To love and to honor (3 page)

"He'll never know what a charmer he lost, will he, gal?" she queried aloud and wrinkled her nose in self-derision at the looking-glass girl. "Hal Harding appreciates you, lady."

Her eyes shadowed, her smile vanished. Hal was terribly likable, but he was making life difficult. He had waylaid her in the village this morning to tell her that he was planning a gala outdoor roast at his place, on the day her annulment was granted, to celebrate her freedom. Darn. Everyone in town had known of what they called "the proxy marriage," now talk of the annulment was crowding the air waves.

"I don't want a celebration," she protested under her breath as she went slowly down the stairs. "It's a poisonous idea to make whoopee over a broken marriage, even if it's only a written contract like mine. I won't stand for it."

Seth Armstrong rose and came forward with pudgy hand outstretched in greeting when she entered the patio. He was neither so short, bald nor stout as she had imagined him from Sary's description. A little bouncy, but nice manners. A boutonniere of deep blue bachelor buttons adorned the lapel of his expertly tailored gray sports coat, his white trousers were immaculate and creased to perfection, his eyes were pale, but keen, his voice was a trifle unctuous, the waxen whiteness of his plump hands was accentuated by a huge sardonyx ring. The big seal on the bracelet man's finger had seemed to belong; for some remote reason that on Armstrong's

seemed out of character. Not especially attractive, but trustworthy, she decided.

"At last we meet, Mrs. Stewart, It is a pleasure I have long anticipated. I haven't seen you since you were little Cindy CHnton."

Mrs. Stewart. It was a shock to hear the name again. Since her return to The Castle two months ago she had been Cindy Clinton to neighbors and friends.

"Thank you, Mr. Armstrong. I am afraid I have given you a lot of trouble by asking you to come here, but I am eager to get this annulment business behind me. I hope you drink tea?"

She seated herself at the glass-top table which held the antique Sheffield tray with its equipment of silver and Lowestoft and the hot-water kettle spouting pearly steam. He drew a chair beside her. She wondered if his thoughts were as large and smooth as his white hands.

"Certainly I drink tea." He had a curious habit of inflating and deflating his cheeks before speaking. "My secretary serves it for me in my New York office each afternoon at four. Lovely place you have made of this spot between the two slanting ells,"

Cindy's eyes followed his as they traveled round the enclosure, open on the fourth side to a superb view of the ocean. A velvety lawn was broken in the center by a small pool carpeted by green pads and pink and white lilies between which flashed an occasional streak of gold. The spray from a small fountain shot up into the sunshine, glittered like yellow diamonds before it dropped back. Beyond that a putting green extended almost to the shore.

Against the gray stone walls of the house, perennials put on a flower show of gorgeous color; humming birds poised above red and pink hollyhocks; a bee reeled drunkenly from out the depths of a mammoth regal lily; a great yellow moth fanned black-streaked wings on the tall, light-blue spike of a second-blossoming larkspur beside a rosy clump of phlox; a cloud of small yellow butterflies hovered above the orange king and lemon queen calendulas. On a window ledge a cat, black as the wings of a dragonfly hovering above a clump of tawny

zinnias below her, regarded with blank topaz eyes a robin cautiously bathing in the shallows of the pool. Green chintz on white wicker chairs matched the lawn in shade. A light salty breeze shook fragrance from the flowers and spicy scent from a windbreak of balsams. Cindy's attention returned to the man beside her.

"It is nice here. Sarah Ann Parker has been a wonderful housekeeper and friend. She kept up my garden while I was away. Is your tea the right strength?"

"Perfect. This toasted canape is tops. What's the spread?"

"Mushrooms. Try one of the lobster salad rolls. They are something to write home about. I can say that as I didn't make them."

"No, thanks. I am reserving space for the brownies. I'm a chocolate addict."

Gourmand, I'll bet. He actually licked his chops when he looked at that plate, Cindy thought.

They chatted about local matters till, after asking permission, he lighted a cigar.

"Now, may we talk business?" Cindy inquired eagerly. "I am anxious to hear a report of what you have accomplished."

"No more anxious than I am to get ahead with the matter." He drew a sheaf of papers from an inside pocket of his gray coat. "At long last I have succeeded in getting an answer from your husband."

"My husband! Glory be, I had almost forgotten I had one. I haven't, really. We'll have the table cleared, you may want me to sign something. Signing papers has been the major occupation of my life these last years."

She tinkled a small silver bell. Sarah Ann Parker emerged with a promptness that suggested she had been watching from the windows of the kitchen in the east ell.

"How's tricks. Trader?" The familiarity of the woman's greeting deepened the red of Armstrong's already sufficiently ruddy face. "I hear Ally's come for a visit with you. How is she?"

"Fine. Still young and smart for your age, I see, Sarah Ann." His unctuous voice had sharpened to razor edge.

Holding the laden tray Sarah paused halfway to the door which opened into the kitchen.

"Smart? Why not, Trader? I'm only sixty, five years younger than you. Wearin' bach buttons in your coat-bachelor buttons an' you a widower. Kinder got the signals mixed, haven't you. Trader?" She winked broadly at Cindy. A moment later the door to the kitchen closed with a bang.

"That seems to be that," Armstrong breathed a sigh of relief. "Even as a girl Sarah Ann Parker had a tongue sharp as a serpent's fang. Age hasn't dulled it. My sister, Alida Barclay, wants to meet you, Mrs. Stewart. She will call, after which we hope you will dine with us."

Having observed the social amenities he drew a letter from a long envelope, tried to tilt back in the chair, which refused to tilt, and laid the paper on the glass table.

"This is from Kenniston Stewart in answer to my letter asking if he would consent to the annulment of the marriage."

"Consent} That was a silly question to ask. He wants his freedom as much as I want mine."

"Asking his consent is a matter of form to be filed with the records of the case."

"Does he say why he didn't answer my question, shall I sell the oil holdings?"

"Read the letter aloud. I'd like to hear it."

Cindy picked up the sheet of paper, skipped the formal beginning, read:

I have been away from the base on an assignment, have just received your letter and Mrs. Stewart's [so he thinks of me as Mrs. Stewart, that's a laugh] re the sale of our holdings. I am in no position to advise. Fortunately a fellow officer, an engineer and authority on patents who knows something of the country in which our property is located, is returning to the States. I have appointed him my proxy to relieve her of some responsibility. He has a power of attorney, which automatically cancels the one I gave to Mrs. Stewart. He will confer with her and with you. Whatever he advises is my decision. I trust him implicitly.

As to the annulment, I am all for it. It was a crazy contract. I will sign any papers that will annul it, but, I suggest that it wait until after the property is sold—if it is sold. The marriage was cooked up to protect the holdings, I think it should hold, while we own the property. However, I will leave that to the judgment of you and Colonel Bill Damon—Bill, not William— who has been commissioned by me to decide that matter also.

Yours truly, Kenniston Stewart

"I won't delay the annulment." Cindy crushed the letter in her hand. "Who does Ken Stewart think he is? My overlord? Forward the papers he should sign, Mr. Armstrong. If he doesn't reply wouldn't it mean, case uncontested? I've seen an expression like that in accounts of divorce trials. If he thinks I'll let this other man dedde what I am to do, he has another think coming to him. What is this deputy's name?" She smoothed out the crumpled sheet. "Colonel Bill Damon. Ever hear of him?"

"No, I doubt if we do. A man who has been abroad for years won't bother himself with another chap's troubles, he'll have plans of his own. We'll proceed with the annulment—and the sale of the property. I'm boarding a plane tonight for the oil holdings, be back in a week. You have the power of attorney Stewart sent you. That's good till this other shows up, if it ever does."

"Ken Stewart advised the sale first. If he isn't sufficiently interested to come home—don't tell me he couldn't get leave after all these years if he wanted it—and attend to the matter himself, I will take over. We'll crack that marriage contract first."

"I agree with Stewart. The sale first. You have an excellent offer. If you wait you may lose it. Are you sure you want to sell that valuable property?"

"Yes. I think you should know that Kenniston Stewart loaned his father and mine the capital—he had inherited his mother's fortune—with which to lease the land, develop their patents, buy the needed tools, and drill test-wells. As fast as income came in Father would

deduct what we needed for living and pay the balance into Ken Stewart's account. Since he died I have done tlie same, until now my share is free and clear of indebtedness to him."

"You've been very wise for one so young, Mrs. Stewart."

"I couldn't bear the thought of owing money. This letter has steeled my decision. The annulment of the marriage first. I won't wait a minute for that deputy of Ken Stewart's who may never come. I—What is it, Sary?" she asked of the woman who appeared at the door.

"There's a man on the phone who wants to speak to you. Says he's a friend of your husband, says his name is Bill Damon."

Surprise brought Cindy to her feet. She looked inquiringly at Armstrong, before she said crisply:

"Tell the gentleman that I am too busy to see him now or ever**

FOUR

With a 35 mm. camera containing color film hung from her neck, Cindy paused before she entered the Club bathhouse to change her violet and white checked play-suit for swim clothes. She drew a deep breath of the briny air straight off the ocean. What a day. The sandy beach curved in between two low promontories walled by jagged brown boulders. The white frilled tide flowed and ebbed lazily. Far out beyond a stationary float breakers broke whitely against a reef with a rhythmic Boom! Boom! Boom,!

Life and color everywhere. A balloon man surrounded by near-naked youngsters occupied stage-center, his green and red and yellow spheres bobbing and tugging at their strings against a backdrop of clear blue sky and malachite sea. Children digging. Building. Licking arsenic-green Popsicles. Dogs watching hungrily. Gay umbrellas. Canopied chairs. Figures outstretched on the sand in colorful scraps of clothing staring up at the sky through the black lenses of sunglasses. Man and woman pacing the beach, her multi-colored parasol a moving splash of vivid color. Gypsy in enormous hat peddling baskets. Stout woman with ankle-length skirt wading. Diminutive black cloud of sandpipers on the wing. Girl in crimson one-piece bathing suit on the step of a pavilion applying lipstick. Flashy man in black-and-white check suit, soft hat drawn low over one eye ogling her. Human interest. They were both facing her. Something familiar about the tough guy. She focused her camera

TO LOVE AND TO HONOR SJ

on the couple and snapped it. The man must have heard the click, for he eyed her with a baleful glare.

Little boys tumbled in and out of the lifeguard's dory drawn high on the beach. That lifeguard. Jim d'Arcy. His first season here. Bossy creature. Female admiration had gone to his head. He rated admiration. She would hand him that. Tall, slim, straight as an arrow. Lean hips. Brief sky-blue trunks on a perfect body beautifully tanned. With wings on his white cap and at his heels, his right arm raised, his left upholding a caduceus, he would be Giovanni di Bologna's bronze Mercury come to life.

She made a little face in his direction. She had had two tilts with him since her arrival. Twice he had followed her in his boat to remind her that swimmers were not allowed beyond the float, as if she hadn't just realized that she was out of bounds. Of course he had been in the right, but his manner had infuriated her.

She entered the bathhouse barely avoiding collision with a woman going out. She looked after the as-near-as-nothing-as-the-law-allows clothed figure with its unbecoming rolls of flesh and shook her head. After spending hours on this beach, observing the swim clothes many women wear, no one ever will convince me that my sex is vain, she told herself.

Her cap matched the string of large turquoise-color porcelain beads at the base of her throat, as in a white sharkskin suit with a brief pleated skirt she ran toward the shore. As she passed the pavilion she heard the girl in the red swim suit say: "I'll try. Give me time—" "Shut up," a low voice warned.

The black-and-white check man and the girl whose pictures she had snapped were quarreling. Evidently they were pals and she had thought he was being given the come-on, Cindy decided before she waded into the water and struck out for the float. "Come backl"

A man's shout. That pesky lifeguard again. She wasn't anywhere near out of bounds. She glanced up at the

plane only a trifle less blue than the sky, deafeningly thrumming above her head.

Another call. What did it mean? She raised her shoulders from the water and looked ahead. A motorboat just beyond the float was making a beeline for her. Was the person at the wheel stark mad? She looked again. There was no one at the wheel. The boat was running amok, was headed for her with diabolic intent.

Memories of stories she had heard of swimmers beheaded or rendered footless by a propeller blade, panicked her, paralyzed her arms and legs. She must make the float. Her haven seemed miles ahead in a rough jade-green sea.

"Steady. Take it easy!"

The voice rose above the hum of the oncoming motor. An arm seized her and dragged her down, down, down. Instinctively she closed her lips and eyes. It seemed but an instant before she rose to the surface and a breathless voice encouraged: