That Man Matthews. Ann Evans

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СКАЧАТЬ wouldn’t have minded a glass of water, but it was impossible to catch a server’s attention, and she soon gave up.

      She glanced at her watch again. The man was ten minutes late.

      Not a good sign, Mr. Matthews.

      She refused to think of him as anything but Mr. Matthews, regardless of the fact that Walt Matthews had told her that his son hated formality. What kind of name was Cody, anyway? It was like Howdy Doody. No real adult had a name like that. It made her think of cowboys and Indians and Wild West shows. Understandable, considering the man lived in Texas, but if William Cody Matthews was really the successful businessman his father said he was, you’d think he’d have used his more professional-sounding first name.

      Stop, she told herself firmly. You’re just finding fault because you’ve been upset lately. Mr. Matthews isn’t the reason your professional and personal life are in chaos right now. Don’t take it out on him.

      Headmaster Mueller was the one who deserved her scorn. And quite a bit more than that if he didn’t keep his roving hands to himself. Which he might not.

      Last week, after he’d cornered her in the supply closet and she’d slapped him so hard her hand still stung the following day, he’d seemed so sure of himself, almost amused. After all, in spite of her solid credentials, she was still just a teacher at the school, while he was the man who had almost single-handedly built, financed and ran the Virginia Academy for Gifted Children.

      If she ever touched him again, he’d told her, she’d be looking for another job. Her face felt warm even now to think that she had countered that threat with one of her own. That if he ever touched her again, he’d be looking for a doctor. Since that time he hadn’t tried anything. But now she was always uncomfortable in his presence, feeling his eyes on her constantly, and the knowledge that she was under his scrutiny had begun to wear on her nerves.

      How mortifying the whole episode had been. How unlike her. Struggling in a supply closet with a man old enough to be her grandfather. Threatening bodily harm to another human being. What would her father have said about such a tasteless display, such unladylike behavior?

      She stared down at the latest to-do list she’d begun in her book, not really seeing the words she’d written there. Distasteful as that incident had been, she supposed she could manage Mueller. It was her most recent argument with Todd that had left her reeling. A week ago, when the tension had finally come to a head at their favorite Italian restaurant, she had been stunned to watch their relationship reach an unexpected and bitter climax.

      What happened? Joan asked herself for the hundredth time. Todd Ingles was the man she was supposed to marry someday, the man she’d known since high school, the man with whom she intended to share a lifetime of dreams. And yet, after she’d told him what had happened with Mueller, he’d been unsympathetic and uncommunicative. Unable to understand his attitude, she’d finally asked him what the problem was.

      “Now, don’t take this the wrong way,” he’d said to her over a plate of spaghetti and meatballs. “But are you sure you haven’t been sending Mueller the wrong signals?”

      It was fortunate that the restaurant had been crowded and noisy, because Joan was so shocked she dropped her fork, and it clattered on the table. “What is that supposed to mean?” she asked when she could find her voice.

      Todd shrugged as he twirled pasta on his fork. “Just that Mueller never struck me as a skirt chaser. You know his background, his education. He’s been published in the Journal, for Pete’s sake.”

      “Oh, I see,” Joan had said, unable to keep the annoyance out of her voice. “A degree from Harvard prohibits you from being a lech?”

      “I’m not saying that. He just seems too refined to play those kinds of high-school games. He’s well respected. Monied. His ancestors are founding fathers.”

      “So are mine. And I’ll bet my father never tried to put his hand up an employee’s skirt. Are you saying I might have led him on?”

      “Of course not. I’m just saying you might have misinterpreted the situation—”

      “Todd, it’s hard to misinterpret someone shoving their hand down the front of your blouse. He tried to kiss me.”

      Recognizing that he had chosen the wrong side in this argument, Todd reached over to cup her hand. “Well, why wouldn’t he? You are a beautiful woman.”

      Joan withdrew her hand and stared at him. “Don’t. You’re only making it worse.”

      “All right, I’m sorry. But so he got a little frisky. He’s probably feeling his age and trying to prove to someone that he still has what it takes to get a woman to look at him. You don’t want to piss him off, do you? This job pays well. It’s prestigious…”

      Her mouth had gone dry. Carefully she took a sip of water and just as carefully replaced the glass on the table. She gave him a level, knowing look. “The only one at this table who cares whether Mueller gets…pissed off, is you. Isn’t that right?” When Todd didn’t respond right away, Joan folded her napkin and quietly laid it on the table. Her appetite had completely disappeared. “What are you afraid of?” she asked softly. “That when he retires next year and the board chooses a new president of the school, he won’t give his endorsement to you because your girlfriend wouldn’t…put out?”

      “Don’t be like this. You’re not thinking straight. Tomorrow—”

      “No, don’t say anything more.” It had occurred to her suddenly that she really did not know this man. They’d been together for so many years. When had they stopped communicating? “I know how badly you want your own academy, Todd, and how frustrated you are that it’s taking longer than you’d planned. I just never realized that you’d want it so badly you’d be willing to see me humiliated in order to make it happen.”

      “Joan, I’d never let Mueller hurt you. I love you.”

      “Do you? I wonder sometimes.”

      And she couldn’t stop wondering, even now, after she’d left him sitting in the restaurant alone, after she’d dumped the flowers he sent to her classroom, and after she’d boxed up her belongings and moved into a small apartment on the other side of town. She’d given up her own apartment two years ago to move in with Todd. She didn’t know where she’d end up now, but she knew she couldn’t stay at Todd’s place one day longer.

      Maybe when she went up to the Cape with her mother this weekend…Her mother had never been a fan of Todd’s, but she could be quite objective when she chose to be. All those years as the wife of a career diplomat had rubbed off on her. Somewhere between the Burbanks’ barbeque and the Olsons’ regatta Joan would confess everything, ask for advice…

      God, thirty-one years old and asking for advice on her love life from her widowed mother. What was she thinking? She rubbed absently at her temple, realizing that she was getting a headache.

      She turned her attention to the well-worn appointment book on her lap. With the tip of her pen, she ticked off the items on her list:

      Buy new swimsuit for weekend

      Birthday card for Mother

      Haircut with Denise

      Clothes to cleaners

      Black СКАЧАТЬ