Lightning Strikes (Hudson 2)

"No," Catherine said. "It's true."

They exchanged knowing glances again.

"What?" I demanded.

"Our papa has a mistress," Leslie revealed.

"He does? And you know about it?"

"Mais, oui. But of course," Catherine said.

"What about your mother? Does she know?"

"Oui"

"I like her," Leslie said.

"Who? Your father's mistress?"

She nodded.

"But he's having an extramarital affair, isn't he? How can you like her?"

She shrugged.

"She's nice. She buys us nice things, too. These earrings are from her," Leslie said indicating the tiny pearl earrings she wore.

"You took a gift from the woman who is cheating with your father?"

"You don't like them?"

I guess I had my mouth open in shock when Randall returned. He looked at me askance and asked if I was all right.

"Yes," I said."I think."

On the way back to the residence, the sisters talked more about their love affairs. They prided themselves in being what they called femmes fatales, women who deliberately inflicted emotional pain on their lovers. They called it the agony of desire or some such expression Leslie had read in a romance novel. I was afraid to ask them how many times and with how many different men they had made love, but there was no doubt in my mind they would reply honestly-- even in front of Randall.

Yet, I had to admit there was something about them that kept me from thinking of them as merely loose girls, like some of the girls Beni had been friendly with despite my and Roy's warnings. Catherine and Leslie still had a good image of themselves. I couldn't explain my feelings; although I didn't approve of what they were telling me about themselves, I didn't disapprove of them either. It was as if the lives they were leading were good lives for them and should be left at that. I did keep coming back to what they called joie de vivre, wondering if there wasn't something for me to learn and something for me to imitate and accept.

Goodness knows, I wanted to throw off the chains of depression and sadness that the last year of my life had wrapped around me. Maybe throwing myself into a romantic fling or two was the way to do it.

"Remember' Grandmother Hudson had advised before I had left for England, "when in Rome, do as the Romans?'

I wasn't exactly in Rome, but I wasn't back home either.

We parted in the lobby of the residence hail because Leslie and Catherine's room was downstairs. As we said good-bye, Leslie smiled softly at Randall and then leaned over to whisper in my ear.

"Make him long for you, cherie," she said, "until he is in pain'

I started to laugh. Randall looked away quickly and then we went upstairs.

He had a comfortable, nice sized room, but I suppose anything would look good to me considering the closet I inhabited back at Endfield Place. I saw that he kept it very neat, everything in its place. There were two windows that looked out on the street and got the afternoon sun, each draped in white cotton curtains. A light brown oval area rug was under and around the bed so he didn't have to put his feet down on a cold wooden floor. The bed itself was a rich cherry wood. It had a headboard with an embossed crest that was designed around the head of a lion. The room had a large closet and a matching armoire as well as a dresser, a desk and chair and two nightstands with a standing lamp next to the desk. The room was lit mainly by an overhead fixture that washed the antique white ceiling in a warm glow.

"I share the bathroom with two other students," he told me, "but they're both away for the weekend."

I was happy to see the bathroom had a decent shower in the tub.

"Why don't you go first," he said. "I know how long girls take. I have a sister. Here," he added, reaching into his closet to come out with a terry-cloth robe, "use this."