Betrayal (22 page)

Dan’s face darkened as he saw Alan Stokes enter the restaurant. Dan wanted to be alone with Lydia. His mind raced, searching for a legitimate excuse to ward off Alan’s unwanted company. He watched uncomfortably as Stokes stopped, chatting his way through the restaurant; always, it seemed to Dan, at tables where there was a pretty young woman. Stokes’ blond good looks made Dan uneasy. ‘What am I thinking?’ Dan asked himself. ‘He’s a friend, isn’t he?’  Dan grimaced as Lydia waved to Stokes. He was surprised at his reaction to Alan. He had never been jealous of Lydia before. Why was he now?  Lydia had never looked at another man. He knew she loved him, yet Dan could not quiet this sudden feeling of unease. Now, angry with himself over his foolish and irrational thoughts, Dan found himself rising to greet Alan.

“Hi,” he said, extending his hand, which Stokes firmly grasped. “We were just talking about you. Will you join us for dessert?” Dan said with a friendliness he didn’t feel.

Lydia flashed Alan a smile, nodding her agreement with Dan’s invitation. The two of them were soon in an animated discussion of Lydia’s hypnotic experience.

“Now look,” Alan said as he sat down pulling the napkin from the table in one smooth movement. “I’m glad to have found you so soon. I’ve been thinking that there is no time like the present to get started. You know, strike while the iron is hot. as they say. And we were hot today.” A wide grin moved across his face as a blush flamed Lydia’s cheeks.

Dan felt his stomach twist as bile backed up into his throat. He resented that not only had he missed Lydia’s first hypnotic session but that their conversation excluded him.

Dan blanched at the innuendo, his hands tightening into painful fists. “No,” he said a little too abruptly.  “I think there should be more time between sessions. As a matter of fact, I am beginning to wonder if regression is a good idea.” Dan reached for his wineglass, counting silently to ten to regain control of his ragged breathing.

“Oh no, Dan, I disagree,” Alan said leaning forward to press his point. “Lydia is an excellent hypnotic subject. You should have seen her. 1-2-3 and she was under.” Though Stokes was talking to Dan he was looking at Lydia.

“I would have been pleased to have been part of the experience, but I wasn’t invited.”

Lydia was taken aback by the hurt look she saw in Dan’s eyes. “Nothing was planned; we were just talking about hypnosis when Alan offered a demonstration. You’re not angry, are you Dan?” she asked, touching his knee beneath the lace tablecloth.

“Angry? Well, no, I just felt left out, I guess.” Embarrassed, Dan’s eyes raked the restaurant for the waitress.  When he finally caught her eye she came with coffeepot in hand to the table to take their orders for dessert.

“Look, old man,” Alan said, bringing his coffee to his lips. “No harm done. Your poor lady was quite stressed and I helped her to relax. I would have done the same for anybody, even you, old boy.” Slurping the hot coffee his eyes sought out Lydia’s face. Mesmerized by the cerulean blue of her eyes against her alabaster skin he didn’t hear the waitress’ question.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said again.

“Alan, for crying out loud! Answer the girl,” Dan snapped.

“What?” Alan felt his neck snap as he whirled his head toward the waitress.

“Would you like some more coffee?” the young girl asked sweetly, hoping she hadn’t blown her chances for a big tip.

“What? Oh, coffee. No thanks. I should be going. There’s a good girl,” he continued, as he handed the girl a ten-dollar bill.  “That will cover it, won’t it? Good to see you folks, but  it appears I have worn out my welcome. I need to stop by the Market before it closes. I’ll wait for your call, Lydia.”

              Lydia’s cheeks were flushed when she turned to face Dan. “What just happened here?  I swear sometimes you change like chalk and cheese.”

             
“What’s that, another Briticism?”

             
“Yes, it means like day to night.”

             
“I don’t see how that follows,” Dan said, scraping the last of his lemon Italian ice from the cup.

             
“Do you or don’t you want me to begin regression therapy?” Lydia asked.

             
Dan did not answer; he just glared at Alan’s retreating back.

             
“Excuse me, sir, will there be anything else?” the pretty waitress asked.

             
Lydia blanched and Dan shot around in his chair, both had forgotten that the girl was still standing beside the table.

             
“No,” Dan said, his eyes hooded. “I guess that’s all. May we have the bill please?”

             
Watching the waitress cross the dimly lit dining room Lydia leaned on the table. “You know, Dan, if I didn’t know better I would think you are jealous. I have never seen you behave the way you did tonight and all this was your idea in the first place, you know.”

             
“I know,” Dan said glumly. “I don’t know what got into me. Come on, let’s take the long way home,” he said as he helped her slide into her cardigan.

Dan held her close as they walked down Charlotte Street to Princess. Turning right they walked in silence to Germain Street.

“What happened just now? You aren’t jealous of Alan are you? I mean, you know, I would never…” Lydia’s voice trailed off as they approached their townhouse.

Stopping just inside the foyer Dan gathered Lydia in his arms. Lifting her easily he carried her to their bedroom. Nibbling teasingly at her neck he undressed her quickly then tearing the clothes from his body he took her savagely. His urgent need satisfied, he apologized, “I’m sorry Lydia. I didn’t hurt you, did I?  I don’t know what came over me.”

Lydia’s silence tore at his insides. He had never used her body for his own satisfaction before. He watched helplessly as she rolled off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. He sat staring at the parquet floor of the master bedroom. What had he done? He had raped her. No, not rape, but he had used her. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach, bile rose at the back of his mouth, helpless to stop the rising gorge he vomited until his stomach was empty.

Lydia raced to his side holding a cool cloth to his trembling lips.

“Lydia,” his voice failed as she dabbed his mouth.

“It’s okay, darling, it’s all right,” she soothed as she wiped his perspiring brow.

“No, it is not okay,” he said snapping his head up to look into her eyes. “What I did was not okay by any standard, not from the moment Alan came into the restaurant.” Dan’s head fell to stare at the mess on the floor. “How can I hope you will ever forgive me?  I have always prided myself on being a liberated male, not a caveman, no, not me. But when I saw you with him and how you two interacted, my rage was all consuming.”

             
“Dan!” Lydia said shocked. “You know I would never…”

             
“Of course, I do,” Dan interrupted. “I have no excuse for my behavior tonight. I just needed to know you were mine. Can you forgive me?”

             
“Forgive you? For what? For loving me? For resenting the attentions of another man? You didn’t rape me. You didn’t hurt me. Mind you, you didn’t satisfy me either,” she laughed, pleased with the weak smile her teasing had brought to his lips.  “We did exclude you from our conversation and I admit he is a little too attentive,” Lydia continued.

             
“More than a little,” Dan groaned.

             
“I’m a big girl, you know, and I can handle myself.”

             
“I noticed,” Dan said as he moved to touch her, but Lydia’s hand on his naked knee stopped him.

             
“Why don’t you take a shower and come make love to me, or better yet let me make love to you,” Lydia cooed. The obvious response of his body pleased her as she nestled down into the soft luxury of the bed to await his return.  Silently, Lydia was pleased that Dan had been jealous of Alan’s attentions. She loved him to the depth of her being but there had been times recently when his hectic schedule left no time for intimacy and she had wondered, worried, if the fire was gone.

             
Lydia smiled, extending her open arms to Dan as he came out of the bathroom, beckoning him to lie beside her. She took pleasure in exploring his body, kissing here, nibbling there, teasing him to hardness then devouring him. Their lovemaking was leisurely, sensuous, impassioned and thoroughly satisfying.

             
Dan left Lydia sleeping, grabbed his robe, and stumbled to the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of Pepsi and drank it before returning to the bedroom. He whispered a vow that he would do anything to keep Lydia’s love as he drifted off to sleep.

FOURTEEN

MID- MAY 1530

             
Elisabeth jumped from the carriage and ran up the steps to the great front doors of York Place. She was relieved to be home again. She pushed the heavy doors open. Carpenters were at work in the gallery behind the minstrel’s loft, and the loud hammering foretold great changes to Cardinal Wolsey’s former domain.  She paused before the doors of the scriptorium, thinking of Brother Michael’s oft-quoted remark, ‘Nova ex veteris’, ‘the new must be born out of the old.’  With her heart pounding in her chest she thought of Brother Michael. Tears filled her eyes at the thought she might never see him again. She wondered if he had gone to follow the Cardinal to Etham. She entered the large darkened room, pushing open the shutter on the nearest window, pausing to stroke the oiled wainscoting. Elisabeth’s mind sought the familiar faces now scattered to monasteries and convents throughout England, she alone of all those that had lived here had returned.

             
“Where are you, my friends?” she asked the old mantle clock high above the hearth. Then she saw it, tossed carelessly in a corner, Sarah’s satin ball of bright red and green. Great tears welled up in Elisabeth’s eyes as she reached for the toy. Hot tears blinding her, she sank to the floor, clutching the toy to her breast. Seven long months had passed since their forced separation, seven months with no news as to the little girl’s whereabouts. “Oh, Sarah,” Elisabeth wept. “Where are you?” Elisabeth pulled her knees to her chest, clasping the ball to her heart as if the mere touch of it would keep her heart from breaking.

             
Elisabeth was among the first to arrive; other carriages and wagons loaded with furniture and packing boxes were close behind. The Lady Anne was taking possession of York Place, now to be called Whitehall Palace. Elisabeth noted the changes being made to her old home. The nearby houses had been torn down to enlarge the gardens. Land near the river was being drained and many of the old trees in the surrounding field had been felled. Inside there were changes too. On the first floor beneath the old library, paneled rooms were being prepared for Anne.  Lord and Lady Rochford were to have rooms overlooking the park. A tiltyard was being built and there were rumors of a bowling alley to come. Elisabeth sighed as she hurried up the grand staircase to the lady’s chamber. She was followed closely by several boys carrying boxes and crates. Tonight the Lady Anne Boleyn would make her triumphant return from Hever.  Here was her own small Court within sight of Queen Katherine at Westminster.

             
A masque was planned for tonight. The cooks had arrived days earlier to prepare to feed the hundreds of people who would attend. They would feast on capon, jellied larks, pheasant, and gilded honey cakes studded with almonds; drinking vats of spiced mead and watered wine. The Great Hall would be ablaze with the light of hundreds of candles.  Yes, much joy and laughter would welcome the Lady Anne to her new home. Elisabeth smiled at the thought of the pleasures in store for her mistress tonight.

             
Elisabeth began her task of unpacking the boxes and laying the many colored gowns of silk, silver, and gold tissue on the great bed. After making sure everything was in readiness Elisabeth slipped away to her own room. ‘Oh, the luxury of it’; her own room, the first she had had since becoming the Lady Anne’s body servant.  Tonight would be the first night she spent in it. Smiling, she straightened the counterpane on the small bed, enjoying her own private space.

             
On the second night that Elisabeth was alone a gentle knock drew her to the chamber door. She clutched her white lamb’s wool robe close to her as she opened the door, revealing George Boleyn. “My lord, you do me great honor,” Elisabeth whispered as she opened the door wider.

             
His fevered look relaxed as his eyes savored the drape of her robe as it outlined the rise of her breasts and her slender hips. “Elisabeth, sweet Elisabeth,” he murmured as he pressed into the room. “My parched lips dried in the desert of my marriage long to revel once more in the sweetness of your kisses. My arms ache to hold you close once more. To see you each day and not to drink of your favors drives me to distraction. Every woman wears your face, every flower your fragrance. I beg you,” he whispered as he gathered her in his arms. His soft lips traced the veins of her neck as his hands sought the cord at her waist. “All the long months in France I dreamed of our reunion, but then to be kept from your side by this ceaseless haggling and begging in suit of the King’s divorce. For months now I have held this,” he continued, reaching into his pocket to reveal a silver locket. “For you. Now at last I can give it to you.  The locket is my heart, ‘penser toujours n’en parler jamais’”.