The Sea Star

by Nash, Jean

  “You’re very perceptive, Miss Sterling. I’ve met him, and he certainly is a cynic.”

  “You know him?” she said, impressed.

  “Only slightly. He stays at my hotel whenever he’s in New York, and whenever we talk I’m always struck by what you so accurately describe as his ‘scornful cynicism.’”

  “I like his books nonetheless,” Susanna said, worried that she might have offended him by criticizing an acquaintance.

  For the third time that evening Jay gave her that oddly searching smile, as if both puzzled and pleased by an unexpected paradox. “Miss Sterling,” he said, “would you pardon a gross breach of etiquette and permit me to ask your age?”

  His question didn’t surprise her. He was probably wondering why a woman of her advanced years was still unmarried. “I’ll be twenty-five soon,” she said in a tone that suggested she was approaching senility.

  “Soon?”

  “On January first.”

  “Ah, yes.” His eyes gleamed. “Five months from now. One might as well say you’re almost thirty.”

  “Yes,” she said glumly, and wondered why he chuckled. “How old are you, Mr. Grainger?” she asked, to be sociable.

  “Thirty-six,” he said. And then, his expression sobering: “Does that seem old to you?”

  His sudden seriousness gave her pause. He was watching her as if the answer she would give was of the utmost importance to him. Her heart skipped a beat as she studied him in silence, his rich dark hair, his cool blue-gray eyes, the elegant planes of his lean handsome face. He had a hard look about him, a dangerous look that discomfited her, and yet the warmth of his voice and the whisper-light touch of his hand at her back made her nerve endings tingle with an unfamiliar pleasure.

  She continued to watch him, her cheeks growing pink. At last she said, “No, that doesn’t seem old. In fact, I’m surprised you’re so young. When Dallas told me about you this morning, I thought you were fifty or sixty at least.”

  He threw back his head and laughed, embarrassing Susanna and causing several dancers to turn their way. “You too,” he confessed, “are quite different from what I expected.”

  “Indeed?” she said indignantly. So he did think she was a country bumpkin. No doubt he’d been picturing a milkmaid in calico and pigtails. “What were you expecting, Mr. Grainger?”

  “Someone not nearly as charming as you, Miss Sterling.”

  The waltz ended. Jay led Susanna across the dance floor to the open double doors looking eastward over the ocean. As they stepped out on the deck, she tried without success to quell the confusion of her thoughts. This man was utterly unpredictable. Was he the gentleman he appeared to be, or was he an unprincipled scoundrel who would stop at nothing to achieve his own ends? He couldn’t be both, could he? He must surely have seduced her into believing he was something he wasn’t.

  “This has been a night of pleasant surprises,” he said, resting his elbows on the iron railing as he looked out over the moonlit ocean. “And that’s strange,” he added pensively, “because this morning....” He trailed off, then straightened up and looked over at Susanna as if suddenly realizing she was there. “Are you cold? Shall we go back inside?”

  “No,” she said at once. “It’s wonderful out here. I’m not cold at all. I love the sea air.”

  He gave her a slow smile. “You seem to thrive in this environment. You remind me of a young sea nymph with those green eyes and that frothy white frock. Are you sure you’re not Ligeia, weaving a spell of enchantment over helpless mortal men?”

  No one had ever spoken to her like that, as if she were not a sister or a daughter or a hotel proprietress, but a woman with an identity that was solely her own.

  And with those words, she became transformed, she assumed the shining aura of Ligeia the sea siren. As Jay watched her, he saw the green of her eyes deepen, and her ivory cheeks took on a soft coral glow. Her mouth parted slightly as if emitting the sweet tantalizing call which no human male can resist. She returned Jay’s gaze through the fan of her dark lashes. “When I was a child,” she said softly, “I used to think I was a sea creature. I mentioned that once to Dallas, and he laughed at me.”

  Jay looked down at her intently. Susanna felt herself quiver, but it was not from the cold.

  “Miss Sterling.” His voice was rough, urgent. It seemed his body strained toward hers though he hadn’t moved a muscle.

  “Yes?” The word was a whisper.

  Abruptly he moved away from her. He gripped the iron railing with both hands until his knuckles showed white. Susanna had the strongest urge to touch those hands, to feel their strength, their coiled tension, to know the comfort and pleasure of their warmth on her flesh.

  “I’m returning to New York tomorrow morning.” His voice jolted her out of her reverie. She was astonished at the stab of disappointment that darted through her. “My attorney will call on you tomorrow. He’ll have some papers for you to sign. I suggest you have your own attorney present in case you have any questions that need answering.”

  His tone was businesslike, authoritative. Susanna looked up at him, bewildered. The shifting moonlight and shadow on his finely drawn features made his expression unreadable.

  “Also,” he went on, “now that your brother has disposed of his half of the hotel, I doubt he’ll continue to involve himself in its operation. It might be a good idea if I engage a manager to assist you, one of my people from New York, which will lift some of the responsibility from your shoulders.”

  A swift rage assailed her. So that was his ploy! He’d been playing a part all evening, giving her a gift to throw her off guard, allaying her suspicions with honey-toned compliments. But now his intentions were clear. He was going to infiltrate the hotel with one of his personally trained henchmen and then, in a stealthy coup, he would steal it from under her nose.

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said coldly. “I’m quite capable of running the Sea Star on my own.”

  “I’m sure of that,” he said. “But a good hotel man—or woman—never refuses the opportunity to improve his house.”

  “What do you mean?” she bristled. “The Sea Star—”

  “The Sea Star has some problems,” Jay told her. “As I suspected at the outset, there are safety issues. For example, when was the last time you had an electrical inspection?”

  Taken aback by the question, Susanna thought for a moment, then said, “I’m not sure. It was probably when my father was still alive.”

  “That makes it at least two years ago,” Jay pointed out. “Perhaps I was mistaken about the strictness of your city’s building codes. Your electrical system badly needs to be updated. I noticed, too, that there are no fire escapes on the building. These problems need to be corrected at once. Moreover, when I looked over your books this evening I made no comment, but some changes are definitely in order. I’m willing to wager that your brother’s gambling debts take a sorry toll on your profits. That’s something that may not have concerned you, Miss Sterling, but if the Sea Star is to survive, we’re going to have to put a stop to it.”

  “We?” she said hotly. “I thought you said you weren’t going to interfere with my running the hotel.”

  “That was before I realized I had entered into a losing proposition.”

  Susanna went rigid with rage. “You entered into a losing proposition? It’s my brother and I who have lost something.”

  “I disagree,” Jay said evenly. “As matters stand now, there’s a good chance we can revive the Sea Star. But if I hadn’t acquired half of the hotel, if your brother continued to drain the profits, it would only be a matter of time before you lost it. And in that case, you’d lose it irretrievably.”

  Susanna could give him no answer. He had spoken the truth. And yet her rage was the greater for its impotence.

  “I’m going home.” Her tone was murderous.

  “Very well.” Jay offered his arm.

  She gave him a scathing look. “I’ll go alone, M
r. Grainger. I don’t need your assistance.”

  “Perhaps,” he said quietly, “you need it more than you know.”

  Four

  Her anger was so intense that she slept fitfully that night, but for the first time in weeks she didn’t dream of the tidal wave. She dreamed instead of her father and Jay, odd, disjointed dreams, a kaleidoscope of images that tumbled through her brain.

  She was alone at her father’s funeral, staring at the flower-banked coffin. The flowers were narcissi, fragile and pale, trembling, like Susanna, against the merciless March wind.

  The scene changed. She was in the Sea Star’s dining room and Jay was walking toward her with a crown in his hands. He placed the crown on her head. Its weight gave her pleasure, as did the whisper-light touch of Jay’s hands on her hair.

  Then she was back at the cemetery. The coffin was being lowered. She was numb with grief and cold. In the next instant, she was dancing with Jay. His nearness and vitality were infusing her with warmth.

  She awoke late, just past noon, something she’d never done before. When she opened her eyes, groggy and disoriented, the dreams had faded from memory and only a vague sense of melancholy remained.

  She got out of bed with a groan. Her head throbbed, her eyes felt gritty. As she passed the vanity table on the way to the bathroom, she spotted the fan Jay had given her. She picked it up, spread it open and studied the carved flowers and the Spanish words Jay had translated for her: “The truth is best perceived through the discerning eyes of love.”

  Susanna wondered grimly what he knew of love. Last night, the facade of his charm and good looks had concealed a treacherous heart and, like a fool, Susanna had been taken in by him. With a shudder of distaste she remembered her foolish conduct. “Oh, yes, Mr. Grainger.” “Why, certainly, Mr. Grainger.” When what she should have said was, “Not on your life, you sneaky conniver.” “Over my dead body, you thief.”

  But she knew now how to deal with that pirate. If she had to lie, cheat, steal, or sell her soul to the devil, Jay Grainger would never swindle her out of her half of the Sea Star!

  Later that afternoon, she paid a call on her attorney at his offices on Maryland Avenue. Philip Caldwell had been a lifelong friend to Matthew Sterling, as well as administrator of his legal affairs. They had attended Princeton University together, had fought side by side in the War Between the States, distinguishing themselves in battle at both New Orleans and Murfreesboro.

  Philip was a widower with three grown sons who had left Atlantic City as soon as they turned eighteen. For the past two years, he had acted in loco parentis to Susanna and Dallas, although after Matthew’s death, Dallas had wanted no part of another father, substitute or otherwise.

  When Susanna entered Philip’s private office, a dignified but cozy room furnished in rosewood and leather and lined with bulging bookshelves, some of her anger ebbed at the sight of his welcoming smile. Robustly built, a sailboat enthusiast, Philip Caldwell had a weather-lined face and lively blue eyes that made one like and trust him on sight. He bade Susanna sit, then seated himself behind his desk and leaned back comfortably in his chair.

  “Well, my dear, I suppose you’ve come to share your good news with me.”

  “Good news?” she echoed blankly.

  “Jay Grainger stopped in to see me this morning. He told me that he’s now part owner of the Sea Star. Susanna, this is an act of divine providence! With Mr. Grainger as your partner, the Sea Star will be back on its feet in no time.”

  This unexpected reaction threw Susanna off balance. “Uncle Philip, I don’t think you’re aware of just exactly how Mr. Grainger became my ‘partner’.” She said the last with contempt.

  “But I am, Susanna. Grainger was quite frank about the circumstances of the transaction. And while I certainly don’t condone—”

  “For the love of heaven!” she burst out. “Aren’t you outraged at the thought of his larceny?”

  “I wouldn’t bandy that word about if I were you,” he said sternly. “In any case, Dallas is the one who should be censured in this matter, don’t you agree?”

  Respect for her elders prevented Susanna from showing him the sharp side of her tongue. Frustrated, she rose and went to the window, where she looked out at the elegant porte cochere of the United States Hotel.

  “Furthermore,” Philip went on, “I’m disappointed in Dallas. No doubt you know that he’s dispensed with my services and engaged an attorney of his own. His name is Stanley Jenkins,” he added with a grimace. “An ambulance chaser if ever there was one.”

  “No,” Susanna said, “I didn’t know that.” And she wondered how much more she didn’t know about her brother.

  A sense of despair engulfed her. She moved away from the window and resumed her seat, facing Philip across his desk. The last time she had sat here, Dallas had been sitting beside her and Philip had been saying, “I told your father repeatedly to make a will, but he wouldn’t listen. He was one of those foolish men who thought he would live forever. Don’t follow his example by disregarding my advice. The Sea Star belongs to both of you now, but I urge you to protect your interests. Let me draw a partnership agreement so that—”

  “No,” Susanna had said, still immured in the grief that distorts logic and common sense. “To do so would imply that Dallas and I don’t trust each other. It would be an insult to Papa’s memory if we did such a thing.”

  “Susanna, I strongly urge you—”

  “No, Uncle Philip. I refuse to discuss it further.”

  A decision which, now, Susanna regretted with all her heart.

  “I have no recourse, then?” she asked, looking up at Philip with little hope. “There’s no way I can reclaim Dallas’s half interest?”

  “Why should you want to, Susanna?” Philip said brusquely. “This is the best thing that could have happened to the Sea Star. Jay Grainger has built hotels in apparently unwise locations and, invariably, within a year or two, those areas have become the most fashionable part of the city. He’s acquired declining hotels, only to revive them to popularity greater than they knew in their heyday. What’s more, the man is a stickler for safety. His hotels are renowned for it. Just think what he’ll do for the Sea Star. The man’s a sorcerer!”

  “A sorcerer, indeed,” Susanna said bitterly. “He magically acquired half the Sea Star for only a fraction of what it’s worth.”

  “That’s neither here nor there,” Philip said. “The fact is, you’re better off with Grainger for a partner than you are with Dallas, who never gave a fig for the Sea Star.”

  Once more, Susanna couldn’t deny an accusation that enraged her. As much as she loved Dallas, she had to admit, if only to herself, that he was probably overjoyed at the turn of events. But loyalty and love overrode all other considerations.

  “Uncle Philip,” she said firmly, “I’m very fond of you and I have the greatest respect for you, but I must ask you, please, not to speak about Dallas in that way.”

  “You’re asking me not to speak the truth, Susanna? I thought you were more realistic than that. The older Dallas gets, the more he becomes a millstone around your neck.”

  “Uncle Philip, please!”

  “Susanna, listen to me,” he persisted. “You and Dallas have only each other now, and I greatly admire your family devotion. But don’t let devotion blind you to the truth. I warn you that if you don’t keep a close watch on that brother of yours, he’s going to cause you no end of trouble.”

  Susanna left Philip’s office in low spirits. She had expected that he would somehow find a solution to her problem. Instead she’d met with further frustration. And worse, what he’d said about Dallas had forced her to face a truth she’d rather ignore.

  She knew Dallas wasn’t perfect. He was headstrong and reckless. Susanna constantly worried what scrape he would get into next. But his life hadn’t been an easy one. He’d lost his mother when he most needed her. His father had all but ignored him. If only Uncle Philip would try to judge him
more fairly. Dallas had endured too much unhappiness at too tender an age. It was love and understanding he needed most, not censure.

  When she returned to the hotel, the concierge left his post at the main desk and came forward to greet her. George Watkins was a tall imposing man with iron-gray hair, a thin snobbish face, and critical dark eyes which he used to full effect. He never raised his voice, but each and every member of the hotel staff was terrified of him. During George’s five-year tenure as concierge, the Sea Star had never run more efficiently.

  “Miss Susanna,” he said in the pseudo-British accent he sometimes affected, “there’s someone here to see you. As she is obviously a lady, I’ve put her in your office.”

  Susanna smiled inwardly. Despite George’s aristocratic demeanor, he was inordinately impressed with so-called people of quality.

  “Did the lady give her name, George?”

  “No, miss. She said her business with you was of a personal nature.”

  “Oh?” Susanna’s interest was piqued. “You said you’ve put her in my office? Have some tea sent in, George. I’m famished.”

  “Very good, miss,” he said and signaled peremptorily to a passing page boy.

  Susanna stripped off her gloves as she went to her office behind the main desk. When she opened the door, she saw a woman in black standing by the window, looking out on the newly mown back lawn.

  The woman was so motionless she appeared not to be breathing. Her slim body was half turned from Susanna. Her hands were clasped before her, her head was held high on a long patrician neck. To Susanna she resembled an exquisite statue molded skillfully to suggest an Olympian divinity, as if a mortal might observe but never attain such perfection.

  Susanna moved into the room toward that strangely intriguing figure. “May I help you, madam?”

  The woman turned slowly, perhaps reluctantly. Her face was veiled. Susanna could make out only a pair of dark-lashed eyes, the gleam of pearly skin, and a hint of a melancholy smile.