Keeping Secrets (42 page)

The question remained of how and when he could go to work on it. Surprisingly, the opportunity proved ready-made.

In April, Electra phoned me at the bank to see if I'd work at an anniversary celebration. Though I jumped at the chance, I never dreamed this would be Edwin's opening. Yet when I mentioned the party to him he said, “Good. I can be out there right after dark.”

“The place will be crawling with guests.”

“All the better. I'll be on the side of the house where you've drawn the diagram, and everyone else will be entering the front door. Perfect. Noises I happen to make won't be noticed. Couldn't beat it.”

I failed to count on the gay idea of Japanese lanterns being strung between the house and summerhouse to entice the guests out there. By the time I learned of the lights it was too late to reach Edwin, and anyway, though the job would be a bit more risky than we'd expected, I felt he'd probably choose to go on with it. We were getting pretty desperate for information, and becoming a little more inclined to take bigger chances. The basement storage closet was on the same side as the summerhouse, but far to the rear of the main house. So I figured Edwin could size up the situation when he arrived, and if he felt it was too risky he could leave. We scheduled a meeting at nine o'clock under the window where he'd be working, one well concealed with luxuriant shrubs.

Since Cabot didn't keep a home study as we had hoped, and it was hardly possible to wire the kitchen in order to catch round-table conversations, we had decided on a small sitting room that looked more often used than the formal front rooms. On the night Electra had shown me the house I'd noticed a tray of cigar butts beside one chair in that room, so I gathered they spent some time there together in the evenings, perhaps. There were newspapers around and a crocheted shawl hanging on one chair. In fact Electra apologized for the appearance of the room and told me she just couldn't keep it tidy.

I stole away from the busy party at the appointed hour, and met with Edwin's indignant remark: “Whose brilliant idea were the lanterns?”

“I don't know.”

“Did you see where they're hooked up inside?”

“Yes. I can turn them out for a while, I think, without arousing suspicion. Bad connection, faulty switch. Don't worry. Just say when. I've already unlocked the basement window and checked the sitting room.”

“Has everybody gotten here?”

“I don't know, but I think so. It's been going on almost two hours.”

“All right, I ought to be able to have this thing connected before people start leaving. I've got the machine hidden behind the shrubs. I'll have to put it downstairs first, then wire up along the edge of the window facing outside, then in again. I've got a new receiver that's supposed to be better than the one we have in Tetzel's office. We'll give it a try, anyway.”

“How long before you'll be at the window? That's the dangerous part.”

“Give me half an hour. Then lights out. When they go, I'll begin.”

“Right. Oh Lord, I hope this works.”

“Don't worry. I've done this so much I could do it blindfolded.”

“Yes, but I haven't.”

Nathan was making himself most useful all evening, and I kept watching to see where he'd show up next. The only thing we had going in our favor was that, so far, none of the guests seemed to be interested in taking a stroll out to the summerhouse. Who would, anyway? They were all married couples. Electra told me it was Lyla who insisted on the lanterns, and once she had taken a glance at them, on her way into the party, she gave them no more notice. “That's typical of her,” said Electra. The punch bowl on a table inside the summerhouse remained untouched all evening long.

At nine-thirty I managed to disconnect the lights; yet, afraid it would be obvious if I just pulled out the plug, I pulled it out so that it still hung on just barely. Anyone might have stepped on the wire and pulled it part of the way from the socket. Yet the connection was in the anteroom between the dining room and kitchen, and there were no windows, so, after several moments of hesitation, I darted outside to see if the lights had indeed gone out. When I got far enough around to assure they had, Edwin was just coming out the window of the basement with his wire. I started back toward the house when all at once I heard Nathan calling. I could have gone right through the ground, headfirst.

Nathan had been responsible for wiring the lights, so it was a good guess he'd go feeling around, trying to find out what was wrong with them. I couldn't warn Edwin to get back in, because of the noise of the party drowning my voice unless I shouted. Edwin couldn't see Nathan because of the bushes concealing him and his ladder. Thinking fast, I rushed toward the summerhouse and yelled, “Over here, Nathan.” I hoped Edwin would hear my voice, but as luck would have it, he didn't.

Nathan came charging toward the summerhouse, each step more indignant than the last as he mumbled his irritation over the failure of the lanterns. Finally when he mounted the little steps he demanded, “What are you doing out here? Mrs. Cabot has been looking all over for you.”

“I came to check on the punch bowl. Look, the ice has melted and it's about to run over. Do you think we ought to take it back inside?”

“Hang the punch bowl. You'd better get inside on the double, young—”

“Nathan, why don't we stay out here for a little while? Don't you think it's romantic—the lights out, the moon above?” I coaxed him, drawing nearer.

“What? See here, if you put out these lights intentionally—”

“Don't be silly”—I giggled—“but I've never been one to miss a perfect opportunity. I might even let you kiss me,” I said, oozing charm. I pretended not to notice his intractability, and kept drawing him on, whispering to him, stroking the white fabric of the shirt underneath his coat. All the while I watched over Nathan's shoulder as Edwin emerged from the bushes like a determined weed sprouting from the earth, and started with the wire up the window facing, quickly driving tacks toward the opening above. But Nathan was too stubborn, or shocked—I'll never know which—to do what any ordinary red-blooded young man would have done in the same situation. I pleaded for him to return my kisses, one eye fixed on Edwin, then suddenly Nathan just yanked himself loose from my embrace and began to lecture me on what would happen if I didn't get myself back to the party. He was about to walk off, right toward Edwin. I turned from him, unsnapped the apron, unhooked the uniform blouse, and pulled down my undermuslin, then turned toward him just in time to catch his arm. “Please, why don't you like me?” I pleaded. He looked down at my bared breasts, then his glance shot up again to my face. He opened his mouth. “I can't believe—” he began, then gulped. Poor Nathan, poor me. Dear God, it was horrible!

However, it worked. He was soon taking off his coat and looking (thank goodness) to his right, away from Edwin's direction, out of politeness. “Here, keep this over you while you get decent,” he commanded. “I won't look. Hurry up. The very idea. You ought to be horsewhipped. Hurry up.”

There was no time to think about it through the evening. While Electra and I washed dishes after the party, she brought up the subject of his sudden disappearance just now when we could have used his help. To divert her, I sliced the tip of one finger with a small knife, and made much over the injury to keep her otherwise occupied.

Much later, home in bed, I lay wide-eyed, unable to believe the things I had done. Were all the previous months of intrigue and daring to blame for my quick and drastic decisions? I kept piecing it together, rationalizing, telling myself I saved the day, that any good spy would have acted the same. But the truth was still there: I had never bared my breasts in front of anyone. Past the age of nine, my brothers were locked out of the bathroom when I was in, and likewise I was never allowed to see them unclothed. How could I ever face Nathan again, not to mention continuing my efforts at getting information from him? Oh heavens, what must he think of me? What did I think of myself? Was I ruined, tarnished forever? What if he told someone? Lucky, he wasn't the social type. One day I'd have to tell the man who proposed marriage to me, out of fairness, if I intended to spend the rest of my life with him. Yet how could I? Oh dear, what would Mother say?

By morning the situation was better in perspective.

So I'd acted hastily. Nathan probably hadn't even gotten a good look. The moonlight was fairly bright, but not that bright. Anyway, why did anyone else ever have to know? I'd just have to gather courage … sometime in the next couple of weeks … and swear Nathan to secrecy. Let him think me a foolish young girl—he did anyway—play on his honor as a gentleman, yes, that was it. I raised my cut finger and succumbed to the temptation of congratulating myself. Now, that took real courage. Electra would never guess her line of talk was hitting too close to home.

In spite of the way I bolstered myself over the next few days, the first time I was forced into another meeting with Nathan all my defenses were down and anticipating it was a plain case of out-and-out torture. If not for the fact Mr. Tetzel sent me to Cabot's office to pick up a string of pearls with a broken catch that Sophie had lost during the party, I would have put off seeing Nathan again forever, if possible.

By the time I spanned the few blocks between the bank and Cabot's office, my hands were as cold as ice. I hoped Nathan would react to my appearance with his usual detachment, and maybe even have the decency not to look around from his desk. In fact I found him surprisingly kind. Though I could not have judged at the time, in the light of everything that happened afterward, I believe this was my closest look at the man Nathan might have become if his life had not taken a sharp detour long before I met him. He was like a flower that had unfolded too near sundown, and thus never fully bloomed, all too quickly secreting the finery that was lodged deep down and close to the stem, as shadows gathered.

He handed over the pearls and said, “Let's take a walk.”

“I—I don't want to take up your time.”

“I can spare a few minutes.”

So off we went, a few blocks down Commerce, and wound up sitting on a bench. We both faced ahead. I don't think he felt any easier about looking into my eyes than I felt about looking into his. Normally spasmodic in movement as well as speech, he was calm and almost nurturing that day. He spoke first. “Listen, Camille, I'm probably the last person in the world to be handing out advice, but you just can't go around chasing after men. Heaven only knows why you chose to like me, but regardless, one day you might fall for a fellow who'd take advantage of you. I wouldn't tell anyone what you did the other night, but some men—”

“Thanks, Nathan … I really have dreaded facing you after that. I don't know what could have gotten into me,” I told him honestly. “Maybe you can understand, though. I've done everything to get you to notice me. Have you ever liked someone who didn't like you back?”

“Of course. I've liked lots of girls—I was quite serious with one—yet some of them didn't return the feeling.” There was just a touch of defensiveness in his voice. “There's nothing wrong with you that a little growing up wouldn't straighten out. But you are wasting your time on me.”

“I don't see why.”

“Because I'm not going anywhere that would interest you,” he said, then turned to face me for the first time. “You need to find a man who can offer you a decent future.”

“I don't see why that couldn't be you,” I told him, thinking maybe I could press him just a little further.…

“I can't tell you that.” He looked away again. “I wish I could, but I can't. I have to get back to work.”

“All right. But we could still be friends, couldn't we?”

He stood up. “I suppose … I don't have much time,” he said, and walked away. I assumed he meant he was awfully busy. Watching him as he disappeared down the street, I wondered what might have happened between us if we'd met under different circumstances. It was the first and only time I ever came halfway close to being truly attracted to him.

I was spared further shadowing of the Cabots for a while. I'd just hang back and check on the appearance of the Cabot automobile in the garage. When it was there I would call Edwin, who'd come out and turn on the confounded machine.

The information we gathered through it turned out to be of little more help than anything else, and only proved to further illuminate Cabot's growing impetuosity and moodiness. We also learned he apparently confided little in Electra. He seemed, in fact, to keep everyone in the dark as far as possible. One point of interest we did learn from Edwin's hours of wearing the headset was that he spent much time riding Nathan's back when he was at home. I hadn't realized the full extent of this from Electra's remarks on the night I toured her house.

Again it led me to wonder just why Nathan was so loyal to Cabot. One day I asked him how he'd like to apply for a position at the bank, just to see what his reaction would be.

“There's a job in bookkeeping opening up, and a chance for eventual elevation to auditor of the bank,” I told him.

“No, thanks.”

“But it would be such a good opportunity. Mr. Tetzel's bank is one of the fastest growing in San Antonio. One day you might even be an officer.”

“No, I think not. Thanks anyway.”

“Boy, it must be peachy working for Mr. Cabot, if you won't even consider leaving him—regardless of the offer.”

“That's right. I've got a good deal—a great job.”

“What would it take to get you to leave him?”

“Why do you ask?” he said guardedly.

“Just curious.”

“Well it would take a lot more than anything you could dream up. So just forget it, all right?”