I had been so full of good intentions. I had intended to have a serious talk with him today, to point out the many reasons why we couldn’t stay here on the island. I had intended to persuade him to leave, but Grey had teased me, wooed me, made me forget about everything but the sheer joy of being with him. It had been a wonderful afternoon, yes, but how many more would we be able to share in this atmosphere? We would talk tomorrow. Tomorrow I would be more resolute, not so easily charmed and distracted.
Lamps burned warmly in the main hall downstairs, but there was no one about. Although there were distant, muffled noises from the kitchen, the rooms down here seemed curiously deserted, like a ship at sea with no passengers, no crew. Glancing at the wall clock, I saw the reason why. I had come down a good half hour too early, having completely lost track of time after we went up to the bedroom. Grey had left to change for dinner, and I had changed and come on down without consulting the clock. Instead of going back up to my room, I decided to browse in the library for a while. Grey had whisked me through it after lunch, but I hadn’t had enough time to do it justice.
Moving down a hall branching off the main one, I turned a corner and eventually found the room. There were open French windows leading out to the veranda that overlooked the patio. Unlike the other rooms with their gleaming whitewashed walls, this one was somber; any wall space not given to bookshelves was covered with dark paneling. Lamps with green glass shades burned, spilling light on the faded Aubusson carpet, illuminating the great marble fireplace and the long brown leather sofa, gilding the thousands of books in their dull orange and gold and brown leather bindings. A light breeze swept through the windows, rustling the stiff green broadcloth draperies.
A painting of Carlotta hung over the fireplace, dominating the room. Done in the arty style of the thirties, it depicted a thin, wiry young woman, slouching stylishly, wearing a tailored white linen suit. One hand rested on her hip. The other waved a long cigarette holder. Blonde curls clustered about her skull in a short, bobbed cap. Her scarlet lips smiled wickedly, one brow was arched, and her blue eyes were filled with mischief. She was not at all pretty, but even in the painting she seemed to be charged with energy, radiating vitality. Dashing, rakish, she seemed impatient to rush to a party or organize a new, fun game to amuse her friends. This was a woman who found the world a fascinating place. I wondered what overwhelming grief and disappointment had caused her to turn her back on it and become a recluse in her tower apartment.
Turning away from the portrait, I spent perhaps fifteen minutes leisurely examining the exquisitely bound volumes that filled the shelves from floor to ceiling. They were, for the most part, the standard classics and dull sets of essays and history, undoubtedly purchased to fill space, the kind of books many own but few actually read. The really interesting books were crammed in various nooks and crannies in Carlotta’s room, stacked haphazardly on the floor, battered and worn but, unquestionably, read. Disappointed, I turned to leave, and it was then that I heard the footsteps in the hall outside, approaching the room.
I don’t know what prompted me to act as I did, but I dashed out of the room through one of the French windows, reaching the secluded darkness of the veranda just as Evan Porter and his mother stepped into the library. I should have gone on around the house, but I didn’t. I stood back against the railing, watching them, fully aware that they couldn’t see me. Helen, in an ivory silk suit, emerald clips on her ears, looked angry, shrewish. Evan, in dark maroon jacket and black trousers, seemed bored, his manner one of patient endurance.
“I don’t care what you say!” she cried testily. “Something has to be done. We can’t just—”
“Calm down, Mother. It’ll all work out.”
“How can you say that? If you knew the agony I’ve gone through! After all these years—all these years of caution and planning and close supervision—to have that little tramp—”
“She’s not a tramp,” he said lazily. “In fact, she’s rather charming. Naive, of course, with no idea what she’s gotten into, but charming nevertheless.”
“She’s won you over, I see. It didn’t take long!”
“This isn’t her fault, Mother.”
“Isn’t it? She probably tricked him into marrying her.”
“I doubt that,” he replied.
“How can you defend her? She’s upset everything!”
“I’m not defending her. I’m merely trying to be sensible.”
“Sensible!” she cried. “We’ve got to do something.”
“What would you suggest?”
“We’ve got to get rid of her, Evan. Some way or other we’ve got to get rid of her.”
Evan scowled darkly. “She won’t be bought off. I suggested something of the sort, and she almost flew in my face. What else do you have in mind? Would you like for me to strangle her? Or perhaps I could toss her over the patio wall.”
“Don’t be facetious. This is serious!”
“I realize that, but I also realize that hysteria isn’t going to accomplish anything. We have to keep calm for the time being and let things work themselves out.”
“She’s no fool. What if she discovers—”
“We’ll just have to be extra careful and make sure she doesn’t. Burke is extremely vigilant. He’s as aware of the danger as the rest of us are. He knows his job. He’ll do it.”
“I wish I could be sure of that,” Helen Porter said grimly.
Stepping over to the coffee table in front of the sofa, she groped in a flat bronze box for a cigarette and lit it with the matching lighter. For a moment she smoked vigorously, puffing rapidly, exhaling clouds of swirling smoke, and then she peered up at the painting of her mother. Her expression tightened.
“What about her?” she snapped. “That girl was in her room this morning. What if mother says something? What if she—”
“Carlotta’s not going to say anything,” Evan replied patiently. “She closed her mind to it long ago. It’s something she doesn’t think about. I doubt if she even knows for sure—”
“She knows, all right! She’s never admitted it. She’s never faced the truth, but she knows. Why do you think she stays up there, driving the rest of us wild with her pranks? She knows. She has from the first.”
“Let’s leave Carlotta out of this.”
“How could he?” she said. “How could Grey have done this to us? He’s always been irresponsible. I knew we couldn’t go on much longer. I knew something like this would happen.”
“Did you?” he asked coldly. “Then I suggest you take some of the blame yourself. You had a chance to do something years ago, but you didn’t. You were too proud, afraid your smart friends in London would find out about it and drop you. I pleaded with you to—”
“I did what I had to do,” she retorted. “Your father agreed. He had a business to think about. I went through hell trying to make the right decision, trying to do the right thing, and—”
Evan made an impatient gesture, frowning. “All right, all right, we’ve been through this before! You did what you had to do. Okay. I accept that, I won’t argue the point, but what’s done is done! Grey married the girl and brought her to the house, knowing full well she might find out. If she does we’ll just have to cope.”
“What if she does? What if she decides to talk …”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“I can’t accept that. The family would be—”
“She is family, dammit! She’s Grey’s wife.”
Helen Porter stared at her son fiercely, and then, abruptly, all the anger seemed to go out of her. She seemed suddenly exhausted, worn, battered by life. Despite her chic ivory suit and emerald earrings, despite the sleek, stylish ebony chignon, she looked crumpled, somehow pathetic. Evan made no effort to console her. Jaw thrust out, he stared at her with a stubborn expression. A long minute passed. Another. Helen Porter sighed and drew herself up, summoning command, and when she spoke she was as cold and regal as sh
e had been the first time I saw her. It was an amazing transformation.
“We’d better go in to dinner,” she said. Her voice was like steel. “I suppose I’ll have to be polite to her. We’ve got to keep up a good front.”
Her son smiled a cynical smile. “That shouldn’t be hard. After all,” he said bitterly, “we’ve been doing it for years.”
They left the library. Outside, on the veranda, I felt a cold chill. Although the night was warm, I was shivering. A wind rustled the shrubbery. The leaves made a crisp, brittle noise. Behind me, far below, the waves swept against the rocks with a low, monotonous sound. I was alone in the dark, and I was afraid. What were they talking about? The question repeated itself in my mind, over and over again. What were they talking about?
I didn’t know, but I knew I had been entirely wrong before. I had assumed they were distressed because they’d planned for Grey to marry someone else. When I confronted them with it, neither had denied it, but neither had admitted it either. Nor had Grey. He had been extremely evasive when I asked him about another woman. He had pacified me. He had distracted me with vows of love. All three of them had let me go on thinking that … because they were hiding something else. It had something to do with Burke, with Evan’s warning this afternoon to stay in sight of the house, with Carlotta’s decision to stay behind locked doors.
I don’t remember going back into the library, nor do I remember passing down hallways. One moment I was huddled there in the darkness, and the next I was in the main hallway, calm, completely in control of myself, watching Grey coming down the stairs. He wore an exquisitely cut navy blue Edwardian suit and a white cambric shirt with ruffled front. His dark blond waves were neatly combed. I watched him descend—a stranger, a man I didn’t know.
“Hi, luv,” he said affably. “I went by your room to get you, but you’d already come down. Smashing dress. I love that color.”
“Hello, Grey.”
“What’s the matter? You seem—distant.”
“Do I? I suppose I’m tired.”
“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “That was a pretty active afternoon we put in, what with the tour and the billiards and—things.”
“They’re waiting for us.”
Grey took my arm and escorted me into the dining room. Helen and Evan were already there. Dinner was one long nightmare. True to her word, Helen was polite, or at least more civil than she had been before, asking me how I liked the house, giving me bits of history about various pieces. Evan maintained a brooding silence, occasionally giving his mother a sharp look when she overplayed. Grey began to talk about his boat. It was a beauty. I would love it. He promised to take me out on it, just the two of us. We would have a picnic on the mainland.
Stella served dessert. I had barely touched my food. I pushed the dessert aside.
“Are you feeling all right?” Evan inquired. They were the first words he had spoken.
“I feel fine,” I said coldly.
“You don’t have to snap my head off.”
“She’s tired,” Grey told him.
“Oh?” Helen said sweetly.
“Headache?” Evan asked.
“Just tired,” Grey said. “We had a rugged afternoon. I taught her to play billiards.”
“She must have loved it,” Evan remarked cynically.
“Won the last game,” Grey replied. “Picked it up right away, didn’t you, luv?”
“Right away.”
“Bridge is my game,” Helen said, “though I rarely have an opportunity to play here. I belong to a club in London. All my friends live there. I spend quite a lot of time in the city.”
“How fascinating” I said bitchily.
“You are tired,” Grey said, concerned.
I stood up. “I’m sorry. I think I’ll go to my room.”
“I’ll go with you,” he volunteered.
“No. I’ll be all right. Finish your dessert.”
“You sure you don’t want—”
“I’ll be all right,” I repeated.
Both men were standing. Helen gave me a curious look. “Hey, Evan,” I heard Grey say as I left, “how about me and you playing a game of billiards? It’s been a long time.”
“Christ,” Evan said.
Judy was turning down the bed when I entered my room. She was wearing a green taffeta dress; a pair of gold hoops dangled from her ears. The room was filled with a particularly strong cheap perfume. She gave me a pert smile and smoothed back the covers.
“I guess you’re wonderin’ why I’m out of my uniform,” she babbled merrily. “They’re havin’ a dance down at the Seamen’s Club and I promised Ned I’d meet him there around nine. You won’t say anything, will you? I know I shouldn’t go—Mrs. Porter’d have a fit if she found out—but I’ve done all my chores, and I’ll be back first thing in the morning. Not that I intend to do anything wicked, mind you—Ned has a perfectly comfortable sofa in his living room—but I wouldn’t be wantin’ to come back that late, know what I mean? I thought I could slip out without anyone seein’ me, but then I remembered I hadn’t turned down your bed, and if I’m anything, I’m conscientious about my duties. Even she says so.” Judy paused in her monologue, peering at me closely. “I say, ma’am, you look a bit pale. Can I get you somethin’?”
“I’m fine, Judy.”
“I ’spect you’d better go right to bed. It’s this altitude, no doubt. Affected me, too, first few days I was here. Felt ever so queer. Well, if there isn’t anything else.…”
“Enjoy yourself, Judy. I won’t tell anyone.”
“You’re a real sport, ma’am. I said so the minute I laid eyes on you.”
Teetering slightly on her high heels, she hurried out of the room. Her green taffeta skirt crackled noisily as she went down the stairs. I threw open the windows to let out the reek of Secret Sin, and in a few minutes the scent had vanished. The fresh air was bracing, filling the room with a welcome chill. I felt better. The tension at the dinner table, the inane chatter and forced pleasantry had been almost unendurable. I felt strangely calm, and I wondered why. Why was I no longer upset? Why wasn’t I afraid? Reality seemed to have vanished. I seemed to be moving in a kind of trance, free of emotion. A cool, objective Carolyn seemed to stand far off, watching the woman who moved about in the bedroom. It was a curious sensation. Perhaps I was merely numb.
Without bothering to undress, I turned out all the lamps. Moonbeams spilled through the windows, transforming the room into a luminous etching of silver and blue and shadowy black. Moving over to the windows, I sat on the padded window seat and peered out. The patio was milky white, spread with hazy black shadows thrown by the wall, and, far out, silvery flecks shimmered on the crests of the waves. I could see a cluster of red and gold lights on the horizon: a ship at sea. I sat there for a long time, numb. Gradually, feeling returned. I thought about Brighton, how wonderful it had been, how elated I had been with my new name, my new happiness. It seemed an eternity ago. Nothing had been the same since Grey had received the phone call at the hotel summoning him back. He had changed, grown secretive, and there was an underlying tension even in his most jovial moments. This house had done that. This island.
Sitting there in the moonlight, I thought about my husband. He had known great sorrow as a very small boy, and it had affected him deeply. For years he had depended on others for guidance, letting them make his decisions for him. Charming, affable, jovial, he had been content to take the course of least resistance, letting his aunt dominate him, letting Evan run the business. This revealed weakness of character, perhaps, but I understood. If he were away from the island, away from Helen and Evan and whatever secret they strove to conceal, he would be a different person. He would get a job. He would accept the responsibilities marriage entailed, and we would be happy. I believed that with all my heart.
I thought about the events of the past two days. Since the moment we had arrived on the island, there had been a series of little incidents; none of them were too
important in themselves, but together they all added up to one large mystery. The conversation I had overheard this evening merely capped it off. Something was wrong, dreadfully wrong. I was bewildered and frightened and terribly distressed, and I knew I had to do something about it.
I had to think it out very carefully. I realized this was a crucial moment. Either I could let my emotions overcome me and render me useless, or I could keep a cool head and steady nerves. I could either pack my bags and leave first thing in the morning, or stay and fight to save my marriage. It was a decision I had to make, and I made it. I loved Grey. I knew that he loved me. I knew, too, that he was helpless here on the island, completely under the thumb of Evan and Helen Porter. He would do what they told him to do, say what they told him to say. He had defied them by marrying me and bringing me here, and now, like a child, he was trying to make amends. However unwillingly, he was part of the conspiracy to keep something from me. I couldn’t count on Grey to help me unravel the mystery. I had to unravel it myself, alone, and then I had to get him away from the island.
I got up and began to prowl around the moonlit room, trying to decide what course of action I should take. They thought I was naive and unsuspecting. Very well, I would let them think that. I would play my part, act perfectly normal, and all the while I would be very alert, taking every opportunity to discover anything that might help me learn their secret. Strange though it might seem, once I had made that decision, I felt curiously excited. It was a challenge I would meet, a game I would play, and if the game was dangerous, that would only make it more stimulating. Indecision was behind me now. So was fear. I was drawing on reserves I hadn’t even known I possessed, and I felt stronger, more determined than I had ever felt in my life.
My future happiness, and Grey’s, was at stake, and I intended to fight for it tooth and nail.
Room Beneath the Stairs Page 11
