Page 28 of A Treacherous Trade
I knew this. I saw the truth in his earnest eyes. “Forgive me my temper, Oscar. I’m… I’m a bit overwrought from the day.”
He dropped another kiss on our joined hands. “Of courseyou are, my darling. Let us never quarrel. You are one of my nearest and dearest. And of course, I am a true friend, Fiona, and I have learned through painful experience that true friends stab you in the front. So, if I am blunt with you, it is because I care so much. But I didn’t mean to be insensitive. Not when your heart is so full of love and loss.”
I conjured a smile for him. “My heart is full, but not of love.”
“Then you must change it, Fiona. A life without love is like this.” He swept his hand toward the window. “A sunless garden where the flowers are dead.”
He was not wrong.
“How did you get to be so wise?” I asked, resting my head against his shoulder.
“Experience, my love,” he said, petting my hair. “Experience is one thing you can’t get for nothing.”
“Experience is the one thing I lack in this regard,” I lamented.
“You mean… sexually?”
I nodded, unable to say the word, let alone look at him when he said it. “I don’t know how everyone seems to be able to tell! What is it about me—you know what, don’t answer that. What can I do to hide this from the other women?”
He tutted, shaking his head and snapping a forelock of hair out of his doleful eyes. “Don’t worry about the other women. Worry about the men—they’re the ones you need to secure. If you do so, the women will believe your truth is actually a façade.”
I eyed him balefully. “I don’t follow.”
“Give them what they want, Fiona.” He turned me to face the window, and I watched our reflections as he drew my scarf from my neck and held it up like a veil over my nose and mouth. “They want fiction. They want anonymity. Man—and woman, I daresay—is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth. You understand?”
“I think so?”
He dropped the scarf, studying me for a moment. “I have a scrap of lace I’ve worn as a mask to some very indecent clubs. I will get it for you.”
“Oscar, your face is gigantic next to mine.”
He drew back, pressing a hand to his wounded chest. “Have a heart!”
“No! I’m not being cruel. I simply mean it won’t fit.”
“Oh.” He dropped his hand, his mischievous grin returning. “I’ll make adjustments, of course, and while I do, I will tell you of this extraordinary person I just met. Fiona, I’m nigh frothing with incandescence.”
“Person?” I echoed.
His eyes became serious for a moment, not losing their sparkle, but covering it in meaningful caution. “Don’t let’s use names. Or even pronouns. Just sensations and feelings and kismet and desire. I promise the story will be just as good.”
“How can it be just as good if I’m not to know who this mystery person is?”
“I know it’s terribly unfair, but I’m afraid this person will have to remain invisible. A mystery. You love a good mystery, don’t you?” He raised his eyebrows over a cajoling expression, blinking his unjustly long lashes at me.
“Mysteries are meant to be solved,” I reminded him.
“The true mystery is the visible, not the invisible. And even then, it’s all perspective.”
He left me to contemplate that load of malarkey as he loped next door to retrieve the mask.
I watched him go, a bit troubled over this development in his relationships. He resided next door with his wife, Constance, and his children, Cyril and Vyvyan. He did his best by them, which was not as much as they deserved. Because his true heart loved other people.
Other men.
He’d confessed this to me before, and then rarely brought himself to say so again. For this was a dangerous knowledge. One that could land him in prison, if not worse.
Once he’d retrieved his mask, we found a place to work in front of my dressing table. He set about snipping ribbons and threading them through a lovely lace confection whilst securing it to my features. All the while, he spoke with unabashed animation about someone who turned his entire expression luminescent.
