An Irresistible Impulse (4 page)

Ben was smoothly on his feet, his hand at Abby’s elbow drawing her up. “Thank you. I’m afraid we were…” he cleared his throat conspicuously, then looked back at Abby, “…wrapped up in ourselves.”

It was only when the bartender turned to walk away that Abby realized the room was quiet…and empty. “How embarrassing!” she whispered, blushing more furiously. “I hadn’t even noticed they’d gone!”

“That’s because they’re such a captivating group,” he quipped.

“I don’t know,” she mused. “Maybe we’re
not being fair. After all, this is only the first night. We haven’t given them much of a chance.”

They’d reached the lobby and crossed through. At the entrance to the dining room, Ben spoke more quietly. “Maybe you’re right. Perhaps we ought to separate during dinner and concentrate on getting to know the others.”

But Abby suddenly realized she’d been looking forward to having dinner with
him
. “On the other hand,” she hedged, lowering her voice to a stage whisper as they neared the tables, “I don’t see that there’s any rush. There’ll be plenty of time—”

The thought was suspended in favor of a sheepish grin when three faces turned to regard her questioningly. Ben had made up his mind, she mused, and
that
, evidently, was
that
. There was nothing for her to do but accept disappointment graciously.

“May I join you?” she asked softly, aware that her escort had already pulled out the only free chair for her. Three quiet nods met her inquiry. Dutifully, she sat down.

It wasn’t that there was hostility, but rather a pervasive wariness that inhibited conversation as nothing else might have done. While the upcoming trial must have weighed heavily on every mind there, no one dared discuss it for fear of violating the directive given earlier.

Nor was there significant talk of a personal nature, much as Abby tried to initiate it. She would have been interested to learn more about these people, their homes, their jobs, their families. But with each question came a simple and usually dead-ended response, offered in a tone that discouraged further inquiry. Had Abby not known better, she would have sworn the three had agreed upon a code whereby each chose to suffer in private.

Acceptable topics of conversation, on the other hand, were the outlook for the winter’s ski-touring season, the oppressive price of home heating oil, and the ever-changing status of the American League pennant race. It wasn’t that Abby was bored; she could easily chat along with the rest on these subjects.
But there was something deeper at stake here, and her mind began to wander.

What
would
happen as the trial progressed? If the jurors were uncomfortable with each other as a group, how would they cope with the pressure that was bound to mount? Hours of intense concentration, days of sitting in the same chair listening to point after point of evidence, hearing first one side and then the other, with innumerable objections, overruleds, and sustaineds scattered about—for the first time Abby felt truly apprehensive. It was one thing to view the proceedings as a unique experience, quite another to acknowledge that the experience was apt to be grueling. Three weeks of service was a very long time. Would
she
hold up through it all?

There was, of course, one bright light on the horizon. He sat two tables to the left and was flanked by the court officer named Ray, one other gentleman Abby hadn’t yet met, and Patricia, lucky Patricia, who seemed positively taken with Ben, if her rapt expression was an accurate index of enthusiasm. As a matter of pride, Abby refused to look for Ben’s reaction. It was enough that she envied Patricia the company.

Nonetheless, she couldn’t help but feel let down when he disappeared shortly after coffee was served. To her surprise, it was
Patricia who moved to join her for a second cup when the others excused themselves as well.

“I missed you this afternoon,” the younger woman bubbled quickly as she put her coffee cup down and slid into the free chair next to Abby. “I was hoping to catch you at some point. It’s Abby, isn’t it?”

Abby smiled, petty jealousies quickly forgotten. After the hour she’d just been through, a breath of fresh air had just wafted into the room. “That’s right…. Patricia?”

“Patsy,” the other nodded. “Did they get you home for everything you need?”

“Oh, yes. Lorraine supervised it all. It was an odd experience.”

“I know. But you’re lucky. I was sworn in yesterday and the waiting’s been awful. At least today brought you and Ben.” Her eyes lit up. “He’s something else! I saw you with him before dinner and didn’t want to bother you. You both seemed totally occupied with each other. Say…you’re not attached or anything, are you?”

“To Ben?” Abby protested, suddenly cautious. “I just met him today.”

“No, I mean…otherwise. You’re not married…?” When Abby shook her head, Patsy raced on eagerly. “Grab him! He’s gorgeous!”

“Patsy—”

“No, I’m serious! You make a great-looking couple.”

“This is a
jury!”

“He’s brilliant,” she went on as though Abby had never spoken. “Do you know that he’s a college professor? He didn’t say where, and I had to all but pry
that
much out of him, but you should have heard the discussion he had with Bernie about the caste system in India. Does he ever have facts at his fingertips!”

Abby had no doubt about that. “It sounds like your dinner was a little more interesting than mine. Who’s Bernie?”

Barely stopping for a breath, Patsy was fast proving herself to be the antithesis of the other jurors. “Bernie is Bernie Langenbach. He was the first juror sworn in. Poor guy’s been here since the day before yesterday! He owns a restaurant in White River Junction.”

“How about you, Patsy? What do you do?”

For the first time, the blond-haired woman spoke slowly, but it was only pride that weighted her words. “I work for the Eastern Appalachian Company designing skiwear.”

“You
design
it? That’s fantastic!”

Patsy nodded. “I enjoy the work.” Then she grew more mischievous. “And it gives me an excuse to stay near the slopes….”

Something in her eyes told Abby that her interest wasn’t purely in schussing. “Okay,”
Abby grinned, liking Patsy more by the minute, “Let’s have it. Who is he?”

Smiling gaily, Patsy leaned closer. “He’s a ski bum and he’s the most wonderful guy in the world! I mean, he’s smart and funny, and is he ever a good-looker!”

“But can he ski?” Abby asked, holding her expression sober only until her friend laughed aloud.

“Can he ski?” She rolled her eyes heaven-ward. “When he comes down that mountain, it is something to behold,” she breathed in near reverence. Then, in the instant, she started up again. “Boy, was he annoyed when he found out I couldn’t talk with him.”

Now the story sounded familiar. “He doesn’t like talking through an interpreter?” Abby asked, tongue in cheek.

“Not…a…bit!” Patsy loudly sucked in her breath, then let it out with similar gusto. “And do I love that possessiveness!”

Abby dissolved into gentle laughter. “You’re amazing, Patsy. A change from the very staid folks I ate with tonight.”

Sitting back in her chair, Patsy grimaced. “You mean Dean didn’t thrill you with his opinion of the economy?”

“Uh-oh. You’ve heard it too?” It was slightly conservative, at best.

“Twice now. And Richard—he usually picks up with his plug for tourism. You
know—it’s a good thing that the rich
are
getting richer so they can afford to ski in these mountains. I hope you didn’t try to argue with him,” she added her warning, but it came too late.

“As a matter of fact,” Abby moaned, “I did suggest something about all those
other
people who might like to ski—”

“And he clammed up?”

“Not another word.”

Patsy nodded. “That seems to be the pattern. It’s as though they’re frightened of discussion. Not your Ben, though.”

“He’s not
my
Ben, Patsy. For all I know he’s got some little coed stowed in his cozy condominium.” All he’d said was that he’d been married once; he’d never ruled out a current lover. “And besides, I’ve got my own hands full just now.”

“You do?” Patsy gleamed. “Tell me about him.”

But before Abby was able to say a word, Nicholas Abbott approached. “Abby? You’ve got a phone call. It’s your fiancé.”

“My fiancé?” Who else? “But I can’t talk, can I?”

“Grace is just finishing up with another call. She said she’d be glad to help you out.”

Not quite sure if she wanted to be helped out, particularly given her annoyance at Sean’s audacity, she hesitated.

“He says it’s important,” Nicholas added apologetically.

Sighing, she nodded. There was always that chance that Sean
did
have a question relating to the work she’d be missing during the next few weeks. She’d hardly given a thought to that, what with the events of the day, and she felt suddenly guilty. “Thank you, Mr. Abbott. I’ll be right there.”

Nicholas Abbott was barely beyond earshot when Patsy whispered hoarsely, “Your
fiancé?
Are you really engaged?”

“Not on your life,” Abby murmured, standing and squaring her shoulders. Then she took a deep breath. “And I intend to tell him as much right now,” she began boldly, only to be interrupted by Patsy’s droll reminder.

“You mean, you’ll have
Grace
tell him as much?”

“Uh-oh…well, yes. I mean, he knows we’re not engaged and he’ll have to realize that declaring himself my fiancé won’t get him through any more directly!”

Patsy rose to walk beside her. “Go get ’im, Abby,” she drawled when they reached the lobby.

Abby frowned and mumbled a low, “And here I thought I’d be free of all this…” as she spotted Grace in the office behind the desk, replacing the receiver from a call just completed. Then, her anger momentarily
suspended, she watched Ben Wyeth nod his thanks to the court officer and head her way.

His brow arched roguishly.
“Fiancé?”
he taunted her in that soft drawl of his, and she knew he was about to add another clue to the puzzle. But before she could correct the misconception, he had nodded in salute and passed her on his way to the front door. She watched him helplessly, not quite sure why she felt so bothered, finally blaming it all on Sean as she took her turn with Grace.

An hour later she sat propped against the headboard of the king-size bed wondering what to do with herself. Had she been at home, she would have read or listened to music, perhaps reviewed some notes for the following day’s work. Now her mind was on the following day, but its focus was a very different kind of work.

It was only natural to be apprehensive, she told herself. After all, everything was so new. And Sean hadn’t helped things with his argumentativeness. Even Grace had begun to
despair toward the end of the call, after she’d explained the rules to him several more times. It wasn’t that he couldn’t understand them, simply that he wouldn’t accept them. But that was
his
problem, Abby mused, shifting her feet to the floor and standing.

She paced slowly to the window, then turned, finally sinking back into the cushioned armchair nearby. From the minute she’d seen this room, she’d liked it. Tucked up on the third and highest floor of the house, it had the same charm as the rest of the inn, perhaps even more with its dormer windows and tiny alcoves. Even now, as her eye wandered from bed to wall to dresser and rug, she felt totally at home and comfortable.

How had the others fared, she wondered idly? Did they too have handcrafted quilts on their beds, regional artwork on their walls, fresh flowers in the vases on their small sitting tables? This room was a palette of lavender, blue, and white. Were the others the same?

Against her better judgment, her mind wandered to Ben. Where was he now? Had the rooms been assigned in order of arrival…in which case he might be next door? She listened for any sound that might come from either of the adjacent rooms…. Nothing. Perhaps her neighbors hadn’t come up yet. More probably, she decided with a frown, they were in bed. What about
him…?

With a soft exclamation, she jumped up and crossed the room to the nightstand by the bed. Within seconds, she had the front desk on the phone. Yes, the jurors were to be woken at seven. Oh, she wanted to run earlier? No, that was no problem. Ray would be going out at six. Was that all right with her? Fine, then; she’d get her wake-up call at ten before the hour. Was there anything else she wanted? A warm drink? An extra blanket? No? Well…good night, then.

When, after an hour of dropping notes to her family to tell them of her whereabouts, Abby finally fell asleep, her mind was filled with a myriad of thought fragments, not the least disturbing of which were about one Benjamin Wyeth, the caste system in India, and a nagging sense of something she’d forgotten.