they reached the hotel. Katharine had thought they would sit in the lounge having tea quietly in a secluded corner, but as soon as they entered another contretemps occurred. There were several tweed-clad gentlemen sitting in a corner drinking stout, smoking, and talking.
Charles, giving a brief look in their direction, took Katharine’s elbow and quickly steered her towards the stairs.
“Members of my party,” he muttered. “I won’t have them staring at you. We’ll go to my room.”
There was no opportunity to protest. Did she want to? It was so much nicer to be completely alone with no anxiety as to who was watching them. One could face the implications later.
Charles rang for a maid, and asked that tea be sent up. Then at last he relaxed, taking her in his arms, and pressing his face into her shoulder.
“Kate! You don’t know how much you’re beginning to mean to me.”
And he to her, she thought silently, her fingers in his thick smooth hair. His half-packed bag on the floor, the bed bearing the faint impress of his form—he must have been resting before he came to meet her—his silk dressing-gown hanging from a hook on the door, his brushes and toilet equipment on the dressing-table gave her a feeling of greater intimacy than she had ever had.
“I won’t have Healy and Dillon and the rest staring at you. Papists! They have rigid cast-iron consciences. Kate?”
“Yes, love.” The endearment came naturally and sweetly to her tongue.
“There’s something I must ask you.”
“Of course.”
“I can’t help it, I’m beginning to think of you as mine. But you have to live with your husband.” She could feel the rigidity of his form and answered the question he had not put into words.
“He doesn’t touch me. Even before we met, I no longer loved him. I’m like the wife in a melodrama—I lock my bedroom door.” She looked serenely into his tormented eyes. “I’m not being facetious. You don’t need to fear.”
His fingers pressed cruelly into her shoulders.
“You can’t go on with a marriage like that.”
“Divorce?” She tested the word. “That would ruin you.”
There was a knock on the door and abruptly he released her.
“Come in.”
A waiter came in with the tray of tea. He set it down, paused to look curiously at Katharine, and left.
Katharine sat down composedly at the table.
“Let us have tea and talk quietly. What time does your train go?”
“Six o’clock.”
“Then we have only an hour: And you have to finish packing. This is too big a question to discuss in an hour. In any case, there’s nothing to discuss. You’re the leader of your country. They say that you’re called the uncrowned king of Ireland.”
“Celtic extravagance!”
“Perhaps. But the people worship you, isn’t that true? They look to you as their saviour.”
“Sometimes that’s an impossible burden.”
“I’m sure it must be, but it would also be impossible to have it ruined by a woman. You would hate me. And I’m no Helen of Troy. I don’t intend to be a woman who changes the history of a country. Because that would happen. I believe in you that much.”
“You’re too intelligent, Kate.”
“Apart from that, we’re wasting time even discussing this subject. Willie is a Roman Catholic. He would never tolerate divorce any more than those papists, as you call them, downstairs.”
She poured the tea, her hand miraculously steady.
“There. Drink that. Thank goodness tea is one thing the English and Irish have in common.”
He smiled faintly, and obediently sipped the tea. She thought he looked a little less drawn though his face was still tormented.
“Charles, already you’re a man of history. If you never did anything else, you would be that. But you’re going to do so much more. How could I have it on my conscience to stop you? So let us postpone this conversation for a year or two.”
“It will be a bitter road this way,” he said soberly. “Do you realise how
Charles, giving a brief look in their direction, took Katharine’s elbow and quickly steered her towards the stairs.
“Members of my party,” he muttered. “I won’t have them staring at you. We’ll go to my room.”
There was no opportunity to protest. Did she want to? It was so much nicer to be completely alone with no anxiety as to who was watching them. One could face the implications later.
Charles rang for a maid, and asked that tea be sent up. Then at last he relaxed, taking her in his arms, and pressing his face into her shoulder.
“Kate! You don’t know how much you’re beginning to mean to me.”
And he to her, she thought silently, her fingers in his thick smooth hair. His half-packed bag on the floor, the bed bearing the faint impress of his form—he must have been resting before he came to meet her—his silk dressing-gown hanging from a hook on the door, his brushes and toilet equipment on the dressing-table gave her a feeling of greater intimacy than she had ever had.
“I won’t have Healy and Dillon and the rest staring at you. Papists! They have rigid cast-iron consciences. Kate?”
“Yes, love.” The endearment came naturally and sweetly to her tongue.
“There’s something I must ask you.”
“Of course.”
“I can’t help it, I’m beginning to think of you as mine. But you have to live with your husband.” She could feel the rigidity of his form and answered the question he had not put into words.
“He doesn’t touch me. Even before we met, I no longer loved him. I’m like the wife in a melodrama—I lock my bedroom door.” She looked serenely into his tormented eyes. “I’m not being facetious. You don’t need to fear.”
His fingers pressed cruelly into her shoulders.
“You can’t go on with a marriage like that.”
“Divorce?” She tested the word. “That would ruin you.”
There was a knock on the door and abruptly he released her.
“Come in.”
A waiter came in with the tray of tea. He set it down, paused to look curiously at Katharine, and left.
Katharine sat down composedly at the table.
“Let us have tea and talk quietly. What time does your train go?”
“Six o’clock.”
“Then we have only an hour: And you have to finish packing. This is too big a question to discuss in an hour. In any case, there’s nothing to discuss. You’re the leader of your country. They say that you’re called the uncrowned king of Ireland.”
“Celtic extravagance!”
“Perhaps. But the people worship you, isn’t that true? They look to you as their saviour.”
“Sometimes that’s an impossible burden.”
“I’m sure it must be, but it would also be impossible to have it ruined by a woman. You would hate me. And I’m no Helen of Troy. I don’t intend to be a woman who changes the history of a country. Because that would happen. I believe in you that much.”
“You’re too intelligent, Kate.”
“Apart from that, we’re wasting time even discussing this subject. Willie is a Roman Catholic. He would never tolerate divorce any more than those papists, as you call them, downstairs.”
She poured the tea, her hand miraculously steady.
“There. Drink that. Thank goodness tea is one thing the English and Irish have in common.”
He smiled faintly, and obediently sipped the tea. She thought he looked a little less drawn though his face was still tormented.
“Charles, already you’re a man of history. If you never did anything else, you would be that. But you’re going to do so much more. How could I have it on my conscience to stop you? So let us postpone this conversation for a year or two.”
“It will be a bitter road this way,” he said soberly. “Do you realise how
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