Romance Classics (83 page)

“I'm merely trying to tell you that Scott and I are engaged,” said Chloe happily.

Stuart dropped his fork and stared at her, his face going pale with anger.

“What? You and that nigger doctor?” His voice was thick with disgust.

Chloe flung up her head, and her own expression had altered until she bore a very close likeness to her father.

“Oh, he'll give up all that nonsense once we are married. Once he's free of that clinic, he'll get a lot more people: people with money; women who can afford medical treatment for a lot of imaginary ills. Why shouldn't Scott become ‘a society doctor' with a fashionable practice?” said Chloe coolly.

“In Hamilton?” asked her father derisively.

“Of course not. In Atlanta, perhaps, or some other large city!” Chloe retorted.

Parham and his wife exchanged a significant, meaningful glance. And he shrugged.

“Oh, well, if you've made up your mind, I suppose there's nothing we can do.”

“Oh, but there is. There's an awful lot you can do,” Chloe assured him. “First of all, you might ask him to have lunch and give him a chance to break the news to you, don't you think?” suggested Chloe sweetly.

“Don't you think that would seem a little over-anxious?” he asked. “Or are your mother and I to let him think we're delighted to wash our hands of you?”

Chloe lifted her eyes and looked from her father to her mother with a cool, deliberately measuring glance, and asked levelly, “Well, aren't you?”

Mrs. Parham caught her voice on a small shaken breath. “Chloe, my baby, how can you say such a thing?” she wailed.

“If we have any such feelings,” said Stuart Parham quietly, meeting Chloe's eyes straightly, “don't you think you yourself may be at least partly responsible?”

And before either Chloe or her mother could manage an answer to that he walked out, and a moment later they heard the outer door close behind him. And then the sound of his car as it drove away.

Mrs. Parham watched her, conscious of the tears in her own eyes, unable to conceal them or to steady her voice as she said huskily, “Chloe, baby.”

Chloe said savagely, “Oh, be quiet.”

Mrs. Parham stiffened and her head went up. But she only said quietly, “You were the loveliest, sweetest baby. What changed you, Chloe?”

“I grew up,” said Chloe through her teeth. “And I found out that if you were dirt-poor, you had to fight for things. And I learned to fight, that's all.”

“But, darling, to marry a man who hasn't a penny — how is that going to help?” pleaded her mother.

Chloe looked down at her coffee and a small smile curled her mouth, a smile that was not pretty and that made her mother shiver a little.

“Kate Ryan wants him,” said Chloe coolly. “And it's the end and aim of my life to take anything away from Kate Ryan that I can. Especially something she wants as much as she wants Scott.”

“That's a very poor basis for marriage, Chloe.”

Chloe laughed and stood up.

“Oh, I'm a modern, darling. Hadn't you heard?” she drawled, and her eyes were bright. “And now I'm going to have a lovely morning. I'm going out to River's Edge to tell Kate the glad news — oh, as a secret of course, just among the two of us, because, naturally, I won't want to announce it until I get my ring.”

And she went out, moving gaily, swiftly, as her mother sat staring straight before her.

It was only ten-thirty but the mid-June morning was already blazing hot.

The small room opening from the library at River's Edge had been furnished as an office. There was no nonsense about it. It contained a large, flat-topped desk near one window, a typewriter desk with an uncovered typewriter on it, and a typist's chair before it. Steel filing cabinets lined one wall; the other had a sliding panel that concealed a thoroughly modern, efficient, and allegedly burglar-proof safe.

Long ago Kate had taken a secretarial course and had acted as her father's secretary since a year before his retirement and the taking over of River's Edge.

On this hot, humid morning she was busy at the big desk beside the window that looked out over the river. But even here, close to the shade of the giant live-oaks, and with the shimmer of the river beyond, there was no hint of a breeze.

Kate was clad with the informality that such a morning and the privacy of her own home made sensible. With her shining copper-colored curls whipped high on her head and held in place there with a green ribbon, wearing white linen shorts and a green and white top, her bare feet thrust into white sandals, she looked about ten years old.

A maid came to the door to say, “Miss Kate, Miss Chloe is calling.”

“Ask her to come in, Celie,” said Kate, and a moment later Chloe was laughing in the doorway.

“Hi, Katie darlin',” she cooed sweetly, and opened her eyes wide as she looked about the very efficient office. “Goodness, what are you doing?”

“The month's accounts, the day's mail, and this and that,” answered Kate with a lightness she hoped didn't sound too artificial. “I'm Dad's secretary, didn't you know?”

Chloe was perched casually on the corner of the desk, and Kate said, “Shall we go out on the terrace? There's a faint rumor of a breeze out there, but frankly, I take very little stock in it. Would you like a glass of iced tea? Or lemonade, perhaps?”

“Spiked, I trust?” suggested Chloe hopefully.

“Could be, if that's the way you want it,” Kate answered. “Only isn't it a bit early?”

“Darling! It's never too early for a mint julep, or an old-fashioned, and I have the most priceless news. We really should have something powerful with which to toast it!” laughed Chloe.

When the maid answered Kate's ring, Kate said, “An old-fashioned for Miss Parham, Celie. I'll have iced tea. And on the terrace, please.”

Celie said, “Yes, Miss Kate,” in an expressionless tone, but her eyes flashed to Chloe and away before she left the room.

Outside on the terrace, Chloe dropped into a wicker chair and drew a long breath, her eyes taking in the sweep of live-oak-shaded lawn, green and thick as velvet, that dropped away to the bulkhead that held back the river. There was a drift of white and purple petunias bordering the bulkhead, making a brilliant ribbon of color in the hot sunshine.

“The way you run this place, I'd adore living here. The way we had to run it — well, it had the possibilities, always, but we lacked the money!”

Kate set her teeth and did not answer. Chloe never failed to deliver some such barb whenever she came to River's Edge. She seemed to have a perfect genius for making Kate feel an unwelcome interloper.

Celie came with the two drinks on a little tray and went away.

Chloe tasted her drink, nodded in satisfaction, and turned glowing eyes to Kate.

“Can you keep a secret, Kate,” she demanded like an eager child.

“Certainly not! So please don't tell me one,” Kate answered her firmly.

“Oh, but I've simply got to tell someone or I shall simply burst!” Chloe was gay and excited and bright-eyed. “Scott has asked me to marry him!”

Her eyes were fastened avidly on Kate's face, and there was an oddly disappointed look in her eyes as Kate showed no reaction whatever. None, that is, beyond the conventionally polite and pleasant surprise.

“Wonderful! You're a lucky girl,” said Kate quietly.

“I am, aren't I?” beamed Chloe. Her fingers curled tightly about the frosty glass she held, and for fear that her eyes might reveal something of her disappointment that Kate had not been bowled over by the news, she looked down into the amber-brown depths of the glass. “Of course I like to feel Scott's not too unlucky, because of course I simply jumped at him and said, ‘Yes, yes, yes!' He's such a lamb!”

“I don't know that I would exactly call him a lamb.” Kate felt a sudden, almost violent distaste for the silly, extravagant phrases these people applied to each other. “But he's a very nice person. Dad is quite devoted to him. Thinks he has a very brilliant future and will go far in his profession.”

“He's going a long way and soon,” Chloe said grimly. “He's going to leave Hamilton, I can assure you of that. He's lost down here in this little two-bit hick-town.”

Kate stared at her, wide-eyed. “But he seems perfectly contented here.”

“Oh, contented! That's no way for a young man to be. There are all sorts of opportunities for brilliant young medical men, and I'm going to see to it that Scott realizes that! Atlanta first, I think; and then eventually New York.” Chloe was so superbly sure of herself, so arrogantly convinced of her ability to make Scott into whatever she wanted him to be, that Kate could not help staring at her, wide-eyed.

“That sounds pretty selfish.”

“Oh, I'll keep his wishes in mind, too,” Chloe assured her blandly. “And I'll decide what is best for both of us. Look at Doctor Graves. Now that he's old and worn out and has given his all for humanity, what does humanity do for him? Gives him a kick in the pants and turns to a younger man. It would be all right if Doctor Graves had money to retire on. But he hasn't, though if he could have collected ten per cent of all the bad bills he's had, from the people he has served all these years, he could retire and drink himself to death with ease. Oh, no, that's not for Scotty!”

Kate said uncomfortably, “I can see what you mean, but after all, isn't it something for Scott to decide?”

Chloe gave her a slow, not very pretty smile.

“Ordinarily, yes,” she drawled. “But with me as Mrs. Scott, definitely no!”

When Chloe had gone at last, Kate came back to the office and sat down at her desk.

But for a long time she made no effort to concentrate on her neglected work. She sat very still, elbows on the arms of the chair, her hands locked tightly together. It was perfectly crazy that she should feel this deep depression, as though suddenly the hot sun had gone behind a thick dark cloud and a bitter wind had begun to blow. As though she had lost something infinitely precious, something dearly desired, something she had hoped but not dared believe that she would ever win.

For of course she was in love with Scott. She had been in love with him for a long time. And there had been moments when she had dared to hope that Scott was growing fond of her. They had been together a lot at River's Edge, during his clinic visits; he had often stayed to lunch when the hours were over. They had dated gaily and lightheartedly, sometimes with Chloe's tight-knit crowd that had opened to receive them with every evidence of delight.

Kate had read Scott with an accuracy that would probably have surprised that young man. She admired him as a man, and respected him as a doctor. He was good-looking, attractive, stimulating. The sight of him, the sound of his voice, stirred her to a sweet, breathless excitement. His gentleness, his skill, his devotion to his patients, deepened her respect and her admiration for him.

Her carefully ordered thoughts about Scott were shattered when the truth suddenly forced itself on her: “Respect? Admiration? You crazy fool, you're wild about him. You're madly in love with him, and you may as well admit it. And that little brat, with her silky yellow hair and her wet-violet eyes, has him in her clutches and she'll ruin him and there isn't one single blessed thing you can do about it. If she cared for him enough to be a good wife to him, you wouldn't mind.”

And her rebellious, aching heart lifted its own voice in bitter denial and she stopped trying to argue with it. For no matter how fine a girl, how wonderful a person he might love — unless he cared for her, Kate, she would mind furiously and helplessly and bitterly. When Celie came to call her to lunch, she sat at the desk, her face hidden on her crossed arms, and she was weeping heartbrokenly.

Scott had finished the last call of the afternoon and stopped in at a neighborhood drug store to call the office and see if there were patients waiting, or if any calls had come in.

“There are no office patients, Doctor Etheridge,” said Miss Henderson. “But Mrs. Hanover called and wants you to stop in when you have time. It's not an emergency call, or anything like that. But she would like to see you as soon as it's convenient.”

Scott was tired and the day was very hot, and he had been looking forward to a cold shower, a change of clothes, and perhaps a half-hour of relaxation before he dressed for dinner.

He smothered an impatient sigh and said crisply, “I'll stop in on my way home. If you need me, I'll be there or at home until you close the office.”

“Of course, Doctor Etheridge,” said Miss Henderson, and then asked severely, “Have you had lunch?”

Scott managed a laugh. “A very pleasant one, thank you. The Turner child is doing nicely, and Mrs. Turner was so relieved when I told her Tommy would be able to go outdoors to play in another three days she insisted on my staying for lunch. Cornbread, buttermilk fresh from the churn, turnip greens, country ham, and a hot apple pie!”

“Wonderful! I'll stop worrying about you, then, until tomorrow,” said Miss Henderson lightly.

Scott grinned as he left the drug store and got into his car. He was certainly being mothered, and he loved it. Miss Henderson fussed over him at the office; Miss Mowbray, at home, saw to it that he had a nice hot breakfast by just happening to be breakfasting herself when he appeared in the morning. And then there was Miss Mabel at the clinic at River's Edge. He sighed as he started the car toward the Hanover place.

The sigh was not of unmixed satisfaction, unfortunately. In spite of the fact that the three older women who played so important a part in his life were determined to mother him, and for all his appreciation of it, he was not an entirely happy young man. His work in Hamilton was being well received. His list of patients was growing, not by leaps and bounds, but slowly, little by little. Doctor Searcy at the hospital was friendly and cooperative. There was only one thing, and he was unwilling to admit it even to himself. The day had been a hard one. The death of a patient, even when she was old and worn out and unafraid, is always a painful thing to a doctor worth his salt. And he had admired and respected, yes, even loved old Mrs. Brownlee.