"He didn't have to turn to me,** said Laura angrily. "He wanted to. We woriced together and he trusted me.**
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**Of course," Cheyne said smoothly. 'Tell me again, would you, why he fired his secretary."
"He didn't fire her. I told you, she woiiced for the executive offices in the Boston Salinger, and now that I was with him he didn't need to take her from her other woiic anymore."
"Now that you were with him. Was it your suggestion that he fire his secretary and use you instead?"
"He didn't fire his secretary!"
It went on and on, but Laura and Rollins knew it could have I been worse: Cheyne could have brought up her arrest and conviction in New York. "It's a good sign that they didn't," Rollins said as they left Cheyne's office after Clay had gone through the same procedure as Laura. "It's obvious they're convinced it would do no good to bring it up in court; I'd be ready for them, and I'm sure the judge would not allow it; it has no bearing on this case."
"How sure?" Clay demanded.
"Sure enough," Rollins said shortly. "What happened today showed us what they have. You may have thought the questions were difficult, but they were what I expected. The whole purpose of depositions is to get information. And of course to make sure no one springs any surprises at the trial."
*Then why bother to have a trial?" Clay asked, recalling dramatic trial scenes in films and on television.
"So a jury can decide who is telling the truth," Rollins said dryly. "You were the one who told me that was your right."
Clay mumbled something and Laura asked, "We'U know everytiiing everyone is going to say before the trial begins?"
"Unless something is discovered at the last minute, or witnesses change their stories."
A flash of fear went through her. "Why would they?"
"They might remember something they'd forgotten or be asked a question one of the lawyers didn't ask at the deposition. It doesn't happen often." He led them to the door. "I'll call you soon."
He called in December. Laura was in Kelly's office, and she went into her small one adjoining it and closed the door to talk to him. He had conducted his depositions in his office, questioning the Salingers, the doctor and nurses, and Parkinson. "Nothing startling," he concluded when he had related
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them to her. "But that gives me concern. At the moment they have a weak case, and I would expect Carver to have more than we've seen. He's very confident."
"You mean we should be worried."
"I mean we should be alert. You and I should meet several more times before the trial. We'll begin in two weeks; can you get here?"
"Of course."
"Good. Make sure your story is clear."
"It is clear, since it's the truth," Laura said coldly. "Didn't the doctor and nurses say everything was normal?"
"As I told you, they said as far as they could tell Mr. Salinger was weak, and frustrated by his limitations, but not unduly agitated. That was the most definitive they would get. Our best hope is Parkinson: he's a fine lawyer and he was absolutely straightforward in answering my questions. He wouldn't have prepared that codicil or allowed Mr. Salinger to sign it if he thought something was amiss; no reputable lawyer would. As long as he says Mr. Salinger knew what he wanted, I think we're in excellent shape."
"Is that all?" Laura asked after a moment. "Didn't . . . anyone else give a deposition?"
"You're thinking of Paul Janssen. No. I understand fix)m Carver that he doesn't want to testify. No one wants a reluctant witness—you never know what you'll get—so at least for now he won't be called."
Laura was silent. She didn't know what Paul was thinking. I could write to him, she thought; but she didn't know what she could say. Are you reluctant because you still love me? But if you do, why not tell the jury I would never rob the family or take anything from Owen or try to make him act against his will? Or is it that you still believe I'm guilty of those things and you don't want to have anything to do with me, for good or ill?
She didn't want to think about it. Whether they won or lost in court, Paul was gone; he was making a new life, as she was. No court case would change that.
She concentrated on woric, learning the business of running a resort. She had written to Ben, telling him where they were. *Things didn't work out at the Salingers'," she wrote. She
Judith Michael
couldn't tell him about Owen's will and how they'd been forced out; it would only prove to him that he'd been right about the Salingers from the first, when he told her they didn't care about her and never would. So she sent him her new address, and a short note, and that was all. And then, with all the others, she pushed Ben out of her thoughts and buried herself in the large problems and small details of the resort.
She and Kelly had divided the domestic and business affairs, while John handled transportation, sports, and the physical plant. They all worked in harmony, especially as Laura took on more responsibilities. From her first tentative days at the job she had, over the months, grown more sure of herself. Everything she had learned with Jules LeClair about the whims and demands of guests, she used at Damton's. She used everything she had learned from Owen about the organization of hotels and priorities of management; she used the case studies she had done at the university; she used everything KeUy taught her about the peculiarities of a resort. She worked all day and late into every night, studying the way Damton's functioned, and how it might toction better, and when Kelly or John urged her to relax, she thanked them but went back to woik. If she won at the trial, she could relax. If she didn't, she had to earn a living while she tried to figure out a way to get back some of what was rightfully hers.
After Christmas the lodge suddenly was quiet, and the island seemed deserted. *'We ought to close down and go to Florida," John said.
*Too much woik to do," Kelly responded.
It was an old argument, and it flared and faded as the weeks passed and they made plans for the summer. The three of them coordinated the different staffs that woriced on the island, made lists of equipment, and wrote schedules for tennis, horseback riding, swinmiing and aerobic classes, speed- and sailboat cruises on the lake, golf on their eighteen-hole course in Jay's Landing, card games, and first-run movies shown at night. And, since people judge a place largely on food, they spent extra time on the dining room and bar menus for more than two hundred guests, depending on how many families were at the resort at any one time.
"It's expensive so we don't get too many kids," John said
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as he and Laura walked back firom inspecting the marina one morning in January. "I don't want them—too much trouble, and the doc on the mainland on call more often—but Kelly thinks we might fill more rooms as a family resort. Do you have an opinion on that?"
Laura frowned slighdy. "I don't understand why it can't be a family resort and very expensive, too. Don't wealthy people take vacations with their cluldren?"
He stopped walking and looked at her, a giant of a man with a ruddy face, high forehead, and a heavy black beard. "Possibly."
"Maybe you ought to make Damton's so expensive wealthy parents will think it's too good to pass up. Then they could stop feeling guilty about leaving their chUdren with a nanny while they go off to play."
"You think they feel guilty?"
"I have no idea. I would. I'd love to have a place to bring my children and know we could do separate things and still share a good time."
He smiled. "You should have children; you'd be a good mother."
Laura flushed. "We're talking about Damton's."
"Okay," he said. "Damton's with rich little boys and girls romping in the fields. I like it. You impress me, Laura; I like a woman who thinks we can have it all." They began walking again and he shot a glance at her. "What about you? When are you going to have it all, instead of working every night?"
"I'm doing what I want to do," she said. "I might ask you the same question.
When was the last time you and Kelly had a night out on the mainland?"
"She doesn't want it. All she thinks about is this danm resort, making it pay, making it bigger . . .anyway, I was talking about you. What's the problem that you don't go any-where or— "
"I said I'm doing what I want!"
"Hey," he said, stepping back and putting up his hands in nKx;k fear. "Don't bite. Miss Fairchild, you've got a scared fella here—"
"Oh, fuck it, J(An, grow up." Abruptly she heard Rosa's «^oice: Ladies don't swear, my young miss. Or lose their
Judith Michael
temper, as I've told you many a time. "Fm sorry," she murmured, to Rosa or John, she wasn't sure which.
Clay liked John; the two of them spent hours with Dam-ton's fleet of vintage cars after John had Clay drive him around the island and pronounced him an excellent driver. From then on, when he wasn't on call to fill in as a desk clerk. Clay's passion was cars, second only to the young women who staffed the resort, especially a tennis instructor named Myma, long-legged and experienced, the way he liked them.
His favorite car, just ahead of a 1920 LaSalle and a 1925 Packard, was a 1927 Silver Shadow Rolls-Royce that he polished and cosseted more than any woman he'd ever known. He knew absolutely—and was reminded each time he ran sensuous palms over its gold and mahogany fittings, leather-bound steering wheel, and soft upholstered seats—that he was definitely made for the finest things in life.
The trouble was, most of the finest things had eluded him lately. He no longer even had his own apartment, as he had in Philadelphia. "It would be okay for somebody who didn't know any better," he grumbled, pacing around the small sitting room that linked his bedroom and Laura's, and eyeing the sturdy furniture and cotton throw rugs. "But, shit, if it wasn't for that bastard, we'd be on Beacon Hill with everything we have coming to us. You know what we're doing? We're going backward, for Christ's sake! Living in a little place, the two of us, just like five years ago, above that garage in Centerville. We were doing better, and now all we have is this fucking little—"
"It's home and we're lucky to have it," Laura snapped. Then she put her arm around him. "I know you're dis^ pointed. Clay, but I wish you'd just learn as much as you can while we're here and let me take care of the future. I'm thinking about it; I intend to take care of Felix one way or another. And you could help; a little cheerfulness would go a long way around here."
He dropped into a chair and stretched out his legs. He hated criticism.
Laura looked at the room. "Do you suppose the fireplace works?"
"I don't know; the housekeeper always took care of them at Owen's. How can you tell?"
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"Make a fire."
"The place might fill up with smoke/*
*Then we*ll know it doesn't work."
Clay laughed and jumped to kiss her. "You're okay, you know? I reaUy like being with you. I don't want you to think I don't appreciate what you do—making a home and—well, what the hell, you know what I mean. I'll get some firewood, okay? Be right back." He went outside, wishing he could tell Laura how great he thought she was without getting embarrassed. She really was clever, and nice, and she really cared about him. She'd been miserable the whole time they were in Philadelphia, after that fucking will reading, and he'd been so furious at the family he hadn't done much to help her. He didn't even have a job; he quit the hotel before Felix could fire him. So there they'd been, the two of them, with their own problems, and he'd kept sounding off but Laura hadn't said much. She hadn't cried, either; her face had been like stone, and she'd spent a lot of time alone, just walking around the city.
She was miserable, and Clay knew it. But he didn't know what would be the right thing to say, so he left her alone. He knew she'd work everything out; she always did. She didn't seem to need other people very much.
She said she needed him, though, which was why he was here. He'd followed her from the Cape to Boston and from Boston to this goddanmed island—an island in the middle of some mountains when what he craved was New York!—because she said she needed him; he was her family. Well, what the hell. He'd stick around for now. There was Myma, and the spectacular cars, and John Damton, who liked him and said he'd give him a raise if they had a good season. And besides, they weren't all that far from New York; he might be able to get there for a weekend now and then.
Anyway, where else would he be but here? He wouldn't go to Ben; he didn't trust him. Of course he could go anywhere —he was twenty-one, strong, healthy and free, with the whole world to choose from—but he'd decided to hang in there with Laura for a while more. It wasn't so bad, having a family of your own.
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"You want to tell me about those trips to Boston?** Kelly asked Laura one fragrant morning in March as they sat on the front porch. "And why you jump every time the phone rings in your office, like you're expecting something?"
"I'd like to, Kelly. And I will. But not yet."
"Quite a shell you've built around you," Kelly observed casually. "I'm here, you know, willing and able to Usten."
"I know it. Thank you."
Kelly poured coffee from the thermos jug they had brought firom the kitchen. "One thing, you do look a lot less peaked than when you got here. I hope we have something to do with that."
"You do," said Laura with a smile. "More than anyone or anything." She turned to a clean page on the clipboard in her lap. "We haven't gone over the wine list yet."
"Don't you ever quit? We could take a break; the management allows it."
"No, I'm fine; there's still so much to do."
"All work and no play," Kelly sighed, but she, too, picked up her clipboard. "Oh, what about linens? Did we finish with them yesterday? We did bed linens and restaurant stuff, but how about the health club?"
"It's on my list: fourteen towels and two dozen sheets for the massage rooms that should be replaced. I'm going into town this afternoon; I thought I'd stop at the laundry and tell them they have to be more careful."
"Good. I hate doing those things; I end up listening to their family problems and telling them not to worry about a few torn sheets. You're tougher than I am, my friend."
Laura thought of her sleepless nights. Not as tough as I'd like to be. '*They tell me their problems, too," she replied. "But I know people can live with their problems and still do a good job."
Kelly made the small humming sound that meant she was thinking and didn't want her thoughts interrupted by someone changing the subject.
"Kelly's humming," John Damton said, coming onto the porch from the great hall of the lodge. "What did I miss?"
"A fascinating discussion of the laundry," Laura said.
He chuckled and kissed the top of Kelly's head. "Girl talk."
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He leaned over his wife's shoulder and read the top page in her lap. "Wine. I forgot to tell you, I found a new supplier yesterday. He specializes in boutique American wines instead of French and Italian. Til bring you his price Ust and then we'll decide." He took the clipboard from her hand and riffled through the papers. "Better add some new bar glasses; breakage was up last season. Season. Lousy word, isn't it? We thought this place would be year-round."
"It will be," Kelly said. "It takes a while."
"*A while' seems to be going on longer than I expected." He was trying to sound playful, and as if the effort was too much, he returned the clipboard to her and straightened up, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'd call four years a meaning^ amount of time.'*
"You've said that before," Kelly noted flatly.
"About three thousand times, probably. And it's still dead around here from December to May, except for Christmas week—thank God for Christmas week—and what have we done about it?"
"We're working on it."
"How are we working on it?"
"What is this, a quiz?" Kelly demanded. "You know per-fecdy well what we're doing, we woiic together. Or did you again forget that?"
"Hoo-ee, the lady is on her crusade again." He clasped his hands behind his head and looked down at Kelly. "One time. One fucking time I play around with somebody and you absolutely will not let go of—^"
"Who'd believe that? If there was once there was twice or a hundred. Young chicks come here to work and you follow them to the mainland like a dog with his tongue hanging— **
"Did I ever expect my loving wife to call me a dogT John asked the cloudless sky. "Was I warned?"
"Don't talk about me as if I'm not here."
"I'll talk about you any way I goddam please."
Laura walked deliberately to the front door of die lodge. "I'll be in the kitchen," she said.
"Shit!" John exploded. He dropped his arms, his pahns slapping loudly against his thighs. "I'm going; I interrupted a conference. Sony we put you through this, Lauia; can you forgive us?"
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Without waiting for an answer, he turned to leave. As he passed Kelly's chair, he reached out to touch her shoulder, then jerked his hand back and kept going, down the steps and across the lawn.
"Damn, damn, damn." Kelly's fist pounded the arm of her chair. "Why can't I be cooler about things, like you? Because I can't; I start boiling when I think of him tangled in the sheets with some cute unattached chick who hasn't been married to him for ten years and doesn't have to worry about a resort sucking up an inheritance and every penny of savings like a vacuum cleaner and still needing more." She took a long breath. "Sorry, Laura, you've heard this before. First John apologizes, then I do; we keep making you our audience. It's just that there isn't anybody else around here who listens and doesn't gossip, and sometimes things pile up and . . ."
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