Caprice

by Amanda Carpenter

  She stared down at the water dreamily. If her eyes went murky, or a frown began to etch itself between her sleek, winged brows, she would have claimed laughingly to be unaware of the fact. There was nothing to brood about anyway in weedy lake water. Just because the surface looked impenetrable, like black onyx, while to go underneath would be to find a whole different, complex world—

  The boards creaked. She turned her head slightly and listened to the sounds of someone approaching. Too heavy to be a woman. She composedly lifted her glass and sipped from it, her eyes blinking now almost sleepily. The man stopped just beside her, and awareness of his presence tingled in her mind. She suddenly knew, without looking, who it was.

  “Thrown together by capricious fate,” said Pierce drolly, and she flicked one startled, wincing glance at him. He was smiling crookedly, and at her pained expression he quietly laughed. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. You probably hear things like that all the time.”

  She felt her pulse quicken pleasantly. He had obviously asked someone about her name. “Rather a lot,” she admitted, and cradled her glass in one slender hand. She sent another glance to him, finding it difficult to see his face clearly. They were both facing away from the hanging lights, which put their fronts into shadow. His back was well lit, showing the sleek and elegant lines of his dark, tailored suit and the shape and tilt of the back of his dark head. He turned his gaze to her then, and his cheekbone, corner eyelashes and jaw were lit briefly, slanting golden color. He was still faintly smiling.

  “Why the name Caprice?” he asked, tucking his hands into his pockets, the suit jacket turned back. His white shirt was shadowy. She belatedly realized why he looked so familiar; in a very superficial way, he looked like Jeffrey, yet with hardened maturity and the beginning of lines.

  She let herself laugh, not too loudly, not too long, and it sent a light, tinkling shiver over the silent, lapping water. “My mother had four false alarms when she was pregnant and overdue with me. Every time they rushed her to the hospital, all tense and worried over it, because I was her first, they didn’t know quite what to expect, all those sorts of things. When she finally went into real labor, they calmly took their time getting ready and leaving—too much suspense, I guess, during the first four times, and they had quite exhausted all their anxiety. I was born five blocks from the hospital. My father likes to say that I’ve been as difficult to predict ever since.”

  “A difficult legacy to live with, I should think,” he murmured, low as the lapping of the dark waters.

  It brought her head around with an almost painful snap of the neck. He was brooding, eyes on the end of the pier, which was right at his feet. She let her eyes travel down the length of his lean, elegant body to his sleek, black shoes. They were planted somewhat apart from each other, unconsciously proud. A shiver ran delicately down her exposed nape to her spine. She couldn’t think when she had ever heard anyone react in such a way to the explanation of why her parents had named her Caprice. Everyone always laughed.

  She heard herself say gently, “I seem to have a talent for it.”

  His downbent head turned sideways as he shot a glance at her. After a moment, he stirred and asked, “And what are you thinking as you stand here and stare into murky lake water? I can assure you, at night it is very cold.”

  She replied lightly, as she lifted a slim hand to ineffectually tuck back some of the wisps that had escaped from her French braid, “I was wondering what’s at the other end, of course. Doesn’t everyone?”

  He replied with some dryness, “As I haven’t met half the people who have been here at one time or other, I have no idea. I usually steer clear of the lodge on weekends.” A slight pause as she digested that. She wondered, then, why he had come up from New York on this particular weekend. Perhaps he had really done it on a whim, that capriciousness of fate he’d joked about. She was pulled out of her idle reverie as he turned to her, businesslike, and suggested, “So why don’t we find out what’s at the other end?”

  She looked and felt startled as she blinked back at him. “Do you mean—right now?” She sent her gaze back over the waters and then said, somewhat doubtfully, “Would we be able to see it in night time?”

  “Who knows?” he replied with a grin. “Care to give it a try?”

  She regarded him smilingly, fully aware of the light that left part of her face for his interested inspection. The visible violet eye sparkled with amusement. “I forgot,” she accused. “You already know what’s on the other side.”

  His quiet laughter sounded then. “Yes, but you don’t.”

  “Well then, what are we waiting for?”

  But they had to choose a boat. He turned and frowned thoughtfully at the collection tied at the pier. When he seemed to hesitate close by a motorboat, she pleaded, “Oh, please. No motors. It would ruin everything.”

  He raised his black eyebrows. “Lady, that is a big lake.”

  “Well,” she said, wavering. Then she continued bravely, “I’ll row.”

  This time his laughter wasn’t quiet at all, but a shout that carried over the water. He then walked over to stand by one boat as she carefully came his way. “Well then, this will have to be it.”

  “I should get rid of my glass,” she said, eyeing it.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” he told her with grim amusement. “If you walk over that lawn, you may never come back again alone. I’ve seen how Jeffrey and his friends act around you. Come here. You can bring it with you.”

  She took the last two steps to reach his side, and as he contemplated the rowing boat and then her fragile, high-heeled sandals, he turned to take her firmly under the elbows. “Stiffen your arms,” he warned, and she did so. Then he swung her into the boat, only letting go as he made sure she had her balance and a bracing hold of the side. Then he divested himself of his suit jacket, leaving it folded haphazardly on the pier, and stepped lightly into the boat also. He had to pass by her to reach the rowing seat, his thigh brushing her bare shoulder, and then he said, “Okay, here we go. Can you reach back and loosen that knot?”

  She did, and found she could reach it quite comfortably. “There we go,” she said, her voice sounding underneath the pier and echoing oddly. “We’re free.”

  “Wait. Why don’t you grab my jacket?” suggested Pierce then, a quiet-voiced unknown. “You might want it after a bit on those sleeveless arms.”

  “Thanks, I will.” That wasn’t the pier, she thought with another shiver. That strange, breathless note was all her own. She took his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, finding the shoulder width far too big and quite lovely for snuggling deep into. She could smell the same faint, fresh scent as before, and she stealthily inhaled deeply.

  He loosened the oars, and, with a shoulder-flexing shove off one of the other moored boats, they shot out so that he could begin rowing. She leaned back on one hand while she sipped from her wine and looked around her lazily. Very probably the hard seat was dirty, and her dress would be rendered unwearable until she had a chance to wash it, but she didn’t care.

  The only sounds were the dipping of the oars, continual and rhythmic, and the wafting music from the party, which carried for a startling distance. The air smelled fresh, slightly wet, and she was thankful for his jacket as a cooler wind chilled her. She said then, “Are you warm enough? Here you are, doing all the work, and I’m snuggled deep into your suit coat.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself; I’m quite warm,” he reassured her rather quickly as she made as if to take off the jacket. She subsided then, and after a bit he spoke again, very quietly. “Are you awake?”

  “Mmm,” she said and then laughed. “Yes, but a bit muddled from the wine, I think. I had some at supper, and it’s starting to go to my head. Sorry.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice. “Don’t be. As long as you’re not roaring drunk. See those lights along the edge to your right? Those are other houses. Our neighbors don’t take too kindly to a lot of ruckus on the water lat
e at night. The sound carries over to them.”

  “Well, please don’t worry about me, then,” she said with a light, hand-covered yawn. “I don’t get drunk. I fall asleep. It can be utterly mortifying.” While he chuckled, she paused to look at the oars with some distaste. They were already far out from the Langstons’ property and coming to the other end of the lake, which was peaceful and dark, though by no means quiet. A multitude of crickets positively screeched from the undergrowth. “I suppose I should offer to row back.”

  Another low chuckle. He neatly swung the boat around and began to slowly row them back. “I won’t hold you to that promise. You do realize that you’ll probably be a bit dingy on your backside?”

  “Heavens, yes, but who cares?” she said, impatient and light. “I’ll just sneak upstairs by the back way. Does the house have a back way?”

  “We’ll figure out something for you,” he said amusedly. “If you like, we can edge past everyone, back to back.”

  She grinned. They had passed around the slight bend in the lake, and the low-hung golden lanterns were visible far over the dark waters, like a magical domain. Faint music and laughter wafted to them on the breeze, and Pierce sat facing her, a blackened, impenetrable figure as he tirelessly rowed them back.

  She hardly recognized the impulse or the wistfulness that was too audible in her voice as she said, “I suppose we have to go back?”

  The faint light illuminated her features, flickering light and dusky shadow. Her silver hair in wisps around her face blurred her features like an old photograph, and her eyes glistened at once brilliant and dark. She thought she saw his black head move sharply, and there was a moment as he apparently stared at her, his flexing shoulders still.

  He said, rather oddly, “I don’t think there’s anywhere we could pull to shore. It’s too muddy, with tangled weeds. You’d never make it in those shoes; otherwise I do believe I’d be tempted.”

  She was appalled at the seriousness with which he had taken that wistful note, and the seriousness with which she had meant it. She shook loose of the strange feeling that had gripped her, and laughed carelessly as though she’d meant it as a joke the whole time. “Well, then, if we must go back, we must. Besides, I’ve finished my wine.”

  A pause. Then he picked up rowing again. “Then by all means,” he responded, lightly teasing. “That clinches it. But which is it, to return the glass or refill it?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” she replied composedly.

  They glided to the pier smoothly, and Pierce expertly steered the boat between the two where it had been tied before, giving one last, gentle, backward pull on the oars to send the flattened end toward the rope. She reached it easily, looked up to the pier, and then down, doubtfully, to her high-heeled sandals. She said hesitantly, “Ah, I don’t think I’ll be able to climb out in these shoes.”

  “Hold on,” he said, his voice quiet under the noise of the nearby party. He stood, balancing easily, and then told her, “Slide over to the side. There you go. Now, I’ll step out and then help you, all right?”

  “All right.” He lightly passed her, a lean, black-clad figure, his hand going to her shoulder to steady himself. She held quite still. Then he heaved himself up and squatted to fasten the rope more securely. He turned, still bent.

  “All set, pretty fairy?” he asked, extending a hand to her. She removed his jacket and handed that to him first.

  “I’d never forgive myself if that ended in the water,” she told him wryly as he took it and laid it aside. His hand was offered again, and she had to laugh as she laid the wineglass in his palm. She watched as he set it on the protective cloth of his jacket, and then gave him both her free hands when he turned to her for the third and final time. She saw him smile. With his help, she stood in the boat and attempted the large step to the pier. Her heel slipped on the smooth wood, catching in the crack, and one of his arms snaked around her waist to lift her bodily the rest of the way.

  Heartbeat, one, two, strong and steady, beating against her breast, against his shirt. The two of them, utterly still for a moment, his arm still hard, tight about her, her hands to his shoulders for balance, his head bent to her while her face was upturned, looking at him searchingly. Looking for what? She didn’t know, but she had a sudden, powerful impression that it was very important, if she could only understand. Vital, one might say, like his body warmth under the white shirt, his light breathing, that lean body flush with hers. She felt flustered, suddenly too warm, an uncomfortable, uncharacteristic reaction, and she gently pulled away from him, looking anywhere but his face. His hand lingered for a moment at the back of her waist, and then fell away.

  She turned, as if at random, and stared back over the dark lake. “I enjoyed it,” she said quickly, her hands clasped in front of her. Then she turned to stare to shore, and she made a sudden bid for escape from this quiet, unknown man and her unknown, stirred emotions. “Thank you.”

  He followed just behind. “You’re quite welcome. My pleasure.”

  And then she knew a strange and futile anger, one that brightened her eyes into amethyst stones and brought a light flush to her cheekbones, for she saw their little excursion for what it really was. There had been nothing but two people enjoying a brief respite from the social chatter of a lighthearted party, strangers to each other and rather indifferent. Nothing but that and her own foolishness. Her eyes went over him as they came to brighter light. A youngish man still, perhaps thirty years of age, already distinguished looking, with quick, observant eyes and an apparent intelligence. There was comprehension and responsibility in this man. What in the world would he and she ever see in each other?

  Emory and Ralph, talking together languidly, saw both of them, and they immediately approached. “Where have you been?” asked Emory with a smile. “I noticed you were gone several minutes ago, and nobody knew where you’d vanished to.”

  “We explored the lake!” exclaimed she, with an extravagant gesture, her eyes sweeping Pierce’s but not quite meeting his. She laughed and then took hold of her skirt, trying to twist it so that she could see the back. Then she mourned, “And I got my skirt dirty.”

  “Quite the adventurer,” said Ralph mockingly, and the two chuckled to see her turn in a circle. She put her outspread hands behind her in a concealing fashion and wore a half-guilty, half-sheepish expression.

  “I’d better go upstairs and see if I can clean this,” she said then. She turned to a silent, rather reserved Pierce and told him, “Thank you again. Oh, good! You’ve got the glass. I’d forgotten it. Well, I’ll say good night then. See you all in the morning. If you happen to see Rox, would you tell her I’ve gone up?” Then with a smile given to them all impartially and a flurry of good nights from the men in response, she abandoned her abashed pose and lightly strode inside to skip up the stair and to her room.

  The three stared after her. Still laughing, Ralph shook his head and said, “Rowing around in a dirty boat, in a dress that must have cost a fortune!”

  “That’s Caprice,” said Emory, rocking back and forth on his heels. Then both the younger men looked at Pierce, who was expensively clad in his dark, sober business trousers, his jacket hooked carelessly on one finger and draped over one white shoulder. Pierce just twirled an empty, long-stemmed glass between two fingers and smiled imperturbably.

  In her room, Caprice stripped and then slipped into a rose silk pajama suit. She inspected the back of her white skirt, her lower lip pinched between her teeth in thought. An obvious streak of grayish brown marred the top layer, and she then consulted the cleaning directions on the inside tag. Wouldn’t it be just her luck that the dress was to be dry-cleaned? It was indeed, and she had to content herself with shaking the dress as vigorously as she could before hanging it in the wardrobe. The material was too delicate. She didn’t dare risk wetting it down.

  She then turned her attention to her hair and took out the pins that held the braid in place. She loosened it and then took a brush
to her hair hard, wondering why she felt as though everything that had happened that evening had gone flat. Sighing, she ran her fingers through the ripples from the confining braid and rubbed at the back of her head.

  There was a knock at the door. Curiously, she went to answer it, thinking perhaps that Roxanne might want to talk about the party, but as the door swung open, she found an older woman on the other side with a smile on her thin face. Caprice smiled back. “Yes?”

  “Miss Hagan? I’m Mrs. Vandusen, the Langstons’ housekeeper.”

  Now she remembered the other woman, and she threw the door open wide as she held out her hand. “Yes, of course. What can I do for you?” she asked as they shook hands, liking the housekeeper’s strong grip. She wondered what on earth the other woman could possibly want.

  “It’s actually what I might be able to do for you,” said Mrs. Vandusen, her eyes warming from Caprice’s friendliness. “Pierce mentioned to me that you needed someone to see to your dress?”

  “Oh!” For a moment she felt quite flustered. Recovering, she grimaced wryly. “Oh, yes, well, it was my own fault, I’m afraid. I’ve looked at it, and it must be dry-cleaned, so I’ll have to see to it when I get home.”

  “No problem,” said the housekeeper cheerfully. “I can get it taken care of tomorrow, if you’d like.”

  “But— You’ve so much work to take care of, with guests staying the weekend,” protested Caprice.

  That made the older woman smile. “Bless you, but honestly, I do this all the time. It’s really no bother.”

  “Well,” she said, wavering. She went to the wardrobe and drew out the dress. She said, as Mrs. Vandusen inspected the skirt, “It’s not as if it’s stained or anything. It’s just that the skirt is so white, the slightest dirt shows.”