Deceptions (42 page)

Garth looked at him sharply. It was one thing for him to decide he wouldn't take the job; it was another for Strauss to decide for him.

*Come on, Garth/ Strauss grinned. 'If I offered it, you'd thank me, shake my hand and tell me I could always count on you for help when I need it but you'd rather be in the lab and the classroom. You'd also offer to help find the new dean.'

Garth laughed. 'Agreed. But you're not going to give me the chance to make that handsome speech.'

'I'm going to give you the chance to make another one. What would you say to the Directorship of our new Institute of Genetic Engineering?'

Garth's head came up, alert, weighing new information. 'When was the decision made to build an Institute of Genetic Engineering?'

'Recently.'

'Lloyd, I've been trying to get that institute for five years, and the answer has always been that there's no money. That's one of the reasons—'

'That you're considering Foster Labs,* Strauss finished. 'Have you visited them yet?'

'Next week.'

'When they show you their stuff, you might compare it with this.' He unrolled a set of blueprints. 'Plus the director's salary, probably around sixty thousand, and any classes you want to teach.'

Garth spread the blueprints on the desk and pored over them. 'I see you've made a few changes. No auditorium.'

'Can't afford it. No cuts in lab facilities, however.'

'Where's the money coming from?'

'It wasfi-eed up.'

He looked at Strauss. 'It was always there? But not released?'

'There were other priorities—'

'Why wasn't it released?'

Strauss opened a file cabinet to reveal a small refiigerator. 'I always like a drink this time of day. What will you have?'

'Scotch. Lloyd, I asked you—*

'Hold on and listen. You'd convinced us we had to have the institute to keep in the running for federal research funds and to develop products that we could license. But every time we put out a feeler for a director, in this country and Europe, we got back the same answer: the best man was right under our nose and why were we looking elsewhere?'

'And why were you?'

'Drink your Scotch.'

'Well?'

'Garth, you couldn't have handled it. You're a brilliant researcher, but you were lousy with people. Impatient, bad-tempered -hell, we all knew how often you went to your ofQce and swung your teimis racket at unseen fools or enemies... more Scotch?'

'No.'

Strauss refilled both their glasses and added soda. 'You had a reputation as the pure scientist who would have been happy in a world uncluttered with people. I see that you wince. You've heard it before?'

'No.' But my wife used to hint as much, he thought, swirUng the liquid in his glass. 'So you wouldn't put me in charge and you couldn't or wouldn't bring in someone else. Until now. Has the time suddenly become ripe for pure but bad-tempered scientists who whack unseen enemies with tennis rackets?'

'I think you've changed in the last year or so, especially in the last few months. You've done a top-notch job as department chairman - we do look kindly, you know, on chairmen who bring in government research grants; your support of Vivian has been admirable and your testimony to the administrative board on your charges against Webster was pithy and indisputable. And then there was the kid who messed up the lab work while you were in Berkeley. My God, Garth, a few months ago you would have torn him to pieces and banished him to the School of Agriculture to shovel out stables for the rest of his life. Instead, you only gave him sinks and beakers to scrub: the ones nobody has gotten clean in a hundred and fifty years. More Scotch?'

'If I'm as mellow as you say, I don't need it.'

'You don't. This one celebrates your new position/

'Wait a minute. I haven't accepted it.'

'Garth» I have to report to the board of trustees—'

'Damn it, I told you I'm going to Stamford next week.'

'You don't want to go to Foster Labs. That was a gun at our heads.'

'Don't tell me what it was or wasn't. I'm going to Stamford next Tuesday. On Thursday or Friday I'll give you my answer.'

'And if I have to know before?'

Garth hesitated briefly. 'I want the position, Lloyd; you know how long I 've cared about it. I hope I can take it. That's all I can tell you now. I have to visit Sumford.'

'Oh. Stephanie. But, Garth, there's money and prestige in the directorship—'

'I know. And she'll know that too. But this is something I owe her. And I owe it to myself to look at the great world out there now and then. I'll give you my answer next week, Lloyd. I hope that's good enough.'

'It's good enough. Can you let us know definitely by Friday?'

'Yes.'

Sabrina woke to the reverberating racket of Penny and Cliff bumping into each other in the kitchen and squabbling over burned toast. Saturday morning. No school. She burrowed into the pillow. They could manage; she'd sleep awhile longer.

But she could not relax. Something was wrong; there was something she had to think about. She heard Penny and Cliff talking about apple orchards. 'I'll pick a hundred bushels,' Cliff announced. 'They won't let you,' Penny said. 'There wouldn't be any left for the rest of the world.' And then Sabrina knew what she had to think about. Tenny and Cliff in the kitchen. Saturday, Apple-picking. Saturday, October 20. Monday would be the 22nd,

'We'll X-ray it then,' Nat had said. 'And if everything looks good, we'll take the cast off at the same time.'

Time. There wasn't much more time. She opened her eyes. Garth was sleeping on his side, his face a few inches from hers. She gazed at him. He was so quiet, self-contained, sure

of himself and where he was going. And even though he was not sure of her, often bewildered by the twists and turns of the past weeks, still he was gentle and loving even when she was cold, generous when she was stingy, giving her time, as he had promised he would, to find herself.

And who is that? she asked silently, and knew the answer before the question was finished. A woman in love with her sister's husband.

How long had she loved him? She didn't know; it was not important. She knew it now with a certainty so powerful it swept her up and she felt the absolute joy of loving him before it was pushed aside by despair. Impulsively she put out her hand and touched his face, the high strong cheekbone and the rough stubble on his skin, the little nerve below his eye that jumped as her finger accidentally pressed it. She pulled back her hand, but Garth had opened his eyes and was watching her.

He saw the love in her unguarded face, but before he could reach out and take her in his arms, her face became neutral and he was looking once again at a friendly companion.

'Good morning,' he said quietly, not moving.

She looked at him helplessly. Everything he did was right and whatever she did seemed wrong. Silently she said the words she wanted to say. Good morning , my love, when fi^m the kitchen came a resounding crash and a ringing 'I told you so!' in Penny's triumphant voice.

Sabrina leaped out of bed. Her nightgown caught on the comer of the chair and she swore at it - she would have abandoned Stephanie's nightgowns entirely, but they made it easier to share the bed with Garth - then pulled on a robe and ran from the room.

In the kitchen. Cliff stood at the edge of a lake of orange juice dotted with islands of broken glass. Penny had thrown him a roll of paper towels and he held it in firont of him, unrolling it in a long ribbon that folded back on itself in the middle of the lake, slowly turning orange. When Sabrina came in he looked up, frowning in solemn concentration exactly as Garth frowned when working on notes at his desk. 'How many toweis do you think it will take,' he asked seriously, emphasizing key words as his father did, 'to soak

this up so I can use the wet ones to pick up the pieces of glass and some of the juice, and then dry towels to get the rest of it?'

Sabrina burst out laughing. Penny was outraged. 'Why is it funny?' she demanded, and Sabrina knew Stephanie wouldn't have laughed. Stephanie would have been concerned about broken glass, cut fingers, children slipping on the floor, a sticky mess. But Sabrina saw a different scene: the warm bed upstairs, her hand on Garth's face, his eyos meeting hers, followed not by words of love but by the spectacular crash of a quart of orange juice, a trail of paper towels in the morning sun and Cliff's scientific study of the problem, his face the picture of Garth's.

She shook her head firmly, stopping her laughter. 'You're right, it's not funny. How did it happen?'

Cliff struggled a moment, then told the truth. *I was balancing the bottle on my head.'

The star forward of the hockey team doesn't know about balance?'

He shrugged glumly.

'Well, it's all yours. Use as many towels as it takes, wet and dry. If you run out, we have more. And I would say no apple-picking for you until the floor is washed clean.'

'Mom! Men don't wash kitchen floors! I'll pick up the glass and soak up the orange juice, but—'

•In this house,' said Sabrina calmly, 'men wash kitchen floors.' She started to leave, then turned back. 'Come on. Penny. Let's talk about what kind of apples we're going to pick.' She put her arm around Penny to urge her from the room, and over her shoulder she saw ClifTs swift look of gratitude for removing his sister so he could wash the floor without an audience.

As they walked upstairs. Penny looked at her curiously. 'What did you mean - what kind of apples? This late in October there's only one kind we can pick.'

Sabrina sighed. So many small details Stephanie hadn't told her. A lifetime of details.

'You're right,' she said. *I guess I forgot.*

'What's the damage?' Garth asked from the bedroom, and Penny ran to tell him while Sabrina went to the end of the

hallway. The house was rounded there, like a turret, and a bench had been built in the curved wall beneath a circular window that looked out over the side yard. It was one of Sabrina's favorite niches, isolated from the activity of the house by a folding screen Stephanie had placed there. She sat on the bench and looked through the window at the flaming orange leaves of the sugar maple in the yard. Apple-picking. Fall.

In London and Paris and Rome, everyone had returned from summer travel; the dinner parties and balls were beginning; clients would be coming in to Ambassadors. What was she doing plaiming a day in an apple orchard when her real world was stirring with a new season? She had so much to do - Mrs Pemberley would have finished her fall outfits by now; her hair needed shaping; cUents were due in November to pick up items she hadn't even searched out.

/ do not belong here. The words were harsh in the soft sunlit day. That other world across the ocean had not disappeared: Stephanie was Uving in it, and, no matter what news she told in letters and telephone calls, Sabrina knew now, better than ever, how many little details make up a life - more than could ever be covered firom a distance. What was Stephanie doing in her world? What trail was she leaving as Sabrina Longworth that Sabrina would have to follow when she returned? What is she doing with my life?

She felt Garth sit down beside her, his arm around her waist. He pulled her to him and kissed her forehead, the comers of her eyes, the tip of her nose. 'Good morning,' he said again, his voice relaxed. *Can one get into the kitchen to make breakfast?'

Her thoughts were still in Europe. *I don't think we have any orange juice,' she said, and was surprised when he laughed and tightened his arm around her. Then it all came back: the orange lake, her laughter, Cliffs grateful look. Her family. This world. Garth. Loving him, wanting him, needing him. One world balanced against another.

Trembling, she leaned back against his arm, and he drew a line of small kisses along her forehead and down her cheek. Within her, a tight knot loosened, and desire flowed through her, insistent, warm and heavy. She raised her face and

opened her lips and kissed him for the first time as she wanted to kiss him, deeply, drinking him in, as she wanted to be kissed by him, as she knew now they were meant to kiss each other. He took his arm from her waist and encircled her shoulders, supporting her head as his mouth drove down on hers. With his other hand he pushed aside the film of her nightgown and cupped her full breast, drawing his fingers up along the curve to the nipple, taut beneath his touch.

Sabrina was dizzy, her thoughts spinning away from the hunger of her body. Tears stung her eyes and she pulled back, shaking uncontrollably. 'I can't do this!' she cried. Stephanie, forgive me. I didn't mean to love him. She shook her head. *I can't. I can't.'

'What the hell is the matter with you?' Garth roared.

*Oh, don't!' Penny wailed and Sabrina looked up to see her standing in her bedroom doorway at the other end of the hall. Too much is going on; how can I make sense of anything? But Penny's face was twisted with fear and Sabrina went to her. She knelt and put her arms around her.

From below. Cliff shouted,' Is Dad yelling at me? What did I do now?'

'Damn it!' Sabrina exploded. She was still shaking with desire and guilt. 'Does everyone have to get in on every act? Isn't anything private in this house?' Penny began to ciy, and Sabrina felt the morning slide away from her as she ruined one thing after another. 'I'm sorry,' she said. She turned and called downstairs. 'Nobody's yelling at you. Cliff.' She turned back to Penny. 'I'm sorry, love. Don't be afraid. Everything is all right. It's all right,' she repeated, wondering whether she was reassuring Penny or herself or Garth.' I '11 bet we sounded like you and Cliff, didn't we?'

'Daddy sounded so mad,' Penny said, awed and fearful. 'He hardly ever yells at anybody.'

Sabrina waited for Garth to say something, but he was silent. He could help me, she thought, but he's too angry. She smiled at Penny. 'Well, sometimes you and Cliff sound like you could cheerfully pound each other to pulp.'

A small laugh escaped Penny. Sabrina knew she was thinking that parents aren't supposed to sound like their