“I’m sorry about all this,” he said. His voice was soft, almost kind. For a moment he seemed nearly human. He set his glass down on the cabinet and walked over to the window, gazing out at the night for a long time, his back to me. His shoulders were hunched, his hands thrust into his pockets. He was such a strange man, so unlike Grey. I wondered what he was thinking about. I wondered what had made him so hard, so unhappy.
When he turned around, his expression was grim. His mouth was set in a tight line. The fingers of one hand tugged at the rust-orange tie, crushing the material.
“You present quite a problem,” he said.
“Why? I don’t see—”
“The others—I paid them off, but then he never married any of them. I don’t know what to do with you. Are you corruptible, Carolyn? If I arranged a quiet divorce and offered you a large sum of—”
“How dare you!”
“I thought not. We seem to have reached an impasse. Grey had no right to marry you, but he has, and that’s that. We’ll just have to make the best of things.”
“I think I’m beginning to understand,” I said.
“Are you?”
“Yes. You—you’re losing money. The business is about to collapse. You and your mother planned for Grey to marry someone very wealthy. Then I came along and spoiled all your plans. Am I correct?”
“At least it’s an intelligent guess,” he said dryly.
“Why don’t you marry the girl, Mr. Porter?”
“You’re forgetting—I’m quite unlovable.”
“And—and the girl was in love with Grey. I see. When he married me, everything fell through. I’m sorry about that, but I’m not sorry he married me. He loves me. I think he needs me. I intend to be an excellent wife to him, and if he loses all his money, so much the better!”
“God! I detest women with character! Give me a mercenary little tramp any day.”
We stared at each other. This brief confrontation had been infuriating, but it had also been strangely exhilarating. I felt much better, revitalized, ready to face anything. We had fought, yes; and I had definitely won the first bout. Evan Porter scowled, looking as though he’d like nothing better than to grab me by the throat. He jammed his hands into his jacket pockets as though to restrain himself. I smiled serenely, extremely pleased with my victory.
“I suggest we join the others, Mr. Porter. They should be down by this time.”
“Yes,” he agreed sullenly. “Look, you can drop the ‘Mr. Porter’ bit. I’m Evan. I won’t pretend that I’m happy you’re here, but we might as well try to be civil.”
“That won’t be easy,” I said acidly.
“Not for me either!” he snapped.
Grey and his aunt were waiting in the main hall. Helen Porter wore a dark sapphire dress, severely tailored, and with her sleek ebony hair and brittle expression she looked like a glazed porcelain doll. She and Evan exchanged glances as we entered. Evan shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. Grey had changed into an elegantly cut charcoal suit of coarse raw silk. His shirtfront was gleaming white, his blue silk tie expertly knotted. His dark blond hair was neatly combed, still damp from his shower, and he seemed completely at ease. He smiled broadly when he saw me, taking my hands and squeezing them tightly.
“You look smashing, luv,” he said in a low voice, pulling me to one side so that the others couldn’t hear. “I’ve missed you.”
“There are some things we need to discuss, Grey.”
“I know. No problem. We’ll settle everything later.”
We followed Evan and his mother into the dining room. Candles burned in two ornate silver candelabra, casting flickering golden light over the table and reflecting in the polished surface of the immense mahogany sideboard. Tablecloth and napkins were of the finest linen, the dinnerware thin bone china rimmed with gold. Grey helped me into my chair. Helen Porter took her place at the head of the table.
“Isn’t your grandmother going to join us?” I inquired.
“Carlotta never leaves her apartment,” Evan said.
“Never?” I asked, surprised.
“Never,” he repeated. “She hasn’t come down for over ten years. Our gran’s a bit mad—”
“Evan!” his mother said sharply.
“She may as well know,” Evan replied in a nonchalant voice. “Not raving mad, you understand,” he continued, addressing me, “just dotty. Of course it may be pure affectation. I’m of the opinion she’s a glorious old fraud and saner than all the rest of us put together.”
“That will do, Evan.”
The meal was an awkward one for me. Helen Porter maintained a stony silence, breaking it only to give some snappish order to the middle-aged maid who served us. Evan seemed to be sulking. He jabbed at the meat with his fork, eating very little, ignoring the rest of us. Grey chatted amiably about this and that, impervious to the atmosphere, pausing now and then to joke with Stella, the maid. The household staff, he informed me, consisted of Cook, Burke, Judy and Stella. And, he added as the woman came back to fetch our plates, Stella had had a madly passionate crush on him ever since he was a lad. She blushed and seized his plate angrily, but I could tell that she was delighted with his impudence.
After dessert, Helen Porter rose and asked to be excused, leaving the table abruptly. Some of the tension left with her. I realized that Grey had been chatting all this while to cover up his own nervousness. He looked at his cousin and sighed heavily.
“Taken it hard, hasn’t she?” he remarked.
“Rather,” Evan said.
“Didn’t mean to throw everybody like this, but—well, you see Carolyn. You see why I couldn’t resist marrying her.”
“Indubitably.”
“Everything’s going to work out fine, Evan.”
“Oh, yes,” his cousin muttered.
Grey turned to me, smiling that familiar smile. I was eager to talk to him privately, and I was eager to be in his arms. In his arms, none of this would matter. I needed the reassurance of his body, the comfort of his nearness. Grey seemed to sense my thoughts. The smile widened. I felt that warm glow of happiness that still came over me unexpectedly. I still couldn’t believe this glorious man was actually my husband.
“Let’s go on upstairs, Grey,” I said quietly.
He nodded, his gray eyes glowing.
“Not just yet,” Evan said, rising. “There are some business matters we have to attend to, Grey. There are some papers you must sign.”
Grey frowned. “Can’t it wait?” he asked impatiently.
“I’m afraid not.” Evan’s voice was cool and quite firm. “It’s waited too long already. Your—uh—vacation put us in a bind, Grey. Although your presence isn’t necessary to keep the business afloat, your signature is. I’ll be in my office.”
He sauntered out of the room. Grey and I stood up. He came to me and touched my cheek with his fingertips, his eyes full of apology, but I wasn’t moved. I felt strangely cold, unresponsive to his charm. First he had given in to his aunt, now Evan, as though he were afraid of displeasing them. Why hadn’t he told Evan to go to hell? Why did I suddenly feel so insecure and defenseless?
“It shouldn’t take long,” he said huskily. “I’ll be up in a little while. Okay?”
“I have the feeling they—they’re trying to keep us apart.”
“Nonsense,” he said. “Look, we’ll talk it all out when I come up.”
I didn’t go to my room immediately. Instead, I stepped outside and strolled along the veranda, trying to hold my conflicting emotions at bay. There was a full moon, and the night was filled with shifting patterns of silver and black as clouds drifted across the sky. I moved up the low stone steps to the patio at the side of the house. There was a brisk wind. My carefully brushed hair was soon disheveled. I had no wrap, and the damp night air was chilling. Moving over to the wall, I peered down at the churning waves that assaulted the jagged rocks so far below. Bathed in moonlight, the sight had a curious f
ascination, and the savage fury of the waves corresponded to something inside me.
For the first time, I wondered if I had made a horrible mistake.
No, no, I couldn’t think that. I couldn’t allow myself to give way to the doubts and fears that mounted. They wanted to undermine me—Helen, Burke, Evan. They wanted me to feel uncomfortable. I couldn’t allow them to succeed. I must be strong … for both of us. I realized now that Grey was completely under the thumb of his family, too amiable, too easygoing to stand firm against them. It wasn’t weakness. No, I wouldn’t admit that. Grey wasn’t weak. He was genial and trusting and almost childlike in his desire to please, to keep everything on an even keel.
Turning, I looked up at the large, sprawling house so incongruously perched here on the edge of the cliff. I could see the lights burning in my room, warm yellow squares against the shadowy gray-black walls. To one side, the carillon tower rose. The tower rooms were in darkness, the windows deep black squares, but I had the feeling someone was standing behind one of them, staring down at me. The patio was flooded with moonlight. I must be clearly visible from that vantage point. Was it the much-discussed Carlotta? How did she fit into the picture? Was her refusal to stir from her apartment merely an eccentricity, or did she have a reason? I remembered Judy’s chatter about strange noises. In this curious half-light the old house, looming up from various levels, looked vaguely sinister, as though its walls contained some dark secret.
Did they? Was that the reason I had had such a frigid reception? Was there something the family wanted to conceal from all outsiders, something to do with those noises Judy had discussed so dramatically? Standing there on the patio, gazing at the shadowy walls and the dark recesses of the veranda, I shivered, experiencing a moment of stunned fear; and then common sense returned and I smiled wryly. Next you’ll be imagining lunatics in the attic rooms and bodies hidden in the basement, I scolded myself. You’re Carolyn Brandon, not Jane Eyre, and besides, you’re very tired, my girl. Everything will look different in the morning.
My good humor restored, I started back toward the house, my heels tapping on the patio. The wind tore at my hair, and I was extremely conscious of the cold now. Insanity to have come out in a backless dress without a wrap. I’d probably catch a dreadful cold, and it would serve me right if I did. I stepped onto the veranda at the far end of the house, moving slowly along its length to the front door. It was very dark; I could barely see the baskets of plants hanging from the rafters. I stumbled over a bamboo wicker chair and almost knocked over a coffee table. Pausing, I rubbed my knee, and it was then that I saw the dim orange glow in the dark recess of a door several yards ahead.
Staring intently, I could vaguely discern the form outlined in the lighter darkness of the doorway. Someone was there. My heart seemed to stop beating.
“Who—who is it?” I called in a tremulous voice.
There was no reply. The glow became a thin orange streak flaring like a minute rocket through the night, splattering into sparks as it landed on the ground. Someone had been smoking a cigarette and had tossed it over the railing. Although I knew my alarm was absurd, I was paralyzed. I stared at that large, dark shape, watched it move out onto the veranda in a decidedly stealthy manner. The clouds suddenly parted, and misty rays of moonlight illuminated the veranda with a dim silvery blue light. I could see him clearly now. It was Burke. He stood perhaps ten yards away, peering at me with an inscrutable expression.
“You frightened me,” I said. “I thought—”
Before I could finish, he turned and walked away, soon swallowed up by shadows as the moon disappeared behind another bank of clouds. I felt weak, unnerved by the experience. He had merely stepped out to have a cigarette, I told myself. That was all. It meant nothing. There was no reason to feel this chilling uneasiness. Yet why hadn’t he answered me? How long had he been standing there, watching me? Although I couldn’t have said how I knew, I felt certain he had deliberately followed me outside, had deliberately concealed himself in the doorway to spy on me. Why? It was preposterous, but the certainty was there.
The house was silent. Only a few lamps were burning. As I made my way up the stairs and down the long hallway, I sensed a change of atmosphere. In the afternoon sunlight, the house had seemed airy and spacious with its large rooms and whitewashed walls, but with the advent of night everything seemed curiously different. The silence was oppressive. The gleaming white walls were gray, shrouded with shadows, and the large rooms seemed to hold a subtle threat. I was acutely aware of the house, as though it were something alive, surrounding me on every side. Absurd to indulge in such fantasies, I scolded myself, yet I felt extremely exposed and vulnerable as I hurried down that wide, only partially lit hall. No lamps at all burned in the narrow hall that led to the enclosed spiral staircase. The passageway, unlit, was a tunnel of stirring shadows.
I hesitated.
I had never considered myself particularly nervous, nor was I one of those jumpy, timorous women who visualize life as one perpetual peril. Although I wasn’t fond of them, mice failed to alarm me, and I never gave a thought to being mugged. Skittish, apprehensive women might be attractive to some men, but I found them rather tiresome. Fainting spells and vapors may have been the rage in the Victorian era, but in today’s world young women were better equipped to take care of themselves. Nevertheless, as I peered down the narrow hall with its dark, menacing walls, all my brisk, modern confidence vanished. The incident with Burke must have disturbed me more than I realized, leaving my nerves in wretched condition.
Squaring my shoulders, irritated with myself, I moved hurriedly down the hall and up the staircase, vastly relieved when I stepped into the sitting room, where the lamps shed a warm yellow glow. I could laugh at myself now, but for a moment or two I had been prey to an alarm as genuine as it was chilling. It had been a long, long day, filled with an inordinate amount of emotional stress, I reasoned, trying to justify the totally uncharacteristic sensations I had experienced in the hall.
The bedroom looked warm and inviting. Judy had turned the bedcovers back, and robe and nightgown were laid out across the pillows. As I prepared for bed, I wondered what was keeping Grey so long. I had expected him to be waiting for me. Frowning, impatient for him to join me, I brushed my hair. I prowled around the room. I tried to read. Every minute seemed to drag, and still he didn’t come.
I had hardly seen him since we arrived. The minute he stepped into the house a change had taken place in him. I was his wife. I should be the most important thing in the world to him, and yet … Don’t let your emotions get the best of you, Carolyn, I told myself. This has been a strain on Grey, too. You must think of him as well.
An hour passed. Another. I was sitting on the window seat, staring out at the night, when he finally arrived. All the lamps but one had been turned off. It created a dim glow. I was so immersed in my thoughts that I didn’t hear him until he stepped into the room. He wore brown leather slippers, tan pajamas and an opulent robe of heavy brown satin, sash tightened at the waist.
“Carolyn?” he said quietly. “I thought you’d be asleep.”
“I was waiting for you.”
“It took longer with Evan than I thought it would, and then I had to freshen up and get ready for bed.” His blue-gray eyes filled with male appreciation as he studied me. “I say, that’s a most fetching nightgown. You look lovely, you know.”
“Grey—”
He pulled me into his arms and kissed me. It was a very thorough kiss, very provocative, yet I managed to pull away from him. He grinned, reaching for me again. I wanted to talk. He knew that, and he wanted to avoid the discussion. What better way than to kiss me, lead me over to the bed, make words superfluous? He was extremely seductive in the satin robe, yet I resisted, giving him a stony look that drove all thoughts of bed out of his mind.
“What’s this?” he asked irritably.
“We—we have to talk, Grey.”
“Later,” he said.
&nb
sp; “I—there’s so much I don’t understand. I have to know. I can’t rest until I do.”
“Look, Carolyn, I know everything must seem pretty strange, but we’ve just been here one day and—”
“There’s someone else, isn’t there?” I interrupted. “Some wealthy girl they wanted you to marry. I came along and spoiled all their plans. That’s why they resent me. That’s why—”
“Which one of them told you that?” His voice was harsh.
“Neither, but neither of them denied it. Your aunt made her disapproval quite plain, and your cousin as much as told me the business was on the verge of bankruptcy. Your marrying a rich heiress would have solved everything. Was there another woman, Grey?”
He hesitated a moment before replying, and when he spoke he did so very carefully, weighing each word.
“I met you. I fell in love with you. I never loved anyone else, and I never wanted to marry anyone else. Perhaps they did have other plans for me, but I married you.”
“You should have told me. You should have prepared me for—”
“I don’t intend to discuss it anymore,” he said firmly.
“There’s something else, Grey. Your aunt—why did she put us in separate bedrooms? It’s unthinkable. I won’t—”
“I told her to,” he replied, cutting me short.
“You told her to? But—”
“I know you must have been confused, and I’m sorry about that, but I wanted it that way. I’m a restless sleeper, Carolyn. Sometimes I get out of bed half a dozen times during the night. Furthermore, I’m as surly as a bear in the morning.”
“That’s an absurd reason to—”
“I’m only thinking of you. I don’t want to disturb your sleep. I don’t want you to suffer the brunt of my early-morning grouchiness. This is the perfect arrangement, luv. Separate bedrooms help preserve the romance in marriage. You won’t see me at my worst, and I won’t see you in cold cream and curlers.”
“I don’t use cold cream. I’ve never worn curlers in my life. Grey, I don’t want separate bedrooms. I love you, and—”
Room Beneath the Stairs Page 8
