What We Do in Life …
When
Worlds Collide –
Part One
by
Reagan
Kavanagh
This work of adult fiction, loosely
based on characters portrayed by Russell Crowe, includes adult language and
experiences; you have been warned. No copyright infringement on the
original work is intended. ©Reagan Kavanagh 2006.
MAXIMUS
“How often are you in contact
with Jack?”
“Jack Aubrey?”
“Do you know another Jack?”
“A couple of them …but from the
tone in your voice, I surmise you’re referring to Jack Aubrey.”
“I am. How frequently are you in contact with him?”
“On and off. It depends on how busy we both are at any
given point in time.”
She was being deliberately
obtuse. It is a characteristic of hers
to which I have grown accustomed, but on occasions such as this I find it intensely annoying. Perhaps if I were to be very
specific I would obtain the information I sought.
“How many times have you been in
contact with him over the last fortnight?”
She rubbed her forehead in thought.
“Probably eight or ten
times. Why?”
“I had an e-mail from him today
at the office. He expressed concern for
your well being. I have not yet
responded, as I wished to speak with you prior to doing so.”
“He’s worried about my well
being? Why?” Why, indeed?
“That is the question I would
pose to you.”
“Max, I’m putting together a new
lecture series on mental disorders. Post
traumatic stress disorder figures prominently in today’s climate. It’s one thing to tell my students it’s
always been part of our lives; it’s quite another to be able to provide
documentation prior to the last half of the 20th century. If I have Jack’s take on it, I know better
where to look for the historical references on it during the late 18th
and early 19th centuries.”
“You might have inquired of
me.” She sighed.
“I’m rather intimately familiar
with your experiences, and I do use them.
I wanted a flavour throughout time, rather than restricting my
comments to ancient history. Why
is Jack worried about me?” I took a deep
breath and worked to control my ire. I
had begun to suspect that she was with child and wished to do nothing that
would upset her. She had not yet told me
of her possible pregnancy, but over time, I have become more observant.
“He indicated noting what he
termed a wistful trend in your communications.
He cares deeply for you – perhaps too deeply for my liking – and has
enquired as to your overall health and well-being.” She straightened in her chair as she looked
at me. Her response was succinct.
“I’m fine. There’s no need for concern on his part or on
yours.” She stood and walked from the
room, effectively terminating the conversation.
She had again used the word ‘fine,’ and in somewhat the same manner as
when we argued some time past.
REAGAN
Shit. Shit, shit, shit! Yes, I’d written Jack asking about
manifestations of PTSD with which he was familiar. I’d explained the symptoms and having done
so, he’d been able to provide me with a plethora of examples and precipitating
factors, including those of his personal experience. With that information, I’d been able to go
into the British Naval Archives and retrieve data on specific battles, match
them to Jack’s comments, and I had enough information for an entire series of
lectures. I could have spent an entire
term lecturing on PTSD from what Jack and the Naval Archives provided me.
The problem lay with the fact
that Jack and I never simply discussed academic issues. We chat.
We send instant messages back and forth.
We wrote long letters to each other discussing everything from the
social morés of his time and mine to ‘all the girls I’ve loved before’ on
Jack’s part. Jack Aubrey and I had
become close and dear friends, and that was the problem, or at least Max would
likely consider it problematic. In the
stress of our attempts to conceive and lack of success, I’d unburdened myself
to Jack; I’d all but literally cried on his shoulder. Being the man he is, Jack had responded with
all warmth and concern. Were Max and I
getting on well aside from the frustration with not having conceived a
child? Was Max treating me with all due
love and respect? Did he cherish me as
our marriage vows commanded?
I’d responded truthfully. Yes, in most instances, Max was a model
husband, and I believed in most aspects I was a model wife, but we would always
have differences because of his having moved so recently into this time and my
having been born in it. I’d commented
that all marriages had their difficult moments, but that we always managed to
sort them through. That wasn’t good
enough for Jack, and he asked again. Was
I being cherished by my husband?
Jack’s a very literal man and in order to respond in kind, I’d gone to
the dictionary.
Cherish. Transitive verb. 1. To treat with affection and tenderness;
hold dear: cherish one's family; fine rugs that are cherished by their
owners. 2. To keep fondly in mind; entertain: cherish
a memory. See Synonyms at appreciate.
I’d checked synonyms.
Appreciate. Verb and transitive verb. 1. To
recognize the quality, significance, or magnitude of. 2. To
be fully aware of or sensitive to; realise. 3. To
be thankful or show gratitude for.
4. To admire greatly; value. 5. To
raise in value or price, especially over time.
I’d replied to Jack’s e-mail,
saying yes, I believed Max did cherish me as I cherished him. Jack’s response had been succinct.
“Though you say your husband
cherishes you, I have reason to doubt.
Were it the case that he did so, I believe you would not have unburdened
yourself to me, as there would have been no reason for you to seek a
sympathetic ear.”
As I said …shit. Double shit.
I’d walked out of the room after my last comment to Max and gone to the
bathroom, taking a couple of tablets for a sinus headache I’d been nursing all
day and went back to face the music. Max
was ready for me when I returned. He was
sipping scotch; I was still relegated to diet sodas or fruit juice, and I got
myself a glass of orange juice. He spoke
as I sat.
“Aubrey is of the opinion that I
do not cherish you as ordained by our marriage vows. Would you care to enlighten me as to how he
came to that opinion?” I was caught. I may evade issues on occasion and often
have; I do not lie. No matter how
unpleasant may be the result of my actions, I’ve learnt long since that it’s
better to face the music and dance than to lie about something. Obviously, it was time to dance.
“He said he detected a wistful
note in my correspondence – he said as much to you – and I confided in
him.” I could see Max physically bristle
at the word ‘confide.’
“I see. And what confidence – or confidences – did
you see fit to share with him?”
“I told him that not having
conceived was taking a toll on both of us.
I told him we’d had several disagreements as a result of that fact. He asked if you were treating me well; I said
you were. He asked if I was happy in our
marriage; I said I was. His concerns
were a function of the fact that his own marriage – though loving – was often
fraught with misunderstanding and miscommunication. He offered insights borne of his own
experience.”
“I see.” Clearly, he didn’t ‘see.’ I’m not at my best when I have a headache and
really didn’t want to discuss this further at the moment.
“Max, could we table this until
tomorrow? I’ve had a headache all day,
and I’m really not thinking all that clearly.
I haven’t kept the instant messages I’ve exchanged with Jack – most were
on PTSD – but I do keep his e-mails in a folder on my desktop. I’ll be more than happy to print them out for
you if reading them will make you feel better.”
“I would not presume to read your
personal correspondence with a friend.”
Now I’m screwed. I know
that tone in his voice, and it doesn’t bode well. He’s pissed, and a pissed off Max is not a
man I enjoy.
“Fine. Have it your way. If you change your mind, the name of the
folder is AUBREY. Knock yourself out,
Buddy.” I went to prepare dinner and was
in bed before nine. Max didn’t come to
bed until almost midnight. I’d tossed
and turned until I heard him open the door, then pretended to be asleep. Usually when he comes to bed, he snuggles in
behind me and wraps his arm round my waist; he didn’t do that tonight. He lay on his back with a good foot between
us in the bed. I had absolutely no doubt
he’d read the e-mails before coming to bed.
MAXIMUS
She had gone to bed and after
thinking on it I went to her office and booted her computer. The file was on the desktop. I sat for a few moments with the mouse on the
folder, at last clicking and opening it.
There were two sub-folders, one entitled JACK-PTSD and a second labelled
PERSONAL E-MAIL. I opened the latter and
began reading with the most recent document.
TO: Reagan Espan-Kavanagh
FROM: Jack Aubrey
SUBJECT: RE:
RE: RE: RE:
Are you well?
In such
an instance, I should chart a course to your rescue and sail on the next
tide. Take care, dear Lady.
TO: Jack Aubrey
FROM: Reagan Espan-Kavanagh
SUBJECT: RE:
RE: RE: Are you well?
Children
are a trying situation I’m more than ready to experience, as I’m sure you
know. Max is treating me well, and
always has. Having been married
yourself, you know that all couples have disagreements on occasion, and we’re
no different. To date, we’ve resolved everything
fairly easily. If he should ever get
truly pissy with me, I’ll let you know and you can take him to task. ;-)
TO: Reagan Espan-Kavanagh
FROM: Jack Aubrey
SUBJECT: RE:
RE: Are you well?
I am
sure this is a difficult time for you and Max.
Perhaps I should warn you that whilst children are indeed a blessing,
they are trying as well.
On
another note, is Max treating you well?
I was not at home whilst Sophie carried our children, but have observed
some men to be less than solicitous of their wives at such times. I am aware Max was not present when his wife
carried their son and is likely as ignorant of a woman’s feelings at such times
as I. Perhaps I should speak to him and
remind him to have great care of you.
TO: Jack Aubrey
FROM: Reagan Espan-Kavanagh
SUBJECT: RE:
Are you well?
I’m fine
physically, but a bit disheartened. As
you know, Max and I are trying to have a family and with no luck to date. I’ll get over it, but do appreciate your
concern.
Reagan
TO: Reagan Espan-Kavanagh
FROM: Jack Aubrey
SUBJECT: Are you well?
At risk
of rushing in where angels fear to tread, I detect a note of wistfulness in
your recent communiqués. Are you quite
well?
Jack
*
Though there were
numerous
additional exchanges, I could read no further.
I closed the document, the file, and shut down the
computer before going
to the kitchen and pouring myself a stiff drink.
Had Jack Aubrey been physically present at
that moment, I would have taken pleasure in disembowelling him. I was annoyed with my
wife’s behaviour but do
know that women are more prone to discuss things of a personal nature
than are
men. My true ire
was reserved for Jack
and his encouragement of her confidence.
I would e-mail him on the morrow and advise that I was
coming to Baltimore
to speak with
him; as the challenged party, it was his prerogative to set the date
and time.
JACK AUBREY
I had e-mailed
Maximus early in
the day but had no response when I left the office.
On arriving at my flat, I powered up the
computer and checked mail. There
was
nothing. It would
appear I had not only
touched a nerve with my communiqué but had also given him
much to think
on. I went to
dinner and checked again
on my return. Nothing. The response I awaited did
not arrive until
after lunchtime the following day.
TO:
Jack Aubrey
FROM:
Max Espan
SUBJECT: RE:
Reagan
I have
read your thoughts and considered them.
Whilst I feel my wife communicated her feelings to you
with all good
intent, I am of the opinion that your responses to her were
inappropriate.
I asked
last evening if she had confided in you; she acknowledged she had done
so. She indicated
that I was free to read the
correspondence between the two of you, and I have read selected
communiqués.
I am
greatly disturbed at the tenor of your comments and wish to visit you
in Baltimore
that we may
resolve this man-to-man. Please
advise
me of a time when you might make yourself available.
Max
TO:
Max Espan
FROM:
Jack Aubrey
SUBJECT: Reagan
Max,
It is
with deep trepidation that I write you; however, I feel it must be done. I have been in contact
with your lady and
noted a sombre and wistful note in her correspondence.
The tone of her recent e-mails has been quite
different from those we had shared until the last month and has given
me cause
to worry for her.
I am
concerned both for her welfare and your treatment of her. Whilst it may be
inappropriate for me to
comment, conscience and my regard for your lady demand I do so. Please contact me at your
earliest
convenience.
Jack
His response
provoked me; he
seemed more absorbed with himself than the woman he vowed in the
presence of
Our Father to love and cherish. As
it
was now past noon, I would wait until the evening and reply from my
flat. I found
myself in a temper at Max’s response
and have learnt painfully in years past that words spoken –
or typed - in anger
may not be recalled. We
had each
provoked the other, and there was nothing to be gained by sending a
curt reply. In
fact, I feared that should I do so, Reagan
would pay the price. I
could not suffer
the burden of my guilt should she bear the brunt of her
husband’s anger for
some hasty word on my part.
I had regained my
composure by
that evening and sat at the computer to frame my response. I had checked my calendar
and had nothing
pressing for the next fortnight aside from my usual teaching and
administrative
responsibilities. Max
might come at any
time, so long as he realised our meeting must take place in the evening. As I sat and considered my
words, my usual
pragmatism surfaced. It
occurred to me
that having read the correspondence between Reagan and I, Max might
suspect a mésalliance
between us. Whilst
I admit I would find
such a situation far from undesirable, I was enraged that he would
suspect his
wife of such shabby behaviour. I
acknowledge that I have been a rake in years past but never with a true
lady. Molly Harte
may have been the
admiral’s wife, but she was no lady.
A
lady does not put cuckold’s horns on her husband’s
head. I got a glass
of wine and ordered my thoughts
before typing my response to Max.
TO:
Max Espan
FROM:
Jack Aubrey
SUBJECT: RE:
RE: Reagan
I fear
you have mistaken my words and may suspect a mésalliance
between myself
and your dear wife. Let
me assure you
such is not the case nor will it ever be.
My
evenings are free for the next fortnight.
I place myself at your disposal on whatever evening you
wish to call
upon me.
Jack
MAXIMUS
I read
Jack’s response and
checked my own calendar. I
had nothing
pressing in the office for the remainder of the week.
In most instances, I rely upon Sooze to make
my flight and lodgings accommodations; on this day, I attended to those
details
myself. I walked to
Terry’s office on
completing the task. He
looked up as I
entered the door.
“You look
like storm cloud about
to break. What’s
on your mind, Max?”
“I have
personal business in Baltimore
tomorrow and
will be leaving just before noon.
With
luck I shall return before close of business on Thursday.”
“I see. Anything Dino or I need to
know before you
leave?”
“All is
in order, and my calendar
is clear. If
you’ve no objection, I will
take off the rest of the day and go home to spend the time with my
wife.”
“No
objection at all, Mate. Since
you'll be in Baltimore,
why not try to have dinner with
Jack if you have enough time. Give
Reags
my best. See you in
the morning.” I
nodded and left his office, collected my
briefcase, and made my way to the car park.
I smiled to see the navy blue Porsche in the space beside
my own. It seems
Terry had finally settled on what
Cassandra refers to as his ‘toy.’
*
We passed a quiet
evening with no
rancour. Though I
would have preferred
she not voice her concerns to another man, I could not blame her
entirely for
the indiscretion. Had
Jack not responded
in a sympathetic manner, I doubt she would have pursued the
communication. Aubrey
is another matter entirely. I
shall make my displeasure known when I see
him, and we will resolve the matter once and for all.
She made coffee
after dinner, and
we sat in the lounge; she nestled into my side as my arm went round her.
“I’m
sorry if my e-mails to Jack
upset you. He’s
a friend, Max, nothing
more, and he cares deeply for both of us.
I hope you won’t take my indiscretion out on
him.”
“I must
fly to Baltimore
tomorrow on business. I
have contacted him asking that we meet and
will discuss my feelings in this matter with him at that time. I will return the
following day. I am
not angry with you, Cara, but do
feel I must speak my mind to him.”
She sighed
deeply and turned her face to mine.
“Promise
me you won’t take a
swing at the man.”
“Only if
he swings first.” We
laughed and went to bed shortly after.
JACK AUBREY
Max called me at
the office on
his arrival at Baltimore-Washington International Airport. We arranged his arrival at
my flat at 1730
hours, half-an-hour after the time I usually arrive home from The
Academy. I have an
additional bedroom and offered him
the use of it for the night; he advised he had taken a room at the
Marriott
Waterfront and would check in prior to coming to my flat. His tone was polite as
always but lacking the
warmth I had known from him in the past.
He arrived promptly on the dot of five-thirty.
“Welcome,
Max. May I offer
you a libation?” My
own glass of wine was sitting on the table
beside the couch. He
looked at it before
replying.
“Wine
would be acceptable. Thank
you.”
I fetched it and asked if he would care to remove his coat. He did so, laying it
carefully on the back of
the couch as he sat at the end opposite me.
As it was he who had requested this meeting, I waited for
him to speak,
and in time, he did.
“The wine
is good. I must get
the vintage from you before
leaving. Once my
wife has conceived and
delivered our child, I believe she would enjoy it as much as
I.”
My wife.
The words hung in
the air between us. He
had thrown the
gauntlet, and I must respond.
“If my
correspondence with Reagan
has caused you distress, I apologise.
That was not my intent.
I have
grown fond of her as a friend, and on discerning a change in the tone
of her
missives, I grew concerned for her well being.”
“She is
quite well; you need not
worry.” I
nodded and continued.
“She has
told me that the two of
you are attempting to have a child, and I wish you success. I recall from my own
marriage that a breeding
woman – and if your wife is attempting to conceive, I
consider her to be
breeding – is often moody.
I sought only
to comfort her, and ….”
He interrupted
my words; his tone was harsh and impatient.
“She is
not your concern,
Jack. She is my
wife. She is well,
and she is happy. I
do not appreciate your intimation that
there is discord between us.”
“It was
not my intent to imply a
state of discord between the two of you, and I ask you hear me out. My own experience has
taught me that women in
such a condition are often less sure of their attraction for us than
might
normally be the case. I
simply enquired
as to whether or not she felt cherished.
I feel sure you do cherish her, but as a result of my
communications
with Reagan, I sought to bring to your attention that she may require
additional attention and a more gentle hand at this time. If I have overstepped my
bounds, I apologise
with all sincerity.” He
put down his
glass and stood, glaring down at me.
I
put my own glass on the table and rose to meet him as the words spewed
from his
mouth.
“She is MY
wife,
Jack. She is no
concern of yours. Whether
she be well or ill, happy or sad, it
is my concern and mine alone. She
is
loved, she is respected, and she is provided for in good
fashion.” I
appreciated his concern and his ire but had
yet to hear the one word most important to me.
“Do you
cherish her, Max?”
“That is
not your business.”
“As her
friend, it is.”
“And were
she not my wife,
what interest might you have in the matter?”
I took a deep breath and spoke my heart.
“If you
should fail to cherish her as
she deserves – be she your wife, your mistress, or a single
woman in the line
of those you have seduced over the course of your life – I
would chart a course
straight to her heart and lay siege to it.
Were she not your Lady, I should already have done so. I
should do all in my power to woo
and win her away from you, Max. In
time,
I believe I could erase you from her memory and would make all effort
to
accomplish that reality. She
is all a
man could desire.” I
was prepared for
his hand to come up to strike me.
I was
not prepared for what he did. He
lowered
his head and, before I could brace myself for his blow, took a running
start
and rammed his head into my belly.
The force of his
assault took me
backward and over the couch, knocking it flat as I scrambled to my feet. He leapt over the upset
furniture, his fists
raised as my own came up to meet him.
Though I am but little taller than Max, I have three stone
on him in
weight and thus likely more force behind my blows.
Fists met flesh as we struggled for
dominance. More
furniture was
overthrown, and at last we sat in the floor on opposite sides of the
room,
panting as we glared one at the other.
The skin round his left eye was
purplish red from
the blow of my fist; I could feel my right eye swelling shut. Both of us were bloodied. Max is as good with his
left hand as I am. Our
behaviour was remarkably akin to boys
fighting over a skirt in a schoolyard.
For that matter, I suppose that is precisely what we were
doing. I looked at
my skint knuckles and saw that
one of them was split, though whether from having met with
Max’s teeth or the
strength of his jaw, I did not know.
In
spite of having spent myself to some degree, I was still angry and
likely would
have made a secondary assault had he not risen and strode to the door
after
collecting his coat from where it had fallen to the floor.
“I
apologise for having taken
advantage of your hospitality. Send
me
the bill for any repairs required to your dwelling and its furnishings. If you will give me your
word not to contact
my wife further, I will consider our differences settled.” I stood and looked at him
across the room.
“I give
you no such promise, nor
will I ever. She is
your wife, but she
is my dear friend. If
she requires
solace, I will give it. Have
a care,
Max, that you do not find yourself lacking that which you most
desire.” He
turned abruptly and walked out the door
and closed it.
I righted the
furniture and sat
on the couch, rubbing my face with my hands.
How had I permitted this situation to get out of control? I examined my feelings for
both Reagan and
Max. It was true
that I found her desirable though I knew those feelings would never be
reciprocated. She
is a good woman and loves her husband;
she is loyal to him as becomes a virtuous wife.
My words to Max regarding my feelings for his wife had
been
inappropriate in the extreme. Still,
I
would not relinquish contact with her unless she asked I do so; we have
the
right to choose our friends where we will.
If Max could not accept that, I would terminate all
contact with both of
them but not before telling Reagan of my feelings in this matter, those
being
that, at present, I considered her husband a brute and unworthy of her.
MAXIMUS
I made my way to my
hotel and to
my room, sitting heavily on the bed.
I
had promised Cassandra I would call her following my meeting with Jack. I pulled my phone from my
coat pocket and
punched the speed dial number. She
answered on the second ring.
“Max?”
“Yes. Are you well, Cara?”
“I’m
fine, but it’s so late …I
was worried about you. Did
you and Jack
sort out your differences?”
I would not
tell her all of it until returning home.
At that time, I would have no choice.
My black eye and bruised face and hands would tell the
tale even should
I be so foolish as to attempt prevarication.
“We had
words. We will sort
it out in time. I
will be home tomorrow and will tell you the
full of it then.” She
was silent for a
moment before speaking.
“All
right. Take care of
yourself, and I’ll see you
tomorrow night. I
love you, Max.”
“And I
love you.” It
was a number of hours before I slept.
REAGAN
The new term at
school hadn’t
begun yet, and I’d been home from Dee’s
less
than half-an-hour when Max walked in the door.
I heard his key in the lock and went to meet him. I took one look at his
black eye, the bruises
on his jaw, the skint knuckles and bruised hands, and turned on my heel
returning to my office. Once
there, I
closed and locked the door.
I went to the
American Airlines
web site and booked two tickets to Baltimore
for the following morning. I
called
Terry and said Max and I had a personal matter that required immediate
attention, and Max would be out of the office the rest of the week.
“No, he
can’t come to the phone
at the moment. E-mail
him if it’s
critical.” I
hung up before Terry could
ask additional questions.
I e-mailed Jack and
told him when
Max and I would arrive, which hotel we would be in, and asked if he
could meet
us in the bar after leaving his office the following day. His reply was almost
immediate and
succinct.
TO:
Reagan Espan-Kavanagh
FROM:
Jack Aubrey
SUBJECT: RE:
Meeting
Pursuant
to your request, I will meet you and your husband in the lobby bar of
the
Marriott Waterfront at 1800 hours tomorrow.
For
whatever comfort it may afford you, it was I who provoked Max beyond
endurance
rather than the other way round.
I wish
you a safe journey and will see you on the morrow.
Jack
P.
S. You might wish
to see the other
fellow before passing judgment on either of us.
J
I heard Max try to
open door and
find it locked. He
was smart enough not
to rattle it or ask me to unlock it until I was ready to do so. He’s lived with me
more than long enough to
know when he’s in quicksand up to his neck and any struggling
will be futile,
serving only to pull him under more quickly.
He correctly surmised that I wouldn’t be tossing
him a lifeline on this
occasion. I opened
the upper right hand
drawer of my desk and reached to the back of it, retrieving the
ashtray,
cigarettes, and lighter I kept there.
I
tamped the pack and opened it, put the cigarette to my lips and flicked
the lighter. Pregnant
or not, one cigarette – even one
pack – wasn’t likely to harm an embryo.
I leant back in my
chair and
exhaled the smoke toward the ceiling as I thought.
Clearly there had been a fight; just as
clearly, said fight had been brutal.
That the fight was unnecessary went without saying. My husband and Jack Aubrey
had behaved like
adolescents in a school yard, and I was angry as Hell at both of them. All right, Reagan,
let’s look at this
pragmatically. Precisely
what behaviours
was I seeing, and what did those represent?
The spousal unit
first –
Max. Second century
Roman male. Wife as
chattel, his property. In
his mind, short of murder, he had the
absolute right to treat his wife as he wished.
Sees wife as his link to immortality in that she will bear
the children presumed
to be his heirs. As
head of household
and his family unit, he would bear the shame of any indiscretion
committed by
his wife. Fuck that. If Max didn’t
know me well enough to realise
I’d never screw him over, his problems were a good deal more
serious than a
blue with Jack Aubrey. Next
defendant.
Jack Aubrey. Self-acknowledged
ladies’ man and – on
occasion – cavalier par excellance.
Self-appointed protector of any woman he perceived as
being in need of
his care. History
of affairs with the
wives of other men and seducer extraordinaire when it suited his
purpose. Barring
those all too human flaws, Jack was
as honourable as man as were my husband, Terry, and Dino. Jack is far more outspoken
than Max will ever
be and doesn’t always think before opening his mouth. The result of that
outspokenness is often
finding his size 13-and-a-half foot – complete with knee-high
boot - in the
aforementioned mouth. I
suspected that
was what had happened this time.
It was time to go
tell my husband
not to bother unpacking his bag.
*
“I will
not return to Baltimore
to speak with
him again. The
matter is finished.”
“It
damned well isn’t
finished, and the two of you are going to talk
again. This time
it’s going to be calm and
controlled. If you
get into another fight,
I’ll call the police and have both of you tossed in
jail.”
“Jack
will not agree to see me
again.”
“He
already has. I
e-mailed him as soon as I’d made the
airline and hotel reservations.”
“You
should not have presumed
without consulting me.”
“You
should not have jumped to
the conclusion that Jack Aubrey was trying to seduce me.” He opened his mouth and
then closed it
without saying a word. There
was no
point in his denial of something as plain as the Roman nose on his face. His silence gave him time
to think of another
excuse.
“I cannot
be out of the office
again so soon.”
“I’ve
already spoken with Terry
and told him we had a personal matter that had to be dealt with
immediately. He’s
expecting you to be
gone the rest of the week.”
Judging from
the storm cloud on Max’s face, the drought in North Texas
may be about to break. He
put his hands
on his hips and turned to look out the windows toward the north end of
the
property for a moment before turning back to me.
“Is there
nothing I can say to
dissuade you from your purpose?”
“Nothing. Throw a couple of clean
shirts and pair of
underwear in your bag. Our
flight leaves
at 1100 hours tomorrow.”
To
be
Continued
NOTES
mésalliance An unsuitable
alliance, particularly in marriage.
Occasionally used to refer to an affair,
extra-marital or
otherwise, that is ill advised.
The Academy This particular
reference is to the United
States’ Naval Academy at Annapolis,
Maryland.
It is
also common for members of the US Army, Air Force, Marines (who
generally attend
Annapolis
along with Naval Cadets), and Coast Guard to refer to their own branch
of service’s
institution as “The
Academy.”
