Classic Love: 7 Vintage Romances (146 page)

“Well, I’m here. As you can see.”

“Are you sure? I mean are you here … with me? Not with someone else?”

“If you’re referring to Eric, please don’t. Please. You have no right…. Have you been in the water yet?”

“No, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Then let’s go.”

It was icy, and I gasped, then heard him gasp; we struck out, splashing about, trying to quell the chattering of our teeth. It was wild, and wonderful, facing the eternal elements, and afterwards we sank down on the sand, looking up at the stars, all the millions of them, the mystery of space, the universe, and ecstasy flowed throught me. I was glad I had been born — to be alive was like drinking an elixir. I was borne on the wings of unutterable bliss.

Then I was in his arms. I said, “No, Tony, don’t do this, I told you — ” But his mouth came down on mine, and he was setting a match to an explosive.

At the first contact with those warm, salt-tasting lips, my arms wound around him as if they had a life of their own. And in an instant I became — not resistant or protesting — not even submissive. I was assertive, pulling him down to me and, in a wild way, urging him on. It was as if I were not in control of myself — the touch of his skin and the feel of his flesh made me respond in this hungry way. My mind had nothing to do with it: it was a surge that overwhelmed me utterly.

This love-making became a compulsion, a fierce, fiery compulsion. Now I must sink my teeth into his lip, hear his muffled, groaning gasp of pleasure and pain, and now I must suck his mouth into my own, listen with wild exultation to his pleasure-plaints. Now, now … I had to touch him all over, no going back, feel his man’s skin — soft-hard, thrust my hands into his blond hair, again, again …

I was charged. My hands, arms, fingers, mouth had impulses of their own, and I could focus on nothing else. I was conscious of a great annoyance at being dressed. I
had
to do this.

I had to engage his mouth again, laugh inside at the taste of him. I had to nuzzle the golden furze on his chest, tangle his hair once more. I was going to sweep my hands down the length of him, find his sex, seize it in my hands and cradle it.

When a sudden sound cut through the quiet, it was like a whip that cracked across my fevered skin and cut through my obsession. My arms, in their frantic movements, went still.

“What’s that?” I asked, panting.

“What?” he answered, through his own labored breathing.

“I heard something.”

“It was nothing,” he said, his voice grating. “Nothing, love. Love … love …”

“I heard something. I tell you I heard something!”

I had heard something, heard it distinctly. I wasn’t imagining it. I knew I wasn’t. A sound from somewhere … on the hillside. Twig snapping. Or —

“Let me go. There’s someone here. Let me go!”

He tried to pin me down, but I struck at him. I rolled over on the sand and leapt up. “There’s someone watching us. We have to go.”

“You’re imagining it. Jan, don’t do this. Jan … love …”

I started for the hill. Then he was pounding behind me. When he caught up, his face, in the faint moonlight, was unbelieving.

“How can you?” he asked, thinly. “How can you … and then leave me like this … what kind of woman are you?”

“A woman who’s been hit on the head, among other things, and is
wary,”
I said, scrambling up the hill. “I’m not going to die on a lonely beach.”

I stumbled, and went on. Maybe there had been no sound, I thought, but I knew there had. There had been a sound, and someone had been here, watching us.

I wanted lights, and walls surrounding me. I wanted my cottage, I needed it now.

“I’m coming in with you,” he said, when we reached the back door.

“No.”

“Yes. I’m coming in with you.”

“No! It was all a mistake!”

“It was no mistake. The mistake was in thinking you heard something. Or pretending to.”

“No,” I said. “It’s the end. Forgive me, but I mean it. It was never meant to be. I’ve dangled myself, and I know it, for a long time. I thought I wanted to … but no, I didn’t want to. I never really wanted any of it. It was a fantasy. I’m terribly sorry. I know what you must think of me, but I can’t help it.”

I put a hand against his chest. “Go. Oh, please go! There’s only one person for me. It’s so irrevocable! Just Eric. Whether he wants me or not. God, I’m sorry, miserably sorry. This whole thing. But leave me, please … Just leave me, leave me.”

I thought I heard him say, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” but I put it aside. I didn’t want to hear him. I could only think of one person. Eric.

Without Eric, there was nothing.

Maybe some day there would be something. But I couldn’t picture that day. I let myself in and stood there, white and exhausted. I wanted to die. I wanted not to think, or remember, or have any thoughts at all.

I felt achingly alone.

I felt that I would always be alone.

Caroline seemed splendid the next day, looking bright and chipper; her color was excellent. She had had a hairdresser in: her hair was glossy and waving, her nails were freshly done, and she had been given a massage as well as a facial.

“Do I look passable?” she asked me.

I said, “Simply ravishing,” and she beamed.

Even the droop at the corner of her mouth was less noticeable.

I decided she would live to be ninety or even a hundred. Why not? No worries, financial or otherwise, a soft life. Why shouldn’t she be, at least, a nonegenarian?

She ordered the Rolls around at eleven, and she and Tony and I drove off, for a scenic ride, then had a Lucullan lunch at one of those expensive, “simple” country inns. She downed two martinis, and a couple of cognacs with her coffee. She did everything the doctor had told her not to do and seemed none the worse for it.

It was a beautiful summer day, and nearing the end of my two week’s vacation. “My time’s almost up, Caroline. I’ll miss you.”

“I don’t know what I shall do,” she said, clasping her hands together. “I just cannot imagine what I shall do.”

“We’ll be friends, and see each other,” I told her. “At least I hope so.”

“What a silly girl you are! You’ve become part of my life … an irrevocable part, Jennie. You don’t have to be told that. You know you don’t have to be told. Besides,” she added, smiling like the cat that swallowed the canary, “there are certain things pertaining to you which are on my agenda. Prentiss Alcott will be returning from Europe the week after next, at which time there will be certain changes made in a certain document. I’m not a woman of empty words, my dear.”

“I don’t want to hear any more talk of that,” I said firmly. “Not one more word of that sort. I mean it, Caroline.”

She laughed triumphantly. “There’s not a damned thing you can do about it!”

“You should know Caroline by now,” Tony commented. “When she decides to do a thing, right or wrong, she’ll go ahead and do it.”

When we drove back, Garrison was crossing the lawn. Caroline leaned out the window and said hello to him. He was cool and distant, and he gave me a chilly glance.

Caroline chortled. “Scared out of his skin,” she cried. “And with good reason.
He
knows me, too.”

She flashed a look at me. “Now do you believe me?” she demanded. “I could rot in hell for all they care. Just what I’ll leave; that’s all they’ve ever thought of.”

I was asked for dinner at around eight. “And do have a nap,” she urged me. “You look tired, child. No one your age should have those shadows under her eyes.”

I did have a nap. A long, peaceful, untroubled sleep. The late afternoon sun was comforting, keeping away thoughts of dark shadows in the night. I woke rested and refreshed, and dressed rather nicely for dinner, wondering if later on that night Tony would be outside my window, wanting to go down to the beach.

And if he showed up —

I had made up my mind, hadn’t I?

I had, but if I could have willed this night to be over … or never to come at all, I would have. I was trembling with nervousness.

I didn’t realize it then, but I was dangerously close to a breakdown. Things had moved too fast and furiously for me. It was like living in a new, obfuscated landscape, as if I had been shifted to another planet. All the positives of my life had vanished, and I was faced with only nebulous questions.

I walked up the flagstoned path toward Caroline’s house. Toussaint, from a distance, watched my progress, his eyes, as always, hidden behind those black glasses. The customary shiver went through me at his hugeness, his leashed power and his inscrutability.

Even before I walked through to Caroline’s patio I could hear the sound of several voices. At first I thought Caroline had guests, that, besides Tony and Emily, there were others, and that some festive gathering had been planned. Perhaps … because of my impending departure after Labor Day?

I reached the patio and walked straight into a family conference.

Emily wasn’t there, nor was Tony, but Garrison, Bobo, Kathy and Lester were. Caroline was seated in her Saarinen lounger, leaning back against the royal blue duck cushions. Her color was high and her eyes bright and angry. I knew at once that harsh words were being exchanged, and started to leave.

But Caroline saw me, and her eyes changed from angry to relieved. I was touched by that reassured look … it was as if she had reached out a hand toward me.

“Come sit with me,” she said.

The others swivelled round in their chairs, caught sight of me and a sudden silence fell.

I said, “I’m afraid I’m interrupting something.”

“Nonsense,” Caroline retorted.

“But I’m afraid I am. I’ll go now, and be back later on, Caroline.”

“You’ll do no such thing, you’ll stay,” Caroline cried imperiously.

I saw Garrison Lestrange’s infuriated look, and heard his indrawn breath.

“Miss Stewart is right,” he said, in a thick, grim voice. “This is a family matter.”

“I’m the head of the family,” Caroline said firmly.

“That remains to be seen,” Garrison thundered.

“Are you out of your mind?” Caroline sputtered back.

“No, but I think you may be.”

“You dare say that to me?”

“Nobody dictates to me what I can or can not say! Not you or anyone else.”

“Sit down, Jennie,” Caroline ordered, loudly. “Come right over here and sit down! I order you to. I am ordering you to — ”

“I will not tolerate it,” Garrison shouted. “Miss Stewart, will you please leave?”

“Stay right where you are,” Caroline cried.

At this point Kathy entered the fray. “But Caroline,” she said reasonably. “Don’t you see the poor girl is decidedly uncomfortable? You’re not being very fair to her, are you? It
is
a family matter, after all. Therefore, wouldn’t it be far better if — ”

“Now look who’s putting her two-cents’ worth in!” Caroline cried wrathfully. “Why, you’re not even family, Kathy! You had the wit and acumen to marry a Lestrange, true, but — ”

“I rather think you’re inclined to overrate the Lestranges,” Kathy said, with a bright smile. “There has been, you must admit, a certain decline, Aunt Caroline.”

“Due, undoubtedly, to witless marriages,” Caroline retorted furiously. “What, in God’s name, did you bring to this family? A silly smirk, and no money at all.”

I fled, and the rest was lost as I ran through the rooms. In the main hall I collided with Emily. I nearly knocked her down, but she regained her balance. I started to say, “Excuse me,” but before I could get the words out, she hissed into my face, “It’s
you
who caused all this. It’s you!”

“Emily,” I said, white-faced, but she gave me a loathing look. “You came here and made everything a hell.”

“Why don’t you strike me too,” I lashed back at her. “Just about everyone else has.”

I dashed outside, into the open air, tried to fill my lungs, and gained my cottage somehow, at last. Once inside, I poured out some scotch into a tumbler.

I was trembling violently, muttering like a deranged person; I was deranged. I thought about calling my parents in Riverdale. I was in deep trouble, and I needed help.

But I couldn’t do that any more. I was a mature woman, and whatever problems I faced could not be reconciled by them. I was almost thirty years old, and there were no wounds on my knees from bicycle spills. The wounds were on my soul now.

I headed rapidly for the bathroom. I got there in time. I leaned over the bowl and lost my last meal. My head was about to explode: the pain was excruciating. Tears sprang to my eyes, water trickled from my nose. I lost my balance and sprawled on the floor.

When I got up and saw myself in the mirror I was sure a coronary was imminent. My face was crimson, swollen: I looked like a drunk on New Year’s eve.

The telephone rang.

I stood there staring at myself and then filled the basin. I listened to the repeated rings and plunged my hot face into the cold water. Go to hell, I was saying to whoever was calling. I wasn’t going to speak to
any
of them, ever again.

The telephone went right on shrilling, and finally I swabbed my face with a hand towel and stalked out to it. I yanked off the receiver. “What do you want?”

“Jan?” Eric’s voice said.

For a moment I couldn’t answer. I was stunned to hear him, almost puzzled. As if I only vaguely remembered who he was. As if it had all been light years ago, our being together.

Then I said, “Oh, Eric, thank God,” and started crying.

It was a weird conversation, because, try as I would, I could not stop sobbing. Patiently, he waited between bouts of choked silences, and as patiently gleaned the gist of what had been happening to me, picking up the story piece by piece as I gained a little coherence.

“I had no idea,” he finally said. “Lord, I’m just so sorry. I thought you were having the time of your life, and I was in the way. I felt, you understand, booted out of the picture. It wasn’t only anger, hardness. I didn’t mean to be cold and unrelenting. I just — ”

He said, urgently, “Jan, are you there?”

“Yes, it’s just … I’m trying, but I keep choking up. Go on, please.”