Knight's Mistress (37 page)

And all the time he’d been making love, he’d been leaving her.

Max’s phone call came through as Dominic’s plane was taxiing into Qatar for refuelling.

‘You made the right decision, Nick.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Dominic said curtly. ‘I’m in a fucking lousy mood.’

‘Are we still on for Paris next week?’

‘Of course. Reschedule yesterday’s meeting for next week in the Paris office. I’ll be staying at the apartment in Paris for the foreseeable future. See that Liv gets a cheque for the philharmonic. That’s it.’ Dominic ended the call, held up his empty glass, waited impatiently for the steward to refill it and once it was returned, drank down half the whisky in one long swallow. Then he leaned his head back on the seat, shut his eyes, swore, instantly opened them again.

She was always there, in his brain, on his retinas, the taste of her on his tongue. He had no expectation of sleep in the coming weeks; if he shut his eyes she was smiling at him, tempting him, making him reckless, making him heedless of everything that mattered in his life. He’d been willing to jeopardize his company, or at least a good part of it, because of her. He’d almost gone off the deep end because of her. Missed meetings, pissed off people, hadn’t looked at his email in three days. Apologized more times than he’d ever apologized in his life. Fuck it.

He wasn’t meant to have a normal life.

He didn’t know what normal was.

But denials and disclaimers aside, he took out his phone a hundred times between Hong Kong and Paris, pulled up two photos and stared at them, thinking each time he should stop punishing himself and delete them. But he never did.

He’d taken a photo from the doorway of his bedroom before he left, wanting a memory of Katherine in his house, his bed.

The second photo was a zoomed-in close-up, the detail so good he wanted to touch her each time he looked at it.

Jesus Christ, life was complicated.

And fucking miserable.

Within the hour, Kate came back downstairs, carrying her overnight bag, and handed Leo the letter she’d written. ‘Please see that Dominic gets this. I think there’s a cab outside for me.’ She left Hong Kong soon after, having paid an outrageous price for a non-stop ticket to New York which was the closest she could get to Boston on short notice. She wouldn’t have flown on Dominic’s plane if the apocalypse was imminent and his plane was the last one on earth, after the shock of his leaving without so much as a goodbye. Or even a handshake. That forced her to smile, the thought of parting with a handshake after days of practically non-stop sex.

And he’d been good for something other than sex too – the salary he’d paid her was enough to keep her in comfort for a year. She’d earned it; she had no compunction taking it. But she deliberately left everything else behind: the clothes, the jewels, the matching shoes in every colour of the rainbow, the lingerie, the sex toys he must buy in bulk.

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t always known what kind of man he was. She’d gone in eyes wide open. He was never going to hand her his heart; she wasn’t sure he had one. And why should he commit to her when he could have any woman he wanted?

It would be convenient if she could hate him for leaving her before she could leave him. It would be even more useful if she didn’t love him. But then, life wasn’t perfect; it sucked you in or threw a curve or stacked the deck when you were naively admiring its perfection. Or, in her case, ignoring reality with a man who could make you forget the entire world when he was making love to you.

She fought back tears constantly on her journey home. Dominic was always in her thoughts, her memory, her pitifully beating heart. He was a constant presence, an unflagging fantasy, a forlorn desire. One could be practical about whether or not a relationship would work, but that didn’t mean your decision made you happy. Or even slightly happy. Or even in the same planet as happy.

She tried to read on the long flight, watched movies without seeing them, finally resorted to drinking. She arrived at Logan Airport in Boston on a commuter flight from New York twenty-six hours later, weary in body and spirit and more than slightly inebriated.

Which may have accounted for her explosive burst of tears when she found the pile of Hermès luggage in the middle of her living room floor. She wasn’t sobbing because someone had broken into her home, nor was she lamenting the fact that privacy no longer existed. What made her collapse in tearful prostration was the note that had been left on top of the luggage. The heavy white stock bore the initials
DGK
centre top in a dark blue modern font, the message written in a broad, heavy scrawl in matching dark blue ink.

She finally stopped crying when she ran out of tears.

The next day, she even managed to smile the tiniest bit when she dragged her laptop onto her bed, booted it up and checked her email.

Dominic had responded to her letter, even though he shouldn’t have. Even though he’d tried to talk himself out
of answering her for the better part of the night. He didn’t mention the part where she’d said she couldn’t lose her wits and reason completely, or the part about how wonderful it had been. Or the part about the madness. He didn’t mention any of that because she was the clusterfuck in his head, his burning temptation, his road to ruin and he understood.

He kept it simple:

Then she acted like a mature, rational adult, opened the bottle of Krug that had been set on top of the luggage pile in her living room
and
that she’d had the good sense to refrigerate despite her monumental grief, and drank it down for her breakfast at two o’clock.

Nana said, ‘You’ve been drinking,’ when she called her.

‘I’m celebrating being back home.’

‘Did you enjoy yourself?’ Nana had just received notice by personal messenger of an anonymous gift of two million dollars for the local school. A well-dressed older
man had arrived in a limo two hours ago, introduced himself as an attorney from a private educational foundation and informed Nana – over her coffee and homemade oatmeal cookies that he had politely accepted when it was clear that he would have rather gotten back into his limo and returned to the Duluth airport – that the foundation was donating the substantial sum to their tiny school … for confidential reasons. Which was often the case with private foundations, he calmly explained. And she, Mrs Roy Hart, had been designated Administrator of the funds.

Since Nana hadn’t been born yesterday, or even the day before, and no one had ever bestowed such a magnificent sum on their backwater area school, she surmised that either things had gone really well in Hong Kong or they’d gone badly and the gift was in the way of reparations.

‘I did enjoy myself. It was a good experience,’ Kate said, her voice neutral, or marginally neutral, considering the bottle of champagne.

Not exactly a definitive answer. ‘No regrets, sweetie?’

‘Not a single one.’

‘Why don’t you come home for a few days?’ Nana suggested. ‘Rest a little after your busy two weeks abroad? I’ll bring you breakfast in bed.’

It took a fraction of a second for Kate to reply, her amorous breakfasts in bed with Dominic on
The Glory Girl
still vivid in her memory. ‘Maybe I will in a week or so,’
she said, a shade too brightly. ‘I have to see about getting a job. I don’t have to. I was really well paid, but sitting around doesn’t appeal to me.’

Poor baby, something was wrong.
‘I miss you, sweetie. So come as soon as you can. By the way,’ Nana said, hoping to lighten Katie’s mood, ‘your pictures were a big hit at the bridge club. Steam was coming out of Jan Vogel’s ears. You did good.’

Kate laughed, liked that she could still laugh. Found it life-affirming that she could still laugh. And in homage to all those self-help articles in women’s magazines that appear with great regularity because she wasn’t the only woman scarred by love, she sat up a little straighter which took an extra second or so after a bottle of champagne, lifted her chin and said under her breath,
Fuck you Dominic Knight!

‘I didn’t hear you, dear.’

‘I said, I’ll be home in a couple weeks, Nana. As soon as I check out my job offers. You know I had six companies who wanted me.’

‘You deserve all your success. You worked hard for it. Now remember to give me a little warning and I’ll have hot caramel rolls waiting for you when you walk in the door.’

‘Umm … tempting.’ Kate blew out a breath, the thought of Nana’s caramel rolls making her mouth water. ‘But I better look for a job first. Soon, Nana. I’ll be there soon.’

‘I’m always here if you need something, sweetie. Just give me a call anytime, if you want to talk or you’re at loose ends or bored.’

‘Will do. Thanks, Nana.’

Kate put away her phone a moment later, lay back on her pillow and felt her restlessness lessen, the tumult in her brain mellow out. Nana was her rock, her source of unconditional love, a best friend, a shoulder to cry on. The most tolerant person she knew – besides Gramps. He’d always said that he’d killed so many people and so many people had tried to kill him that he never sweated the small stuff.

Everything was small if you were still alive.

Which clearly put Dominic into perspective, she decided. She’d enjoyed his company, the two weeks had been beyond fabulous. But it was over; her life would go on very nicely without him – thank you very much.

She even half believed it.

She believed it enough to email him back.

How totally adult was that?

Casual, super-casual.

She did a quick fist pump, threw back her covers and leapt out of bed, debating what food she wanted delivered. She didn’t have to worry about Dominic scowling if she ate nothing but junk food.

It was a cardinal act of liberation, she decided sometime later, lying among the debris of fast food wrappers and boxes scattered on her bed, stuffed with non-nutritious, highly processed, additive-clogged food.

She was moving on with her life.

Keep reading for an extract from the next book in the series

published in June 2013

Three months later: April

Dominic stood outside Nana’s door, waiting for someone to answer his knock. It was cold in northern Minnesota. He should have considered the weather before he left Morocco; he was dressed in jeans, a short-sleeved T-shirt and sandals. The car he rented at the Duluth airport had been warm so he hadn’t noticed until he was standing in the wind on this porch overlooking a lake that was still covered with ice.

The door suddenly opened.

‘I’m not giving the money back if that’s why you’re here,’ the elderly woman snapped.

Dominic smiled, thought of Kate, knew where she’d learned to be outspoken. ‘Obviously you know who I am.’

‘You hide that private foundation real well. It took me over twenty hours to sift through all the shadow companies before I found your name on a document.’
She smiled. ‘Love the web. Opens up the whole world, even to people who live in the sticks.’ She opened the door wider. ‘Come on in. You must be here for a reason and’ – she glanced at his sandalled feet – ‘you’re not dressed for the weather.’

‘It was warm when I got on the plane.’

‘What are you, a three-year-old kid?’ she said over her shoulder, leading him down a hallway.

‘I had a lot on my mind, Mrs Hart.’

‘Call me Nana. Everyone does. At least you have an excuse. I suppose what you had on your mind was Katie.’

‘Call me Dominic and yes, she’s been on my mind.’

‘I have a cousin named Dominic. It’s a pretty common name up here. Have a seat.’ She waved him to a chair in a living room that hadn’t changed since the eighties. A hotchpotch of upholstered furniture, nothing matching, framed photos everywhere: mostly Katherine with her trike, bike, motorcycle – his brows went up at that – high school graduation, the prom – he scowled at the good-looking kid standing beside her – two recent ones with her smiling on campus; one or two of Nana, one of a man in uniform he assumed was Roy Hart, Gramps to Katherine, several that might be Katherine’s mother, the resemblance was strong.

‘I was wondering if I’d see you,’ Nana said, sitting down opposite Dominic in a matching BarcaLounger. ‘Thanks, by the way, for the money. I’ve already told you I’m not giving it back if that’s why you’re here. With all the cuts
in public education, the district needs the money. I didn’t mention it to Katie either. There was no reason to tell her. She’s not here, if that’s why you came, and I’m not telling you where she is.’

He knew where she was. That wasn’t why he was here.
‘I was wondering how she’s doing.’

‘How do you think she’s doing? A young handsome man like you with bags of money. You’d turn any young girl’s head. Leave her alone. You’re out of her league.’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Then you choose to be.’

Silence. Then he said, ‘I’m not sure about that.’

‘Too long a pause, my boy. My baby girl needs someone who doesn’t have to think about loving her.’

Dominic visibly flinched at the word ‘love’.

‘There, you see. You can’t do it.’

‘I’d like to try.’

‘Then tell her.’

‘She won’t talk to me.’

‘Smart girl,’ Nana said, her grey perm stirring with her brisk nod. ‘She was unhappy for quite a while. She’s better now, if you really want to know. If you want to help her, you’ll leave her alone. She’ll get over you. You’re not the only good looking man in the world.’

He was pleased to hear Kate was fine; he was displeased to hear she was fine without him. But just talking about her made him happy, so he smiled and said, ‘She’s been doing well in her new business, I hear.’