“And I might as well drop this little bombshell of Amy’s off there now,” Sharley told herself, “and not risk having to explain it to Aunt Charlotte.”
If Charlotte, bless her slightly-Victorian heart, saw that black lace negligee, she couldn’t help being shocked. And Sharley simply couldn’t walk in with a package and not show her aunt the contents; Charlotte would be hurt. She was almost like a bride herself these days in her enjoyment of all of Sharley’s gifts and plans and arrangements.
Besides, if she stopped at the cottage, Sharley could check on whether the rest of the furniture had come today as promised. And — even more important — Spence might be there, too. He had said he might bring some things over from his apartment after work, now that the carpenters and the painters were done.
Just thinking of Spence brought soft warmth to her face. Perhaps they could have a little private time. Of course, in just another week, they’d have all the hours in the world together... but that knowledge didn’t satisfy her today. It wasn’t that she was unwilling to share him with the rest of the world. But right now everything was so busy and complicated that there never seemed to be enough time. It would be nice just to sit down with him on their brand-new leather loveseat and nestle into his arms and talk for a little while. Or not talk, perhaps, she thought with a smile, remembering the way he had kissed her goodnight just last evening.
The cottage looked almost like an oversized playhouse. Like the main house, it was low and built of pale gray brick. Its most prominent features were a bay window and the front door, its burgundy paint still smelling fresh and new.
Automatically Sharley checked the bronze mailbox beside the front door. The box had always been intended more for looks than actual use. Since the estate gates were always locked, the real box was at the main entrance, and this one had been full of ancient cobwebs on the day she and Spence had first looked at the cottage. Perhaps that was why she had gotten the playful notion to use it for private kinds of messages.
There was an envelope in the box, and as she pulled it out she felt a mixture of glee and sadness. She always liked the notes Spence left — they were fresh and funny and charming. But the fact he’d put this here meant that he had already come and gone, and she was disappointed at missing him. He must have left work early. If only she hadn’t stayed so long over her lesson plans...
She pushed the envelope into her coat pocket and unlocked the door, cautious not to mar the still-curing paint. The first thing she noticed as she walked through the tiny foyer and into the cozy living room was the leather loveseat. The delivery men had set it at an awkward angle with its back to the door rather than neatly perpendicular to the fireplace, as she intended to place it. But that would be easy enough to fix.
The second thing she saw was the back of Spence’s head. He was sitting on the loveseat, and there was no mistaking the stubborn wave of his dark brown hair, or the aristocratic shape of his head...
Or the mass of long, shiny, black, feminine hair which lay against his shoulder.
Sharley opened her mouth, but her vocal cords seemed to have turned to cement.
In the instant when she stood there, paralyzed and unable to breathe, Spence said, “It can’t go on like this, Wendy.” His voice was low and husky.
The name was no surprise. Sharley had recognized that magnificent mane of black hair; after all, she had seen it less than an hour ago, in the photograph on her desk. Even in an out-of-focus picture, or with her eyes blurred by angry tears, there was no mistaking Spence’s secretary.
“Doesn’t she bother you?” Amy had asked this afternoon. The question had sounded careless — but was it? Sharley could feel the blood hammering in her ears. Did Amy know something, or suspect? Did everyone in Hammond’s Point know that Spence Greenfield was carrying on with his secretary? Everyone, that is, but Sharley?
She tried out her voice again. This time it almost worked right. “I got your note, Spence.”
The loveseat rocked backward as Spence leaped to his feet and wheeled to face her.
Sharley looked him over very slowly. He had taken off his jacket and tie. The collar of his shirt was loose, and his sleeves were rolled up. The color had drained from his face, and the cleft in his chin seemed to have gotten deeper. But he was no less handsome than ever before, for his good looks lay in his bones and the beautiful big gray eyes...
There wasn’t any humorous twinkle in them now.
She took a step forward and rested her hand on the smooth leather and looked down at Wendy Taylor. The woman was wearing a red silk dressing gown and — apparently — nothing else.
At least it’s not one of mine, Sharley thought.
She looked at Spence again. “Did you think if you left a note that I’d just trot on over to the main house instead of coming into the cottage?”
“Sharley.” He sounded as if something had hit him very hard just beneath the ribs.
Sharley’s voice was starting to shake as fury burned through the first shock. “Damn it, Spence! In our own house. Our own loveseat!”
“Sharley, please.” He put a hand out. “I can explain.”
The woman on the loveseat clutched at his sleeve. There was panic on her face. “No, you can’t, Spence.”
He looked down at Wendy and bit his lip.
“There seems to be a difference of opinion,” Sharley said with acid sweetness. “And though I hate to say it, I agree with Wendy on this one. I don’t see how you can explain it away.”
Spence was silent. He shifted from one foot to the other, and cleared his throat. But he didn’t speak.
“Nothing?” Sharley said. “I thought so.” She turned her back on him, shut the burgundy door very firmly behind her, and ran down the narrow little path toward the main house. Her lungs were aching from the exertion by the time she burst into the front hallway, flung her coat and portfolio into the guest closet without caring how they landed, and took the two steps into the sunken living room with a leap.
From the solarium, around the corner and just out of sight, Charlotte Hudson said, “Sharley, dear, a lady does not bang doors like that.”
Sharley pulled herself up short. She couldn’t behave this way and expect Charlotte not to get upset and demand an explanation. And just now, the last thing she wanted to do was try to explain something to Aunt Charlotte that she didn’t even begin to comprehend herself. If she could only get to her room — if she could think this through before she had to face anyone at all...
An instant later, the front door slammed, and Spence gasped, “Damn it, Sharley, won’t you even listen to me?”
Sharley spun around to face him. His hair was disheveled — from the wind, she wondered, or had Wendy run her fingers through it in an effort to keep him beside her?
“Have you had a chance to think out a story? I thought perhaps you were still arguing with Wendy about whether you should even try to explain.”
Spence rubbed the nape of his neck.
“I don’t know how in the hell you expect me to believe that was innocent, Spence. I know what I saw!”
Charlotte Hudson came around the corner from the solarium, leaning heavily on a carved ebony walking stick. “Sharley, dear,” she said sternly. “Really, I must protest your tone of voice. A lady does not allow herself to sound like a fishwife!”
“No matter what the circumstances, Aunt Charlotte?” She saw the shock in Spence’s eyes, and raised her chin a little. “I suppose I should be pleased that I didn’t catch you with her in our own bed, Spence. Except of course you couldn’t — because it hasn’t been delivered yet, has it?”
Charlotte put one hand to her temple and moaned.
Sharley was horrified at herself for forgetting, even for an instant, Charlotte’s less-than-robust health. She yelled for the housekeeper. Libby appeared so promptly that Sharley thought she must have been leaning against the kitchen door listening to the scene.
The housekeeper helped Charlotte over to the couch, where she
sank down against the cushions and murmured, “Martin. Get Martin, please. He’s in the garden somewhere.”
But Martin Hudson had followed Libby from the kitchen. He was wearing his gardening clothes and a faded, shapeless old fishing hat. He bent over his wife and took her limp hand between his. “There, now, Charlotte,” he murmured. “Just don’t fret yourself. Take a deep breath and relax.”
Charlotte’s really upset, Sharley thought. She hadn’t even mentioned to Martin that he should take his hat off in the house...
Sharley was heartily ashamed of herself even for thinking that way. Of course Charlotte was distressed; she had good reason to be. And she was correct about one thing, at least — screaming was no way to handle this problem.
Sharley squared her shoulders and turned to face Spence. He was standing on the topmost of the shallow steps leading down to the sunken living room, almost as if he was balanced on the very edge of it.
“I’m listening,” she said. “So explain.”
Spence swallowed hard and looked from her to the little group by the couch. There was a silent plea in his eyes as he turned back to Sharley.
She said quietly, “They don’t know the details yet, but under the circumstances what happened will have to come out, Spence. I wouldn’t shelter you from it even if I could. You might as well explain it to them right now, too.” Her voice cracked a little. “So tell me, Spence. Why were you in our cottage with a half-naked woman in your arms?”
She found herself holding her breath. As damning as the scene had been, was there an honest explanation? Some innocent reason for Wendy’s presence at the cottage, for her state of undress, for what Spence had said to her?
He looked toward Martin and Charlotte again, and took a single step toward Sharley. He was very pale, and his face was set like a stone mask. “Trust me, Sharley. It’s not what you think.”
That was all. She waited while the silence dragged out into forever, while Martin fanned his wife’s face with a magazine and the housekeeper went running for a glass of water. And when a full minute had gone by, and it was obvious that Spence had said everything he intended to, Sharley reached deep into herself for strength and said calmly, “That’s what you call an explanation? Just Trust me, Sharley?”
He didn’t move. “It’s the only one I can give you.”
“And you say it’s not what I think,” she mused. “Isn’t that what every man says when he gets caught red-handed? I expected something a little more creative from you, Spence.”
She had not thought it possible for him to get whiter, but he did. “Do you love me, Sharley?” His voice was low.
Of course she loved him. She was going to marry him...
She wet her lips. “What has that got to do with it?”
It was obvious that he heard the tiny quaver in her voice. “If you care for me at all...”
“Then it shouldn’t matter what you did?” She could feel her self-control slipping, and hysteria was building in the pit of her stomach.
“You’d take my word for it, if you loved me enough.”
“If I loved you enough? How dare you make it sound as if I’m the one who’s fallen short?” She bit her lip hard. “But you’re right, Spence. If you can’t explain, I don’t think I love you enough to take your word for this.”
His eyes hardened to dark steel. “Then it’s better to find out now, isn’t it?”
“Certainly.” Sharley didn’t spare a glance for her diamond ring — the ring she had been so proud of — as she pulled it from her finger.
Spence made no move to reach for it, and she didn’t think she could bear to touch him, so she dropped the ring onto a granite-topped table at the foot of the shallow steps where he stood. It spun a little, the fine gold vibrating against the cold stone before it was still.
He waited till she had turned away, then came down two steps, scooped up the ring, and dropped it carelessly into his shirt pocket. “Don’t bother to come to the door,” he said crisply. “I’ll see myself out.”
By the time Sharley had wheeled around to snap at him, he was gone.
It was just as well, she thought. There was nothing left worth saying, anyway.
CHAPTER TWO
The slam of the great walnut front door reverberated through the house until it seemed to Sharley that the windows must shatter under the strain.
Martin winced at the sound and looked sternly at Sharley. “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded.
Charlotte said, “Martin, please watch your language.”
Sharley knelt beside the couch. “I’m sorry, Aunt Charlotte. I didn’t mean for this to distress you.” She took a deep breath. “I guess I just — the shock was too much.”
“The shock of what?” Martin asked irritably.
“Finding Spence with a woman, of course,” Charlotte said. “What’s the matter with you, Martin? Didn’t you hear?” She raised a thin white hand to pat Sharley’s cheek. “I understand completely, my dear. Of course you were shocked.”
“I’m sure there’s an explanation for it,” Martin said.
“Don’t be naive. Certainly there’s an explanation — the obvious one.” Charlotte moved restlessly. “If you will help me to sit up now...”
Martin didn’t seem to hear. “Spence? With a woman? Sharley, when you’ve both had a chance to cool down, you’ll probably find that it was all a silly misunderstanding.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Charlotte’s voice was coming back to normal now. “Sharley has done the only thing she could, under the circumstances, by dismissing the young man. Now if you will offer me your arm, Martin—”
“Charlotte, they haven’t even talked about it!”
Sharley couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She had just walked in on her fiancé in the arms of another woman, and Martin and Charlotte were coming to blows over it. It was her engagement which had just fallen apart, her wedding which would have to be called off, and they…
She began to tremble as the full weight of what had happened descended on her shoulders. There was not only a wedding to be cancelled, but a marriage which would never have a chance.
Martin patted her arm sympathetically. “You consider it, honey, and don’t jump to any conclusions. We’ll just sit here and talk it over, and once you’re calmer I’ll give Spence a call and get him back here.”
“Please,” Sharley said desperately. “I appreciate your concern, but I’d really like to be alone for a while.”
Martin looked hurt.
Charlotte struggled to a sitting position on the couch. “Of course, dear. Go and rest. I’ll send Libby along with something to help you relax.”
Sharley didn’t answer. She had to focus every scrap of her mind just to get across the enormous sunken living room and up the two shallow steps into the bedroom wing. She shut her door behind her and leaned against it with a small sigh of relief.
They mean well, she told herself. She shouldn’t be surprised that Martin wanted to take the problem apart and analyze it, or that Charlotte’s first instinct was to medicate the difficulty out of existence. They had never understood that not all problems could be analyzed or ignored.
Sometimes, Sharley thought, they just have to be survived.
She was shivering so badly that she could hardly pull the hand-quilted comforter off the brass rack at the foot of her bed. Heedless of the satin spread, she sank down on the mattress and pulled the comforter awkwardly around her, huddling into its warmth. It didn’t help much; she felt as if her bones were frozen.
It wasn’t that Martin and Charlotte didn’t love her; Sharley was convinced of that. But they had never had children of their own, and so they had never learned a lesson most parents did as their children grew up — that sometimes what was needed wasn’t analysis or advice, and certainly not avoidance, but just a comforting pat on the back and a shoulder to cry on...
Great, Sharley thought. A little more of this and she would be so deep in self-pity she’d b
e wishing she’d never been born.
Libby tapped on the door and came in carrying a glass of water and a couple of tablets. Sharley sat up and took the water, but shook her head at the medication. Charlotte had enough varieties of relaxers and tranquilizers and sleeping pills to stock a pharmacy, and Sharley recognized these as among the stronger ones. Those pills would knock her out till tomorrow morning, but what would that solve?
“I didn’t think you’d want them,” the housekeeper said, “but Mrs. Hudson insisted.”
“I’d just be putting the pain off till tomorrow.”
“Sometimes that’s not a bad idea,” Libby pointed out gently. “I’ll leave these here in case you change your mind, and I’ll bring your dinner in later.”
A Singular Honeymoon Page 2