“Did you sign the contract?” Clay asked softly. “After all, I am a lawyer.” He leaned against the fence, obviously intending to wait. “We insist on the neat and tidy.”
“Of course.” She moved toward the Chevy. She’d had to trade the Trooper to get something big enough to pull the horses. “The papers are in the glove compartment. I’ll get them.”
Walking to the truck, she felt as if he watched each step, each swing of her arm. She got the papers and turned back to find that he hadn’t moved. He was staring directly at her.
“When will I meet the children?” She took her emotions and the situation firmly in hand. There was nothing wrong with Clay Sumner; the problem was in her overactive imagination and her overstressed brain. She was letting her imagination run away with her. She proffered the contract as she approached.
Clay took the papers and started toward the house. Connor fell in beside him, taking in the immaculate grounds. A multitude of exotic-looking shrubs lined the white shell drive, and she tried to find familiar foliage as she listened to Clay talk.
“Danny and Renata will be out tomorrow, on Saturday,” Clay said. “I thought you’d like an evening to learn your way around the house. I’ve hired Willene to come each day, and Sally will help her clean. If you can’t find everything you need, ask Willene. She’s worked for us for years, on and off.” He slowed his pace, feet scrunching in the shell drive. “She’s a bit of a character, but I think you’ll enjoy her company. The children adore her.”
As they approached the house, Connor was conscious of how large it was. A porch extended on three sides, wide and inviting, with rocking chairs, two hammocks, and different groupings of furniture. There was the feeling that at any moment the doors would open and a party would spill out onto the lawn. Balconies extended from second- and third-floor rooms, and flowering vines trailed over the wooden bannisters.
“Does anyone stay over at night?” Connor stopped and looked up. The third-floor blinds were now closed, as if the house slept in the late afternoon sun, or else pretended to. The thought was so unexpected and macabre that she took a half-step toward Clay.
“Jeff stays in an apartment over the barn on occasion. He’s my main farmhand right now, and there are times when he needs to be here. Willene has accommodations near the kitchen. She can stay at Oaklawn, if she chooses, but her home is only a half mile away.” He looked at her. “Are you concerned about staying here alone?”
“No,” Connor hesitated even as she spoke. “It’s a big house. And old.”
“Lots of creaks and moans,” he said. “The children used to laugh and say the house was haunted.” He stopped abruptly, turning his gaze back through the pecan orchard to the barn. The slate roof was black against the sky. “At one time they loved it here, very much. Lately, they spend all their time at the house in town, but there was a time when they couldn’t wait for the weekends so they could stay at Oaklawn. I’m hoping that learning to ride will renew their interest. Oaklawn is their heritage.”
“I’ll bet they have plenty of adventures here,” Connor said with a sigh. The house was big and a little intimidating, but the estate was beautiful, gracious. It would be a fairyland for children to run and play in.
“When I was a child, this was my favorite place in the whole world. There’s a real sense of history here. My family helped settle the area, and Oaklawn was the site of their first home,” Clay said. “Anyway, Willene entertains the children and spoils them rotten. She tells them stories and stirs them up.” His hand brushed Connor’s shoulder as he guided her forward. “I’m sure they’ll be staying here often, especially on the weekends. When they stay, Willene will certainly stay. And I’ll be here on occasion. You aren’t afraid, are you?”
“I’ll be fine,” Connor said, realizing she must sound like a teenage ninny. It was just that even though the house looked so beautiful, it exuded something else. “New surroundings are always a little unnerving.”
“Old houses always carry a past.” A frown ridged his forehead. “I’m afraid you’ll find that the past is often more important than the present in Mobile. More important and never dead.” Anger edged his voice. “Even at Oaklawn.”
“The talkative Richard Brian said the city has almost an ancestor worship. Of course, Richard tends to exaggerate—at least, I always thought he did.” She watched a smile replace Clay’s frown.
“It isn’t that bad,” Clay said. When he looked at her, his blue eyes were mildly amused. “Richard didn’t fit into the round hole his parents had prepared for him. He should have been a doctor … or a lawyer.”
“Like you?” She was curious about Clay’s relationship with Richard. They’d been friends, but she’d picked up on an element of discontent in Richard’s silences. He’d said only that he and Clay had taken separate paths. He’d found Mobile stifling, and Clay had flourished. But Connor suspected it was more than that. Clay had gone the professional route, and Richard had followed a creative dream. Clay was top dog in his own small pond, and Richard was still swimming upstream in Hollywood.
“Exactly. I’m the lawyer, and Harlan, my brother, is the doctor.”
“How nice for your parents.” Connor smiled to let him know she wasn’t being sarcastic. “I’m afraid my father’s ambitions were very different where I was concerned.”
“He didn’t want you involved with horses? I thought he was a trainer.”
“He is.” Connor smiled. “The thought that I might be a doctor or lawyer never crossed his mind. It was always the horses. He said I had a gift. So, you see, we’re all victims of our parents’ expectations, I’m afraid.”
“Did Richard mention anything about my … personal ambitions?”
“Other than to play a little polo with the local wags, no. Wait, I think he said something about fox hunting. But he said there wasn’t any hunt club here. Huntsville is the closest, I believe.” She wanted him to know she’d done her homework. “Is there something specific I should know?”
“Only if you register to vote in Alabama. If all goes as planned, I’ll be running for a Senate seat next summer.”
“As a matter of fact, he did mention that. He seems to feel you stand a good chance of winning.” The idea of being in the public eye was distasteful to her. What person in his right mind would want every Tom, Dick, and Harry poking into his private business?
“Mr. Clay!”
The solid front door burst open as they took the first step. A short woman, past fifty, hurried across the porch. She stopped, pushed her glasses up her nose, and looked at Connor. “And you must be the new horse girl. I’ve got coffee dripping and dinner cooking. I told Mr. Clay you’d be hungry.”
“Connor Tremaine, this is Willene Welford. Ms. Tremaine is the horse trainer,” Clay said easily. “If you call her ‘the horse girl,’ people will think the worst of her.”
“Not a chance,” Willene said, looking Connor up one side and down the other. “Unless she’s hiding hooves in her shoes, no one would mistake her for anything but a woman. She’s leggy, but she’s a woman, right enough.”
Clay took Connor’s elbow as if he expected her to run. “Willene’s outspoken,” he said. “You’ll have to learn to hold your own with her.”
“I can manage.” Connor was amused at the relationship between the two. After all she’d heard about Mobile society and servants, she found Clay’s behavior a pleasant surprise. And Willene promised to be a bonus to her days. The stout old woman was herding them into the house, talking a mile a minute.
“The upstairs wing is cleaned up, and I unpacked the bags Jeff brought in. I can see right off that you need to go out and buy you some dresses. Nothin’ but pants. Honey, if my body looked like yours, I’d trim it up in a blue velvet dress and prance.”
“Willene!” Clay’s voice lacked any reprimand. “I believe Ms. Tremaine can manage her wardrobe without any fashion tips from you.”
“Women today forget how to dress. That’s a fact.” She looked at Con
nor. “Tall, slender woman like yourself, you could knock a man dead in the right dress. Put that auburn hair up, kind of loose and drapin’ down your back. Add a little touch of green shadow to bring out those eyes, a bit of lipstick, you’d be …”
“What’s for dinner?” Clay interrupted.
“I didn’t get here until after lunch. Fried chicken and potato salad. I brought half a pecan pie I had at my house, thinking you both might enjoy something sweet after dinner. I’ve got to go to the store tomorrow and buy big. Since Ms. Talla …” She stopped abruptly, the flush fading from her cheeks as she dropped her eyes in embarrassment. “Anyway, I set the table for a cold dinner, ‘cause I didn’t know when you’d be here. I’ve just put some coffee to brewing, and I should ask what wine you’ll be wantin’ with dinner. Or would you like a special drink?”
“I believe Ms. Tremaine wants a bath.” Clay’s good humor had evaporated. His tone was cold. “Would you care for some refreshment, Ms. Tremaine?”
“Coffee would be wonderful,” Connor said. She could feel the sudden tension, and it made her uneasy. She was exhausted and confused. What had set Clay off?
“Sally went out to check the pecan orchard,” Willene said. “It should be a good crop this year. Plenty of rain. I think she really went out to see if Jeff was hangin’ around the back fence. Anyway, when she gets back in, I’ll send up coffee. Cream and sugar?”
“Black,” Connor said with a smile.
“I’ll show Ms. Tremaine to her room,” Clay said, touching Connor’s shoulder as he started down the hall. “I’m sure she’s tired, and eager for a hot soak.”
At Clay’s firm touch Connor stepped through the entrance hall. A central staircase led up to the second and third floors, but Clay moved beyond it. The hallway continued down the center of the house and then split to left and right. Clay guided her to the left, down another corridor. Family portraits and a collection of beautiful mirrors lined the walls. Connor had time only for passing glances as Clay directed her toward a smaller staircase that led up to her suite of rooms on the second floor.
At the door he paused, reaching into his pocket for a key. “There’s a spare at my office, just in case you lose yours. But this is the only key on these grounds. That way you can have some privacy.”
“Thank you.” Connor took the key, intrigued by the shape and heft of it. “A skeleton key?”
“That’s the term,” Clay said, “but there aren’t any bones.” His grin was deliberately wicked. “At least, not in your room.”
Connor unlocked the heavy door and stepped inside. She had a quick impression of antiques, muted pastels, and polished glass. “I’ll hold you to that,” she said.
Instead of laughing, Clay nodded, turned, and left her. She closed the door and found her fingers turning the lock. Never one to lock and bolt herself in her room, she smiled at her behavior. The house was big, and old, and a little eerie. The past did cling to the rooms. She could smell it in the gleaming wood surfaces and the rich tones of the carpets that were scattered about the hardwood floors. She could see it in Clay Sumner.
Half an hour later, bathed and with her hair brushed, she stood before an ornate mirror that covered half a wall of her bedroom. Behind her, a fourposter bed of dark mahogany promised a good night’s sleep. The idea of dressing for dinner had never crossed her mind, but as Connor pressed her palms down the legs of her khakis to smooth out the wrinkles, she smiled at Willene’s astute comment on her wardrobe. She was lacking when it came to dresses. In California, the dress was passé. But this was the South, where women dressed like women and men adored them. Her smile deepened. Her female friends in Malibu had been horrified when she’d told them she was moving to Alabama. Shocked and horrified. It was, indeed, a different culture. In a flash of mischief she wondered if she could possibly find an old ante-bellum dress in her size. If she could get one and have her photo snapped, it would be a great gag postcard.
Smiling at the imagined expressions of her friends, she put some lipstick on and checked her image. She was as ready for dinner as she’d ever get, and feeling much hungrier after her bath.
There was a gentle tap at her door. A young woman called her name, announcing that dinner was ready whenever she was.
“I’m coming,” she answered, opening the door. A slender young brunette was standing at the edge of the landing, looking at her as if she were an alien. The girl’s pointed face held a certain sweetness, and she held herself as if ready for flight.
“Sally?” Connor questioned. Willene had finally brought her coffee, tired of waiting for the young maid to return from her rendezvous with the foreman.
“Yes ma’am, that’s me. Willene sent me to tell you dinner’s ready.”
“Thank you.” Connor started to close the door, but the expression on Sally’s face stopped her. “Is there something else?”
“Aren’t you going down to dinner now?” the girl asked. She looked down the staircase with the nervousness of a cornered rabbit.
“Yes, I’m ready.” Connor picked up the cup and saucer to return it to the kitchen. As she drew her key from her pocket to lock the door, she felt Sally watched her. “Is something wrong?”
Sally looked to be eighteen, and she acted even younger. She was a pretty girl, freckles strung across her nose and gray eyes that reflected a happy nature. Now, though, she looked frightened.
“I’m glad you’re walking down with me. Those stairs.” Sally shook her head. “I know it’s my imagination. Willene and my mom say I read too much, and most of it the wrong stuff. Those stairs give me a case of it, though.” With reluctance showing in each step she stared down the hallway.
“It’s an old house.” Connor found herself repeating Clay’s words. “Lots of creaks and noises. I’ll have to get used to them myself.”
“During the day, I don’t even think about it. It’s just the night. Sometimes I think I see someone in these halls.”
“Someone from the household?”
“No, ma’am. Not from the household. A young woman.” She laughed nervously. “You see, I’m afraid of the dark. My brothers know it, too, and they like to scare me. Jumping out of things and all. Willene said if I didn’t get over acting silly I was going to be fired. That’s why I wanted to walk down with you, if you don’t mind.”
Connor decided the best tack was to change the subject. She pointed to one of the pictures that lined the hallway. “Some of Mr. Sumner’s relatives?”
“Yes, ma’am. Willene knows them all by name. She’s from right around Oaklawn, and she knows about the Sumners. They’re sort of the Rockefellers of these parts, you know, the rich and famous.” Sally shrugged. “Folks are always interested in what goes on here with the Sumners.” She glanced up at Connor. “You’ve been big talk already, and seeing as how you’re young and beautiful, it’s bound to heat up.” She hesitated. “But that’s just folks around here. They talk, especially about Mr. Clay. Willene said this afternoon, after she saw you, that you’d stir up the coals of old gossip for Mr. Clay.”
“I hope not,” Connor said.
Sally blanched. “Please don’t tell Willene I said that. She’ll say I’m making trouble. She warned us all about gossipin’.”
“Don’t worry,” Connor reassured the girl. “Sticks and stones,” she added. She didn’t much care what the locals said or thought. It might be a different story with Clay, if his political ambitions were sincere. “I’m just another employee, like you.”
“Oh, Ms. Tremaine, a horse trainer is mighty different from a maid.”
“We’re both paid for a service,” Connor said. “That’s the best way to look at it, and the best thing to tell anyone who asks. I work for Mr. Sumner, just like you and Willene. Nothing more and nothing less.”
“Mr. Sumner is waiting to have dinner with you,” Sally said without any rancor. “That makes it different.”
“We need to discuss the riding plan for the children,” Connor said. Sally was a country girl, but
she was sharp to discern the difference in status that she, Connor Claire Tremaine, would never have seen. She was learning her first lesson in the social strata of hired help in the South.
Sally opened a dark door that led from the right side of the hallway. Connor found herself standing in a formal dining room. “I thought Willene said we were having an informal meal,” she said, realizing too late that she had whispered. The house was big, elegantly furnished. She caught her reflection in a mirror over the mantel. She looked as out of place as she felt.
“Mr. Sumner said he wanted to eat in here,” Sally said.
“I’ve noticed something about this house,” Connor said, forcing her voice to a normal pitch. “There are an awful lot of mirrors. There’re three in my suite, at least four in the hallway, one in the entrance hall, and that one over there, as big as a wall.”
“Yes, there are a lot of mirrors. I dust them.” Sally looked down at her shoes.
“Is there any particular reason for them?”
“I think it’s the light. They make it seem like there’s more light in the house.”
“I see,” Connor said. “They’re all ornate, though. Mr. Sumner’s choice?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Mrs. Sumner?” Connor felt as if she was pulling teeth. Where had the mirror-loving Mrs. Sumner gone after the divorce? No one at Oaklawn seemed to want to talk about her very much.
“Yes, ma’am. She didn’t like the dark, either. She was afraid of it, worse than me, even. She said she was raised up to live in the city, not out in the sticks by herself. She said …”
The door swung open and Clay stepped into the room. Sally froze for a moment, looking from Clay to Connor. “I’d better go help Willene. I’ll take that cup, if you’re finished.” She held out her hand and Connor put the coffee cup and saucer in it.
Clay drew back Connor’s chair and held it for her. As Connor took a seat at the table, Sally returned to the room with wine. At Clay’s nod, she poured. Connor noticed that her hands were visibly shaking, and she hurried from the room.
Deception Page 3
