see, But the gem would be castle-sized if it expressed all I feel for thee.
I give you gold because it endures, and love like the eternal sea.
Only your brother, Christopher.
I hadn't read that note when Paul gave me his gift wrapped in gold foil and topped by a huge red satin bow. My hands trembled as I fumbled with the many layers of tissue, all while he watched
expectantly. A grey fox coat! "The kind of coat you really need for New York winters," he said, his eyes shining with all the warmth and love he felt.
"It's too much," I choked, "but I love it, absolutely love it!"
He smiled, made happy so easily. "Every time you wear it, it's essential you think of me, and it should keep you warm on those cold, foggy days in London too. '
I told him it was the most beautiful coat I'd ever seen, though I felt uneasy. It brought back thoughts of Momma and her closet full of many furs, gained only because she had the heartless cruelty to lock us away, and thus gain a fortune, and furs, and jewelry, and everything else money could buy.
Chris jerked his head around to catch something on my face that must have betrayed my love for Paul. His brows drew together in a scowl before he shot a glance at Paul. Then he got up and left the room. Somewhere upstairs a door slammed violently. Paul pretended not to notice. "Look over in the corner, Catherine--that's a gift for all of us to enjoy."
I stared at the huge cabinet TV set that Carrie jumped up and ran to turn on. "He bought it just so we could watch you dance in The Nutcracker in color, Cathy. Now he won't let me touch it."
"It's only because it is the devil to tune in correctly," Paul apologized.
Throughout the rest of Christmas Day I saw very little of Chris, except at mealtimes. He wore the bright blue sweater I'd knitted for him--and it did fit--and under it the shirt and tie I'd given him as well. But none of my gifts to him could equal that gold and diamond locket with the small poem that left my heart bleeding. I hated it that he kept caring so much, and yet--when I thought about it later--I would hate it more if he didn't.
That evening we all settled down comfortably before the new color TV. I curled up on the floor near Paul's leg as he sat in a chair, with Carrie close at my side. Chris sat far away, deep in a mood that took him even farther away than the actual feet that separated us. So I didn't feel as happy as I should have as I watched the credits roll by on the colorful screen. A tape which had been made in August and only now was to be seen in hundreds of cities across the country. How beautiful the sets looked in color; they hadn't appeared nearly so ethereal in reality. I gazed at myself as Clara--did I really look like that? I forgot myself and leaned unconsciously against Paul's thigh, and I felt his fingers twine into my hair--and then I didn't know where I was, except on stage, with Julian now transformed by magic from the ugly nutcracker into the handsome prince.
When it was over I came back to myself and the first thing I thought of was my mother. God, let her be home this night, and let her have seen me. Let her know what she tried to kill! Let her hurt, cry, grieve . . . please, please!
"What can I say, Cathy," said Paul in an awed way. "No dancer could have performed that role better than you did. And Julian was superb too."
"Yeah," said Chris coldly, getting to his feet and coming to lift Carrie up in his arms. "You both were sensational--but it sure wasn't the kiddy performance I remember seeing when I was a child. The two of you made it seem a romance. Really, Cathy, turn that guy off, and quickly!" With those words he strode from the room and up the stairs to tuck Carrie into bed.
"I think your brother is suspicious," said Paul mildly, "not only of Julian, but also of me. All day he has treated me as a rival. He's not going to be happy when he hears our news."
Because like others I wanted to put off what was unpleasant, I suggested we not tell him until the next day. Then, when I was curled up on Paul's lap and we had our arms wrapped about each other, we exchanged the kind of passionate kisses held back until now. I was aching for him After we'd turned off all the lights we stole up the back stairs and with the zeal born of starvation made love on his bed. Later on we slept, then woke up to make love again. At dawn I kissed him once more, then slipped on a robe to sneak down the hall to my own room. To my utter dismay, just as I stepped from Paul's room into the hall, Chris opened his door and came out! Abruptly he jerked to a stop and stared at me with astonished, hurt eyes. I cringed backward, so ashamed I could cry! Neither of us said a word. His eyes were the first to break from the frozen stare that also stilled our limbs. He ran for the stairs, but halfway there he turned to throw me a look of outraged disgust. I wanted to die! I went in to look at Carrie who was sound asleep with her red velvet dress clutched in her arms. And on my bed I lay trying to think of what to say to Chris to make it right between us again. Why did I feel in my heart that I was betraying him?
The day after Christmas was for returning the gifts you hated, didn't want, or those that didn't fit. I forced myself to approach Chris who was in the garden, fiercely snipping at the rose bushes with hedge clippers. "Chris, I need to talk to you and explain a few things."
He exploded. "Paul had no right to give you a fur coat! A gift like that makes you seem a kept woman! Cathy, give him back that coat! And, most of all, stop what you are doing with him!"
First I took the clippers from his hands before he ruined Paul's beloved roses. "Chris, it isn't as bad as you believe. You see . . . Paul and I . . . well, we are planning to marry in the spring. We love each other, so it isn't wrong what we do together. It's not an affair to be forgotten tomorrow; he needs me and I need him." I stepped closer when he turned his back to hi
de his expression. "It's better this way for me and for you too," I said softly. I encircled his waist and twisted about to stare up in his face. He seemed stunned, like a healthy man who learns suddenly he has a terminal illness--and all hope had fled from him.
"He's too old for you!"
"I love him."
"So, you love him. What about your career? Are you throwing away all those years of dreaming, of working? Are you going to break your word? You know we swore to each other to go after our goals and not let those lost years make a difference."
"Paul and I have discussed that. He understands. He thinks we can work it out. . . ."
"He thinks? What does a doctor know about the dancer's life? You'll never be with him He'll be here; you'll be God knows where, with men your own age. You don't owe him anything, Cathy, you don't! We'll pay him back every cent he's spent on us. We'll give him the respect he deserves, and the love--but you don't owe him your life."
"Don't I?" I asked in a whisper, aching inside for Chris. "I think I do owe him my life. You know how I felt when I came here. I thought no one could be trusted or depended on. I expected the worst to happen to us, and it would have too without him. And I don't love him just for what he's done. I love him because of who and what he is. Chris, you don't see him as I do."
He whirled about, seizing the shears from my hands. "And what about Julian? You are going to be married to Paul and dance with Julian? You know Julian is mad for you. It's all over him, the way he looks at you, the way he touches you."
I backed off, stricken. Chris wasn't talking just of Julian. "I'm sorry if this has ruined your holiday," I said, "but you'll find someone too. You love Paul, I know you do. And when you've thought about this, you'll know we are right for each other, despite our age difference, despite everything." I went off, leaving Chris in the garden with the hedge clippers.