― Madeline Miller
I know I’m over the top when it comes to winning—that’s why I’m so addicted to the stock market and the aphrodisiac of skillful play and winning big.
But I’m not consumed with money or power that much—I’ve had my taste, and face it—there’s only so much one man can consume.
But for some reason I’m obsessed with Sylvia. I suspect it’s because she’s aloof and self-contained and certainly doesn’t need me.
But irrational as it seems I’m mesmerized by the mere thought of her and I know it’s because she’s the one thing I can’t have. It drives me mad...
And the worst display of my neediness occurred just the other night.
I deliberately invited Tess back to my penthouse saying we’d have a drink on my terrace and toast the rising moon.
Her eyes gleamed. I knew she’d find it irresistibly romantic—but unperceived by her, lurked a secret motive—a plan to impress Sylvia.
I intended to allow Tess to discover some documents pertaining to a youthful indiscretion, in the hopes that I’d create a ‘bad boy’ mystique to add intrigue to my otherwise boring persona.
In my twenties, I had been arrested for marijuana possession, but Norrie Clarke, a family friend, who at that time worked for the RCMP got me off with a mere fine and no criminal record. The generosity came with strings attached. He told me I owed him a favour – and some day, he’d come back to collect.
Sure enough, a few years later, Norrie recruited me to do some light spying– nothing dangerous – mere surveillance and intelligence.
But as a result of my sleuthing and subsequent court testimony, an immigrant who was selling industrial secrets to China was charged with espionage.
I received a letter of commendation from Jean Chrétien, the Prime Minister of Canada at that time.
I placed the documents where Tess was sure to stumble upon them, and had already planned how to react. I’d appear embarrassed and make Tess swear never to reveal the truth.
But I knew how Tess deeply admired me and she wouldn’t be able to resist revealing my heroics to everyone at the firm.
I pictured basking in the adulation of the women.
My indiscretion and subsequent redemption could only add to my reputation portraying me as an international man of mystery akin to Victor Goldman—and possibly, in the light of the government commendation, I might be considered even more a man of action and substance.
Of course things went exactly as planned.
Tess couldn’t resist telling our colleagues and my stature in the office was instantly enhanced.
Even the great Victor Goldman himself stopped me in the middle of the office, slapping me good-naturedly on the back and lauded my achievement.
“Quite impressive, my boy,” he gushed, “You outdid yourself—I’m envious.”
The women stopped their work and amazingly began to applaud, and Victor himself graciously stood aside so as not to share the limelight—and actually joined in the applause.
It was a heady moment, save for one thing—Sylvia wasn’t there.
She was attending to clients in New York, but I was reasonably sure everyone would fill her in on the details when she returned.
Disappointingly, however, Sylvia was not impressed. I was despondent, so bleak that Tom Barron perceived my sullenness and insisted we go out for drinks.
It was on that occasion at Coro’s he revealed an interesting fact. It turns out Tom also was interested in Sylvia, but apparently blew his chance when she heard his foul mouth.
“I’m not upset, Gray," he confessed, "Sylvia would be incredibly high-maintenance, and besides, it was shortly after her that I met Vera.”
Vera is a beautiful South American stockbroker and as it turns out, attracted to Tom and doesn’t mind at all if he swears— and as a matter of fact, finds it endearing.
But Tom’s failed attempt at dating Sylvia depressed me. Tom’s twenty-nine—much closer to Sylvia’s age than I, and yet she found him uninteresting. What real chance did I have?
But the more I thought about it I concluded Sylvia is very particular about whom she dates and is certainly not ‘caviar for the general’ – she’s an exquisite gem, not paste glass.
Thus, I’ve become even more obsessed with her, wanting her more than ever.
I know Sylvia has a bristly, standoffish way about her – and it infuriates Tom who sees her as a bitch, but to my mind, it makes her remote and inaccessible—even more like a goddess.
But all goddesses must eventually come to earth and the thought that she would settle for a lesser mortal when It could me, was infuriating.
Gray Carrington doesn’t lose, I reminded myself, but already the seeds of doubt were sown.