Love Among the Walnuts (2 page)

Horatio's hands dropped from Bentley's lapels. "Oh, no. I never thought of that. Her career."

Just then the dressing-room door opened and Mousey came out, wrapped in a fake mink coat. "Here I am," she said with her little voice and big smile.

"Wonderful, Mousey, you look just wonderful," Horatio said, his eyes glazed with admiration. "My car's just outside." Without removing his gaze from Mousey, he said, "Bentley, take us someplace nice and come back in four hours." He held his arm out to Mousey, who solemnly took it. Bentley took his other arm and guided them both out the door.

Horatio and Mousey were settled at a corner table in the best restaurant in town, screened from the other diners by a leafy potted tree. The waiter had just poured their first glass of champagne.

Horatio raised his glass. "To your performance. I couldn't take my eyes off you." They sipped. Horatio leaned toward her. "What is the secret of joy?"

Mousey thought for a moment. "Doing what you like best."

"Of course," he said. "How simple. And how true." He hesitated. "And what you like best is acting?"

"I'm never happier than when I'm on a stage," she said, and looked sadly down into her champagne.

"What's wrong?" Horatio asked anxiously.

"This is probably the last play I'll ever be in."

"Why do you say that? Your performance was—" He couldn't think of a word good enough.

"Listen to me," she said. "My
voice.
Why do you think everybody calls me Mousey?"

"Well, can't you take voice lessons? You have such wonderful stage presence. You just need to learn to ... to project a little," he said tactfully.

"I've tried that. There's something wrong with my voice. I'll never be able to project past the second row. But I love the stage." Tears trembled on her thick lashes.

Horatio took her hand. "What about nonspeaking parts?" he asked tenderly.

"How many of those do you think there are? I'm tired of being a chorus girl and a spear carrier. This is the best part I've had in my whole career, and I'm not likely to find another one like it. I just have to face it. I'm finished." Two iridescent tears slid down her pearly cheeks. Horatio watched in fascination and pain.

"What if you had your own theater, one with only two rows, where you could do anything you want, and you wouldn't have to worry about projecting?"

"What kind of theater has only two rows? Who would come to a theater like that?"

"I would," he said. "It could be a theater in your own house."

"Don't be cruel," she said. "I live in a fourth-floor walk-up with a bathroom down the hall."

"I mean in
our
house."

"What?" Her tears hesitated momentarily.

"
Our
house," Horatio repeated. "Mousey, will you marry me?"

"You told me you were an honest and honorable and respectful man. I don't think it's very nice of you to make fun of me."

"I only lied to you once, when I told you my name was Homer Smith. Everything else is true, I swear it."

"Homer Smith, who
are
you?"

He took a deep breath. "My full name is Horatio Alger Huntington-Ackerman. I'm one of the ten richest men in the United States. And until I met you, I was one of the ten unhappiest."

"Horatio Alger Huntington-Ackerman? The chemist and business wizard who invented chemical-free Pensa-Cola, The Thinking Man's Drink? And Damitol, Asylum-Strength Pain Relief Without Side Effects? And Quiche-on-a-Stick? I don't believe you."

"It's true, Mousey. But you have no idea how unhappy all that success and money can make a person if there's no joy in his life, no one to have fun with. I know we can be happy together. I'll do anything in the world for you. Please say you'll marry me."

"No." She was gentle but firm.

"Why not?"

"Because you'd think I was marrying you only for your money and you'd never believe that I really loved you and after a while it would make you sour. I wouldn't marry you unless you were sure I loved you."

"How can I be sure? How can one ever be sure?"

"I could sign something that said I'd never ask for any money from you if we weren't happy together and decided to part."

"Oh, Mousey.
You
are honest and honorable and respectful. All right. Now will you marry me?"

"Yes," Mousey said. Her smile was so dazzling as she looked into Horatio's enraptured face that people dining in the restaurant turned around to see where the light was coming from.

A month later—a month during which Horatio had a two-row theater constructed in his town house—he and Mousey were married in a small ceremony in the garden. The only guests were Bentley and Flossie; Bart and Bernie; and Fleur, Poodles, and Fifi.

Bart and Bernie were furious. Until Horatio married, they were his direct heirs and had always been hopeful that he would work himself into an early grave and spare them the trouble of ever having to earn an honest living. Now that he was married, Mousey and any children they might have would be his heirs. Bart and Bernie wore black to the wedding and glowered and grumbled so much that not even Fleur, Poodles, and Fifi—who knew how to have a good time better than most people—could erase their scowls.

Flossie caught the bouquet and looked at Bentley with misty, sentimental eyes, which made him nervous. With Horatio
and
Mousey to take care of now, he was much too busy to get married, even if the two of them did make marriage seem like a more romantic arrangement than he'd previously believed it to be.

Horatio and Mousey, absorbed totally in each other, noticed nothing except what an excellent day it was to be getting married. The hour before the ceremony, Mousey met with Horatio and his attorneys in the library to sign the papers saying she wanted none of Horatio's money. Instead, Horatio announced to her that because she had proven she loved him by being willing to renounce all his millions, he had decided it was unnecessary for her to sign the papers and everything that was his was now hers, as well.

Mousey wept happy tears before going to change into her wedding dress: white silk trimmed with satin ribbons and rosebuds.

Horatio gave her a fake ermine coat as a wedding present.

For a year Mousey and Horatio lived blissfully in the town house. Their dutiful monthly dinners with Bart and Bernie cast only a fleeting shadow on their happiness. Mousey put on plays, which Horatio and Bentley and Flossie attended. Mousey and Horatio read together in the library. They played long hours of Monopoly, pinochle, hearts, and pool. They found a white kitten in the alley behind the town house and adopted him. They named him Louie and fattened him up on sardines and cream and taught him tricks. He was best at lying down, playing dead, and pretending to be deaf.

One morning Mousey and Horatio sat eating their breakfast at the long polished table in the dining room. They were both sleepy. The burglar alarm had gone off in the town house the night before for the second time in two weeks, scaring them awake. No burglars had been found, but it was disturbing nonetheless.

"Mousey, darling," Horatio said. "I've been thinking. Living in the city isn't nearly what it used to be. It's noisy and dirty and dangerous, and we both prefer to stay home and be with each other instead of going out. My business can be run from anywhere, as long as I have a telephone, a computer, and a fax machine. Why don't we move to the country? We could have a pool and a tennis court and fresh air and sunshine."

Mousey smiled. "I've been thinking that would be a good thing, too," she said in her little voice. "The country is a much nicer place to raise a child."

"But we don't have a child."

"In seven months we will." Mousey smiled her incandescent smile.

Horatio stood up so suddenly his chair fell over backward. Tears of joy filmed his eyes as he gathered Mousey into his arms.

The next morning Horatio and Mousey began their search for the perfect country house.

It turned out to be far harder than they'd thought it would be. The houses that were big enough were ugly. The ones that were pretty enough were too small. And those that were just right weren't for sale.

After weeks of fruitless searching, Horatio said to Mousey, "I've decided that if we're going to get what we want, we'll have to build our own house. So let's look for the perfect
land
instead of the perfect house."

The very next day they found exactly what they were looking for. At the side of a winding country road, forty miles from the little village of Jupiter, stood a battered old sign that said 33
ACRES FOR SALE, CHEAP.
Underneath was a phone number.

Bentley parked the car, and the three of them got out and walked around the property. There were large oak trees spreading their branches over perfect picnic spots. A little brook shimmered between mossy banks, chuckling over the rocks in the streambed. Wildflowers dotted the sunny green acres, and anthems of birdsong filled the air.

Mousey clapped her hands and cried, "It's perfect. I can almost see our house up on that knoll."

"Me, too," Horatio said, and they piled back into the car and drove as fast as they could until they found a phone booth, from which Horatio called the number on the sign. The real estate agent agreed to meet them at the sign in thirty minutes.

"He said it's been for sale a long time," Horatio told Mousey and Bentley as they drove back the way they'd come. "I can't understand why. The price is very reasonable and the place has a perfect building site."

"Maybe because it's so isolated," Mousey suggested. "It
is
forty miles from a grocery store." Because of the life she'd led before she met Horatio, Mousey was much more practical than, he.

"Perhaps," Horatio agreed, looking fondly at her and thinking how clever she was.

Before long an old blue car with a dented front fender drove up. A man in a yellow suit and matching shoes got out. He looked first at the Daimler, then at Mousey, and then at Bentley. By the time he focused on Horatio, he was rubbing his hands together.

"My name is Sid Skeet and I'd like to congratulate you folks on your shrewdness. This is the finest parcel of land in three counties. It's buildable, has water, and access by road. The taxes are low, and did you ever breathe such air?"

"How come it's so cheap?" Mousey asked.

Sid Skeet's eyes narrowed. "Shrewder than I thought," he muttered. "This land is owned by Federated Conglomerates. I guess they don't need the money," he said.

"I know all about Federated Conglomerates," Horatio said. "They've never sold anything at a bargain price in their entire corporate history. What's wrong with this land?"

"Well," Skeet said reluctantly, "it's not the land. It's the neighbors. They make some people nervous."

"What neighbors?" Mousey asked.

"Walnut Manor, down the way about a mile," Skeet said. "You can't see it from the road—there are too many trees—but it adjoins this property. Personally, I don't think there's a thing to be concerned about."

"What's Walnut Manor?" Horatio asked.

"Well, it's a looney bin," Sid Skeet said. "Bur they take only the finest, highest-class wackos. It's too expensive for your lower-class goofballs."

"'Goofballs'?" Mousey asked with a quaver in her little voice. "'Wackos'?"

"Tell you what," Sid Skeet said. "If you're really interested in this property, I'll take you over to Walnut Manor and introduce you to Dr. Waldemar. He can show you around, show you what kind of security they have, and all that. It'll set your mind at ease, I can promise you. This is a beautiful piece of land, and I hate to have you nice folks get discouraged about it. Come on, get in your car and follow me. On second thought, why don't I just come along in your car? I've never been in one of these babies."

Before Horatio or Mousey could utter a word of protest, Sid Skeet slid into the backseat, ran his hands over the pecan-burl paneling, the leather seats, the silver bud vases, and twiddled the controls of the sound system. Bentley got stiffly into the driver's seat. Even the back of his neck looked huffy.

Horatio looked at Mousey. They shrugged at each other and joined Sid Skeet in the backseat.

The long curving driveway to Walnut Manor, lined with walnut trees, was impressive. The building itself was equally stately: large, white, pillared, with wings extending out on either side. The driveway continued past the main building to a cluster of smaller white cottages, a large garage, and a stable.

"Behind the building there's a swimming pool and some shuffleboard courts," Skeet said. "The staff lives in those cottages. It's too far to town for them to come and go every day. I promise you, this is where I want to be if I ever go round the bend. But I'd never be able to afford it. Not unless I sell that Fed—" He stopped abruptly. Then, tapping Bentley on the shoulder, he said, "You can park over there." Bentley glided the Daimler into a parking space. "Once you've seen Walnut Acres, maybe I can interest you in the property on the other side of it, too. What do you say?"

"Sorry," Horatio said. "We're only interested in building one house."

Sid Skeet, Mousey, and Horatio entered Walnut Manor. Bentley waited outside.

The first person they encountered in the sumptuous paneled entry hall was a short woman, dressed in a flowered shift pulled down over gray sweatpants. Her outfit was accented by black high-top basketball shoes and a Pensa-Cola baseball cap. She held a bathroom plunger in her hand, and a cigarette dangled from the corner of her mouth.

"Yeah?" she said, looking fiercely at them. Mousey shrank against Horatio and clutched his arm.

Sid Skeet forged ahead. "Where's Dr. Waldemar?" he asked.

The woman turned around, stalked to a heavy paneled door with a brass sign saying
OFFICE
, opened it, and shouted inside, "Hey, Doc, there're some people out here with Sid Skeet. They look like they can afford the place." She slammed the door, slung the plunger over her shoulder, and headed off down the hall, trailing ashes.