The Scandalous Demise of Lily Lake

Chapter Two-1

CHAPTER TWO

Ten Years before…

Lillian Lake dismissed her 10th grade boys to a din of whoops and hollers as they elbowed their way out a door far too small for their energetic bodies. “How about one at a time!” her voice tried to rise above the noise with little success. Though eventually the young men from her English Literature section, ties flying and blazers askew, burst into a corridor full of more youths on their way to the lunchroom and the soccer fields.

Once the classroom had cleared, a gentle quiet settled around the frazzled teacher, and Lillian took a deep breath as she looked toward the windows and the trees that rustled outside. The room felt silent and empty—almost empty—although a tickle at the back of her head in response to the sound of footsteps caused her to turn around.

And there he was. First time Lillian Lake had ever laid eyes on Patrick Thornton-Wynn and she was momentarily frozen in her sturdy black day shoes, gazing into the man’s face. Brown eyes, neatly trimmed hair, a plain oval face – nothing particularly distinguishable about that, except for the impeccability of his manner. All starched and formal in his immaculate suit, he looked stern and bold, distinguished by his heritage and his position, if not his physical features.

A thin smile passed over his lips. “A little like hoodlums, don’t you think?” he tried to smile as he made reference to the hoard of young men who’d just passed through her classroom door.

Lillian was dazed. “Yes, they certainly can be,” her voice just short of breathless. The sudden flutter in her belly was most disturbing. To react so sexually to a man, a stranger, would be cause for concern, especially since it had been such a long time since she’d allowed herself those kinds of feelings. The serious, studious world of Foxwood-Forest Academy was not the place for attractive young teachers to appear s****l in any way. In one year, the twenty-four-year-old had managed to go from a gutsy, vivacious and very sensuous grad student to a perfectly robotic English teacher with the task of turning young men’s minds toward the pursuit of fine literature.

“Patrick Thornton-Wynn,” the man of thirty-five years strode forward and held out his hand.

“Lillian Lake.” She politely took his hand.

“I’m so pleased to meet you,” he said, trying another smile. They seemed hard to come by for Patrick Thornton-Wynn. He perfected stodgy as an art form far too early in his life, although he had his reasons. Still, seeing the lovely young teacher made him want to smile. Her thick hair, once neatly clipped back at the nape of her neck, was a little disheveled almost sexy now. What’s the common term? Dishwater blonde. Not brown, not blonde, somewhere in-between. She used only a little make-up, but didn’t need to use more; her beauty emanated from her naturally, giving her complexion an earthy glow. At the moment, her appearance was a little careworn and her face was flushed slightly, no doubt because he’d surprised her. Although she tried to look the part of the prim school teacher indicative of the Foxwood-Forest image, there was something a little rough, a little edgy about her, that shone through the artifice. He was glad. That edginess only enhanced her natural features. If he were good at all at guessing, he would suspect that her curvaceous and amply proportioned body fit into a size six. He particularly appreciated the gentle swell of her breasts, and could just barely make out the faintest little jiggle under her prim white blouse. On coming into the room, before she’d turned around, his eyes had lighted on her behind, which fit quite nicely into her navy knee-length skirt. He could have stared at it for hours.

But then she’d turned around.

“I’m here about my nephew, Walker Thornton-Wynn,” he moved on, trying to be pleasant, but even he knew that his voice was a little strained.

“Oh, Walker, yes,” she smiled broadly at the mention of the young man. An angry, arrogant boy.

Patrick thought a moment about what he’d say next. Normally conferences with teachers were pretty cut and dried. He’d remind them that it was their duty to mold his charge into an exemplary young man, and that he paid the school plenty of money for them to do just that; a repeat of the lecture he’d given Mr. Bonneman, the headmaster, in the last hour. But Patrick stopped short, fate having reached down and, for just a moment, leaving him speechless before this vibrant young woman, who appeared to be bursting the seams of her proper clothes. It seemed that the sight of her restored feelings in him that he thought he lost long ago.

Lillian, meanwhile, could feel a standoff right from the instant that the imperious eyes of Patrick Thornton-Wynn landed on her like a bird of prey swooping down to pluck its next victim. This time, however, biological hormones were set loose and her entire body heated with something akin to lust. She could feel herself breathing with an intensity unfamiliar to her.

“Lillian Lake, is it?” he finally found his voice.

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s about the dinner hour,” he consulted his watch to make certain, “perhaps we could get a bite to eat and talk over a matter that’s become a little troubling to me, concerning my nephew.”

She was all jittery now, and stumbled over her reply, “Really, no… no, sir, I couldn’t. It would be against school policy for me to accept…” she hesitated to say ‘a date’.

He grimaced, “Oh, bother! Forget their antiquated policies. I promise, they’ll not harm a hair on your head for seeing me, or George can forget about my yearly contribution to these hallowed halls.” He stared around briefly in disgust before bringing his attentions back to her.

It had been decided. Lillian would spend her evening meal with Patrick Thornton-Wynn.

And why?

Because Patrick found in Lillian Lake something mysterious, something vibrant, maybe even savage, all simmering beneath the modest clothes and the fastidious manner that Foxwood-Forest required of its teachers.

And because when he wanted something, Patrick took it and made it his.

A sign above the storefront restaurant flickered with gold and red neon, enough to welcome the couple inside the simple bistro. They sat at a table by the front window to avoid the laughing crowd at the back of the bar who were gathered on barstools and drinking hefty mugs of Guinness.

“So, tell me about yourself, Ms. Lake?”

His attention was completely on her, so intensely that she couldn’t help but blush self-consciously. People like Patrick Thornton-Wynn didn’t pay attention to people like Lillian Lake.

“I’ve only been at Foxwood a year,” she said. “I started in the summer session and then they hired me on for the full year.”

“Recent graduate?”

“My degree is from Wellesley, my masters from Smith.”

“Fine schools.”

“I was lucky. I had scholarships.”

“Ah!”

“I’m a very middle class woman, which makes Foxwood and interesting challenge for me.”

“Middle class? What does that mean?”

He was haughty, but in a strange sort of way that seemed to do wicked things to her body—which had pretty much been denied any significant s****l activity or meaningful male/female relationships. While that little flutter in her belly was in no way receding – in fact, it seemed to be growing stronger by the minute – the awareness of her position as a representative of Foxwood-Forest Academy kept her from thinking of this as anything more than a parent/teacher conference.

“It means that I grew up…” she thought a moment before she finished. Should she parse the facts or state the truth? “Actually,” she sighed, “I can’t honestly comment on middle class as well as I can ‘the other side of the tracks’.” If he had any real interest in her at all, she might as well get down to the truth.

His eyebrows lifted with interest, as if she was a curiosity to be investigated. “Oh, and what’s that like – ‘the other side of the tracks’?”

“Why, may I ask, would you want to know?”

“I’m not really sure. But something about you fascinates me.”

“I thought we were here to talk about your nephew. Walker?”

“We’re here because I was suddenly taken with a very lovely young woman and wanted to get to know her better. Excuse me if that’s forward.” He hesitated. “I’ll take you back to the school right now if you want, but I’m very sincere in my interest.”

She didn’t know how to reply. Men this forward and commanding were rare in her world. Most of the male teachers at Foxwood were pretty mousy, or eccentric bookish types who were content to play by someone else’s rules rather than make their own. Too often in her own upbringing males were simply absent, certainly way off her radar.

“I suppose I’m not used to the attention.”

“Not used to the attention of a man? A pretty girl like you?”

“Strange, isn’t it?

“Deliberate on your part? Or are you not interested in men?”

“No, no. I certainly have a libido as healthy as any young woman,” she rushed in, a second later, blushing for having said anything that bold. “I’ve just focused on my education and then my career. I figure there’s time…time for a social life later.”

“Interesting that you should choose to lock yourself up like a nun at Foxwood-Forest. It’s an oppressive place for young men and I would imagine that’s even more true for a female teacher.”

“You have a point there. But it was an interesting opportunity, since I really didn’t want to be from the other side of the tracks all my life.”

“I commend you.”

His smile was so very strange, and the way he raised his chin while gazing down almost like a God intervening on the planet. Something about him resonated with her at the very deepest level, tickling her senses, awakening places she’d shunned for the last four…no, it was at least six years since the educating process began when she was eighteen. The boyfriends she’d had in that time were boys, not men. And yes, she’d had s*x with at least four of them, a couple several times over several weeks before she lost interest. Not one was a serious candidate for romance. They all seemed too inexperienced with life, too trite, too silly, too self-absorbed.

Patrick Thornton-Wynn, on the other hand, was a man without a doubt.

“So, again, what is that other side of the tracks like?” he asked with genuine interest.

The question was one no one had ever asked her before, and perhaps for that reason alone, she answered after allowing herself a rare moment to review the past. “It’s never having enough of anything, enough clean clothes, or soap, or food of any sort – good or otherwise. It’s having a dysfunctional mother who’s lost in her own world, who hardly has time to care about her children; and a father who’s gone more than he’s around. It’s sometimes scrounging through other people’s leftover clothes and leftover food. It’s living in a walkup flat with no running water, and having to do odd jobs when you’re six years old just to help your family pay rent to slumlords, and taking charity from people who creep you out. I don’t mean to be ungrateful – I just always felt more dirty and more hungry after they left, than I did before they showed up on our doorstep with cheesy grins and grocery sacks in their hands.”

“And you pulled yourself out of that,” he said, honestly amazed.

“Most don’t. But I learned to be tough. And I was smart, thank God. My sister is waiting tables on the fringes of that godforsaken territory, but she’s okay too. Our parents are gone now. So, I do what I can for Sissy, and figure that my life is really a blank slate. I can do anything with it I choose.”

“What a fine attitude, so why did you choose to study English?”

“I love books, reading, writing. When you’re a kid without much to do, or toys to play with, you have a lot of time to spend with your daydreams.”

“A writer? Are you writing anything now?” He waited and watched her blush.

“I’ve been sort of writing a novel. I suppose it’s every English major’s dream, but I haven’t had that much time.”

“I can see…” his voice trailed away.

It wasn’t until then that she noticed his hand resting on hers; and although it seemed odd, she didn’t want to shake it off.

She did feel self-conscious and vulnerable, so in an effort to shift the spotlight from the one glaring down so painfully on her, she asked a question of her own. “Tell me about you?”

“Ah! Yes, well, let’s see,” he said, while taking a long breath. “I was born into a comfortable family life, the upper reaches of middle class, but not quite wealthy until I reached college. Then, some of my father’s little inventions kicked in. Without working a lick for the rest of my life, I could have comfortably retired on my inheritance. But since it’s not me to let someone else pay my way, I did my time in school, and managed to strike it rich with a little dot com operation I founded at the perfect time. It is pretty technical stuff that my partner devised – I had little hand in that. But I made his creation a business that rode the first wave of internet success. I sold out at the right time – it seems that I have an uncanny ability for doing that. It almost scares me. Now, I own a consulting firm and run about the globe advising other companies how to do what I find so easy.”