April of Enchantment (Sweetly Contemporary Collection) (16 page)

“Oh, yes, the architect. He’s a close friend of yours, isn’t he, as well as Justin’s?”

“You could say that.”

“I hope he won’t be too disturbed by the talk then.” There was the sound of acid-laced honey in Myra’s voice as she flung Laura an arch glance.

“Talk?” Laura tilted her head to one side, pushing her hands into her pockets as she leaned back against the railing behind her. Were they finally coming to the point?

“About you and Justin, here alone at Crapemyrtle on Sunday night. Someone must have seen your cars after dark. That thing Justin drives would be hard to miss, and people have such suspicious minds, especially when it comes to wealthy and attractive men.”

“What are you suggesting?”

Myra lifted her brows. “Oh, I’m not suggesting anything. But you know how things get blown out of proportion in a small town like this.”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“I agree with you, and I know Justin well enough not to be worried, in spite of what you said yesterday. But I’m telling you for your own sake, Laura dear, that it might be better if between now and the time the job here at Crapemyrtle is finished, you and Justin could hold your conferences on working days, while someone else is present.”

“You are warning me for my own good?” Laura said, irony strong in her voice.

“What other reason could I have? I was thinking of your Russ. You may want to consider marriage someday, and it would be too bad if he should get the idea that he was not your first choice.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Laura said, a frown drawing her brows together.

“Don’t you? I thought it might be a tradition in your family, falling in love with the owner of Crapemyrtle, and when he proved to be unavailable, settling for second best?”

Laura stared at Myra, her violet eyes dark with anger. “You took the diary!”

“Did you mind?” the other woman inquired, her tone satirical. “I had heard so much about it these last few weeks, and you were so protective. I can see why, now. Falling in love with a married man wasn’t at all the thing to do back then, was it? How very shocking, to be sure!”

“I want it back.”

“You’ll get it, as soon as I get around to it.”

“I want it now.” The thought of this woman with her long, crimson nails flipping carelessly through the crumbling pages of fine, graceful copperplate sent a cold chill over Laura. She straightened, moving toward Myra.

“But I haven’t finished it,” Myra protested with a light laugh. “It’s not particularly juicy reading. As far as I can tell, there was no hanky-panky whatsoever between your Lorinda and her precious Jean, Justin’s great-great-grandfather. All very noble, but a little silly, if you ask me.”

“I’m not surprised that you would see it that way.”

“Are you trying to say I’m immoral? Why, thank you, Laura dear; I consider that a compliment. And since you feel that way, you won’t be too surprised either at what I’m going to say next.”

“What is it?” Laura felt her nerves tighten.

The other woman lifted a hand to her thickly curled hair, playing with a tight strand. “I let you know yesterday that I intended to have a hand in the decoration of my home. You, in your sweetly patronizing way, offered to discuss colors with me. Unfortunately, we both know that until now the final decision has rested with you. I think it was idiotic of Justin to arrange matters that way, and just a little insulting to me personally, but I don’t intend to create a big scene about it; Justin isn’t the kind to put up with ultimatums.”

“What are you trying to say?” Laura asked with ill-concealed impatience.

Myra smiled. “I was just about to tell you. I suggested once that it would be to your advantage to be guided by my color preferences and submit them as your own. Now I am telling you that that is what you are going to do.”

“Impossible, not at this late date.” Laura made a quick gesture of refusal.

Myra went on as if she had not heard. “I think the double parlors will be striking done in yellow with Chinese-red accents. I have found a yellow, green, and black batik print that will be stunning above the wainscoting. You can use Chinese Chippendale antiques, if you like; I certainly don’t intend to chase around looking for all the extras when you are being paid for the job. As for the master bedroom, I think a white carpet, emerald satin bedhangings, and magenta accents will suit me perfectly, though that monster of a mirror will have to go.”

“The early Victorian period when Crapemyrtle was built was a time of soft, subdued colors. Bright shades such as you are talking about only came into use when aniline dyes were discovered, after 1856. You might be able to get away with what you want in a late Victorian mansion, but not here. It will be a terrible clash with the other rooms.”

“That doesn’t concern me. I told you the way I want it, and that’s the way it’s going to be.”

“I don’t think so.” Laura lifted her chin, her violet gaze steady.

“I assure you, it is. Either you will arrange to have the rooms done the way I have described, using the material I will bring you, or I will hand your great-great-grandmother’s diary over to Justin.”

“What makes you think I’ll care if you do?”

Myra looked blank for an instant, then she smiled. “If you didn’t mind him seeing it, you would have given it to him long before now.”

“Not necessarily. Until not so long ago, I wasn’t sure he would see it for what it is, a useful account of what happened here in the spring of 1842, of what the house looked like, and how life was, one that just happens to contain a tale of love as old-fashioned as rose-petal potpourri. There could have been a time when, if anyone had known of the romance, it might have caused problems and heartache, but not anymore.”

“You don’t fool me,” Myra sneered. “I’ve seen the way you talk to Justin, the way you look at him. You are half in love with him, a man who belongs to someone else, just like your great-great-grandmother Lorinda. Only you are too proud to let him know, I think; too sensible to present him with the idea of a modern parallel to that pathetic love affair in the form of her diary.”

“Are you sure? If what you are suggesting is true, why wouldn’t I be happy for him to know? After all, Justin, unlike Jean, isn’t married.”

“You’re bluffing,” Myra said, throwing back her head. “When I get through presenting my case to Justin, you will look like a lovesick fool.”

“That’s better than letting Crapemyrtle be ruined. Besides, are you positive, Myra dear, that you want to take the risk? Some men are flattered by the thought of a young woman being bowled over by their charms.”

A flush rose to Myra’s hairline. She got to her feet, pacing quickly up and down. Abruptly, she stopped in front of Laura. “Maybe I have been coming at this from the wrong angle. Just how much, I wonder, do you value this old diary? It would be such a shame if it were to be left out in the rain, or dropped — accidentally, of course — into a bathtub,”

“You wouldn’t,” Laura breathed.

“Oh, no?”

“No!”

That last, explosive word came from behind them, from the direction of the doors that led into the hall.

“Justin!” Myra exclaimed, swinging around, the color in her face receding as quickly as it had risen. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough,” he answered, his voice grim and a look of black anger on his face as he paused in the doorway.

His fiancée gave a nervous titter of laughter. “Eavesdropping? How undignified.”

“But informative. I didn’t know you were coming to Crapemyrtle again today, Myra. You could have come with me.”

“I didn’t know you were coming either.”

“I can believe that,” he said, irony threading his tone. “When I saw your car outside, I came looking for you to find out what you had in mind. It seems I found out a little more than anyone bargained for.”

“You really don’t think I would hurt that stupid diary, do you?” She held out her hand in a pleading gesture.

He ignored it. “I don’t know, Myra. Would you?”

“Justin!” she cried. “I’m the woman you are going to marry. Surely you believe me?”

“That doesn’t necessarily follow.”

Myra clasped her hands, her fingers going to the diamond that sparkled in the ring circling the third finger of her left hand, turning it while anger and fear warred in her face.

Laura stared at Justin. His expression was cold, implacable, shaded with expectancy as though he were waiting.

Abruptly Myra’s composure dissolved. “Don’t be so cruel to me. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, any of it. I’ve just been so upset ever since you told me I couldn’t do anything in the house without consulting Laura. Surely one room of my own taste isn’t too much to ask?”

His face like a mask, Justin took the onslaught as Myra stumbled toward him on her high heels and threw herself against his chest. Over her shoulder, he met Laura’s eyes. “I suppose,” he said slowly, “that something can be arranged.”

“Oh, Justin,” Myra sobbed. “That’s all I ask.”

“Right now,” he went on, “what I want to know is, where is Laura’s diary?”

Myra stiffened. “The diary. Why, I’m not sure. I don’t have it with me.”

“I suggest you find it.” The hard note had crept back into his voice.

“You don’t have to worry, darling. I will, soon.”

“I think,” he said slowly, “that it would be a good idea if you went and got it now. I’ll come with you to be certain nothing happens to it.”

“Oh, Justin, I told you —”

“I know,” he answered.

Myra was still protesting as he turned and led her away down the hall and out the front door.

Laura did not watch them go. Swinging around, she braced her hands on the railing. She stared out over the cisterns with their copper domes, past the new kitchen addition and the weedy area where the carriage house had once stood to where the encroaching woods crowded against the lawn, woods that had grown into a jungle with towering trees where at one time there had been cleared fields. Her mind felt numb. No less than Myra, she wondered how much Justin had overheard and what he had made of it. Did he understand she had been speaking in general when she had suggested that he might be flattered to learn that a young woman was in love with him? Not that she was, of course. Had he heard the story of Lorinda’s bittersweet love affair with Jean? If so, what had he made of it?

There could be little doubt that he cared for Myra. Why else would he continue in a relationship with a woman whose faults he seemed to understand so well? And yet, the look in his eyes had seemed more like resignation than a more tender emotion. Was that only wishful thinking on her part? Was she trying to find something in his attitude toward Myra to suggest there was something wrong between them as a means of excusing his own behavior toward her? What kind of man was he that he would make love to his fiancée one moment and to her the next? He had said something at their first meeting that rose into her mind now. “I seem to have less character than I thought.” From where Laura stood, that looked to be the exact truth.

Where did that leave her? It wasn’t hard to figure out. She was an oddity, someone who shared the same interests, someone he saw as a distraction, a last fling before settling down to wedded bliss with a woman who did not share his enthusiasm for his chosen life-style.

He had told Myra she could have a room of her own, decorated as she pleased. One room shouldn’t matter, surely, but Laura could not think what she would do if the scheme Myra presented was too much of a contrast to the rest. Still, she was almost glad Justin had made that concession. It had seemed peculiar, overly severe, that he had not been willing to allow his future bride any say in the house where she must live. Most would have rebelled long ago. Laura could not picture herself standing for it for a minute. Why Myra, with her temperamental personality, had not blown up about it before now was puzzling. Was she that afraid of Justin? Or was it simply she feared that when it came to a showdown she would be weaponless? Did she fear Justin cared so much for the house that if she forced him to choose between her and Crapemyrtle he might well take the latter? It made sense, in one way, but in another it was ridiculous. Laura would have sworn that Justin was not so cold-blooded, in either thought or deed.

Such thoughts gained her nothing. She would be far better-off if she could concentrate on her own problems. For the moment, the most pressing one was to gather up her things, take herself home, and get ready for her date tonight with Russ.

Laura debated for some time over what she should wear. She felt like dressing up, getting out of jeans for a change, but she didn’t want to give Russ the idea there was anything special about the evening. There wasn’t, particularly. They had been out a few times in the past few weeks. True to his word, Russ had used their necessary collaboration to see more of her. They had spread charts and drawings over the oak table in the Nichols’ dining room, discussed problems of walls out of plumb, modern reproduction against antique drawer pulls for the kitchen, the appropriateness of a ceiling fan for the loggia, and endless other small details while consuming’ popcorn and cola or coffee before the fire. They had not gone out that much, however, beyond a quick movie or fast-food sandwich.