And, of course, there was the master of the house. From the very first time Cassie had set eyes on him she had been a little bit in love with Gilbert Warren. He was the epitomy of the successful male, exuding an aura of confidence wherever he went. He was unfailingly kind to Cassie, concerned about whether her room was comfortable, about what she planned to do on her day off, about whether she had made friends in the Boston area.
Gil also introduced her to Henry Morell. Henry was employed as a general handyman for one of Gil’s friends. He was of French descent, albeit a third generation American. He also didn’t speak French, which pleased Cassie, who was determined to be thoroughly American. She thought it sweet that a busy and prominent man like Gil would consider such a small point in his matchmaking attempt.
Cassie saw Henry each time their days off coincided. She liked him. He was easygoing and undemanding, more than willing to escort her to a movie or a light meal or on a shopping expedition. The latter, more often than not, resulted in Cassie buying small things for the children—books or puzzles or sketch pads and pencils. She knew that Gil had artistic talent; she had seen the doodles he left lying on his desk, had even taken some from the wastebasket, flattened out their wrinkles and secreted them away beneath the clothes in her bureau drawer. She didn’t know the names to match up with the faces he had drawn, but assumed that the caricatures were of people with whom he worked. In awe of his talent since her own on that score was sadly limited to stick figures, she hoped to encourage one or another of the children to sketch. The fact that they were too young to do more than randomly scribble didn’t discourage her a bit.
Cassie had a remarkable amount of freedom in the Warren house. Indeed, there were times when she felt as though she, and not Lenore, were the mistress of the house. She set her own schedule for cleaning, working her chores around the children’s needs, and planned menus with little more than cursory approval by Lenore. She did her job well and she enjoyed it, particularly when Gil complimented her on a meal or the appearance of the house or that of the children. She took a pride in her job that she wouldn’t have imagined possible, such that it rarely occurred to her that this was to be merely the first steppingstone for her.
Overall, Lenore proved to be Cassie’s greatest challenge. She was generally agreeable and invariably grateful for everything Cassie did, yet she was susceptible to a moodiness that puzzled Cassie, who had a natural instinct for compassion and would have liked to help if she could. But that particular barrier was not to be breached by a housekeeper, Cassie knew, and she felt badly. Lenore held things in and preferred escaping to the solitude of her bedroom when something bothered her. Cassie couldn’t help but believe that the woman would be better off discussing whatever was bothering her with someone.
Natalie Whyte was a help. Cassie always felt better for Lenore when she was with Natalie, who had to be, Cassie decided early on, one of the most kindhearted women she knew. Natalie had a comfortable way of looking at Cassie, respecting her as a human being even as she took for granted Cassie’s role as housekeeper.
It was Natalie who appeared at the house the afternoon after Gil’s grand victory party; Natalie who climbed the stairs to Lenore’s bedroom and spent an hour with her friend; Natalie who then went into the kitchen and tried to explain to Cassie the essentials of what Lenore was experiencing.
“Mrs. Warren needs more help in times like these, Cassie. She’s very fragile in her way.”
“She’s frightened,” Cassie offered. “I can see that. But I’m not sure I understand why.”
“Politics is much like a career in … in the movies, I suppose,” Natalie ventured, chosing her words with care lest she betray the confidences of either Gil or Lenore. She had seen how attached Cassie had grown to the Warrens—and how attached they had grown to her—and earlier talks with the girl had convinced her that she was exceptionally bright as well. Natalie’s gut instinct told her that Cassie could be trusted, yet too much said was unfair. “A person can be on top of the heap one day and at the bottom the next. It’s a precarious business. I believe that’s what frightens Mrs. Warren.”
“Mr. Warren seems confident.”
“Oh, he is, and with due cause. He’s a talented man. He’ll make a wonderful representative. I have no doubt but that he’ll go as far as he wants to in politics. It’s just going to take Mrs. Warren awhile to get used to the life he’s chosen. She’s not an activist, as he is. She does best with an evenly balanced existence.”
“A politician’s life can never be that,” Cassie mused. “It accelerates and accelerates to the point of an election, then plummets immediately afterward, only to start accelerating again when the next election appears on the horizon. With representatives’ terms of office a mere two years, that doesn’t allow much of a respite.”
Natalie arched a brow, but she was teasing. “Where did you learn so much about elections? Your family wasn’t involved in politics in France.” Some time before, when Natalie had come to give Cassie a hand in the kitchen after a dinner party, Cassie had painted a sketchy picture of her background.
“No, but we always read the papers. I do the same every day. It’s one of the best educational tools you can find.”
“If it’s unbiased.” She wagged a finger at Cassie. “Be careful about that. Did you see what happened to Frank Sinatra?”
Cassie, whose teenage years had coincided with the rise of The Voice, had indeed seen what had happened to Frank Sinatra. “Do you think that he is in with the mob?” she asked in a conspiratorial whisper.
Natalie shrugged. “The papers reported it, but nothing has been substantiated. He may be perfectly innocent, in which case my point is proven. The newspapers may well be biased. Now that Mr. Warren is attaining a measure of visibility, there are apt to be slanted reports printed from time to time. Be sure to take them with a grain of salt, unless, of course,” she grinned, “they’re slanted in our favor.”
Cassie, too, was grinning, but hers faded quickly. “That must worry Mrs. Warren, too—the thought of having her husband publicly raked over the coals.”
“Mmm, maybe.” Natalie sighed. “If so, you and I are just going to have to remind her that it comes with the job, and that Mr. Warren can handle it, and that it’s not so bad, since the very next article will probably be slanted the opposite way. The important thing is that Mr. Warren has the support of the people, and judging from the margin by which he won the election, that is an undeniable fact.”
At that moment Cassie made a vow to herself to file for permanent American citizenship so she could vote in the next round of elections. As it happened, she was so busy in the months to come that it was awhile before she gave it further thought.
In February, 1949, Henry Morell asked her to marry him. While she found the thought pleasant it lacked a certain excitement. Henry was nice enough. He was attractive enough. He was bright enough. But Cassie’s enthusiasm was wrapped up in the Warrens, and if marrying Henry meant that she would have to leave her position, she doubted she could do it. She felt needed and wanted by the Warrens. For the first time since she had left France she felt she had a true home. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to abandon it just yet.
When Henry grew anxious for an answer, Cassie did the one thing that seemed most natural to her. On a rare night when Gil was home, when Lenore had long since gone to bed, leaving him working alone in his den, she knocked on his open door and was promptly waved inside.
He looked wonderful. He was wearing a pair of pleated tweed trousers and a V neck cardigan that lay open over his shirt. In his mouth was a pipe, its mellow fragrance wafting through the air; Cassie had always associated pipes with older men, yet Gil did something superb to its image of studiousness. In fact, the entire image that met her eye was so strikingly male and attractive that for several moments she didn’t say a word. Only when Gil leaned far back in his chair and grinned at her did she realize how foolish she must look.
Gathering her wits, she quickly l
aunched into the matter that had brought her to his den.
“Why, that’s wonderful, Cassie,” he said when she had told him about Henry’s proposal. His eyes began to twinkle. “I was hoping for something like this.”
Cassie’s first thought was that he would be glad to see her go. “Then you aren’t pleased with my work?” To discover that she had somehow disappointed Gil was one of her greatest fears.
“I’m thrilled with your work. But you’re a beautiful girl with a great deal to offer a man.”
She blushed at that. His eyes seemed to be taking in every inch of her, and every inch began to tingle. “I’m … I’m not sure I should accept,” she managed weakly.
“Not accept? Of course you should. Henry is a fine young man.” Gil lowered his head and studied her from beneath the shelf of his brows. “Do you love him?”
“I think, well, yes, I guess I do.” She wasn’t sure if it was love or simple affection. She was in a quandary. On the one hand she had adored her family, but she knew that any love she felt for a man would quite naturally be different. And then there was Gil. She adored Gil. But he was married, and even if he weren’t, she wasn’t sure if she worshipped him as an idol or—though he wasn’t all that old—as something of a father figure. Of course, her own father had never set her limbs to tingling as Gil had just done with a simple look.
She had a strong suspicion that poor Henry, or any man she might meet for that matter, would inevitably suffer by comparison.
She took a breath. “Henry is very kind. He’s trustworthy and dependable. I know that he’ll always be there for me.”
“If he isn’t I’ll send the sheriff after him with a billy club,” Gil threatened, and Cassie almost believed that he would. “Have you thought of a date?”
“I … no. I wanted to speak with you first.”
“Well, now that you have you can go ahead and make plans.”
“Oh, no. I still have some questions—”
“About Henry? You needn’t worry about Henry. My friend, Norman Euson, will vouch for him.”
“No. I’m not worried about Henry. I’m worried about getting married. If I do it would be difficult for me to live here. But I love my job. I’m not willing to give it up.”
“There won’t be any need for you to give it up,” he said calmly and with a confident tip of his head. “I’ll simply steal Henry from under Norman’s nose and put him on the payroll here with us.”
It sounded simple coming from Gil. A warm feeling spread through Cassie. “Would you do that?”
“Of course I would. There’s many a day when I could use a driver, and Lord only knows there are enough things to be done by a handyman around this house. Something always needs to be repaired, and there are always errands to run. Henry could help you out when we entertain, and when there are children—”
“Children! I wouldn’t have a child just yet! Then I’d never be able to work.”
“Of course you would,” Gil said gently. “Don’t you want children?”
“Oh, yes.”
“I suspected as much. You’re wonderful with ours.”
“They’re delightful children.”
Gil thrust a hand through his hair. His eyes widened for a split second while the rest of his features drew taut. “My wife doesn’t always think so. I sometimes wonder…” He seemed to catch himself, and when he looked back at Cassie his face had relaxed once more. “But that’s where you’ve been such a help to us. I’m not ready to let you go any more than you’re ready to leave.” His eyes held hers steadily. “I see no problem whatsoever in your marrying, and then, when you’re ready, raising your children here.”
She was shaking her head, smiling sadly. “There really isn’t room—”
“Not upstairs, but what if I were to fix up an apartment over the garage? You and Henry could live there, and when you do decide to have a child there would be plenty of room. In fact,” he went on, rising from his seat and slowly rounding the desk, “I have a secret to tell you.” His voice had lowered to a nearly seductive drawl, and Cassie’s presence of mind was tested even more when he draped an arm across her shoulders and drew her close. He bent his head. She felt his breath by her temple. “I’ve started looking for land. Good acreage a little farther out of the city. When I find it, I plan to build my own home, something with twice as much room as we have now.” He straightened, tipping his upper body away without releasing her shoulders. “What do you think?”
Cassie could barely think with Gil so close. It took everything she possessed to recall what he had said. “It’s … I think it’s wonderful! But you’ve been in this house for less than two years.” The Brookline house was so much finer than anything Cassie had ever known that she found it hard to imagine anything better.
“And look what’s happened in that period of time,” Gil returned with typical elan. “My instincts tell me that the time to make a new investment would be soon. People may say that I’m crazy to think of moving out a ways, but I think it’s the wave of the future. Every year the population spreads farther from Boston. An investment within the next year or two will pay off when suddenly the rest of the world wakes up to the trend. The value of the land will increase. It’s bound to. And I have a car—and, with Henry, a driver. The distance won’t bother me.”
“But … what about your position representing this district? If you move out of it, won’t you have to resign?”
He beamed down at her, seeming pleased by her foresight. “Nope. I’ll be able to finish out my term. In fact, if I wanted, I could run from the same district again even if I no longer live here. Of course,” he drawled, “I wouldn’t get too many votes if I did that. Constituents don’t like the idea of their rep living elsewhere.”
“You’ll be up for reelection next year. What will you do then?”
“If we’ve moved, I’ll simply run from my new district.”
“Is that done?”
“It will be,” he said without a blink.
“What does Mrs. Warren say?”
“Mrs. Warren doesn’t know.” He scowled and batted the air against an unseen pest. “She gets all upset at the thought of the tiniest little change, so I thought I’d wait until I find the land.” He lowered both his voice and his head again. “This is our secret. Just between you and me, okay?”
She nodded vigorously.
“So, you see,” he resumed in full voice, dropping his arm and slowly moving away from her to return to the desk, “there’s no reason at all why Henry shouldn’t become part of our family. If my plans pan out we’ll have more than enough room. In fact, if everything works out as I see it, we’ll have to hire a second girl to help you. There will be that much more to clean, that many more mouths to feed, and we’ll be entertaining far more than we do now. Of course, you’d be in charge.” He turned to face her, propping his thigh on the corner of the desk. Again his voice lowered. “You’re a wonderful manager, have I told you that?”
Cassie shook her head.
“Well, you are. This house hasn’t run as smoothly since … since … hell, it never ran smoothly until you came. It’s amazing,” he murmured. “You’re barely twenty.…”
She couldn’t miss the subtle criticism of his wife, and if it was a comparison he was making, she didn’t want it. “Mrs. Warren has so many things on her mind, what with the children and your career and all.”
“Mmm.”
“And she’s the one who supervises me, so I really can’t take the credit.”
Gil studied her a moment longer, then took a quick breath. “Not only are you a good manager, Cassie Jondine, but you’re modest and loyal to boot. I only hope Mrs. Warren appreciates you as much as I do.”
So pleased was Cassie with his praise that she had no idea how those final words would eventually come back to haunt her.
Chapter 8
One month after her discussion with Gil, Cassie married Henry. It was, overall, a happy time for her. Though she had invited the
Marshes to attend the brief ceremony, which was performed at Gil’s insistence in the Warren’s living room by a judge Gil knew, they had refused, which hadn’t really surprised or disappointed Cassie. Gil and Lenore stood as witnesses, and Henry’s employers—or former employers, since Henry would be returning to the Warren house with Cassie—attended in good humor. The three Warren children, Laura dressed in a ruffled frock and standing by her mother’s side, Ben and Peter tugging at their buttoned collars and creating whatever other havoc they could, provided intermittent moments of amusement, which Cassie loved. Sarah McNee had been borrowed from the Whytes to prepare a light dinner afterward, which Cassie also loved, since she had never been waited on before.
As a wedding gift Gil gave the newlyweds the use of his car and a weekend trip to the White Mountains. When they arrived back in Brookline they moved into the three-room apartment that had been completed over the garage.
Only two things nagged at the back of Cassie’s mind, and they were far from mutually exclusive. As much as she tried to ignore it, she knew that her parents would never have approved of her marriage to Henry. Given the cause for their persecution and subsequent deaths, they would have seen her as a traitor. Cassie had long since eschewed any and all form of religion, yet she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt from time to time.
Likewise, from time to time she felt a twinge of guilt on another score. Whereas she had been taught as a child that the love between husband and wife was sacred, she honestly doubted that she loved Henry Morell. Oh, she was fond of him and she was convinced that she could make him a good wife, but she had married Henry for many of the wrong reasons.
She had married him because he loved her. She had also married him because he was harmless, and because by marrying him she could ensure that her life wouldn’t be disturbed. She had married him because he was there; she eventually wanted children, but she didn’t want to have to look for a husband, or a new job, or a new home. Henry was the solution to a problem she didn’t care to face in the future.
Twilight Whispers Page 15
