and gazed out.
At that moment the door opened behind him and John turned to see who had entered the room. Suddenly aware that he was stripped to the waist, he saw that it was a woman. His eyes, dazzled by the sunshine outside, believed that she was surrounded by an aureole of gold, that she was a creature of legend, and then the optical illusion wore away. His heart leapt, then plummeted to his stomach. He was, after all that had passed between them, looking once more on the face of Coralie Clive.
Chapter Seven
T hey stood gazing at one another, she peering somewhat short-sightedly John thought. Eventually she spoke.
“John? Is it you?” she asked huskily.
“Yes,” he answered, suddenly finding that that was the only word he could manage to utter.
“But what are you doing here?”
“Coralie, I can’t tell you that. Not now at any rate. Just believe that it is for a good purpose.”
At this point the creature on the bed moaned loudly and Coralie slowly made her way towards him. Sitting down, she looked at him, shaking her head.
“Oh, Charles, Charles. What in God’s name has happened to you?”
Suddenly everything became crystal-clear to the Apothecary, who felt a consequent pang of unreasonable pain.
“I take it that he is your husband?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been married?”
“Twelve years. I have a daughter of ten.”
“I see.”
But see was one thing he didn’t do. The close relationship between him and the actress had ended because she refused to marry him, choosing instead to follow her career upon the stage. So he had wedded Emilia, a kind and good girl whom he had adored, only to have her snatched from him by a cold- hearted murderer. But it was to Coralie that he had given his youthful heart. She had known his hopes and fears, his dreams, his obsessions. He had loved her long and well only to have that love thrown back in his face.
The actress looked up at him. “Do you?”
“What?”
“See. I’d wager a guinea that you are very far from that emotion, John.”
“Coralie,” he said, with a definite edge in his voice, “I would like to discuss this with you but this is neither the time nor the place. So we must save that conversation for the future. I have a far more pressing favour that I have to ask you.”
She turned her head in his direction. “Which is?”
“I am here under false pretences. I’ll tell you briefly that I am acting on behalf of Sir John Fielding…”
“What a surprise!” she said sarcastically.
“…and I am posing as the Honourable Fintan O’Hare, a son of the Earl of Cavan. I beg you not to give me away. A great deal depends on my masquerade.”
Coralie got up and came towards him. “And does the Honourable Fintan make a habit of receiving lady visitors stripped to the waist?”
“Always,” he replied, and just for a second saw a glint of her old humour.
There was a knock on the door and John hastily stepped away. “Come in,” Coralie called.
It was Gollins the footman bearing some clean clothes for
John. He looked quite shocked at seeing him in a state of disarray in front of a woman.
“Oh, beg pardon, my Lady. I didn’t know you were in here.” She turned on him the serene gaze that only a consummate actress could have achieved.
“That’s perfectly all right, Gollins. The Honourable Fintan and I are old friends. Now, I see you have brought him some fresh apparel so if you would be kind enough to show him the dressing room he can complete his toilette.”
“Thank you, my Lady,” said John, and made a deep bow, half naked as he was.
He followed the servant along the corridor and was shown into a room in which was placed the very latest in toilet tables, namely a wash-stand in a corner, the top a quadrant with an upstand to take a large basin. Someone had also thoughtfully brought a jug of hot water. John explored the room and found a water closet set in a niche, the door so close to the seat as to hide it only when
At that moment the door opened behind him and John turned to see who had entered the room. Suddenly aware that he was stripped to the waist, he saw that it was a woman. His eyes, dazzled by the sunshine outside, believed that she was surrounded by an aureole of gold, that she was a creature of legend, and then the optical illusion wore away. His heart leapt, then plummeted to his stomach. He was, after all that had passed between them, looking once more on the face of Coralie Clive.
Chapter Seven
T hey stood gazing at one another, she peering somewhat short-sightedly John thought. Eventually she spoke.
“John? Is it you?” she asked huskily.
“Yes,” he answered, suddenly finding that that was the only word he could manage to utter.
“But what are you doing here?”
“Coralie, I can’t tell you that. Not now at any rate. Just believe that it is for a good purpose.”
At this point the creature on the bed moaned loudly and Coralie slowly made her way towards him. Sitting down, she looked at him, shaking her head.
“Oh, Charles, Charles. What in God’s name has happened to you?”
Suddenly everything became crystal-clear to the Apothecary, who felt a consequent pang of unreasonable pain.
“I take it that he is your husband?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been married?”
“Twelve years. I have a daughter of ten.”
“I see.”
But see was one thing he didn’t do. The close relationship between him and the actress had ended because she refused to marry him, choosing instead to follow her career upon the stage. So he had wedded Emilia, a kind and good girl whom he had adored, only to have her snatched from him by a cold- hearted murderer. But it was to Coralie that he had given his youthful heart. She had known his hopes and fears, his dreams, his obsessions. He had loved her long and well only to have that love thrown back in his face.
The actress looked up at him. “Do you?”
“What?”
“See. I’d wager a guinea that you are very far from that emotion, John.”
“Coralie,” he said, with a definite edge in his voice, “I would like to discuss this with you but this is neither the time nor the place. So we must save that conversation for the future. I have a far more pressing favour that I have to ask you.”
She turned her head in his direction. “Which is?”
“I am here under false pretences. I’ll tell you briefly that I am acting on behalf of Sir John Fielding…”
“What a surprise!” she said sarcastically.
“…and I am posing as the Honourable Fintan O’Hare, a son of the Earl of Cavan. I beg you not to give me away. A great deal depends on my masquerade.”
Coralie got up and came towards him. “And does the Honourable Fintan make a habit of receiving lady visitors stripped to the waist?”
“Always,” he replied, and just for a second saw a glint of her old humour.
There was a knock on the door and John hastily stepped away. “Come in,” Coralie called.
It was Gollins the footman bearing some clean clothes for
John. He looked quite shocked at seeing him in a state of disarray in front of a woman.
“Oh, beg pardon, my Lady. I didn’t know you were in here.” She turned on him the serene gaze that only a consummate actress could have achieved.
“That’s perfectly all right, Gollins. The Honourable Fintan and I are old friends. Now, I see you have brought him some fresh apparel so if you would be kind enough to show him the dressing room he can complete his toilette.”
“Thank you, my Lady,” said John, and made a deep bow, half naked as he was.
He followed the servant along the corridor and was shown into a room in which was placed the very latest in toilet tables, namely a wash-stand in a corner, the top a quadrant with an upstand to take a large basin. Someone had also thoughtfully brought a jug of hot water. John explored the room and found a water closet set in a niche, the door so close to the seat as to hide it only when
Similar Books
