by Amber Brock
Hallan sucked in a breath through his teeth. “And here I was hoping you’d play with me.”
Vera’s spoon clattered against her bowl, and heads all around the table swiveled. “So sorry,” she said. “Lost my grip.”
Poppy frowned. “Are you all right? You look pale.”
“Yes, I’m fine.” Vera forced a smile.
Arthur pointed at Hallan. “Tell me, when did you move to Paris? I expect after the war, of course. But that wouldn’t have given you much time to finish your studies.”
Hallan’s jaw clenched. “Got there just at the end of the war, actually. Did you serve?”
A smirk flicked across Arthur’s lips. “No. Flat feet. And I was needed here. War effort, and all that. You know,” Arthur said to Vera’s mother, “I haven’t even seen any of his paintings. Vera saw some photographs, but I haven’t seen anything.”
“The photographs were very good. The paintings looked good in them, I mean,” Vera said through a constricting throat. Though Arthur had not been part of the conversation between her mother and Hallan, he had certainly been listening to it. He must not have liked what he heard. Now he was gunning for Hallan as well.
“Is that so?” Vera’s mother turned to Hallan. “Do tell us about your work.”
“Perhaps Vera ought to describe it,” Hallan said. “I just paint, but she went to college to study how to talk about art. I’m sure you’d rather hear it in her words. You must love to hear her talk about art.”
Arthur waved Vera off before she could speak again. “I’d like to hear how you see what you do. For example, is it real art you do, or that modern sort?”
Hallan locked eyes with him. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You know.” Arthur offered him a hard, cold smile. “The things they try to pass off as art these days. Even in the paintings, it doesn’t look like anything. A bunch of lines, shapes, things a child could do. Is that what you do, or do you paint in the more traditional style?”
“I know not if you would know the difference.” Hallan’s voice was strained, rigid.
Arthur narrowed his eyes. “You have the oddest way of phrasing things at times, Mr. Hallan, did you know that? Is that the French influence on your speech?”
Vera stood, her gloves dropping out of her lap. “You know, I’m not feeling well after all. Arthur, will you walk me to the room, please?”
“Of course, dear.” Arthur held Hallan’s gaze a moment longer, though every other eye was on Vera.
As she took Arthur’s arm and left the room, she heard Hallan making his apologies as well, attributing his own illness to the extended car travel. She was relieved not to be leaving him alone with her mother, but she could not have stayed for his sake. Besides, she wanted a private word with Arthur.
When the bedroom door closed behind them, she dropped his arm. “Why were you and my mother going after Hallan like that? The whole scene was unpardonably rude, he’s a guest.”
“He’s not my guest. He’s a painter, for God’s sake, I have no idea why your mother wanted him here in the first place.”
“Do you think he’s an imposter? If you think that, why not come out and say it?”
“Because I don’t care who he is. If he does the work I’ve hired him for, I’ll pay him. If not, I won’t. Doesn’t matter what the man calls himself. I could hire a vagrant off the street to paint that wall whatever color he likes. If I say he’s an artist, those damn biddies in the building will swoon anyway.”
“But what if he means to rob someone? What if he’s dangerous?”
“Then I’ll call the police and have him locked away. Do you honestly think the man is dangerous? Really, Vera, I expected this foolishness from the others, but not from you. Do you really care what he paints on the pool room wall? Or what school he says he’s studied at?” Arthur brushed off his shoulder with his hand and straightened his jacket. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go finish my dinner.”
Before Vera could say anything else, he strode out and slammed the door behind him. She sank onto the bed and took a shaky breath. She had been foolish to encourage Arthur’s suspicions, though her questioning likely came more out of anger at herself than any real distrust of Hallan. Of course she did not believe he was dangerous, and his hesitancy to talk about his upbringing could merely be because his family was poor or in disgrace of some kind. Her mother had been playing the game she loved to play with those she did not feel belonged. And Arthur was right. The worst Hallan could do was leave the pool wall unpainted.
But that was not what bothered her most. What bothered her more than any question of his identity or intention was that she could not stop thinking about the look of wonder on his face when he described the portrait in the museum. Or the feel of his breath in her ear as they danced, or the scrawl of the lines on the card he left for her. No, the worst would not be to leave without completing his work. The worst would be if all of it, his captivated gaze at the paintings and at her, turned out to be a lie.
Vera woke early Saturday morning, but she could not make herself get out of bed right away. Instead, she stared at the whitewashed boards of the ceiling and prayed she had somehow managed to sleep until Monday morning. The wish made her feel like she had when she was a girl, when the driver would drop her off at boarding school in the fall. She always enjoyed greeting her friends, but at night she would lie in bed and wish to be home.
A knock on the door signaled the arrival of the breakfast tray, and she could tarry no longer. She pulled on a dressing gown and opened the door for the maid, who set the tray on the table by the window. Sipping her tea gave Vera a new clarity, and she admitted to herself that she would face the consequences of leaving dinner early the night before. She had pretended to be asleep when Arthur came in around midnight, trailing the smoky smell of her father’s favorite cigars. Now, with the morning light dancing in through the curtains, she would have to speak to him.
The bedsprings creaked as he sat up, rubbing his forehead. He turned a blurry gaze on Vera. “Good morning. Feeling better?”
“Lots. Thank you.”
“I hope so. Don’t want you to have to spend the whole weekend in your room.” He stood and crossed to the washbasin.
“No,” she said. “But let’s not dwell on it, darling. I want us to enjoy our vacation.” She smiled. “I thought we might go for a walk in town today. Remember how we used to do that? When we were courting? You’d buy me a Coca-Cola at the soda fountain and tell me about your work.”
Arthur patted his face with a cloth. “Yes, that was always nice. Sorry, but I’ve already agreed to golf with your father today.”
“Ah.” Her voice faltered ever so slightly. “Just you two?”
“Walter will come, I’m sure.”
“And Mr. Hallan? Won’t you invite him?”
“We did. Said he doesn’t golf. It will be up to you ladies to entertain him,” Arthur replied, the corners of his mouth flicking up.
“I see.”
As Arthur dressed, Vera toyed with the card announcing tea and dinner times. When he left, she realized she had torn the paper into confetti, and she swept it from the tablecloth into her hand. She rose, deposited the shreds in the bin, and pulled out her own clothes to dress for the day.
Her hand hit a white sporting dress, and inspiration struck. She knew how to occupy Hallan’s time, at least for a while, and keep him away from her mother. Croquet. If he did not know how to play, so much the better. Explaining the rules alone would take up plenty of time. Vera rang for the maid and asked that the equipment be set up on the lawn. Whether or not Hallan had any interest in learning or playing croquet mattered very little. He would play if he had any wits about him at all.
Vera pinned her hair into a knot, then tied an orange scarf around her head. She picked up her parasol and headed to the stairs. Caroline stood at the bottom of the stairs, with her two boys.
“Are you coming out to the beach with us?” Caroline asked, her tone a notch t
oo bright.
“Isn’t your girl taking the children?” Vera asked.
“She isn’t feeling well this morning. And the boys absolutely insist on going down to the shore. So there we are.” Caroline gave a strained, toothy smile.
“I see. And have you seen Mr. Hallan this morning? Will he be going with you?”
“He’s not golfing with Arthur and Walter?”
“I’m not.” Hallan’s voice rang through the foyer as he strolled around the corner. “I’d rather not embarrass myself in front of the gentlemen.”
“That’s fine.” Vera stepped toward him so quickly that Hallan’s brows leapt. “I’m staying here, too. I was hoping you’d play croquet with me.”
“Croquet?” His gaze bounced from Vera to Caroline and back again.
Vera indicated Caroline’s basket of supplies. “Caroline is taking the boys to the beach, you see. And since you aren’t going to the course, I thought you might like a little fresh air here at the house.” Her words tripped over each other in their haste.
“Yes…yes, of course. Thank you for thinking of me.”
“Wonderful. I’ve already had the court set up. Have you had breakfast?”
“I have.”
Vera nodded toward the door. “You go on, then. I’ll be out presently.”
Caroline lifted the basket and nudged her boys out the door, calling a good-bye as she left. After a quick backward glance at Vera, Hallan went out, too.
“Where is everyone going?”
Vera turned to find her mother walking in from the hallway leading to her suite. “Good morning, Mother. Caroline’s off to the beach with the boys, and Arthur and Daddy left with Walter to go to the club.”
“Well, of course I knew where your father was.” Her mother’s lips pinched together. “They’re not taking Mr. Hallan with them, I understand.”
“He said he doesn’t play golf.”
“That doesn’t mean he can’t go to the club. What sort of man stays at home with the women?”
A few quick answers occurred to Vera, but she kept them to herself. Her mother would not see the humor in any of them. “Don’t worry, I’m taking him out for croquet. He’ll be entertained.”
“I can’t say I was worried about his prospects for entertainment, dear. He seems the type to make his own.” Vera’s mother cocked an eyebrow pointedly, then breezed past Vera. A sigh escaped Vera as her mother turned to go into the library. At least she was not planning to be in the yard with them.
Vera had chosen a flat patch of grass for the course, close enough to the house to see someone at the door, but not within hearing distance. The lawn was still grasshopper green and thick under her feet. Because of the gentle give of the sandy soil, her walk had a slight but perceptible bounce to it that it lacked on the hard marble or wooden floors she usually walked on. Hallan already stood by the court, which a servant had marked off with little cloth flags. He waved as she approached and handed her a mallet.
“Do you know how to play?” she asked.
“Indeed I do.” He passed her a mallet and reached into his pocket for a coin. “Shall we flip to see who goes first?”
She nodded. “I’ll take heads.”
He tossed the coin into the air and slapped it to the back of his hand. Before revealing the coin, he shot her an amused look. “Not too late to change your mind.”
Vera pulled a tiny smile, determined to make the next few hours pleasant. “Heads will do fine, thank you.”
Hallan lifted his hand. “Heads it is. Would you like to start?”
“I’ll go second,” she said.
He inclined his head, then walked around her to line up the ball for the first shot. “Last night, did I thank your mother for her invitation to stay this weekend? I can’t recall.”
Vera batted her mallet back and forth through the grass. “I am sorry about the way my mother and Arthur behaved. If they made you uncomfortable.”
“I hope you won’t worry about that. I can handle your mother and Arthur.” The ball sailed through the first wicket, and Hallan straightened his back. “About our…outings together.”
“I don’t wish to revisit those, if that’s quite all right with you.”
He sent the second ball rolling past the first one and stepped aside for Vera to line up her shot. “We had a pleasant enough time, didn’t we?”
“That isn’t the point.” Vera tapped her ball with her mallet, but it clanged off the arm of the wicket and skipped to a stop. “And I think you know why it would be inappropriate to have any more similar evenings.”
“But I enjoy your company. It seems you enjoy mine. We have interests in common. I don’t see what’s so inappropriate about any of it.”
She turned and cocked her head. “Dancing? Telling me I’m…well, saying things you have no business saying? Even you must see what’s wrong with that.”
He strolled over to his ball near the second wicket. “What, telling you you’re beautiful? That’s just honesty, Mrs. Bellington.”
Vera’s face flamed. “I’m afraid if you can’t mind your manners, this will be a very short game.”
“Why do you always scold me for paying you a compliment? As to the dancing, I thought it was rude to make a lady sit out.”
“An unmarried lady, yes.”
He tapped the ball and sent it cleanly through the next wicket. “I stand corrected.”
Vera crossed her arms. “Will you please promise me that you won’t bring those evenings up again?”
“I thought that was only in front of your mother.”
“No. I’d rather you didn’t talk about them at all.”
“If that’s what you want,” he said.
“It is.”
“Then I promise.”
They played for a while in silence. The ocean breeze trickled over the lawn, lifting the ends of the scarf in Vera’s hair. Hallan took a clear lead, and his smile inched up more with each move toward victory.
A door slammed shut behind them, and she turned to the house. Her mother strode the length of the porch, a maid in tow. Vera prayed her mother would not come out to the lawn and let out a long exhale when her mother stopped at a rocking chair and sat. When Vera turned back, she found Hallan watching her. He dropped his gaze back to the court.
“She didn’t want to join us?” he asked, his tone light.
Vera adjusted her scarf. “No, she doesn’t care for competition. Of any kind, really.”
“She doesn’t like games?” He paused. “Odd. But doesn’t your father own racehorses?”
“Yes, and she hates them. She’d hate anything with a smell that strong, though. She always complains that Daddy reeks of them.”
Hallan turned his attention to his shot once more. “Pardon me for saying so, but it must have been a severe childhood. No games?”
“Well, naturally I was allowed to play games, I was a little girl. She just never liked them herself.”
“Ah. And the horses? Were they your only pets?”
“Daddy’s horses are hardly pets. They’re working animals. Racing is not a game, Mr. Hallan.”
A crack sounded as one ball collided with another. “I stand corrected again.”
“I did have one pet.” Vera glanced back at her mother.
“Did you?”
She smiled. “One summer, a little tabby kitten came nosing around the yard here. I thought she was darling. Had a little white bib, right here.” She brushed her chest with her hand. “I convinced the cook to give me some scraps for her, and bit by bit I worked my way closer to her. Near the end of the summer, she let me hold her.”
His expression softened. “I must admit, I wouldn’t have expected you to be the type to take in strays.”
“Oh, I’m sure she was crawling with all manner of nasty things. But to me she looked fluffy and precious. Had a sweet little pink nose.” Vera gazed at the garden wall. “When Mother found out, she threw a fit, rightly so. By then it was time to leave anyway.
When we came back the next time, the kitten was gone.”
He looked into the distance, thinking. “And that was your only pet? The little stray?”
“Well…yes.”
Hallan stood quiet and still for a few seconds, then shrugged his shoulders and resumed his stance with the mallet. “We had horses, too.”
Vera had to clamp her lips together to keep her mouth from falling open. Was Hallan finally willing to talk about himself? “Racehorses?”
“No, riding horses.”
“So you can ride, then?”
He shot the ball through the next wicket and laughed. “I can ride a horse, yes.”
She wanted to push further, to ask more, but was not sure what direction to go in. “How did you learn to ride?” she asked at last.
“It was easy. Climbed on the back. Kicked the sides.” He waved a hand. “Took off. Nothing to it. Made talking to your father yesterday easier, anyhow.”
“I’m sure it did. Perhaps this evening my mother will leave you alone, and you’ll have another chance to talk to him. He can be more pleasant.”
Hallan glanced at her from the corner of his eye before studying the angle of his next shot. “Your father is such an agreeable chap. Not to veer too far from my promise to mind my manners, but it is odd that he doesn’t rein your mother in a bit.”
Vera gasped out a laugh. “Rein Mother in?”
“I suppose that’s not the right expression. Sorry, had horses on my mind.” He laughed too. “It does seem like he’d encourage your mother to be a bit friendlier. She’s harsh, even to you.”
The back of Vera’s neck prickled, and she sensed acutely her mother’s presence on the porch behind her. “You can’t say that. You barely know her. She might be exacting, but that’s only because she has high standards. Daddy knows that. If Mother seems harsh, it’s only because she wants the best for me. For everyone, really. It’s kindly meant, even if it is…difficult.”
Hallan straightened. “Please, don’t mistake me. You said nearly the same thing yourself. Anyway, I only wanted to agree with you that your father is pleasant. I can tell by the way he talks about you that he must have always doted on you.”