Chapter 7

After three hours of dinner and dancing, a four course meal, two bottles of wine and an after dinner cognac, I could just about keep my eyes open, let alone drive back to her place. But that is exactly what I had to do, as she climbed into the passenger side of the Bentley and curled up cat-like on the seat. Driving the Bentley was like sitting in the most comfortable living room chair you could buy as the world passes you by in the opposite direction. There was almost no vibrations or road noise; no sense that you were actually driving a car. The big engine propelled the car forward effortlessly. It was truly an experience of a life time. Somehow I managed to get us back home. I eased the Bentley back into its parking spot and turned off the motor.

“Mmmmmm, Home already. That was a wonderful evening. Let’s go to bed and cuddle.”

When we got into the elevator, Eve scooped me into her arms and gave me a slow sensuous kiss.

“Well, maybe we’ll do more than just cuddle; but don’t worry I know how tired you must be; you don’t have to do anything but lay back and enjoy.”

Over the next two hours she brought me to two earth shaking orgasms as she straddle my hips and road my overworked cock slowly and methodically until I could no longer stay awake.

The next morning we decided to stay in bed as Eve continued her story.

“Although there was still plenty of work left to do, building sidings, fuel and water depots, and passenger and freight depots, I decided that this part of my life had come to a satisfying end. I asked Samuel if I could ride with him back to Sacramento. I packed only my cleanest clothing and womanly essentials; leaving the rest of my things in my wagon and the horses with one of the laborers.

“It had taken us nearly six years to get to Promontory Summit; it took us less than three days to get back to Sacramento. I spent most of that time in the employee’s car, with the cook and Samuel’s assistant. I slept in my seat. I was actually proud of Samuel. He was a devoted husband and for once I was not the other woman.

“My final destination was San Francisco, but since the rail line was not yet complete, I spent a couple of months in Sacramento. By November of that year the line was finished and on a gray rainy afternoon I arrived in the City of San Francisco. I asked a livery driver which was the nicest hotel in the city. Without hesitation he told me the Occidental Hotel. I took up residence in one of the upper floor suites. San Francisco at the time was a young Pacific boom town. It had served as a port of entry for hopefuls during the California Gold Rush and the Nevada Silver Rush a decade later. The town was young and prosperous and full of potential.

“I planned on getting back into business after a much needed period of rest and relaxation, but my plans were changed by the chance meeting of an elderly woman and her son.

“I was having lunch in the hotel restaurant. There was a group of women seated around the table next to me. All were engaged in an animate discussion of the city’s current events; all, that is except for one elderly woman who was seated on the opposite side of the table facing me. She was staring at me, studying my face as if trying to figure out where she knew me from. To tell you the truth, she was making me a little nervous. So much so that after eating my meal I decided to skip my after meal tea, paid my check and went out for a long walk.

“When I returned later that afternoon, the man at the front desk informed me that I had message. He retrieved a folded piece of stationary from my room’s mail slot.

‘Dear Mrs. Weston, I saw you in the dining room today at lunch. I believe that I have something to show you that you’d be extremely interested in seeing. Would you please be gracious enough to join me for a cup of afternoon tea tomorrow afternoon at four? I pray you will accept my offer and look forward to your visit. Sincerely, Imelda Weston Clarke’

“On a separate piece of paper she left me her address. I was intrigued to say the least. Who was this woman? What could she have to show me that she felt so strongly that I would be interested in seeing? I didn’t make up my mind whether I was going to go or not until Friday morning. My curiosity finally won over my sense of anxiety.

“Although her address was within walking distance of the hotel, I decided to take a carriage instead; arriving at her house promptly at four. It was a lovely home, sitting high on a hill overlooking the harbor. A housekeeper answered the door and asked me to wait until she notified Mrs. Clarke that I had arrived.”

‘I’m so glad you decided to come, ‘ she said, as she entered the foyer. ‘Please call me Imelda. Come follow me we’ll have tea in the sitting room.’

“She led me to a spacious room in the rear of the house. It was tastefully furnished and had a spectacular view of the harbor through several large windows. But for me the most intriguing sight was the large painting that was hung over the fireplace. It was a painting of a ship’s captain; not any captain, but my captain, Samuel Weston. The look of shock on my face must have told her all she needed to know.”

‘I thought you’d find that painting extremely interesting. Please sit, make yourself comfortable and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.’

‘I have so many questions that I don’t know where to begin. Who are you? How did you get my painting? What do you want from me?’

‘First of all, I want nothing from you. It’s not your painting, its mine. Let me tell you my story.’

‘Back in 1830, I was a young naïve twenty year old young woman. I was a serving girl working in a tavern near the water front. One evening this tall handsome man comes into the tavern, sits at one of my tables and orders dinner and a pint of ale. I served him his dinner and over a second pint of ale he asks me what my name was. I told him my name was Imelda.’

‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance Imelda. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again.’

‘He came in every night for the next couple of weeks. He was always friendly and polite. I was more than a little infatuated with him. He was so handsome and sexy; such a commanding figure. One evening he waited for me and walked with me along the docks. He offered to show me his ship. Before I knew what was happening he not only was showing me his ship but his bed as well. The next morning he told me he loved me and wanted to get married right away. I was infatuated with him and agreed. We were married that day at city hall. That night he told me that he was leaving at the end of the week and that he wouldn’t be back for a long time. We spent two glorious days in my small flat, trying to fit a year’s worth of loving into the time before he had to leave. The morning that he was leaving, he ran to his ship and returned with his painting that I had admired that first night we made love in his cabin. He hung it on our bedroom wall above our bed. He told me that it would remind me of him until he returned. When he sailed that day he left me two things that I will always cherish, his portrait and his son.’

“I tried my hardest to bury the feelings of hurt and betrayal that suddenly exploded inside me. The bastard had not only cheated on me, which I guess I could have understood, having slept with untold number of men and Mary in his absence; but he had married her and gave her a son as well. I sipped my tea, thinking about the last time we had spent together, coming to the realization that he had died; never knowing that he had a son. I wondered how many other women there were, in other ports of call, and were there other children.”