Room Beneath the Stairs (9 page)

“You don't approve of me, do you?” I asked.

“I don't approve of the marriage,” she said crisply. “There's a difference.”

“I love Grey, Mrs. Porter. I didn't marry him for his money.”

“No?”

“I had no idea he was so wealthy. He told me very little about himself before the wedding.”

“Yet you married him.”

“Because I love him. Because he loves me.”

“Love,” she said, frowning.

“I assume you had other plans for him, a—a more profitable marriage, perhaps. I suspect there might be a rich heiress in the background, a girl whose father owns another cannery or—something of the sort.”

She looked surprised, a bit taken aback. I felt sure I had guessed the truth. That would explain the cold reception. My marriage to Grey had probably upset their carefully laid plans, but that was just too bad. He
had
married me, and his family would just have to accept it. I wasn't intimidated by Helen Porter. In fact, I felt rather sorry for her, perhaps because she was so obviously unhappy. My own new-found happiness made me extremely sensitive to the moods of others.

“I hope we can be friends,” I said quietly.

Helen Porter drew herself up, all crisp efficiency. “Burke will bring your bags up shortly, and Judy will come help you unpack. She's a very good maid, if somewhat imaginative. We dress for dinner, incidentally. It's served at eight sharp.”

She left without another word, moving silently down the staircase. I refused to let her attitude bother me. As Grey's wife I had a right to be here, and I was determined to make the best of an unfortunate situation. I would eventually win the family's confidence. I was certain of it. In the meantime, it would be foolish to let it worry me unduly.

Moving through the large, sparsely furnished sitting room, I stepped into the bedroom that adjoined it. It was even larger, rectangular shaped, the walls whitewashed, the high ceiling beamed, brightly colored rag rugs scattered over the dark parquet floor. A huge antique brass bed with a counterpane of quilted white satin stood in one corner. A large mahogany night stand stood beside it, and there was also an enormous mahogany wardrobe and matching dressing table with an oval mirror. Beside a tall brass floor lamp was set an overstuffed chair, the jade green velvet upholstery a bit tattered. A cozy place to read, I thought. In lieu of conventional windows, there was a large windowed recess, bay shaped, with the window seat beneath upholstered in jade to match the chair. I was delighted with it. Kneeling on the padded seat, I peered through the curtainless panes. I could see part of the patio and the protective wall and, beyond them, the surging ocean, the waves blue black now as night began to fall.

It was heaven, sheer heaven. I had never dreamed of living in such an enchanting house. I felt as Cinderella must have after she married the handsome prince and went to live in his palace. Leaving the recess, I wandered about the room, touching the smooth surfaces of polished mahogany, examining a glazed blue pot containing white and lilac-white hyacinths. With my palm I tested the mattress on the gigantic brass bed. It was soft, springing back at my touch. Arms folded tightly about my waist, I thought about my husband and the time we would spend together here in this roomy, private apartment, far removed from the others.

Footsteps on the enclosed staircase brought me out of my sensuous reverie, and, turning around to face the doorway, I smiled a radiant smile, certain that Grey had come to join me. The smile died on my lips. It wasn't Grey; it was Burke. He moved leisurely through the sitting room, carrying my suitcases. Ignoring me completely, he came on into the bedroom and set the bags in front of the large wardrobe. Straightening up, he turned around to stare at me with cold, indifferent black eyes.

“There must be some mistake,” I said nervously. “You just brought my bags. You didn't bring—”

“Mr. Brandon's bags will be carried to his room,” Burke replied. It was the first time he had spoken directly to me.

“But.…” I hesitated, confused, uncomfortable under his stare. It took me a moment to gain control of myself.

“My husband and I will share this apartment,” I said firmly.

“Mrs. Porter makes all the arrangements,” he told me. “I just follow instructions.”

“There's evidently been some kind of misunderstanding.”

“Maybe so,” he drawled.

His face was inscrutable. He stared at me rudely for a few more seconds, then left the apartment. I tried not to give way to panic. I tried to be cool and logical about it. Helen Porter had simply made a mistake. Of course Grey and I would share the same bedroom. It was just a mistake; no need to be upset, to feel this peculiar sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. I would speak to Grey, and he would set things straight. His bags would be brought to this room, and … and the misunderstanding would be cleared up.

Where
was
Grey? Why hadn't he come to join me?

I was still brooding over it a few minutes later when Judy came hurrying into the room, smiling a pert smile, apologizing for being late. No more than eighteen, she had short, bouncing black curls and merry blue eyes. Her cheeks were a rosy pink. A jaunty white cap was perched atop her curls, and her black uniform fit snugly, emphasizing her provocative curves. Chatty, vivacious, she hastened to inform me that she didn't usually dawdle but—well, that Burke was hanging about in the hall and she'd waited until he was gone before coming on up.

“Gives me the creeps, he does,” she said. “Always prowling around, even at night. A girl doesn't feel
safe!
” Shivering dramatically, she began to unpack the suitcases, hanging the dresses in the wardrobe, opening drawers to put away sweaters and underclothes.

“I'm ever so pleased to meet you,” she said, arranging shoes on the shoe rack. “I'm from London, too, you know.”

“You're not from the village?” I inquired, surprised.

Judy shook her head, smoothing down a pile of lingerie. “No one from the village will work here,” she told me. “They—well, they almost seem to be
afraid
of the place.”

“How curious,” I remarked.

“Not really,” she said frankly. “Sometimes—well, let's just say that if Mrs. Porter didn't pay such a grand salary,
I
wouldn't be staying on here.”

“Whatever are you talking about, Judy?”

“I 'spect you'll find out,” she replied. “I've said too much already. Mrs. Porter says it's my imagination, and maybe it is, but—” Judy cut herself short and stood up, her task complete.

“What is it you imagine?”

“Strange noises. I
know
there aren't any children in this house, and I certainly don't believe in ghosts, but.…” Again she paused. Seeing the expression on my face, she smiled a perky, reassuring smile. “Anyway, I haven't heard it for some time now, and I suppose I
do
read too many spooky novels. The old lady gives them to me. She
adores
scaring the wits out of me. Gets a proper bang from it, she does.”

“I suppose you're referring to Mrs. Carlotta Brandon.”

“Yes, ma'am, and no disrespect meant. She's somethin' else, no doubt about it, but I rather like her. Even if she
is
a bit trying. She's—well, you'll see for yourself.”

“Thank you for unpacking for me, Judy. I really should have done it myself.”

“I'll just set these empty bags out in the hall for Burke to take down to the storage room. You wouldn't catch
me
going down to those basements, not for a million. That's where the—”

“Yes?” I prompted.

“It's ever so nice to have you here,” she said, blithely changing the subject. “Nice to have Mister Grey back, too. We've all missed him, I'm sure. He's such a tease—so jolly and full of life. Not like
some
I could mention. I'd best be scurryin'. Cook will be wantin' me to set the table for her.”

Judy left, carrying the empty bags with her. The room had grown darker, and I switched on the lamps. Grey obviously wasn't going to come up before dinner. Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was time to start getting dressed. I wanted to look my best tonight. I needed the confidence it would give. Changing into a robe, I went into the bathroom and washed away all the grime of a long day's journey. Later, sitting in front of the oval mirror, I carefully applied fresh makeup and brushed my hair until it gleamed while I thought about the peculiar remarks Judy had made.

The girl was delightful, a fanciful, gossipy creature who undoubtedly found the isolation of the big house rather taxing. It was only natural that she should dramatize things to relieve the tedium. A house this large, perched on a windswept cliff, was bound to have many strange noises. Even now the wind outside the windows seemed to moan. Listening carefully, I could hear the waves slashing against the rocks far below. I smiled, remembering the way her lively blue eyes had grown wider as she mentioned the noises. I might worry about a lot of things, but ghosts were definitely not on the agenda.

Dinner was to be formal, Helen Porter had said. I chose my best dress, a long-sleeved smoky-gray velvet with subtle violet highlights. The skirt was long, the form-fitting bodice high necked, leaving most of my back naked. It was a sophisticated garment, not really my style, but it made me feel older, wiser. Turning around in front of the mirror, I was pleased with the effect. My lips were a natural pink, and there were faint violet shadows on my lids, heightened by the dress. My hair fell in rich, glossy waves. The woman in the mirror looked chic and poised, able to cope with any situation, but the image was highly deceptive. I was anything but confident as I left the apartment.

I had no idea where the dining room might be or what the family custom was. Did they meet for drinks first? If so, where? I was perturbed that Grey hadn't come up to join me after his talk with Helen Porter. I wondered what had been so imperative that his aunt had had to discuss it with him as soon as he arrived. As I moved down the long, wide hall, shadowy now, unlit by a single lamp, some of my resolution vanished. With just a tiny bit of encouragement, I told myself, I could easily give way to a screaming fit of nerves. But I managed to hold on. It had been quite a day. I thought it rather admirable that I was able to function at all, much less maintain a surface poise.

Reaching the staircase we had come up earlier, I paused, took a deep breath, and then moved down to the landing, turning to go on down the main flight to the hall. The brass chandelier was glowing. Lights blossomed from the wall sconces. I was halfway down the stairs before I noticed the man at the foot of them. His tall, lean body slouched against the banister. His arms were folded across his chest, and his head was tilted to one side as he watched me descend. His raven hair was untidy. His deeply tanned face was as tough, as sarcastic as it had been thirteen years ago. Seeing him there, I stopped, gripping the handrail tightly.

“Good evening,” Evan Porter drawled lazily. “So you've come back to Greycliff Island?”

CHAPTER SIX

His hooded brown eyes watched me with a combination of amusement and disdain. Lazily he stood erect, a half smile on his wide mouth. He wore slender brown slacks, a brown and tan checked sport jacket, white shirt and a rust-orange tie, poorly knotted. With his humped nose and drooping eyelids, Evan Porter looked like an unscrupulous hoodlum, yet this very ugliness made him strangely attractive. A certain kind of woman would find him irresistible, I thought, trying to compose myself.

“No need to be alarmed,” he remarked. “I shan't murder you.”

“What an absurd thing to say,” I replied coolly.

“You look terrified.”

“Of you? Ridiculous.”

I went on down the stairs with as much poise as I could muster. Evan Porter never took his eyes off me. At the foot of the stairs I paused, at a loss for words. Standing so close to him, I was acutely aware of his raw magnetism. Evan Porter had none of my husband's virile good looks, none of his warmth and charm, yet the magnetism was there like static electricity. Although immune, I recognized it immediately, and I recognized the way those piercing eyes looked me over with insolent assessment. I was glad I had chosen this particular dress, glad I had taken such pains with my appearance.

“You've grown up,” he said.

“You remember me?”

“Very clearly. With displeasure, I might add.”

“You haven't changed a bit. You're still insufferable.”

“I know. I'm quite unlovable. I worry about it.”

“I'll bet you do.”

“You're very beautiful. That, incidentally, is merely an observation, not a compliment. I'm not very gallant, you'll find. Grey has all the charm.”

“Where is he?”

“At the moment? I should think he's upstairs dressing. You've come down a bit early. The others won't be joining us for at least fifteen minutes. You're stuck with me, I'm afraid.”

“I'd as soon spend fifteen minutes with a boa constrictor.”

He chuckled, the thin lips turning up at the corners, the dark eyes gleaming with appreciation.

“Thank God, you're not a timid little sparrow!” he exclaimed. “I'd hate that. I relish a worthy opponent.”

“Are we going to fight?” I inquired.

“Most assuredly. I suggest we step into my office. My mother doesn't believe in predinner cocktails, and you're going to need one. Besides, we have things to discuss.”

“Do we?”

He nodded curtly, thrust his hands into his pockets, and started down a narrow hall branching off the main one. There was nothing I could do but follow. We stepped into a large, comfortable, undeniably masculine room. There was an immense golden oak desk, a brown leather sofa with matching chair, battered gray filing cabinets. Bookshelves filled with ponderous-looking legal tomes lined one wall, and the room was awash with magazines and journals having to do with business and finance. It smelled of ancient leather and stale tobacco. Evan Porter moved over to a portable bar and began to mix drinks.