“So, you're educated then?” she asked, and he could almost hear her
pondering it.
“Naturally,” he replied. “One of the great benefits of being upper middle class is that I can dabble in a life of leisure but not be corrupted by it because I have plenty of work to do as well.”
“Very good. I think too much leisure isn't good for a man.” It was almost unheard of for a woman to voice such an opinion, and Katerina seemed to be holding her breath waiting for his response.
“Likely not,” he replied with an encouraging smile. “And you? How is your
education?”
“Rather self-centered I'm afraid,” she replied. “I've never been to school and
stopped having a governess quite young, so I've taught myself things I want to
know, like music, literature, religion, and so on.”
“Religion?” Christopher leaped onto a new line of inquiry. “Are you
Catholic?”
“Actually, no,” Katerina explained. “My parents found it too difficult to
remain Catholic after they moved to England, so they joined the Church of England before I was born.”
“Interesting.”
“You've said that several times,” she pointed out.
“Well, Katerina, it's because you are,” he told her gently. “I enjoy talking with you.”
“Why?” The stark question revealed a world of self-doubt, as did her lip-twisting, dubious expression.
“Because you're so real,” he explained. “You don't simper and giggle and try
to guess what I want to hear. You just tell me what you think. I enjoy hearing it.”
“Goodness.” Her eyes widened. “And here I've been told men prefer a
woman with no opinion. Sounds as though nearly the reverse is true.”
“Well I can hardly speak for everyone,” Christopher admitted, “but I prefer
my friends to be who they are, so I can know them. Particularly a friend with such… potential.” He allowed the intensity he felt to bleed into the words.
She glanced at him sharply.
He continued. “Perhaps, Katerina, you might prevail upon my mother to
walk with you tomorrow. And perhaps I might prevail upon her to invite me?”
She met his eyes with an unguarded expression. “Yes, that would be very
nice.”
He continued. “As for the ball, do you think a non-diplomatic type such as myself would be unable to attend?”
“Very likely,” she replied with a nod, though something of her expression suggested the turning of gears in her mind as she tried to understand where his
non-sequitur was leading.
“And your father is certain not to be there?” he pressed.
“He has never once accepted that invitation in all the years I can remember,”
she replied.
“So, if you forgot your way and accidentally found yourself at a little dinner
party with some friends of mine; men and women?” Christopher suggested.
“That might happen,” she said with an impish grin. “Where?”
“It will be at the home of the Wilders, a couple who runs a small printing business here in London. Gordon Wilder was just finishing school the year I started, but we met several times and got to be friends. We've formed a little weekly poetry club, him and his wife, me, my friends James Cary and Colin Butler, and a few others.”
Her expression turned suspicious at the thought of so many men meeting in a
home.
