“Just a minute,” Myra said as Laura began to turn away. “I believe Justin has given you the go-ahead to furnish this house.”
“Yes?” There was no relenting in the violet glance Laura gave the other woman.
“I had a few ideas I want to discuss with you on that subject, since this is going to be my house.”
It was too reasonable to be denied, the situation being what it was. “Certainly.”
“If you will get your portfolio of ideas and color combinations together, I will go over them with you. I'm sure that together we can come up with something outstanding, now that the background is nearly in place here, a mixture of styles that will be appropriate, but not too deadly dull.”
It would be better not to argue with the woman now. In any case, Myra did not wait for her answer but swung around and clicked away down the hall as if suddenly eager to get away. Laura stared after her for long moments, then with a shake of her head, went about her work.
It was an uneventful day. Laura took a polyester cast of one of the moldings in an upstairs bedroom and completed her chart of color schemes using the Historic Charleston colors. She also made out an order for wallpapers from two of the companies specializing in documentary wall coverings. In order to get the order off in the mail that afternoon, she decided to leave a little early. It could help to have this much done, to be able to say to Myra that the plans for certain rooms could not be changed without expense since the paper for the walls was already on its way.
During the confusion the night before, when Russ had come for Justin and herself, she had left her tote bag at the house, its contents tumbled over the floor in the hallway. She had stopped during the morning to pick up the mess, pushing it any way into the canvas carryall, her mind on something else entirely. Now, as she was ready to leave, she picked up the tote, pushed her charts and order forms down into it, and started out the door. It felt a fraction lighter than usual to her somehow, but she thought little of it until she had opened the door of her car and flung it onto the front seat.
A small frown drew her brows together as she looked for her car keys. She did not remember seeing the diary when she had picked everything up. It wasn't a heavy book, and yet it wasn't light either. Its leather covers were bound in brass, with a filigree brass backplate, and the pages were heavy vellum.
It was not there. Though she dumped everything onto the seat—note pads and pencils, rulers, charts, booklets, a battery-operated calculator, an extra long measuring tape, and a dozen other things—it was not to be found. Someone had taken it.
7
0Laura waited until her temper had cooled, until she had reached home and had dinner. Then with deliberation, she dialed the number of Justin's home phone. It rang with a sharp, clear tone, sounding again and again. She hung up and waited an hour before she tried again. Still no answer.
There were two people who could have taken the diary. Her lips tight, Laura thought of calling Myra. No, there was antagonism enough between them without Laura accusing her of being a thief before she was certain the most likely suspect was free of blame.
Why had he done it? He was curious, she knew, but after their conversation the evening before, she would have let him read the diary if he had asked. She wasn't totally unreasonable. Perhaps she should have offered before now to let him see it. It was no great thing, after all. Still, the longer she waited, the more suspect became her reason for refusing. He would not have been human if he hadn't tried to find out what she was trying to hide, and why. Hindsight was no great help, but it would have been much better, all things considered, if she had simply made a photocopy of the old volume and handed it over to him in the beginning.
The deed was done now. Her greatest worry, or so she told herself, was to have the diary back in one piece. It was old and fragile. There was little possibility of damage as long as it was closed; the brass-bound edges protected it. But the pages had to be turned with care.
As he had promised, Russ called that evening. They talked for some time about one thing and another. The temperature had risen enough during the day to make staying in the drafty hall where the phone was located no hardship. Laura enjoyed Russ's uncomplicated personality and good-natured banter. When he asked her to go with him into Baton Rouge the next evening for dinner and a play, she agreed. It was time she began to take an active interest in something besides Crapemyrtle. The project would be over before much longer. The block of time it had occupied in her schedule would be empty, and she was going to have to find something else to fill the void. When Russ hung up finally, Laura tried Justin's number once more. There was still no answer.
For the first time since the restoration had started, Laura found herself dreading going out to the house the next morning. She was half afraid Justin might be there, half afraid he would not. She didn't want to face him, and yet she hoped he was the one who had the diary; at least he could be trusted to take care of it. It crossed her mind to try phoning him before breakfast. The time was never quite right, however. She had been ready and willing to give him a piece of her mind the night before, but now that he might have had time to read the diary, she was no longer so eager to discuss it.
She need not have worried. Justin was not on the premises at Crapemyrtle, nor did she see him during the day. It was Myra who showed up as the carpenters were putting away their tools and the painters cleaning their brushes preparing to leave.
Laura had been supervising the installation of the new medallion in the second of the double parlors. She invited Justin's fiancée to look at the job, an excellent reproduction of the original plaster piece in the first parlor.
Myra craned her neck backward to glance at it. Her tone perfunctory, she said, “Very nice. I wonder, Laura, if there is a place where we could talk?”
“Did you want to see the design and color charts?” Laura looked around for her tote. She had been so upset the evening before she had forgotten to mail off the order she had made out for wall coverings, but it could not be helped.
“I don't think so, not just now.”
Laura led the way from the parlor. On impulse, she turned down the hallway, pushing through the double doors that gave onto the back loggia. She moved to the railing that enclosed it, and placing her hands on the banister, breathed deep of the fresh air scented with the fragrance of green growing things. Alertness in the depths of her violet eyes, she turned to face the other woman, waiting for her to speak.
Myra glanced at the doors that had been left standing open, then with a small shrug moved to where several two-by-fours had been left lying across a pair of sawhorses. Brushing at the boards with her hand, she seated herself. She looked up, giving Laura a cool smile. “You seem to be coming along nicely with the house.”
The other woman's conversational tone was a surprise, though Laura refused to allow herself to show it. “We're beginning to make a little headway, after all the weeks of preparation.”
“How much longer do you think it will be before Justin can move in?”
“A month, six weeks, by the end of April at the latest,” Laura answered after doing a few quick calculations in her head.
“We will have to have a party to celebrate, a big blowout, bigger than any this town has ever seen.”
“What about the wedding?”
Myra stared at her. “The wedding?”
“It's none of my business, of course,” Laura said, “but I understood the house was to be ready before June, in time for your marriage. I assumed you would want to have the ceremony performed here, since Crapemyrtle is such a perfect setting for it.”
A calculating expression rose in Myra's green eyes along with a glint of something that might have been surprise. Lowering her mascaraed lashes, she said, “It is a nice setting, but I don't know. The house isn't very big, not when it comes to something like that. I think I would prefer to be married from a church in the city, with the reception at either the country club or one of the big hotels.”
&nbs
p; “It's your wedding.” Laura could not prevent the coolness in her tone. How any woman could resist the prospect of coming down the stairs of Crapemyrtle in her wedding gown was more than she could see.
“Yes, it is.” Myra agreed with more emphasis than was necessary. “And I intend to do it right. My father has thousands of friends; the wealthiest men, the most respected politicians in the state, even the governor himself, will be there. Dad will want to show me off to every one of them. He is a darling man, and he always wants the best, especially when it comes to his daughter. He has always said he wouldn't give me away to just any man, but he is proud of Justin. He looks on him as a son, and has for years. It was my father, you know, who gave him his start in business, and to give him credit, Justin has never forgotten it.”
“So I understand.” Laura's words were clipped. Somehow she did not care to hear the details of Myra's relationship with Justin.
“Is that so?” Myra asked. “Who can have told you?”
“I believe Russ Masters mentioned it.”
“Oh, yes, the architect. He's a close friend of yours, isn't he, as well as Justin's?”
“You could say that.”
“I hope he won't be too disturbed by the talk then.” There was the sound of acid-laced honey in Myra's voice as she flung Laura an arch glance.
“Talk?” Laura tilted her head to one side, pushing her hands into her pockets as she leaned back against the railing behind her. Were they finally coming to the point?
“About you and Justin, here alone at Crapemyrtle on Sunday night. Someone must have seen your cars after dark. That thing Justin drives would be hard to miss, and people have such suspicious minds, especially when it comes to wealthy and attractive men.”
“What are you suggesting?”
Myra lifted her brows. “Oh, I'm not suggesting anything. But you know how things get blown out of proportion in a small town like this.”
“It's ridiculous.”
“I agree with you, and I know Justin well enough not to be worried, in spite of what you said yesterday. But I'm telling you for your own sake, Laura dear, that it might be better if between now and the time the job here at Crapemyrtle is finished, you and Justin could hold your conferences on working days, while someone else is present.”
“You are warning me for my own good?” Laura said, irony strong in her voice.
“What other reason could I have? I was thinking of your Russ. You may want to consider marriage someday, and it would be too bad if he should get the idea that he was not your first choice.”
“I don't know what you are talking about,” Laura said, a frown drawing her brows together.
“Don't you? I thought it might be a tradition in your family, falling in love with the owner of Crapemyrtle, and when he proved to be unavailable, settling for second best?”
Laura stared at Myra, her violet eyes dark with anger. “You took the diary!”
“Did you mind?” the other woman inquired, her tone satirical. “I had heard so much about it these last few weeks, and you were so protective. I can see why, now. Falling in love with a married man wasn't at all the thing to do back then, was it? How very shocking, to be sure!”
“I want it back.”
“You'll get it, as soon as I get around to it.”
“I want it now.” The thought of this woman with her long, crimson nails flipping carelessly through the crumbling pages of fine, graceful copperplate sent a cold chill over Laura. She straightened, moving toward Myra.
“But I haven't finished it,” Myra protested with a light laugh. “It's not particularly juicy reading. As far as I can tell, there was no hanky-panky whatsoever between your Lorinda and her precious Jean, Justin's great-great-grandfather. All very noble, but a little silly, if you ask me.”
“I'm not surprised that you would see it that way.”
“Are you trying to say I'm immoral? Why, thank you, Laura dear; I consider that a compliment. And since you feel that way, you won't be too surprised either at what I'm going to say next.”
“What is it?” Laura felt her nerves tighten.
The other woman lifted a hand to her thickly curled hair, playing with a tight strand. “I let you know yesterday that I intended to have a hand in the decoration of my home. You, in your sweetly patronizing way, offered to discuss colors with me. Unfortunately, we both know that until now the final decision has rested with you. I think it was idiotic of Justin to arrange matters that way, and just a little insulting to me personally, but I don't intend to create a big scene about it; Justin isn't the kind to put up with ultimatums.”
“What are you trying to say?” Laura asked with ill-concealed impatience.
Myra smiled. “I was just about to tell you. I suggested once that it would be to your advantage to be guided by my color preferences and submit them as your own. Now I am telling you that that is what you are going to do.”
“Impossible, not at this late date.” Laura made a quick gesture of refusal.
Myra went on as if she had not heard. “I think the double parlors will be striking done in yellow with Chinese-red accents. I have found a yellow, green, and black batik print that will be stunning above the wainscoting. You can use Chinese Chippendale antiques, if you like; I certainly don't intend to chase around looking for all the extras when you are being paid for the job. As for the master bedroom, I think a white carpet, emerald satin bedhangings, and magenta accents will suit me perfectly, though that monster of a mirror will have to go.”
“The early Victorian period when Crapemyrtle was built was a time of soft, subdued colors. Bright shades such as you are talking about only came into use when aniline dyes were discovered, after 1856. You might be able to get away with what you want in a late Victorian mansion, but not here. It will be a terrible clash with the other rooms.”
“That doesn't concern me. I told you the way I want it, and that's the way it's going to be.”
“I don't think so.” Laura lifted her chin, her violet gaze steady.
“I assure you, it is. Either you will arrange to have the rooms done the way I have described, using the material I will bring you, or I will hand your great-great-grandmother's diary over to Justin.”
“What makes you think I'll care if you do?”
Myra looked blank for an instant, then she smiled. “If you didn't mind him seeing it, you would have given it to him long before now.”
“Not necessarily. Until not so long ago, I wasn't sure he would see it for what it is, a useful account of what happened here in the spring of 1842, of what the house looked like, and how life was, one that just happens to contain a tale of love as old-fashioned as rose-petal potpourri. There could have been a time when, if anyone had known of the romance, it might have caused problems and heartache, but not anymore.”
“You don't fool me,” Myra sneered. “I've seen the way you talk to Justin, the way you look at him. You are half in love with him, a man who belongs to someone else, just like your great-great-grandmother Lorinda. Only you are too proud to let him know, I think; too sensible to present him with the idea of a modern parallel to that pathetic love affair in the form of her diary.”
“Are you sure? If what you are suggesting is true, why wouldn't I be happy for him to know? After all, Justin, unlike Jean, isn't married.”
“You're bluffing,” Myra said, throwing back her head. “When I get through presenting my case to Justin, you will look like a lovesick fool.”
“That's better than letting Crapemyrtle be ruined. Besides, are you positive, Myra dear, that you want to take the risk? Some men are flattered by the thought of a young woman being bowled over by their charms.”
A flush rose to Myra's hairline. She got to her feet, pacing quickly up and down. Abruptly, she stopped in front of Laura. “Maybe I have been coming at this from the wrong angle. Just how much, I wonder, do you value this old diary? It would be such a shame if it were to be left out in the rain, or dropped—accidentally, of course�
�into a bathtub,”
“You wouldn't,” Laura breathed.
“Oh, no?”
“No!”
That last, explosive word came from behind them, from the direction of the doors that led into the hall.
“Justin!” Myra exclaimed, swinging around, the color in her face receding as quickly as it had risen. “How long have you been here?”
“Long enough,” he answered, his voice grim and a look of black anger on his face as he paused in the doorway.
His fiancée gave a nervous titter of laughter. “Eavesdropping? How undignified.”
“But informative. I didn't know you were coming to Crapemyrtle again today, Myra. You could have come with me.”
“I didn't know you were coming either.”
“I can believe that,” he said, irony threading his tone. “When I saw your car outside, I came looking for you to find out what you had in mind. It seems I found out a little more than anyone bargained for.”
“You really don't think I would hurt that stupid diary, do you?” She held out her hand in a pleading gesture.
He ignored it. “I don't know, Myra. Would you?”
“Justin!” she cried. “I'm the woman you are going to marry. Surely you believe me?”
“That doesn't necessarily follow.”
Myra clasped her hands, her fingers going to the diamond that sparkled in the ring circling the third finger of her left hand, turning it while anger and fear warred in her face.
Laura stared at Justin. His expression was cold, implacable, shaded with expectancy as though he were waiting.
Abruptly Myra's composure dissolved. “Don't be so cruel to me. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, any of it. I've just been so upset ever since you told me I couldn't do anything in the house without consulting Laura. Surely one room of my own taste isn't too much to ask?”
His face like a mask, Justin took the onslaught as Myra stumbled toward him on her high heels and threw herself against his chest. Over her shoulder, he met Laura's eyes. “I suppose,” he said slowly, “that something can be arranged.”
April of Enchantment Page 11
