The Bilbao Looking Glass (13 page)

“Speaking of getting back,” he said, “I’ve been wondering whether those clouds mightn’t mean we’re in for a tossing-around if we don’t head for home port fairly soon. What do you think, everyone?”

“Tide and wind stay no man’s pleasure,” Mrs. Ganlor agreed. “Otherwise, we should be delighted to have you join us in partaking of the cup that cheers.”

But does not inebriate. Even the Larringtons knew how that one came out. They agreed unanimously that it was surely coming on to blow and all hands ought to be on deck forthwith. The embarkation was speedy and efficient.

As soon as they’d worked
Perdita
clear of Little Nibble Cove. Fren remarked, “Phew! I could use a stiff one after that.”

“I should think you might,” Sarah answered none too amiably. “That poor goat!”

“What goat?” he grunted. “I meant the poetry.”

“Lassie,” said Bradley, “why don’t you nip down to the galley, if you’ll be so good, and bring up that smaller wicker hamper we left stowed in the starboard locker? There ought to be a thermos of hot rum toddy in it. One tends to feel a tad chilly after one’s descent from the Elysian fields. At least I do. They are marvelous people though, aren’t they?”

Everybody agreed the Ganlors were marvelous and the prospect of a hot rum toddy even more so. Lassie had an attentive audience as she unpacked the thermos jug along with a virgin tin of Bremner wafers, an assortment of cheeses ready sliced, a nest of plastic tumblers, and even a little pile of cocktail napkins with
Perdita
’s quarterboard silk-screened on them, no doubt a gift from someone or other to the man who had everything.

Sarah took a rather skimpy tot of the rum. She’d have been content with the Ganlor’s herb tea, but didn’t say so because they must be thinking her pretty eccentric already. All except Bradley, bless him. He’d come over to sit with her again, now they were safely away from the island and Fren back at the helm with a drink in his spare hand.

“Happy, Sarah?”

“It’s been a wonderful day.”

“Then we must do it again soon. All but the goat, eh?”

Don reached across to see if there was anything left in the toddy jug. “Hell, is she being squeamish about that? What’s another corpse or two in her young life?”

“You always were the soul of tact, Don,” said his wife not very chidingly. “By the way, I wonder if they’ve come up with any word on Alice B. yet. You know, there was something awfully funny about that robbery.”

“What’s so funny about robbery, for God’s sake? You want a little more of this before Fren swills it all?”

Lassie held out her glass. “I don’t mean that kind of funny, idiot. I mean funny-peculiar. The sort of thing they took. I don’t know if the rest of you happened to notice, but it was all paintings, that sort of thing. I mean, what thief would take a silly old etching and leave a diamond necklace?”

“What diamond necklace?”

“The one Miffy was wearing that afternoon, silly. That thing of her Great-aunt Maud’s. You know what I mean, she always puts it on when she has company. It’s her notion of dressing up, like you and your stupid tie. She inherited the necklace, so she might as well get the good out of it, I suppose.”

“So?”

“So Miffy told me yesterday she remembers taking the necklace off because it was pinching her neck or something, and putting it in that little crystal bowl on the table by the fireplace. She went to bed without remembering to take it out, for reasons I’m sure I don’t have to explain, though of course she didn’t go into that part. Anyway, when she started checking around after the robbery, there was the necklace right where she’d left it, but a watercolor that had been hanging over the table was gone.”

“Who was the painter?” asked Sarah.

“Somebody named Millard Sheets, whoever he may be.”

“An American painter of this century. Mrs. Jack Gardner collected some of his early work, as I recall.”

“Worth much?” Don barked.

“Worth stealing, certainly. I can’t imagine one watercolor would have anything approaching the resale value of Miffy’s necklace, though.”

Sarah knew what Lassie was talking about: a choker fully an inch wide, paved solid with diamonds, having a front clasp set with stones the size of peas and one rather staggering ruby in the middle. The thing was hideous to look at and must have been agony to wear, but she couldn’t picture any thief passing up such a chance to get his hands on it.

“Unless they thought it was costume jewelry,” she said. “Still—”

“What the hell, you’d stick it in your pocket just in case, wouldn’t you?” said Don. “Lot easier than lifting a damn watercolor, I should think. What’s the current market value of a what’s-his-name?”

“I couldn’t say offhand. Max will know.”

“That’s your boyfriend from the filling station?”

Even Lassie appeared to realize Don had gone too far this time. “At least he’s heard of Millard Sheets,” she snapped.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Fren took his eyes off the jib long enough to glance over at Sarah. “He’s some kind of art dealer, isn’t he? It is funny, now you mention it, that the pictures got pinched right after he’d been there to look ’em over.”

“Fren,” Bradley Rovedock was angry. “I’ll take the helm now. How about getting the fenders overside?”

“Already? We’re still quite a way from the mooring. Oh, I get it. You’re being tactful. Sorry if I hurt your feelings, Sarah. But damn it, you hurt mine last night. I thought we were going to have a fun evening and you stood me up for a—okay, Brad, I’ll get the fenders.”

After that, the sail couldn’t be over fast enough for Sarah. Bradley tried to keep the party alive and she did her best to respond out of politeness, but it had to be a brave effort. Fren wouldn’t have thought of that business about Max himself. He must be repeating what others had been saying last night at the club.

And the more they said it, the more they’d believe it. Don’s eyes were already narrowed, perhaps in speculation, perhaps in drowsiness. It didn’t matter which. Don would side with his brother on general principles. Even Lassie, who’d been one of those clustered nearest to Max at Miffy’s party, would be hissing like a teakettle about this latest tidbit when she got together with Pussy Beaxitt and the rest of the crowd tomorrow at the funeral.

Sarah told herself it didn’t matter. She wasn’t one of them any more. But as Max himself had said, she was. How could she give up the Ganlors, for instance? Insofar as tastes and manners went, they were as antithetic to the Larringtons as possible, but they were of the same breed. It was no use trying to pretend she could drop one without antagonizing the other. Anyway, there were kind people like Bradley Rovedock to bridge the gaps. When he asked if she’d like to take the helm for a minute, she smiled up at him.

“I’d love to. Remember how you always used to let me when I was a little girl?”

“Ouch! I remember all too well. I hoped you’d forgotten.”

“How could I? That was always the most glorious part of going sailing with you. Oh dear, I’m getting a wrinkle in the jib.”

“Ease her off a point. No, the other way or we’ll jibe.”

Sarah hastily corrected her error. “Dare I remind you about the time I did jibe and Mother spilled the tea basket right into Cousin Mabel’s lap? How did you ever let Cousin Mabel aboard, anyway?”

Bradley was laughing now. “I believe she was visiting your people and I couldn’t get out of it. You never did hit it off with that worthy lady, did you? I still have a hunch you dunked her on purpose.”

“I’m sure I should have, if I’d been a good enough sailor.”

“Now that you’ve got your hands on Walter’s money, you ought to get yourself a nice little sixteen-foot sloop to learn on,” said Fren, trying no doubt to make amends for his gaffe in the only way that came naturally to him.

Sarah wasn’t buying either the apology or the sloop. “You’re the one who was wailing to me about how much it costs to keep a boat.”

“What doesn’t cost these days?” growled Don. “Tell me that.”

They finished the cruise convincing each other they’d all wind up in the poorhouse together and should they have dinner at the club or run up to Marblehead in Bradley’s Rolls.

“I honestly can’t,” Sarah insisted. “After the flap I caused last night, I don’t dare not go straight home. I’ve no idea whether Aunt Appie is still at Miffy’s or waiting for me back at the house with a nice tuna fish casserole in the oven.”

“But last night was different,” Fren argued. “We expected you, damn it.”

Bradley shook his head. “We’d better let Sarah decide what’s best for her. Poor Appie does take her responsibilities seriously, doesn’t she?”

“Hers and everybody else’s,” yipped Lassie.

“Whatever happened to Lionel and his four friends, Sarah?” asked Don, who must not have been asleep after all. “Understand you pitched them out bag and baggage after they burned down your boathouse.”

“Wouldn’t you? I wasn’t about to have them roaming loose after that fiasco. Anyway, all their gear got wet from the fire hoses and they had nothing left to camp with. The last I saw of them, they were heading for the village laundromat to dry out.”

“What’s all this nonsense about Vare and Tigger?” Lassie wanted to know.

“You can probably answer that one better than I,” Sarah replied, having little doubt that Lassie could.

“All Lionel told me is that the two of them are living together and he’s stuck with the boys. I don’t know whether he and Vare are going to swap off from time to time, or what. The whole business is ridiculous in my opinion. I daresay I did get rather savage about the fire, but I’m in such a ticklish position over that mortgage business that I felt I had to be.”

“I can’t picture you being savage about anything,” Bradley murmured.

Lassie snickered. “Oh, Sarah’s a changed woman these days.”

“I keep telling everyone I’m not, but they won’t believe me. Bradley, quick, there’s the channel buoy. What shall I do now?”

“I’ll take her.”

He expertly twitched the wheel and steered
Perdita
into the safe channel without so much as causing the sails to flutter. All three Larringtons went into a flurry of crewmanship. Sarah, not knowing what else to do, repacked the cocktail hamper. By the time they’d picked up
Perdita’s
mooring everything was shipshape and they rowed back to the yacht club dock singing, “When you come to the end of a perfect day.” Sarah sang along with the rest, but only because she knew Bradley would be hurt if she didn’t.

“W
HY DON’T WE DROP
in at Miffy’s for a quick one?” Fren suggested as they all got into Bradley’s car. “Cheer her up.”

“Are you crazy?” snorted his brother. “Alice B. isn’t there any longer, in case you’d forgotten. Appie might have cooked something.”

“Oh Christ, I never thought of that.”

Fren wasn’t thinking about that goat he’d killed, either. Sarah was glad when they dropped her off.

“Thanks so much, Bradley. I’m sorry I can’t ask you all in for a drink, but there’s hardly a drop in the house.”

That was enough to get rid of them, as she’d known it would be. They waved and drove off. Sarah unlocked the side door and went in.

Appie was not in residence, she was infinitely relieved to find. She had the place to herself, and thank God for that. She felt totally done in. Too much sun and wind, too much to eat and drink, and decidedly too much of the Larringtons. Maybe a cup of tea would straighten her out. She’d put the kettle on in a minute. Right now, Sarah wanted most to lie down and see if she couldn’t shake the feeling that the floor was rocking under her feet. She stretched out on the living room sofa. The next thing she knew, it was dark.

“I must have dropped off to sleep.”

How odd. Sarah never took naps, as a rule. She was sorry she’d done so this time. Her head ached, she had a crick in her neck, a cramp in her leg, and a general feeling of loginess that didn’t bode well for a peaceful night’s sleep.

Maybe a walk would straighten her out. The breeze Bradley had predicted back on Little Nibble had come up. She could hear it panting down the chimney and rattling that loose board on the porch she’d been meaning to ask Mr. Lomax to do something about. Good, that meant there wouldn’t be too many bugs around. She found an old poplin jacket her mother had left at Ireson’s sometime or other and Sarah had adopted as her own years ago, pulled it on, and fastened the two remaining buttons.

As soon as she got outside, she put the hood up over her head, for the wind was even gustier than she’d anticipated. She’d better not risk the cliff path tonight. Alexander had preached at her often enough about playing safe. Sarah was small and lightly built. A strong blast might spin her off balance and send her staggering over the edge.

One might stroll past the carriage house, to see whether by chance Max had got back earlier than one expected he would. One did, but he hadn’t, so Sarah kept going downhill through the pine grove. It was lovely here in the half-light that still lingered. Fragile white starflowers shone out bravely. Lady’s slippers were harder to spot but welcome to see. They’d made a good recovery since that ghastly time some vandal had got in and picked most of them. Alexander would have been relieved. He’d worried terribly about the lady’s slippers.

Now the ground was moister and she was getting into the hardwoods. Here ferns were more luxuriant, still not more than tallish green sticks, their tops curled like the violin section of an orchestra. Sarah could never see ferns in spring without thinking of Fridays at Symphony. She’d gone with her father all that first winter after her mother died because he’d paid for a pair of season’s tickets and could hardly let them go to waste. The next year, however, he’d dropped his membership because he’d never cared much for music anyway. Since then, Sarah hadn’t attended except when somebody had an extra ticket, which always seemed to be when they were playing Hindemith or Bartók. Until lately.

Max adored classical music. He’d already taken her to several concerts. Maybe they’d have season’s tickets again when they were married. It was when, not if. She was sure of that much by now, at least.