserable had unsettled me and I felt almost sorry for him, offering him a mug of coffee.  He took it gratefully, and leaned against the counter sipping the fragrant brew.

“Cass, I know that I
’m beyond forgiveness, but will you at least let me explain?”

“What possible explanation can you have for betraying me with my friend
, and lying to me for months?”  I sounded a lot calmer than I felt.  My insides were shaking, so I sat down, no longer able to rely on my buckling knees.

“Cassandra, I was very angry when you went behind my back and bought this house. 
I felt betrayed and cheated of a future we discussed for so long, but then I realized something.  It wasn’t a future I really wanted.  Once we moved in together, the next logical step would be to get engaged and start planning a wedding, and the thought of that left me shaking with panic.  I admit I called Joanna because I wanted to talk.  I couldn’t discuss this with any of my male friends, and I thought that since Joanna knows you so well, she might be able to advise me. 

I didn’t go over there with the intention of jumping into bed with her.  We had a glass of wine and talked
.  Once I began to voice my reservations; they seemed more real and valid somehow.  I don’t remember who made the first move, not that it really matters.  When I woke up the next morning, I was overcome with remorse.  I left, intending to confess and beg your forgiveness, but when I reached for the phone, somehow I called Joanna instead.  I felt the kind of lust that I hadn’t felt since we first met, and it wouldn’t be denied.”

“Are you just trying to drive the knife deeper into my
heart, or are you hoping for absolution?  This is not a confessional, you know.”  I was angry and upset and wished that he would just leave.  He didn’t come here to beg my forgiveness, but to justify his actions.  He thought telling me all this made him less of a cad somehow.

“Cass, I didn’t tell you the truth because I
wasn’t ready to lose you.  I wanted to be sure of my feelings before coming clean.”

“So, you were sleeping with both of us, comparing your feelings for further study, is that it?  How very practical of you, Tristan.  It doesn’t matter what your decision is because my decision is made.  Please leave
now.”

“Cass, please.  Joanna was just a fling.  I don’t love her.  I love you.  I was clumsy in my explanation, but I
’m willing to do anything to make it up to you.  I got it out of my system and I’m ready to commit to you.  I will even move in here if that’s what you want.  I’ll give up my flat and live here in this spooky old house if that will make you happy.”

“No, Tristan, that wouldn
’t make me happy.  I’ve had a few revelations of my own, and I no longer desire a future that you’re a part of.”  I walked over to the door and held it open, in a silent invitation for him to leave.  He threw me a pleading look, but I looked away, continuing to hold the door open wide.  He finally walked through it into the summer morning that had turned overcast and dreary, just like my mood.

Chapter 34

“So what’s wrong?” 

“What makes you think anything is wrong?” I said
, as I ducked out of the way of the plastic fire truck that went sailing right past my head.  “Your child is a fiend.”

“I know.  He so reminds me of you at that age,” said my sister with a grin
, as she scooped up the little monster out of the high chair and handed him over to the nanny, who magically appeared as if on cue.  My nephew gave me a charming smile as a parting gift as he was carried out of the kitchen toward the nursery for his nap.  I heard the nanny saying something to the other two children in the playroom and then things got quiet. 

I had arrived in Brighton about an hour ago to visit my sister, Camille.  Despite speaking on the phone regularly, I still had the overwhelming need to see my sister when things weren’t going well.  Camille had always been my best friend, confidant and defender.  She comforted me when I scraped my knee or broke a toy
, and later listened to my stories, gave constructive criticism, and nursed me through several broken hearts.    I didn’t need to tell her that something was wrong.  She already knew. 

Camille had taken the day off to spend time with me.  She managed to have a full-time career as an optometrist at her husband’s
ophthalmology practice, while raising three kids under the age of five.  Despite having a nanny, Camille and Ken spent as much time as possible with their children, and were a model family, in my opinion.  I had once thought Tristan and I would end up like them, but that train had left the station with Joanna riding first class. 

Camille took the tea tray
, and I followed her outside into a garden bathed in a golden, summer haze.  The heady smell of Camille’s roses wafted toward me as I settled into a comfortable wicker chair under a canopy of leaves, the sun shooting arrows of light through the gaps reminding me of enchanted forests in fairy tales.   The air was filled with bird song and the chirping of insects, and I closed my eyes enjoying the lovely summer afternoon.  Camille set down the tray and poured us some tea, eventually settling into her chair with her cup and assuming her Sigmund Freud expression.  It was time to talk. 

“Let’s analyze this one thing at a time, shall we?” 
she asked, as I finished my pathetic narrative.  “I’ll start with the easy one -- Tristan.”

“That’s the easy one?” 

“In this case, yes.  I think Tristan subconsciously began the relationship with Joanna hoping that you would find out and end things, therefore taking the decision out of his hands.”  She looked at me over her tea cup, satisfied with her summary of my relationship.

“But why?”

“Opposites attract, but they rarely go the distance.  Tristan is reserved, analytical and devoted to schedules and lists.  He makes lists of lists according to you.  He likes order and tries to find certainty wherever he can.  He works with numbers because numbers always make sense.  You, on the other hand, are emotional, irrational, and spontaneous.  You earn a living by creating stories in your head.  That’s very intimidating to a person who’s so rigid.  I think the idea of starting a family with you was too unsettling for him.  You buying that mausoleum was probably the straw that broke the camel’s back.  Another cup of tea?”  Camille poured herself a second cup and looked up to see my reaction to her analysis.

“So you don’t think he
’s a complete tosser?”  I asked disappointed. 

“No.  He
’s just a man who’s afraid to face his fears, so he did what men have done for centuries, and stuck his prick where it didn’t belong hoping it would solve things, one way or another.”

“Interesting theory.  What about Joanna?”

“Joanna is not the first woman to steal her friend’s man out of desperation.  She’s single, divorced, in her thirties, and starting to hear the insistent banging of that damn clock.  She won’t keep him though.”

“How did you get so smart?” I asked laughing.

“By watching other people, and trying to learn from their mistakes. Now, let’s move on to Adrian.  He sounds dishy.”

“Oh, he most certainly is.  He
’s also smart, witty and enigmatic.  I never know what to expect from him.  In my crazier moments, I think he panned my book just so that he could come and apologize, and lure me out to dinner.”

“Maybe that’s not so crazy.  If I were a betting woman, my money would be on him.”

“Oh, wipe that smug smirk off your face.  You have it all figured out, don’t you?”  No matter how bad I felt, Camille always had a way of putting things in such a way that eventually made me laugh.  The truly funny part was that she was usually right.

“Hmm, let me see.  Smart, attractive, unpredictable
, and probably very passionate.  You’re right.  I’m way off base.  The chances of you falling for him are less than zero.  NOT!!!!!!”  I threw a stuffed toy at her as she ducked out of the way. 

“You
’ve fallen for him already, dear sister.  You just don’t know it yet.”

“Oh, I think I do.”

Camille gave me a look of pure satisfaction and let the subject of Adrian drop.  “Tell me about this new book.”

“It’s very strange, Cammie.  In the past I always created my characters and then manipulated them to my satisfaction
.  I was like a puppet master, pulling the strings and watching them dance, but this time it’s different.   I feel as if I’m just taking it all down.  It’s like the characters were there all the time, and I’m just telling their story.  It’s more like a long-buried memory rather than a product of my own imagination.”

“Could it be that you
’re just remembering a book you read or a movie you saw a long time ago?”

“No.”  I shook my head.  “Cam, when I saw that news report on the telly
, I knew who the woman was.  That was no book.”

“Cass, how could you possibl
y know who she was?  They said she died about five hundred years ago.”  Camille gave me a worried look over her cup, no doubt thinking that I was starting to sound deranged.

“That’s exactly it.  I knew who she was and I felt as if I
’d known her.  I felt such despair when I saw them carry her out.”

“Cassandra, you
’re a writer.  You have made up stories since you were old enough to speak.  This story touched you and gave you an idea for a new novel, but you didn’t know this woman.  You couldn’t.  She lived in the sixteenth century.  It’s just your creative juices flowing.  Write this book, tell her story and then move on.  Truth be told, I think you should sell that house, and get as far away from Blackfriars as possible.  It’s obviously not doing you any good.  You just need a fresh start.  Can I convince you to move to Brighton?”

“Not a chance.  You
’d get rid of your nanny and expect me to babysit.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.  It would be nice to have you closer though.”  Camille turned her face up to the sun.  The afternoon was getting warmer
, and she suddenly got up.  “Let’s get the kids changed and go for a swim in the pool.  I feel like a dip.”  She was already putting the tea things back on the tray, and I looked at the inviting blue water of the pool.  The water was sparkling in the sun, a gentle breeze caressing my face as I helped my sister carry everything back into the kitchen. 

“Camille, I am so glad I came.
  You always know how to make me feel better.”

“
That’s what big sisters are for.  Now go report for Aunt Duty.”