Behind the Facade (17 page)

He smiled. “No, we're staying
right here,” he said, and pointed towards the opposite end of the lake. “They
have refreshments available in the marquee over there and they’ll be putting on
an ice spectacular later, once the lake closes to the public.”

Kate commented, “I hadn’t
even noticed it. You don't do things by halves, do you?”

 He laughed and her
mood lightened, which is what he had intended.

The marquee was a melee of
people, sounds and smells. Kate was initially taken aback by the unaccustomed
noise and confusion of it all. She was used to quiet, sophisticated dinners in
private settings. However, she soon adjusted to it, helped by the fact Michael
was so clearly unfazed.

She felt a new level of
respect and attraction for him, as he forged a way through the throngs gripping
her hand tightly and quickly garnering the attention of the bar staff. It was
not long before he had secured one of the high round tables for them, in one of
the quieter corners of the tent, and was handing her a mug of mulled wine and a
bratwurst sausage, snuggled in a bun and smothered in onions and ketchup.
Perched on a high stool, Kate looked around her in some amazement and
bewilderment. She was surrounded by chatter, laughter and the delicious scent
of frying onions, yeasty beer and sweet spices. 

“Not what you’re used to,
huh?” Michael asked, as he joined her on the stool opposite.

“Not what I expected,
either,” she said. “You know just how to surprise a girl, don’t you?”

“A good
or a bad surprise?”

“Good,” she affirmed and
bit into her sausage with relish. Michael followed her lead and tucked into his
hot dog equally enthusiastically. They shared a companionable moment simply
savouring the food and the atmosphere, without the need for talk.

Having finished their
simple repast, the silence suddenly became pregnant with expectation. Kate
gulped at her wine with anticipatory nerves, wondering quite how to broach the
subject of her past again. It had seemed entirely natural to want to talk about
it next to the ice, when she was cold and melancholy, but now the atmosphere
was distinctly different. She was reluctant to spoil it with talk of sadder
times. Michael seemed to sense this.

“You don’t have to bare
your soul to me right now, you know,” he said. “You hardly know me after all.”

Her face creased in vexation
at this. “Maybe not, but I know you well enough to know I can trust you.”

“Do you though?”
challenged Michael. “I could be a monster for all you know.”

She scrutinised his face.
His tone was serious but she suspected he was just trying to get a rise out of
her.
He quirked his eyebrow, in a playful gesture of enquiry
when she failed to respond.
At this she was sure he was joking but,
matching his pretence at seriousness, she observed soberly, “Ah! I should have
seen it before. Those golden eyes of yours change to black when you’re hungry
for blood. You’re a vampire!”

She laughed but her laugh
petered out as she detected he did not share in her amusement. He appeared to
have been strangely unsettled by her remark and his face had gone very still.
He quickly broke this brief moment of awkwardness with a smile. Reassured, she
suggested “Why don’t you tell me about yourself then?”

“What would you like to
know?”

“Well,” she pondered,
debating what she’d most like to ask.  Then it came to her.  “Have
you ever been married?” He shook his head, his smile growing.

 “Engaged?”

 “No.” His smile
remained and his eyes remained steadily on hers.

 She pursued her
lips. He raised his eyebrows, as if mocking the wisdom of her questions which
had elicited very little from him, but she was not going to be defeated.

She pressed on with, “In
love then? Have you ever been in love?” Though this question followed naturally
enough from its predecessors, it seemed to disconcert him. His smile
disappeared and his eyes dropped to his glass of beer. I have you there, she
thought. “You have.”

He looked up again and she
thought she caught a hint of sorrow in his eyes. He quickly covered this up
with a shrug and admitted, “Yes. I was in love.
Once, when I
was very young.
Young and very green.”
His
staccato words belied his nonchalance. She could sense a hidden pain.

“Tell me,” she encouraged.

He exhaled, as if he was
seeking to dispel
a heaviness
within him. “You really
want to know?”

“Yes,” she confirmed.

His eyes took on an
inverted glaze.  He began to talk again, in the same manner as before,
“She was amazingly beautiful. Raven hair.
Violet eyes.
Took my breath away.
Older.
Married.”
He paused and his eyes re-focused on her again, to
gauge her reaction to this admission.

She didn’t flinch and just
said quietly, “Go, on.”

He took a sip of his beer
and continued.
“Completely off limits, of course.
I
was flattered at first by her interest in me, then blown away when I realised
she genuinely wanted to sleep with me. God! You don’t really want to hear this
do you?”

“Yes,” she insisted.

He rubbed at his forehead.
“Well surely you can guess the rest?”

She shook her head,
frustrating his desire to end the account there.

“I fell in love with her.
I was mad for her.
Begged her to run away with me.
She
pretended she was waiting for the right time.”

He paused again and closed
his eyes. “I was a fool. She wanted me as a lover.
Nothing
more.
Her marriage, and the money and status it brought her, meant more
to her than me, more than anything or anyone. I found that out the hard way.”

“What happened?”

He abruptly turned away
from her at this question, as if to hide feelings that were too painful. When
he turned back, his face was neutral. “Want another drink?
Something
for dessert?”
He half-rose from his seat.

Kate saw this was his way
of ending the topic and that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to bring
him back to it later.  She reached out and touched his face, “What
happened?” she repeated, gently.

He sat back down, defeated
by her gentle persistence. He’d never discussed this with anyone, but having
opened up this episode of his life he felt unable to resist the force of the
hurt and anger it aroused. This compelled him to speak.

“I discovered she’d been
pregnant.” Kate audibly drew in a breath at this.

He shook his head in
visible distress and remembered disbelief. “She hadn’t told me. Just got rid of
it!
Didn’t even give me a say.
When I confronted her
about it, she just laughed.”

“Why.......?” Kate began.

Michael looked up and
answered her question before she could finish it. “Her husband was infertile.
He’d have known it wasn’t his. She’d have lost everything. Anyway, I wasn’t the
one who’d have had to carry the bastard and become bloated and ugly as a result.”

Kate knew that these must
have been his lover’s vulgar words, not his.

He now fully rose from the
table, clearly struggling to keep a hold on his emotions. “I’ll get us another
drink,” he said in a gruff, strangled voice, and disappeared into the now
thinning crowd.

Michael made immediately
for the men’s room where his stomach, unbalanced by the rawness of his
feelings, instantly disposed of its contents. What a waste, he thought, as he
ran the tap, but what bothered him more was the ability the past still had to
wound him. He spat and drank some water to clear his mouth and rid himself of
the sour taste of regurgitated food. He then repeatedly splashed water on his
face, trying to clear his mind and rid himself of the even sourer taste of his
memories. Towelling himself off, he attempted to regain his composure and
rediscover the imperturbable man he had been.

Left to stare worryingly
after him, Kate pondered on the strange turn of the tables. Michael had ended
up revealing a painful part of his past rather than vice versa. What did this
mean? To her, it meant they shared more than just a mutual attraction. She had
been right about a connection. They had both suffered. They had been meant to
find each other, she was sure of it. She just hoped he did not feel embarrassed
by his revelations. She was simply glad he had shared them with her. She now
knew she could trust him. He was a man of sensitivity and depth beneath his
seemingly self-assured exterior. She felt tears rising in sympathy for him as she
recalled again what he had related and the anguish he had clearly relived.

Meanwhile, as Michael made
his way back to the table, he was troubled by less positive thoughts of their
burgeoning relationship. He’d decided he wasn’t prepared to give a woman the
power to hurt him in that way again. He was determined to keep Kate at arm’s
length from now on. History was a teacher.  If you didn’t heed the lessons
it taught, then you only had yourself to blame. He wasn’t going to make the
same mistakes.

As Michael approached,
Kate couldn’t fail to notice the stoniness of his face. Her heart plummeted. He
didn’t pause to say anything to her but took her firmly by the arm,
proclaiming, “Let’s go.”

“Hang on!” she exclaimed,
as he barely gave her time to retrieve her bag, “What about our drinks?”

He didn’t reply and she
scurried to keep up with him, almost dragging over the table.  As they
came out into the open air, there was a sudden flash of fireworks over the lake
and they both stopped short in surprise. The ice show had started. She heard
what she thought was a soft groan from Michael but was determined to ignore it.

She fixed a smile on her
face and forcibly put her arm through his. “Is this what you brought me out in
such a rush for?” she asked with feigned cheerfulness.

Michael looked at the
ground as if reluctant to reveal his eyes to her, where she might read
something unwelcome. When he looked up, his face was shuttered. “Well, since
it’s started, we may as well enjoy it,” he said, unconcerned that this clearly
demonstrated he had not realised the show was about to begin.

 So, not even for the
sake of politeness, had he been prepared to make use of the excuse for his
behaviour she had supplied. Kate took her arm from his. This evoked no reaction
from him and he certainly made no attempt to recover it. She stood and watched
the show, with her arms crossed and a coldness seeping into her bones that had
nothing to do with the temperature. He obviously regretted his disclosure and,
for whatever reason, felt he had revealed too much to her.

They had a good vantage
point, despite having missed the opportunity to acquire a spot closer to the
entertainment. There was, in any case, a big screen at the opposite end of the
ice to ensure not a moment was missed. The first group of dazzling performers
leapt and frolicked on the ice, followed by a sensationally talented couple who
amazed with their on-off ice acrobatics. The orchestra exhibited their talents
by playing a range of up-beat pop and evocative ballads complimenting the
choreography.

Kate attempted to
re-engage with Michael. She enthused, “Captivating, isn’t it?” Looking up to
catch his response, she found Michael’s eyes fastened on her, as if they’d
always been there. He quickly looked away, without answering. Kate felt a
burning in her veins and a tear escaped without warning and slid unhappily down
her face. Why was he being so contrary?

There was a break in the
performance and applause broke out as the couple left the ice to be replaced by
a troupe of ebullient fire-eaters, who elicited further gasps of astonishment
from the onlookers with their daring flame-throwing antics. Kate purposefully
turned her back, wishing to make it clear she couldn’t be content whilst there
were unspoken thoughts between them. She moved off to one side. Michael
politely followed, drawing next to her.

She said, “It’s getting
late. I think I should be getting home.”

His only response was
“OK,” and he carefully took her elbow, leading her away from the spectators and
back in the direction of the car park.

Michael was nothing but
deferential in his manner towards her, as they regained the comfort of the car
and began the journey home. Nevertheless, there was
an
awkwardness
between them. Michael’s eyes never left the road and he refused
to utter a word. Huddled in her seat, Kate only felt horribly hollow. Any
attempt to make conversation only elicited monosyllabic replies and she soon
abandoned this tack. Despite this she was determined not to allow the evening
that had begun so well to end this way.

Michael drew up to her
address and still yet said nothing. Kate remained motionless in her seat.

“Your stop, I believe,” he
said once he noticed her inaction, leaning across to open her door and then
quickly withdrawing. Kate bit back an angry retort. She instinctively knew this
was not the approach that would gain her the response she wanted and draw out
the man that lay buried.