Possessions (33 page)

Katherine's voice became as cool as Victoria's. “I'm learning not to depend on others. It was something you said, when Jennifer called.”

“That Craig had come between us. I thought it an accurate description. Craig often did that when we were children: he
would smile slyly—others said sweetly—and say, to Victoria or Ann or anyone in authority, how wonderful it would be if he had—whatever it was. He never whined or complained, he almost never asked outright. He just let it be known that shy, innocent Craig would be so happy
if
 . . . When it didn't work, he simply walked away. Or ran. That's his style: to run from confrontation or crisis. By now you ought to recognize it a mile away. Yes,” he said, seamlessly changing his tone of voice as a waiter approached.

“The buffet is in the dining room, but if you prefer, I can prepare some plates for you.”

“Katherine?”

“Whatever you like.” She looked at the ocean. She was ashamed, as if Derek's scorn had been for her as much as for Craig, and it made her feel stifled, closed in, wanting to run away. And she knew, as if Craig were telling her, that this was how he felt when he couldn't face whatever was happening. Craig hated it when people analyzed him. He held his thoughts close and despised people who told him they could have guessed what he'd do because they knew his style. Craig, she thought, would despise Derek.

Evidently he did. And evidently it was mutual.

“Now listen to me,” Derek said when the waiter had left. “I don't lie to women. I want you. Not because you're Craig's wife or because Ross was the one who brought you here—”

“Ross?”

His eyes became hooded. “It has nothing to do with Ross. Or anyone else. I find you enchanting and elusive; if you knew me better, you would know that those are the qualities I cannot resist in a woman. It's as simple as that. I told you: I do not lie to women.”

You're lying to me, Katherine thought. But at the same moment she knew that it didn't matter. She lied, too, every time she pretended she was free. She wasn't free; she was tied to Craig, dogged by his presence and the loose ends dangling from their marriage. Earlier, when Derek called to ask her to the Mardi Gras celebrations, all she could think of was that it had been three weeks and she wanted to see him. Now, looking at his lean face and dark blond hair and unrevealing eyes, she remembered the precision of his hands holding her breasts and knew her body hungered for him, even though she did not like
him as much as before. But none of it mattered. She was not free to sleep with him. “I think we should be friends,” she said evenly.

His eyes flickered. “Friends,” he repeated.

She nodded. “Not lovers.” And as soon as she said the words, in spite of her hunger she felt a burden lift from her.

Derek raised his wine glass. “In that case,” he said with a remote smile that meant he was already moving to other thoughts. “To friendship.” And he touched her glass lightly with his.

*  *  *

The jewelry gleamed in the lamplight—necklaces, lapel pins, a linked bracelet. Nine pieces, ready to be delivered. In the quiet room, where the only sounds were the rain against the window and the muffled tapping of her hammer, Katherine sat in a circle of contentment, making a tenth piece. Beneath her fingers, the pliable gold seemed alive, shaping itself through her thoughts, as if it were part of her.

She had never worked with gold and as she curved its sensual gleam into a bracelet she felt the exhilaration of working with what jewelers called the king of metals. For centuries it had beckoned toward exploration and conquest; in Katherine's living room, it meant something else. Professionals used gold.

She had dipped into her savings to buy silver, so the gold would last longer, but not even worries about money could invade her contentment. She was shaping beautiful things to be sold in one of the finest shops in the city; in the other room her children slept after the three of them had spent the evening reading and laughing together; she saw Leslie frequently, and once or twice a week Derek took her to dinner or a party. That, she acknowledged, was not always easy. He was charming and cool and made no demands, but, though her mind knew what it wanted, her body still wanted Derek and sometimes she thought it would be easier simply to stop seeing him. But that would mean giving up the gilded evenings he offered. She wondered whether Derek and his evenings were inseparable. Probably. When she got over one, she would no longer need the other.

The golden bracelet lay with its matching necklace of thin gold textured discs in a cotton-lined box. Eight other pieces lay in separate boxes. Katherine stood beside her worktable, studying them, listening to the rain. She knew they were good;
tomorrow Mettler would tell her what he thought. Tomorrow, she repeated; tomorrow.

The rain was still falling the next morning, blowing in long sheets across the pavement. Katherine heard it behind her as she entered the store, and then it was gone. In Herman Mettler's office, the only storms were those he made himself.

“They're very good,” Mettler said, turning Katherine's jewelry in his splayed fingers as if he were inspecting fruit for rotten spots. “Very good technique. Excellent technique. More than Tony has taught you—individual touches here and there—very good—very good technique.”

“Thank you.” Katherine shifted in her chair.

“I place great emphasis on technique,” Mettler said, putting his palms together beneath his chin as if he were praying. “The best design in the world can be ruined by poor technique.”

She nodded, twisted inside so tightly she thought she would snap, waiting for him to talk about design.

“However, the reverse is also true. The best technique in the world cannot disguise weak design.”

Katherine sat on the edge of her chair, her back straight.

His hands still praying, Mettler looked down at the boxes of jewelry, jumbled from his handling. “These pieces, now. Excellent technique. Very impressive. But the design, I fear, leaves something to be desired.” He paused and gave her the same cool inspection he had given her jewelry. “Frankly, I'm surprised that a woman as attractive as you would be so cautious. Beautiful women can afford to take chances other women cannot. So why do you bring me safe designs similar to those I see in other fine stores?” He leaned back in his chair. “Customers only buy technique when they pay a high price for design. Am I making myself clear? These are nice pieces, pleasant pieces, superbly made. I have no doubt that I can sell them, and I intend to, but in the cases in the rear, not those up front. Our customers expect uniqueness at Mettler's. They are willing to pay for it. I see nothing here that is remotely unique.”

Furious, Katherine bit her lip to keep quiet. He could have softened his criticism. But suddenly Victoria's voice came to her.
You need a little eccentricity. To be so proper . . . at your age . . .

Mettler was waiting. Hastily, she said, “I was worried that
you might not buy anything too different, from someone new . . .”

“No, no, no; what nonsense. You've studied our display cases? Then you know how much we value the avant garde. The excellent avant garde, of course; we are not interested in the merely sensational. Your designs are neither. They are simply—rather ordinary. In any case—” Shooting his cuff to look at his watch, he became brisk. “As I said, I intend to sell these. And you brought prices. Good.” Reading from her list, he jotted figures on his notepad. “One hundred for the bracelet . . . not much for your labor there. I'll have to charge five hundred; my competitors would run me out of town if I charged less. And you want fifty for the . . .” He talked to himself for a while. “All right. Your total is fine; twelve hundred for the ten pieces. And I can take another dozen, even if they're like these. There is always a market for the tried and true. I need them by June, for our fall collection. Thank you, Mrs. Fraser. I'm sure we'll work well together.”

“But—”

Mettler's secretary appeared in the doorway, invisibly sent for. Katherine stood up. Twelve more, four months from now. Not enough to quit her job; not enough to make a name for herself. All her dreams were sliding away. But Mettler, looking again at his watch, would not know that. She held out her hand, surprising him into shaking it. “Thank you,” she said, her voice strong. “I'll get them to you as early as possible.”

And downstairs, lingering beside the glass cases at the front of the store, she vowed to herself that that was where her next twelve pieces would be displayed. Somehow, she thought as she left to face Lister's sarcastic wrath for being late—next time, I'll find a way to make Herman Mettler sit up and take notice.

*  *  *

Victoria and Tobias had been back from Italy only a few days when they called, separately, to invite Katherine to dinner the following week. It was a blustery night, the beginning of March, and when she arrived the butler led her to the library, where she found them in front of the fire, with Ross.

“My dear!” Victoria exclaimed, rising to kiss her, and Ross turned, as startled as Katherine. In the flickering light, she had thought at first it was Derek; then, in a swift comparison she
was barely aware of, she saw that the cheekbones were not as sharp, the shadowed hollows not as deep, the mouth, even unsmiling, wider and a little fuller. His face was gentler than Derek's but not soft; in fact, as Katherine sat between Victoria and Tobias, she thought he looked as severe as he had in Vancouver, when he was forcing her to accept the truth about Craig.

He stood and greeted her formally and brought up Craig's New Year visit. “Victoria and Tobias told me about it. He still won't give you a chance.”

Tears sprang to Katherine's eyes. He was the only one who saw exactly why she had been so hurt and angry.

He asked about her children. “Jon and Carrie enjoyed seeing them at Christmas.”

“We might get them together some time,” Katherine said.

“We might.” They were silent. Victoria and Tobias watched with interest. Ross asked about Katherine's jeweler's tools and she asked about BayBridge and then silence fell once more. “I was just leaving,” Ross said at last. “I'm expected at home. I only stopped by to greet the returning travelers. I'm sorry—” He paused. “I'm sorry we've seen so little of each other”

“So am I,” Katherine responded, puzzled by the strain in his voice. “But I know how busy you are. And I've been busy, too . . .”

He nodded. “So I've heard.” Their eyes met. Then, turning abruptly, he bent over Victoria and kissed her. “Lunch on Friday. Don't forget. Katherine . . . it was good to see you. Tobias, I'd like to ask you about some books I'm thinking of buying.” Tobias shrugged in silent apology to Katherine and left the room with Ross.

Victoria raised her eyebrows. “Ross isn't usually so abrupt. But he's concerned about you, you know.”

“I doubt it,” said Katherine.

“Oh, yes.” Victoria handed her a glass of sherry. “We all are.”

Katherine was puzzled. “Why? You can't know anything about Mettler yet.”

“Mettler? What about him? No, wait; Tobias will want to hear it, too. What we are worried about is you and Derek.”

“Derek?”

“Well, my dear, it's been four months. People talk when a
beautiful woman is seen about town with Derek for one month, much less four. They talk to me, anyway, and to Tobias, and we were discussing that when Ross came in.”

“But what difference does it make if I go out with Derek?”

“None, as long as you don't fall in love with him.” Katherine was silent. “Are you in love with him?”

“No. And I don't expect to be. I have a husband, you know.”

“When was that ever a guarantee—? In any event, you haven't seen your husband for almost nine months. It's natural that you would be attracted to other men. But it should not be Derek.”

Katherine drank her sherry and looked at the flames in the fireplace. “A strange way to talk about your grandson.”

“I am saying he's not good for you. Is it strange for me to tell my granddaughter that?”

A rush of love swept over Katherine.
My granddaughter.
“Thank you,” she said. “You make me feel as if I belong.”

“But of course you belong,” said Tobias cheerfully, taking his seat and pouring more sherry into their glasses. “Though we were slow to see it at first. How have you been while we romped through Italy?”

“Something is wrong about Mettler,” Victoria said, and while the butler set the table beside them Katherine described what had happened the week before.

“A pox upon him!” Tobias thundered.

“What you must do, Katherine,” Victoria pronounced as they sat at the table, “is choose one style and one material—gold would be excellent—which will give you an identity with customers. I've been thinking about your career, my dear, and I've decided you should take advantage of your charmingly old-fashioned quality which I find so endearing.”

“Old-fashioned?” Katherine asked.

“My dear, I may be as old as the century but I am aware that, today, when a woman says she will not fall in love with someone because she has a husband, that may safely be called old-fashioned. I find it charming. Most people would, at least privately, because they long for what seems to have been a simpler past. If you pattern your designs, for example, on my antique jewelry, women will buy them.”

“No men?” asked Tobias mildly.

“Some; but women wear most of the jewelry, Tobias, you know that. You yourself wear none.”

“Who buys most of it?”

“Ah.” Victoria sat back to allow the butler to remove her soup plate. “So you think jewelry is aimed at males. That might be. Male fantasies?”