Inheritance (6 page)

She laughed. "They blast everybody's ears. They make little people feel big because you can't ignore them. And it's even better if you hate the noise, because then they've really made you notice them and they feel important. More real."

He looked at her sharply. "You're very perceptive."

She shrugged. "You have to be on top of what's happening around you or you don't make it."

A child of the streets, he thought. No wonder the beach makes her feel odd. "Where do you live?" he asked.

"In Centerville."

"And when the summer ends?"

She hesitated. "New York."

"New York is your home?"

She nodded and in the silence she drew a circle in the sand with her finger, and another circle inside that. Could she talk about herself? She never had, except with Cal, and now he was dead and his bookstore was closed. But why not? she thought. The old man was a stranger; she loved his smile and the way he paid attention to her; and she was longing to talk to

Judith Michael

someone. "Fve always lived there; I never went nowhere— anywhere—until we came here. For the summer. I like the crowds, and the buildings, all piled against each other, and everything has a beginning and an ending so you always know where you are, and you can find your way where you're going." She paused. "It seems awfully far away."

"And do you feel lost when you're here?" the old man asked.

"I never feel lost," she said strongly. "Just not always sure how ril get where I want to go. But FU get there, and I won't let nobody—anybody—stop me."

The old man stared into the distance, smiling faintly. "I said that, too, when I was young. And I was lucky; nobody stopped me." They looked at the waves. "What else do you like about New York?"

"The noise," Laura replied promptly. "It never stops, you know, even if you close all the windows. Even then the noise comes in, and it's nice because you're always part of it."

"You mean the noise there swallows you up as much as the silence here," he said, watching the changing expressions on her face.

It had never occurred to her. She narrowed h^ eyes as she diought about the city and the beach in a new way, and then she laughed. "I like that. I love new ideas. I had a Mend once, named Cal—you remind me of him—and he did that: told me new ways of looking at things. He owned a bookstore in the East ViUage, in New York—used books—and he*d let me sit near his desk in the back and read dusty old books fiill of wonderful new ideas. I loved him a lot."

Ife noted the wistfulness in her voice. "I once spent a lot of time in used bookstores," he said reflectively. "Then I got too busy earning a living. Lately I've rediscovered them. Old books and new ideas. That's nicely put. Are you in school in New Yoik? Where do you live?'*

"I'm starting at the university in die fall,** Laura lied swiftly. "And livmg m the donnitoiy.**

He gazed at her. He knows I've lied. Its not definite; I can't go unless Ben helps me. And even ffl do go, I'll still live with him and Clay; I can't afford a dormitory. He knows I'm lying and now he won't like me anymore.

Inheritance

"I went to a university for two years," the old man said. **Then I left and started my own company. I made a great deal of money but I always disliked it when people asked me about college, because I didn't have a success to talk about. Perhaps when you graduate and have a success to talk about you won't mind questions."

"Thank you," Laura said in a low voice. Reluctantly, she stood up. "I'll be late for work if I don't go."

He nodded and stood with her. "If you come this way tomorrow, we can talk some more. I'll be right here, swallowed up in my thoughts."

"If I can," Laura said, though she knew she wouldn't. Ben wouldn't like her talking about herself so much and she knew it really wasn't smart. But it isn't fair that I can't make friends with Allison or this nice old man, or anybody else around here who's nice. She picked up her bicycle. "Good-bye," she said, and wondered if it sounded like she meant it for good.

He held out his hand. "I hope you come back."

Awkwardly, Laura touched lus hand, not shaking it but brushing his palm with hers. Then, as she put her hands on her handlebars, he kissed her forehead. "I hope I haven't made you late."

He was smiling at her in that personal way and Laura became angry. Why did he have to be so nice? "Good-bye," she said loudly and pushed off, struggling to keep the bicycle straight in the shifting sand. She wished she were smoother about getting along with people. It was like collecting shells: something she'd never had a chance to practice. To make up for her abruptness, she turned to wave good-bye. He was watching her, holding up his hand. It was a farewell wave but it was also like a benediction.

All day, working in the kitchen, she carried the memory of the old man's private smile and the way he had raised his hand, palm toward her, as she walked away. She wished she could see him again but she couldn't; one of these days she and Clay and Ben would do the job and then they'd be back in the city, together again. Her two brothers, her family.

"Laura, stop dreaming," Rosa said. "I'm asking you to work tonight. Is it yes or no?"

"Yes," Laura said.

Judith Michael

"We might be here late."

She shrugged. It was better to work in Rosa's bright, warm kitchen than sit in a tiny room over a garage and watch Clay make endless schedules of guards and watchdogs to impress Ben.

"A real lady doesn't shrug her shoulders, my young miss."

Laura started to shrug, then she caught herself and put her head back, standing straight. She'd never heard that ladies didn't shrug. But Rosa would know. Rosa knew all about ladies.

"—home from Europe," Rosa was saying. "And Mr. Owen is back from Canada, and Alhson from Maine. The whole family will be together for the first time this summer. Twenty-four, at last count."

"Who's home from Europe?" Laura said, thinking that all the houses would be full now and maybe Ben had lost his best chance. She should have told him about the empty houses. But she hadn't told him or Clay most of the things Rosa told her about the Salingers. After she'd told them about the jewels in the closet and the alarm, she'd felt so awful she stopped telling them things. It wasn't important, anyway; they didn't have to know Rosa's Httle stories about— "What?" she asked. "I'm sorry, Rosa; I didn't hear you."

"I said for the third time, my dreaming miss, that Paul and his parents are back from Europe. You really ought to show a little more interest in this family, Laura. You'U never be a success at any job unless you're interested in everything about it."

"You're right," Laura murmured and went on rolling pastry and wondering what it would be like to be part of a family of twenty-four people. It isn't size that counts, she told herself. It's being loved and cared for and having a place to go when you're afraid of being alone.

But still, that evening, listening to the rising tide of conversation as the Salingers came into the dining room from the ocean-facing front porch where they'd had drinks, she wished again she belonged to so many people. From the many voices she made out Leni's and Felix's—^"he sounds like a fingernail on a blackboard," Clay had said after meeting him—and she heard Allison's cool laugh. Finally, when the cold soup had

Inheritance

been served, and Rosa sent her to the pantry for extra platters for the roasted game hens, she couldn't resist stopping on the way to inch open the swinging door and take a quick look into the dining room.

Her stomach contracted. The old man from the beach was sitting at the head of the table, his head bent courteously as he listened to Felix, on his left. She felt faint with fear. Owen Salinger. Who else could it be? The head of the family at the head of the table. Mr. Owen is back from Canada. Rosa had said that this morning. And Laura Fairchild, her tongue running like water from an open faucet, had talked to hmi about herself as if he were a friend, not part of a family they were planning to rob. Frantically thinking back, she didn't think she'd given anything away, but that wasn't the point. Ben's first rule had been that no one in the Salinger family could know anything about them, and not only had she violated that rule, she'd picked the head of the family to do it with, the one all the others would listen to if he had suspicions atK>ut her. Stupid. Unprofessional. What was it about these people that caused her to let down her guard? What would Ben say when he found out?

"Uurar' Rosa called. *The plattersT'

Rapidly, Laura's gaze swept the table and she filed each face in her memory. Her swift glance stopped when she found herself looking directly into the eyes of a young man seated next to Allison. His eyes were almost black beneath straight brows; his face was thin with a long, narrow nose above a wide mouth and quick smile, and he brushed his thick dark hair back from his forehead with an impatient hand. He was young and handsome, with the piercing gaze of Leni and the barely disguised arrogance of Allison, and he was looking at Laura with amusement and a faint curiosity that inftiriated her. Backing away, she let the door swing shut, grabbed three platters from the shelf, and marched into the kitchen.

"What's got into you?" Rosa asked.

"Nothing." Laura concentrated on arranging the platters on the counter. "I had trouble finding the platters.'*

"My eye," Rosa said amiably. "You put them away two days ago after we used them for lunch. All these moods you've got. . . But it's not my business; you'll find I'm very

Judith Michael

big on letting people woric out their own demons. But you'll have to forget yours for a while; we have work to do." She looked up sharply. "Mr. Owen! Do you need something? Is something wrong?"

"Look on the happy side, Rosa," Owen Salinger said with a grin, more lighthearted than Laura remembered him. "Maybe I came to tell you everything is perfect."

"Well, I should hope— " She saw Owen looking at Laura. **This is my assistant. Laura Fairchild, Mr. Owen Salinger."

Owen held out his hand. "Welcome, Miss Fairchild." Meeting his eyes, Laura saw that he was inviting her to play a game, and she felt the same rush of gratitude she had felt earlier when he'd tried to put her at her ease. "Have you met our family?" he asked as she put her hand in his. **Or has our strict Rosa kept you too busy? Perhaps she'll spare you one of diese days so you can be introduced to everyone."

Laura flushed deeply. He had seen her spying on them and was making fun of her. She worked her hand free of his. "I'd rather stay with Rosa."

"Laura!" Rosa frowned in disapproval. She couldn't understand what Owen was thinking of—when had he ever introduced temporary help to the family?—but no one in her kitchen was going to be rude to Mr. Owen Salinger if she had anything to say about it. "You owe Mr. Salinger an apology for your rude behavior. You should be grateful."

"I'm sorry," Laura said to Owen. "But I've seen your family." She heard her voice waver.

"But you haven't been properly introduced. Rosa, can you spare Laura for a few hours one of these days?"

He and Rosa discussed days and times while Laura silently repeated Owen's words. Properly introduced. Maybe he hadn't been making fim of her, maybe he knew she'd felt like an outsider when she peered at his family and he wanted to make her feel better about herself.

**Next week?" Owen was asking her cointeously.

I'll do it for Ben, she thought. To leam more about the family. *Thank you," she said. Td like to meet everyone. Property."

"Very good." He turned to go. "Oh, by tiie way," he said casually to Rosa, "I'm reorganizing my library and I could use

Inheritance

some help. Do you know anyone who wants to woik eight to ten hours a week, shelving and cataloguing? Someone who loves old books and new ideas." Laura looked sharply at him. What was he up to? "Hard work, good pay," he went on, smiling at Laura.

Rosa pursed her lips. *There*s always people looking for work. But. . . books? FU have to give it some thought."

**rd like to do it," Laura said in a rush. 'Td like to try, anyway. I know about books."

Owen's smile broadened. "A good idea. A very good idea. We*U start tomorrow, shall we? Two to four every afternoon."

**Mr. Owen ..." Rosa began. She was distinctly uncomfortable. "Are you sure— 1 1 mean to say, Laura learns fast and remembers everything you tell her, and she's nimble as a cat, but she sometimes—^I don't mean to criticize her; I'm fond of her—but she is very big into saying she's done a thing when I'm not at all sure she's really . . . done it."

"I do know books," Laura said quickly. "I've been in bookstores a lot—in one bookstore, anyway—and sometimes I helped catalogue. I really do know books!"

"I believe you," Owen said, smiling again at the fierce determination that reminded him of his own when he was about her age and starting to make his own way. He had seen it on the b^h that morning; together with her wariness it was what had most attracted him. But this evening, she had touched his heart, as well, when he looked up from his talk with Felix and saw her looking at the family. He had had only a glimpse of her slender face and enormous, longing eyes as the pantry door swung shut, but it was enough: as wild as she seemed, she was hungrier for love than anyone he had ever known and it was that vulnerability that sent him looking for her.

Someone new, he thought. We don't see new people often enough. The same faces at parties, the same circle of friends, whether we're in Boston or the Cape or New York. Even the same conversations. I can use something new to think about, someone to help. And why not help someone who reminds me of myself, so long ago?

**We'll try it," he said firmly to Rosa. *l'm sure you can spare Laura from two to four every afternoon; if she has to stay later at night, I'll pay her overtime." He gave neither

Judith Michael

Rosa nor Laura time to respond. "We'll start tomorrow. And/* he added to Laura, 'Tm uncomfortable with uniforms. Can you bring something casual to wear in my dusty library?**

Laura avoided Rosa's eyes. Rosa loved uniforms and had told her to wear hers whenever she was on the Salinger grounds. "Yes,** she said. And the next day, promptly at two, when she knocked on the door leading from Felix and Leni*s long gallery to Owen's house, she wore blue jeans and a pink cotton shirt, scuffed loafers, and a pink ribbon tying her hair in a ponytail.