The Titan Drowns: Time Travel Romance by Nhys Glover (highly recommended books .txt) 📕

‘Damn it, Max,’ Phillip fumed. ‘You know it is not your money I am concerned about. I just hate to see such a fine man as you made to look such a fool by that bitch!’

‘Steady on there, I may not care much for the woman but she is still my wife. I cannot allow you to call her names in my presence.’ Max spoke stiffly, keeping a tight rein on his own anger.

He knew his brother was trying to protect him, but it only served to make him feel more of a fool than he knew himself to be. His astute judgements in law, and his access to the seamier side of life because of his legal practice, meant he was rarely duped. However, Agnes had played him from the moment they met. She had heard of his gentle gallantry and of his political stand on the abuse of women, and manufactured a role for herself that could only bring out the protector in him. In his career, he had never met a more capable fraud, and it irked him to have proven to be such an easy mark.

‘Why don’t you take a mistress then? You are a man and have needs, even if our parents tried to beat them out of us. A man of your standing is well within his rights to take a mistress.’

Again, Max sighed heavily. This was an old argument between them. Phillip had gone in the opposite direction to him after their shared childhood. While Max had been the fair-haired child trying his best to be everything his father required of him, even to remaining resolutely virginal until his marriage, Phillip had been a reckless philanderer from an early age. If rumour had it, Phillip already had several illegitimate children and, at thirty-five, still had no plans to marry and settle down.

For not the first time, Max wondered how their childhood had produced such opposite characters. Except that they were both dark-haired, good-looking men, a legacy of their mother’s family, they shared nothing but their career path in common.

‘You, my brother, inherited all the venal vitality for both of us. I have never required a mistress and do not mean to start now.’

‘You… your appetites do not lie in other directions?’ Phil looked uncomfortable for the first time, pulling at the collar of his pristine white shirt.

Max laughed. It was the first time that day that someone had said or done anything to inspire mirth. And he needed to laugh. It was his safety valve. It lightened the heaviness of his life. He let himself enjoy the moment.

‘You have wanted to ask that question ever since we were children. So after nearly a quarter of a century, you finally ask it. Are you sure you are ready for the answer, dear brother?’

Phillip’s face flushed red with mortification and he dug into his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. The room was warm; the fire in the grate kept it that way most months of the year. However, it was not hot enough to account for the perspiration on his brother’s high forehead.

‘Yes. If you prefer to bugger boys then I can understand it given our parent’s less than gentle ways with us. I will not condemn you for that unnatural proclivity.’

For the first time in his relationship with his brother, Max felt genuine affection for the man. That he would accept him, even if he could not condone such perversion, was the height of magnanimity, and his desire to taunt his brother was instantly gone.

‘Do not worry; I have no sexual desires along those lines. In fact, I have little, if any, procreative desires at all. Whether by nature or nurture, I am for all intents and purposes a eunuch and better for it. I would not have survived being led around by my appendage, as you have been your whole life.’ He laughed at his brother’s indignant huff.

‘Led I might have been, but at least I enjoyed it.’

‘Mother taught me early that all sexual urges were dirty and demeaning. Even though, intellectually, I know that is untrue, on a visceral level… it has always felt wrong and most assuredly not enjoyable. And having a wife who cringed away from me on our marriage bed and cried when I entered her did nothing to change my feelings.’

‘She is a fine actress; I will give her that. After hearing about the ogre she was forced to marry, I can see how that game had to be played out. But surely, once the investigator found out the truth about her lover, a brute of a man if ever there was one, you would not have felt the need to be as gentle and understanding with her?’

‘Why do you press me on this? It is none of your affair.’ Max felt his anger rising again.

‘Because I do not like seeing you like this! God, man, I have idolised you from the moment I could walk. You were my big brother who protected me from harm – even from father’s heavy belt where you could. In the courts of law, you are powerful and intimidating, with the keenest mind of any man I have ever known. You could be Prime Minister one day! Yet, where women are concerned, you are emasculated. Do not let her do this to you. You deserve better than this faithless whore.’

‘Enough!’ Max’s voice had dropped to almost a whisper but the tone would brook no opposition.

‘All right, all right, I give in. Live your life as you will, dearest brother, I will say no more about it. However, remember one thing – a life lived without love is no life at all. You are forty years old. Soon it will be too late for you. Life is short and not designed only for work and duty.’

Before Max could reply, Phillip slipped out of the door and left him to his troubled thoughts. He knew he had plenty of time before his next appointment, but for once, the necessities of work were more dreary than pleasurable. He felt a restlessness he couldn’t identify. It had started at the sight of the girl in the street, and his brother’s words only served to inflame it further.

There was a soft knock on the oak door and his assistant poked his head around the edge, his eyes meekly turned to the carpeted floor.

‘Sorry to intrude, sir. But there is a young lady here who wishes a moment of your time. She is not a client.’

‘What does she want?’ he demanded impatiently. Would the interruptions to his day never end?

‘She says she is a journalist and wishes to interview you for a story she is writing.’

Max frowned. This was not the first request for an interview he’d received over the years. His firm represented high-profile cases and he himself was politically active in matters that were controversial. Good press could serve him, bad press… well; he could see for himself the nature of the article the woman wished to write and decide from there. There was time in his schedule and maybe she would keep his mind off his growing restlessness.

‘Send her in. I can give her a few moments I suppose,’ he said ungraciously. Jones had been his assistant for many years and knew his temperament well. There was no need for politeness in their dealings.

When the door opened again, Max felt as if the air in the room had been sucked out of it. In the doorway stood a young woman in a navy skirt and jacket and a big, outrageous hat. A pair of extraordinary blue eyes fringed with sooty black lashes stared across at him and for a moment, he could think of nothing to say. His mind was blank.

‘Mr Ingham? Your assistant said to come in?’ Her voice wobbled slightly with nerves. What was that slight lilt of an accent? Irish? Surely not.

‘Come right in, I have a few minutes to spare. How can I help you…? Miss…?’ Had Jones told him her name? He couldn’t remember. He could barely remember his own name at that moment. A slow, flustered burn started to rise up from his neck to his cheeks.

Something amused her because she smiled in delight. ‘Miss O’Toole, Eilish O’Toole. Thank you for finding time in your busy schedule for me.’

Max gestured for her to take a seat on the far side of his desk and instead of taking his position behind it, as was his usual practice, he drew up a hard backed chair and sat down next to her.

Up close, she was even more attractive than from a distance. Her face was rounded, as was her body. But it only served to make her softer and lusher.

Lush? Where had that word come from? It made him squirm in his chair like a worm on a hook.

He cleared his throat and reached for the glass of water on his desk to moisten his suddenly dry mouth. This was absurd. What kind of fool was he being now? His brother would be laughing at him had he remained in the room to witness this gauche, pubescent behaviour.

‘I am interested in writing an article on spousal abuse for our new magazine, The Woman’s Weekly, which was launched at the end of last year. You have been a divorce lawyer for most of your career and specialise in cases where such violence is the principal grounds for divorce. You were also one of the most vocal supporters of the 1907 revision to the divorce law act, which provided child support for divorced wives caring for their children.’

Max sat back and considered the woman more closely. She wasn’t just physically attractive, her passionate interest in her subject made her character attractive also. But not in a militant, suffragette fashion. He could hear no hatred for the male gender underlying her words.

‘You have done your research, Miss O’Toole. Yes, I have been vocal and active in both legal and political arenas on this issue for many years. However, I thought the content of your new magazine was not inflammatory. This subject is very provocative, even today.’

‘Would you mind if I took off my hat. It is driving me mad,’ she said, suddenly tipping her head to one side and shaking her head slightly.

It was such a natural and ingenuous action that he couldn’t help smiling. ‘Of course, feel free to be comfortable.’

With that, the Irish woman withdrew two long hatpins and removed her ridiculous hat. Suddenly, a wealth of soft, black waves artfully arranged on the top of her head were revealed. His fingers itched to touch them, and once again, he was flabbergasted by his reaction.

She put the hat on the desk, breathing a long sigh of relief. ‘I am so sorry. That was very unprofessional of me. But that thing was giving me a headache.’

‘Think nothing of it. Why you women insist on wearing such outlandish headwear, I have no idea. You look far prettier without.’ He stopped short, as he realised how close that came to a flirtatious compliment. Hopefully, she would take it as a general statement about all women looking prettier without such hats.

Her cheeks bloomed pinkly and she looked away with a shy smile. So, she had taken it personally. And instead of being annoyed or embarrassed, he was pleased.

‘Miss O’Toole, might I offer you some tea and crumpets? It is usually what I require midmorning, as I have no time to break my fast before I leave for the office.’

‘Thank you. That would be delightful.’

Flustered, and yet oddly excited by the turn of events, Max went to the door and put his order in to Jones. It was true; he did take morning tea about this time, but he rarely had the appetite for crumpets. Today it was different. Today he felt hungry.

‘Now, back to our subject,’ Max said, as he sat down across from her edging his chair subtly closer, yet still