KALEIDOSCOPE II Saturday evening, Catherine stepped from the ladder beneath her building to find only an empty space. She'd expected nothing else, but still the sight twisted within her ironically. It wasn't anger or indifference that kept him away, but the love that once would have guaranteed he'd be there. He was making it easier for both of them, until she had recognized and come to terms with her choices.
Cynthia Hatch
PART 24
She wasn't totally sure she had done that. All her soul-searching had shown her nothing that would prove his contention -- nothing except a small blank spot from which she shied away, whenever it pricked at her consciousness. Having eliminated all the sources for it that she could think of, she told herself it was nothing more than uneasiness arising from his conviction that there was some commitment she still refused to relinquish. It couldn't be the commitment itself, which she was sure didn't exist. Hadn't she considered every possible explanation? She told herself his insistence must come from some deep-seated defense mechanism, that he imagined she had some doubt, only because he couldn't grasp the incredible fact that she did not. A lifetime of reminders that the hopes and dreams appropriate to others were off limits to him had taken its toll, It was not surprising that he should hesitate to believe his most secret, presumptuous wish could be granted. But how to convince him that the doubt was his, not hers, and that it was totally invalid?
Had her jangled nerves told him that she was still confused? There was no guarantee that she'd even have a chance to be alone with him long enough to address it. The night stretched out like a mystery before her, and she could only embrace its possibilities.
It was early yet. As she made her way to Jamie's chamber, she could sense the preparations going on around her. There was a festive air in the excited voices of the children, the aroma making its way up from the kitchen, even the staccato chatter of the pipes.
"Jamie, you look so pretty," she exclaimed as she entered the girl's surprisingly tidy chamber. Her dress of russet and blue was a far cry from her usual work clothes.
"Oh, well, it's a party, you know. Did you get the tools?" Catherine dumped the tote bag out on the bed, grateful to be rid of the clumsy weight. "I hope these are all right. I took your list with me to the hardware store. I'm afraid I wasn't sure what half the things were. "
"These are great," Jamie exclaimed, examining them the way some girls her age might sort through jewelry.
And expensive, Catherine thought. She'd had no idea how much such unglamorous items could cost, but secretly it pleased her that no one below, with the exception of Gillian, would be likely to realize how much she'd actually spent.
She helped Jamie fit them into their places on the handsome leather belt and wrap the cumbersome burden up with a card from the both of them. When they moved out into the passageway, Jamie skittered off to deposit the present in some predetermined hiding place, and Catherine felt her senses spring to full alert, not sure when she might round a comer to come face to face with Vincent, but she realized as she neared the meeting place in Father's study that he was there. The vibrant sensation inside her increased with every step, and she took a steadying breath, as she moved through the entrance.
The room was filled with people, but she saw only one. His cloak was thrown back, revealing a thick, ribbed sweater of forest green. It laced at the throat with a leather thong that matched the deep rust color of his trousers and the soft leather boots. The bright, wild blaze of his hair, the limpid blue of his eyes, fastened on hers, made her feel momentarily as if she had stumbled on some clearing deep in the forest, a magical forest, whose spirit was calling to her now. She had no will to resist the summons, no need to take conscious steps, drawn easily forward by its mystical allure.
"Catherine," he said softly when she was next to him, letting his eyes say the rest. Her own voice was nowhere to be found. She could only look at him, and surreptitiously in the crowded room he reached for her hand. Absurdly, his touch brought tears to her eyes, and he squeezed her fingers, looking as if any moment he might swoop her up and put an end to her suffering. The crowd shifted around them, turning toward the library steps.
"Okay, everybody, listen up," Gillian called from midway up the staircase. "The first thing everyone has to do is draw a piece of paper from the bowl that Samantha's passing around. Each one has a symbol on it, and you have to find the person whose symbol matches yours. That's your partner for the treasure hunt. Then you take a clue from the basket that Zach's got there -- they're all different. The clues with a red ribbon are for everybody, the ones with a green one are only for Mouse. If you come to a place that's marked in yellow that means it's off limits. You can't go that way."
There was more to Gillian's instructions, but Catherine wasn't hearing it, caught up in a maelstrom of emotions, indulging the insatiable longing to look into his face.
"Good lord in heaven," Father complained behind her. "This was supposed to be a party game, not tactical warfare. The children will never make sense of all the rules."
Vincent had dropped her hand and, she felt, her heart, but she replied in a normal voice. "I'm sure it's really not as complicated as it sounds, Father. Jamie said she and Gillian have worked all day, hiding clues and treasures. They've got it all figured out. Everyone's going to have a good time."
"Your turn, Catherine -- pick a symbol." Samantha's eyes were shining as she held out the bowl.
"Thanks," Samantha.' She unfolded the tiny slip of paper. "It's a heart." That seemed like an auspicious sign, and as she watched the beloved fingers reaching into the bowl -- so strangely dexterous despite their brutish appearance -- she wondered how far Fate would go to help their cause.
"A star," he said quietly, and disappointment engulfed her. She was about to suggest finding someone and negotiating a surreptitious trade, when Gillian came running up, flushed with excitement.
"What did you guys get? A star? That's what I got too, Vincent. We're partners. How about you, Catherine?"
Catherine looked at her, speechless. She felt an overwhelming urge to insist on seeing the evidence. Stop this, she told herself. Things are complicated enough without letting jealousy into the mix --and suspicion. Next she'd be looking for dark roots in Gillian's hair. There weren't any, she decided as the girl bent over the paper still held in Catherine's outstretched hand.
"A heart. Mouse has that one. You get to go with the birthday boy. "
She managed a smile that couldn't hold when Gillian reached out to take Vincent's hand, the hand that had so recently held her own, bringing a brief order to her chaotic universe.
"Gillian," he pointed out reasonably. "You wrote the clues yourself. You know where all the treasures are hidden."
"Well, you don't think I'm going to tell you, do you? You're going to have to figure them out for yourself. He's never really trusted me, you know," she lamented to Catherine, "ever since I made off with his glorious flag."
"That's not true," he protested softly.
No, she thought, but you trusted Lisa, too. She was painfully aware that Gillian was still hanging onto his hand. and it was all she could do to suppress a totally ignoble impulse to wrest it from her grasp.
"Catherine." Mouse was twisting his shirt, barely able to contain his excitement. "You and Mouse -- looking and finding."
"Okay," she smiled at him. This was, after all, his night, and she tried to ignore the wrenching sensation as Vincent moved away from her, not daring to look his direction. People were hurrying for the entrance, anxious to be the first to find a treasure.
"Are you two partners?" Zach asked, offering his basket of clues.
"It looks that way," she answered with forced cheerfulness. "You go ahead and pick one, Mouse."
The boy bit his lip in concentration, eyes dancing, and drew a paper from the bowl. Opening it, he frowned at the three words.
"Man of Hamelin," Catherine read over his shoulder. "Do you know what Hamelin is, Mouse?"
"Yeah," he said with a shrewd look. "In a story -- Vincent read it. Rats -- lots of rats. Know where some are."
"But it refers to a man," she pointed out quickly, having no desire to ferret out the nesting places of rats.
"Pied Piper!" Mouse said to her relief. "Piper -- like Pascal. Maybe the pipe chamber."
"Sounds good to me," she grinned, and they were off. They were the only treasure hunters in evidence when they reached the vast chamber, though Pascal was at his post.
"Pascal," she called up to him. "Aren't you going to get a chance to join the search?"
"Somebody has to stay here," he reminded with the air of one sworn to a duty, but she was sure he didn't mind in the least.
"Got it!" Mouse cried, snatching a piece of paper from the bottom step. "No clue for Mouse. A red one."
They read it together: It's an ill wind that blows nobody good. "The Chamber of the Winds," she said doubtfully. "That's pretty far off the beaten path," but Mouse was already headed for the door, and she followed after him.
At the junction that would lead them downward to that wild, mysterious place, they found the walls striped with warning yellow.
"Can't go there." The boy scratched his head in concentration. Windy places -- all down below."
"Maybe the wind isn't the important part of the clue," she ventured. "What about ill'?"
"Hospital chamber!"' he crowed.
This time their efforts were rewarded. In the middle of the first bed were two clues -- a red and a green.
"Green one first, Catherine -- please!" He was fairly hopping up and down, knowing this clue was for him alone.
"Absolutely," she laughed. 'What does it say?"
"Hickory, dickory, dock," he replied, and she could see his lips moving as he repeated the nursery rhyme to himself. "Mouse's clock!"
This time she could barely keep up with him as he headed toward his own chamber. Many people crossed their path, traveling in pairs, everyone regarding each other with good-natured suspicion as they went about their secret quests. But she didn't see Vincent -- or Gillian, and she told herself that was for the best. She didn't seem to handle too well the image of them walking hand in hand through these tunnels.
In the jumble of Mouse's room, the boy began a frantic search around the innumerable clocks scattered here, no two displaying the same time. At last he let out a whoop and pulled a small green package from behind a battered cuckoo clock that lay on its side amid the clutter of the table, its cuckoo drooping forlornly from the little door.
"From Gillian," he announced tearing into the paper. "Look, Catherine." He held up a pocket calculator. "Gotta try it. Make sure buttons work."
Catherine took this to mean there would be a slight intermission in their search, and she sank down onto the bed as Mouse began to attack his new toy with a fervor. She wondered if Gillian had thought to include a battery. Of course she would. Gillian had a talent for details, for planning. She had planned the complexities of this treasure hunt, this evening of fun that had somehow resulted in she and Vincent being kept apart. She hated herself for the suspicions that once again clamored maliciously for her attention.
If only she'd seen the symbol that Gillian claimed to have drawn from the nest of paper -- that's where the doubt had started. You've got no business assuming it wasn't just coincidence that paired her with Vincent, she told herself -- not when you were foolishly hoping that Fate could be bothered to step in. Still, the fact remained that Gillian was off -- God knew where -- with Vincent, while she had been paired with the one person who had his own set of clues to follow. That meant she and Mouse would be kept busier than any of the other revelers. Stop it, Chandler. This is not a criminal investigation.
The command to herself was silent. The question was not. "Mouse, when you picked your piece of paper -- what symbol did you get?"
"Didn't," he said, still absorbed in pushing the buttons. "Gillian told me." She felt the heat of anger rising up in her, flushing her skin. "Uh-oh, Gillian!" Mouse inexplicably put down the calculator, drawing a pocket watch from his vest. He looked at it and stood, suddenly animated. "Your clue, Catherine. What?"
She had forgotten it in her brooding, in the anger that followed, and now Mouse was behaving oddly -- even for him. "I don't know," she said, distracted. "Here it is." She drew it from her pocket, needing to focus on something besides her rising temper and the questions that seethed in it.
"It's a verse -- Blake, I think: Turn away no more; why wilt thou turn away? The starry floor, the wat'ry shore, Is giv'n thee till the break of day. Well, that's got to be the Mirror Pool."
"No. Not the Mirror Pool. Something else. Mouse knows."
"Come on, Catherine. Gotta hurry."
She followed him, more confused than ever. The clue seemed obvious, but Mouse was determined to pursue some idea of his own, and this night had been designed for his amusement. There was still no sign of Vincent or Gillian, though they encountered lots of smiling couples, whispering conspiratorially, some already carrying red wrapped packages that meant their searches had been successful.
"Catherine!" Samantha was running toward them holding out a jumble of red tissue paper. 'Look what we found.' In the paper was nestled a colorful hand loomed ribbon fashioned into a bow. "William says I can have it."
"That's nice of you, William," Catherine grinned at the girl's improbable partner.
"It's not exactly my style." he rumbled jovially. "Maybe the next one will be more appropriate. Let's get a move on, Sam. I'm not going to be the only one that comes up empty-handed."
"This way, Catherine." Mouse's agitation had increased as he directed her into a sharply sloping passageway that she wasn't sure she'd seen before.
"What's down here, Mouse?"
"New chambers -- really neat, Catherine. Kanin let Mouse improvise."
"Improvise?" she laughed. Even Mouse's vocabulary was full of surprises. She was dead certain he was wrong about the clue, but at least It would be a chance to see the new chambers and hopefully keep her mind off the troubling question of Gillian.
It was very quiet in the lower passageway. The unused chambers sat waiting for the occupants that would breathe life into them, but light flickered from the doorways to ease the way of any treasure hunters who ventured into this largely unknown territory.
"What is it exactly you're looking for Mouse?"
"This one," he said, eyes darting nervously to the shadows around them. "You look in here. Mouse looks over there." He pointed vaguely down the corridor.
"All right." She moved toward the entrance cut in the stone, smaller than most of the others. "But, Mouse, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to find."
"Know it if you see it," He promised, looking up at her through a confusion of yellow hair. "Be back in a minute."
"Right." She stepped through the little doorway into a dome shaped room. It was not very large, and the only furniture as yet was a small carved table beneath an oval mirror that gave the chamber the look of a foyer. A single candle flickered there, reflected in the mirror. Torches burned from twin sconces on two sides of the room, revealing a doorway on either side of the table. There was nothing remotely clue like in the space that she could see, and she ducked into the little corridor on the right.
It led directly to a small chamber that she thought must be one of Kanin's triumphs. It was stark and unfinished. Tools still lay in a jumble of chipped stone, but scooped in the rock was what could only be described as a tub, even now burbling softly with the sound of water entering and flowing out again in such a way that the water level never changed. She dipped her hand into it, fascinated to find it pleasantly warm. Kanin had created a natural spa from some fortuitously placed spring. Probably, he'd created this whole suite of rooms around it. The creative genius evident in this world never ceased to amaze her.
She supposed this could constitute a 'wat'ry floor,' but there were no stars to be seen, and she was still sure that Mouse was on the wrong track when she spotted a square of white paper near the entrance. It had neither a green nor a red ribbon on it, and there was no hope of making out the words in this unlighted chamber. A noise in the outer room told her Mouse had returned, and she ducked back through the little doorway to come face to face with -- Vincent.
It always surprised her to see him. Somehow, when they were apart, she could hardly believe the images of him in her mind, so that when they met again, the reality of him would hit her with full force. Here she hadn't expected to see him at all, and she stood staring at him a moment, dumb struck.
"Catherine?" He looked as perplexed as she was. "Where is Mouse?"
"I . . . I don't know. He said he'd be right back." There was a flash of something bright behind the cloaked shoulder, and he whirled as a smooth sheet of metal sliced like a guillotine through the doorway, dropping into place with a solid bang. He was on it in a second, his palms pressed against the fiat surface, straining to push it upwards. It didn't budge.
"Vincent, what's going on here? What is that?" She thought she'd been confused already, but the number of things making no sense to her were mounting up at a rapid pace.
"It's a door, Catherine. One of Mouse's experiments." He turned briefly towards her, then spun around striking the metal with such force that she couldn't see how he'd failed to break something. Vincent, don't! It's steel, isn't it?"
He threw it a thunderous look. "It's steel. Patterned after the one at the Central Park threshold."
"Why?" It was not the most important question careening through her mind, but it seemed the only one she could get out.
"Who knows why. The chamber next door has a turnstile." She was relieved to see a small smile softening his frustration, and she returned it.
"Well, I wouldn't worry about it. He should be back any minute. It must have just slipped."
"If it had slipped, Catherine, I should be able to lift it. It feels as though it's bolted into place."
"I don't know what's going on, Vincent. Mouse was so sure we'd find a clue in here." She remembered the piece of paper still clutched in her hand and opened it to read the few words.
"What is it, Catherine?" he said at her incredulous expression.
"It's from Mouse. It says, 'sorry -- you and Vincent need to talk.' He did this on purpose, Vincent."
She watched disbelief change to fury and felt his intent even before he'd whirled and thrown his shoulder against the recalcitrant door.
"Vincent -- please, you'll hurt yourself. It's not going to do any good."
He shook his head, starting the pacing that always signaled some turbulent feeling ripping through him. "He has no right," he rumbled almost to himself. The small room seemed to be fast filling up with the vehemence of his emotions. The cloak whipped around him, as his angry strides made short work of the limited space available. "There must be another way out."
"Not through there," she said quietly, feeling suddenly cowed, not by his anger, but by the realization that he had no intention of taking advantage of the situation, no intention of talking to her.
His reflexes seemed almost supernatural when he was provoked, and now he shot through the remaining doorway so quickly that it seemed one moment he was there and the next gone, but he returned again, looking at her with an expression she couldn't fathom.
"What is it, Vincent? What's in there?"
"Nothing." He looked away again. "There's nothing in there --and no way out."
"Well, what about Gillian? She's sure to miss you and figure out where we are. What happened to her?"
"I don't know. One moment she was behind me, the next ... Catherine, I'm sorry. Mouse will have to answer for this."
"I don't like being manipulated any better than you do, Vincent, but l'm sure he meant well, and I don't see why you have to act like . . . like being locked up with me is so horrible that you're desperate to find an escape." The statement had started out firmly, but it deteriorated, betraying the ragged emotions she was trying to control.
With an effort he ceased his pacing, drawing in a deep breath. "It is not horrible, Catherine. You know that."
"Well, then maybe we should do what Mouse suggests. Maybe we should talk. I've been doing a lot of thinking, Vincent. I'm ready to talk about it, if you're ready to hear it." He looked at her then with such a flash of terror in his eyes that a lump rose in her throat. "Do you still think it's too soon?"
He moved back against the far wall. hands behind him, refusing to meet her gaze. "There are some things that can only come too soon, Catherine." His sudden stillness made her feel dizzy, as if the room still churned with the turbulence of his emotions and was only now, catching up, whirling to a stop. She sank down, seeking the solidity of the stone floor, tucking her skirt around her. A cold draft came from some hidden crevice, and she shivered. At last he said with a note of resignation. "Tell me."
She looked at him, uncertain why the end of the questions, the beginning of the answers should strike such fear in his heart. This should have been a joyful moment, but the unease was tangible in their bond, in the slight thrust of his lower lip and his downcast eyes.
"Okay." she said carefully. "I've thought about things that I'd be leaving behind and . . . that's all they are --just things. They aren't important. I've thought about friends, people I care deeply about, and I would miss them, but they're friends. They aren't the . . . the other part of myself, and there are so many people here below whose friendship I cherish. It would mean a lot to me to be closer to them. I've thought about the job and what I could do if I were here . . . living below. That worried me at first, Vincent. I couldn't think what I could contribute that would earn your respect."
"Catherine--"
"No, it's important to me to be useful -- to you, to the world that means so much to you, and then I thought about having children--"
There it was, the slight flicker as he looked up under the wisps of reddish gold, the echo in their bond as somewhere deep within him he came up hard against another of Father's sturdily constructed barriers. Her instincts had been right -- it would take love and patience to dismantle that wall, brick by insidious brick, before he could even see what possibilities lay beyond. This wasn't the time, and she hurried on about having children around me. "I love that, Vincent, and there are so many children here. They can never have too much love or attention or whatever else I could help to give them, and I think they like me."
"The children love you, Catherine."
"Well." The hours and days of soul-searching seemed to have produced a woefully scant presentation, but what else was there to say? "That's what I've been thinking, Vincent. Those are the choices I would make."
He stood for a moment studying the little candle flame as it danced in the oval mirror. The silence stretched out in the enclosed space, and she held her breath. Not since law school, not since her moot court appearance had she felt like her life depended on her own words and the response that might follow.
"So many sacrifices." The words hung in the air, soft and filled with wonder, his incomparable voice giving them the quality of a poem.
"They aren't sacrifices, Vincent. Believe me -- they aren't. They're choices freely and willingly made. Everything we do requires a choice. Every decision we make means giving up one thing for the sake of another. That's only hard when you're really not sure what's most important. When you are sure . . . deep down . . . absolutely sure of what you want, there isn't any sacrifice involved."
"Catherine . . there is something else -- something . . or someone.., that it hurts you to betray."
"How can you say that? There isn't anything else as important to me as you are. Are you sure it isn't your own doubt you're feeling?"
"I'm sure."
Her fear that what she'd told him was not producing the desired effect gave her next statement an accusatory ring. Vincent, I thought we'd gotten past this business of you imagining all kinds of things I should want up there."
"I've done that far less than you think.' The words in his own defense were quiet, almost whispered.
'You've always done it -- from the very beginning. When I was confused . . . the time I went to Westport . . . it was you, Vincent, telling me I had another life to lead, talking about what I was meant to become, the family I should have."
"And do you imagine those were my thoughts, Catherine, my wishes?' He abandoned his carefully held post on the other side of the chamber to move toward her, fastening her with the blue intensity that left no room for evasion, but his voice was gentler when he said, "Those thoughts, Catherine, were your own desires, your long held visions of the life you would lead. The pain you were suffering, your reluctance to risk what we shared, would not allow you to see them clearly, but they were there -- deep inside you -- I could feel them."
His eyes held hers for a long moment, and she couldn't doubt that what he said was true. "I did see them clearly," she said at last, "after a while, after I was away from you, and I realized that they didn't matter anymore -- not in the way that you did."
She could feel the memory of that night and what it meant to them both flooding his senses, threatening the cool rationality he was trying to maintain, and he released her from his gaze, moving back to the safety of the far wall. "What I felt then, Catherine -- what I'm feeling now -- is in you -- not me. Know that."
"Then tell me what it is, Vincent. Help me."
"I would, Catherine, if I knew any more than that, but I don't. Perhaps . . . I don't want to know."
She sat back, closing her eyes, leaning her head against the cool wall, the tension and exhaustion that had alternated through her body and her mind these last weeks leaving her drained. Even when a continent had divided them, she had felt his presence within her. Neither steel nor stone nor the dictates of their separate worlds could keep them apart, yet here, held captive in this small space, there still seemed no way to come together.
"Vincent." Futility had made her voice fragile, hesitant. "I have searched . . . my mind . . . and my heart. There is nothing -- no one. All that matters to me is that we truly be together."
He didn't respond. Even the sound of the pipes was muffled here, and the words echoed down the corridors of her mind, coming back to her from another time, in another voice. They were joined by others, whispers from the far chambers of her memory. You must go... You must see. . . You must do... Then I can truly be with you always . . . You stand for me . . . for us . . . You carry our light... You are a woman of both worlds... That too is your destiny...
She opened her eyes. He was watching her intently, drawn by the sudden flutter of her heartbeat, the dawn of understanding that was causing her breath to quicken. For a minute she sat immobilized, as the shadowy corners of her consciousness caught the elusive light, brightening until the strength returned to her voice.
"There is someone, Vincent... someone I've been afraid to hurt · . . to betray by leaving my life above. Someone who depends on me to be a part of that life. Someone whose own world would be smaller and · . . and darker if I didn't do all the things I do there, see all the things I see.' She saw the question in his eyes slowly eroded by fear, as she spoke, the fear she had felt in him from the moment he told her she was still bound to her world. "Vincent," she said softly, earnestly, "that someone is you."
His look was uncomprehending. The familiar demons of doubt and denial that had been his lifelong companions were quick to take hold, catching him in the unguarded moment of confusion, and she could see that he hadn't followed her thoughts.
"Vincent, remember when you told me that there were things you could only dream about until I came into your life? You said --more than once -- that I had opened the world above to you, that I needed to do what I could there -- for both of us. That's what I've been unable to face. That's what feels like a betrayal -- that somehow I would be shutting that door, cutting you off from the only connection you've ever been able to have with that world. The things I've done there -- the people I've been able to help -- it isn't just that you've approved. You've shared it. You've been able to touch people and help them and know the gratification of that, and I don't know how to take it away from you."
Her heart was beating in her throat as he blinked at her. The surge of sensations eddying through their bond moved much too quickly to identify, and it seemed like hours before he spoke. "Catherine," he said, slowly, carefully. "Do you remember when you told me that you were grateful for the protection I had given you. but it was not what you valued most in me?"
"Yes." The breathless word was so quiet that it was almost lost in the sibilant hiss of the candle flame.
"What you have allowed me to know -- through you -- has been a miracle and a gift, and I am grateful, but . . . it is not who you are to me." He was so still. His attention seemed absorbed in the tiny flame, struggling to free itself from the wax pooling around its wick.
"I just don't want to hurt you by shutting that door, condemning you to the darkness."
"How could there be any darkness, Catherine, when you are the light? Your joy is my joy. The fulfillment you find in your life -- that is mine as well."
"Vincent, I know where my happiness lies. I know what I need to be fulfilled. Let me . . . let me bring that light to you."
He hadn't met her imploring gaze, but she sensed now it was not fear or despair that held him back, but a defensive reflex, honed by years of disillusionment. How many times had he glimpsed with hope some beckoning doorway, only to have it slammed against him, to be reminded that he alone hadn't the right to cross the threshold?
"Everything . . . everything is drawing me here -- to you. If you can give up your connection to that world, I can. I know it can't happen over night. There are things that have to be settled before I can close that part of my life, and there are things that you and I need to . . . need to work out, but if you could just accept it as the right thing to do . . . if we could just start looking in that direction . . . Surely, you can feel it, Vincent -- that I have no doubts. This time I'm not running away from anything. I'm running to you."
She had finally captured his eyes, dark with the struggle against disbelief, bright with the hope that dared to challenge the patterns of a lifetime. Slowly he came closer, meeting her unwavering look, searching perhaps for any sign that the way which seemed suddenly opened before them was merely another illusion. It isn't, she told him inwardly. It's real. She felt that at last the truth had penetrated the dark wilderness they had wandered into, revealing that the path they had searched for had been there all along. They only had to look to the light to see it.
He stopped in front of her. and for a moment she was reminded of another night -- long past -- when he bad told her it was time to go. He held out his hand. and she took it. floating effortlessly to her feet. "Could such a thing be . . . possible, Catherine?"
"Anything is possible." she whispered with a tremulous smile. "Remember?" His hands had moved to her arms now. and she let her fingers rest quietly on his chest. His gaze moved slowly over her, wonderingly -- her face, her hair -- almost as if he were seeing her for the first time. She glowed under that look. loving the way he claimed her with his eyes. "It can all work out, Vincent -- everything. everything we've ever dared to dream of. if we go with courage and with care. Just tell me what you think we should do next."
His eyes lingered on her lips now. and she watched the shadow of a smile play across the sensual mouth. "I know what I'd like to do. Catherine, but, like you. I do not appreciate being manipulated."
"By me?"
"No." He traced the line of her jaw with great tenderness. "You cannot help the effect you have on me. Catherine. It's Mouse who should confine his experiments to objects -- not people."
"Oh. I don't know. I'd say this one has been pretty successful." she smiled, allowing her hand the incomparable pleasure of caressing his cheek. "Sometimes I have such a sense of destiny when I look at you. It reminds me of mythology where one of the gods or goddesses would sit up on Mount Olympus. making some poor mortals fall hopelessly in love."
"With Mouse as our patron deity?" His eyes twinkled down at her. "Catherine. we could be in serious trouble."
"I guess you're right," she grinned. "It's kind of scary thinking our fate could be guided by . . . by the god of gismos, but Mouse is so innocent. Vincent. I'm sure he just couldn't stand the tension he sensed between us. and he wanted us to have to face each other and talk it out -- the way you've encouraged him to do when he's troubled."
"Perhaps." Standing so close, it was impossible to miss the slight twinge she could sense in his feelings, the disconcerted look that flared briefly in the crystal blue.
"What is it. Vincent?"
"Nothing." he said quickly -- too quickly it seemed, and she was reminded of the odd expression on his face when he'd come storming out of the far chamber.
"Vincent . . . what's in there?"
"There's nothing . . . in there." His eyes slid involuntarily from hers, as he attempted an unfamiliar foray from the truth, and she loved him all the more for not succeeding at it, but her curiosity wouldn't let it rest. "Vincent," she exclaimed with good-natured astonishment, "you're lying to me."
He accepted the accusation without protest, as she slipped from his arms and headed for the door at the other side of the chamber. Like the one that had led to the spring fed bath, this one revealed a short passageway that opened into a dimly lighted chamber. The first thing she noticed was the warmth. Its source was a little brazier, standing just inside the entrance, whose coals glowed a deep red, as if it had been some time since they were first lighted. She could understand the logic that had provided torches even in this obscure place to guide the steps of the treasure hunters, but why heat a single room? Surprisingly, too, it was furnished. A thick Persian rug, faded only at the edges, covered most of the floor. An armoire of scrubbed pine dominated one wall, and a beautifully carved chest another. Candles burned on its waxed surface, and for a moment she thought it was their scent that filled the chamber, but then she saw the flowers -- a vase filled with tall, vivid roses almost dwarfing the little table it sat on.
Strange enough that this one room was so lovingly furnished, when the others were virtually bare. But flowers? They were not confined to the plain enameled vase, but lay cunningly strewn along the pale quilt. Its satin trim caught the fluttering candlelight. The bed was nestled against one wall, crowned with a hodgepodge of pillows and bolsters that all looked unfaded, new. But her attention was caught by what lay across it -- a filmy gown. pale blue but for the ecru lace that formed the bodice, smoothly draped over the creamy quilt, as if waiting to be worn.
The color she could feel rising to her cheeks still burned when she burst back into the entry chamber to meet Vincent's unreadable expression. "What . . . what is that?" she managed, gesturing toward the mysterious room.
"I wish I knew. Now you understand why I say Mouse has gone too far."
"Well, you're right. I could cheerfully strangle him. Why... why did he have to make it so . . . so tempting?"
"I believe temptation was the entire point," he said drily, "but Mouse... ?"
"I know," she agreed, moving restlessly around the little room, striving to master the turmoil that the lure of the baffling chamber had provoked. "It hardly seems like his style. I mean, I can't even imagine him thinking of such a thing, much less setting it up. The flowers are hard enough to believe, but the . . . the other. Where would he get something like that?"
"Catherine."
"He's so timid. How could he even--"
"Catherine."
"What?"
"You're pacing,"
"I'm . . . ? Oh, right . . . I just . . . It just doesn't make any sense."
He was watching her calmly, appreciation for the humor in the situation tilting the corners of his eyes. "Catherine, we've had great practice in resisting temptation. There's no reason to let it upset you now."
"Okay, I know," she acquiesced, coming to slip her arms around his waist, laying her head on his shoulder. "It's just so frustrating. Always we've had people and things trying to keep us apart, and now suddenly we're forced to rebel against someone pushing us together. I know you, Vincent. I know after all our cautiousness, our care that everything should be right between us. you're not about to be taken in by something so... so obvious."
"We carry our temptation with us, Catherine," he reminded, pulling her close. "What Mouse does or doesn't do makes little difference.' He was right about that, she thought, succumbing to his embrace. It calmed her outward agitation, even as it stirred a veritable circus of responses within. 'I agree it makes no sense. This trap cannot have been laid by Mouse alone, but someone will come. We will be missed when the hunters gather with their treasures."
"Unless poor Father thinks we've stumbled into the abyss. He was a little concerned about all the complicated directions."
"At least two people know where we are, Catherine. At any moment the door may open."
She considered the fact with mixed feelings. "Then maybe we should make the most of the situation . . . and talk. Vincent, you can't know how much I've missed doing that."
"I can," he contradicted her softly, lowering his face to nestle in her hair. "I do."
It was so good -- so incredibly good --just to be in his arms, the slight exotic scent of him winding through her senses, that she hoped their rescue was hours away.
"You're cold," he whispered suddenly. Until that moment she hadn't realized it was true. Despite the warmth of his nearness a harsh draft assailed her bare legs. The torches spluttered with its passing. "Come . . . sit down."
"I have a better idea," she said quickly. "Walt here --Just a minute." She withdrew from the safe harbor of his arms, hurrying into the left hand passage, unwilling to spend one second more than necessary away from him.
In the intimidating bed chamber, she snatched up the lovely nightgown as if it might burn her fingers, intending to stuff it quickly out of sight, but it was so exquisite, so delicate to the touch that she found herself folding it with care, placing it lovingly in an empty drawer. Then she set to work and a moment later called to him.
He appeared in the rough-hewn doorway, filling it, ducking his head to enter. Even in the dim light, she could see the trepidation in his eyes as they went inexorably to the bed.
"I'm here," she called softly, inviting him to join her next to the welcoming warmth of the brazier where she had piled pillows borrowed from the bed. The thick carpet was far more hospitable than the cold stone in the room beyond, and she patted the place next to her.
He expelled a carefully held breath as he turned, coming to lower himself beside her, spreading his cloak around them both. The dancing candlelight revealed a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"Catherine, I see that you reserve the right to choose your own destiny as well -- whatever an improbable god might decree."
She smiled, snuggling up against him, "I think we have that in common -- a certain . . . stubbornness. Do you realize," she said, introducing the subject in a tone of playfulness, treating the possibility as whimsy for now, "that if, in fact. we ever had a child of our own -- I mean besides the ones already here, he -- or she -- would inherit that from both of us? We could really have our hands full."
With relief she noted he had accepted the thought as hypothetical, A smile in his voice, he nuzzled her hair. "We have learned to deal with stubbornness from each other, Catherine. I would be far more concerned that a child with your sweetness, your smile, would be impossible not to spoil."
"I'm feeling pretty spoiled at the moment -- like I have everything I could possibly want." She tightened her arms around him, soaking up the unparalleled pleasure of his body close to hers.
"There is more that you want, Catherine. I'm well aware of that." The words were quietly spoken but the natural seductiveness of his voice, the warmth of his cheek where her forehead rested against it, gave them a power that set her heart hammering. "I only wish I was more certain.., how to give it to you."
"Oh, Vincent," she sighed, gathering a cherished handful of his hair, pressing a kiss into its softness, "you already know -- more than I do myself. There's no secret to it. We only have to trust and . . . to give to each other, the way we always have in our hearts."
He picked up her hand. The kiss he brushed across the palm made her weak. "Catherine, I was taught how to give -- of my heart. my mind. but always what I am -- my physical reality -- was something to be kept apart.., hidden. Can you understand that?"
"Yes." He had released her hand, but it returned of its own volition to touch the lips that had honored it, fingers lightly skimming the lower curve. "I do understand, and I know you can't just instantly change those feelings, but I can. Vincent, in time. I know I can, if you'll just trust me. Remember when I said we were moving in circles?"
"Yes." His eyes were on hers, but he had briefly captured one of her exploring fingers with his mouth, almost absently sending a sensual message that spread through every nerve ending in her body.
"Well," she breathed, struggling to keep her train of thought, "while we're working on the logistical problems of my coming below. We should consider the other side of the issue, too. We need to confront the doubts you still have, so we can be . . . closer." That he could have any insecurities about lovemaking seemed at the moment absurd, as she shuddered under his fleeting touch.
"You have a very orderly mind, Catherine," he murmured, turning his attention to her other fingers. "That one matter cannot be settled without the other is true."
Her mind didn't feel very orderly. It hadn't for some time, but the almost imperceptible touch of his tongue on her fingertips threw it into a far more pleasant confusion than the days of anguished soul searching had done. Her hand seemed to hold a particular fascination for him -- perhaps as a relatively innocent target for his passion, though the responses he awoke had little respect for innocence. She found herself sharing his fixation. Never had her own hand been such a source of erotic pleasure..
He found his way to her wrist, his hair flowing over her arm as he bent to place a gentle kiss on the delicate skin there, and the pulse that beat beneath his lips plummeted through her veins like a meteorite, lighting little fires along the way. Still no one came to free them from their prison.
"Do you know what?" she breathed, as he turned his eyes toward hers. "I'm glad you can feel what I'm feeling. Otherwise I'd never be able to explain it to you. You'd never believe the way you make me feel."
"It is difficult to believe, even so," he admitted softly. "Difficult and astonishing and beautiful."
"How can you doubt that your touch could ever give me anything but joy? Maybe we'll just go through life continually surprised at each other."
He pulled her close, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, wondering how they'd managed to deny themselves this embrace for so long. It seemed as essential as the air she breathed. His sigh shuddered past her ear. "Catherine, I've wanted to hold you. There were times I thought I would go mad if I did not."
"And times you thought you would go mad if you did?" she asked, pulling back to give him a sympathetic smile.
"That too. Please understand . . . what I said to you that night on the stairs . . . You are a strong woman, Catherine -- independent, and I respect that. I do. But there is a part of me that would share you with no one. that wants . . . to possess you completely.., to make you my own. I have struggled against those feelings, but they do exist. You should know that."
"I do," she said softly, touched by the relentless honesty he would never deny, even when he thought it damned him. "But maybe there can be nothing less for us. What we share isn't just a part of who we are -- it's everything. Everything we've been through -- I don't think it's been about deciding to belong to each other. I think it's been about understanding that we already do. I've tried to deny those feelings too, but I can't. I've even resented the time Gillian spends with you."
"Gillian?"
She nodded. "I want you to be happy, but I want to be the one to give you that happiness, Vincent -- all of it. It's horribly selfish of me, and I know that, but I can't pretend it isn't true."
"Catherine, the happiness you give me is unlike any I've ever known. There is no one else who could do it." He bowed his head, presumably studying the hand he still held in his own. "What you want · . . what you need, I would give to you with my last breath. Please know that I would deny you nothing . that I have no wish to condemn you to the torment we have both known." She leaned forward, kissing the bright circle of his hair, aware that what he was trying to say was not easy for him, even as his words poured through her, filling her with forbidden promise. "If it was only my own agony I sought to end. I . . ." He let the thought trail away.
"You're still not sure you can open up," she whispered, "and let go of the feelings you've always had about yourself. You're afraid that I'll find you . . . displeasing." The dream came back to her, the one in which he'd somehow held himself from her, refusing to accept her love. He didn't answer, but his silence was an affirmation, and she lifted his hand to her lips, caressing the long fur. "Do you remember the first time I ever touched this hand?"
"I remember."
"I was shocked. I was frightened. It was just a hand to me then, Vincent, and it was outside of my experience, but then it became your hand, and that made it precious to me. Please, just think about that."
He released a sigh, pulling her gently into his arms again, and for a moment they sat quietly, the only sounds in the little chamber the soft sputtering of the warming fire and their own heartbeats. The voices she had been half expecting to hear all along, the opening of the bizarre steel door didn't come. She wondered if Mouse intended to leave them here till morning.
After a while, she let her hand travel up his chest to touch the warm, bare skin of his throat, smoothing her fingertips down its length to the rim of his collarless sweater. Idly she traced along its border, feeling him stiffen as her fingers edged ever so slightly beneath the fabric. The warmth of the soft, hidden hair grazing her fingers sent a shiver through her, one he was quick to misinterpret in his anxiety.
"Catherine," he protested, stopping her hand.
"Please," she whispered with a look of reassurance. "trust me, Vincent -- just a little." For a moment she wondered if he would, as he met her determined look, his own eyes haunted. "Please," she repeated, and he released her, melting under the love in her eyes, the plea in her voice. With trembling fingers she began to slowly untie the laces at his throat, heart thumping to find that the heaviness of the garment had made the usual layers of clothing unnecessary, and perhaps that was fate as well.
As the worn rawhide loosened, she coaxed the woolen fabric apart, her hand covering what was revealed, as if to protect him from the exposure he feared. He gasped at the touch of her fingers, and she fought to retain the focus on a higher purpose, aware of an unraveling deep within her that the feel of him made inevitable.
The combination of softness and incredible strength beneath her hand seemed tangible proof of what he'd always been to her -- gentle and powerful beyond anything she'd ever known. The temptation to give herself up to the physical manifestation of those qualities was enormous, but there was more than just lovemaking at stake here. That, she could give him willingly without further thought, but what he needed more was a freeing from the destructive doubts imposed upon him, and it was that release she was determined to begin now.
Tenderly, she stroked the small area of his chest exposed between the loosened laces, suppressing her own churning responses to the sensation, at last leaning forward to press her lips into the half hidden warmth. She felt his choked reaction, her own mind dizzy with the effort to ignore her desire. "You are beautiful, Vincent," she whispered, letting her breath caress this part of him that had never known tenderness. "And I love you. I always will."
He was trembling under her touch but unprotesting, and she laid her head on his chest, her arms encircling his waist. Moments passed, marked only by the graceful sway of the candlelight, the tranquil burbling of the spring in the chamber beyond. It was peaceful here; they were peaceful together, though the breath that whispered sweetly past her face seemed to catch at times, as if still trying to reclaim its normal tempo. Her courage grew with the period of silence and. at last, struggling to keep them steady, she allowed her hands to slide slowly under the bulky wool, stifling the sound that rose reflexively in her throat as she contacted his bare skin, the muscles taut beneath her fingers.
Eyes closed, it seemed she could see everything she touched. Her movements were slow and light, her concentration intense with the determination to confine her thoughts to a dispassionate appreciation of the magnificence and power whispering through her fingertips. His heart was beating wildly under her ear. She could feel his effort to maintain a steady breathing in the tensed muscles beneath her fingers, so warm, so close. It was an effort reflected in their silent link, a sense that not only his breath, but his whole being hovered precariously on the fulcrum of this moment.
With a sense of awe she let her hands move tenderly, reverently, over his back and gradually across the expanse of his shoulders. In her heart she was possessing him, claiming all she touched as her own with a longing that brought tears to her eyes, but the undreamed of sensations communicated through her shivering fingers entranced her, infused her with a gentle wonder that kept even desire immobilized. The urge to cling desperately to the warm reality of him, so long withheld, yielded to the euphoria of so intimate an embrace and of the miraculous fact that he was allowing it.
As she slowly allowed one hand to come around, sliding over the mesmerizing reality of his chest, it seemed that every swell and hollow, each perfectly delineated ridge and plane, the patterns of the silky hair that should have been mysterious were just as they should be, just as she had always known them in some secret part of herself. Her fingers were only touching what they'd always longed to caress, what she'd always loved even before knowing it. Reluctantly, she willed her hands to whisper softly down to his waist, smoothing the sweater back into place before she spoke.
"You are perfect, Vincent," she said huskily, opening her eyes to meet his. He appeared stunned, as if he hadn't quite registered what was happening here, looking to her for some basis in reality. She smiled, giving him time to catch up, grateful that his passion hadn't risen up to meet her own, which would surely have made short work of her intentions.
She snuggled back into the arms that accepted her tenderly, even though he remained speechless. "And while we're on the subject of selfish thoughts, I have to admit that the idea of anyone else ever touching you like that makes me absolutely crazy."
He was struggling to regain his voice, grateful perhaps for the refuge her flippant remark offered. "Catherine, you needn't worry. The competition in that regard has never been great."
"Perhaps it's greater than you think." He looked at her, puzzled.
"Gillian, Vincent. She cares for you -- very much, I suspect."
"As h friend, a sister perhaps."
"I don't think so."
He felt her certainty and didn't question it. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"It's not your fault, Vincent, You're easier to fall in love with than you know."
He grew quiet again, and she wondered if he was chastising himself for being too wrapped up in his own concerns to notice those of a friend, but when he spoke, it was of her alone.
"Catherine, what you did just now . . . what you said . . . " The words wouldn't come, though she could feel the exquisite intensity of his response, as he allowed himself to remember.
"I know how hard it is for you to let down those barriers. I know how much you worry about the results. That was your gift to me, Vincent. That you allowed me to do that . . . that you trusted me. It's all we need to know of love -- the learning to give and accept."
"Your touch . . . " He shook his head and remained silent for a moment. "There are no words to express . . . so many feelings, But, Catherine, I sensed in you an . . . acceptance."
Coming from anyone else the choice would have seemed a mild one; from him it was profound. "Then next time," she whispered, hugging him tight, "next time I'm going to make you feel beautiful."
He eased her away from him, so he could look into her eyes. His own were filled with the wonders, the possibilities of that next time. A sound from the outer room broke the spell of the moment. In an instant he was on his feet, plunging through the little doorway, and she rose on unsteady legs to follow after him.
He was standing in the outer doorway, open now, and he turned to pull her close to him as she approached. "Forgive me, Catherine. I hoped to capture our jailer and have a word with him, but no one was there."
"Well, he can't stay out of your way forever, Vincent. though I have a feeling he might try. The party must be over now. What do you suppose everyone thought happened to us?"
"I suspect Mouse added to his list of crimes tonight by giving them some false explanation."
"Well, I hope he did a good job of it. Otherwise Father's probably organized a search party."
"I'll deal with Father, Catherine, and with Mouse."
"I hope you won't think me coward, if I let you. I don't relish the idea of lying to Father, and the truth . . . well, I'd like to hug it close for a while, just have it belong to you and me. As for Mouse, I'm afraid I might end up thanking him, and I know that's not what you have in mind."
"Then I'll take you back first," he said soothingly, holding out his hand. She took it, feeling that there would be a different quality to this parting than any they had known before. Always in the past it was their moments together that seemed borrowed, stolen from the time and place where she actually belonged. Now she felt deep within that it was the world above that had only a temporary claim on her. The path had never seemed so certain.
She knew he felt it too in the silent communication that ran between them, his quiet assurance as he pulled her close to him at the ladder. "What can I say to you, Catherine?"
"You don't have to say anything," she whispered. "I can feel it. We both have a lot to think about, a lot to plan, but I'm not going to push you, Vincent. I want you to feel comfortable with whatever we decide to do next, only . . ."
"Only. , . what?"
"Only I hope what you decide to do next is kiss me, It's funny to think we've been together all night and never done that."
"All night? Catherine, it's been eleven days."
The knowledge that he'd cared enough to count made her blush with pleasure, and it seemed, as she watched his mouth, that he moved toward her in slow motion. Everything in her ached for the feel. the taste of him on her lips. His hesitation in giving it to her was deliberate, not fearful, and she was suddenly sure that he was remembering her touch on his bare skin, experiencing in his mind for the first time the dual sensation of a sensual, intimate caress and a kiss. Perhaps that was why, for all its gentleness that made no demands, there was an eroticism in this kiss all the more devastating for its deceptive tenderness. It easily obliterated even the exultant thoughts this evening had generated, leaving her lost in some blissful place where the mind was useless, and her only purpose was to answer his passion with her own. She only became aware again that there was another reality, as she recognized that he was moving her gently away from him, that her fingers were clutched in his hair and that she was trembling.
"Soon" he whispered, as he let her go, and she took the melodious word with her up into that temporary place, delighted with the many meanings she could attribute to it, even if he only meant that soon she would see him again.