Free Four Seasons of Romance by Rachel Remington Page A

considered
her father’s words—perhaps she couldn’t trust her feelings when it came to
matters of the heart.
    Michael vowed to change and sent roses and presents.
Catherine longed for him, but had no tolerance for a cheater; loneliness and
disappointment filled her days.
    Michael’s infidelity highlighted the mistakes she had
made—for the passionate men she attracted did nothing but burn her in the end.
Catherine longed for a different romance with a different man—a man who would
stand by her and bring security to her life. And as she considered that sort of
marriage, that sort of man, she bumped into Walter Murray.
    It had been four years since she met Walter at the
Philadelphia headquarters of the Wallace campaign, but she remembered him well,
partly because he had kept up with her since the campaign ended. Walter was a Sun Oil accountant, made good money, and, when he did
call, always invited her to Philadelphia’s finest restaurants.
    She expected him to make an advance—she was used to men
doing that—but he never had. Granted, she had been seeing Michael for almost
the entire time Walter and she had known each other, but that never stopped
other men in the past. Catherine saw Walter as a trustworthy friend, a
gentleman who valued her friendship, and unlike other men, respected her
commitment to Michael. Eventually, Catherine found she respected Walter more
than she respected anyone else she’d met in Philadelphia.
    On February 14, 1952, she told Michael there was no hope of
her coming back. No more intimate evenings of his trying to woo her back, she
would accept no more letters or flowers or mink
stoles. “Don’t contact me again,” she told him, and he never did.
    She called Walter later that day, wondering whether he might
be out on a date—it was Valentine’s Day, after all—but as she learned minutes
later, he was alone. She would then wonder whether it had more to do with fate
than luck.
    After she took the initiative, the months rolled on, and
their courtship progressed naturally. Walter brought few surprises, which
pleased Catherine after her adventures with Michael. A true gentleman, Walter
took her to the theatre and symphony; Catherine loved patronizing the city’s
thriving art scene. Mild mannered and respectful, he came from one of
Philadelphia’s wealthy families. How ironic , Catherine mused, that
once my family disowns me, I meet a man they’d adore.
    Walter earned a good salary and benefits at Sun Oil and
treated Catherine with generosity. Stability and predictability were Walter’s
chief traits, and they were the qualities Catherine wanted. And, unlike Michael,
he never looked at another woman: Catherine was at the center of his universe,
and as a result, she shone brighter than the Milky Way.
    On Valentine’s Day of 1953, Walter took Catherine to Maison de Campagne , his favorite
French restaurant near Rittenhouse square with high-class elegance and prices
to match. Catherine and Walter feasted on a dinner of scalloped chicken and
veal croquettes paired with Chardonnay, surrounded by white tablecloths,
crystal plates, and sterling silver cutlery that sparkled in the candlelight.
After dessert, a man carrying a violin approached the table.
    Catherine lost track of time as the musician put his bow to
the string. A distinct melody sang from the instrument, so rich her eyes filled
with tears. She recognized it from Rachmaninoff’s Second Piano Concerto ,
the first orchestral performance she and Walter had attended together.
    Catherine turned to face him, but Walter was no longer
sitting in his chair but on one knee at her feet. And unlike Waldo Ayers all
those years ago, he had no trouble opening the small velvet box in his hand.
    “Catherine Delaney Woods,” he said, as the violin music came
to a crescendo behind him. “Would you do me the honor of being my wife?”
    Catherine imagined the life they could have together—not one
of great drama or romance, but a life of mutual