Untold Sorrow

The Dinner

Jennifer's P.O.V:

Margaret and William were coming to dinner the next night. The timing was bad, I thought, as I labored all day over a complicated French ragout not only was the situation with Matthew unsettling, preoccupying, but I had just been given a new commission for some fashion illustrations from an exclusive shop in Philadelphia that had a deadline in two weeks, and couldn't seem to concentrate on it.

By the time Matthew got home that evening, I was a wreck. The ragout was tasteless, the consommé wouldn't clarify and the chocolate cake layers sagged ominously in the middle when I took them out of the oven. It was six o'clock, I hadn't dressed yet, and when Matthew strolled into the kitchen I was near tears.

'Something smells good,' he said pleasantly.

I brushed the heavy fringe of smooth black hair away from my damp forehead and eyed the caved-in torte with dismay. The kitchen was like an oven. What had got into me, I wondered, to tackle a heavy French menu in the middle of July?

I turned and glared at Matthew. Somehow the sight of him standing there at the doorway, so cool and neat in his lightweight tan trousers and short-Sleeved white dress shirt infuriated me, and I vented all my anger and frustration on him.

'Well, that's good,' I snapped, 'because the dinner is ruined.'

He only raised his dark eyebrows and walked slowly to me, looking down at the offending cake layers lying on the draining board. His close proximity only upset me further. The jacket of his suit was slung casually over one shoulder, hooked into his thumb, and his bare forearm brushed lightly against mine as he reached out to pick up a few crumbs.

'Chocolate,' he murmured appreciatively. 'My favorite it tastes good, what's wrong with it?'

'What's wrong with it?' I cried, pointing. 'Just take a look at it!'

He did so, then murmured, 'I gather it's not supposed to, um, droop like that in the middle'.

I could tell he was trying hard not to laugh, and this only infuriated me even more. 'It's not funny,' I snapped.

It made me uncomfortable to have him standing so close to me, if we were really married, I grumbled to myself, I could turn to him for comfort, cry on his shoulder, and we could even laugh about it. What's a ruined dinner when you're in love?

But we aren't in love, she thought glumly as she turned to the stove and stared down at the pan of consommé simmering there, still clouded and muddy. We only sleep together once in a while. My eyes burned with tears of self-pity, which finally began to spill over.

'Hey, Jennifer,' he called me softly now. 'It's not, worth crying over. After all, it's only William and Margaret, not Mr. and Mrs. President. They don't care.'

'I know,' I sniffed, trying to muffle my childish tears.

His arm came around me then, pulling me towards him. At this unexpected sign of affection, the dam burst, and I turned and sobbed wetly into his chest, soaking the white shirt with my tears.

As the outburst subsided, I began to feel better. What difference did a silly dinner make when Matthew was there to hold me, to comfort me? I longed to stay in the shelter of his strong arm forever, forget the dinner, forget William and Margaret, forget the whole world.

His hand was moving in a gentle soothing motion over my bare arm, and as I quieted down, the movement began to lull me into a mindless enjoyment of his touch. My pulses started to race as the pressure of his hand increased, became less comforting, more sensuous.

He could feel it, too, I knew, as I listened to his own heartbeat quicken under my ear. His fingers moved up under the short sleeve of my cotton shirt, on to my bare shoulder, I leaned closer to him, pressing myself against him.

I raised my head slightly so I could look up at him through eyelashes still wet with tears. His face was grave, his mouth set in a hard line, but the grey eyes gleamed with something I recognized instantly, unmistakably as desire.

As our eyes met, the hand on my shoulder stilled. I watched transfixed, as the dark head bent fractionally, haltingly, down towards me, I closed my eyes, waiting for his kiss, longing for the touch of his mouth on me. Suddenly, I felt his hand tighten painfully. His whole body stiffened away from me, and I thought I heard him swear softly under his breath.

My eyes flew open, He was looking at me now with something like hatred, his eyes narrowed and cold. Then he dropped his hand from my shoulder I shrank back, confused and embarrassed.

His jacket had dropped to the floor while He had held me for those few moments. He leaned over now to retrieve it, and when he straightened up again, the pleasant remote mask had reappeared on his face and he smiled distantly.

'Feeling better?' I nodded and turned my head away to hide my dismay at this sudden change in him. 'That's good,' he said calmly. 'It'll be alright you'll see I'll go shower and dress now.'

'Yes,' I said dully, still unable to face him. 'They'll be here at seven-thirty. I still have to get ready myself.'

I heard his footsteps as he walked out of the kitchen. When he was gone, I stood at the stove for several moments mindlessly stirring the consommé, trying to collect my thoughts, trying to understand the reason for Matthew's abrupt withdrawal just when he had been about to kiss me.

I sighed deeply, frowned at the consommé, and went down the hall to my bedroom. In one way, I thought as I showered, the episode gave me hope. his response to me in the kitchen had been spontaneous, not a planned event. He had wanted me, Jennifer, not merely the use of my body for the Purpose of creating a child.

I knew he had wanted to kiss me, had fully intended to kiss me. Why had he stopped? After drying myself, I sat down at the dressing table brushing my short hair vigorously, staring into the mirror, pondering. Of course, I had looked a mess, teary-eyed, hot, and disheveled. Was that it?

No, I thought, as I slipped on a short white sundress and zipped it up to the back. My appearance hadn't stopped him when he initiated the embrace. What then? Was he afraid of rejection? Of course not! Not only could a man like Matthew Smith handle rejection quite easily, but my response to him had been unmistakable.

Of course, I knew the real reason. It was Beth. I had to face it. As my own grief over Richard's death had faded, I had automatically assumed, had hoped, that Matthew was also recovering from Beth. Now I knew better. Even though Matthew wanted me physically, he was still hopelessly in love with his dead wife, would always be caught in her spell. How could I fight a dead woman? Beth lived on in his heart as a beautiful, unattainable dream. He sleeps with me, I thought bitterly as I slashed a touch of pale coral lipstick on my mouth, but he'll never love me. He'll never allow himself to. How can he when he's enchanted by a ghost?

It had been a terrible mistake to sleep with him, to allow myself to respond to him physically. Somehow I would have to see to it that it never happened again. I simply must harden my heart against him, refuse him Otherwise I would be lost.

Miraculously, the dinner was not the disaster I had feared. At the last minute, I had strained the consommé through a cheesecloth, piled whipped cream into the fallen center of the torte, and re-seasoned the ragout before William and Margaret arrived.

By the time we sat down to a candlelit dinner out on the balcony, a slight breeze had sprung up, cooling the hot, humid air, and when we had finished the meal, I was feeling more like myself again, buoyed up by my resolution to resist Matthew with every weapon at my command. I could do it. I wasn't a gullible young girl, nor so far gone that I wouldn't get over him in time.

I tried to look at him now, sitting across the table from me, with more detachment. He was unattainable, told myself, steeling myself against him when he smiled at me or spoke to me. He didn't even exist, as far as a real relationship was concerned. I could even return his smile coolly, speak to him, without giving way to any warm feeling for him. It was an effort now-he was even more attractive and appealing-but with practice it would get easier.

'That was a fine dinner, Jennifer,' William was saying now over the brandy. 'I didn't know you had it in you.'

'Yes,' Margaret agreed. 'The torte was especially delicious. You must give me the recipe.'

William turned to Matthew, who was leaning back in his chair smoking a long thin cigar, apparently totally relaxed and unaware of any change in my manner toward him.

'When will you be going on that fact-finding mission to Palestine, Matthew?'

'How did you know about that? It's supposed to be a secret. I haven't even told Jennifer.'

William chuckled. 'Oh, very little escapes the notice of the President's staff. Actually, I only know the bare outline. What can you tell me about it?'

Matthew shrugged and took a sip of brandy. He was thinking over his response carefully, now I watching him. He looks so handsome tonight, I thought, in his dark suit, the candlelight flickering over his fine tanned features. Then I caught myself, remembering her resolve, and tore my eyes away.

'I guess there's no harm in discussing it now,' he said at last, 'since we're leaving in a few days.' He shot me an apologetic look when he saw the startled expression on my face. 'Sorry, Jennifer. Even wives had to be kept in the dark.'

Wives! I thought disgustedly. He makes it sound as though we had a real marriage, as though such concealment would matter.

'Of course,' I murmured coolly, giving nothing of my feelings away.

He went on to explain the mission, which would include the members of his Senate subcommittee, two men high up in the State Department and several Congressmen. I didn't even listen to him, except to hear that he'd be gone for two weeks.

Good, I thought. I want him out of here. A separation is just what I need at this point. It will give me time to get him out of my system. And when he comes back, I'll tell him he can either look for another broodmare or adopt a child, because I'm never going to let him in my bed again.

My righteous indignation gave me strength. I could watch him now, listen to him speaking and feel all affection for him ebbing away as I hardened myself against him.

'You're looking well, Jennifer,' Margaret said in a low voice. 'Married life seems to suit you.'

I turned to her and smiled. 'Yes, it does. I'm quite content.' And I would be, I vowed, soon as I got Matthew out of my heart for good.

Margaret nodded with satisfaction. 'I thought you would be.' I glanced down at Matthew, who was listening attentively to William, a serious expression on his face. 'You're very lucky, you know. Matthew is a fine man. You're the envy of every unattached woman in New York.'

I kept smiling. If my sister and all those women only knew, just what kind of husband Matthew Smith was, they'd change their tune.

It was midnight before William and Margaret left. I was exhausted, physically and emotionally, from the long afternoon spent slaving in the kitchen, the shock of grasping Matthew's real feelings at last, and the ordeal of sustaining a carefree charade for my sister's benefit.

When the door finally shut behind them, I heaved a deep sigh of relief. The muscles of my face were rigid from smiling, and I had a splitting headache. I longed for bed but decided to clean up the dinner rubbish tonight, as much to keep a distance from Matthew as to get it out of the way so I wouldn't have to face it in the morning.

I began to clear off the table on the balcony, piling dishes, silver, and glassware on a large tray. Matthew came to the door and stood there watching me. I couldn't look at him, not yet, and I bustled about busily, making a loud clatter.

'What can I do to help?' he asked.

'Nothing,' I replied briefly without looking at him. 'You might as well go on to the bed.'

He was silent but made no move to leave. When the tray was piled as high as possible, I picked it up. A glass tipped over and a stack of cups wobbled precariously.

'Here,' Matthew said, striding towards me and taking the tray 'Let me do that.'

Wordlessly, I relinquished the tray and followed him into the kitchen. He set the tray down on the counter and turned to me. I brushed past him, turned on the tap and started rinsing dishes.

'I'm sorry I couldn't tell you about the Palestine trip,' he said after a long silence.

'No need to apologize,' I said over my shoulder. 'I understand perfectly.'

Then I turned off the water and leaned over to stack the china and silverware into the dishwasher. I wished he'd just leave. Why was he still hanging around? Most of the men I knew seemed to vanish miraculously when there was kitchen work to be done.

'What's wrong, then?' he asked quietly. 'I thought...'

I shot him a quick look and even managed to force an insincere smile. 'Nothing's wrong,' I replied briskly. 'I have a little headache.' What had he thought? That I would fall into his arms?

'Would you like to come with me? To Palestine? Some of the wives are going along'.

I straightened up and slowly dried my hands on a towel. For one brief moment, I was tempted. Perhaps if we got clear away from New York, the whole country, he'd forget Beth and turn to me. Two weeks alone with him might make all the difference.

Then I remembered the deadline on my new commission. I'd give it up in a minute if he, really wanted me to go. I looked at him

'I don't see how I can,' I said slowly. 'I have to get those drawings in for the Philadelphia store in two weeks.' If he asks me again to go, I will, and the hell with the new commission.

I watched him carefully, trying to read his thoughts. He seemed to be debating within himself, I held my breath. Then I frown and look Away.

'Of course,' he said. 'I forgot about that.' He gave me a wintry smile. 'If you're all through here, why don't you turn in? I think I will.' He started towards the door. 'Be sure and take something for that headache,' he said. Then he was gone.

For the next two days, we hardly saw each other. Matthew was deeply involved in meetings and briefing sessions for his trip to Palestine and only came home to fall, exhausted, into his own bed.

In a way, it was a relief for me not to have to see him or talk to him. Every indication was that he only regretted the few instances when he had seemed to warm towards me, and I was determined to put up the old barriers again.

I plunged immediately into my new job, even before he left, and found once again that work was the most effective antidote to pain. Each day without him only confirmed my decision to put an end to the physical side of our relationship. I didn't know how I would tell him, or what would remain of our marriage when I did, but I knew I had to do it.