April of Enchantment

by Jennifer Blake

  “Oh, Justin,” Myra sobbed. “That's all I ask.”

  “Right now,” he went on, “what I want to know is, where is Laura's diary?”

  Myra stiffened. “The diary. Why, I'm not sure. I don't have it with me.”

  “I suggest you find it.” The hard note had crept back into his voice.

  “You don't have to worry, darling. I will, soon.”

  “I think,” he said slowly, “that it would be a good idea if you went and got it now. I'll come with you to be certain nothing happens to it.”

  “Oh, Justin, I told you —”

  “I know,” he answered.

  Myra was still protesting as he turned and led her away down the hall and out the front door.

  Laura did not watch them go. Swinging around, she braced her hands on the railing. She stared out over the cisterns with their copper domes, past the new kitchen addition and the weedy area where the carriage house had once stood to where the encroaching woods crowded against the lawn, woods that had grown into a jungle with towering trees where at one time there had been cleared fields. Her mind felt numb. No less than Myra, she wondered how much Justin had overheard and what he had made of it. Did he understand she had been speaking in general when she had suggested that he might be flattered to learn that a young woman was in love with him? Not that she was, of course. Had he heard the story of Lorinda's bittersweet love affair with Jean? If so, what had he made of it?

  There could be little doubt that he cared for Myra. Why else would he continue in a relationship with a woman whose faults he seemed to understand so well? And yet, the look in his eyes had seemed more like resignation than a more tender emotion. Was that only wishful thinking on her part? Was she trying to find something in his attitude toward Myra to suggest there was something wrong between them as a means of excusing his own behavior toward her? What kind of man was he that he would make love to his fiancée one moment and to her the next? He had said something at their first meeting that rose into her mind now. “I seem to have less character than I thought.” From where Laura stood, that looked to be the exact truth.

  Where did that leave her? It wasn't hard to figure out. She was an oddity, someone who shared the same interests, someone he saw as a distraction, a last fling before settling down to wedded bliss with a woman who did not share his enthusiasm for his chosen life-style.

  He had told Myra she could have a room of her own, decorated as she pleased. One room shouldn't matter, surely, but Laura could not think what she would do if the scheme Myra presented was too much of a contrast to the rest. Still, she was almost glad Justin had made that concession. It had seemed peculiar, overly severe, that he had not been willing to allow his future bride any say in the house where she must live. Most would have rebelled long ago. Laura could not picture herself standing for it for a minute. Why Myra, with her temperamental personality, had not blown up about it before now was puzzling. Was she that afraid of Justin? Or was it simply she feared that when it came to a showdown she would be weaponless? Did she fear Justin cared so much for the house that if she forced him to choose between her and Crapemyrtle he might well take the latter? It made sense, in one way, but in another it was ridiculous. Laura would have sworn that Justin was not so cold-blooded, in either thought or deed.

  Such thoughts gained her nothing. She would be far better-off if she could concentrate on her own problems. For the moment, the most pressing one was to gather up her things, take herself home, and get ready for her date tonight with Russ.

  Laura debated for some time over what she should wear. She felt like dressing up, getting out of jeans for a change, but she didn't want to give Russ the idea there was anything special about the evening. There wasn't, particularly. They had been out a few times in the past few weeks. True to his word, Russ had used their necessary collaboration to see more of her. They had spread charts and drawings over the oak table in the Nichols’ dining room, discussed problems of walls out of plumb, modern reproduction against antique drawer pulls for the kitchen, the appropriateness of a ceiling fan for the loggia, and endless other small details while consuming’ popcorn and cola or coffee before the fire. They had not gone out that much, however, beyond a quick movie or fast-food sandwich.

  Finally, she decided on a dress of navy-blue jersey. The wide collar and belted waist gave emphasis to the full skirt, while the long sleeves would make it unnecessary to carry a wrap on this mild evening. The color was good, giving her skin a startling clarity and turning the violet-blue of her eyes into a mysterious, inky darkness. It would do, being sophisticated without looking too formal.

  With a dress of such severe lines, her hair did not look right down on her shoulders. Laura twisted it up into a coronet on top of her head, a treatment that made her look taller and somewhat regal, despite the fine wisps that curled about her temples. Creamy cultured pearls in her ears and at her throat completed the picture.

  Due to the fact that architects, with their nine-to-five jobs, did not stop work as quickly as carpenters and painters, who labored from seven to three, Laura was ready too early. She had stopped work with the craftsmen instead of the artists, and though she had had a small snack to hold her until dinner, had bathed, read a little, and dressed with extra leisureliness, it was still a half-hour before she could begin to expect Russ to come for her.

  She picked up her book, then dropped it again. Leaving her room, she descended to the lower floor. Her mother was working in the kitchen, recanning the seat of a cottage oak chair. She looked up as Laura entered, her face creasing in a smile.

  “How nice you look, honey. Where is Russ taking you this evening?”

  Laura told her, naming the Little Theater production they were to see.

  “That should be interesting.”

  “Would you like to go, Mom? I'm sure Russ wouldn't mind.”

  “Heavens, no, I wouldn't dream of it. Besides, there's another episode of that series I'm watching on public television that comes on tonight.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Her mother sent her a quick look. “You don't seem too anxious to be alone with Russ.”

  “It isn't that,” Laura said, wandering about the room, picking up a butter mold, inspecting the cow design on the die, then putting it down again. “I thought you just might want to get out of the house yourself.”

  “Not really, I get out on my hunting expeditions, looking for new stock for the shop.”

  “That isn't the same; it's still business.” Laura moved on, running her fingers over the front of a china closet.

  Her mother watched her for a moment. “There's something bothering you, isn't there?”

  “I suppose so,” Laura agreed with a wry grimace.

  “Are you feeling tied down by this job, or have you run into a problem at Crapemyrtle?”

  “The job is fine, and the house itself is coming along about as expected. It's people who are causing the problems.”

  “They always do,” her mother agreed, and indicating a chair in which she had finished weaving a new bottom, went on, “Why don't you sit down and tell me about it?”

  Laura was just as happy to comply. When she had finished the tale of the stolen diary, of Myra's accusation and threats that Justin had overheard, along with his reaction to them, she asked, “What am I going to do?”

  Her mother frowned. “Does it bother you so much, what Justin might think?”

  “I don't know. I suppose it must.”

  “He seems like an intelligent man, not likely to go around jumping to conclusions. There is no reason, as far as I can see, for him to think that just because Lorinda fell in love with Jean, her best friend's husband, you must be in love with him. That's only Myra's evaluation, something with no basis in fact.”

  “That's true,” Laura agreed, inspecting the toe of her slender high-heeled shoes.

  “Moreover, Myra doesn't sound like a particularly stable person, not if she's going to make such threats and attempts at blackmail. Justi
n will no doubt take that into account, unless he's so much in love with her he can't see what she is like.”

  Laura nodded. “I thought for a minute this afternoon she was going to break their engagement.”

  “I don't know about that, but I suspect it will be better, for your sake, if she waits until Crapemyrtle is finished.”

  “Why?” Laura turned a sharp gaze in her mother's direction.

  “Because you would be so disappointed if you were called off before it was completed. You did say Justin wanted the house done for his marriage, didn't you? He might not care to live there alone.”

  “I guess so,” Laura agreed without enthusiasm.

  “I think, if I were you, I would ignore their problems the best I could and get on with the restoration. That way, no matter what happens or what Myra says, you will know yourself that you aren't involved.”

  “That would be best, I know,” Laura said. “The only trouble is, will Myra let me?”

  The door bell rang then, shrilling through the house. Mrs. Nichols looked up with annoyance from the cane she held in her hands. “Would you get it, dear? I'm at a place where it will be hard to turn loose.”

  Laura was already on her feet. She stepped to give her mother a quick hug. “It's probably Russ anyway. We'll finish our talk later.”

  “Have fun,” Mrs. Nichols said, her usual admonition, but when Laura glanced back just before she went out the door, her mother was watching her, a troubled look in her fine eyes.

  It was not Russ who stood on the doorstep, but Justin. In his hand he held the brass-bound diary. Laura stepped back, her response automatic. “Come in.”

  He entered the doorway, a tall figure even in the lofty hall. “I won't stay more than a minute. I just came to return this.”

  Laura closed the door behind him, then took the volume he proffered. “You didn't have to make a special trip. Anytime would have done.”

  “I know how you feel about it, and considering the things Myra said about prospective damage, I thought you would like to see it as soon as possible.”

  “That was thoughtful, thank you.” Her manner, she thought, was normal enough, but she was aware of the heat of a flush on her cheekbones.

  “I would like to say I'm sorry about the way it happened, and for—everything.”

  Apologies always embarrassed Laura. She lowered her lashes. “It wasn't your fault.”

  “I'm not so sure; I think it could have been, at least a little. The situation is —” He stopped, then went on. “I think I can promise you it won't happen again.”

  Laura wondered what he had said to Myra to be able to speak with such certainty. She could not ask, of course. “Could I—offer you a cup of coffee?”

  “You were going out, weren't you?” His dark gaze moved over her hair, touching on the pearls at her throat, brushing over her navy dress to the heels on her feet.

  “Yes, in a few minutes.”

  “I won't stay then.” He swung toward the door.

  “Justin, wait.” Laura took a step toward him, holding out the diary. “I—if you would like to read it, I don't mind.”

  A smile rose into his eyes, though he made no attempt to take the volume. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes.” He might as well, Laura told herself, since he had already overheard what Myra had said, he would be aware in advance of what the pages contained.

  He reached out to accept the diary, his fingers brushing hers, a slight touch that sent a shiver up her arm. His voice was deep and vibrant as he spoke. “Thank you, Laura.”

  Outside, there came the sound of a car engine, followed by the slamming of a door. Footsteps came quickly up the sidewalk.

  “Excuse me,” Laura murmured, and stepped to open the door for Russ.

  The two men shook hands. Russ slapped Justin on the shoulder, and they exchanged a few words. Then, looking from Laura to Justin, Russ said, “I hope I'm not interrupting anything.”

  “No,” Justin answered. “I was just leaving.”

  Russ glanced at the book in his hand, obviously recognizing it, though he made no comment. He smiled at Laura. “Ready then, love? I hate to rush you, but if we are going to grab a bite to eat before the show, we're going to have to hurry.”

  For an answer, she moved before him out the door. The two men followed her, Justin closing the panel of the front entrance behind him. Together, they moved to where the cars were parked at the curb.

  “Good night, Justin,” Russ said as he reached to open the car door for Laura.

  “Good night.” Justin's voice was clipped as he made his reply. It was Laura who held his dark gaze as she bent her head to step into Russ's late-model sedan. Swinging sharply away, he strode to where his classic Lincoln was parked. By the time Russ had moved around to slide into the driver's seat beside Laura, Justin had already set his own sleek, silver automobile into motion, merging with the traffic, moving swiftly out of sight.

  It was a pleasant evening. Russ and Laura had red snapper topped with crab meat and broiled in butter at a seafood restaurant. The play, if not a great performance, was at least well-acted and entertaining with the warmth of live theater. Russ was an easy companion, talking neither too much nor too little. They fell silent on the long ride home, however. After a time, Russ glanced at her.

  “So you let Justin read the diary? I'm jealous. You never let me do that.”

  “Russ! I didn't know you wanted to.”

  “It crossed my mind once or twice, though I don't suppose I had as strong a reason to be curious as Justin. It's a switch for you, isn't it, giving it up?”

  There was nothing for it except to tell him what had taken place also. “So you see,” Laura ended, “there was no longer any reason to keep it to myself.”

  Russ used a most uncomplimentary term for Myra. “I'm not sure just how that woman got her claws into Justin, but I wish he could shake her.”

  “They don't seem very well matched,” Laura agreed.

  “You and Justin seem to get along a little better now than you did at the start.” Russ sent her a reminiscent grin.

  “That's so. I think I understand him a little more than I did, especially since the night of the storm. Did I ever thank you for coming to our rescue then?”

  “You did, but if you would like to express your appreciation a little more tangibly, I wouldn't mind—and I'm not talking about money.”

  “I know exactly what you are talking about,” she told him in mock indignation, “and you can forget it. But tell me, have you heard any talk—about Justin and me, I mean?” She had told him of Myra's allegations, though she had not of course mentioned the woman's suggestion that she might marry Russ or that he might be in any way concerned about her loss of reputation.

  “I haven't heard a thing, Laura love. That's not to say that people aren't talking, or that nobody noticed, but no one has said a word to me. If the idea bothers you, then you might be a little more careful, all right, but I'll tell you what I would do.”

  “What's that?” Laura sent him a wary glance.

  “I would ignore the whole thing and get on with the job. The sooner that's done, the sooner you can forget all about it.”

  It must be excellent advice; she had heard it from two sources now, Russ and her mother. The only difficulty was in following it.

  8

  It was a little more than a week later that Laura's mother found the bed. The minute Laura came in the door that evening, she began to tell her about it. Her excitement was contagious, and in truth, it did sound perfect. It wasn't every day a real Mallard tester bed came to light, especially one with a complementing armoire by the same craftsman. The problem was the price.

  Laura gasped when she heard it. “That much? For a bed?”

  “And an armoire. What did you expect? If you want the best, you have to be ready to pay for it.”

  “I know, but it's as much as some people make in a year!”

  “Some things have to be measured by a differen
t yardstick. It's what Crapemyrtle needs.”

  “I can't just go buy something like that,” Laura protested.

  “Justin told you to get what you thought would be suitable, didn't he?”

  “Yes, but-”

  “Call him, then. See what he says, if he wants to go look at it. It won't be for sale forever, and if you miss it, you'll hate yourself.”

  Laura was allowed little time to think, and none to procrastinate. Before she knew what was happening, she had dialed Justin's number, told him about the bed, and arranged to go with him the following day to look it over. At first he had been inclined to tell her to go ahead as she saw fit, without question. But as she explained the price and her own misgivings, he himself had volunteered to come along for the final decision, if that was what she wanted.

  The next day dawned bright and clear, one of those lushly fecund days when things could almost be seen growing. The sun was so brilliant it hurt their eyes, and sunglasses had to be brought out for protection. The dark glasses gave Justin a distinguished, faintly foreign look as he sat behind the wheel of his car in a casual sports shirt of cream knit and a pair of brown pants. Laura, though dressed in a similar style in green pants and a knit shirt of cool green trimmed with lavender and white, and with her hair in a clasp, falling down her back, felt plebeian by comparison.

  The uninitiated might have expected to find antiques such as they were looking for in one of the larger and more famous shops, in those that lined Royal and Magazine streets in New Orleans. They would have been looking in the wrong places. The shops in the smaller country towns, those nearer at hand when the large country estates and old homes were broken up, were the ones most likely to come across such fine old pieces. These might eventually find their way to the New Orleans showrooms, thanks to buying trips made by the dealers, but if and when they did, the price would become astronomical instead of simply high.

  The shop they were heading for was not in Louisiana at all, but across the river in Mississippi, several hours away. Knowing the drive was going to be a long one, they had started early. Laura leaned back on the leather seat, making herself comfortable. The car Justin was driving was not his classic, but was just as luxurious, and from the same maker, though of the current years model.