After dinner, Becky parked herself in front of the telly to watch yet another thriller, an excessively violent American import. Keith sat at a card table working industriously at his blueprints, brows furrowed, eyes full of concentration, and, clearing the coffee table of litter, Liz and I began to work on a jigsaw puzzle, slowly assembling a majestic view of the Matterhorn. Keith gnawed the tip of his tongue, placing ruler on paper and drawing a careful line. Becky sprawled back on the floor in delight as a team of G-men mowed down half the population of New York with machine guns. Liz complained because she couldn’t find a missing piece of blue and said jigsaw puzzles were dull and old fashioned and wanted to know why we couldn’t do something interesting like, for example, watching her perform the new Spanish dance she was going to do at the recital. I was nervous and apprehensive and trying not to show it, wondering when Stephen was going to appear and how I was going to explain him to the children.
Shortly after seven the doorbell rang.
“That would be Ron,” Liz remarked.
“Ron?” I said. “What—”
“The bathroom sink upstairs is stopped up again,” she explained airily. “I asked Keith to do something about it and he told me to dry up, so I phoned Ron. He’s always doing things like that—fixing electrical sockets and mending appliances and so on. He said he’d be glad to come over.”
“Damn,” I muttered, climbing to my feet.
“I should think you’d be glad to see him. He’s a positively ravishing man and definitely interested in you. I wonder if you’re frigid,” she speculated, gazing up at me with thoughtful eyes.
I hurried out of the room to keep from murdering the little minx, followed by the sound of machine gun fire. I opened the door to find Ron with one hand resting on the door frame, the other curled around the handle of a long plunger.
“Handyman Hunter at your service,” he said, stepping into the hall. “I understand you’re having problems with the bathroom sink.”
“This is outrageous. Liz really shouldn’t have—”
“Oh, I was delighted to hear from her. For one thing, it gives me another opportunity to see you. Still angry?”
“Angry?”
“There was a distinct chill this morning.”
“That. I—I’d like to apologize. I’m never at my best in the morning, particularly that early. I didn’t mean to sound so snippy.”
Ron grinned. “I was afraid I’d offended you.”
“No—” I said hesitantly, remembering the moonlight, remembering that firm mouth on mine and those arms wrapped around me. I remembered my resolution to avoid him, too, but that seemed preposterous now.
“Good,” he said. “Friends?”
“Friends,” I said, closing the front door.
I was really quite pleased to see him, in spite of my good intentions. He was an irresistibly handsome man, but it was more than that. He exuded warmth, like a great friendly animal, and just to be near him was pleasant. Leading the way upstairs, I wondered if there was really any reason why I should be so cautious. I’d been cautious ever since I could remember, and my Sundays had been long and empty.
I opened the bathroom door. “I don’t know what’ the matter with it,” I said.
“We’ll soon find out,” Ron replied.
The sink gurgled with a spluttering melody. Ron examined it with lowered brows, and then, a determined look in his eyes, he shoved the sleeves of his sweater up over his forearms and launched into an attack with the plunger. I leaned in the doorway, watching him. The sink made croaking, gasping noises like someone being throttled, then a series of raspy coughs and a great rattling noise. Ron gave one last mighty heave with the plunger and water splattered into the sink, went rushing down the pipes. He took a deep breath and nodded with satisfaction, turning to me with a look of triumph.
“Mission accomplished,” he said.
“It splattered all over you. Here—here’s a towel.”
“I think I’m entitled to some kind of reward, don’t you?”
“Reward? What—what did you have in mind?”
“I’ll settle for a cup of coffee.”
“Fine.”
“For starters,” he added.
He grinned. I felt a lovely glow inside.
“I’ll put it on while you wash up. I believe there’s some cake, too.”
“Great. I’ve worked up quite an appetite.”
I went slowly downstairs, decidedly pensive. Ron Hunter made me feel like a woman, brought out all those soft, lovely feminine qualities, while Stephen Brent merely made me irritable. It was absurd to think I should keep my defences up with Ron. If they crumbled, so what? After all, I was twenty-five years old. Getting on. It was high time something happened. I would simply play it by ear. The kitchen was cozy and rather shadowy, the last rays of sunlight streaming through the windows and creating a dim gold haze. I put the coffee on and stood at the window, peering out at the back lawn, colors subdued and gradually fading as the sun went down. Liz peeked in, her thin face alive with salacious curiosity.
“Where’s Ron?” she asked, disappointed.
“Washing up.”
“Did he get the sink unstopped?”
I nodded and gave her an irritable look that told her in no uncertain terms that her presence was strictly unwanted. Liz tittered delightedly and scurried on back to the sitting room, another loud volley of machine gun fire blasting away as she opened and closed the door. The coffee perked pleasantly, filling the room with a tangy aroma, and I was just taking down the thick blue cups and saucers when Ron entered, padding over to the table and pulling out one of the chairs. He sat down, folded his arms across his chest, and watched with rather sleepy eyes as I sliced the creamy chocolate cake and poured coffee into the cups. His lids drooped heavily. His mouth curled in a half smile. I set coffee and cake before him, feeling very domestic and content.
I leaned against the drainboard, sipping my coffee, and we talked about inconsequential things. There was a lazy, intimate atmosphere. Ron never took his eyes off me, gazing at me as he drank the coffee, as he ate the cake. I was truly relaxed for the first time that day, and all that had happened seemed like a vague blur. The sunlight faded. Outside, the shadows thickened, spreading heavily over the lawn.
“I know so little about you,” he said. “Tell me about yourself.”
“It’s not a very interesting story, I’m afraid.”
“Tell me.”
I talked about my life, my ambitions to become an artist, the flat in London, Cass, my accidental emergence as an author of children’s books, and the kitchen grew darker, gray now, mauve shadows building. Ron asked me about my work. I admitted my indolence and told him about the new book, careful to avoid any mention of the missing manuscript. When he asked me about men, I had very little to say. My experience seemed even more limited than before. I wished I were able to tell him about a whole string of love affairs, engagements, stormy partings, wished I were able to make myself seem more interesting.
“What about the future?” he inquired, taking a final bite of cake.
“What about it?”
“You obviously love children. Don’t you want some of your own.”
“Of—of course.”
“It takes two to make them, you know.”
“I—well, I suppose I’ll just write another book.”
Ron found my reply vastly amusing. He threw back his head and laughed—a rich, deep laugh that seemed to come tumbling out in hearty gales. It was a wonderful sound, masculine, merry, filling the room like music. I saw nothing particularly funny about the remark, but he stood up, smiling now, and looked at me with dancing brown eyes.
“You really are a remarkable girl.”
“Am I to take that as a compliment?”
“Definitely. I want to know you much, much better.”
“Indeed?”
“You know I do.”
“Well—that’s nice.”
“Still afr
aid?”
“Not in the least. Just don’t—don’t rush me.”
“I won’t,” he promised, grinning. “Last night—well, I won’t force myself on you again, not unless you give me the signal first. There’s going to be a dance at the university tomorrow night—one of those slapdash charity affairs, paper streamers in the gym, spiked punch, tipsy undergraduates making eyes at the faculty wives. I’d like to take you.”
“I—I’d like to go,” I said, “but, well, the children—I hate to leave them alone.”
“They’re practically grown,” he protested.
“I know, but—”
“Tell you what, we’ll take them to the movies, leave them at the theater and fetch them later. Last night was the final showing of the horror epic. There’s a double bill now, an American Western and an antique gangster film. Let Gary Cooper and James Cagney babysit for you.”
Stephen Brent had suggested the same thing, although he meant for me to go to the movies along with the children. Why not? I asked myself. One of the constable’s men would watch over the children, and I was eager to see Stephen Brent’s face when I walked in with Ron. If he could take that disgusting woman to the dance, there was no reason why I couldn’t go as well. I smiled politely and told Ron I would love to go with him. He beamed with pleasure.
“I’ll pick you up around seven thirty. We’ll whisk the children to the theater, drop them off and head for the gym. It’ll probably be frantic, a lot of noisy youngsters and tipsy professors, but we’ll have fun.”
“I’m sure we will.”
Ron smiled again and brushed stray blond locks from his forehead. “Although I hate to leave pleasant company, I really must be going,” he said. “They want me to turn in a schedule of classes for my first semester, and the damnable thing is driving me batty—so many hours allotted to swimming and so many to gym, so many to wrestling, so many to track. I’m not very good at paper work—I’ve been compiling the bloody thing for weeks on end, and the dean’s growing very impatient. I say, uh, thanks for the cake.”
“Thank you for unstopping the sink.”
“Any time. Any time at all.”
I walked him to the front hall, he darted upstairs to fetch the plunger and, when he returned, we stepped outside. The air was cool and tinted with a twilight haze, deep mauve, growing darker. The sun had disappeared, leaving a sky the color of ashes, faintly smeared with orange. Shrubbery rustled stiffly. A cricket whirred raspily. We paused on the steps. Ron was clearly reluctant to go, and I hated to see him leave. It had been extremely pleasant. I’d misjudged him terribly. He wasn’t dull at all, even if he was an athletic instructor, and he had promised to behave himself in the future. I wasn’t really sure I wanted him to behave.
“Gonna be a lovely night,” he remarked. “Shame I have to finish that bloody schedule.”
“A shame,” I said, smiling at the petulant note in his voice.
“I can think of a lot of things I’d rather do.”
“I imagine you can.”
Ron shook his head, staring down at the head of the plunger. I could barely see his face in the gathering darkness, all smooth planes, cheekbones pronounced, eyes concealed by thick lashes. With his head lowered like that, there was a faint suggestion of a double chin, a soft, plump roll of flesh that made him seem strangely endearing. There was much of the little boy in him, I thought, smiling. I ran my palm over his shoulder, smoothing down the sweater. He looked up, pleased.
“We’re going to be quite a team,” he said.
“Are we?”
“No doubt about it.”
“I warn you—I hate sports. Soccer and football bore me to tears.”
“There are—uh—other sports.”
“Are there?”
He grinned, nodding. “I can’t wait to teach ’em to you.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It’s a promise,” Ron replied. “Well—guess I’d better shove off before I get out of line. I don’t want to scare you off again. I intend to handle you with kid gloves—for a couple of days at least. Then—”
“Then?”
“Watch out.”
I smiled, and Ron moved on down the steps. “Oh, by the way,” he said, turning on the walk. “What did you think of all the excitement this morning?”
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That guy they found—the murder.”
I stared at him, frowning. “Murder?”
“Yeah, some guy in a white trench coat. They found him in that grove of trees behind the playing fields, not fifty yards from where the guys and I were working out. Some kid was taking a short cut through the trees about eleven thirty this morning, saw his legs sticking out of a clump of shrubbery—”
I didn’t say anything. My heart was beating rapidly.
“Larson, I think they said his name was. A stranger to Abbotstown. He’d been brutally strangled. His throat was crushed, covered with dark purple bruises. Nasty business. Everyone in town was talking about it. It’s a wonder Becky wasn’t on the scene taking notes.”
“She—she probably hasn’t heard about it.” My voice seemed to belong to someone else.
Ron looked up, alarmed. “Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It—it’s just such a shock.”
“Yeah, peaceful town like this. You wouldn’t think such things could happen. He was probably asking for it, though. The evening paper said he was a small-time hoodlum, well known to the police in London. Probably a revenge slaying.”
“Revenge slaying?”
“He was probably trying to put one over on some gang, came to Abbotstown hoping to get away from them. They probably followed him here—simple as that. Look, I hope you’re not going to let this worry you—”
I shook my head. I tried to smile. I failed.
“Hell, I wish I hadn’t brought it up.”
“Nonsense,” I said. “Good night, Ron.”
He still hesitated. “Well—good night,” he said finally, frowning. “I—uh—I’ll be busy most of tomorrow, going over lists of equipment at the athletic offices. I’ll be here to pick you up at seven thirty, though. Seven thirty on the dot. Wear something glamorous.”
“I will.”
Ron strolled briskly down the walk, opened the gate and disappeared. I stood there on the steps for several minutes, trying to control the panic that swept over me. Murder. No doubt about it this time. Larson had been searching for something at the station, had waved a baggage claim ticket, had seized a porter and frantically searched the baggage cart. He had been staring at me last night when I came out of the theater. Someone had tried to break into the house. It all fit together. I knew what Larson had lost, what he had been trying to retrieve. He had failed. He had been strangled not half a mile from where I was standing now. Panic swept over me in waves. I felt weak, my knees threatening to give way. I had managed to put all the ugliness out of my mind, had enjoyed Ron’s company, forgetting all about the other, and now … I took a deep breath, determined to maintain control. I couldn’t panic. Not now. The children … I had to think of the children.
The mauve haze had deepened into dense purple-black darkness, and long black shadows shrouded the porch, the steps. There was no moonlight. The cricket still rasped, but the noise was shrill now, strangely sinister. The shrubbery rattled, leaves crackling, and the boughs of the lime trees groaned mournfully. Fifteen minutes had passed since Ron departed. I was calm now, all emotional reactions tightly locked up inside through sheer willpower. Stephen Brent would be here soon. I had to explain him to the children. I had to be bright and casual about it, making it sound like a lark. Thank God they hadn’t heard about Larson’s murder. I had to keep that from them. They were too sharp, too intelligent. They were bound to put two and two together, suspect the real reason for Stephen’s appearance. Ian didn’t take a newspaper. They couldn’t have read about it. The television, I thought suddenly. It was bound to be on
the news.
I went inside. I closed the door and locked it. I took a deep breath and paused for a moment in the hall to step into character, and then I went on into the sitting room. All three of them looked up. I smiled. The movie had just gone off. The news was next. I stepped quickly over to the telly and switched it off. Becky protested vehemently, and I gave her a no-nonsense look that startled her into silence.
“Well, pets—” I began nervously.
“You were out there an awful long time,” Liz interrupted.
“Was I?”
“She wanted to go peek out the window,” Keith said. “I made her stay here.”
“That isn’t so! I merely said I thought I’d go up to my room and—”
“I know what you had in mind. You’re as bad as Becky.”
“I’m not going to sit here and be accused of evil intentions! If you think you can—”
“Dry up,” Keith told her.
“Janie, it isn’t so! I wouldn’t dream of spying on you! Make him apologize!”
“Both of you shut up,” I said crisply.
“Everyone’s in such a bitchy mood,” Becky protested. “I don’t know why I can’t watch the telly. I wanted to see the news. I always watch the news. What if something exciting happened? There might have been another robbery or—”
“This family’s impossible!” Liz wailed. “Everyone persecutes me! No one understands the artistic soul. I’m highly strung, I can’t help it, and people delight in tormenting me! I can’t—”
“I have something to say!” I shouted.
All three of them stared at me, stunned. I had never shouted at them before. It made them pause. All three reacted in a different way. Keith was grave, a worried frown creasing his brow. Becky wore a resentful expression, her lower lip thrust out belligerently. Liz looked eager, certain I was going to tell them I’d decided to elope with Ron for two weeks of sin in Rio de Janeiro.
“You sounded just like Daddy,” Becky grumbled.
“I told you something was up,” Liz said chattily. “They were out there for ages. I think it’s ever so romantic. Love at first sight. It happened all the time to Lola. Frequently she’d see a handsome cadet passing under her balcony and toss him her door key just like that—”
Meet a Dark Stranger Page 11
