KALEIDOSCOPE II PART 4
By Cynthia Hatch
She darted inside and picked up the receiver, subduing an urge to fling it out the door and over the balcony wall. "What, Joe?"
"Cath, glad you're there, I’m not disturbing you, am I?"
"As a matter of fact, you are. I have company."
"Really? Sorry, but hey, I couldn't have interrupted anything heavy-duty. You picked up too quick."
"We're just talking, Joe -- about his work."
"Oh, yeah? Whatcha got on the line tonight? One of the wizards of Wall Street?"
"Not exactly." She couldn't help smiling.
"Come on, Cath. I get the picture -- some guy in three hundred dollar loafers telling you how he just pulled off the merger of the decade, trying to get you drunk on wine that costs more than my good suit."
"Actually, Joe the subject was plumbing."
"Plumbing?"
She could all but see the startled look in his candid, brown eyes, as he tried to fit this piece of information into his image of her social life. "I don't know, Cathy -- a blue collar type. Isn't that just a little far afield for you?"
She looked out at Vincent, patiently sitting against the balcony wall, not a blue collar to his name, and tried to keep the devilment out of her voice. "Didn't you tell me I needed someone more down to earth?"
"Well, yeah, but compatibility's real important," he said earnestly. "How long's a guy like that gonna hold your interest?"
"I really can't say," she grinned, thinking that eternity might be a good place to start. "Has it ever occurred to you, Joe, that the reason I haven't settled down may be because you can't make up your mind about just what I need?"
"Oh, right." His explosive laugh told her she'd pulled his leg a little too blatantly. "I just bet you're sitting around waiting for me to tell you what to do. That's the trouble with you, Radcliffe -- no mind of your own."
"Why did you call, Joe?" she said, laughing. "Besides to monitor my dating habits."
"I thought you'd like to know somebody waltzed into the Metropolitan tonight and made off with a little number worth millions. We're getting contradictory reports. Either it's one of the museum's own paintings -- Dutch, they thought -- or it's an impressionist work that was there on loan -- some people on a picnic -- by Monet."
"Manet," she corrected automatically. "Joe, that's awful. Was anybody hurt?"
"Not as far as I know. We're waiting for some straight info, and God knows we'll have everybody from the Feds to Interpoi breathing down our necks, but I knew you were into art. Thought you might welcome a change from the usual crack and corruption."
"It does sound intriguing. Thanks for letting me know, Joe, but I've really got to go now."
"Sure. You know, I’ve got this toilet that flushes by itself at the darndest times. Could you ask your friend – "
"He's booked solid, Joe. Try the yellow pages. I'll see you Monday. "
She hung up and returned to the terrace with a helpless gesture. "I'm sorry. I just can't resist teasing him."
Vincent's eyes were twinkling with sympathetic humor. "He's been a good friend to you, Catherine."
"You're right. He has. I'm very lucky."
"You enjoy your work." It was a curiously uninflected statement, as if he were hiding some larger question behind it, but a search of his face gave no clue as to what that might be.
"I'm not sure 'enjoy' is quite the right word. It does give me a sense of accomplishment, when we're successful, when justice is actually served."
'That's important, Catherine." He had stopped looking at her altogether, turning toward the view of the city, and she was suddenly sure he was thinking that there had always been more than one obstacle to their dream, they were each tied by complicated bonds to their separate worlds. How simple life seemed one minute and how hopelessly convoluted the next. It wouldn't do to let that complexity overwhelm them. They could only take this journey one step at a time.
"Joe wanted to tell me that a painting's been stolen from the Metropolitan Museum."
He looked back at her, curious. "Only one?'
'That is strange, isn't it?' she acknowledged. "Security is so sophisticated these days, it does seem that anyone who found a way to circumvent it would make a bigger haul. I don't know the details, but Joe thought I might be interested. It's a different kind of case, and that makes it refreshing."
"And less dangerous."
"Probably, yes.
"I'm glad."
"I'm glad, too -- for both our sakes." Yet another grim reminder of issues unresolved was threatening to intrude on this safe haven, rising up between them to cloud the air that had seemed too clear to contain anything but hope. "Vincent, can I get you anything?'
He turned and nodded. In the depths of his eyes she saw her own determination to turn away from the problems that waited for them, to regain that first, sweet serenity of being alone together. He held out his arms, and she moved gratefully into them. "You, Catherine," he murmured, "only you."
What gift had she ever received -- in a past blessed with an almost embarrassing number of luxuries -- that could compare to the gift of his words? They simultaneously thrilled and evoked that deep inner peace that she had never experienced until he had come into her life. In the charmed circle of his embrace problems could not exist; they scattered into the shadows, leaving them alone together perfectly in tune with each other and consequently, it seemed, with the whole universe.
He rested his cheek on her head, as they stood, eyes closed, savoring the sweet sensation of emotions that blended and wrapped easily around each other in patterns too beautiful to be seen by anything but the heart.
It came as no surprise that she should tilt her face up to his at the exact moment that he bent to breathe softly against her lips. Their kiss seemed to flow naturally from their bond, a physical manifestation of the feelings that moved effortlessly from one to the other as they stood locked together. It carried them along with no conscious impetus from either of them, following some direction of its own design, deepening until her fingers clutched at the cool silk of his hair, her body reflexively molding itself to his, as his arms tightened around her. Abruptly, he pulled his mouth from hers and stood with eyes closed a moment, releasing his grip until his hands moved to her shoulders.
"What is it, Vincent? What's wrong?" She felt disoriented, glad for the reassuring strength of his hands, anchoring her in place.
He shook his head and opened his eyes to a sharp perusal of each corner of the balcony, as if it were some unfamiliar territory. "This place, Catherine, this time " He looked at her again, frowning slightly, as if beseeching her to understand what he couldn't, or wouldn't, say.
She searched her feelings and the suddenly chaotic jumble of his without success. "I don't understand. We're completely alone here, Vincent. There isn't anywhere more private than this."
"I know that." He turned to rest his hands on the balcony wall, drawn by a view to which she was sure he was oblivious."
"The last time you were here, it seemed like a good place," she reminded him gently. "We spent a long time . . . being close, showing each other how we felt."
"That was different." His voice was very quiet. He had lowered his head so that a sweep of gilded hair shielded his face.
Whatever direction his thoughts had taken, the signs of retreat were familiar to her. Some hurt, some mistrusted feeling had surfaced in him, as yet unrecognizable to her. "Why was it different, Vincent?
If anything, we had less privacy then. There was a guard just outside the door. If he had heard anything . . ."The quick look he threw her seemed involuntary, the flash of pain in his eyes bored through her in the instant before he turned away, its implication so terrible that she felt suddenly queasy.
"Oh, God, Vincent . . . no," she breathed, almost inaudibly, sinking down on the terrace bench. It was a moment before she could allow her mind to follow the treacherous train of thought his look had invited. Was it possible that he had let his passion surface that evening not in spite of the circumstances, but because of them? Because a part of him, mocked by that insidious doubt, welcomed the knowledge that someone else stood ready to protect her, someone sworn to intervene at the slightest sign of trouble, someone with a gun?
"I'm sorry," he whispered, the words racked with pain and a sense of shame that broke over her in despairing waves.
She knew her own shocked reaction was contributing to his misery. "How large the fears," he had once said -- they would need to comprehend that before they could truly be together. She thought she had understood them, but if that were true, she wouldn't be sitting here stunned by this realization. Nor had she really appreciated how "great the sacrifices" he was willing to risk for the sake of those precious moments of happiness together.
He had attained a kind of peace with himself, with his place in the world, until she had entered his life. Whatever hope and joy she had brought to him, it was certain that she was equally responsible for his torment, for jeopardizing the balancing act he had long ago perfected, with the power of the feelings she'd awakened in him. Determination flowed back into her, banishing the moment of weakness, and she went to him, laying her hand on his knitted sleeve.
"It's all right," she said, her voice strong. "Please, look at me, Vincent." He turned troubled blue eyes to hers, and she let him see the heartfelt conviction in her own. "You have nothing to apologize for. It's me. I say I understand about your fears, but I can't -- not really -- because it's one thing that we don't share. I can't pretend to believe that you could ever hurt me, so I forget how deeply it troubles you. It's selfish of me."
"Catherine, you are the most unselfish person I know."
"I want to be, but I'm afraid it isn't true. I love you so much. Words can't describe how I feel when you touch me. It's the most incredible feeling I've ever known, but there is something more important to me -- that I don't cause you any more pain than I already have, and if this isn't the time or place, if expressing our emotions . . .physically makes you uneasy, then I don't want it either. If you'd rather just sit and talk, then that's what I want too."
"It's not what I want to do, Catherine," he said softly.
"I know." Her fingers slipped down the muscled arm to caress his hand, soothingly, "but we have all the time in the world for things to work themselves out. It used to seem we had so few moments together and that they might end at any time, but I don't believe that anymore. I believe we have forever, Vincent."
He slid his arm around her once more, welcoming her back to the comforting strength of his embrace. "You ask for so little." he whispered against her hair.
"And you've given me more than I ever knew existed. It is enough, Vincent. It's more than enough. I don't ever want to spoil that by asking for more." Impossibly, the phone was ringing again. She kept her arms firmly around his waist. "I don't care if they've carted away the entire Metropolitan, stone by stone, I'm not leaving you again. I should have unplugged the phone." Mercifully, the caller hung up at the sound of a recorded message.
"Its silence would only trouble you," he said gently. "You would worry that someone who needed your help was unable to ask for it."
"Do you think that's compulsive?"
"No. Merely conscientious."
"Still, sometimes I wish there were no phones in the world."
"Such a world exists, Catherine."
She tilted her head back, smiling. "Another wish granted. Is it any wonder that everything seems magical when I'm with you?"
"Some problems cannot be solved by magic. I should be getting back."
"So soon? Why, Vincent?"
A wry smile played across the unique contours of his lips. "Plumbing, Catherine. There's still work to be done tonight, or the problem may worsen."
"Can I do anything to help -- get you supplies, tools -- what?"
"We have what we need -- except perhaps as many hands as we would like."
"Then I can come down and help you."
"Catherine, you haven't the time to do your own work. Please --don't worry yourself."
It was true. Recent events and her own distraction had allowed a backlog of intimidating proportions to pile up at the office. She'd been careful to complete those things that someone else would be asking for, but underneath all that promptly filed paperwork was a hidden tangle of loose ends and unfinished tasks. Seldom had she let the work get so out of hand, and it would take a lot of extra hours to set it right. The sooner that could be accomplished, the better chance she'd have of working on the intriguing puzzle of the art theft, and the easier it would be to jump at whatever chances they found to be together.
"I do have a lot of things to catch up on, but promise me, Vincent, that you'll let me know, if there's anything I can do to help."
"I promise."
"I don't know how you can keep up with the drainage problems, when there's so much territory to cover. Are any of your people civil engineers?"
"All of them, Catherine." He reached down to retrieve his cloak. swinging it over his shoulders in a single graceful motion. "We do what needs to be done, and there have been some ingenious proposals to prevent the worst of the damage."
"Mouse?"
"Yes, Mouse."
"But does he have the practical knowledge to put them into effect? Can he make them work, Vincent?"
He enclosed her, head bent over hers. "Sometimes, Catherine, it is more practical to believe in magic…trust in it."
"I do," she whispered, as his lips briefly caressed her temple. The existence of magic was irrefutable, as his touch sent it swimming through her veins and her soul.
"Know that my heart is with you," he whispered and a moment later was gone.