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Posted on Saturday, 8 July 2000
Eve Alastair's parents had been killed shortly after her birth by one of the first daylight bombing raids on Great Britain during World War I. After their death, Eve, the Alastairs' only child, was adopted by her childless uncle and his wife. Lewis Alastair was several years older than the younger brother whose daughter he adopted. His temperament was chiefly characterized by his occupation: diplomat. A kindhearted, intelligent, tactful man, he worked for the Foreign Office. In a characteristic act of altruism, he gave up his foreign service tour of duty (and probable chance at an ambassadorship) and requested a transfer to home service so that Eve could be raised in England, instead of traveling about from country to country every few years.
Lewis's wife, Lillian, was a well educated, sensible, gracious woman who welcomed Eve and treated her with kindness as much as her husband did.
The Alastairs, though not rich, were quite well off. They settled in a large house in Berkshire, near enough to London for easy commuting for Mr. Alastair, but in the country. Eve, who knew about her parents but had been far to young to remember them, was not made unhappy on account of her loss. Lewis and Lillian never had any other children, and looked upon Eve as their own daughter. She was neither spoiled nor deprived, neither stifled nor ignored. She attended a local girls' school, and as she showed a good deal of intellectual promise even at a young age, the Alastairs planned to send her to a selective boarding school when she was older. Thusly, the first eleven years of Eve Alastair's life were spent happily and relatively uneventfully.
When Eve was eleven, Lillian Alastair became ill and died. After the death of his wife, Lewis Alastair became more abstracted and vague, and tried to combat his grief by submerging himself in his work. However, he did not forget Eve and for her sake kept his spirits up and did not withdraw completely. Eve had always been closer to her uncle than to her aunt, but she felt her death keenly.
The same year, Lewis Alastair's step-sister applied to him for help. Carla Norris had married a ne'er-do-well bookie, who had finally left her for the latest mistress, leaving her virtually penniless with two young children.
Lewis Alastair was a strong believer in duty. His mother had died when he was fifteen; his father remarried about ten years later. His step-mother had been a kind, sensible woman; her daughter Carla did not turn out the same way. It was true -- he could not say he had ever had a great deal of affection for her. However, both his father and step-mother had died years ago, and as the oldest child between them, Lewis felt it to be his duty to help Carla. He could not hold an imprudent marriage against her more than ten years after the fact.
And now there was also the issue of Eve... He frowned. He had been thirty-seven when Eve was adopted; now he was nearing fifty, and she was not yet a teenager. And his work took up a great deal of his time. None of this had been a problem while Lillian was alive, but she was alive no longer...
Lewis Alastair concluded that he could not raise Eve himself. Although she would start boarding school in the fall, Lewis still felt she needed someone to look after her better than he could. It was the summer of 1928. The demands of the Foreign Office on him were considerable at this time.
Lewis Alastair sat in his study contemplating these things. India, the Middle East... Russia -- Lenin was dead, Stalin appeared the likely successor... Military coup in Portugal... Czechoslovakia -- strong and stable in itself, but rather defenseless against a military power... Germany again... Perhaps the Irish troubles were over, perhaps they weren't... Palestine, peaceful at the moment, but could it last?... The worrisome fragility of the German Weimer Republic, of the Italian coalition government... All had to be contended with. In addition to these troubles, Lewis had serious doubts about the infallibility of the American stock market, even less faith in the Kellogg-Briand Pact, and none at all in the League of Nations. And here in Britain -- a Labour government to contend with as well?
Finally, he shook his head, stood up, and went to the window, outside of which his young niece was playing. "Eve!"
She ran to the window. "Yes?"
"Could you come in here please? There is something I wish to discuss with you."
She climbed in through the window. "Hardly a ladylike way of entering a room," said Lewis indulgently.
She gave him a saucy grin. "It's more efficient this way. What did you want to talk to me about?"
He sighed. "Sit down. I have just had a letter from your Aunt -- step-Aunt, rather -- Carla." Eve was very firm on the point that Carla Norris and her children were in no way related to the Alastairs. Lewis sat down. "Her husband has left her --" Eve made a wry face "-- she has very little of her own money left, and with two young children..." he broke off. Eve was eyeing him warily. "Eve, my dear, I intend to ask her to come live with us." He looked out the window. "And I have very little doubt that she will accept."
Eve pursed her lips. "Would it not be better for all for you to merely give her some financial assistance?"
Lewis sighed. Only eleven, and so perceptive. "Eve, listen to me. You must know that due to my profession I am unable to give you all the care you need. Now that Aunt Lillian is... not with us, you do not have anyone to look after you. I often have to stay in London for days at a time, and that is becoming more and more frequent. I know that you do not get along well with your step-aunt Carla, but she can provide for you what I cannot."
Eve protested. "But I am going away to school this year and I will only be home on the holidays. And I am not a little child. Is not Mrs. Reynolds able to look after me sufficiently?"
"She is the housekeeper, Eve, not the nanny. She already has far more to keep up now than she did when Lillian was alive."
Eve opened her mouth to protest again, but Lewis held up his hand and cut her off. "Please. There is another aspect to consider. My father asked me to take care of my brothers and sister; that includes my step-mother's children as well. It is not Carla's fault that her husband deserted her; it is even less the fault of your step-cousins. They ought not to suffer. This is my duty, Eve. Please forbear."
Eve was silent for several minutes, then quietly assented. She was not happy about the arrangement; there was possible no way she could be. On the infrequent occasions when they met, Carla always clashed with her, always found fault with her in entirely unfounded ways. And her children! -- Elliot, three years younger, was sneaky, underhanded, and hypocritical; his five year old sister Lydia vapid, whiny, and demanding. She detested them all. Her patience -- rather short, her temper -- flaring too easily, and her nerves -- inclined to be 'prickly' and edgy were all likely to be very sorely tried. But Eve loved her Uncle Lewis dearly -- for his sake, she would forbear.
Frederick's married older sister Sophie and her husband had recently returned from his station in the East Indies. Admiral Croft had retired from active service and had a position with the Department of the Navy. Despite the fifteen year gap in their ages, Frederick and Sophie had always been favorites with each other, and Frederick and Admiral Croft got along particularly well.
Admiral and Mrs. Croft took a house in the Berkshires. Like the Alastair's house it was too far from Oxford to commute, but Frederick lived with his sister and brother-in-law during holidays, and often on weekends.
In 1935, Frederick Wentworth was eighteen. He was brilliant, he was headstrong, he was charming, he was attractive. He was lucky; he thought he should always be lucky, and combined with natural intelligence, tenacity, and capability, was successful in nearly all his endeavors. He hated to be bored, but a mind such as his when left to it's own devices had little chance of ever becoming so. He was full of sprit, zeal, and ardor; had wanted always to be doingsomething, or when not doing then thinking. He was intrepid, he was restless -- he was rather reckless. He was clever, witty, and confident. He was proud. He was resentful. He was headstrong, heedless, and hot tempered.
In 1935, at the age of eighteen, with all these merits to recommend him, and all these shortcomings to trip him up, Frederick Wentworth began his studies at the University, majoring in pre-law.
So did Eve Alastair.
1938, Oxford University -- Senior year
I don't like you, so why do I think about you so much?
Despite attending the same university, despite majoring in the same subject, despite sharing many classes, despite living so near, despite having mutual friends, despite even the growing friendship between the Crofts and Lewis Alastair, who had known both the Admiral and Colonel Wentworth years before, Frederick and Eve never knew each other as more than speaking acquaintances.
Odd. It was distinctly odd, if not nearly impossible, that two people of such similar temperaments, minds, and tastes, thrown together often, would not be on more familiar terms.
Or perhaps, not so odd -- when considering both spent three years actively avoiding each other.
The reasons behind this are rather imperceptible. Suffice to say, Frederick and Eve viewed each other as a threat -- in many respects. Firstly, they were leaders in several classes, leading to a private competition between the two. Eve was better in economics, physics, and English, for example, Frederick would note jealously, while she would resent him for his superiority in geography, the Classics, and medieval history. Why did this was mystifying -- after all, why should either one care about the opinion of the other?
Why, indeed?
They spoke with each other little outside of class -- only when they were forced to by Lewis Alastair and the Crofts, and then with cool, antagonistic politeness -- but what they did speak of in class amused more than one of their professors. They would argue ceaselessly, then resort to playing devil's advocate and twisting their own arguments as they realized they were closer to agreement than they would have liked to admit. Because for some reason, they didn't wantto agree with each other. They persisted in carefully maintaining their antagonism.
This persisted for more than three years, and threatened to continue for a fourth, until the wonderful, the terrible, the utterly inevitable occurred: Eve and Frederick were forced to be partners for debate class.
What had Uncle Lewis told her -- what was it? -- more than ten years ago?
Forbear.
Forbear? Eve Alastair gritted her teeth. How?
She slammed her book shut. No use in attempting to study in the house -- not with Lydia and Carla in it.
The shrill voice of Lydia Norris sent Eve's teacup crashing to the saucer. "Mama, where are my best stockings?"
"I do not know, my love. Perhaps Eve borrowed them," Carla's Norris shouted up the stairs.
Eve leaned over her desk in seething fury, then stood up and marched to the bathroom. She plucked the stockings off the door, then flung them at Lydia, who was standing at the top of the stairs in her slip.
Lydia turned around when the damp stockings hit her back. "Oh, thanks, Eve. I wish you wouldn't borrow my best pair, though. I know how fast you ruin stockings," she said, giggling.
"They were on the bloody bathroom door," Eve bristled.
"Oh, fancy that. I can be so careless sometimes," said Lydia, still giggling.
Eve rolled her eyes, then caught sight of the dress Lydia was holding. "Where did you get that?"
Lydia looked at the dress. "Pretty, isn't it?"
"Oh, indeed. It's mine."
"Well, I didn't know you were coming home this weekend and I knew you wouldn't mind."
"As it is, I do mind, very much."
"Sorry. I'll ask next time. But see? I've even ironed it for you!"
"However, you'll not be wearing it tonight. Or any night, for that matter."
"Eve!" Lydia whined. "Mama, Eve says I may not wear her dress to the dance."
Mrs. Norris marched up the stairs, quivering with indignation. (She kept her married name after her husband left her, and he had died three years afterwards.) "And why not? Sheis not going to a dance, is she? She is going back to university tonight."
"And she does not look as well in it as I do," Lydia added.
"And if nothing else, I fear her getting her make-up on it," said Eve to the ceiling, as it was evident that neither mother not daughter was listening to her.
"Indeed that is true, my dear. But you look well in everything... certainly better than Eve." Carla Norris held the dress up to Lydia. "Does not she look well, Eve?" she asked spitefully.
Eve looked at Lydia's blond hair, pale blue eyes, and insipid, if pretty, features. "I don't believe it will fit," she said mildly.
"Oh! I am taller than you, but it is very long, so it should not matter," said Lydia. "It goes down almost to your ankles."
"Mmhmm," said Eve grimly. "But you are on a rather larger scale than I am."
Lydia looked confused for a moment, then looked down at her bosom, at Eve, and back at her own bosom again. "Yes, I suppose you are right," she said giggling. She turned to her mother. "But we could ask Mrs. Reynolds to fix it, could we not, Mama?"
"Of course. She is busy right now, but this is more important."
Eve closed her eyes and drew in a long breath. "She is not wearing it," she said, taking the dress from Lydia and walking back to her own room. She turned around before entering her room and said more calmly, "Besides, it is too dressy for a simple dance, and it is too cold to wear at the end of October."
"Mama!" Lydia wailed.
Eve raged as she began to pack her things. That woman! Insufferable... the gall -- presumption -- audacity! Oh... Why! Why must she live with us? And Lydia -- silly, insipid, spoiled brat... Elliot! -- how he manages to get away with half... no -- a quarter! -- of what he does I will never know... Indolent... deceptive... spendthrift.. If Uncle Lewis knew half of what they all... but he's busy, and worried.. I cannot plague him now with my petty concerns, vexatious as they may be... he has more important things to occupy his mind.. And I am only here weekends and holidays, and not every weekend at that... But... Eve's hands tightened and she pressed her lips together tightly.
She hung her dress up, intending to lock the door, but remembered the housekeeper's set of keys could be accessed easily by someone who was not the housekeeper... Grimly, she put the dress in a bag to take back to Oxford with her.
Coming out of her room, Eve nearly bumped into Lydia... who was wearing a very lowcut dress.
"Carla!" Eve shouted in exasperation. (Eve had staunchly refused to call her 'Aunt', and to Carla Norris's utter indignation, Lewis Alastair had no protests against Eve addressing her by only her first name.)
She came to them and glared at Eve, still miffed about the dress issue. "You're not letting her go out like this are you?" Eve demanded.
Carla Norris sniffed. "Of course. Why not? She can't wear what was intended."
"Never mind that now," said Eve irritably. "She's not yet sixteen! The dress, the makeup, the cheap perfume..." She broke off and pressed her fingers to her forehead, scrunching up her face and letting out a small groan. "Why........" She gave up and went downstairs.
Is their intent to completely undermine Uncle Lewis's respectability or embarrass me or what? No wonder Frederick Wentworth always gives me that look of amused contempt whenever a Norris is around. ...Frederick Wentworth? How did he get into this? Eve visualized kicking Frederick Wentworth out of the intangible realm of her thoughts. It helped. Until she saw him on the very edge, making his way back with a firm stride. A very irritated Eve slammed a conveniently open door to relieve her feelings.
Eve knocked on the door of her uncle's study. "Come in," he said from within.
Eve entered and set the tea tray on his desk. "Ah, thank you Eve. Are you leaving now? It is only five o'clock. Stay for supper, perhaps."
She shook her head. "No -- Sunday evening lecture."
"I see. In what?"
"Debate class."
"Ah... And is young Wentworth with you in that as well," Alastair asked casually.
Eve raised an eyebrow and looked at him narrowly. "Yes," she said tersely.
Lewis Alastair smiled. "I knew his father years ago -- from the foreign service, of course. Excellent man. You would have liked him if you had known him... What I can't understand, Eve, I must say, is why you don't take to the son."
"Because I can't," she said coolly.
"Can't or won't, my dear?"
Eve looked up, raised both eyebrows, and stuck out her chin. "I must go or I'll miss my train."
"Will you be back next weekend?"
Eve decided to forgive him. "If you will be here, I will try." She smiled at him. "I miss you when your not home when I come... no reason to come otherwise."
"I miss you too, Eve. I do not know whether I will be home." He sighed. "As you know, the foreign situation is not good at the moment... and not likely to be anytime soon."
"I know -- Munich Conference."
"Eve, you cannot possibly ask a fanatic to sign a piece of paper saying he can have such-and-such a parcel of land on condition that he behaves himself in the future, and expect him to keep to his word. Such a thing is not possible," Alastair told her seriously.
"I know that. I agree with you completely," said Eve energetically. With an expression of disgust she began, "Chamberlain is --"
Alastair held up his hand to stop her. "Yes, perhaps, my dear, but you and I must both remember that I work under him, however indirectly."
"All right," said Eve, smiling at him. "I'll behave myself. Now, I have to go." She turned towards the door.
"Goodbye... and Eve?"
"Yes?"
Alastair cleared his throat. "Eve, I realize that -- especially with my being in London so often -- that it may be rather difficult for you to bear with Carla and her children at times. I know that you are rather tried at times, however, I thank you for enduring this. You know I had to let them come -- it was my duty."
"I know. And I admit that I lack patience, among other things, often times. It is you who have done the most."
With his usual modesty, Alastair changed the subject. Looking at the dress she carried he said, "Perhaps that is wise... I heard the ruckus upstairs."
Eve laughed. "Goodbye Uncle Lewis."
"And do not worry -- I will make sure that Lydia does not leave the house unless she is decently attired," he called after her.
Outside the study door, Eve was accosted by her step-cousin Elliot, a freshman at Milchester (in advertising -- what else?), who was also home for the weekend. "Can I drive you to the train station?"
"No," said Eve coldly.
"Come on Eve, you're not going to walk all that way?"
"It is not far. I like to walk. I want to walk. I am going to walk," said Eve, as she slammed the front door shut. Elliot Norris watched her stalk down the path with amusement.
Another Domestic Scene
"Frederick! You will miss your train!" Sophia Croft called to her brother.
Frederick Wentworth glanced around his room to ensure everything was thoroughly tidy and organized. Being in the Royal Naval Reserve does that to you. "I will be right there, Sophie!" he shouted back.
"How is a man to read with all this shouting?" Frederick heard the Admiral ask good-naturedly.
"I am sure that you had considerably more difficulty aboard a ship, James," Sophie replied. "I was there."
"Goodbye Sophie, Admiral," called Frederick as he ran down the stairs. His sister had been right. He was about to miss his train.
Frederick sprinted out of the house, never stopping until he reached the train station.
Eve Alastair looked out the window by her seat and saw Frederick Wentworth sprinting towards the train. So much for Naval punctuality. She sighed. Evidently she would not be the only one in her car -- the only one open for this route. A late Sunday afternoon trip from a small train station in Berkshire County to Oxford was not highly in demand. And what a person to share it with! Oh well, it wasn't as if they would have to talk to each other or anything. She reached into her bag and took out the London Times.
Frederick literally burst into the car -- apparently his sprint had continued all the way to the door of the car. Eve lowered her newspaper and looked at him sardonically. "Good afternoon, Mr. Wentworth," she said with mocking sweetness.
"Miss Alastair," he returned coolly, taking the seat across from hers.
"Have you been practicing?" she asked sarcastically.
"Excuse me?"
"You know -- speed preparations. Get up and they want you dressed, ready, and on deck in three and a half minutes."
"Ah, I see, but no." He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms, trying to catch his breath without her noticing. "Long distance sprints -- that'si what I was practicing.
Eve looked up from the newspaper again to address the atmosphere. "When the war starts it will be a comfort to know that 1rst Lieutenant Frederick Wentworth will be patrolling foreign waters."
He ignored her jab. "When? Not if?"
She gave him a cool gaze. "Of course. Or do you not agree?"
"I agree," said Frederick calmly.
Eve looked up at him, then returned to hers newspaper. Frederick took out a book.
Eve discreetly looked over at him. Pride and Prejudice? Frederick Wentworth was reading Pride and Prejudice? Eve frowned. It didn't fit with her assessment of him and that bothered her. She pondered a minute, then for some inexplicable reason folded up The London Times with deliberation, replaced it, and took out Sense and Sensibility. She didn't know why she did. Perhaps to annoy him -- no, that wasn't it. She just didn't know.
Frederick looked up at the sound of the newspaper rustling and read the title of her book. He saw with amusement the expression of perplexity on her face, and knew she was reassessing her estimation of him.
Eve looked up at him again. Perhaps he isn't 'sooooo annoying', just 'annoying'. Why is Uncle Lewis so intent on me liking him? ... But how did Frederick Wentworth and Jane Austen come into contact with each other? It was all supremely irritating.
Something else that was supremely irritating was the fact that she was attracted to him. She hated to admit it to herself... but it was true. She didn't know why, but there it was. There has to be a reason for it -- a reason that transcends Frederick Wentworth, decided Eve, who had been reading too much psychology. It's because he's so different from Elliot. That must be it. It all makes sense now; it's completely logical, Eve rationalized happily. No matter that there were many young men who were very different from Elliot. Eve had found an 'explanation' and was going to defend it.
She shot another look at him. He was really reading, still, and seemed very interested. Suddenly, blue-green eyes looked up and met hers. Startled, Eve withdrew her eyes automatically and returned to her book, blushing deeply. I hate him...
Frederick absently ran his hand through dark brown hair and looked at her thoughtfully. What have we here? The thought struck him that Eve Alastair, for all her aloofness towards him, might be attracted to him. Frederick entertained himself with the idea. However, he had very little doubt that she would act upon it, should it be true. The kind of girl who will marry for money... He didn't know why he thought that. Perhaps it was her ice-queen aloofness.
But that didn't make sense. Because in addition to her coldness, he knew, was a good deal of intensity. Not warmth -- he knew it was more than that. Passion, intensity, strong feeling. A fire-and-ice thing, she had going. Why, he didn't know. But, he sighed, I must admit -- she is rather like me.
Okay. So maybe she won't marry for money. Power? No, she's not the type. What type is she, then?
My type?
Impossible.
He looked at her again. She was still blushing, and she was focused intently on her book. Dark brown hair slid over her shoulder; she began to push it back, then changed her mind.
She could marry for money, or power, or whatever else she wanted, thought Frederick suddenly. She was maddening, but she was intelligent, and she had charm. However, it will take either a very courageous or a very ignorant man to dare to marry her. And it would be a rare breed of man indeed to be able to weather it; to put up with her moods and her temper. He stopped, and smiled at the irony. Well, Frederick, what about your own moods and temper? Ah, well, women are different from men.
Stop a minute. Did I just call Eve Alastair charming? ...All right, so perhaps she is. And rather pretty, in her way, I must say. I do have to give her credit for having the most amazing eyes... He stopped and smiled at himself. Better stop now, Frederick, or you'll find yourself in a bit of a mess.
The train arrived at the Oxford station. Eve stood up, flashed Frederick a look of cold fury out of dark gray eyes, and haughtily exited the train. Frederick caught up with her and gave her the book she had left on her seat.
Eve's somewhat pointed chin jutted out, and she looked up the ten or so inches that made up the differences in their heights. "Thank you," she said coolly, then turned on her heel and walked rapidly to the campus.
Frederick looked after her and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. I am very much mistaken if she is not attracted to me... I wonder what she's thinking of right now...
Why do the good-looking men always have to be such arrogant jerks? Eve lamented as she walked towards her dorm.
Rebecca Lindsay looked up from her essay at the sound of her roommate entering their room. Eve leaned against the wall, arms crossed, forehead puckered, eyebrows drawing towards each other, chewing on her lip in perplexity.
Rebecca put her head on one side and looked at Eve thoughtfully. "What happened?"
"Hmm?" Eve had been staring intently at the baseboards and started at Rebecca's question.
"What are you thinking of? You look rather like you've just had some conviction turned upside-down."
"Hmm..." Distractedly, Eve began to collect the notes and such she needed for debate class.
Rebecca stood up. "And the only thing you've said since you've come back is 'hmm'," she said jokingly, but her vivid blue eyes were watching her friend narrowly for some sort of clue to this odd behavior.
Eve looked up at her taller friend innocently. "Nothing's wrong." She wrinkled her nose. "Well, Lydia and Carla are being a pain, but that's nothing new." She hung up her dress in the closet. The pale pink with small yellow and green flowers was a bit of a departure from her usual style. It was nice, but unsuitable, as she had told Lydia, for late October.
"Uh-huh," said Rebecca. "So what is new?"
Eve thought. "Well, Elliot was home for the weekend, too, but Uncle Lewis was able to be there the whole weekend as well so I didn't end up killing anyone," she said cheerfully.
Rebecca decided to take another tack -- which would hopefully prove more successful than this line of questioning. "How was the train? Busy?"
Eve sighed, knowing full well that is was not the train that Rebecca was interested in. She knew where this was going. Might as well be honest and satisfy her now than try to be evasive and be pestered for the next two days. "No, not busy at all. Only one other person in the car other than me."
"Oh?" The single word conveyed the silent question And who might that be?
Eve began filling her pen with dark blue-black ink, preferring it to ordinary black or lighter blue. "And yes, Rebecca, it was Frederick Wentworth, and no Rebecca, I did not talk to him. He read, I read, and neither of us were inclined to alter the situation."
Rebecca smiled tolerantly and shook her head. "Chris says Frederick is the same way."
"How's that?" asked Eve warily.
"Determined to convince himself that he is not in love with you," Rebecca replied smugly.
Eve rolled her eyes. "People in love always think that other people must be in love as well." She picked up a textbook from the floor and replaced it on the shelf. "No matter how inconceivable the pairing is," she added pointedly.
Rebecca continued to look smug. Eve walked over to the radio and adjusted it to clear the static, revealing the last measures of Winter Wonderland. "Only October and they're already playing Christmas songs?" Eve asked irritably. Rebecca shrugged patiently and began brushing her dark auburn-copper hair. Eve began folding her clean laundry, but looked up as she recognized the opening strains of a Cole Porter song from a recent Broadway show. As she walked over to the radio to clear the static again, she noticed another ladder appearing in her silk stocking. As she adjusted the dial, she fervently hoped that recently introduced nylons would become more available very soon.
...I have tried so not to give in
I have said to myself this affair
It never will go so well
But why should I try to resist
When I know so well
That I've got you under my skin...*
As the radio seemed clear now, Eve removed her hand from the dial, at the same time placing her foot on the chair in order to examine the ladder that was rapidly spreading down her stocking. In the process, Eve managed to upset the inkwell, spilling the contents on herself. Groaning, Eve cleaned up the ink and changed her clothes, deciding she didn't like this day very much so far.
Meanwhile...
In a dorm nearby, Frederick Wentworth and Christopher Murdoch were also preparing for debate class.
"Where did I put those blasted notes?" asked Chris, resurfacing from under his bed.
Frederick was staring out the window. "Um... what?"
"Notes. Can't find them," reiterated Chris tersely.
Frederick removed himself from the window and chuckled. "I don't know what you would do without Rebecca or me to keep track of all your stuff."
"They were here. They were. I tell you, Rick, the infernal things move," said Chris defensively.
"By themselves?" Frederick asked sardonically.
Chris's freckled face poked out of the closet. "Yeah, well..."
Frederick located the offending notebook under an overflowing laundry basket. "You ought to be more tidy," he admonished. "Then you wouldn't be scrambling around looking for everything all the time."
"Well, sailor-boy, I don't have your training. If I were in the Reserves, had lived in an admiral's household for the past three years, and had a retired army officer as a father, I dare say I would be as shipshape as you." Chris made a wry face. "My father's just a messy businessman who couldn't function without his platoon of secretaries to keep everything in order," he added mournfully.
"Then you best marry Rebecca as soon as you graduate so she can keep you in order," Frederick advised.
Chris brightened at the thought of this, brown eyes glazing over enthusiastically. "Yeah, I think so too." He frowned. "But I don't think she wants to marry right away though. So I guess you'll have to keep track of me for a little while longer, Frederick."
"Hmmm, yes. But I won't be able to if another war starts."
"You think it will?" Chris asked, eyes widening.
"Almost certainly -- though I don't know how soon. It appears rather inevitable at this point."
"So you think it would be big enough for them to have to call out the reservists? The Army is small, so that is more understandable, but even the Navy?"
"I believe so." Frederick dropped into a chair leaned back with hands behind his head, speaking more to himself than Chris. "Yes... it seems quite inevitable. The admiral doesn't say much about it, but he's worried... knows something's about to fall. And Alastair is the same way -- and he would know..." Frederick trailed off, then sat up. "You know, she thinks so too."
"She?" asked Chris, who was preoccupied with the radio.
"Oh -- Eve Alastair. I had an incredibly succinct conversation about the inevitability of another war."
Chris looked up from the radio. "Yeah?" He found a station. "Know what you need, Rick?"
Frederick tilted the chair back and looked at the ceiling. "Oh please, no -- not again," he murmured.
Chris stood up and faced him squarely. "Yep. Freddie, you need a woman."
"Don't call me Freddie," Frederick said peevishly.
"Then get yourself a woman!" said Chris triumphantly.
Frederick grunted and muttered something about silly cheerleaders... dumb blondes.
"Cheer up Fredd... er-ick. They can't all be that bad. I know for a fact that they aren't. You know it, too." Chris turned around to turn up the volume on the radio. "By the way," he said casually, "We're getting our debate partners in lecture today."
"So?" asked Frederick suspiciously. This seemed to be a continuation of the previous conversation.
...In spite of the warning voice that comes in the night, and repeats in my ear...*
"So?" returned Chris cheerfully. "A lot of nice girls in debate. Smart girls."
...Don't you know you fool you never can win
Use your mentality, wake up to reality...*
"Eve Alastair!" said Chris suddenly.
Frederick's head shot up. "No."
"No?" asked Chris innocently. "I was merely pointing her out as an example of a nice -- well, maybe not always so nice, but smart, certainly -- girl in debate." He looked at Frederick brightly. "That's all I was thinking of -- but apparently you had a little more on your mind."
"Never can win..." Frederick muttered.
...For each time I do
Just the thought of you
Makes me stop before I begin...*
"Found them!" Chris exclaimed victoriously, seizing the notes from under the dresser. Frederick rolled his eyes to relieve his vexation.
*From I've Got You Under My Skin -- Cole Porter
"Come on, Frederick," said Chris as they left their dorm to go to debate class.
"Come on? I'm ahead of you."
"No... I mean tell me -- what would the girl of your dreams be like?"
"Chris!"
"Come on. You need --"
"Don't start."
"You need to be in love, Rick my boy. Look at me! I'm in love -- always happy, always cheerful... it's great."
"You'd be like that anyway."
"Come on, Rick, just tell me. It won't hurt."
Frederick gave up. "All right..." he began hesitantly. "Very intelligent, very... spirited, lively. Passionate and intense. Imaginative, intuitive, perceptive..." He considered. "Good sense of humor -- funny in a sort of dry, cynical, sardonic way." he grinned. "Don't ask me why."
"Very good," said Chris, assuming a therapist's tone. "Go on."
"Hmm... mind of her own. Original, clever, witty. Maybe a little contrary... Willing to argue with me. Confident, even a bit headstrong. Independent and restless... a free spirit, so to speak. Hmm... I want a very faulted woman, Chris. More interesting that way."
"If she's like that sounds like a bit of a cat-and-dog life you'll lead."
Frederick grinned. "Well, why not? I'm not as peace-loving as you are. Hmmm... Dark hair and dark eyes -- but not ordinary brown or blue... I don't know, maybe some sort of hazel, or greenish... or gray... Ahhh... nice hands."
"Hands?"
"Well, yeah... hands."
Chris was smirking. "What?" Frederick demanded.
"Nothing."
"No, really, what?"
"Sure this girl exists only in your dreams?"
"Chris? What do you mean?"
"Calm down."
"Chris!"
"Debate partners have been assigned on a random basis -- that is, I have organized the pairs alphabetically -- taken the first with the last, and so on. I do not want any complaints! I will not be changing the teams, so don't even try; you'll just irritate me. These will be your partners for this term and possibly the spring -- I have not yet decided." said Professor Kingsbury. He began reading off names. "Abernathy - Yorkshire..."
Frederick was mentally calculating. Would that mean that -- no, impossible, that couldn't happen... wait, no, it could... what would she be? Fourth? Let's see, who would be next...
"Ainswick - Wimsley. Alastair - Wentworth..."
Frederick swore under his breathe. Eve gritted her teeth. Rebecca looked triumphant, and Chris tried to repress a smirk. The TAs were snickering quietly. As Professor Kingsbury continued reading the list, Eve darted her eyes to meet Frederick's in a cool, challenging gaze. Eve raised one eyebrow speculatively. What now, my enemy?
Hiding his irritation, as she did, Frederick silently held her gaze. Eve was an authority in stare-downs. You won't defeat me that easily, dearie. Suddenly, an odd memory struck Frederick. A politics and government class, spring term of sophomore year. Some ditz, plump, blonde, and with a voice that had never failed to set his teeth on edge, had declared Thomas Hobbes to be a champion of the natural rights of liberty, property, and determination of government by the people. Eve looked like she wanted to throw Locke's Two Treatises of Government at her with a great deal of force, and Frederick frankly wished the silly girl to be confronted with a real live leviathan. Then something inexplicable had possessed him to look at Eve, and as their eyes met, he knew that the expression of horror, amusement, and cynicism he saw in her eyes was matched in his.
"Everett - Schwartz," Professor Kingsbury called. The second name had been the object of Eve and Frederick's derision a year and a half ago. Hearing this, Frederick raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly. Evidently, Eve remembered. A knowing smile began on the right corner of her mouth; she gave only a half-hearted attempt to repress it, and smiled back at him with every indication of perfect amity. Stalemate: shattered. Frederick grinned at her. Alright. So maybe it won't be so bad after all. Better than someone like Tammy Schwartz, certainly. ...And more than that -- we could be really good, actually. Maybe more than good...
As professor Kingsbury continued reading the list, Frederick studied Eve thoughtfully. The more he thought about the pairing, the more promising it became. If only they could control their bickering, they might become nearly undefeatable. The more sanguine he became regarding the assignment, the more charitable he became towards his partner herself. Now, she's a woman who has beautiful hands. Small, but well-proportioned. Slightly long fingers, slender, tapering. No orange or fuchsia or cotton-candy nail polish. Good girl. Agile, delicate fingers, slim, flexible wrists, delicate shape. Rather pale, translucent -- I can see the veins, but otherwise nice color. Very lovely hands indeed... Lovely girl, indeed... in a way... And she is intelligent, original, I'll grant her that. Dark hair slid over her shoulder; she pushed it back. Not blue-black or anything exotic like that, not a trace or gold or red, just very dark chocolate brown. I don't think this will be too bad after all... it might be very... interesting...
The next afternoon, Eve was researching in the library when she turned around to face Frederick. "Rebecca asked me to give this to you," he said, handing her a sheet of paper.
Another ploy? You never give up, do you, Becky... Eve's exasperated thoughts vanished when she saw the paper was a telegram from, of all people, Rebecca's father.
Eve -Lewis collapsed while having lunch with me. He is fine but run-down. Have taken him to my house. Call me.
- John Lindsay
Frederick watched Eve's already pale face blanch. "Is anything wrong? Um... could I do something for you?"
"My uncle collapsed, the telegram says. He's been working too hard... and he's been very worried -- the strain must have finally gotten to him." Eve stood a moment in a worried reverie, then started. "I must go," she said brushing past Frederick. "Train... when is the next train..."
Frederick chased after her. "The last train to any station in Berkshire county left forty minutes ago -- the next is the 5:48." He paused "I ah... I could take you, if you want."
"You have a car? I didn't know that."
"Yes, but the train is faster so I usually go by that when I go back to the Crofts."
Eve hesitated. "You don't have anything right now? Like a class or something?"
"Umm... no. I'm all free for the rest of the afternoon. It wouldn't be a problem. Let me take you to London."
Due to her distracted state, Eve didn't recall that Frederick did indeed have a class later this afternoon, a business law class she was also in. "All right..." She looked up at him. "Thank you."