Endangered Hearts, page 6
His eyes dodged briefly from the blueprints to the file beside him. Emilia Ward’s grades were nothing extraordinary, though perhaps comparable with his own when he was that age. He was greatly relieved to learn that she was twenty-one years young, much older than he originally thought. Yet why he was relieved, he was not completely sure. Though she might have been old enough to be considered a woman, she was still clearly a child. After all, she lived with her mother, had not finished her education, and while he understood this to be common of young people from the West, it gave him no comfort to confirm that she was entirely uncatchable, and he not worthy of pursuing her.
It was ridiculous to even think of her as much as he was! She was only the maid, for heaven’s sake! A silly little girl with a pretty smile, clever disposition, and a possible ear for music… Kasper shook his head. Such thoughts were frivolous and led nowhere. No. No. If anything, it was better to look at her from the paper in front of him.
YEAR II Spring
Course
Title
Credit Hours
Final Grade
BIO255
Med Microbiology w/Lab
4
93
CHE232
Organic Chemistry II
3
94
CHE234L
Organic Chemistry II LAB
1
94
SSC230
Cultural Anthropology
3
100
LIB220
Communication for Health Professionals
3
97
TOTAL
14
He was almost certain that she was attempting to become a nurse, or perhaps some kind of physician’s assistant. Yet, as he continued to look over the classes she had undergone, he was less sure of it, prompting him to sit at his drawing table, as he would before any given project, and study properly.
Emilia Grace Ward, born March 29, 1992, at a Boston area hospital, to Susan and Nicholas Ward…
He paged through the divorce application petitioned by her father, the photocopied claims of disability signed by her mother, not entirely interested in them, though he placed the information away for later, suspecting all things related to the little peach would require a great deal of studying.
By looking at her tax returns, he had learned that Ms. Emilia Ward was a student at the Massachusetts College of Pharmacy and Health Sciences. Her main source of income was as an employee of the Green and Clean Housekeeping Company, yet she had also filed W-2s from an establishment called Summer Village Concessions since 2010.
Kasper stopped just then, taking a moment to research the animal shelter she had volunteered at, primarily between 2008 and 2010. He was hardly surprised to see a picture of her, featured with a mangy feline, on the “What You Can Do to Help” portion of the website. Kasper studied her image, noticing instantly that while her hair was shorter, her face was still the same. How many more volunteers had the shelter gained with the little peach as their spokesperson? He laughed, hardly feigning to think of the anxious young men who might miraculously recover from any animal-related allergy in the hopes of working with such a beauty.
Kasper turned the computer monitor to its side, suspecting Ms. Ward’s face had something of an addictive property. And like any proper addict, those who came into contact with it developed a tolerance, needing more and more all the time, growing all the more obsessed until her image was all they could think about… eventually succumbing to madness. Just how many men had the little peach sent to the asylum? Kasper shuddered to think of it and instead turned to look over her transcripts again, along with the files attached to her student identification number. Remarkably, she had not only applied for early graduation, but she had also pre-certified for the graduate program. Kasper immediately disregarded that information, however, when he saw a copy of the handwritten note beneath from a counselor of some sort, indicating she had withdrawn her application.
Interesting, considering the references she had from academic advisors and past employers. So Ms. Emilia Grace Ward was a pre-medical student in veterinary medicine? It seemed like a strange profession for an American female. Then again, she was opting out of a career as a veterinarian. Odd, when a beauty such as herself could easily find a wealthy benefactor and live out the awkward remainder of her years. Just the same, she had selected one of the more difficult subjects to learn. Didn’t young ladies tend to favor studies that were more eclectic? Artistic?
He had additional information: the make and model of her car, her shoe size. He saved all of it for later, sorting it according to his own determination of relevance. Frankford had been extremely thorough, gathering a variety of facts about her in just forty-eight hours, including that she favored the color green, hated polyester, and had a fondness for some food called pita chips. Most of it was useless and finite, of course…
Then, he also had her street address.
Chapter 5
Gestures and Speculations
Three weeks passed quickly, deflating what remained of the Indian summer into a crisp autumn. Fascination did not fade for either party. At any rate, however, caution and experience kept them apart from one another, and resisting the urge to do otherwise made each of them weary.
Emilia rushed as she walked up to the house. It seemed ridiculous to have to park so far away even to her, and she had spent a decent amount of time trying to justify it to herself. Only now she had run out of reasons, and folding her arms over herself didn’t help fight the wind chill that seemed to lower by the second. She smiled anyway, and pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up. Around her feet, swirls of colorful leaves danced around her. She wasn’t sure, but she thought the foliage seemed to be heading east to the smaller building she had learned was the horse stable. Curiosity beckoned her to explore the horse house, but caution warned her not to even peek in the tinted windows.
Even now, she was in slight awe that Mr. Zafar—or Kasper, as she had taken to calling him privately—had not dismissed her yet. More amazing still was that he had also left her alone, not confronting her since the second day of her employment.
During that first week, she had been happy for it, thinking that her co-workers had exaggerated his freakish temperament, just as surely as Emilia had overestimated it. Yet by the end of the second week, it made her nervous; no criticisms, no reflection of how she was doing on the job, it seemed worse than being yelled at, as though he was so annoyed he couldn’t even exert the energy to scold her.
Emilia finished the trek, waving hello to Mr. Rivas as he turned on the riding lawnmower. This had become something of a Thursday routine. And as Emilia worked her way up to the kitchen stairs, she intercepted the groceries Mrs. Levkin struggled with—another quickly forming routine.
“Thank you, dear.”
She smiled back. “Anytime.”
Emilia took out a plastic bucket from under the kitchen sink and some soft cloths for cleaning. She had just begun to fill the bucket with warm water and soap when Mrs. Levkin spoke again.
“Since everything seems to be working out, you should know that we take a little hiatus here during the holidays.”
“A hiatus?”
If Mrs. Levkin noticed Emilia’s voice breaking, she did not mention it. “Yes, early December usually until mid-January. Mr. Zafar does it every winter, travels to a climate more suitable—”
“An entire month?”
The response was, admittedly, not what Mrs. Levkin expected. The five-week long separation from the manor was something of a vacation for everyone, particularly those who had to tolerate Kasper on a daily basis. Yet, instead of relief or even excitement, Mrs. Levkin could have sworn she read sadness in Emilia’s expression. She hesitated before answering. “I imagine you’ll be paid for the time lost just like the rest of us…”
Emilia smiled and gave a simple nod before shutting off the faucet and hoisting the bucket out from the sink. She scolded herself for almost giving herself away. What were the odds that a sophisticated woman like Mrs. Levkin would understand a school-girl crush? Is that what she even felt? While it would explain why her skin tingled at the intoxicating possibility of seeing him, it couldn’t explain hearing his voice in her dreams, not to mention the not-so-innocent images she saw there.
“Closing the house will be a great deal of work.” A harsh blast of wind hit the side of the house, and as Emilia glanced out the window, she could see a storm threatening to break. “I hope you’re willing to spend a few extra hours with me.
“Huh?” Emilia forced herself to smile, “Oh, right. No problem.”
Sure enough, the clouds gave way. And before long the sound of vicious winds even drowned out the occasional note of music as Emilia cleaned. The storm didn’t distract her anymore than usual, however—what did keep her preoccupied were her thoughts of the master of the house. In reality, Emilia was not happy at all to have a break from cleaning the chandelier. She would much rather have continued to do it, that and all her other chores at Iram, if it meant she could continue to be close to Kasper. In her mind, he needed looking after, someone to keep him on his toes, and though Emilia wasn’t much of anyone, she thought she was better than nothing.
Except that she also remembered how he traveled somewhere not even Mrs. Levkin knew of. Emilia horrifically imagined him with exotic beauties in Europe, spending the bulk of winter on some desert island somewhere with women who could rely on their looks, and possessed physical assets she couldn’t even imagine. In that respect her mother did have a point. Why did it seem like the beautiful people were the only ones who got to have adventures, who got to have great and exciting lives? Even though Emilia wasn’t beautiful, she was knowledgeable, knowing how to jumpstart a Honda and take almost any stain out of anything. She understood the molecular biology of cancer and could make a pretty amazing macaroni and cheese. Just because she didn’t have large breasts, cut her own hair, and had nails dyed by chemicals, why didn’t she deserve thrills and romance?
Emilia sighed. She already knew why; she was too scientific and had listened to too many tragic operas not to know why. The fact of the matter was that evolution required survival of the fittest ruled all. And males, rich, mysterious, talented males, had their pick of mates.
She swallowed her sadness and continued on. Perhaps, being away from the manor, from him, was a good thing. It would give her time to go on more job interviews, search for apartments, and apply herself to her studies.
“All done.” Emilia hurried to tuck her scarf into her coat as she glanced out the window. “I’ll see you next Tuesday, Mrs. Levkin.”
“You aren’t going out in this weather, are you?”
“W-well, yeah—”
“Nonsense,” she whispered, gesturing to the breakfast nook. “Sit. Sit.”
“I really can’t,” she tried to insist. “I have a ton of homework to do tonight.”
“Homework can wait, the flu, however, will not.” Mrs. Levkin patted the tea kettle on the stove, a silent invitation to join her. “Come, dear, sit.”
Emilia looked out the window, resisting the urge to protest further, and refraining from doing so when she saw the rain continuing to rage on, and the condensing heat from the windows was just another reminder of how much colder it was outside.
“Um…” Emilia snapped her fingers together. “Maybe just for a minute.”
Mrs. Levkin talked quietly while Emilia watched the arrangement of tea on the countertop and the holder that concealed them. She already knew that Mr. Shiraz preferred the ginger tea, but she still didn’t know which one Kasper preferred. Emilia had been spending more and more time trying to figure out little things like this about her employer. By observing him and the clues Mrs. Levkin provided; she had learned that he ate little, though when he did, he preferred to snack on walnuts, naan, and hunks of honeydew melon. And though she never knew him to eat them, she regularly saw Mrs. Levkin buying pita chips over the last couple of weeks. Additionally, Emilia had also learned that he regularly ate pork despite his religion, though she suspected he may have done this simply to annoy Mr. Shiraz, who she had also discovered, was devoted to his religion.
“Emilia?” Mrs. Levkin sighed. “Did you hear me?”
Startled to hear the sound of her name, Emilia blinked out of her stupor and looked down, quickly putting her hands in the pocket of her sweatshirt. The chemicals she frequently used for cleaning combined with the colder weather made her skin look dry and made her feel much older than she would have liked. “Sorry, my mind was somewhere else.”
“Anyway…” Mrs. Levkin stood to rise. “I can’t let you drive home in this mess.”
“It’s okay,” Emilia insisted. “My car has been through worse.”
Mrs. Levkin frowned, looking skeptical. “At least wait a few minutes and let me get some tea into you. Maybe it will calm down out there.”
Emilia nodded. “That would be nice.”
She watched Mrs. Levkin prepare the water, feeling awkward that she had declined to let her help and even more strange when she went for the china basin at the end of the countertop, taking out several cracker shaped items and placing them on a platter in front of her.
“Oh, I don’t want to impose.” Emilia wanted to run out of the room when she realized that she was offering her the raspberry glazed cookies that Kasper ordered from Italy, a delicacy to be sure. “Mr. Zafar—”
“—won’t mind in the least. Now eat up. I’ve seen scarecrows with bigger bellies than you.”
Emilia opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t, and as the kettle went off, she thought she might look like a fish out of water.
“I hate to sound ungrateful or anything.” She gulped and pretended to wipe at a mark on the counter. “But I think you might be mistaken about that.” Emilia toiled with the handle of her mug, admiring the color within the ceramic coupling. “Mr. Zafar seems to minds a lot of things.”
“You are not one of them, my dear. If you were, you would not still be here.”
Emilia laughed nervously, focusing on the steam that poured in front of her. She tried to think of a way to respond coherently but instead just cradled the mug and let its warmth seep through her.
Both women sipped lazily at their tea and took turns staring out the windows, each watching how the soaked leaves violently flew from the trees. It was several minutes before Emilia finally gained enough courage to bring up the topic that had been bothering her for so long.
“Mrs. Levkin?”
“Yes, dear?”
“If I’m out of line, please feel free to tell me so, but um—”
Sensing her hesitation, the older woman encouraged her to continue with a wave of her hand. “Yes?”
“I-Is he all right?”
“Pardon?”
“Kasper.” Emilia bit her tongue the moment she said his name, because even though it didn’t sound inappropriate to her—didn’t feel awkward, either—she suspected the old-fashioned Mrs. Levkin would almost definitely think it was. Instead of dwelling on it, however, Emilia continued on with her inquiry, feeling bold by the lack of Mrs. Levkin’s response. “I know it’s none of my business, and I don’t mean to pry, but he seems lonely, which is strange to me. You would think someone with his kind of talents would have lots of friends, admirers even.” Emilia blushed and looked away, wondering if she had said too much.
“Ah,” she said. “I see.” Mrs. Levkin folded her hands on top of themselves and sighed deeply, then closed her eyes against tremendous memories of her own. “Life is not always kind, particularly to those who are different from others. You seem like a smart enough girl to know that.”
Emilia nodded solemnly. She was all too aware of that fact.
“Mr. Zafar’s life has led him away from others, and when someone spends so long in solitude, they forget how to be any other way. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Emilia nodded. “Doesn’t he have any family?”
“It is not my place to say.”
“Ah, giving away pastries to the help now? I suppose soon we shall be giving the steeds diamonds and ruby-studded harnesses?”
Emilia hadn’t heard Kasper sneak up on them; nevertheless, she was glad to hear his voice. Rich in baritone, he always sounded like a dream she didn’t want to wake up from.
“Well, that seems excessive to me.” Emilia rolled her eyes, making Mrs. Levkin laugh. “But if you insist…”
“Idiotic girl…” As if testing him, teasing him, Emilia had not dared to look at him. Not yet, anyway.
Kasper had thought he had prepared himself properly to converse with her again. Yet it was only when he was that close to her did he realize how wrong he was. Luckily, his practice had not been for nothing, and he regained immediate control of his speech abilities. “Have you finished everything that you were assigned to do, or have you hens been clacking away all afternoon?”
“Unless there was anything special…” Emilia trailed off, spinning on the kitchen stool to look at him, her staring catching him off guard. Kasper backed away, as if her silence commanded it. “I’m finished for the day.” Her voice was hardly a whisper, and she realized that the room seemed unbearably small for the three of them.
“Then—” He cleared his throat and began again. “Then what are you still doing here? Eating me out of house and home?” Though it went against every grain in his deformed body, he knew not making the point in front of Mrs. Levkin would look suspicious. It was somewhat painful for him to make, considering the truth was that he would have happily had her in his kitchen until the end of time.
“Oh, stop it, Kasper. I insisted the poor child sit down and wait the storm out a bit. She works entirely too hard to tramp about in weather like this.”
Kasper paused briefly in staring at her to glance out the windows. He had been so preoccupied in watching the little peach for the last few hours, he had neglected the weather completely. Though it did not bother him, the idea that she was inconvenienced because of him in any capacity pained him greatly.
