Inheritance (10 page)

"Yes," Laura said simply, and when Owen stopped in briefly to say hello before everyone gathered for drinks, he saw a new look on her face. Calmer, he thought; no longer that skittish child on the beach. And something else; she looked more open, as if she finally believed she didn't have to hide her feelings after all.

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He wondered who had done it for her: Allison through her offer of friendship, Rosa through her mothering—and perhaps I had something to do with it, he thought as he joined the party, by making her feel needed and letting her know I need her, too. He let his thoughts drift as the members of his family moved from one group of guests to another, meeting the political and entertainment celebrities Felix always brought to the Cape to enliven his sununer. Ambitious, aggressive Felix, Owen reflected. He takes after me.

But in fact he knew Felix did not take after him at all. For the past few years, as he grew older and more detached from his family, he gradually had admitted to himself that his eldest son was pompous and humorless, a rigid man who thought he could impose his idea of order on the world around him. I wasn't like that, Owen thought; Iris would have let me know if I ever was as insufferable as Felix. Everyone would have let me know. And I still have many friends, so I must be a fairly pleasant fellow. I don't suppose Felix will ever be pleasant. What a shame; he's got such a lovely wife, too.

Once the thought would have made him smile at die tricks life played on people, but tonight he felt only sadness for Leni and regret that neither of his two sons was as attractive or likeable as his great-nephew Paul, who was standing nearby, looking politely bored as a senator expounded something at great length.

I don't feel well, Owen thought; that's probably why everything seems sad. I feel tired. In fact I feel rotten; I wonder if I'm coming down with something. Why the devil am I spending a whole evening with a bunch of people I don't care anything about? He made his way to Leni and said quietly, **My dear, do you think Barbara would mind if I leave as soon as we've had coffee?"

A look of worry shadowed her calm eyes. "Aren't you feeling well?"

"Just tired," he said. "And, I confess, a trifle sick of celebrities."

She smiled faintly. "Felix does collect them, doesn't he?"

"Well," Owen sighed, "I suppose he could have worse hobbies; it's expensive but not dangerous. And he worries too much about running the hotels; he does need something to help him relax."

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"Wouldn't it be nice," Leni murmured, "if he came to his wife for that."

Owen turned his shrewd eyes on her. "Have you suggested it?"

"When was the last time Felix listened to something you suggestedT*

"When he was five. But if you told him you're unhappy?"

"I'm not unhappy, dear Owen. Don't worry about me."

"You are unhappy. I can always tell."

"If I am, I'll take care of it. You have yourself to take care of. Shall I walk home with you? Or I can ask Clay; he's helping in the pantry and I'm sure they can spare him. I don't think you should be alone."

He shook his head. "If I can't make it across the compound I shouldn't be out without a wheelchair."

They smiled at each other, and when the guests had finished coffee and crepes and the waiters were serving cognac, Owen quietly left his chair and made his way from the tent. Through the open doorway of the house he caught a glimpse of Laura in the kitchen, and Rosa nearby, and the stsif in the pantiy, and then he walked slowly home.

There was no moon but he knew the way from memory and the feel of the flagstones beneath his feet. To the right here, to the left there, just past Leni's rose garden to the door of his house. He slipped inside, breathless and a little dizzy—probably ate too much, he thought; damn stupid thing to do when I already felt sick—and he was reaching for his armchair when he heard a door softly close somewhere in the main house.

One of the staff, he thought, and then remembered there was no one there; they were off for the evening or working at the party. The wind, then. But there was no wind; the night was still. Odd, he thought; Felix or Leni must have come back, too. Better see if everything's all right.

His door was ajar and he slipped through it into the gallery, where he stood motionless, listening. Nothing. Imagination, he told himself. A tired old man with not enough to think about. But then he heard the whisper of careful, stealthy footsteps in the upper hall. They came from the direction of Leni's room. A moment later Owen heard them on the stairway directly in front of him.

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"Ho, there!" he called and flicked on the light switch. As he closed his eyes against the chandelier's sudden blaze, he heard a curse and a rush of footsteps, and felt rather than saw the dark form that flung itself upon him. "Damn!" he cried. "Get off me—!" But it came out as a strangled croak; he was face down on the floor, struggling to push himself up beneath the weight on his back. Then a terrible pain burned through his chest, like stabbing flames. I'm going to die, he thought and, in the midst of a dizzying terror, fell headlong into darkness.

i

I

Chapter 5

/ / nr nrOW could you?" Laura cried. The telephone was I—I wet with her tears and it kept slipping in her J^^l^hand as she sat hunched over in the cramped booth, wiping her nose with a wadded tissue. Through the glass door she saw lunchtime customers filling the restaurant and she turned her back on them, leaning her elbow on the small shelf beneath the telephone. "You promised you wouldn't! You told me—you told Clay— you said you wouldn't do it!"

"I didn't do anything! Laura, goddam it, if you'd listen for a fucking minute— "

"I listened once and you lied to me!" "I didn't lie! I told you I wouldn't rob them—" "And I believed you! I trusted you! And you went ahead and did it anyway! It didn't matter what I wanted, you didn't care what I wanted, all you cared about was your danmed robbery, and Owen had a heart attack and he's in the hospital, and everybody's crazy with worry—^"

"Shut up and listen! I didn't rob the fucking Salingers. I've been in New York since I was with you at the Cape; I was with a friend last night—"

"It wasn't last night; it was three nights ago." "I was with a friend three nights ago, too. Why didn't you call when it happened?"

"I did; I've been calling you for three days! You haven't

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been there—where have you been?—never mind, I know where. You've been selling the jewels you stole . . . after you promised—!"

"I kept my promise! Look, damn it, I don't work that way; I wouldn't jump a guy just because he turned on the light—"

"How do you know he turned on the light?"

There was a pause. "You told me."

"I did not. I just said he had a heart attack and he's in the hospital. I never said anything about a light."

"Well, so I figured it out. There wouldn't be any other reason to jump him, would there? But that's not my style, and you know it. I stay away from people and get out, clean; I don't get into wrestiing matches that make a mess of— "

'That's what you did. You made a terrible mess of everything and the police are everywhere and I'm scared to death. It feels like everything I've got in the whole world is falling apart."

"You've got me. I'm not falling apart."

"I haven't got you! I don't trust you; I'll never trust you again!"

"I didn't do it! Damn it, I told you—"

"All right, then, if you didn't, who did? How come somebody just happened to rob the house the same way you and Clay planned it, practically on the same night you planned it?"

"I don't know who did it. Have you asked Clay?"

The blood rushed to Laura's head. "He was with me all night! Anyway, he doesn't do jobs alone and he doesn't lie! Don't you ever, ever say anything against Clay again—how could you—^"

"All right, all right, I'm sorry. All I meant was you should talk to him."

"You were accusing him! Throwing blame on a ... ^zJ . . . because you don't have any excuses!"

"I don't need excuses! Listen, I've taken care of you for three years; you can't believe I'd—^"

"You won't take care of me anymore! I won*t let you!"

"You haven't got any choice; I'm your guardian and you'll do what I tell you. And I'm telling you to come back to New York. That's an order, Laura! You're coming back to me, where you belong!"

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"I'm never coming back to you!" Laura felt once again that she was being torn in half. She hunched lower, holding herself tight to keep her voice from shaking. "Fm staying here. I'm going to make up to them—somehow—for what you did."

"/ didn't do a goddam—!"

"And Clay's staying with me. I'm not letting him go back to a thief . . . and a . . . liar . . ." Tears choked her and she wiped her nose on the back of her hand. "We're not coming back to you, and that's all."

"I'm coming up to get you. I'll be there this afternoon. I expect you to be packed and ready."

"I'll be at work. I have a job. And a family," she added cuttingly.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I have the Salingers."

"You're crazy. You really think you *have' the Salingers? You're out of your mind. The Salingers don't give a shit about you or Clay; you aren't their kind of people. You work for them, for Christ's sake, and if you think they care about servants, or play fair with them, you're more stupid than I thought."

'Then I'm stupid, and you wouldn't want a stupid person in your family, would you, Ben? So you don't care whether I stay here or not."

There was a small pause, the space of a heartbeat. "I do care. I'm sorry I said that. I know you're not stupid; you're wonderful and I miss you. You're my family, Laura."

"Not anymwe," she said defiandy. p "God damn son of a bitch!" Laura heard his fist strike the table. She knew where he was; she could picture him sitting in the kitchen, on a chair she had painted red to make the room more cheerful, making marks with his thumbnail in the linoleum that covered the table. "One last time," he said. "I didn't do it and I expect you to come back. We'll forget we said all these—"

"You're lying. You told me you'd be in Boston on Saturday; you wanted to spend the day with us. And I told you we'd be working at the Janssens' party, so you knew the house would be empty." She shook her head. "I never should have told you. If I hadn't, you wouldn't have robbed them. I'm

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going, Ben; I told Rosa I'd only be gone half an hour for lunch."

"You stay right there and listen! I'll be at the Cape this afternoon, and if you and Clay aren't packed you'll leave everything behind, because I'm taking you out of there! We'll go to Europe. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Laura? We've talked about doing it for a long time and I've already got tickets—"

"You've got the tickets? You knew you were going to rob them—you were all ready to get out of the country—you only pretended to be thinking it over!"

"I bought them when I thought I'd do the job; I just didn't get around to returning them. Listen to me, Laura: we've got all these tickets and reservations; everything's settled. We'll take a month, before school starts, and travel all over. . . . Are you listening?" She was silent. "You're coming home with me!" Ben roared. "I've had enough of your—"

Laura slammed down the telephone, cutting off his furious voice. Her hand was shaking. Ben always had been able to dominate her, and now she felt herself wanting to call him back to beg his forgiveness so he would be loving toward her again. Instead, she ran from the booth, snatching a handful of paper napkins from an empty table and ignoring the curious looks from the lunchtime crowd as she wiped the tears from her face.

Clay was waiting in a small park nearby. "Ben's going away," she said.

He sprang to his feet. "Where's he going? Why did he do the robbery? After he promised ..."

"He didn't say." Laura wheeled her bicycle onto the path. "He even tried to deny he did it."

Clay waited for more. "And?"

"He expected us to go back to New York with him."

"Well, we are, aren't we? Everything's changed. Where's he going?"

"Europe* He says."

"And we're meeting him? When? Where?" He waited. "Laura, when are we going to Europe?"

"We're staying here." She got on her bicycle. "I haven't figured it out yet, but that's what we're doing."

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Clay let out a yell and caught up with her on his bicycle, and they argued all the way to the Salingers'. At the shed where they kept their bikes, Laura put her hand on his arm. "It's just the two of us now; we'll take care of each other and we'll be just fine."

Clay ignored her hand. "Where exactly is Ben going?"

She shrugged. "All he said was Europe."

"I'm going with him."

"No you're not." She thought of telling him Ben had tried to blame him for the theft, but she couldn't. Let him think some good things about the stepbrother he'd idolized for so long. "You're going to stay with me and finish high school and learn something useful. After that you can go anywhere you please. Clay, I need you," she said, her assurance crumbling. "I can't count on anybody else; please stay and help me. Just for . . . for a year, that's all, one year, till I get used to being on my own, and then if you really want to go away I won't say anything. I'll even help you."

Clay studied his shoes, his blond eyebrows drawn together. "What did you mean about staying here? You mean on the Cape?"

"With the Salingers. I hope, anyway. We still work for them, we're earning money, and most of them like us. And if we work hard enough we can make up a little bit for what Ben did."

"It's not our fault he robbed them."

"Yes it is. You figured out the way to do it and I found out where the jewels were and about the alarm, and I told him we'd all be somewhere else that night. It's because of us that Owen may die. Clay, we owe them something."

Still staring at his shoes. Clay said, "What happens in September, when they go back to Boston?"

"I don't know. Maybe we can keep working for them."

"In Boston?"

"Maybe."

"We don't know the first thing about Boston."

"We could learn. There are plenty of high schools there, and colleges."

Clay gave her a long look. "You really like them."

"Well, you like Allison," she said defensively.

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"Yeh, but I'm not changing my whole life because of it. Anyway, she thinks I'm just a gardener." He hoisted their bicycles and hung them on hooks in the shed. "If you really | want me to, I guess I'll stick around for a while. It might not be so great living with Ben without you around. And maybe I'll do school for another year. I won't promise I'll finish, but I guess I could try. Shit, I thought I was through with that crap, those fucking little desks and being ordered around by people who don't know shit about real life . . . I'll just try, that's all. I'll probably flunk."

"You won't. You're too smart." Laura put her arms around him and kissed him. "I love you, and I'm so glad you're staying. Everything's going to be fine." She kissed him again. "I have to go; I'm awfully late. I'll see you after work."

But late that afternoon Owen began asking for Laura, and Leni sent her to the hospital in one of the family limousines. Laura had not seen him since his heart attack, and as she tiptoed into his room behind the nurse, she expected to see a dying man. Instead, he looked no different from before, except that he was lying flat in the narrow bed and his eyes were closed.

"Mr. Salinger," the nurse said softly, "Laura is here."

His eyes opened. "Ah. My dear." He motioned slightly to the nurse. "You can go."

"I'll be right outside," she said and kept the door open when she left.

Owen winked at Laura and gave a small grin. "She's an ogre. Now you can kiss me."

She bent down and kissed his forehead. It was cool, almost cold. "Does anything hurt?"

"My pride. Old man jumped by a burglar. No respect for age. Rotten coward."

"He wouldn't have done it if he'd known— I mean, I can't believe anyone would hurt you if . . . if he knew you were a lot older than he is."

Owen squinted slightly as he studied her. "Maybe he's eighty. Thought I was a youngster."

Laura gave a small laugh. She was knotted up inside, angry at Ben but defending him, loving Owen but angry at his calling Ben a coward. But Ben was a coward —/ shouldn't defend

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him — and it's wonderful that Owen is making jokes because that means he's going to get well; he won't die because of us. "You're going to get well," she said.

"I expect to. Sit down; I can't see you this way."

She pulled a chair close to him and leaned over, her elbow on the bed, her chin on her hand. "The nurse said I could only stay a few minutes."

He shook his head. "I want you to stay." He opened his palm and waited until Laura put her hand in his. "I have plans."

He had no strength to grip her hand, but Laura felt the warmth of his palm against hers and she twined her strong fingers through his. "What kind of plans?"

"For you. I want you to come to Boston and live at my house and help me. Would you mind?"

A wave of excitement surged through Laura, and then just as quickly began to fade. The Salingers don't give a shit about you or Clay; you aren't their kind of people. "I'm not a nurse. I don't know anything about—^"

Owen was shaking his head. "Not a nurse, a companion. A job. Talk to me, read to me, help with my library. It's even bigger than here. And messier." He squinted again, watching her. "And you could go to college."

Her breath came out in a long sigh.

"I thought you'd like that," Owen fretted.

"I do. It's everything I want. I'd love it. But ... I have Clay with me."

'tlay." He paused, his breathing quick and shallow. "Leni likes Clay; she'll find something for him. But you're what I want. Tough and hurting. Like I was once." A small chuckle came through his lips. "Like I still am sometimes. You'll do it?"

"Yes. Oh, yes. Thank you, I can't tell you . . . thank you."

His breathing slowed, barely stirring his mustache. He smiled at Laura, too weak for Uie grin he had given earlier. "Read to me now." He tilted his head slightly toward the win-dowsill, where Laura saw, amid a small jungle of flowers and green plants, his favorite collection of short stories. She brought it to the bedside. "What would you like?"

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"Something funny. With a happy ending."

She leaned over him and kissed him, holding her lips against his bristly cheek for a long moment. "I'll take care of you and you'll get well and strong. I promise. I love you."

Slowly, Owen raised his hand and rested it on her head. "Dear Laura. Lay here thinking—can't die yet; too many things to do. And Laura will help me." His eyes closed and his hand slipped back to the bed. "Read. I might sleep. You don't mind?"

Laura smiled, blinking back hot tears. "I don't mind."

"You'll be here, though. When I wake up."

"I'll always be here, as long as you want me," She bent her head and a tear splashed on the book in her lap. Carefully she wiped it away with her fingertip. "Thank you for caring about me," she whispered. And then she leafed through the book, looking for a happy ending.

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art II

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I

Chapter 6

AT eight in the morning the other courts were empty and the only sound in the huge, high-ceilinged room was the hollow bounce of the tennis ball in the long, steady volleys Laura and Allison played before one or the other scored a point. "Danm!" Allison exclaimed as her shot landed outside the baseline. "What was I thinking of when I taught you to play this game?"

"You were thinking youM improve me," said Laura. "And you did."

They played in concentrated silence, well matched, both of them hard, fast players; but it was Allison who finally scored the winning point by making a cross-court drop shot beyond Laura's reach. "Haven't lost it all," she said breathlessly, touching Laura's arm affectionately as they changed sides. "But I will if I don't watch it. I can't believe you never played until three years ago; are you sure that wasn't a put-on?"

"You know it wasn't; I never held a racket until you taught me. It's because I love it. Don't you always learn faster when you love something?"

"Probably. But you're a natural athlete, you know. I never saw anyone move the way you do, like a cat."

A shadow seemed to touch Laura's face, then it was gone. "I learned it all from you," she said smoothly. "One more game?"

Allison nodded and served, and from above, in the glass-

Judith Michael

walled restaurant overlooking the courts, Paul Janssen watched the fast play, admiring his cousin Allison but drawn again and again to watch Laura Fairchild, whom he hadn't seen in almost a year. That had been the summer before, when he'd come home for a week after traveling through the West with friends. It had been obvious then that she'd become a part of his family, but he had given her no more than passing attention. He remembered noticing that she was growing up: no longer the brusque, uncomfortable girl he'd met at the Cape, or the elusive one who kept to herself when she arrived in Boston, spending her time with Owen, or at Rosa's side in the kitchen, or at the university. But she was still rough-edged then; pretty, but self-conscious and withdrawn, with none of the beauty and confidence Paul Janssen required before he was attracted to a woman.

He was twenty-eight years old, and experts had told him he had a brilliant eye and a future as a great photographer if he concentrated on it. But he'd never stayed in any one place long enough to concentrate on anything or anyone. "You're young," his mother said. "You'll settle down when you're ready." "You'll regret these years," his great-uncle Owen said. 'They could be your most creative ones, and you're frittering them away." But his aunt Leni told him not to hurry: "It's better to go slowly and make no mistakes." His father said only, "You'll find your own way," frustrating Paul, who occasionally still looked to him for advice. And his uncle Felix snorted contemptuously, "He's spoiled"; and Paul, though he had no fondness for his cold, rigid uncle, in this case had to admit that Felix was probably right: he was spoiled by wealth. Earning money wasn't urgent, and so it was easier to drift, dabbling in photography and other agreeable pastimes and avoiding commitments, whether to a job or a woman or even to a particular country, as he wandered from one playground for the wealthy to another.

The trouble with that, and the reason he had come back to Boston, was that he was finding it harder to get absorbed in anything: after a while, casinos and clubs and chic restaurants all began to look alike. He was bored; he needed to figure out what to do next. Now, watching Laura, he felt his interest stir. He wondered at the change that had occurred in her, giving

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her poise and grace and a distinctive quality for which beautiful was too weak a word. Striking, he thought, and not easy to categorize. His artist's eye studied her slender face: her broad forehead and enormous long-lashed eyes, her high cheekbones with delicate shadows beneath, and her wide, expressive mouth, free of makeup, lips parted in the excitement of the game. Her thick chestnut hair was no longer tied back, though she had restrained it, for tennis, with a band around her forehead; still, the loose waves fell below her shoulders, and damp tendrils escaped the band, framing her flushed face, making it seem smaller and somehow vulnerable.

Yet there was toughness in the determined lift of her head, her powerful serve, and the muscles of her strong, lithe body uncoiling with explosive energy as she sprang across the court. Tough but delicate, Paul thought. Sultry but innocent— or, rather, untested; there was experience in that lovely face, though it was impossible to tell what kind without knowing her. His family told him she was cool but loving, private but grateful for affection, hot-tempered but quick to laugh. And watching her race across the court to scoop up and return a low-bouncing ball, he saw she was graceful but fiercely bent on winning. Of all the beautiful women waiting to hear from him in Europe and America, none, at the moment, intrigued him with so many contradictions.

He watched as Allison gained the advantage. Laura was pressing to tie the score when she returned a serve into the net. "Fuck it," she said, then swiftly looked on all sides to see if anyone was close enough to hear. Paul, reading her lips, laughed aloud. A gamine, he thought, and also very much a woman. He opened a nearby door and stepped out onto a balcony just above the court.

"Paul!" Allison called as the movement caught her eye. "When did you get here? Doesn't Laura play wonderfully? Would you like a game?"

He shook his head, trying to catch Laura's eye, but she had turned away and was putting a towel over her shoulders.

*Then come to a party," Allison said. "Tonight. Laura, do you mind if I invite Paul to your party?"

Laura said something Paul could not hear.

"Well, I know it's my party," Allison said, "but you're giv-

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ing it." She looked up at Paul. "Laura's throwing a gala in honor of my engagement to the most eminent Thad Wolcott the Third. I didn't know you'd be in town, so I didn't invite ■ you. But you will come, won't you?" '

Paul looked at Laura until, as if forced by his steady gaze, she raised her eyes and met his. They looked at each other across the space between them. "Yes," Paul said to Laura. 1 "I'd like very much to be there." g|

The guests arrived at seven, taking the small mahogany-paneled elevator to Laura's fourth-floor apartment in Owen's Beacon Hill town house. The windows were open to the soft June night, and the sounds of the party reached the quiet orderliness of Mount Vernon Street as old and new acquaintances mingled in small shifting clusters like jeweled fragments in a turning kaleidoscope. Piano music came from the stereo; Rosa's nephew Albert tended bar; her other nephew, Ferdy, took silver trays of hors d'oeuvres from the dumbwaiter on which Rosa sent them up from the kitchen, and carried them around to the guests. *The place looks terrific," Thad Wolcott said to Laura, his arm carelessly around her shoulder as he surveyed the living room. "You've transformed it."

"With Allison's help," Laura said, but her eyes were bright with pleasure in what she had done. For months she had worked on the three-room apartment to make it as softly glowing as a garden at sunrise. Oil and watercolor paintings by Nantucket artists hung on the walls; antique fire irons, restored with hours of rubbing, stood by the fireplace; and silk shantung drapes framed the high windows. Once she had longed for a room of her own; now she had three, more beautiful than any she had ever dreamed of, and she had made them truly hers.