| Subject: Chapter 248 - Part 1 (16 and above) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Wednesday, July 19, 07:06:03am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark" on Monday, May 01, 06:55:47am
Extra warning: There are some mild curse words here. I'll rate it 16 and above, just to be safe.
Dreams in the Dark (248/?)
by Katherine Gilbert
All things considered, it probably wasn't a particularly unpleasant day. Plans were moving forward; Christmas cheer was in the air, making some of his customers more liberal in their giving than usual, and a problem which had knotted painfully in his side for sometime would soon be resolved. He nearly smiled. For what could have been happening, he supposed he should feel lucky; all hints of pleasure quickly died from his face. But that wasn't a real possibility at all.
It was simply another day for Mr. Jones, the fact that it was Christmas Eve meaning little to him. No trees decorated his house, no garlands strewn to welcome in this supposedly holy day. There would be no giving of presents. The only thing which came close was the fact this his wretched son-in-law was still breathing. That in itself was a gift the actor had done nothing at all to deserve.
This truth made him glower, sitting behind his desk as usual to ponder his little world. But there was no way to feel any holiday cheer with such an unwarranted bounty before him. It was enough that his idiot son was still so utterly unrepentant for his disobedience and uselessness. To know that there was yet another such man around . . .
He could feel his heart beating faster, could feel the quickening of his blood at such lingering insolence in the world--and had to remind himself to calm, knowing such expressions of rage weren't good for him. That fool of a doctor had reminded him of that fact more than once. But it was difficult to feel peaceful knowing all the actor had done; he had to breathe deeply, purposefully yet again. It just wasn't fair that Samuelle's future should give him such an unwarranted chance at happiness.
The businessman couldn't get past the fury he felt, his horror at the bargain Adrian had somehow goaded out of him; he never should have given in. And, at the moment, it was difficult to even remember how he had, all her arguments so irrational and frustrating--all of them presented with such an insolent, manly calm--that it was difficult to hold in the rage. How dare she approach him--on that night, of all nights? How dare she think she had the right to speak as either a mother or grandmother, given all she had done? That Bobbie had been so tainted to begin with was *entirely* her fault--such failings then leading to the degradation of yet another generation in Nikita. And then to begin to question his own feelings for Bobbie . . .
No--it was unendurable, the actress so unnatural, so masculine, that it never ceased to infuriate. Even her maternal failing showed it. Had a man been so interested in his career that he had failed to perceive the dangers which were happening in his own home, it would have been understandable enough--children and home not a man's sphere to begin with, his work *always* taking precedence. But for a woman to presume such an interest was outrageous--and unforgivable; he had to breathe deeply to avoid becoming too flushed in anger. It was her duty alone to look after a man's children.
That Adrian had never learned this simple fact was clear to him--and, although he hated to admit it, it was possible that poor Bobbie had followed in her footsteps. Still, she, at least, had had an excuse, her illness playing havoc with her reason. That was why she had abandoned himself and this country; that was why she had refused to let Nikita's father have a role in her life--not for the false causes which Adrian had made up. Bobbie would *never* have feared him. She knew him far better than that.
He was convinced of this reasoning, had been ever since the hideous Adrian had presented her lies to him--or so he told himself, still regretting his decisions that evening; Bobbie herself probably would have been happier with their daughter's death. Better that than the miserable fate she was now confined to. Better *anything* than that.
He could barely control the fury which threatened him, had to switch his focus back to the idiot woman's reasoning on that night to stay at all calm--as spurious as her arguments had been. After all, there would have been no reason for his mistress to be afraid of him. He had been in love with her, had been able to see how lovely his child by her would be. It might have been a bit of a shame that it was a girl, but no matter. Even girls had a place in this world. If Bobbie had only been here long enough, he could have taught her that--Michelle's death so soon after her defection leaving him free to marry. After he had rid his lover of that loathsome disease, she would have been a good enough mother; the thoughts moved sideways, barely perceived by him. If she hadn't been, it wouldn't have made much difference. There were plenty of other women in the world who could have taken her place.
The contradictions within his thoughts went unnoticed by the businessman, too set in his views for self-analysis. While part of him understood that he would have rid himself of Bobbie in a heartbeat, had she displeased him--and, in his line of work, such banishment took a far more lethal form than a bill of divorce--the rest of him imagined the woman as happily cohabiting with him for good, their little child bright-faced and amenable to any sort of training they would give. And as to little Nikita's future? Well, she would have made an ideal business arrangement with many of his partners--no doubt following in his dead wife's footsteps as the perfect, submissive bride. If only the girl had been in his hands long enough to arrange this, none of these intolerable events would have occurred; he felt his blood pressure rising steadily. And then he also wouldn't have had to discover just what sort of man this Samuelle was.
He was glowering at this thought, the answer having become so clear, long ago; his heart thumped in rage, as he remembered. Just the man's talk of "love"--after what he had done to Nikita--was bad enough. But then there was the way the actor had continued to flout his relationship with her, even after Jones had made his opposition clear. That he had eventually married her meant nothing; he wasn't worth the vows. A girl such as Nikita--as strong and beautiful as her mother had ever been--was worth more than that. But Jones had been denied everything she might have been able to give.
It had been almost two months since the night of the foolish Madeline's ill-planned attack now, the night when Jamie and Hillinger had shown their true colors, as usual. Every day since--since the night he had been forced, somehow, into this devil's bargain by his daughter's foolish grandmother--he had pondered what might have been, what Adrian had cost him. Without her interference, without the damage she was originally to answer for to Bobbie, he might have had a very valuable girl on his hands; he smiled at the thought. And then he would have been able to mold her as he pleased.
How the man would have done this, when he also believed that everything about children should be kept far away from their fathers, wasn't quite clear--but, then again, neither were many of his thoughts tonight; he moved them on, without realizing this. To have a little girl as perfect as Nikita would have been would have been priceless--the power of the deals he could have made, the mergers he could have planned, with her marriage limitless. Even the most impressive of men had sons they wished to match up well; he sighed nostalgically, the girl's fertility now proven, if in the least helpful of ways. And she would have been just the daughter-in-law they had dreamed of.
It was this denied fantasy which had been plaguing him ever since the night of his son's little folly--the truth of Adrian's words ignored. Bobbie hadn't been frightened of him--and neither should Nikita be. She was his daughter. All he had ever wanted for her was the best.
It was the fact that the girl was experiencing anything *but* the best which angered him so now, her current lifestyle infuriating. Her choice of partner alone was unforgivable--Samuelle not worthy of such a jewel. Any man who didn't understand the difference between the kind of girls who did and the kind who didn't--the kind you married first--was too much a fool to bear; his sigh lingered. But it appeared that he would have to bear up with the idiot for a bit longer still.
It was this, goading truth which annoyed Jones most of all, that he had been convinced to let the actor live infuriating. If he had just allowed things to play out as they should, Michael would have been dead right now; a smile bloomed. And then maybe he could have made something out of Nikita, once and for all.
It was difficult not to wish that things were different, not to think back ruefully on this demonic bargain he had made. The timing had been perfect, after all, the girl's pregnancy not yet public knowledge; he could have seen a quick end to it, could have rehabilitated her. True, she wouldn't have been quite the perfect bride, but a bargain-basement arrangement could still have been made--her contract disposed of quickly enough, if he demanded it; there were plenty of allies who might have welcomed her inclusion in their families, for all she represented. All it would have taken was one bullet. His sigh went deep. But that wasn't the way he had allowed things to happen at all.
He regretted this decision now, quite deeply, could only wish that he had had more sense. But it had been the presence of that dreadful Adrian which had upset him so, her spurious arguments wearing him down; his head shook, the murmur under his breath. "Just like a woman." Very few of them were worth very much at all.
This fact had long been established, but still the thoughts went on. His own daughter might have bucked this trend, doing just what he had asked her to--as perfect as Michelle had been, in her way. True, his own wife had almost failed dismally, when it came to having children, her one attempt--once it *finally* came--nearly killing her, but she had been worthwhile, otherwise. She had certainly given him less trouble than his daughter. But that girl was a dreadful story unto herself.
He couldn't get past the regrets just now, couldn't imagine what had driven him to give in. If he had only allowed the night to continue as it should have, he would have been well rid of Samuelle by now. But no. Instead, he had to endure a fool of a man who was being toasted as the father of the businessman's grandchild-to-be; the anger stirred again. And, no matter how he tried, he just couldn't force himself to accept such a disgrace.
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