Twilight Whispers

by Barbara Delinsky

  She had had enough of primness to know that she wanted to touch Gil all over, and, again, he seemed to welcome it, for he helped her remove first his undershirt, then his shorts. She touched him slowly, savoring the play of hard muscle beneath hair spattered skin, and she felt every one of her senses sharpen to near painful acuity when he touched her likewise.

  She let him set the pace, but her thighs were open and waiting when at last he lowered himself and entered her. Whimpering softly at the sheer beauty of it, she held him inside warmly and tightly. And when he began to move she moved with him, letting him guide her to a height of pleasure she had never come near to glimpsing before. She found as much ecstasy in his release as in her own, but she didn’t have to wonder why she had never felt such reward with Henry. She never had—never would—love Henry as she loved Gil.

  He collapsed beside her and was breathing roughly when he drew her into the curve of his body, but the panting eased quickly as sleep overtook him. It didn’t occur to Cassie to seek her customary narrow edge of the bed. The feel of Gil was pleasant and comforting; it was every one of her fantasies come true.

  Happily, peacefully, she too dozed off, only to awaken after several hours and find that Gil had drawn back the covers and was looking at her body. Again she felt no impulse to hide herself, and she didn’t care if that made her wanton, because she found joy in the way his eyes touched and admired her. Then his hands followed suit, and she discovered that she wanted him again, and if that was wanton, she simply didn’t care. She had suspected that Gil had been unfaithful to Lenore more than once over the years, and she had no idea whether he would ever have the desire or opportunity to come to her again, so she had every intention of giving and taking what she could for this one, very precious night.

  The only light in the room was that of moonlight reflected off the brittle winter grass, but it was enough for her to see his eyes and memorize the look in them and see his body and memorize its contours. Freer than she had ever been, she touched him and worshiped him, and when he came to her again her climax was even more powerful than before.

  This time she was the first to fall asleep, and she had no way of knowing that Gil laid awake for a long time watching her. When next she opened her eyes it was morning, and he was gone. She accepted that, as she did the reality of Henry and Kenny, and Lenore and the children in Maine. So she dressed, prepared Gil’s usual breakfast, then cleaned up the house and headed north.

  * * *

  The following month, every newspaper in the country splashed headlines of Jonas Salk’s perfection of a polio vaccine. The Whyte and Warren children, as well as Kenny Morell, were among the first to receive it, thanks to string pulling on Gil’s part. And though there was a tinge of bitterness that the vaccine had come several months too late for Ben, once the other children had been immunized a collective sigh of relief arose from the Dover homes and life returned to normal.

  Normal, that is, in Whyte and Warren terms. Jordan was the one who broke a limb this time—his foot, in a soaring leap from the treehouse. And Peter, this time, was the one whose teacher called home reporting that his practice of throwing spitballs in class was becoming a problem. Laura missed out on the part of the princess in the ballet recital, which set her into a tailspin from which she recovered only after she had been promised the part of the good fairy. And Nick, whose body was growing as quickly as Natalie could buy him new clothes, became the playboy of his seventh grade class.

  In June of that year, shortly before the families retired to Maine for the summer, Cassie received confirmation from her doctor that she was pregnant again. Shortly after that, Lenore learned the same. Cassie was due in December, Lenore in January. Any thoughts Cassie might have had about the irony of it were secondary to the joy she felt. She said nothing to Gil; words were unnecessary on that score, at least. Though they had never discussed what had happened on that cold night in March, they shared an understanding that their lives would go on as they had been.

  Cassie weathered the pregnancy well, which didn’t surprise her. She had been through one pregnancy and knew what to expect, and the added delight of knowing that she carried part of Gil inside her gave her an enormous amount of strength. Henry coddled her less this time, and she might have wondered if he knew the truth had it not been for the fact that they had been growing apart for years. She had no more intention of throwing the baby’s parentage in his face than Gil had of throwing it in Lenore’s. It was enough for Cassie to know that she and Gil shared their own, very special secret.

  December came and went and Cassie didn’t deliver. Yet while everyone else waited eagerly for the new arrival she was calm and at peace. The baby was born on January eighth. Cassie’s labor was smooth and short. The infant, a girl, was perfectly formed and beautiful. And Henry, bless his soul, took all the credit.

  He didn’t take to this child as he had to Kenny, though. He wasn’t eager to rock her when she cried, or change her diapers when she was wet, or bathe her when Cassie was exhausted. But Cassie didn’t complain, for there was a part of her that didn’t want Henry to touch the baby. Katia was hers. And Gil’s.

  Emily Warren was born three weeks after Katia, and again Gil hired extra help to ease Cassie’s work. He also raised the Morells’ salaries, and he did something that Cassie thought to be utterly sweet and thoroughly shrewd. When the last of the snow had cleared the ground in Dover, he saw to it that Kenny had a new bicycle to match those of widely varied sizes that he had bought for his own children—bonuses, he called them, for boys and girls who had accepted their new baby sisters with such good spirit.

  It was the first of many such gestures, each of which were spontaneous and came at times when they were least expected—and all of which included Katia when she grew old enough to benefit from them. They were silent statements that Cassie’s children were to be considered as equals to Gil’s own, and though they were well intended, they created a subtle backlash that Gil hadn’t anticipated.

  First off, there was Henry. He was a man with a family, and though he served Gil without fault—chauffeuring him when his schedule called for it, doing heavy work around the house, supervising the gardener and the groom—he felt emasculated by Gil’s magnanimity. He insisted to Cassie that he could buy his children what they needed, and when she explained that it was Gil’s pleasure to do what he did, Henry argued that Gil’s pleasure was not his pleasure. Deep down inside he resented Gil. Cassie never pressed the point.

  And then there was Lenore. On the surface she behaved the same toward Cassie as she always had, but there were small things, subtle things, that led Cassie to suspect that Lenore knew the truth about Katia. She felt reasonably sure that Gil hadn’t said anything, and there was nothing about Katia’s looks—she had Cassie’s light hair and her own baby features—that gave her away, but Lenore must have suspected something in Gil’s gentleness with the child. He didn’t see her often, indeed, less often than he saw his own children, which was far too infrequently for Lenore’s satisfaction, but when he did, the tender smiles he gave this particular child were special.

  Lenore avoided looking at Katia. If the children were playing together, which was often, since Katia and Emily were so close in age, Lenore’s attention would be solely on Emily. It was as though she tried to pretend that Katia didn’t exist, but, of course, she failed, because the other children, the nanny and Cassie all adored Katia, who was an affectionate and happy child.

  If there were times when Lenore would send Laura or Deborah out with Emily in the stroller, leaving Katia behind in the nursery, Cassie didn’t say a word. She had no wish to create a scene; it would only put Gil on the spot, which was the last thing she wanted to do. She had utter faith that if she continued to run the Warren household smoothly Gil would continue to see that her children had all of the advantages in life. As she looked toward the future, that was what she wanted for them.

  Lenore, too, was looking toward the future, but in a much more calculating way.
She abided Gil’s campaigns in 1958 and 1960, compensating for those efforts by investing in clothes and jewels and furs. She loved the respect with which she was greeted in public, but she was tired of the ups and downs of political life, the endless fundraisers, the worry. When Gil informed her in late 1961 that he intended to run for a seat in the United States Congress the following year, she drew her ace from its hole.

  “The House of Representatives,” she said, nodding. “That’s the next step.”

  “I have the power here, and the backing. It will be a harder race than any I’ve had in the past simply because of its scope, but I don’t see any problem.”

  Again she nodded, her expression calm. “It will also cost more. Laura’s in college; Peter will be headed there in two years. Not only will the campaign be expensive, but if you go to Washington you’ll have to give up your law practice. Being a congressman is a full-time job, and it doesn’t pay anywhere near as much as you’ve been earning. Can we afford it?”

  “How many times have I told you not to worry about money?” he bellowed, not quite realizing that it was as much her uncharacteristic calm that was upsetting him as what he felt to be a slur on his ability as a breadwinner. “I’ve worked my tail off for years in that law office, and over time I’ve made investments that have tripled in value. Christ, Lenore, we’re millionaires! Why can’t you understand that?”

  “Millionaires? Good. Then you can run for Congress or do whatever else you wish.” She straightened. “On several conditions.”

  “Conditions?” he growled. “What are you talking about? We’re married, you and I. There aren’t conditions between husbands and wives.”

  “There are now, that is, if you want my cooperation in this race.”

  It wasn’t that Gil wanted her cooperation, but that he needed it. She was part of the image, the politician’s wife who was gracious and poised and, on the surface at least, eternally devoted to her husband. At forty-one she was a stunningly attractive woman. At forty-nine he was a markedly handsome man. He truly believed that they made every bit as impressive a couple as the Kennedys, who had been in the White House since January.

  Gil liked the idea of Camelot; he wanted to be part of it. Yes, he needed Lenore. Unfortunately.

  “What conditions?” he asked quietly, but not without a hint of resentment.

  “First, I will not move to Washington. I like living here, and I want the children to stay here. You can buy a house in Washington—”

  “And support two houses?’

  “You already support two houses, this one and the one in Maine,” which was a new one they had built with the Whytes three years before to replace the Victorian house they had torn down. “If we’re millionaires a third house won’t make much difference. The children and I will spend time there, but this will be our primary residence. When you need me for important social engagements I’ll fly down.”

  Though it wasn’t what he had originally had in mind, it occurred to him that such an arrangement would work to his benefit. He would have the leeway to do what he wanted without constantly having to make excuses for his absences to Lenore, yet she would be on call for those times that mattered.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll agree to that.”

  “Fine. Second, I want you to make regular investments—blue-chip stocks and savings bonds—in my name and those of each of the children.”

  He didn’t like the sound of that half as well. “For what purpose? If something happens to me you’ll inherit it all anyway.”

  “I want certain assets to be in our names.” She was tired of fearing that Gil would become involved in something sordid, or be sued and lose everything, in which case she and the children would inherit nothing but debts, and history would repeat itself. “Which brings me to my next point. I want the deed to this house to be transferred to me.”

  He expelled a breath and tried to control his impatience. “For God’s sake, Lenore, this is absurd.”

  “I don’t think so. I want it done.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll feel safer.”

  “Safer against what?”

  She shrugged. “You never can tell. Personally, I don’t see any problem with what I’m asking. You said it before; if anything happens to you, we inherit. Well, why don’t you save us the estate tax and simply pass everything on now?”

  “Because I don’t want to!” he shouted, then lowered his voice. “Because I’m hearing something that I don’t like.”

  “That’s just fine, because I’ve been seeing something that I don’t like for five long years now.”

  “What are you talking about?” he demanded, but his voice faltered.

  “Katia Morell.”

  Gil paled instantly. Lenore took strength from his loss.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t guess? Think I wouldn’t know? I might not have if you hadn’t fawned over her from day one. But that was unlike you, Gil. You never fawned over our children.”

  Gil didn’t even consider trying to bluff his way out. Lenore was too shrewd, and at the moment too dangerous. He could deny that Katia was his child, and she could choose to publicize her belief, causing just enough of a stir to spoil his political future.

  “What’s the matter, Gil? Haven’t got a smooth retort?”

  “I don’t fawn.” It wasn’t exactly smooth, but it was the only thing he could think of to say at the moment.

  “All right. Maybe fawn is too strong a word. But it’s obvious the way you look at her that there’s something special between you.”

  “One night, Lenore. That was all. It was after Ben’s death. I was here alone. I needed help.”

  “You got it. She’s loved you for years. Do you know that?”

  “Cassie Morell is our housekeeper. She does her job and she’s been a second mother to our children. If the fact that she loves me increases her love for them, I can find no fault with it. And I have no intention of dismissing her, Lenore. For the sake of our children, I will never dismiss her.”

  Lenore had thought that out, too. “I don’t want her dismissed. You’re right. She’s a vital part of this household. In fact, you can go to her whenever you want—if you can manage to get Henry out of the way. How does he feel about the little girl, anyway?”

  “I assume he doesn’t know.”

  “Like you assumed I didn’t know? Give us a little credit, Gil. We’re not as stupid as you’d like to think.”

  “I never thought you were stupid.”

  “What did you think?”

  Gil didn’t like being put on the defensive, and he had no intention of remaining there. “Very honestly,” he began, gaining strength as he went, “I thought—I think—that you found a damn good thing when you found me. You were nothing, Lenore. Oh, you were beautiful, and still are, but back then you were living with your mother in a tiny apartment just waiting for the right prospect to come along. I was the key to your future. In me you found money and power. From the time we were married, even during the war years, you were comfortable. And it’s gotten better and better. You have a name that’s respected—”

  “Feared.”

  “Respected. You have a house that’s furnished to the hilt and a private island in Maine. You have a car, the best clothes money can buy, jewels and furs—and don’t think that I don’t know what you’ve been doing. You’ve been stockpiling. Hell, those jewels and furs alone could support you for years if anything happened to me.”

  “I’ve earned them,” she returned vehemently. “I’ve stood by your side and smiled until my face was stiff. On your behalf I’ve been courteous to some of the biggest bores in the world. I’ve gone along with your obsession with politics even though from the start I felt it was risky. I’ve sat here alone on the nights you’ve found better things to do, and I’ve raised the family you wanted.”

  Gil could have argued with the latter, but there were more immediate things on his mind. “Why, now Lenore? Why have you waited all this time, k
nowing what you know, before mentioning Katia to me?”

  “Because I’ve learned from you, Gil. ‘Don’t get mad. Get even,’ you always say. Remember Donald Whitcomb? He took you down a peg one day in front of the entire House. You said you’d get your revenge in time, and you did. You just happened to take on a client who sued the man for every cent he was worth, and you won. That revenge was three years in the coming. You waited for the right opportunity, and when it came you took it. Well, I’m doing the same. I’ve saved what I know about Katia Morell until now because now is when that knowledge can benefit me the most.”

  “God, you’ve gotten hard.”

  “It’s from watching you all these years. I’d have to have been blind not to see that toughness can be effective.”

  Gil’s eyes narrowed. “Who else knows about Katia?”

  “From me? No one.”

  “You haven’t told Natalie?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if she knew, because she’s not blind either. But, no, I haven’t discussed it with her.”

  Shifting his shoulders, Gil took a deep breath. His nostrils flared. “That was wise of you, because it would have gone against one of my conditions.”

  “Your conditions for what?” she threw back.

  “For the acceptance of yours. If you want to play tough, I’ll play tough. We’ll make a bargain. I’ll give you what you want—blue-chip stocks, savings bonds, the deed to this house—in exchange for two things.” He raised his forefinger. “First, I want you never to breathe a word of what you suspect to a living soul. You’ll not so much as hint of anything to Henry, or Cassie, or Katia, or to any of our family, or the Whytes, or anyone we know, even distantly—not even to the goddamned blind beggar selling pencils on the corner of Tremont and Park.