Mittman, Stephanie (32 page)

"Ssh,"
she said as his lips traveled across her cheek, traced her chin, and began a
trek down her neck to unclaimed territory. "Don't let me go again, Ash.
Don't ever let me go."

He
leaned down into her, his lips brushing her temples, his fingers winding their
way through her short locks. "Charlie..." he said, trying to pull
himself away.

***

She
couldn't have him forever. She understood that. A few weeks and his trial would
be over, and with any luck at all he'd be back to sea. But for this moment,
these few minutes in her special room where all her girlish wishes still had
room to roam free, she could touch his cheek and know what he felt like at this
one hour of the day.

And
if maybe, by chance, she could see him in the morning, accidentally touch his
arm, and then casually brush the hair from his eyes, she could know, too, how
he felt in the morning. And then, perhaps at lunch...

She
tipped her lips up toward his and admitted to herself what she suspected he already
knew all too well. She was in love with him,
head-over-heels-like-some-ridiculous-schoolgirl in love. She loved everything
about him—the good things, like how he left her flowers and pretended he didn't
know what she was talking about when she tried to thank him; the bad things...

Oh,
Lord! She was so in love, she couldn't think of any bad things. Especially not
when he was placing tiny little kisses on the ends of every strand of hair
she'd cut.

"I
shouldn't..." he murmured, taking a step back from her and shaking his
head as if to clear it.

"No!
Oh, God, don't stop," she said, pushing against him, rubbing her head
against his chest, and standing on her toes to reach for his lips.

"Ashford?"
Kathryn's voice was shaky as her cane hit the bottom step. "Are you up
there? I don't want to climb up there for nothing."

Charlotte
pulled away first, her hands flying to her lips and then her freshly shorn
head.

"I'm
up here," Ash called out to his mother. "Don't bother climbing."

"Have
you found Charlotte?" Worry rang in her voice like church bells on Sunday.

"Yes."
He made no mention of how far away they'd been, how very lost.

"I
was seeing to my begonias," Charlotte chirped, her voice cracking.
"And I lost track of the time."

"Come
to dinner," Kathryn said. They heard her pull open the elevator door.
"Cabot says he has a surprise for you."

"Well,"
Ash said, ruffling her hair and trying to restore the distance that belonged
between them, "I'd say you have quite a surprise for him."

It
took her more than a moment to realize he meant her hair.

***

At
first they didn't say a word. Oh, poor Kathryn's jaw dropped a couple of inches
at the sight of her, but Charlotte was impressed with the older woman's
restraint. She didn't scream or tear her hair out, or point a finger and laugh.

Cabot,
of course, didn't need to resort to words. He sighed heavily, rolled his eyes
theatrically toward the ceiling, and shook his head. Charlotte had the feeling
that there would be a wigmaker at the door come morning.

"Moss
convinced Ewing Flannigan to allow Davis over next weekend," Ash said,
breaking the silence at the table. "I think he intimidates the man.
Anyhow, with St. Patrick's Day and all, I suppose Flannigan will be laid out
cold."

"How
could you have—" Kathryn began, pointing in Charlotte's general vicinity.

"What
ever possessed you—" Cabot said now that the floodgates were open.

"Oh,
Miss Charlotte!" Maria chimed in.

"Saints
preserve us!" the parrot called from the other room.

"Charlotte,
really!" Kathryn said, summing up all their opinions in just two words.

"Clara
Foltz wears her hair bobbed and is taken quite seriously," Charlotte said
in her own defense. "I would have thought this would please the lot of
you!"

"Basis?"
Cabot asked as if she were arguing a case instead of defending her right to
wear her hair any way she damn—yes
damn!
—pleased.

"It's
self-evident," she snapped back. Who in this house wanted her to be a
woman? Surely not Cabot, who had stripped her of lace and finery and given her
serge and cigars in their place. Surely not Kathryn, who had convinced the
tailor to duplicate men's suits for her daughter-in-law, and who had until just
recently encouraged her daughter-in-law to leave the running of the house to
her so that Charlotte could concentrate on her work. Surely not Ashford—oh, no,
not Ashford, who, while he obviously enjoyed kissing her, had foisted her back
on Cabot as a problem of which he didn't want any part.

"Self-evident?
Pray go on. Don't stop now," Cabot said, gesturing with his hand for her
to explain.

"Oh!
Oh! Oh! Don't stop!" Ash's parrot shouted from the kitchen. "Oh, God!
Don't stop!"

Charlotte
felt her cheeks pinken, then deepen to red. The heat of them burned until she
had to press her hands against them to stop the fire. She could feel Cabot's stare
and refused to meet his gaze as she glued her eyes to her plate and fought to
regain control of her racing heart.

Ash,
she could see without raising her head, had shakily put down his water goblet
and was reaching for something stronger.

"Oh,
God! Don't stop! Shut up, you stupid bird!"

Charlotte
dropped her head into her hands.

"Well,
well, well," Cabot said softly while Ash opened and closed his mouth
several times.

"I'm
just so embarrassed about this hair," she said, fussing with it and rising
to look in the mirror. Actually it didn't look nearly as bad as she'd expected
it would in the light. Behind her she could clearly see the looks pass between
the Whittier brothers and felt at once the guilt that Ash had been bearing
alone.

"I
don't know what you could have been thinking," Kathryn said quickly.
"You couldn't have expected Cabot to like—that is, it just isn't seemly.
What I mean is that—" she tried again.

Charlotte
fought to summon some righteous indignation. Cabot had rejected her, after all.
But he had always stood by Ash, even after his brother had caused his accident.
And now he had been betrayed.

"We'll
skip the damn soup, Maria," Cabot said when she came through the door with
the silver tureen. "I'm sure by now it's cold, and I won't have the main
course spoiled. Sit down, Charlotte. I don't want you to miss this."

She
took her chair reluctantly, wishing she were on the moon, or at the North Pole,
rather than at her own table seated between her husband and his mother and
directly across from his younger brother.

"Rosa,
abre la puerta,"
Maria said from within the kitchen.
"Ay
údame."

"What
have you got up your sleeve, Cabot?" Kathryn asked. "You seem quite
pleased with yourself."

"Well,
Mrs. Mason couldn't find Charlotte this morning and so I took the liberty of
planning our supper myself." Maria came through the door with a big
covered platter. "Ah! What shall we do with it? Take off the cover and
show it around first, and then you may put it on the sideboard to carve."

"Ah!
What shall we do with the drunken sailor?" Liberty shrieked from the
kitchen just as Rosa took the lid off the platter that Maria held.

Charlotte
stared, shaking her head in disbelief. The hot cider and crackers she'd had at
three raced each other up her throat. She covered her mouth with her hand and
ordered her body to rise and run. Rubber legs couldn't so much as push her back
from the table.

Across
from her, held low enough for everyone at the table to see, on a bed of his own
feathers and propped up as if he were proud to be there, sat Argus, the
peacock, roasted to a deep golden brown and drizzled with Madeira wine gravy.

It
had taken a week for her to get up the nerve to ask him for money. Well, it had
taken her five days to talk to him at all after the Argus fiasco. And then two
more to find a moment they weren't immersed in Ash's case, which was scheduled
to begin in less than a week's time. She'd waited until they had some semblance
of a defense, what with Perry turning up trumps all over town with all of Ash's
old accounts, Greenbough's beans about to pan out, and more than a few tongues
willing to wag down by the wharfs now that Cabot had upped the ante
considerably.

And
now she'd asked, plain and simple, lawyer to lawyer, partner to partner, man to
man.

And
he was just staring at her as if she'd grown another head. "I'm not
following your argument, Charlotte," he said, as if she'd pulled a new
concept out of thin air. Well, for Cabot she supposed it was. "What
exactly do you mean by compensation?"

"A
salary," she said trying not to let the look on his face intimidate her.
"Or a share in the profits, since I am your partner."

"A
roof over your head isn't enough? Food on the table and clothes on your back
aren't enough? Tickets to the San Francisco Opera House, my mother's pearl
earring bobs, all those things are not enough?" He flung some papers
toward the out bin that sat on the desk between them.

"If
I were simply your wife," she said, looking at the papers and not taking
them, "all of that would be more than adequate. I don't mean to imply for
a moment that you are not a generous husband." At least when it came to
monetary matters. "But I do believe fervently, ardently, and justifiably,
that I am entitled to funds of my own for use at my discretion."

He
returned the pen to the well and set the papers he was working on aside.
"Why?"

"Because
I put in a day's work and that entitles me to a day's pay. In fact, I put in a
good deal more than a day's work most days. Because the only time off I've
taken in the last five years has been for illness, and even at that I recall
copying your briefs from my bed."

"That's
unfair, Charlotte, and you know it. I offered to send you abroad with Mother,
didn't I? For a grand tour? And not just once. And did I not sit by your side when
you had that fever? It was only to keep you abed when you thought you were
ready to get up that I let you copy the briefs."

"You've
been very good to me, Cabot, but that doesn't change the fact that I should
have been paid for my work."

"And
were you ever charged for your education? You and I both know that the cost of
Hastings far exceeded the measly inheritance your grandmother left you. Without
me you would never have become a lawyer at all, never mind a
better-than-average lawyer with beyond simply adequate skills. Have I asked
recompense for that?"

Too
stunned to answer, she just looked at the man she had married for all the right
reasons. He was noble, honest, good hearted, and kind. She had admired his
passion for the law, and even his love of his precious flowers.

She
had thought him anything but petty. Until now.

"Are
we even, then?" he asked, pulling the papers back in front of him.
"And can we actually get some work done this morning? We do have a major
case I suspect will affect us both."

"This
smacks of indenture," she replied. And, she supposed from his side it
smacked equally well of ingratitude. Still, being without funds left her
without options. And it would be worth conceding on the past if she could still
get her hands on some small sum that would allow her to start a practice of her
own in the future. "But let's say that I was willing to set aside all
demands for a salary when I was learning the law. What about once I was
admitted to practice, once I began to handle cases, and write briefs, and argue
before the court—haven't I been responsible for the generation of revenues? And
aren't I entitled to a share of... said revenues?"

"Why?"
he asked again when she paused to take a breath. Leaning forward, pulling
himself upright in the extreme, he appeared to hold his breath while he waited
for her answer.

"I
think I've explained my position adequately," she began.

"Yes,
I believe you have. And argued well for it too. But my question remains why.
Why do you need the money, Charlotte? To what end? Are you thinking of leaving?
Is that it? Because before you answer me, I think you should know my response
to such a move on your part."

Where
anyone else would have seen a man simply resettling himself in his chair,
Charlotte watched Cabot's mind racing, just as she'd watched his movements in
the courtroom and had learned to read them. Ordinarily, this would be the
moment she would choose to bring him a file, or a glass of water, or provide a
distraction that would give him the time he needed to collect his thoughts and
present an argument that would appear seamless as a result of her intervention.

But
she wasn't about to help him now, not against herself. Instead she let the
moments hang like hours, waiting for him to continue.

"Should
you be entertaining the notion of ending our partnership, understand that I
would never ask you to leave here empty handed. On the contrary I would insist
you take with you your fair share, which would be all of your cases." He
put up his finger to hold her words at bay while he continued, his anger
getting the better of him.