Knight's Mistress

  How not to explain that the majority of his movie-watching was of the adult entertainment variety with his various female playmates. And no one ever saw the end of a movie. ‘Sometimes I do,’ he lied. ‘Butter or no butter for you?’

  ‘Need you ask?’

  He laughed. ‘Lots of butter, right?’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind some grated cheddar on top too.’

  ‘Then that’s what you’ll have,’ he said, pleased that they’d moved past issues of sex or no sex to popcorn.

  The small theatre was outfitted with navy velvet chaises rather than chairs, the walls and ceiling were crimson velvet-covered acoustical panels, and a large screen was spread across an entire wall. A small, well-stocked bar took up half the back wall, the overhead lighting blue and yellow hand-blown glass depicting abstract flower shapes. Clearly the work of an artist.

  After seating Kate, Dominic stood beside her. ‘Soda, mineral water, a drink?’

  ‘I always have a Coke with ice. What about you?’

  Usually lots of whisky. ‘Me too – Coke.’ When he came back with their Cokes a few minutes later, he gestured at the door. ‘I’ll get the popcorn.’

  Smith greeted Dominic with a smile as he entered the butler’s pantry. ‘Good morning, sir. The film just arrived. They finally found a copy in Kowloon.’

  ‘Thank you for going to the trouble. Miss Hart likes this particular movie.’ Dominic glanced at the tray on the counter.

  ‘One bowl of plain butter popcorn, sir, one butter and cheddar. The chef added some spiced nuts, a few cookies and sweets. He thought the young lady might enjoy the sweets.’

  ‘I’m sure she will. Chocolates?’

  ‘The truffles you ordered, sir.’

  ‘Excellent. Tell Liang I need a car brought round at five thirty.’

  ‘There’s a great deal of bustle up at the house.’

  ‘No doubt. Have you heard how the chief executive’s wife is doing?’

  ‘She’s come through so far, sir. Everyone is hopeful.’

  ‘Good news. I’m assuming flowers were sent?’

  ‘Yesterday, sir.’

  ‘Good, good. It does make one appreciate one’s health.’

  ‘Indeed, sir.’

  Dominic picked up the tray, dipped his head in farewell and walked through the door held open by a houseboy.

  ‘The master is in good spirits,’ Smith observed as the door closed on Dominic. ‘Unusually fine spirits.’

  The houseboy grinned. ‘He likes the lady. She’s not like the others.’

  Smith sniffed. ‘The others were only distractions. Miss Hart is keeping him company.’

  ‘The house staff bets not for long, though.’

  ‘We won’t have any such talk,’ Smith said crisply. ‘And no one will be betting. Mr Knight deserves some pleasant companionship, no matter the duration. He’s been alone too long.’

  The houseboy respectfully nodded. But he wasn’t old like Smith; he’d already bet twenty Hong Kong dollars on three days.

  When Dominic returned to the theatre, he set down the tray next to the chaise, slid behind Kate, drew her back against his chest and flicked on Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette. He half watched the movie, more interested in the lady seated between his legs, a bowl of popcorn in her lap, her attention focused on the screen as though she hadn’t seen the film before.

  He handed her the tray from time to time so she could select a cookie or candy, he ate some himself, which he rarely did, and he even enjoyed what he saw of the movie, which surprised him. Perhaps unrequited love and star-crossed lovers struck some enigmatic sensibility, or perhaps just holding Miss Hart in his arms made any movie enjoyable. Strangely, the thought didn’t disturb him. In fact, the simple pleasures, a movie, popcorn, a beautiful young woman in his arms enthralled by this love story, the kind of homespun companionship they were sharing was peaceful, ordinary and for him, exceptional. It made him think of fields of daises and singing bluebirds, he thought and smiled to himself.

  After the movie, they dressed in jeans and sweaters and went out into the walled garden. The vine-covered walls protected them from the wind, the gradient of the sun widespread enough to warm the air. Feeling that Kate was comfortable enough to meet one of the houseboys, Dominic had high tea brought out, along with a chessboard. After serving Kate tea, Dominic pointed at the tiered caddy that held three plates of traditional sandwiches and pastries: cucumber sandwiches on white bread, potted shrimp on dark bread, cheese and tomato on rye, scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam, shortbread, colourful petits fours, lemon tarts, poppy seed cake. ‘And champagne if you like,’ he added with a nod at the bottle of Krug in a silver ice bucket on a stand by the table.

  She did, as did he.

  They spoke of innocuous subjects while they ate.

  Dominic mentioned his sister and named her children when Kate asked.

  ‘I’m surprised you remember them all,’ she said. ‘Middle names too.’

  ‘Melanie has a thing for names. They’re all pretty nice names, actually.’

  ‘Do you see them often?’

  ‘Quite a lot. They live in the Bay area, not too far from me. My sister and I were always close, best friends. We still are. In fact, I learned how to get along with women from her,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘And you learned well,’ Kate teased. ‘You can anticipate.’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ he said modestly, and changed the subject. ‘What was it like growing up without siblings?’

  Kate grinned. ‘I was the adored only child. First with my parents, then after they died, with my grandparents. I had unconditional love pretty much all around.’

  A dark shadow flickered briefly in his eyes, before the mask slipped back into place. Dominic raised his glass. ‘Lucky you,’ he said.

  She immediately felt guilty for being so unfeeling. ‘I’m sorry. That was rude of me.’

  ‘God no.’ He leaned back in his chair and studied her as if she was a specimen under glass, something rare. ‘More power to you and your family. It’s nice to know unconditional love isn’t just an empty phrase.’

  She wanted to say, ‘I’ll give you unconditional love’, but knew how ludicrous it would sound with their five-day ticking time line. Not to mention the very wide gulf between a handsome billionaire with tons of women dogging his heels and, well, someone like her. ‘I didn’t always get my way,’ she said, in an effort to mitigate her faux pas. ‘I was grounded more than once when I was older.’

  He lifted his brows. ‘For?’

  She was able to make Dominic laugh then and made a conscious effort to entertain him with small-town stories. She had plenty of them. Nana was a born storyteller and Gramps hadn’t been any slouch either. His canoe outfitting business was about schmoozing too, not just sending people off into the Boundary Waters with good equipment and good maps.

  ‘Gramps died suddenly when I was twenty. A heart attack. Although he’d been sprayed by Agent Orange so many times when he was in Vietnam, he always said he was living on borrowed time. His death hit Nana and me pretty hard. You’re lucky that both …’ she stopped. ‘Sorry. I forgot. Tell me about Melanie. She’s older right?’

  He grinned. ‘Quick save, babe. Yeah, Melanie’s almost six years older. She more or less raised me. She’s grounded in a remarkable way. Some people roll with the punches when life’s shitty, buckle down and get on with getting on. Then there’s people like me who fight the indifference and neglect as though I’m some fucking Don Quixote on a bike.’ He smiled faintly. ‘I was trouble from a young age. Anyway, Melanie was my guardian angel, she made everything hunky dory when it wasn’t.’ He looked down for a moment, then blew out a breath. ‘We’re going to have to change the subject or I’m going to start drinking seriously.’

  ‘Did you like the movie?’

  ‘I liked that you liked the movie. It was fun.’

  For a long moment they looked at each other, a kind of crackling reminder that th
e fun would soon be over shimmering like lightning in the air. Then they both started talking at once.

  ‘You first,’ he softly said.

  ‘I was just going to say, the casting for Count Fersen was well done. He was the perfect hero, self-sacrificing and all that.’ Her voice trailed off because Dominic was staring at her like he was memorizing her face.

  ‘I agree. That was nice,’ he said as her cheeks flushed. ‘Although self-sacrifice is probably a lost art now.’

  Another restless silence, the undercurrent of change palpable. They both knew their time together was finite, each moment precious.

  ‘If you’re finished eating,’ Dominic suddenly said, pushing to his feet. ‘I’ll clear up the dishes. No, sit, I’ll do it.’

  She watched him carry the dishes to the wheeled cart the houseboy had used to deliver the food, doing her own memorizing against the future when she’d only have that to remember him by. She was overcome by a poignant sense of loss and when he leaned over and gently kissed her cheek in passing as he returned to the table, her pulse rate skyrocketed and her belly clenched. He had only to touch her and she was weak with longing. How would she survive without him?

  He smiled at her as he took his seat and reached for a chessboard that had been delivered with the food. He needed a distraction, something to focus his mind away from the wild, milling confusion. ‘Do you play?’ He started placing the pieces on the board. ‘If you don’t, I’ll show you.’

  ‘I play a little.’

  ‘Black or white?’

  ‘White.’

  He glanced up and grinned. ‘Naturally.’

  She was good, and two evenly matched games later, he told her so.

  ‘You sound surprised,’ she said.

  He was leaning back in his chair, drinking from a fresh bottle of champagne, feeling calmer, less dislocated. ‘You play better than a little, that’s all I meant. It’s a compliment.’

  ‘From a man who apparently doesn’t often lose at chess. Or did you let me win?’ They’d both won a game.

  ‘Hell no. I always play to win.’

  ‘I’ve noticed that once or twice,’ she drolly noted, the battlefield of chess having relieved her agitation as well.

  He smiled. ‘You can always hold your own, babe. Like this game. Who taught you? You’re tough to beat.’

  ‘My grandpa. He was a sniper in Vietnam. Long-term strategy kept him alive, he always said. Chess was the same, he told me: know your opponents, plan ahead, wait for the kill. I beat him the first time when I was eleven. We celebrated with blueberry pie and ice cream.’

  A lucent warmth lit his gaze. ‘Now there’s a picture. I would have liked to have seen you at eleven.’

  ‘No you wouldn’t have. I was a skinny tomboy with a butch haircut.’

  ‘Nana didn’t mind your butch cut?’

  ‘They both mostly let me do what I wanted.’

  He laughed. ‘So they’re to blame for your obstinacy.’

  ‘Who’s to blame for yours?’

  ‘Fuck if I know. Probably fighting for my life in my dysfunctional family.’

  ‘Was it really bad?’

  He shrugged. ‘Nah, lots of people had it worse. Melanie and I had each other.’

  ‘I feel for you. My childhood was great once I went to live with Nana and Gramps, they were everything a kid could want.’

  ‘Your parents? Do you remember much?’ A soft query; he knew some of the answer, but not all.

  ‘Not much. I was only four when they died. I remember my parents working at home, in long stretches like I often do, sometimes all night, so their nerves probably weren’t the calmest. They were computer geeks like me. I’d wake up at night when they’d be screaming at each other – I suppose they didn’t want to fight in front of me. It wasn’t often, but a kid remembers that. It’s scary. Otherwise they were super good to me, played with me, read to me, had tea parties with me and my toys.’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, a little childhood angst. What can I say?’

  He’d read about her parents in the brief. Both young hotshot software programmers, mother a Berkeley graduate where she’d met the father, father from a prominent Bay family who’d disowned him when he’d married a woman they saw as from the raw hinterlands and unacceptable. (That’s why Katherine used her mother’s surname.) Her parents’ car had gone over a cliff on Highway 1 north of San Francisco; according to the police report, alcohol was involved.

  ‘So don’t scream at me,’ Kate said. ‘I don’t like it.’ She smiled. ‘Not that I don’t do my share of arguing, but I don’t as a rule scream. Some Freudian shit I’ve never looked at too closely. I figure ignorance is bliss. And like you, there’s lots of people who have had much tougher lives than me. I have no complaints other than my slight paranoia with screaming.’

  He held up his hand. ‘Promise. No screaming.’ As for any more of his family memories, no way he was going there. ‘Ready for one more game? Then we have to bath and dress for a cocktail party. Don’t scowl. I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want you pouting all day. We just have to stay for two hours.’

  She groaned. ‘Why do I have to go?’

  ‘Because I’d miss you if you didn’t.’

  ‘No, really, why do I have to go?’

  ‘Really, cross my heart, I’d miss you. Some charity event Max’s wife helped organize had to shift venues when the hostess had a heart attack. I just found out about it yesterday. I tried to get out of it, couldn’t, and there you are – my companion at a boring cocktail party to raise funds for the Hong Kong Philharmonic. You can meet the President of Hong Kong, if you’re interested.’

  She groaned louder this time.

  ‘My exact reaction. Max ignored me.’

  ‘You’re sure it’s OK with Max’s wife if I show up?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

  She shrugged. ‘Because I’m your current fuckee.’

  ‘You’re also a contractor for Knight Enterprises. And Olivia couldn’t care less. If I like you, she’ll like you. End of story. Don’t argue.’

  A doleful grimace. ‘Do I get a reward for this miserable assignment?’

  ‘The minute the two hours are up.’ He didn’t have to ask what she meant.

  ‘So we’re talking nine-oh-one?’

  ‘Or as soon as I can chase you upstairs. We can stay at my house, if you like. My mother’s gone.’

  ‘I don’t care. You decide.’

  ‘We can decide later.’ He liked the isolation here. But it didn’t matter enough to dispute the point should Katherine prefer the house. ‘Would you like someone to come in and do your hair and make-up?’

  She slammed him with a look. ‘Do I need it?’

  ‘God no, I was just being polite. Some women – don’t glare at me – I meant women in the generic sense. I’ve never had anyone ever brought in to do make-up and hair, here or anywhere.’

  ‘Greta,’ she reminded him with a narrowed glance.

  ‘They were her clothes. Who better than she to help you?’

  ‘Because I needed help?’

  ‘No, because I needed her to convince you to wear them.’

  She sighed. ‘A part of me still thinks I should have refused.’

  ‘No, you shouldn’t have. You look gorgeous in all her things. It pleases me.’

  ‘So I must please you?’ The small familiar rebellion in her voice, her intrinsic need for autonomy in a constant struggle with her sexuality.

  ‘You never have to do anything you don’t want to do,’ he softly replied. ‘You know that.’

  She studied a chess piece briefly, then looked up and met his gaze squarely. ‘I like to please you.’ She smiled. ‘You’re my dangerous unknown, my high-risk rush, my obsession. And best of all, I always get rewarded.’

  ‘We both do. You constantly delight me in every possible way.’ He was silent for a moment, feeling as though he’d said too much. ‘So one more game? Loser has to bath the winner?’

  This ga
me he deliberately lost.

  CHAPTER 19

  His tub was an oversized claw-foot model placed on an oriental carpet in the centre of an alcove adjacent to the bathroom. The arrangement, long an aristocratic practice, allowed servants to bath their masters, a circumstance not unlike that taking place at the Garden House. Not that anyone would characterize Dominic Knight as hired help, but he was definitely helpful in this instance for his own selfish reasons.

  Needless to say, the bath took longer than usual because ultimately Dominic joined Kate, one thing led to another and by the time they climbed out of the tub, the carpet was soaked. Dominic placated Kate with conciliatory remarks about his well-paid staff who didn’t mind in the least if there was a little water on the floor as he led her into the bedroom and shut the door behind them.

  ‘Don’t think I didn’t notice your out-of-sight-out-of-mind ploy,’ she muttered, giving him a disapproving look. ‘I could have wiped up the floor.’

  ‘No you couldn’t have wiped up the floor. I wouldn’t let you. Don’t start, OK? It’s a stupid fight.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said curtly. ‘Oh, God, now what did I do?’

  Her eyes were suddenly wet with tears. ‘Nothing. Really, you didn’t do anything.’ Then her tears spilled over.

  ‘Jesus, don’t cry,’ he whispered, pulling her against his body, holding her close. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t snap at you.’

  ‘I shouldn’t argue all the time.’ Her voice was muffled against his chest.

  ‘I don’t mind, really. I’ll try to be better.’ If anyone in Knight Enterprises had heard Dominic’s response, they would have thought their CEO had finally gone over the edge into some neurotic psychosis due to overwork. I’ll try to be better. Mea culpas weren’t his style. Although if anyone had had the nerve to point it out to him, he would have brushed them off. She was unhappy, he would have said. Why wouldn’t I soothe her?

  ‘I’ll try to be better too.’ Kate’s words were barely audible, although her little hiccuping delivery was revealing.

  Lightly cupping her chin, Dominic lifted her face, lowered his head and gently licked away her tears. ‘Baby, don’t cry. Maybe we can make it less than two hours at the party?’ His voice was low, husky. ‘Would that help?’