Inheritance

by Judith Michael

  He gazed at her. He knows I've lied. Its not definite; I can't go unless Ben helps me. And even ffl do go, I'll still live with him and Clay; I can't afford a dormitory. He knows I'm lying and now he won't like me anymore.

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  "I went to a university for two years," the old man said. **Then I left and started my own company. I made a great deal of money but I always disliked it when people asked me about college, because I didn't have a success to talk about. Perhaps when you graduate and have a success to talk about you won't mind questions."

  "Thank you," Laura said in a low voice. Reluctantly, she stood up. "I'll be late for work if I don't go."

  He nodded and stood with her. "If you come this way tomorrow, we can talk some more. I'll be right here, swallowed up in my thoughts."

  "If I can," Laura said, though she knew she wouldn't. Ben wouldn't like her talking about herself so much and she knew it really wasn't smart. But it isn't fair that I can't make friends with Allison or this nice old man, or anybody else around here who's nice. She picked up her bicycle. "Good-bye," she said, and wondered if it sounded like she meant it for good.

  He held out his hand. "I hope you come back."

  Awkwardly, Laura touched lus hand, not shaking it but brushing his palm with hers. Then, as she put her hands on her handlebars, he kissed her forehead. "I hope I haven't made you late."

  He was smiling at her in that personal way and Laura became angry. Why did he have to be so nice? "Good-bye," she said loudly and pushed off, struggling to keep the bicycle straight in the shifting sand. She wished she were smoother about getting along with people. It was like collecting shells: something she'd never had a chance to practice. To make up for her abruptness, she turned to wave good-bye. He was watching her, holding up his hand. It was a farewell wave but it was also like a benediction.

  All day, working in the kitchen, she carried the memory of the old man's private smile and the way he had raised his hand, palm toward her, as she walked away. She wished she could see him again but she couldn't; one of these days she and Clay and Ben would do the job and then they'd be back in the city, together again. Her two brothers, her family.

  "Laura, stop dreaming," Rosa said. "I'm asking you to work tonight. Is it yes or no?"

  "Yes," Laura said.

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  "We might be here late."

  She shrugged. It was better to work in Rosa's bright, warm kitchen than sit in a tiny room over a garage and watch Clay make endless schedules of guards and watchdogs to impress Ben.

  "A real lady doesn't shrug her shoulders, my young miss."

  Laura started to shrug, then she caught herself and put her head back, standing straight. She'd never heard that ladies didn't shrug. But Rosa would know. Rosa knew all about ladies.

  "—home from Europe," Rosa was saying. "And Mr. Owen is back from Canada, and Alhson from Maine. The whole family will be together for the first time this summer. Twenty-four, at last count."

  "Who's home from Europe?" Laura said, thinking that all the houses would be full now and maybe Ben had lost his best chance. She should have told him about the empty houses. But she hadn't told him or Clay most of the things Rosa told her about the Salingers. After she'd told them about the jewels in the closet and the alarm, she'd felt so awful she stopped telling them things. It wasn't important, anyway; they didn't have to know Rosa's Httle stories about— "What?" she asked. "I'm sorry, Rosa; I didn't hear you."

  "I said for the third time, my dreaming miss, that Paul and his parents are back from Europe. You really ought to show a little more interest in this family, Laura. You'U never be a success at any job unless you're interested in everything about it."

  "You're right," Laura murmured and went on rolling pastry and wondering what it would be like to be part of a family of twenty-four people. It isn't size that counts, she told herself. It's being loved and cared for and having a place to go when you're afraid of being alone.

  But still, that evening, listening to the rising tide of conversation as the Salingers came into the dining room from the ocean-facing front porch where they'd had drinks, she wished again she belonged to so many people. From the many voices she made out Leni's and Felix's—^"he sounds like a fingernail on a blackboard," Clay had said after meeting him—and she heard Allison's cool laugh. Finally, when the cold soup had

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  been served, and Rosa sent her to the pantry for extra platters for the roasted game hens, she couldn't resist stopping on the way to inch open the swinging door and take a quick look into the dining room.

  Her stomach contracted. The old man from the beach was sitting at the head of the table, his head bent courteously as he listened to Felix, on his left. She felt faint with fear. Owen Salinger. Who else could it be? The head of the family at the head of the table. Mr. Owen is back from Canada. Rosa had said that this morning. And Laura Fairchild, her tongue running like water from an open faucet, had talked to hmi about herself as if he were a friend, not part of a family they were planning to rob. Frantically thinking back, she didn't think she'd given anything away, but that wasn't the point. Ben's first rule had been that no one in the Salinger family could know anything about them, and not only had she violated that rule, she'd picked the head of the family to do it with, the one all the others would listen to if he had suspicions atK>ut her. Stupid. Unprofessional. What was it about these people that caused her to let down her guard? What would Ben say when he found out?

  "Uurar' Rosa called. *The plattersT'

  Rapidly, Laura's gaze swept the table and she filed each face in her memory. Her swift glance stopped when she found herself looking directly into the eyes of a young man seated next to Allison. His eyes were almost black beneath straight brows; his face was thin with a long, narrow nose above a wide mouth and quick smile, and he brushed his thick dark hair back from his forehead with an impatient hand. He was young and handsome, with the piercing gaze of Leni and the barely disguised arrogance of Allison, and he was looking at Laura with amusement and a faint curiosity that inftiriated her. Backing away, she let the door swing shut, grabbed three platters from the shelf, and marched into the kitchen.

  "What's got into you?" Rosa asked.

  "Nothing." Laura concentrated on arranging the platters on the counter. "I had trouble finding the platters.'*

  "My eye," Rosa said amiably. "You put them away two days ago after we used them for lunch. All these moods you've got. . . But it's not my business; you'll find I'm very

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  big on letting people woric out their own demons. But you'll have to forget yours for a while; we have work to do." She looked up sharply. "Mr. Owen! Do you need something? Is something wrong?"

  "Look on the happy side, Rosa," Owen Salinger said with a grin, more lighthearted than Laura remembered him. "Maybe I came to tell you everything is perfect."

  "Well, I should hope— " She saw Owen looking at Laura. **This is my assistant. Laura Fairchild, Mr. Owen Salinger."

  Owen held out his hand. "Welcome, Miss Fairchild." Meeting his eyes, Laura saw that he was inviting her to play a game, and she felt the same rush of gratitude she had felt earlier when he'd tried to put her at her ease. "Have you met our family?" he asked as she put her hand in his. **Or has our strict Rosa kept you too busy? Perhaps she'll spare you one of diese days so you can be introduced to everyone."

  Laura flushed deeply. He had seen her spying on them and was making fun of her. She worked her hand free of his. "I'd rather stay with Rosa."

  "Laura!" Rosa frowned in disapproval. She couldn't understand what Owen was thinking of—when had he ever introduced temporary help to the family?—but no one in her kitchen was going to be rude to Mr. Owen Salinger if she had anything to say about it. "You owe Mr. Salinger an apology for your rude behavior. You should be grateful."

  "I'm sorry," Laura said to Owen. "But I've seen your family." She heard her voice waver.

  "But you haven't been prope
rly introduced. Rosa, can you spare Laura for a few hours one of these days?"

  He and Rosa discussed days and times while Laura silently repeated Owen's words. Properly introduced. Maybe he hadn't been making fim of her, maybe he knew she'd felt like an outsider when she peered at his family and he wanted to make her feel better about herself.

  **Next week?" Owen was asking her cointeously.

  I'll do it for Ben, she thought. To leam more about the family. *Thank you," she said. Td like to meet everyone. Property."

  "Very good." He turned to go. "Oh, by tiie way," he said casually to Rosa, "I'm reorganizing my library and I could use

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  some help. Do you know anyone who wants to woik eight to ten hours a week, shelving and cataloguing? Someone who loves old books and new ideas." Laura looked sharply at him. What was he up to? "Hard work, good pay," he went on, smiling at Laura.

  Rosa pursed her lips. *There*s always people looking for work. But. . . books? FU have to give it some thought."

  **rd like to do it," Laura said in a rush. 'Td like to try, anyway. I know about books."

  Owen's smile broadened. "A good idea. A very good idea. We*U start tomorrow, shall we? Two to four every afternoon."

  **Mr. Owen ..." Rosa began. She was distinctly uncomfortable. "Are you sure— 1 1 mean to say, Laura learns fast and remembers everything you tell her, and she's nimble as a cat, but she sometimes—^I don't mean to criticize her; I'm fond of her—but she is very big into saying she's done a thing when I'm not at all sure she's really . . . done it."

  "I do know books," Laura said quickly. "I've been in bookstores a lot—in one bookstore, anyway—and sometimes I helped catalogue. I really do know books!"

  "I believe you," Owen said, smiling again at the fierce determination that reminded him of his own when he was about her age and starting to make his own way. He had seen it on the b^h that morning; together with her wariness it was what had most attracted him. But this evening, she had touched his heart, as well, when he looked up from his talk with Felix and saw her looking at the family. He had had only a glimpse of her slender face and enormous, longing eyes as the pantry door swung shut, but it was enough: as wild as she seemed, she was hungrier for love than anyone he had ever known and it was that vulnerability that sent him looking for her.

  Someone new, he thought. We don't see new people often enough. The same faces at parties, the same circle of friends, whether we're in Boston or the Cape or New York. Even the same conversations. I can use something new to think about, someone to help. And why not help someone who reminds me of myself, so long ago?

  **We'll try it," he said firmly to Rosa. *l'm sure you can spare Laura from two to four every afternoon; if she has to stay later at night, I'll pay her overtime." He gave neither

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  Rosa nor Laura time to respond. "We'll start tomorrow. And/* he added to Laura, 'Tm uncomfortable with uniforms. Can you bring something casual to wear in my dusty library?**

  Laura avoided Rosa's eyes. Rosa loved uniforms and had told her to wear hers whenever she was on the Salinger grounds. "Yes,** she said. And the next day, promptly at two, when she knocked on the door leading from Felix and Leni*s long gallery to Owen's house, she wore blue jeans and a pink cotton shirt, scuffed loafers, and a pink ribbon tying her hair in a ponytail.

  "Ah," said Owen, admiring the color in her cheeks and the depth of her deep blue eyes, less wary, more eager than the day before. "Come in, look around, then we'll begin work."

  It was a man's house, with oak floors, Persian rugs, and oversize couches and chairs upholstered in dark suede. On the walls were oil paintings of the Cape and its wildlife in different seasons; the lamps were pewter, the windows bare. Beyond the living room was the library, its walls lined floor to ceiling with books, precarious towers of books stacked on the floor, books on reading stands, books strewn on long tables, window seats, and the arms of chairs. "It needs order," Owen said thoughtfully.

  Laura gazed at the chaos. "I thought you said re-organize."

  "I did. What you see is my first organization. You and I will accomplish iht second. Perhaps it will be more successful."

  Laura looked at him and they laughed together. "I guess it can't be any worse," she said, and rolled up her sleeves.

  Every day they worked side by side, alphabetizing, cataloguing, labeling shelves, wading tiirough the new piles they made as they sorted old ones. And they talked. Owen told Laura about his parents and grandparents, the first four hotels he bought—still his favorites though his company owned over fifty in America and Europe—and about Iris, ^e woman he had loved since he was fifteen, his wife and the mother of his children, whom he still longed for every day, though it had been almost forty years since she died.

  And Laura talked, too, carefully choosing the memories she would share. She told Owen the same story she had told Leni: how she and Clay had lived with relatives after their parents

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  were killed in an automobile accident, and recently moved out because they didn't like it there. She told him, truthfully, what she remembered about her mother and father, a few anecdotes about her brother Clay— but nothing about Ben; don't slip and say anything about Ben —and the classes she had liked best in high school. For the first time she talked about her dreams of being an actress. 'I've had three parts in school plays and everybody says I'm really good. And I love being on the stage, all that makebelieve . . ." She talked about studying acting in college, if she ever found a way to go. "I mean," she fumbled when she remembered she'd lied about college the day they met, "I was going to start this fall, but I don't know, it may not work out ..."

  "There's nothing wrong with pretending," Owen said gently.

  "I wasn't pretending!" she said hotly. "I thought I'd go! I wiU go!"

  "I'm sure you will," he said, still gentle.

  She bit her lip. "I'm sorry. I don't know exactly what I'll do about college. I'll figure something out."

  "Well," he said offhandedly, leafing through a leather-bound book, "I could loan you the money for tuition. And board and room, too, if you need it." He heard Laura's sharp breath and nodded slowly. "I could certainly do that. A loan, of course, though I wouldn't expect you to pay it back until you had graduated and were earning your living, acting or perhaps something else. However, there would be one condition." He looked up and met her quick frown. "I'd expect you to write to me, and visit me, too. I wouldn't want to lose track of you."

  Laura's face was radiant, her mind racing. "It's so wonderful ..." / never have to steal again. I can go to college and learn to be somebody. And I have a friend. She put out her hand, then drew it back. She wanted to touch Owen, she wanted to kiss him, but she thought he might be angry. All he'd done was offer to loan her money. He probably loaned money to lots of people, and he wouldn't want them to start slobbering over him. She kept her hand in her lap. "You're wonderful. Thank you, thank you so much ... I'll make you proud of me, I'll work so hard . . ." She turned her head

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  away to hide the tears that stung her eyes. "I'll write to you every day," she said briskly and picked up a book, staring at it blindly until her tears dried.

  "Once a week will be sufficient," Owen said with a calm smile, and they went back to work.

  From that day, Laura found it easier to talk about her life in New York, her favorite books, the hours she had spent in Cal Hendy's bookshop. She was still careful, she still had to stop herself sometimes in mid-sentence, but by th&end of their first week together the best time of her day was with Owen. It was a time when she could almost relax and forget everything outside his quiet rooms.

  The only thing she couldn't forget, as hard as she tried, was Clay's admiring voice when she had told him about her part-time job. '*God, you're clever, Laura. Who else could have wormed her way into the family and made the old guy trust you in less than two months?"

  Owen met her in the kitchen just after
lunch and took her to meet the family. They went from house to house along paths lined with old-fashioned gas lamps and rhododendron bushes, and Laura was reminded of books she had read about an earlier century, when people made calls in the afternoon, leaving calling cards if no one was home. But for Owen, everyone was home. And though they were puzzled, and Laura was almost mute from shyness, everyone was kind. Only Felix and Asa made clear how peculiar they found the situation, even allowing for their father's famous whims, and Asa's wife, Carol, didn't know whether to echo her husband's chilly greeting or Leni's pleasant one.

  As they were leaving Asa's house, Allison arrived with her cousin Patricia. "Oh, we've met," Allison said casually when Owen began his introduction. Laura held her breath, but Allison breezed on. "When mother hired you, remember? I was so glad she did. When Rosa does the hiring she always finds elderly ladies with thin lips who play bridge and only cook lamb chops and Jell-O. She did hire a terrific college girl last summer who mixed up oregano and marijuana. Fortunately Rosa discovered it before we ate the lasagna. Grandpa said we would have been known as the Stoned Salingers, which annoyed my father, but his sense of humor is rather dim."

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  "Allison," Owen said, "that is no way to talk of your father."

  "You talk about him that way." Allison's voice deepened and she drew her brows together like Owen. "Telix, you*d live longer and make the rest of us much happier if you learned to laugh occasionally.'"

  Owen smiled, but Laura thought there was a sharpness in the way Allison talked about everyone, from elderly ladies to her own father.

  "I assume," Allison was saying to her, **you can distinguish between oregano and marijuana and you excel at something besides lamb chops and Jell-O."

  "I don't excel at anything yet," said Laura, but I can make it in a tough neighborhood better than you ever could. Standing beside Owen, staring at the porcelain beauty of Allison ai^ her silent cousin, she felt a surge of anger. Why was it that peq)le who had lots of money also had p^ect figures and beautiful faces and respectability, too? Why weren't those things parceled out so everybody could at least have some-tfaing? "But I will. I'm going to college aad be an actress, or ma}^"—she cast about, trying to sound as self-assured as the Saiingers—^"I'll own somediing, a bosiiiess or a bookshop, or mayl^ a restaurant, and hire people to woric for me."