Betrayal (27 page)

             
“Got ya! I knew it was too good to be true!”

             
Lydia collapsed laughing into the wingback chair near the hearth. Dan crossed to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. Her shoulder muscles felt tense and tight so he gently began to massage the tautness.

             
“Your muscles are as hard as a rock,” he said, leaning forward to kiss the nape of her neck.

             
Lydia moaned loudly under the heat of his touch.

             
“You’re not upset about anything, are you?” Dan inquired.

“Excited is more like it; I can’t help wondering what she was like.” Lydia stared into the gas-fired flame.  “I thought she would remain a mystery all my life,” Lydia finished, her voice taking on a wistful tone.

Dan felt the muscles on Lydia’s shoulders tense. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed,” he said.

“Disappointed, how could I be disappointed?”

“People don’t always behave the way we think they should; or they display tendencies we would rather not see. This is the diary of a young girl who has wants and needs all her own, not your mother.  Didn’t Ella say it was written when your mother was a young girl?”

Lydia spun around in the chair to face Dan, her face contorted, her eyes hooded. As she was about to speak he silenced her with a wave of his hand.

“Darling,” he soothed. “The girl is different from the woman, just as the man differs from the boy. We change constantly from birth to death, altering everything about us. You will soon have a snapshot of your mother as a young girl, but don’t be surprised if there is little of the woman to be found.”

“I realize that,” Lydia said pouting.  “I’m not a child, you know. I do realize that a person changes as they grow older. It’s just that I never got to talk with her about my teenage years and soon I will be able to learn just how she handled similar experiences. Dan, honey, wouldn’t you like to know more about your Dad?”

              “You mean his teenage angst?  No, I don’t need to know that!”

             
“I can’t believe it! Have you no curiosity?  Don’t you hunger to know the people you love better?”

             
“I should become a snoop? Is that what you are saying?”

             
“No, of course not, that’s not what I mean.” Lydia paused as her mind raced to find the right words.

             
“I know what you mean,” Dan sneered.   “You think I don’t care.” Dan walked to the window pulling aside the drape. He watched as large lazy snowflakes blew around like autumn leaves on the gentle breeze. “Looks like we are going to have a white Christmas,” he said changing the subject. Silently, he bemoaned the sudden coldness in the room. This was not how he wanted to spend Christmas Eve. The silence in the room was broken only occasionally by the snap-crackle of the fire in the hearth.  “I think I’ll go for a walk,” Dan said suddenly as he turned toward the hallway and the coat closet.

             
“May I come?” Lydia asked mechanically.

             
“I won’t be long.  I just need a breath of fresh air.” Dan hesitated, should he tell her the parcel had arrived. “No!” he said before he realized he was speaking out loud.

             
“Well you needn’t be so mean about it.  I just thought it would be romantic strolling around uptown on this snowy Christmas Eve, but if you’d rather be alone I am sure I can find some way to amuse myself.”  Lydia smiled mischievously. “Maybe I’ll shake a gift or two.”

             
Dan felt a smile pull at the corners of his mouth. ‘Fight it,’ he told himself, but his grim resolve crumbled before her perfect Cheshire cat grin.

             
Though the mood had lightened, the evening was still stilted and the couple found themselves going to bed earlier than had been planned. ‘Perhaps we’ll have that bottle of champagne on New Year’s Eve.  What a bust tonight was,” Dan thought as he struggled to fall asleep. He leaned on his elbow to wish Lydia goodnight but she was already asleep. “Bah!  Humbug!” Dan growled as he punched his pillow for the second time.

***

Lydia snuggled closer to Dan, unwilling to admit the light of day she pulled the pillow over her head.  “No,” she moaned loudly as the telephone began to ring.  “What
time is it?” she asked blindly, searching for the bedside lamp.

“Who cares; answer the phone, will you?”

              “Hello,” Lydia said to the inverted handset. “Hello, anybody there?”

             
Dan reached out, took the receiver from Lydia, untwisted the cord, and handed it back to her. “Try it this way.”

             
Lydia yawned, “Hello.”

             
“Happy Christmas!  Lydia, is that you?  Speak up, girl, I can barely hear you.”

             
Dan lay on his back pointing to his wristwatch.

             
“Aunt Ella, it’s only five a.m.  Why are you calling so early? Is everyone okay?”

             
“Oh, fine, fine, girl, and you?  Have you opened the parcel yet? My, my, only five o’clock, you say; past nine here, thought you’d be up, you know. Well, now, this is a muddle.” Then to someone in another room Ella shouted “Called too early, don’t you know. My, my, what shall I do?” She mumbled. “Go back to sleep, Lydia.  We will call again later. Happy Christmas.”

             
Lydia had just opened her mouth to speak when the line disconnected with a loud crackle of static.

             
“What was that all about?” Dan asked as Lydia struggled to replace the handset in its cradle.

             
Mumbling, Lydia nestled back down underneath the duvet burying her head once more under the fluff of her feather pillow.

             
Dan groaned loudly, but then he too fell quickly back to sleep.

             
The ringing of the telephone coincided with the ringing of the alarm clock. At first neither Lydia nor Dan responded to the cacophony of noise.

             
“I give up,” Lydia snapped as she grabbed the telephone while Dan silenced the clock.  “Yes,” she growled.

             
“Hello, sorry to wake you but is Dr. Taylor there?”

             
“Of course he is here, it’s the middle of the night, where else would he be?”

             
“Lydia!” Dan shouted.

“Oh my,” Lydia said her face reddening. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what possessed me to be so rude.” Then turning to Dan she continued, “I suppose I should make some excuse, explain…”

“You needn’t do that,” Dan said, taking the telephone’s receiver from Lydia’s hand. “Just give me the telephone. There now, thank you, Dr. Taylor speaking.”

Lydia glanced at Dan. He had turned his back to her as he listened to the nurse. Lydia slipped out of bed; crossing to the bathroom door she hesitated, hoping he would turn around. She watched helplessly as the muscles on his back tensed.

“Again, Julie, I am sorry for Lydia’s behavior. I’ll be over after I have showered and shaved. Should there be any change call me; right, thanks.” Turning to Lydia, his eyes hooded with anger, Dan continued, “How could you? How could you be so flippant when that call could have meant life or death to someone?”

“My, but you do dramatize. I gave you the telephone, didn’t I?”

“If you are just going to stand there I will take my shower first. Excuse me,” he said as he moved past her into the bathroom.  She followed him. Slipping off her nightgown Lydia climbed into the shower with him. She picked up the soap and began to build a thick lather which she wiped on his back, feeling his muscles relax under her sensuous touch. With her hand rubbing gently in circles she sought the tender spot between his long legs. “Can you ever forgive me?” she cooed as she stroked him.

“A thought comes to mind,” Dan replied, his words slurring together.

“Oh?”

“Oh, yes!” he moaned.  “When she was good, she was very, very good and . . .” he paused for effect.

“Yes?” she questioned.

“Oh yes, and when she was bad, she was better.” Dan felt his feet slide on the wet floor, he gasped and grabbed for the handrail. “You could kill a fellow doing something like that in such a dangerous place.”

“I don’t think you are in any danger of being killed; devoured maybe, but not killed,” Lydia teased, smiling at him. “Do we have time?”

Dan groaned and shook his head. “Hold that thought,” he teased, gathering her into his arms.

“Whatever shall I do with myself while you’re away?” Lydia asked, frowning.

“Perhaps you could read.”

“What, Penthouse letters?”

“Well, no, I was thinking more along the lines of an autobiography.”

“An autobiography, whose autobiography?” she asked, her interest piqued. Then after a moment’s thought while she continued to stroke him absentmindedly, she said “Wait a minute.”

“Whoa, Lydia, not so rough,” Dan groaned. “Easy, girl, that’s tender territory down there.”

“It came! My mother’s diary has arrived?” Lydia struggled to her feet grasping Dan around the hips as she stood on tiptoe to kiss his nose. “I can’t believe it! It’s really here. Why didn’t you tell me? No, I see, you wanted to surprise me. But wait a minute; you knew it was here and never told me, knowing how anxious I was to begin reading it.” Lydia stomped her foot splashing water all over as she crumpled into a giggling fit until she collapsed on the floor of the shower stall. “Where is it?” she sputtered.

“Under the tree,” he said as he helped her to her feet. “I tucked it under that large one from Marjorie.”

Lydia started to pull away from him, reaching for a towel.

“Now hold on,” Dan reminded her; “we will open all the other presents when I get home from the Health Center.”

“Yes, of course,” she agreed.

“Good, and no peeking either. Okay?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And regarding that special one…”

“Yes, whatever.”

             
“You will wait until after I have left the house before you open it. Okay?”

             
“Yes, of course, if that is how you want it.”

             
“And one more thing,” he said spinning her around to face him.

             
“Yes” she asked excitedly.

             
“Kiss me.”

             
“But of course.”

             
With Dan off to the Health Center and the precious parcel at last in her hands, Lydia sat down in the burgundy overstuffed chair by the hearth. The gas fire danced to life as she struggled to remove the thick packing tape. Her muscles tightened in anxiety. As she opened the lid she realized she was holding her breath. The contents of the box gave off a strong smell of musk.  Lydia pulled out a dog-eared copy of Tennyson’s poems and then a copy of J.D. Salinger’s ‘Catcher in the Rye’.  “My, my” she said aloud. “My mother did have eclectic tastes.” Lying at the bottom of the box was a tattered book, the cover discolored by age. Gently, she lifted it out of the box.

             
“My mother’s diary,” she whispered reverently. Lydia’s fingers caressed the smooth leather of the cover. For a moment she hesitated, not wanting to trespass into her dead parent’s private world. Suddenly she could resist no more and slipped in.

                                  
‘ELISABETH’S JOURNAL’

Lydia read the title page. “Funny, I didn’t know my mother spelt her name like that. Now, I understand what Aunt Ella meant. Her handwriting is beautiful for a child.

Lydia studied the title page of the little book, marveling that she was really holding it in her hands. Fearful the page would tear Lydia gently turned the page and began to read.

             
’Tis a cold night as I sit here remembering the joy that was once mine, ‘tis hard to believe so much can change so quickly.’

             
Lydia paused. Lifting her head she stared into the fireplace, watching the flames dance across the ceramic log. She questioned her mother’s choice of words; it did not appear to be the language of a child.  “It must be that she had a private school education,” then laughing, Lydia reminded herself that in England that type of schooling was referred to as a public school education. Reassured, she began to read again.

             
‘Twas only days ago that I lived with Kings, now I have naught but this poor book to show what is past.’

             
“Lived with Kings; what does she mean, lived with Kings!” Lydia gasped.  “That must have been at school.” She reassured herself.  “Yes, it must have been at school. English private schools are very exclusive.”