Bertrice Small - Forbidden Pleasure

Emily didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Rina Seligmann," she said. "Since the grans died, you have been my rock."

"Of course I have," Rina replied calmly, brushing away the single tear that had slipped down Emily's cheek. "You could be my daughter, sweetie. And I could never have enough daughters. Sam will tell you that. 'A son's a son till he takes a wife. But a daughter's a daughter all of her life.' My mother always said that, but if truth be known my brother was a better daughter to our mother than I ever was." She chuckled.

"I'll make the whipped cream," Emily said. "It won't take long. Check to see if the men want coffee or tea. And would you take that bottle of ice wine in? The glasses are here on the tray." She pulled out the dark, slender bottle of the sweet dessert wine and handed it to Rina. Then she set about whipping the heavy cream, transferring the finished product into a cut-glass bowl with a scalloped silver spoon to serve it.

They had all decided upon tea, and Rina brewed a large pot of American black-leaf tea from the only tea plantation in the United States that was located outside of Charleston, South Carolina. Emily's friend Savannah Banning had introduced them to it. Emily spooned out the dark-chocolate trifle, adding a lavish dollop of the freshly whipped cream to each serving, and passing the plates around. There was virtual silence as the diners devoured it. Rina was in charge of the teapot and the ice wine.

Finally Michael Devlin pushed back his chair and sighed deeply. "I do not know when I last ate such a grand meal," he said, his green eyes on Emily.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," she said almost shyly.

Rina saw Devlin's eyes soften. Hoo , boy, she thought. He wants her, all right. I wonder how long it will take for them both to realize it. She looked at her husband and saw that Sam was finally noticing the attraction between Emily and Michael Devlin too. Rina's eyes met her husband's in silent understanding, and Dr. Sam stood up.

"I hate to eat and run," he said, "but I've got rounds at the hospital early. Rina, come! Emily, as always, a wonderful dinner. Thank you, darling, for asking us. Mick, delighted to meet a fellow rare-roast-beef lover. I hope we'll see you again."

"I hope so too, Dr. Sam," Devlin replied.

"I'll see you to the door," Emily said, and she did, waving her two friends off as their car pulled away from in front of her house.

"Where do they live?" Devlin asked. He was standing next to her, she realized.

"A subdivision nearby. It's called Ansley at Egret Pointe," Emily said. "It's the only one in town, and has been there for years."

"When I came through the village I didn't see any serious shopping facilities," he replied, "and that wonderful beef had to have come from a real butcher. Let's sit. It's lovely out here on your big porch."

"The dishes," she protested.

"I'll bet you and Rina have everything in the dishwasher but for the dessert things," he said softly. "It's twilight, and I hear a robin singing. They have the sweetest song, and you hear them only at dusk and at dawn in the spring. Spring is already half-gone, Emily. You won't hear the robins until next year if you miss them now." He sat in a large wicker rocker, motioning her into a nearby chair.

She sat. "I never knew a man who recognized a robin's song, or knew when they sang," she told him quietly.

"I grew up in the country," he said. "Actually, I prefer it to the city."

"I couldn't live in the city," Emily admitted. "My father does, and my mother lives just outside of D.C. But I'm not a city girl at all. I have lived in Egret Pointe my whole life, and I never want to live anywhere else. I suppose that makes me a world class stick-in-the-mud." She laughed. "Did you like living in London? It's a wonderful city."

"I was very fortunate," he said. "I lived in an elegant little row house directly across from a lovely park. Actually, I own it. I've let it out for a year to a wealthy American widow, complete with my butler, Mr. Harrington, until I see how things go now that I'm back. I'm not certain I want to stay here."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed. "Why not?" she asked him. Then, "It's J.P., isn't it? She really is a dreadful creature, but she has made Stratford exceedingly profitable, and in publishing today profit is the name of the game. Martin couldn't do without her."

"You know what's happening then?" he said quietly.

"Yes, I know," Emily answered him candidly. Then she stood up. "I really want to get the table cleared and those dishes started, Mick."

"I'll help," he said, escorting her into the house.

They hardly spoke another word as together they cleared the rest of the dishes and glasses from the table. When everything was in the dishwasher and Emily had started it, she told him to take off the lovely Irish linen cloth that had covered her Duncan Phyfe dining table, and gather up the napkins.

"Essie, my housekeeper, will do them on Monday," she said, putting them in a basket in the laundry room off the big kitchen.

"Is that a laundry tub?" he asked her.

"One of the benefits of living in an old house," she replied as she set up the coffeemaker for the morning. "First one down turns it on," she told him.

"I'm not usually an early riser on Saturdays," he admitted with a grin.

"I thought we were going to work tomorrow," Emily said. "I have so much to tell you, and I've already fleshed out the story, Mick."

"It's still early," he responded. "I thought we might work a little tonight."

"Oh," she replied.

"Or we could sit out on your porch for a while longer, and get to know each other better," he quickly suggested, seeing her dismay. "You aren't a night person, are you, Emily?"

"Not really. My brain functions better when the sun's up," she confessed.

It was almost dark when they came out again to sit on the porch. They watched the night envelop everything about them, and they couldn't even see each other's faces, just their silhouettes. The stars came out to twinkle brightly in the blackness of the firmament. They talked about themselves, learning to become more comfortable with each other as the time slipped by.

"What's that?" he said, suddenly hearing a chiming coming from the village.

"The Episcopal church, St. Luke's, has a clock tower. Didn't you notice it before?" Emily wondered. She had gotten so used to it she rarely ever heard it.

"No, I was too interested in listening to you," he told her. "God, it's eleven o'clock, isn't it? I hadn't realized it was so late."

"Do you turn into a pumpkin at midnight?" she asked mischievously.

He laughed. "Did you leave any lights on in the house?" he asked her.

"I'll go put some on so you don't break your neck coming in," she replied, getting up to do exactly that.

Able to see his way in he thanked her for a lovely evening.

"You have your own bathroom," she told him as he made his way upstairs. "The house may be an antique, but I've modernized all the electric and wiring. And I am the proud possessor of three and a half bathrooms. Get up whenever you want, Mick. Good night," she called to him as he reached the landing.

He looked back, but she was gone. Gone to do what? Lock up? Put away the clean dishes in the dishwasher? Prepare a pan of sweet rolls for the morning? He had enjoyed this evening. Enjoyed the food, the Seligmanns, Emily. Closing the door of his bedroom he looked about him. The furniture was American Empire, large and mahogany. The dresser had carved feet. The big bed was a sleigh bed. He turned on the bedside lamp and, taking down the simple heavy white cotton coverlet, he folded it neatly and placed it on the spread rack at the foot of the bed. He stripped off his clothing and hung it up and, after walking into the bathroom, showered. Dried off, he opened one of the bedroom windows and climbed into the bed naked. He always slept naked. The bed was made European style, with just a bottom sheet and a down coverlet. It all smelled of lavender, and was surprisingly comfortable. He turned off the bedside lamp.