Whispers

by Belva Plain

  No one contradicted him, and Robert continued, “I heard him speak in New York not long ago and was vastly impressed. He talked about what we’re all concerned with, the future of the European community, especially the new eastern republics. I’ve been exploring a lot of ideas myself. The rapidity of change is astounding. Who could ever have predicted it?”

  Lawrence said that no one could have, not to this extent, anyway.

  “Establishing a company, a brand name, isn’t going to be as easy as some think. We’re talking about a huge, backward area with poor transportation, and it’s all so fragmented. Czechoslovakia is different from Hungary, and they’re both worlds removed from Romania. Worlds apart.” And Robert made a wide gesture. “But I find it all fascinating, a history book in reverse, the future unfolding before your eyes. Fascinating.”

  Lawrence agreed that it was.

  Lynn could only wonder about the thoughts that Tom must be having as he listened, with head politely inclined toward Robert. And Robert, all unaware of the other man’s opinion of him, continued smoothly.

  “I’m having fun with some ideas of my own. One thing I’m doing is studying Hungarian, and that’s not the easiest language in the world.”

  “Where do you get the time?” asked Lawrence.

  “It’s not easy. I have to squeeze it in somehow, mostly on Saturday mornings.”

  “That’s when I go jogging with your colleague here.” Lawrence motioned toward Bruce. “We’re out conditioning our flab, while you’re in town conditioning your brain.” He laughed.

  Bruce defended Robert. “He watches his flab, too, as you can see. He watches everything. He’s known for it in the firm.”

  Tom said, “You’ve got a fine name there yourself, Bruce. Monacco’s aware of it. I told him you were my jogging partner, and he recognized your name, your good name.”

  “Thanks,” Bruce said. “I like my work, but I also like to forget business over the weekend, stay home or go out into the country, picking up old furniture. Then I spend Sunday afternoon puttering around restoring it. I’m teaching myself to weave cane. Maybe I should have been a cabinetmaker. Who knows, I might end up being one when I retire.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Robert said.

  For the first time Josie spoke. “He could be. I guess you still don’t know Bruce that well.”

  Here we go again, Lynn thought. What is it about those two? Impatiently, she twisted in the uncomfortable chair while trying to avoid Tom Lawrence’s eyes.

  “Well, maybe I don’t know Bruce.” And Robert demanded of him, “Do you mean to say you’d leave one of the biggest firms in the world to become a cabinetmaker?”

  “Probably not,” Bruce replied mildly. “Just a thought. But there is something rewarding about working with your hands. I love the feel of old wood. It almost comes alive under your fingers.” And he looked around the table with his wide, slow smile.

  And Lynn thought, as always, so cheerful, never in a hurry, and still he gets things done.

  “I have never been especially ambitious,” Bruce said as if he were thinking aloud. “I just keep going step by step.”

  “For someone who’s not especially ambitious, I should say you’ve come mighty far,” Josie remarked, with the combination of affection and gentle rebuke that was so typical of her.

  For answer Bruce took her hand, and they sat united, content with each other. He is thankful that she’s here, Lynn knew. She’s had four good years. If you can get through five, you’re home free, they say.

  When the dance band struck up, Bruce rose. “Excuse us. It’s not the anniversary waltz, but it will do just the same.”

  Tom’s eyes followed them. “I like them,” he said simply.

  Robert acknowledged the remark. “Yes. Salt of the earth.”

  “You two go and dance. Don’t mind me.” For the first time Tom addressed Lynn. “I always do seem to lack a partner, don’t I?”

  Compelled to make some reply, she gave him a faint smile. Then Robert said hastily, “Why don’t you dance with Lynn? I want to make some inquiry about the cake I ordered for the Lehmans and check on the champagne.”

  “You’re sure you don’t mind?” asked Tom.

  Asking Robert whether he minds, as though I were an object that can be borrowed or lent! She was hotly indignant.

  “No, no. Go ahead,” Robert said. And a second later she was on the dance floor with Tom Lawrence’s arm around her waist.

  “Why are you doing this?” The final word emerged with a hiss. “It’s not even decent, what you’re doing tonight.”

  “Why? I want to apologize, that’s all.”

  “What? Not again?”

  “Yes. I’ve been making too many bad mistakes involving you. When I left you at the pool that day, it didn’t take me long—as a matter of fact, I was only halfway home—to realize that I had said some horrendous things. I’ve been hoping to meet you so that I could tell you I’m sorry. I hurt you. I interjected where I had no business to be.”

  “No, you didn’t have any business.”

  “I am dreadfully, dreadfully sorry.”

  He drew far enough away so that he could look into her face, and she saw in his an expression of genuine contrition and concern. She thought wryly, I’ve had so many apologies these past months, Robert’s and now this. And she wondered, too, whether it could be the body contact while dancing that made it easier for people to make these intimate revelations. Who would think now that these two people, strangers to each other, were saying such serious things to the tune of a society dance-band?

  “In my work I seem to have acquired a kind of intuition. It works like a flash, and as a rule I find I can depend on it. But that’s no excuse for using it. I must learn to keep my mouth shut even when I’m sure I’m right.”

  “But you were wrong that time. Your intuition failed you. Look at me,” she commanded with a proud lift of her head. “How do I look to you?”

  “Very, very lovely, Lynn.”

  “Robert treats me very, very well, Tom.”

  “Does he?”

  “I’m going to have a baby.”

  The skeptical eyes looked straight into hers while two pairs of feet moved expertly, not missing a step. Then the music stopped and Tom released her.

  “God bless you, Lynn,” he said.

  The blessing jolted her. It was what Bruce had given her when she had brought him the news, and it had seemed fitting on his lips. But on Tom Lawrence’s it seemed ironic.

  Nevertheless, the evening turned out not badly after all.

  Bruce and Josie received their cake and their champagne toast. At Robert’s request the band played “The Anniversary Waltz,” Bruce kissed Josie, everyone applauded, and then they all went home.

  “Very smooth, that Lawrence,” Robert remarked on the way back.

  “Does that mean you don’t like him?”

  “I can’t make up my mind.”

  “That’s unusual for you. You generally know right away what you think about people.”

  “Maybe that’s a failing. Maybe I shouldn’t be so sure of my judgment. Oh, he’s sharp as a tack. Congenial, a thorough gentleman, but somehow I can’t make up my mind what he thinks about me. I almost think he dislikes me. But that’s absurd. Why should he? Oh, but that Bruce! He makes such an idiot of himself with his remarks about furniture when, if he were more attuned to what’s going on, he should have seen that I was leading the conversation somewhere. I looked up Lawrence’s law firm. They have offices in Brussels, London, and Geneva. You never know what might come of that. Besides, the connection with Pete Monacco is no bad thing. Good Lord, a man has to keep his eyes wide open! That’s Bruce’s failing. I saw it the first day he came to the St. Louis office. Remember when I came home and told you? A lightweight, I said. A nice guy who’ll never get very far. Oh, he’s done all right, but he’s stuck where he is. Stuck.”

  “That’s not what Tom Lawrence said. Remember? He said Bruce has a very
good name in your firm.”

  “Fine. But I’m there on the spot and I think I should be a better judge than Lawrence is.”

  Jealous. Jealous of Tom because I was foolish that night, and of Bruce because he is a handsome man. He wants to be the only handsome man, I suppose. Lord, men can be such babies!

  “All the same,” Lynn said amusedly, “if I had a brother, I’d want him to be like Bruce.”

  “As long as you wouldn’t want your husband to be like Bruce. Or like anyone else, including Tom Lawrence. Right, Mrs. Ferguson?”

  “Right,” she said.

  Josie telephoned with thanks for the anniversary celebration.

  “It was lovely, perfect. They even played our songs, our specials.”

  “That was Robert’s doing. You know he never forgets anything.”

  They gossiped briefly, and then Josie said, “Tom Lawrence really admires you.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “He told Bruce.”

  “Oh, he admires my cooking.”

  “No, you.”

  “We’ll, that’s generous of him.”

  “He’s a generous person.”

  “I didn’t realize you knew him that well.”

  “I don’t know him that well. He stops in for a cold drink or a hot drink after he’s met Bruce on the track. I find him interesting. Hard to pin down, like quicksilver. But very decent, very honorable.”

  “How can you know if you say you don’t know him well?” Lynn asked, wanting for some reason to argue the point.

  “I just know. It’s not important either way. I only wanted to pass on a compliment.”

  When the conversation ended and she hung up the phone, she sat for a moment or two staring into the mirror on the opposite wall. An odd little smile flickered over her lips.

  A few weeks later Robert telephoned from the office at midday. He never called from the office, and she was startled.

  “Is anything wrong?”

  “Wrong? I should say not.” There was glee in his voice. “In a million years you’d never guess. I got a call from California from the big boss. I almost fell off the chair.”

  “Not Monacco? He called you?”

  “Himself. I can’t imagine what Tom told him about me. He seems to have described me as some kind of genius, some sort of phenomenon. So, Monacco says he’d like to meet me and have a talk. We’ve been invited for the weekend to his place in Maine. His wife will call you.”

  Robert was chuckling; she knew that he was wearing an enormous smile and that his eyes would be brilliant with excitement.

  “I haven’t mentioned it to anyone here. It’s a bad policy to seem boastful. Being casual about it is much the better way.”

  “Does that mean not to tell Josie?”

  “Oh, they’ll know. We’ll have to ask them to keep an eye on the girls again, anyway, won’t we? But, uh, keep it light, as if it’s nothing much. It’d be nasty to rub this under Bruce’s nose, since he wasn’t invited. Now I’m beginning to get nervous. I do have some good ideas, it’s true, but I hope the man won’t be expecting so much from me that I’ll fall flat on my face. Well, at least you’ll be there to help charm him. I think you must have charmed Lawrence.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  Robert laughed. He was absolutely euphoric. “In a nice way, I meant.”

  “I didn’t charm him, any way, nice or not. I danced with him once, at your behest, if you remember, and we hardly spoke.”

  “Okay, okay. Don’t keep the phone tied up too long in case Mrs. Monacco should call.”

  When she hung up, her feelings were mixed. Of course this was a marvelous thing for Robert, an unprecedented summons to the man’s home. Small wonder that he was ecstatic. She could only be glad for him, and she was glad. Yet at the same time she was slightly vexed and vaguely troubled.

  She made excuses to avoid the country club, although she knew Robert liked to go there for dinner. But apparently Tom Lawrence also liked to go there.…

  Robert urged her. “As new in the community as we are, it’s important to keep being seen. Otherwise, people forget you’re alive.”

  “Your name’s all over this community, on practically every committee. They couldn’t forget you if they wanted to,” she told him.

  “Speaking of remembering people, we really should show some appreciation to Tom Lawrence. Let’s have him over for dinner one night. I mean, when have you heard of anyone’s doing such an extraordinary favor for a man he scarcely knows? Of course I called him at once to thank him, and I mentioned that we’d like to have him come over soon.”

  “I will, but first I want to get a few things out of the way. That root canal’s been bothering me, which means a few visits to the man in the city. And I want to get the baby’s room finished, too, before I get so big that I won’t want to go into the city. But I will,” she promised.

  It disturbed her to think of seeing Tom again; it was disturbing in itself that she should feel that way. She was a literal person, one who needed a clear explanation for everything, even for the workings of her own mind. So it was with some dismay that one afternoon not long afterward she encountered him on a New York street. Having done her errands, she was on the way to Grand Central Terminal and home. She had stopped in front of a small picture gallery, attracted by a painting of sheep on a hillside, as well as by the name above the entrance: Querida. An unusual name. The name of Robert’s first wife. It gave her a small, unpleasant flutter. And then, turning away from the window, she had seen Tom Lawrence.

  “What are you doing in the city?” he inquired, as though they were old friends who reported their doings to each other.

  She replied casually, “I go to a dentist in the neighborhood. And today I bought nursery furniture.”

  “That must be a happy thing, although I wouldn’t know, would I?”

  Again, she had a sense of being brightly, although not disagreeably, scrutinized.

  “You’re looking wonderful. They tell me there are women who actually thrive on being pregnant. Are you buying pictures?”

  “No, just admiring.” And wanting to divert that scrutiny, she remarked, “These sheep are lovely.”

  “She does have nice things. I’ve priced some, and the prices are very fair, but she’s a cranky kind of oddball. Are you on your way home? Yes? So am I. We’ll go together. Are you walking or cabbing?”

  “I always walk as much as I can when I’m in the city.”

  “Yes, it’s wonderful this time of year. Everything seems to be waking up. And the shops! I can see why women go crazy in the shops.”

  Tweeds and silks, silver, mahogany, and burnished leather made a passing show of the windows as they walked down Madison Avenue. The most brilliant blue, as deep as cobalt, overhung the towers, and where distance disguised grime, the towers shone white.

  “Am I going too fast for you?” Tom asked.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  They were keeping an even pace. Always with Robert she had to hurry to keep up with his long strides, but then, she thought idly, Robert was half a head taller than this man.

  “I never take the train home this early,” Tom explained, “but I made myself take time off to do some shopping today.” He went on making small talk. “My days are pretty long. I take the seven-thirty every morning, so I guess I’m entitled to treat myself now and then.”

  “Robert takes the six-thirty.”

  “He’s a hard worker.”

  And suddenly she cut through the small talk, saying, “I must thank you for that incredible invitation to Maine. I know Robert’s told you how much it means to him.”

  “Oh, that. It was all Pete’s idea. He says there’s never much time during his flying visits to New York, what with all the meetings and stuff, so Maine’s a much better place to talk.”

  “I didn’t mean Maine, specifically. I meant the whole business.” She raised her eyes to Tom, inquiring directly, “Why did you do anything at all for Robe
rt? Did he,” she asked, not flinching, “did he by any chance ask you to?”

  “Lord, no. Don’t you know he wouldn’t do that? But I knew he wanted something all the same.”

  Troubled, she went further. “Was he so obvious?”

  “I suppose not really. I guess maybe it was my famous intuition that I told you about,” Tom said rather mischievously.

  “No, really. I’m serious. Because you don’t like Robert.”

  “Robert’s very smart, very competent, very diligent. I knew I wouldn’t go wrong by recommending him.”

  “But Bruce wasn’t invited.”

  “I didn’t mention Bruce.”

  “Why not? You like him very much. You said so; I heard you.”

  “Ah, don’t ask so many questions, lady!”

  Embarrassed, she murmured only, “It was awfully good of you.”

  In the train Tom read the newspaper, and Lynn read her book, until the train had passed the dark brown tenements in the uptown reaches of the city, then the cheerful towns with their malls and parks, and crossed the Connecticut line. At that point he laid the paper aside and spoke.

  “Lynn … I have another apology to make.”

  “Oh, no, not another! For what this time?”

  “For that first night at my house. If your husband could have read my thoughts, which fortunately he couldn’t, he’d have had a right to be furious.” Tom paused. “The truth is, I was hoping that you and I’d get together. Oh, not that night,” he amended quickly, “of course not. But I thought perhaps the next time.”

  She turned her face away toward the window to hide her exasperating blush. Naturally, it was flattering to be propositioned after all these years, to know that she could tempt someone else beside Robert. She supposed, though, that she ought to feel angry; whatever had made this man dare to think that she would be open to his proposition? And she felt guilty because she was not angry.

  Rather mildly, she said, “But you knew I had Robert.”

  “I made a mistake. I misread you, which I don’t usually do. Maybe it was the wine or the spring night or something. Anyway, a sexual attraction doesn’t have to disrupt a man’s or a woman’s other life. Do I shock you?” For she had turned to him and saw now his rueful smile. “Yes, of course I do. You’d eat yourself alive with guilt if you ever—you’d say ‘cheated.’ Well, I respect that. Maybe someday you’ll feel different about it.”