There is always love (5 page)

She could see the deep, rich coloring of the Palisades beyond the silver blue and cobalt of the river, the house looming under a cloudless sky. The Castle, the place was named appropriately. It must have proved to be the architect's pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, it was so immense, so blatant of unlimited expenditure. The sun shining on the windows gave it the appearance of an enormous palace checkered with gold plates. It was lacy with wrought-iron balconies, a house too great and splendid to have been conceived by human brains and built by human hands; rather it was something which might have been conjured into being by the wave of a magician's wand. On the terrace wall a gorgeous peacock spread his green and scintillant jeweled tail and preened in self-approval. He moved slowly, proudly until he disappeared around a corner.

As she stopped the roadster at the door a gray-haired man with a just-my-luck droop to his mouth, in maroon Uvery, the coat adorned with many silver buttons, ran down the steps. She inquired for Madam Steele, told him that she had come by appointment.

"I know. Miss. She's expecting you. She's in the garden. Take that path. I'll have your car sent to the garage."

There is nothing truer than the saying that one half the world doesn't know how the other half lives, Linda told herself as she followed the gravel walk. "I've known any number of lovely, luxurious homes but nothing so unbelievably colossal as this. Glad I wore my snappy navy ensemble with the moss green turban and bag. It helps keep my chin up. Here you are, gal. Remember you are expected."

In the brick-walled garden a woman sat in an Oriental 24

fan-back chair which made a charming background for her white hair. Two Great Danes lying on the ground rose and took a forward step. There were white chairs with gay orange cushions and a glass table with tea things, massive silver and delicate china. An open book was in her lap. Her purple-blue gown made one think of a huge iris blossoming late and unexpectedly among the welter of pink, bronze. Lavender Lady and fluffy sulphur-yellow chrysanthemums in the flower borders. A crystal shower was being blown high into the air from the pipes of a bronze Pan in the middle of a lily-padded, fern-bordered pool.

Life had etched lines at the comers of the woman's piercing black eyes, eagle eyes, between which loomed a Roman nose of no mean proportions. The bitter line of her mouth was out of character in skin still soft and young. Her long-fingered hands, glittering with rings, were beautiful. As Linda approached she spoke sharply to the dogs.

"Cash! Carry! Come here." At the command of their mistress they crowded against her chair.

"Don't be afraid of them. They won't hurt you. They are not worth their keep as watchdogs, are merely part of the stage setting. You're the young person from the real-estate oflBce, I presume?"

Her austere and uncompromising voice set Linda's heart thumping in her throat. "Remember, pussy-footing won't get you anywhere. Self-belief has power." Her father's words echoed through her mind and restored her poise.

"Yes, Madam Steele. It is part of my work to make memoranda of houses Mr. Sanders is to handle before he gives them his personal attention. He assured me that you would see me." •

"Stop talking like a real-estate advertisement and sit down. Pour yourself a cup of tea. There are sandwiches and cake. Perhaps you don't drink anything so commonplace as tea?"

"Oh, yes I do," Linda answered lightly, determined to ignore the woman's acridity. "I was brought up in a family which had to have its afternoon tea though the heavens fell. You'd be surprised how much I miss it now that I'm in business. May I prepare some for you?"

"I've had mine. So you grew up in a tea-drinking family. English?"

Linda set her cup on a small glass table, settled into an orange-cushioned chair and prepared to enjoy herself.

"Yes, Madam Steele, but we left that country in 1672."

"You have a sense of humor, I see. What have you been doing since?"

"Oh, we've been governors, in business, lawyers—my father was a Federal judge in Boston. After he—^he left us we

lived in the country house in which he was bom, winters as well as summers. I was put through the stereotyped 'coming-out' paces. Teas, balls, dinners, modeling at fashion shows, social-service work and I even had a motion-picture test. Then I took a secretarial course. The bright lights of the metropolis lured me and here I am."

"You'd be much better off in that country village. Like this man Sanders for whom you're working? T hink he's honest?"

"Of course! Would I be working for him if I didn't?"

"Don't be so excitable. How do I know what you would do, never having seen you until you walked into this garden? There are racketeers even in the real-estate business, I presume. It could be used as a cover for a lot of deviltry. Your employer was recommended to me by a man whose advice I wouldn't take about buying a draft horse, after I had waited and waited for a person who ought to have shown interest enough in my affairs to come to me and ask to handle the sale. I don't know why I listened to him about this. I did and you're here as a result. If you've finished your tea run along to the house. Tell Buff, the butler, to show you over it. Come back here before you go."

"I will. Madam Steele. I'm sure that I will prepare perfect notes after that delicious tea."

Linda lingered in the great flagged hall of the house. Stairs curved up each side to a gallery. The banisters were beautifully turned, the curve of the handrails was perfect. At the back against the wall, stately gladioli were banked. The broad base was of purple spikes. Shades of amethyst, orchid, pink, pale yellow mounted to pure white at the peak. The fragrance of long-stemmed crimson roses drifted from the mirrored gold-and-ivory drawing room at the right. In the library at the left bowls of giant yellow and flame zinnias blazed against the mahogany walls.

Disapproval fairly oozed from the butler's ramrodlike back as she followed him up the stairs. As she glanced into room after room she wondered if Madam Steele had had children, if one of them was the person whose advice she wouldn't take about buying a draft horse.

The sound of bells chiming the half hour drifted through an open window.

"How beautiful. Is there a carillon near, Buff?" she asked.

"Yes, Miss. A very fine one. It chimes every quarter and on important days like Christmas and Armistice plays tunes. The Madam presented it to the church in memory of the village young men who died in the World War. She lost a son in it." He sniffed and brushed a hand across his eyes. "Would you like to see the servants' quarters?" 26

"Are they above this?**

**They used to be. Miss. Now the third-floor rooms are not occupied. One is used for storage. Except for the housekeeper and myself who have apartments in the ell, the staff is in a separate cottage which is connected with the main house by an enclosed corridor. Shall I take you there?" His choice of words and manner of speaking were in character with his precise personality.

"No. I was told to make notes of the house and a diagram of the second floor only. I have those." She slipped a notebook into her handbag. "Madam Steele asked me to see her before I left. I shan't be but a moment. Please have my car brought around.** "Very good. Miss."

As she approached the garden she heard voices. Visitors? Not so good. The owner would doubtless question her in her sardonic way about her impressions of the house. It would be most unbusinesslike to air them before a stranger. Should she wait or go on? As she hesitated Madam Steele*s voice cut through the still, fragrant air.

"I don't agree with you. I love jewels. I can afford to buy them and I shall continue to keep them in my home even if the insurance people won*t cover them here. What pleasure would they give me interned in a bank vault? No more than if they were stolen. I don*t see any point in storing them where I can't see and handle them. I have a permit to keep revolvers in the house, and I'm a straight-shooter. Buff puts new servants through the third degree to make sure of their honesty before he engages them. The alarm connected with the locks is guaranteed to rouse the dead, or words to that effect. Judge Reynolds has made my life a burden with his warnings about burglars and now you.** Lingering outside the gate was own cousin to eavesdropping, Linda decided, and entered the garden. She could see the top of a dark head above a luxurious lounge chair, a hand on the arm; heard Madam Steele say:

"You*re too late. I waited and waited for you to come. I made up my mind you didn't care for my business so engaged another realtor. Here's the young person who represents him.'*

A man extricated his long body from the chair and stood up. His eyes widened with surprise as they met Linda's, his face crimsoned, went white. "You!" he said. "You!"

"What's the matter, Gregory? Have you met this young person before?**

"I've met Miss Bourne before."

Linda could have hugged him for the substitution of her

name for the patronizing **yoiing person." It restored her sense of individuality which, for an instant. Madam Steele's condescension had laid low.

"We are both realtors," she volunteered, not knowing what else to say to crash the silence which was getting ominous.

"Rivals, m fact," Greg Merton elaborated sarcastically. "Miss Bourne, apparently, is a busmess-chaser for Keith Sanders. I'm for myself. Janet told me the day before I had to start on a business trip that you had decided to sell. I couldn't get here last week. I preferred to talk with you, rather than write. You can give your business to whom you please, Aunt Jane. I can take the count, but you might at least have given me a whack at it before you turned it over to Keith Sanders."

Linda's knees gave way and deposited her in a chair. Janet! Aunt Jane! Was this the estate of which Greg Merton's sister had told him that afternoon at the Inn? Did he think she had advised her boss of the conversation? That she had put him on the track of this sale? Was that what he had meant by "business-chaser"? He couldn't believe she would do such a thing, he couldn't. She started to her feet.

"Keep out of this. Miss Bourne; when I've finished you may have the field to yourself. I'm out of the deal, but first. Duchess, I want to know who advised you to call in Keith Sanders."

"It was BiU."

"Bill Colton! So that's why Sanders has been palling with him. To get your business. How long since you've been relying on Bill for advice?'*

"Don't speak to me in that tone, Gregory. I told Janet that I had decided to sell and, when you didn't come or write, I concluded that you still believe 'I think myself smarter than my business advisers.'" Madam Steele's voice was hurt, sUghtly unsteady.

"Please, please, may I be excused?" Linda interrupted. "I must get back to the city."

"Must hurry back to make your report, I presume." Greg Merton's voice was savage, his eyes black fire. "You pulled a fast one, lady, when you reported to your boss the family conversation you heard while you were my guest.'*

"I didn't report it." His angry accusation lashed her into furious response. "How could I know who your 'Aunt Jane* was? She must be proud of her nephew after the exhibition of temper you've given. Good-by, Madam Steele."

Her heart smarted and burned, she seethed with fury as she ran along the graveled path. A man opened the door to her car. She gave a fleeting glance at him as she said, 28

"Thanks," thought he was about to speak to her, shot the convertible ahead before he had a chance. How could Greg Merton think she was a double-crosser? How could he, she kept asking herself?

TwDight dropped over the world like a mantle of soft violet malines. The river rippled darkly. A star came out Lights sprang on in windows. Amethyst smoke spiraled from chimneys. The air was fragrant with the scent from gardens and ripening fruit. Her heart ceased smarting as she drove on and on.

She lived over the gaiety and comradeship of the afternoon at the Inn, winced as she remembered her frigid goodnight to Greg Merton in Ruth's apartment—he must now believe that she had decided then to turn informer—saw again his white face when he had learned the reason of her presence in that garden; could see herself running along the path, dashing into the car. The man who had brought it round had been about to speak to her. Had he wanted a tip? Did one tip a servant on a great place when one came on business? Had he looked disappointed? She tried to visualize him. Now that she thought of it, there had been something familiar about him. She had seen him before.

Where? In the ofl&ce! Her heart did a handspring and dropped back with a thump. It was the cadaverous man with the dead-pan face and crafty eyes.

VI

IT WAS after the usual hour for closing. The buzzer sounded on Linda's desk. Keith Sanders had come in for the first time that day. His long absences from the oflfice were becoming more and more frequent. He explained them, when he explained them at all, as business trips to see estates.

"Hoped I'd find you here," he greeted as she entered his room. The eyes that met hers were strained; there were haggard lines about his mouth. "How did you come out yesterday? Did old lady Steele give you any trouble?"

"On the contrary, she gave me tea. Don't make the mistake of thinking her an old lady. She's one of the ageless type. Keen, executive and up-to-the-minute. You should have seen her modish frock and her hair-do and her rings. Her fingers blazed."

"I've heard of her jewels; who hasn't? Did you make notes of the interior of the house?'*

"Yes. Here they are."

With reluctance she presented the notebook. She had spent

part of a sleepless night wondering if she had better speak of her meeting with Greg Merton in Madam Steele's garden, tell of his angry accusation that she had informed her employer that the estate was in the market. The question had bobbed up at intervals during a day packed to the brim with interviews with customers who had expected to talk over their business with Sanders. Now that she was face to face with him she decided not to refer to it at present. If Greg Merton believed that her boss had barged in on his territory, let them fight it out; it was not part of a secretary's duty.