Strange Bedfellow (3 page)

The tall and brawny white-haired man who entered smiled and returned the greeting. “Good morning, Mrs. Chandler.” Only Chet used her Christian name at the office, and then only when they were alone. “I just heard the news that you and Chet are getting married. Congratulations,” he offered predictably.
 

“Thank you,” she nodded for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning.
 

There was no silent, unasked question in the look he gave her. “I'm truly glad for you, Mrs. Chandler. I know there are some people here who think you're somehow being unfaithful to Blake's memory by marrying again. Personally, I think it speaks well of your marriage to him.”
 

“You do?” Her voice was briskly cool; she did not care for discussions about her private life, although her curiosity was rising by degrees as she tried to follow his logic.
 

“Yes—I mean, obviously your marriage to Blake was very satisfactory or you wouldn't want to enter the wedded state again,” he reasoned.
 

“I see.” Her smile was tight, lacking warmth. “Blake and I did have a good marriage.” Whether they did, she couldn't say. It had been too brief. “And I know Chet and I will, too.”
 

“When is the wedding?”
 

“We haven't set the date yet.”
 

“Be sure to send me an invitation.”
 

“We will.” Dina's hopes for a quiet wedding and no reception were fast dissipating under the rush of requests to attend. An elopement was beginning to look inviting.
 

“At least you won't have to concern yourself with the company after you're married,” Harry Landers observed with a benign smile.
 

“I beg your pardon?” Dina was instantly alert and on the defensive, no longer mouthing the polite words she had repeated all morning.
 

“After you're married, you can go back to being a simple housewife. Chet will make a good president,” he replied.
 

Why the accent on “simple,” Dina wondered bitterly. “My marriage to Chet will have no effect on the company. It will continue to be run jointly by both of us with myself as president,” she stated, not wanting to remember that the work had been done by Blake alone. Rigid with anger, she turned to the papers on her desk. “I don't see the monthly report from the Florida hotel. Has it come in?”
 

“I don't believe so.” Her abrupt change of subject warned the man he was treading on forbidden ground. His previous open expression became closed and officious.
 

“Frank Miller is the manager there, isn't he?”
 

“Yes.”
 

“Call him and find out where the report is. I want it on my desk by four this afternoon even if he has to telex it,” she ordered.
 

“I'll see to it right away, Mrs. Chandler.”
 

When the door closed behind him, Dina rose from the overstuffed cushion on her swivel office chair and walked to the window. Afterquakes of resentment were still trembling through her. Almost since Blake's disappearance, she had run the company with Chet's help; but her competence to fill the position still wasn't recognized by some of the executive officers.
 

It hadn't been by design but through necessity that she had taken over. When Blake disappeared over South America, the company had been like a ship without a rudder, without guidance or direction. It had operated smoothly for a while, then it began to flounder helplessly.
 

The key members of the executive staff, those who might have been competent enough to take over, had resigned to take positions with more solid companies, like rats deserting a sinking ship. That was when Dina had been forced to step in, by virtue of the Chandler name.
 

It hadn't been easy. The odds were stacked against her became she was young and a woman and totally ignorant of the machinations of the company, not to say limited in experience. Exerting her authority had been the most difficult part. Most of the staff were old enough to be her parents; and some, like Harry Landers, were old enough to be her grandparents.
 

Dina had learned the hard way, by trial and many errors. The worries, the fears that she had about Blake, she had to keep to herself. Very early she discovered that the men who offered her a shoulder to cry on were also insistently offering their beds.
 

More and more in those early days, she began turning to Chet for his unselfish and undemanding support. Not once did he make a single overture toward her, not until several months after Blake's death had been confirmed. She trusted him implicitly and he had never given her a reason to doubt him.
 

But Harry Landers had just put a question in her mind—one Dina didn't like facing, but there seemed to be no eluding it.
 

Shaking her head, Dina walked back to her desk. She picked up the telephone receiver and hesitated staring at the numbers on the dial. There was a quick knock on her office door, followed by the click of the latch as it was opened without waiting for her permission to enter. Replacing the receiver, Dina turned to the door as Chet appeared.
 

“You'll never guess what I just heard,” he whispered with exaggerated secrecy.
 

“What is it?” Dina grew tense.
 

“Chet Stanton is going to marry Mrs. Chandler.”
 

What she expected him to say, Dina had no idea. But at his answer she laughed with a mixture of amusement and relief, some of her tension fleeing.
 

“You've heard that rumor, too, have you?” she retorted.
 

“Are you kidding?” He grimaced in a boyish fashion that made her heart warm to him all the more. “I've been trying to get to my office since nine o'clock this morning and haven't made it yet. I keep getting stopped along the way.”
 

“As bad as that?” Dina smiled.
 

“The hallway is a veritable gauntlet.”
 

She knew the feeling. “We should have called everybody together this morning, made the announcement, then gone to work. It would have made a more productive morning.”
 

“Hindsight, my love,” he chided, walking over to kiss her lightly on the cheek.
 

“Yes,” Dina agreed. She removed her glasses and made a show of concentrating on them as she placed them on the desk top. “Now that everyone knows, they're all waiting for me to hand in my resignation and name you as the successor to the Chandler throne.” Without seeming to, she watched Chet's reaction closely.
 

“I hope you set them straight about that,” he replied without hesitation. “We make an excellent team. And there certainly isn't any reason to break up a winning combination in the company just because we're getting married.”
 

“That's what I thought,” she agreed.
 

Taking her by the shoulders, Chet turned her to face him, tipping his head to one side in an inquiring manner. “Have I told you this morning how beautiful you are?”
 

“No.” The edges of her mouth dimpled slightly as she answered him in the same serious tone that he had used. “But you can tell me now.”
 

“You're very beautiful, darling.”
 

With the slightest pressure, he drew her yielding shape to him. As his mouth lightly took possession of hers, the intercom buzzed. Dina moved out of his arms with a rueful smile of apology.
 

She pressed the button. “Yes, Amy?”
 

“Jacob Stone is on line one,” came the reply.
 

“Thank you.” Dina broke the connection and glanced at Chet with a resigned shrug of her shoulders.
 

“Jake Stone,” he repeated. “That's the Chandler family attorney, isn't it?”
 

“Yes,” she nodded, reaching for the telephone. “Probably some business to do with Blake's estate.”
 

“That's my cue for an exit.” And Chet started for the door.
 

“Dinner tonight at eight?” Dina questioned.
 

“Perfect,” he agreed with a wink.
 

“Call Mother Chandler and tell her I've invited you.” She picked up the telephone receiver, her finger hovering above the blinking button on line one.
 

“Consider it done.”
 

Dina watched him leave. Just for a few minutes, Harry Landers had made her suspect that Chet might be marrying her to elevate his position in the company. But his instant and casual rejection of the suggestion of becoming president had erased that. Her trust in him was once again complete.
 

She pushed the button. “Hello, Mr. Stone. Dina Chandler speaking.”
 

“Ah, Mrs. Chandler. How are you?” came the gravelly voice in answer.
 

“Just fine, thank you.”
 

Chapter Two

BY THE END of the week, the excitement generated by the news of their engagement had died down and work was able to settle into a routine again. The invisible pressure the news had evoked eased as well.
 

Yet on Saturday morning Dina wakened with the sun, unable to go back to sleep. Finally she stopped trying, arose and dressed in slacks and white blouse with a pullover sweater. The other members of the household, Blake's mother and their housekeeper, Deirdre, were still asleep.
 

Dina hurriedly tidied the room, unfolding the blue satin coverlet from the foot of the four-poster bed and smoothing it over the mattress. Deirdre was such a perfectionist that she would probably do it over again. Fluffing the satin pillow shams, Dina placed them at the head of the bed.
 

The clothes she had worn last night were lying on the blue and gold brocade cushion of the love seat. Dina hung them up in the large closet. The neck-scarf she folded and carried to its drawer.
 

Inside, the gilt edge of a picture frame gleamed amidst the lingerie and fashion accessories. It lay face down, concealing the photograph of Blake. Until Chet had given her an engagement ring, the picture had been on the bedside table, Now it was relegated to a dresser drawer, a photograph of the past that had nothing to do with the present. Dina closed the drawer and glanced around the room. Everything seemed to be in order.
 

After Blake's disappearance two and a half years ago, it had seemed senseless for both Dina and his mother to keep separate households, especially when the days began to stretch into weeks and months. In the end Dina had sublet the apartment she and Blake had in town to move to the suburbs with his mother.
 

She had thought it would ease her loneliness and provide an outlet for her inner fears, but it hadn't proved to be so. Dina had spent the bulk of her private time consoling Mother Chandler, as she called her mother-in-law, and had received little if any consolation in return.
 

Still, it was a suitable arrangement, a place to sleep and eat, with all the housekeeping and meals done by others. With most of her time and energy spent in keeping the company going, the arrangement had become a definite asset.
 

Now, as she tiptoed out of the house into the dawn, Dina wished for the privacy of her own home, where she could steal into the kitchen and fix an early morning breakfast without feeling she was invading someone else's turf. And Deirdre was jealously possessive about her kitchen.
 

Closing the door, she listened for the click of the lock. When she heard it, she turned to the steps leading to the driveway and the white Porsche parked there. Inside the house the telephone rang, loud in the silence of the pink morning.
 

Dina stopped and began rummaging through her oversize purse for the house key. It was seldom used since there was always someone to let her in. Before she found it, the phone had stopped ringing. She waited several seconds to see if it would start ringing again. Someone in the house must have answered it, Dina decided, or else the party must have decided to call later in the morning.
 

Skimming down the steps, she hurried to the Porsche, folding the top down before climbing in and starting the engine. With doughnuts and coffee in a Styrofoam container from a pastry shop, she drove through the quiet business streets.
 

There was a salty tang to the breeze ruffling her hair. Dina shook her head to let its cool fingers rake through the silken gold strands. Her blue eyes narrowed in decision as she turned the sports car away from the street that would take her to the office building and headed toward the solitude of an early morning ocean beach.
 

Sitting on a piece of driftwood, Dina watched the sun finish rising on Rhode Island Sound, the water shimmering and sparkling as the waves lapped the long strand of ocean beach. The city of Newport was located on the island of Rhode Island, from which the state derived its name.