Christmas at Thornton Hall. Lynn Hulsman Marie
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room, well…it meant something to me. I know I’m…I’m married. At the moment, but … ” He walked up behind me and put his hand on the small of my back. Just then, Barry, the gardener came in through the back door of the pantry, his arms laden with boughs and boughs of holly branches. Mr. Roth turned and strode out the swinging oak door, leaving it flapping on its hinges. I watched the door close, then turned back to my Aga. I heard creepy Barry laughing with a nasty cough as he walked through.
Did Jasper just say “at the moment”? I wondered, turning my attention back to my pot. After last night, pretending nothing had ever happened. Or, oh my God, was he going to confess something? Surely not. After all, he was married, and that made him the bad guy. But maybe he was. Or maybe that’s all in your head, Juliet. I chided myself. You’ve been attracted to him since that night at the Aquarium. Oh shut up! I told myself, but my body was remembering how dynamic Jasper Roth had been the night I’d met him. The night I’d also met Ben.
****
Back while I was still working at The Ivy, Posy had whisked me to a benefit for the London Aquarium, an event with a capital E…surprisingly well attended by nobility, glitterati and money men, and for that night only, I let loose and practically hosed myself down in the free champagne. Posy dolled me up in a shimmery, form-skimming Zac Posen gown that looked alternately silver or aqua depending how the light hit (“It’s like the ocean,” she’d squealed, jumping up and down and clapping her hands at the sight of me emerging from her en-suite dressing room). Posy was done up in a pale, seafoam green gown concocted from a fabric that made it look painted on. On her head, she wore a tiara with a trident, suggesting that she was the daughter of Neptune himself. On anyone else, it would have looked like a cheap costume. On Posy, it was the perfect marriage of fantasy and royalty.
“You’re gorgeous,” I told her in the car. She’d brought a bottle of wine and two plastic glasses. It was like surfing, trying to balance the glasses, walk in heels and not spill anything on my dress.
“We’re practically twins. If I am, you are.” The wine and the cheerleading made me feel a tiny bit sultry. At first I’d been self-conscious in the tight dress, but I soon found myself mimicking Posy’s flirty confidence.
Her father’s driver dropped us at the door and we (or should I say she?) got a lot of attention with our entrance. We walked into a lavishly staged room filled with tanks of various sea life, giant screens projecting live feeds from the Aquarium itself and wave-like lighting designed to make us feel underwater. That was where I first laid eyes on Jasper Roth.
One of my favorite things about a do like this was checking out the food. Tonight’s theme was Miniature Feasts, which meant that the food was all hors d’oeuvres and canapés, with everything cleverly served in shot glasses, on endive leaves or as “lollipops” on sticks. Often, you’d also find bite-sized delectables served on oyster or scallop shells, but since this was an Aquarium event, I noticed that catering seemed to be a “no fish zone.” I would have been more comfortable in the kitchen than out on the floor. In fact, I was dying to sneak a peek behind the double doors to see how they pulled all this off from behind the scenes. This was without a doubt the fanciest party I’d ever been to. I just kept repeating to myself, You were invited. You belong here. You’re a guest.
As I wobbled tipsily over to a canapé station on Posy’s absurdly elevated and spiky Jimmy Choos (she cannot understand why I wear Dansko clogs in the kitchen) to check out what was being offered in order to mentally file away and steal recipes and presentations, I overheard a low, growly voice saying “…Andover, then Yale, then Harvard.” The deep, rich tone of it sent a little shiver up my spine. I only saw the back of the man speaking. He had a full head of thick, curly dark hair, and a compact but solid and proportionate body. It was the classic upside-down triangle shape of broad shoulders, trim waist and tight bottom. He was clad in an unparalleled navy blue wool suit (Savile Row?) that was simultaneously a bit too uptight and made him stand out as more important than any other man in the room.
As I was peering over his shoulder to inspect the greenish sauce on the beef slices in the Chinese ceramic spoons on the table in front of him, my ankle gave way and I had no choice but to grab him by the shoulders from behind in an invasive bear hug to avoid going down like the Lusitania.
“Oh, shit…I mean, darn. Wow, sorry,” I stammered, righting myself and almost knocking him off balance. He braced himself against the table with one hand, and pushed my hip hard with the palm of his other so I’d be upright again. I must have looked like one of those tall-haired, vinyl blow-up dolls waving wildly outside of car dealerships. “Oh, man, I’m just so sorry. Seriously…just, well, apologies,” I said as I turned on my heel, slinking off to look for Posy.
As I turned to make my getaway, he expertly caught my wrist in his hand and spun me gracefully back around to face him as though we’d been taking pre-wedding dance lessons together for months. It left me breathless. I pretended it didn’t.
“I’m not sorry. Who are you?” he demanded loudly in his broad-voweled Mid-Atlantic accent, Grecian-blue eyes boring into mine like he owned me. I got the feeling he thought he owned everything he laid eyes on. Those same eyes then took the liberty of skimming my cleavage, (hoisted up and presented in an Agent Provocateur bra), my hips, and the outline of my legs in the filmy dress, only to come back up to rest on my lips. He was still holding my wrist tightly, and the edge of his wedding band pressed into the bone. After Stephen, I’d been working hard on never again letting a man control me. Sure, I could be a servant, but I had tonight off.
That didn’t stop my body from betraying me. When his eyes left my lips and came back to meet mine, they were searching for an answer to more questions than “Who are you?” Oh my God. My brain ricocheted off the inside of my skull. He wants to have sex with me. I hadn’t had sex since Stephen. In fact, I hadn’t had sex before Stephen, so imagining a strange man wanted me for sex and sex only sent me reeling. My belly dissolved into hot liquid and my breathing went shallow and quickened. For God’s sake, Juliet, I admonished myself. Pull it together. He was the worst kind of man in my book and the champagne had obviously clouded my judgment. To him, you’re a cross between a cater-waiter and a call girl. He must be ten years older than you are. Just like Stephen. Angry with myself, I directed it at this American and answered him.
“I’m really nobody. Nobody you need to know,” I said flatly, extending my spine ballerina-style and making a point of looking down at him. He’s slightly shorter than I am. I felt like I was in a play that I hadn’t rehearsed. “Again, very sorry. Goodbye.”
With all the concentration I could muster, I turned and walked away without tripping or wavering. This was a monumental feat considering A) I was drunk, B) I was hopped-up on pheromones, and C) the waves of light projected over the floor made me feel swimmy. I could feel him watching me leave and was careful to keep my behind in check, with no hint of swishing or swaying. From the corner of my eye, I saw a man pull himself up from a violently red love seat shaped like a pair of fish’s lips, lankily extend himself to full height and cross the room to fall in step with me.
“Have a nice trip?” the stranger teased.
I was in no mood for laddish pranking. Wanting to get out of there, I searched the room for Posy. I spotted her holding court in the far diagonal corner near a tank of sea turtles. There was a teenage boy, and old man, and a Fran Lebowitz lookalike, all hanging on her every word. I arrowed toward them, the stranger still walking shoulder-to-shoulder with me.
“Go away,” I said, not even turning to look at him. I had dropped my party manners a while back and since he wasn’t being nice, I didn’t feel the need to be, either.
“You’re American?”
“None of your business,” I said.
“I saw the whole thing back there,” he said, cornering me against a shiny, chrome room divider. It was cool on my bare shoulders. “You have to admire the old Casanova. And I suppose, you, too. I’m tough in the courtroom, but I don’t have the bollocks to put Jasper Roth in his place.”
Jasper