He looked down at his hands, as if it were suddenly hard to say what he was about to say, then looked back at her again, his whole manner suddenly changed.
"Gloria Chung . . . remember her, Em? The hostess at that party we went to. She told me something that night. Something I should have known for myself but hadn't really seen until then. Well, tonight, facing my father, what she said came back to me. You see, I had to make a choice. Oh, I don't think the Old Man was even aware of it. Anything else he'd have asked of me I would have done. Anything. But that..."
Emily shook her head, suddenly exasperated with him. "What, for the gods' sakes? What the hell are you talking about, Michael?"
"It was you," he said, his gaze suddenly piercing her. "That's what it was all about. He wanted me to marry the Johnstone girl and I refused. As before, only I didn't know it back then. But tonight I was certain of it. Anything else, and I'd have agreed. Anything. But to lose you, Em ... No. I couldn't do that. Not that."
He stood unsteadily, taking her hands. "Don't you understand it yet? I want to marry you, Em. To spend my life with you."
The words surprised her; caught her totally off guard. She was silent a moment, then recollecting herself, she shook her head. "But what about your father? You love him, Michael. You need him. If you marry me, he'll cut you off for good."
He shuddered, the full weight of his hurt there briefly in his eyes. "Maybe. But it's done already, Em. It's finished between us. Really. There's no going back. So now it's just you and I. That's if you'll have me. That's if you feel even the tiniest bit the way I feel toward you."
She laughed, but beneath her laughter was a kind of numbed surprise—almost awe—that he had done this for her; that he had cast it all off simply to have her.
"I'll have you, Michael Lever," she said quietly, surprised by the strength of what she felt for him at that moment. "Just you and I. For life. And no going back, neh? No going back."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lost
IT HAD BEEN a long time since they had entertained, and I Jelka felt awkward, unpracticed in her role as hostess. I Their guests, the Hausers, were friends of her father's from years back, the husband ex-Security and a onetime Colonial Governor, the wife a soldier's wife, silent and dutiful in all things. Their son, Gustav, had come to work for the Marshal as his equerry and was shortly to be reposted. Jelka often saw him about the house, though he kept much to himself. He seemed a pleasant enough young man, though, like all of them, bred with a certain stiffness to him.
At the table she busied herself, turning to have a word with the servants, making sure things went smoothly, then turning back to ensure that the conversation kept flowing. Not that there was any real problem with that, for the two men monopolized the talk. First it was pure reminiscence, then, after their wineglasses had been topped up and the dessert was out of the way, they moved on to that perennial topic among the old: How things had changed.
"It was far simpler back then," Hauser began, nodding and looking to his wife. "Values were stronger. Positions were much clearer cut than now." He sipped and leaned forward, giving Jelka the benefit of his gaze. "There was no question of divided loyalties. A man was what he said he was."
She wanted to question that. It struck her that men had always been as they were now—a mixed bunch, and some more mixed than others—but she kept her silence, smiling, as if she agreed.
Hauser smiled back at her, pleased by her acquiescence. "Our job was simple, back then. We rounded up a few malcontents. Made sure things ran smoothly in the levels. None of this 'Who's my friend? Who's my enemy?" business."
Tolonen sighed and wiped at his lips with his napkin. "That's true, Sven. Why, if I could but tell you . . ." He shook his head sadly and reached for his glass. "Honor is not a thing you can buy. It must be bred. Must be there from birth in the immediate environment of a man. And if it's not. . ." He drank deeply, then set his glass down again, pursing his lips.
Jelka, watching him, thought of Kim. Was it true, what her father said? Was honor simply a thing to be bred into a man? Couldn't a man be naturally honorable?
"Unfortunately," continued her father, "we live in an age where such standards are vanishing fast. Young men like your son are rare, Sven."
She looked down once more, keeping the smile from her face. The old Governor had pushed out his chin at her father's remark and nodded sternly, the gesture so like a character in a trivee historical that she had it on her lips to remark about it. But there were rules here, and she would obey them, dislike them as she might. She said nothing, merely looked past the governor's wife to the waiter, indicating that he should fill the woman's glass again.
"You must be excited."
Jelka looked back at the ex-Governor and realized he had been talking to her. "I beg your pardon, Major Hauser?"
"About the trip. It must be wonderful. Seeing all that so young. I was in my late forties before I first went out."
She still wasn't following him. Confused, she looked to her father for explanation, but the Marshal was staring fixedly down at the table, as if deep in thought.
"Yes," went on the Governor, "I can remember it clearly, even now. Seeing the moons of Jupiter for the first time."
She laughed. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid you must be mistaken."
It was the old man's turn to look confused and turn to her father. "What's this, Knut? I thought you'd settled things?"
There was a slight color to Tolonen's cheeks. He met his old friend's eyes firmly, but his voice was quieter than usual. "I haven't told her, Sven. Please..."
"Ah . . ." There was a moment's clear embarrassment, then the old man turned and looked back at Jelka. "Well, as it's out, I guess you might as well know. I suppose your father wanted to surprise you, neh?"
Jelka had gone cold. She was looking at her father steadily. What had he done now? "A trip?" she asked, ignoring their guests momentarily.
"I would have told you," Tolonen said, still not looking at her. "Tonight. When our friends here had gone."
There was a slight emphasis on the word friends that was meant to remind her of her duty as hostess, but she ignored it.
"You're doing it again, aren't you?"
She could sense how both their guests had stiffened in their seats. Her father, however, had turned to face her.
"Doing what?"
"Interfering. . ." She said it softly, but the impact of the word couldn't be softened. She was thinking of Hans Ebert and her father's pressure on her to marry him. He had been wrong then, and he was wrong now. She loved Kim. And she would not be separated from him. Not for some soldier!
She shivered, realizing the point to which her thoughts had brought her. Did she really hate all this talk of duty and breeding? Hate all this soldiering?
"Jelka. . ." her father said softly. "You must listen to me. In this I know best. Really . . ."
She folded up her napkin and threw it down on the table, then stood. Turning to the Governor and his wife, she gave a small bow and a faint smile of apology. "I'm sorry. I really don't feel well. If you'll excuse me . . ."
She made to turn away, but her father called her back.
"Where do you think you're going, girl?"
She took a deep breath, then turned to face him. He was angry with her. Furiously angry. She had never seen him quite like this. But the sight merely steeled her to what she was doing. She faced him out, for the first time in her life openly defying him.
"What is it?"
He waved a hand at her, indicating that she should sit. But she remained as she was, standing away from the table, the chair pushed out behind her. He saw this and narrowed his eyes.