There is always love (13 page)

"The dogs will appreciate your affection and having someone young to play round with, that is, if you have decided to accept the position. Have you?" Madam Steele leaned a little forward in her chair.

"I will come a week from today. If that suits you."

"Why not stay now?"

"I must give fair notice to Mr. Sanders."

"I suppose you must. Doubtless you think it strange that I asked you to come on such short acquaintance but lately I have been taking stock of myself. I have been alone so much that I am garrulous when I get a chance to talk. If a person is agreeable to me I immediately suspect him of wanting something. I'm beginning to be age-conscious and that is nothing short of being stupid. I decided that I needed youth in the house. Then you walked into the garden and a voice within me said: 'And there it is! The best of it.' "

"I hope I will prove to be what you need."

"If you're not, I'll try again." Madam Steele was her practical, austere self again. "I have decided not to sell this place at present. I wUl write Mr. Sanders to that effect. It is my home. I can afford to run it. It grows more and more costly but why should I economize for the benefit of my heirs? They'll have enough to quarrel over as it is."

Linda wondered who the heirs might be. Had the son who had died in the World War left children? It was a relief to know that Keith Sanders would not have the estate to handle. If only the owner had made up her mind to this before, she herself wouldn't have been suspected of being a double-crosser by Greg Merton. 72

"I want, you to encourage your family and young friends to come here as they would come to your home, Linda. Then you won*t be lonely."

"Why should I be lonely? My duties as outlined in your letter sound as if life here should be pretty interesting."

"Life! In God*s name what is life? A merry-go-round of excitement and adventure, luxurious homes and smart clothes? Or is it building character and struggling forward to one*s ideal? Stumbling, extricating oneself from blind alleys of mistakes. Getting up and going on with gay courage. Making the most of happiness, giving of one's help and sympathy. That's real life." She rested her head against the high back of her chair, her brooding eyes on the fire, her sparkling hands clenched in her lap. The dogs laid their chins on her knees.

Linda felt as if she had been swept off her feet by a tidal wave of emotion and regret which had left her breathless, gasping. Was she expected to respond to that passionate outburst? As the silence persisted she said:

"You would have liked my father. You and he speak the same language."

Madam Steele transferred her regard from the fire to Linda.

"And I already like his daughter. Don't let my tirade frighten you. I warned you I was garrulous when I met a sympathetic human being but I rarely indulge in that sort of thing. There is something about you—we'll let that pass. Come. I will show you your rooms."

She rose. Linda was surprised at her height and slender-ness and remembered that she had not seen her standing before. She had thought of her, when she had thought of her at all, as a person who fancied herself an invalid. She gave no indication of ill health as she walked easily, gracefully as a fashion model to the door, the train of her black-satin frock making a soft swish as she moved. She appeared to be younger than she had seemed in the garden. In the hall she spoke to the butler.

"I don't need you. Buff, I will show Miss Bourne her rooms. She will be here for dinner one week from tonight and will remain permanently. She will be like a daughter in the house. Notify the staff."

"Yes, Madam."

Chrysanthemums, shading from bronze through yellows to white had taken the place of gladioli in the hall, Linda noticed as she moimted the broad stairway. She felt as if she were standing outside herself, as one stands in a dream, watching a stately woman and a girl in a green-velveteen frock going up step by slow step. What freak of Chance had

landed her in this position? It seemed years ago that she had sat on the porch steps and Ruth had advised:

"Do something about it. Get out. Go somewhere. Follow a rainbow. New problems, harder ones perhaps, but new." She had done it. All that Ruth had suggested had come true, especially the new problems. What next?

Madam Steele opened one of the many ivory-and-gilt doors in the upper hall. Linda had a swift vision of herself trying to find the room in which she belonged in the dark, before she entered a charming boudoir done in green chintz and French furniture. Beyond an open door was a bedroom and beyond that was a dressing-room glitter of mirrors and chromium. Somewhere within the house a clock sonorously told the hour. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

"They've left the apartment. My week end has gone up in smoke." Irrelevantly the words flashed through Linda's mind. Madam Steele's voice, which seemed to come from a great distance, asked:

"To get down to practical matters. What is your present salary?"

Linda told her.

"You will require more of a wardrobe here. I will pay you three times that. Come supplied with half a dozen dinner frocks and at least three for formal occasions. I will write a cheque for your first month's salary."

"Thank you, Madam Steele, but I don't want it until it has been earned. I have a nest egg upon which I can draw."

Buff, all deference and attention now that she was to be a member of the household, preceded her down the steps to the convertible. She stopped halfway to ask casually:

"The man waiting beside my car isn't the same one who brought it round the last time I came, is he, Buff?"

"No, Miss. That one heard that one of our men in the garage was sick and asked for a chance to fill in. He was here only a few days. I didn't like him. Miss. We don't have that class on the estate."

"I caught only a glimpse of him, but that glimpse was enough. I didn't like him either."

As she stepped into the car she wondered what connection the cadaverous-faced person could have with Sanders. Perhaps he was a family black sheep whom Keith had to help occasionally. Why think about it? Black, gray or white sheep, the man meant nothing in her life.

As she drove toward the city her thoughts were busy with the woman she had agreed to serve. Why had she so quickly decided to accept the position? The answer to that last was easy. Keith Sanders had given her the choice between barging in on business which belonged rightly to Gregory Mer-74

ton or leaving his office. She had committed herself to the second course only to find that there would be no business to handle now that Madam Steele had decided not to sell the estate. Even so, she wasn't sorry she had made the change. She would acquire an absolutely new viewpoint. She would be out of Hester's way. Greg was at odds with his aunt so there was little chance he would come to The Castle. She would miss Ruth, but Ruth didn't need her financially.

The apartment when she walked into it felt lifeless, deserted. Libby had gone to the Brewster house to collect some articles Ruth wanted. She snapped on every light in the living room before she went to her own.

"The King of France and forty thousand men marched up the hill and then marched down again," she chanted as she looked at her week-end case which she had left partially packed that morning.

As she was replacing accessories in the dresser the bell rang. She opened tiie entrance door.

"I've been waiting across the street till I saw lights here. I've come to drive you to the Coltons'," informed Greg Merton.

Linda clutched the knob and began to close the door.

"But I'm not gomg to the Coltons'. I have sent my regrets." As he placed his foot in the narrow opening she accused: "Something tells me you were once a house-to-house salesman. You have the technique."

"Maybe you're right. I generally get what I go after." He stepped past her into the living room. "If you've given up going to Janet's because of our misunderstanding—"

*'Ourr

"All right, have it your own way, my misunderstanding of you. Forget it, will you? Perhaps you didn't repeat Janet's news at the Inn. Perhaps you didn't intentionally put Sanders wise to the fact that the Steele estate was to be on the market, perhaps you just casually repeated what you heard."

"Delete those 'perhaps,' Mr. Merton. I did not mention the prospective Steele sale to Mr. Sanders. Having settled that to my satisfaction, I wish you would leave. I have work to do. I'm hungry. I haven't had any dinner and—"

"Janet phoned me to come here for you, that no matter how late you were she would wait dinner for us. And just in case it makes any difference, if you don't go, I shan't. So, trot along and finish packing your bag."

"I haven't said I was going."

"But I have. Why should you disappoint Janet because you dislike her brother? They'll wait dinner for us. On your way. Finish packing. Make it snappy. Scram."

"Oh, King live forever!" From the threshold she flung the mocking gibe over her shoulder.

In her room Linda regarded the partially packed weekend case. Greg Merton thought the reason she had sidestepped his sister's invitation was wholly because she disliked him. Even if she did, she wouldn't have given up the visit because of him; it was because her mother had made it a test of her affection for her sister. She had tried to accommodate, and here she was up against his ultimatum that unless she went, he wouldn't. He meant it. It would certainly put a crimp in Hester's love affair if he didn't appear at all. She would go.

When ten minutes later she entered the living room, he suggested:

"You're not faring forth to your execution, you know. This is a party. Can't you smile for the gentleman, lady?"

She made a disdainful little face as he opened the door.

"You're not a gentleman. You're a dictator."

The motor-thronged streets were filling with before-the-theater diners. The music of horns, gleeful and windy, drifted from restaurants; imposing uniformed men opened and closed automobile doors; lights, blazing the surpassing excellence of merchandise from toothpaste to footgear, glowed on and above buildings and dimmed the shine of the stars within their radius.

Out of the city. A country highway. Greg Merton drove steadily, smoothly without speaking. Now that he had persuaded her to come—ordered, was the word—^was he sorry that he hadn't a more entertaining companion? He was the first to break the silence.

"Saw you at the Brazilian Restaurant the other evening. More business to talk over with your boss?"

"I didn't see you:*

"Which crisp answer tells me I was speaking out of turn when I asked the question. You're right, but I don't mind telling you that I was there on business. Skid's."

He told her of their decision to make friends with Alix Crane and her Brazilian in the hope of finding out how the night-club singer had come into possession of Mrs. Grant's emerald-and-diamond bracelet, of her statement that the gorgeous thing she was wearing was a costume piece.

"You should have seen Skid's face when she said she had bought it 'off' a friend."

"Did he believe her?"

"He knew it was his mother's bracelet; he thinks she

may be on the level, suspects that things were getting warm

for the 'friend,' who decided to get rid of it and pass the

buck to the Crane woman. That means we've got to find that

friend. Skid said I was to tell you our plan. It's on the hush-hush, remember. I can't believe that Alix Crane is mixed up with a criminal gang, can you?"

"No. She doesn't have to be. Apparently she is attractive enough to get what she wants without that. How about the fascinating Seiior Pedro Lorillo?"

"We're looking up his background. Do you think him fascinating? He isn't the type I would have picked to send you off the deep end."

"Your mistake. He's my current rave. He brings out the femme fatale in me."

She settled deeper into the inviting depths of the leather seat. Any remark after that flippancy would be anticlimax. She had been on the move since seven this morning. Eleven epoch-making hours. Except for the tea, she hadn't eaten. Was hunger, combined with the smooth pace of the car, making her sleepy? Perhaps it was the air, which was unbelievably warm and fragrant for the season. Were there two moons? She forced her eyes wide. Only one. Good heavens, she mustn't go to sleep here.

"I hope—we—won't keep dinner—wait—ing . . ." What was she saying? She would die if she couldn't close her eyes for a minute. She had felt like this in church once, had suffered agonies trying to keep her heavy lids propped up. Why try to do it here? She would close them for a minute . ..

"Wake up, sweet thing. We've arrived."

Had she heard those words or had she dreamed them? She looked up directly into Greg Merton's face. Something rough under her cheek told her that her head was against his shoulder.

"Sorry to disturb you, but this is where we get off," he announced gruffly.

XV

AT NOON the next day the water in the swimming pool rippled in the light breeze. The sun stippled the surface with gold coins. Shrubs flamed with crimson, scarlet and ocher against a dark background of spruce. The old chimneys and gables of the Coltons' stone-and-oak house standing among lawns and a few great elms on a rise of ground were outlined against a brilliant sapphire sky. The air was sweet with a fallish fragrance of English box. It was warm, unbelievably warm for the time of year. The world seemed one hundred per cent silence. Only a faint, far motor horn broke

the drowsy calm. The guests, m swim suits, lay on the emerald velvet grass or lounged in deep wicker chairs with midsummer indolence. Skid Grant flung himself down beside Linda.

"Do I see your skin turning to gold, gal, or is it the spiffy white suit which gives it that appearance?"

"I'm tanning, all right. I never burn. Hester is about to dive. She's good. Watch."

His eyes followed hers to where her sister, in a scarlet suit which fitted the perfect lines of her body like the skin of a goldfish, posed on the higher of the two springboards.

"That's a pretty tricky dive," Grant suggested uneasily.