Stranger by the Lake (10 page)

“Of course not,” Aunt Agatha said, pacifying her. “Mary can help you with them in the morning.”

“Some people expect a
lot
, and that's a fact!” Cook grumbled, her expression so fierce I wouldn't have been surprised to see her grab a butcher knife and go berserk.

We adjourned to the drawing room. Althea pranced merrily over to the liquor cart and started examining the bottles. Mildred asked to be excused, claiming she wanted to wash her hair. Aunt Agatha dismissed her promptly, with considerable relief, and Mildred shuffled out of the room, taking up an oil lamp to carry back upstairs with her. Craig stationed himself by the fireplace again, and Paul Matthews stood rather clumsily in front of the beige satin draperies, as though trapped by all this elegance.

“The meal was a disaster,” Aunt Agatha said petulantly. “Cook deliberately planned it that way because I asked her to stay late. She's a
marvelous
cook—you know that, Paul. She deliberately sabotaged the meal tonight. That pudding! She makes smashing pastries, Susan. Please don't think tonight was any indication of what we usually have——”

“The meal was divine,” I lied. “Even if it hadn't been, just being here with you——”

“You're so diplomatic,” she said, sitting down on a padded blue chair. Althea finally selected a bottle, poured her drink, and trotted over to the sofa. The candles spluttered, burning down. I wandered over to examine some engravings on the wall on the other side of the room. Paul sat down beside Aunt Agatha and they began to discuss her refusal to take her pills. There was a loud explosion in front of the house, followed by the rumbling of a decrepit motor. I assumed it was Cook on her way back to the village.

“I see you survived this afternoon's perils,” Craig Stanton said in a low voice, standing beside me. I had been concentrating on the sound of the car leaving and hadn't noticed him coming over. The others were across the room, Aunt Agatha and Paul immersed in their conversation, Althea twirling the liquor around in her glass.

“Yes, thank you,” I said, my voice icily polite.

“I didn't go to hell,” he told me. “I went to work instead, which is more or less the same thing. I spent the rest of the afternoon at my desk in the library, trying to finish up a rather difficult chapter. Thought I'd let you know, in case you were looking for me.”

“Why on earth should I have been looking for you?”

“I can think of a lot of reasons.”

“I'll bet you could at that,” I said acidly.

“Do we have to be enemies?” he murmured seductively.

“We don't have to be
anything,
” I hissed, glancing across the room to make sure the others couldn't overhear us. “I intend to avoid you like the plague, Mr. Stanton. I've had plenty of experience with men like you.”

“You're delightful, you know,” he said. “Most women throw themselves at me. You're the first one in a long time that's tried to resist me. Quite a novel experience.”

“I'm sure it must be.”

I was standing against the wall now. Craig glanced over his shoulder, saw that no one was paying attention to us and stepped closer, standing directly in front of me. He placed his palms on the wall, an arm on either side of me, making a prison. He leaned forward, his dark maroon jacket hanging loosely, the black silk embroidery gleaming in the candlelight. I saw the ruffles on his shirt, the rakishly knotted black bow tie, and I could smell his after-shave lotion, teakwood, a strong male scent.

“We're going to be great friends,” he told me. “You enjoyed our little encounter this afternoon. Don't say you didn't.”

I gave him a cool stare, not deigning to reply.

He chuckled and stepped away, strolling casually over toward the fireplace. He took up the poker and prodded the glowing orange logs, making blue and yellow sparks fly. I marched over to the liquor cart and poured a stiff Scotch. Craig laughed aloud when he observed this, the others turning to stare at him. He made a bow and grinned a cocky grin. Aunt Agatha smiled, pleased with him, and Paul looked bewildered. Althea merely nodded sharply. I had the strong impression that she had observed everything.

“Did you finish your chapter this afternoon, Craig?” Aunt Agatha inquired.

He nodded. “The first draft, at least. I'll have to check a few of my facts before I put it in final form.”

“I'd like to see it later on tonight,” she said.

“Feel free.”

Paul Matthews stood up, heaving a sigh and taking out his watch. “It's getting late, Agatha,” he said. “I imagine I should be getting back to town.”

“I'm ready to leave, too,” Althea said, pulling herself up with much crackling of green taffeta. “Craig, you want to escort me?”

“Certainly, luv. My pleasure.”

He linked his arm in hers and took her out of the room. Aunt Agatha and I walked to the front door with Dr. Matthews. Earl and his brother were in the front hall. They leaped up happily when they saw their master. He petted both dogs, smiling at their enthusiasm. Prince was darker than his brother, his coat a sleek silvery blue.

“Down!” Paul cried. “That's enough! Run along now.”

The dogs looked unhappy, slumping down on their haunches. Then Earl leaped up to give me another kiss on the cheek and both of them bounded out of the hall, their heavy paws making loud thumps.

“Earl has taken a fancy to Susan,” Aunt Agatha said.

“Quite,” I added.

“I'm glad to be rid of 'em for a while,” Paul said, smiling broadly. “It's been a nice evening, Agatha. Thank you for asking me. I don't want to hear any more about your refusing the pills, hear? You need them, or I wouldn't have sent 'em over. It's been a pleasure meeting you,” he continued, turning to me. “You keep an eye on her. Promise?”

“It's a promise,” I replied.

Paul left, and Aunt Agatha squeezed my hand. “I'm going to go fetch Craig's chapter and take it on up to my bedroom,” she said, brushing her long black skirt and fiddling with the rope of pearls. “Are you coming up, dear?”

“Not just yet,” I replied. “I—I think I'll take a little walk in the gardens. I'm afraid I had a bit too much Scotch. The night air will do me good.”

“Very well,” she said, giving me a hug.

“What about the candles?” I inquired.

“Craig will put them out when he comes back. Your oil lamp is there on the table, I see. Be sure you take it up with you——”

“I wouldn't dream of going up without it,” I said.

Aunt Agatha went on upstairs, and I was alone in the great hall, the candles splattering the walls with wavering golden light. I wasn't at all sleepy, and I
was
a bit giddy from the Scotch. I stepped through the small drawing room and opened the French windows, going on out onto the terrace. The moon was high, half obscured by enormous gray clouds, but pouring silvery light over their dark rims. Leaving the terrace, I strolled aimlessly toward the lake, positively determined to avoid Craig Stanton if he should by any chance see me on his return from Dower House.

CHAPTER FIVE

The gardens were drenched in moonlight, everything black and silver, sharply outlined, a misty haze in the air. It was rather like a neo-impressionist painting, I thought, pink and orange-pink roses barely showing their colors in the mellow light, tall green shrubs more black than green. Moving down the flat marble steps, I smelled the fragrant odors, a stronger odor of soil and dead leaves underlining the sweet smell of rose petals. It was rather chilly out, a breeze causing leaves to tremble. I paused, standing beside a broken marble column, staring up at the sky: moon free from clouds now, silver beams melting against the black-gray expanse overhead. It was a romantic night, I thought, a night made for lovers.

I frowned, thinking about Craig Stanton. In truth, I really hadn't stopped thinking of him. I was furious with him, and yet I wondered if the anger wasn't merely a self-imposed smoke screen to cover up deeper emotions I refused to acknowledge. The man had allure, quite plainly. I couldn't deny that. Was I really a stiff little prude, running away from him as he had suggested? Of course not, I told myself, moving on along the rows of rosebeds. I was just wary, and rightly so.

There had been other men in my life. A few years ago I had been smitten with a handsome young poet with soulful brown eyes and thick blond hair and a wide, sensuous mouth. I was still working as a secretary then, and Eric had seemed the epitome of all a young girl could dream of. He was attentive and kind, gentle and considerate but very male. He was also quite poor, living in a slum attic and scrounging for enough to live on. I gladly bought his lunches, his dinners. I even bought him a lovely brown suede jacket lined with sheepskin so he wouldn't catch cold. My secretary's wages weren't all that grand, and Eric found someone else, richer, better able to promote his poetry in the right circles. I was stung by the' experience, yet I could afford to laugh at it now. I had been quite foolish, but I had learned to beware of too-tender sentiments.

Last year, while visiting my mother in Sydney, I had met a rich Australian rancher who tried to sweep me off my feet. He was robust and bursting with hormones, determined to take me into the bush and make me his bride. Quite handsome, he was, with unruly black hair and sapphire-blue eyes, and he owned half a dozen ranches. My mother was enthusiastic about my prospects and couldn't understand why I resisted. Reggie was a bit too aggressively male for my taste. He was like a force of nature, strong, obstinate, knocking aside all obstacles. He threatened to kidnap me if I didn't give him an answer soon. I booked immediate passage back to England, bidding my mother a fast farewell. Poor Reggie was probably still prowling the streets of Sydney, trying to abduct a suitable bride.

So I wasn't completely without experience. I had certainly had enough experience to be wary of a man like Craig Stanton. Actually, Paul Matthews was more my type: solid, strong, dependable, attractive with his craggy face and big, healthy build. A man like that would wear, with none of the mercurial, quicksilver qualities that were so dazzling and, ultimately, so elusive. But I wasn't ready for any kind of man. I was too content with my life the way it was. I had my career, my freedom, my cozy little habits. I wasn't about to cast all that aside because some man decided to give me a break and take over. I had resisted Reggie, who had wanted to marry me, and I could certainly resist Craig Stanton, whose intentions were hardly that honorable.

Forcing all these thoughts aside, I concentrated on the gardens and the beauty of the night. Crickets chirped raspily, and there was the rustle of leaves and, from down near the lake, the solitary song of a bird hidden among the trees. I walked under a trellis of honeysuckle and found myself at the edge of the gardens, the lawns sloping down toward the wooded area that surrounded the lake. I remembered the black marble mausoleum there on the edge of the water and decided to go and look at it.

The lawns were spongy, already damp with night moisture, and my high heels were hardly the appropriate shoes for such activity, but I walked on nevertheless, the grounds gilded with silver and spread with long shadows that moved slowly as clouds drifted across the face of the moon. The woods were very dark, and I hesitated just a moment, not really from fear. I remembered what Althea had said about bats, and I didn't relish the idea of any of the furry creatures swooping down on me. I moved on into the trees, curious to see the black marble tent again, wondering if it were as bizarre and sinister as I remembered.

I could smell the water now, smell moss and rotten logs and mud, and in the distance, through the trees, I could see the lake itself, its surface half obscured by veils of mist that swirled over it like ghostly white wraiths. I stumbled over a root and had to grab a low-hanging limb to keep from falling. What nonsense, I told myself, I should have waited until I was properly dressed to go exploring. I knew I should have turned back but I went on, trees thick on either side, only a few rays of moonlight seeping through the canopy of branches overhead. I could hear birds stirring in the boughs, and I kept thinking of bats, peering at every limb that might possibly harbor them.

Stepping out of the woods at last, I found myself on the shore of the lake. The mists were really heavier than I had imagined at first, a blanket of thick white vapor spreading, growing thicker. The water lapped at the shore, stirred by the evening breeze, and there was the sound of whispers. I stopped, momentarily paralyzed, and then I realized that it was only the combination of wind and water and rustling leaves that caused that curious sound. It was not unpleasant, rather like crooning, voices crooning to the night, whispering voices that lifted and blended together. There was nothing sinister about the sound, yet I felt a chill creeping over me. I fervently wished I had waited till daylight to come down here. This was sheer folly.…

My thoughts had been all about romance before, but now, naturally, I thought of the dinner conversation about intruders, remembering that Althea insisted she had seen prowlers on the grounds even after Paul had sent over the dogs. Pleasant thoughts, very cheerful at this particular moment. I remembered turning into the east wing, remembered the cold, clammy air and the dark form hovering in the doorway. I scolded myself mentally, trying to get hold of myself, but the sinister thoughts persisted as the mists spread and the water slapped gently at the muddy shoreline.

Fear welled up inside me, rising quickly, forcefully, and I stared at the lake, wondering what on earth had possessed me to leave the gardens and come down here. It was almost as though something had summoned me, I thought, and now I was surrounded by darkness and water and trees, at the mercy of the night. There was a moment of sheer panic, and then I managed to laugh at myself. I was acting exactly like one of my own heroines. This was Gordonwood, not a spooky estate, and I was a level-headed young woman taking an evening stroll, not a damsel in jeopardy. I had come to see the mausoleum of my own volition. I certainly hadn't been summoned by some sinister force outside my control. I wandered along the shore, the earlier apprehension gone now.