Someone in the House (28 page)

“My darling girl, I don’t want to scream at you. I was worried, that’s all. It was a damned risky thing to do.”

“According to you, the apparition was only a cheap trick,” Bea said. “What was the risk in that? Not that I agree,” she added.

“You had to be there,” I said vaguely.

“All right,” Roger said, cultivating self-control with such effort that the veins on his forehead bulged. “Let’s hear your version, Anne.”

So I obliged; but I was sufficiently annoyed with his masterful manner to conclude with an analysis that anticipated his objections.

“It could have been faked—paint on some flimsy, transparent substance, or even a film projection. I noticed a distinct drop in temperature.” Roger’s lips parted, and I hastened to add, “But shock and fear can make people feel colder, can’t they? I was certainly frightened, but there was no aura of frightfulness about the apparition itself.”

“Quite the opposite,” Bea said in a low voice. “It was gentle and troubled.”

“A totally subjective reaction,” Roger said.

I threw up my hands. “Every damned reaction is subjective, Roger. We haven’t got a thing, except a few fuzzy snapshots, that could be regarded as objective. Unless you got something last night?”

Roger shook his head. “In deference to your theory I strung trip threads across the top of the stairs when I came up, high enough to avoid the animals. They were unbroken this morning. The tape recorder I set up on the balcony outside Kevin’s former room got nothing. There is a door into the tower, on the ground level, but I checked it, and if it has been opened in the last twenty years I’ll retire from the ghost-hunting business. The hinges are rusted solid and the cracks are stuffed with dust. If something got to Kevin last night—”

“Nothing got to Kevin last night,” I said. I thought for a minute. “At least, nothing you need to know about.”

Bea flushed. She might have been shocked. I hoped she was ashamed, remembering the sleeping pills.

“It would have saved me some effort if you had condescended to tell me you planned to spend the night with Kevin,” Roger said irritably. “All that time I spent stringing threads—”

“I didn’t plan to.”

“Well, in the future kindly let me know.”

“I’ll be damned if I will. I’m not mounting a rescue expedition, Roger.”

“You ought to. If—”

“Roger.” Bea’s voice was very quiet, but it shut Roger up. The look he gave me promised I hadn’t heard the last of the subject, though.

“What would you like for breakfast, Anne?” Bea asked. “You need something more solid than coffee, after—” Then she blushed again as she realized that her reference could be misinterpreted—and probably would be, by Roger. Her expression was so sheepish I had a hard time holding my anger. Hadn’t Roger said, in reference to Father Stephen, that he was sound on all subjects save one? Bea was sound too, until her religious beliefs got mixed up with her emotions. Nobody is perfect.

But I refused her offer of breakfast, saying I wanted to get some work done that morning. There was no future in sitting around listening to the two of them bicker; we were still where we had been all along, entwined in nets of conflicting belief, with nothing solid to stand on. My main reason for escaping, however, was that I wasn’t ready to face Kevin, especially in the presence of those two. I was shy. It sounds ridiculous, but it’s true.

So I had my desk and a pile of books as a barricade when he came into, the library. We stared at one another. Then Kevin said, “’Morning.”

“Good morning.”

“Nice day.”

“It rained last night,” I said.

“Did it?”

The corners of my mouth started to twitch. We both laughed.

“I didn’t dream it, then,” Kevin said. He added hastily, “That’s a stupid thing to say. I just mean…it was an outstanding dream.”

I didn’t mind. It was a personal tribute to me that I had managed to keep him awake as long as I had. Bea must have given him a handful of those damned pills. Before and after he had slept as if hit over the head with a hammer.

“It was outstanding for me too,” I said.

“I’m glad. I don’t seem to remember much about it.” Kevin slapped his forehead. “Wow. I am really not at my best this morning.”

“You’re doing all right. Feel like getting some work done?”

Kevin slumped into a chair. He took my hand and ran his fingernail lightly down the back of it, tracing the lines of the tendons. “I’d rather review last night. Maybe we ought to practice it again, to make sure I got it right the first time.”

“Show-off.”

“The trouble is…” Kevin glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “I feel as if I’m living in a commune. How long is Roger going to hang around?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“I don’t want Aunt Bea to think her friends aren’t welcome.”

“You don’t like him, do you?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Kevin continued to stroke my hand. “There’s something about him. I guess he’s not my type.”

“I hope not.”

Kevin grinned. “Want to go out someplace tonight? A drive-in movie, maybe, or…Oh, hell, I forgot. I’m supposed to go to some stupid dinner theater with that stupid blonde.”

I tried not to look smug, but I probably did not succeed. Kevin said, “I’ll get out of it. Tell her I’ve got the plague or something.”

“You can’t do that at the last minute. It would be rude. Besides, she’s liable to rush over here bearing flowers and chicken soup.”

“She might at that. Oh, hell. What am I going to do?”

“Go, of course.”

“You don’t mind?”

I only hesitated for a second. “Of course I mind. I’d like to scratch her eyes out. I’d like to choke her with her own ruffled panties. I’d like—”

“This?” His long hard fingers curved around the back of my head and pulled my face to meet his.

If Roger had been three seconds later, I wouldn’t have been aware of his arrival. As it was, I had time to slide back in my chair and pick up a book before he walked in. Roger’s matter-of-fact acceptance of Kevin’s and my new relationship was easier to take than Bea’s embarrassment, but I was in no mood for wisecracks or knowing looks.

“Oh, there you are, Kevin,” Roger said briskly. “Do you mind if I look through those cupboards upstairs, at the end of the gallery? You could give me a hand if you have nothing better to do.”

“We’re trying to work,” I said.

“Oh, sorry. Go right ahead; I won’t make any noise.”

Whereupon he proceeded to thunder up the iron staircase. Kevin grimaced at me. “Later?” he muttered.

“Later.” I knew what was bugging him, and it wasn’t the irresistible lure of my beautiful self. Poor boy, he really had been zonked out the night before; he had a vague feeling that perhaps his performance had been substandard, and he was anxious to show me what he could do when he was up to par. I was a little curious myself.

We worked conscientiously and sedately for the rest of the morning, and there was pleasure in that, too, for our minds fit together as excellently as our bodies had. There was a constant background noise from Roger up above—a series of bumps and rustles, enlivened by an occasional crash and a vehement “Damn!” when Roger dropped something. Then Bea called us to lunch, and afterward Kevin suggested a swim. Roger said that was a great idea. He went upstairs to change, and Kevin made a series of hideous faces at me behind Bea’s back.

“You were the one who told him he needed exercise,” I pointed out.

He didn’t have much stamina, though; it was not long before he retired, announcing loudly that he had lots of work to do in the library. I need not say that neither of us responded to the hint. We spent the next few hours in one of the most romantic spots I’ve ever seen—certainly it was the most romantic spot in which I have ever been made love to. (Churchill was right; when you have something important to say, don’t worry about prepositions.) It was a little glade in a remote part of the grounds, with weeping-willow and cherry trees curtaining a tiny artificial pool. The shaded ground was carpeted with thick green moss, and the sifted sunlight quivered like quicksilver. The naked marble nymph in the pool might have been the innocent Eve of that little paradise. That afternoon was the best, the high point. Sometimes I think it is a mistake to achieve perfection. Everything else is necessarily an anticlimax.

We went back to the house hand in hand. It was like walking from sunlight into evening; all the petty worries and concerns of ordinary living piled up on my shoulders. I actually caught myself wondering what Bea would say. She had once hinted that she wouldn’t mind having me as a niece-in-law, but she might not approve of this development.

We had whiled away more hours in dalliance than we had supposed. By tacit consent we entered the house through the courtyard, avoiding the kitchen where Bea was likely to be found. In the library, being entertained by Roger, was Debbie. Her shining waterfall of golden hair rippled as she turned to greet us.

“Good God,” Kevin exclaimed. “Is it that late?”

“I’m a little early,” Debbie said. Her eyes were furious, but her face and voice were sweetly apologetic.

“I’ll be ready in ten minutes,” Kevin promised. “Have a drink—think up names to call me—I’ll be right back.”

He crossed the room at a run, moving lightly. Debbie’s eyes followed him. You could see she couldn’t help herself. I felt a twinge of unwilling sympathy. But I felt awkward, too; I suspected that the back of my shirt was stained green.

“Want something to drink, Annie?” Roger asked.

“I’ve got to change. Nice to have seen you, Debbie. Have a fun evening.”

I can be sweet and conventional too—when I’m winning.

Kevin was occupying the bathroom on our corridor, so I went down the hall and bathed in the Roman sarcophagus. I took my time. I wanted them to be gone when I came down. I don’t really enjoy sadism.

I had, believe it or not, forgotten what was planned for that evening. When I found Bea setting the table in the small dining room, using delicate china and crystal that rang when she touched it, I started to ask why we weren’t eating in the kitchen as usual.

“Give me a hand, will you, Anne?” she said, without looking at me. “Father Stephen will be here soon. We’re running a little late.”

I don’t think she meant the last sentence as a reproach. But she was stiff and ill at ease. I fetched the silver she wanted from a little mahogany chest, and folded damask napkins. When the table was done to her satisfaction, I asked if I could help in the kitchen.

“It’s all done,” Bea said, with that same hint of underlying criticism. “You run along. You might answer the door when he rings; we’re having cocktails in the courtyard.”

I looked back as I left the room. She was unfolding the napkins I had fixed and doing them again.

Father Stephen had already arrived. Roger had let him in and taken him to the library. I found them deep in one of their friendly arguments, with Roger waving documents at his adversary.

“I tell you, we are missing some vital papers,” he insisted. “I found a footnote in the Mandeville genealogy mentioning material that concerned the early history of the house. The pompous ass didn’t use it; he was only interested in his own smug, stupid family. But it must be somewhere here.”

“Keep still for a minute, Roger,” Father Stephen interrupted. “I want to say hello to Anne. You look very nice this evening, my dear. Not that you don’t always look nice.”

We were still exchanging compliments when Bea came in. Another round of civilities followed, and Bea herded us out to the courtyard. Belle was already there, sprawled on her side in a patch of sunlight. She opened an interested eye when Bea brought out a tray of cheese.

“How she can lie in that hot sun I don’t know,” Bea said, with the air of one determinedly making polite conversation.

Father Stephen smiled at the old dog as she ambled toward him, her tail wagging. “Old people and animals appreciate warmth. She probably has arthritis. Do you mind?” He held up a piece of cheese.

“Everyone slips her snacks,” I said. “Even Roger.”

“I resent the implication,” Roger said. “I like dogs. Shows what a nice fellow I am. Is that enough small talk, Bea? We had better get down to business, or we won’t finish before Kevin gets back. I suppose he’ll be home early, won’t he, Anne?”

“He didn’t say.”