Montega's Mistress Read Free Page B

Bobbie should be embarrassed, throwing herself a shower for her fourth wedding. “That jacket was a pea coat, Sophia. Millions of people wear them.”
    “That’s just my point, dear, you’re not millions of people. You have an image to project; you can’t go around in rags you’ve picked up in the basement of an army-navy store. I’ll bet that thing isn’t even wool.”
    “I don’t know; I didn’t interview the sheep,” Helen replied sarcastically, but the gibe was lost on her mother, who switched to her other favorite subject, Helen’s stepmother.
    “I hope you’re comfortable there in your father’s place, Helen,” Sophia said unctuously. “It was so chic and stylish when I decorated it; I can only imagine what it looks like now. That woman your father married has the Manhattan town house done in Reign of Terror, I think; I can’t understand why everything is red.”
    Matteo stirred, and Helen waited until he relaxed again before answering. “It’s Mediterranean, Sophia, and you know her name is Adrienne. Dad’s been married to her for five years.” Helen glanced around the room, desperate to get off the phone quickly without provoking a follow up call by Sophia. Suddenly inspiration struck, and she added, “Actually, maybe you’re right. I really should get out of here soon because Adrienne needs the place for a house party Debra wants to have. She told me so a few days ago.”
    Sophia’s most cherished guiding principle was to thwart her successor’s plans whenever possible. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t let Adrienne drive you out so she can throw a shindig for that fat little adolescent of hers. Take as long as you like, dear. Forget about the collections. I know you have things to do. Shall I call your father and tell him you need to stay a little longer?”
    “That’s okay,” Helen answered, grinning. “I’m sure Adrienne and I can work it out. Have a good time, Sophia. Goodbye.”
    “ Ciao , darling.”
    Helen hung up gratefully, going immediately to check on Matteo. Fresh red was already staining the gauze above the wound, but the blood wasn’t running in rivulets anymore. She hoped he didn’t need a transfusion, because he wasn’t going to get one lying in Adrienne’s bedroom. She realized that there was nothing more she could do for him and that she should just let him rest, so she completed the task Sophia’s call had interrupted: cleaning up and putting everything back where it belonged. Then she stretched out on the chaise next to Matteo, propping a pillow behind her head and closing her eyes. She was exhausted and it wasn’t long before she slept.
    * * *
    Helen awoke in late afternoon, to find that she had slept through the time to give Matteo his pills. She found him bathed in perspiration, still feverish, and drifting in and out of consciousness with a rapidity that scared her. During one of his lucid moments she told him that she was calling a doctor, but he reacted so violently that she retracted the statement in order to calm him. She changed the dressing on his wound and then gave him a dose and a half of the medicine, praying that it wasn’t too much. After drinking the liquid, Matteo fell back on the bed, his eyes closed, and Helen thought he was unconscious again. But as she moved away the fingers of his good hand encircled her wrist, squeezing it. Too weak to talk, he nevertheless communicated his gratitude, and Helen felt the sudden sting of tears behind her eyes. She was glad that she had sheltered him, sure now that she had not been wrong to do so.
    After she had taken a quick shower and dressed, she made coffee and toast and took them back to the bedroom. She felt the disorientation that doing morning things in the evening brought, but forgot it when she saw that Matteo was shaking so badly that the bed rattled. He was wracked with chills. She grabbed extra blankets and piled them on top of him, crawling up on the bed to hold him when his trembling didn’t