Summer Storm

by Letitia Healy

  The patio tables had been moved to the grass to make room for the dancing area and David found them one as far away as possible from the dance floor, the bar and the pool, where most of the crowd was congregated. Some of the guests had brought swim suits and were taking advantage of the pool. As the evening progressed, there were even those who ended up in the pool fully clothed. This brought the comment from David, "Well, it's turning out to be a typical Mona Moore party."

  Jane was trying to listen to everything that David said, but found herself preoccupied with the sight of Simon and Mona dancing. They had been together all evening. The band had switched from current songs to the old favorites of the big band era. They were now playing "Stardust," and Simon was holding Mona very, very close as they circled the dance floor.

  David reached out and took Jane's hand and she tore her eyes away from the couple on the dance floor and looked at him. He had grown very serious. "I want to apologize for what happened in your room the other day. I know it didn't do a thing for your relationship with Simon, and although, selfishly, that makes me happy, I don't want to see you hurt."

  Jane tried to keep her voice light, "Don't worry, David. There really isn't any relationship."

  "I wish I could believe that," he answered. "If I did, I might change my plans, but I don't. Anyway, I wanted you to know that I've had about all I can take of trailing around after Mona like a pet poodle. I don't care if it does ruin my career, I'm moving on."

  Jane gave a cry of dismay. "Oh, David. I'll miss you."

  David gave his famous lopsided grin, "You'll get over it. Anyway, I'm going to give you my agent's address and phone number. If things don't work out between you and Simon, or if you ever need me for anything, promise me you'll call him. He'll always know how to reach me."

  Jane covered his hand with hers. "Thank you, David. You've been a real friend when I desperately needed one."

  "How about a last look at the view from the edge of the ridge?" David asked.

  "Of course," Jane answered.

  The crowd had thinned out considerably. Many had already left, and of those remaining, most were crowded around the lavish buffet laid out on the dining room table.

  It was a moonless night, and as they turned the corner of the path that cut off the lights from the house and the parking area, the sudden darkness was almost impenetrable. David put his hand under Jane's elbow and they edged forward carefully, their eyes on the path ahead of them. When they had taken a few steps, David suddenly stopped and putting his hands on Jane's shoulders turned her towards him. His voice was low and husky, "Oh, Jane, if you asked me to stay, I would." Then he took her in his arms and his lips were on hers, urgent, demanding.

  There was a sudden, blinding flash of light in their eyes and they heard the high, tinkling sound of laughter that was unmistakably Mona's. David and Jane stepped apart guiltily. There, in the flickering light of a small flashlight carried by Simon, were Simon and Mona, just ahead of them on the path. Simon had one arm around Mona's shoulders, holding her tightly against his body.

  "What a touching sight," Mona drawled.

  Simon let her go and took one menacing step towards David and Jane.

  "What the hell is going on, Webber? Forcing your attentions on Miss Sullivan is getting to be quite a habit with you."

  "Oh, come on Simon," Mona said, "it looked to me as if she were cooperating."

  David was so angry that his voice shook. "I'll kiss Jane whenever and wherever I please, as long as she doesn't object. She just works for you, Wade—you don't own her, thank heaven—she's too good for you."

  There was silence for a moment, and when Simon spoke it was apparent that he was fighting for control.

  "I want you out of my house as soon as possible."

  "Don't worry," David answered, "I'm already packed."

  "Oh, don't be so tiresome, you two," Mona said. "David, you can't be serious. You can't leave now."

  "I've never been more serious," David answered. "I've had enough of you, your former husband and the menagerie you surround yourself with."

  "You'll be sorry for that," Mona said quietly.

  "No, Mona, I won't." And turning to Jane, David said, "Let's get out of here."

  Jane let David lead her back to the house. She was too stunned by what had happened to think coherently. The ugly exchange between Simon and David had been bad enough, but the picture that seemed burned into her brain was of Simon and Mona at the edge of the ridge, Simon holding her so close. She could remember with painful clarity what it felt like to be held that close by Simon, and even the memory made her knees feel weak and her heart pound.

  When they reached the house, there were still a few revellers around the pool. Jane turned to David, "I'm going to my room, David. I hope I'll see you before you leave."

  David stood looking down at her, saying nothing. Finally, he bent over and kissed her on the forehead and watched as she walked down the hall and climbed the spiral staircase.

  David left the next morning before anyone else was awake. Jane had spent a sleepless, miserable night and had fallen into a fitful sleep around dawn. When she awoke, around ten o'clock, she noticed that a note had been slipped under her door. It was short, almost terse, but the intensity behind the few words came through. It read, "Dear Jane, I only ask that you remember everything I said to you. My agent's card is enclosed. If you ever need me for any reason, write to him, or better still, call him." And it was signed simply, "David." Jane's eyes filled with tears. She had come to be genuinely fond of the young actor. Perhaps, if it had not been for Simon… she didn't want to finish the thought.

  After showering and dressing she went to the kitchen and, despite Mrs. Armitage's urging to have a "proper" breakfast, helped herself to coffee and rolls. It was Sunday and she had no idea what she would do for the rest of the day. Finally, she decided to go to the study and get some work she had been doing on Friday. She needed something to take her mind off all that had happened.

  As she reached the second floor landing she noticed that Mona's door was open, and that she was sitting on the chaise lounge, a breakfast tray beside her. She was wearing the red silk peignoir that Jane had tried on so long ago. Jane tried to slip by without being seen, but it almost appeared that Mona had been watching for someone… Simon probably, Jane thought.

  When she saw Jane, she called out, "Jane, come in for a moment, please." Jane would have given anything to avoid facing Mona this morning, but couldn't think of any excuse for refusing what had sounded almost like a command. She went in and Mona motioned her to a slipper chair covered in red satin. "Will you have a cup of coffee?"

  "Thank you," Jane answered.

  As Mona poured the coffee, she said, "I understand that David has gone. Did he leave because of you?"

  "Hardly," Jane answered quickly.

  Mona handed Jane her cup of coffee and leaned back on the chaise longue. "Well, whatever his reasons for leaving, he was very foolish. I've done a lot for his career, and I could have done more. Now, I'll see to it that he never gets another decent part."

  "But why would you do that?" Jane asked in consternation. "You heard Simon tell him to leave."

  "Oh, that," Mona laughed, "I could have fixed that up. Simon will do anything I ask him."

  Jane felt as if she had received a physical blow, yet she had to admit to herself that from what she had seen this past week, Mona probably spoke the truth.

  "Anyway, I didn't ask you in to talk about David. Be a dear and close the door, will you?"

  Jane did as she was asked, wondering what possible confidences Mona had to share with her that would require privacy.

  Mona put her hands above her head and stretched, and the gesture reminded Jane of a sleek and pampered cat. She lit a cigarette, and through the haze of smoke looked at Jane through her lowered lashes. "My dear, I know that you and I haven't hit it off too well, but then I've never been one for making women friends. However, I feel rather sorry for you and wh
at I have to say is for your own good."

  Jane put her coffee cup down on the tray. She had an uneasy feeling that she didn't want to hear what Mona was about to say.

  "Although I don't know for sure, I have the feeling that Simon has been up to his old tricks with you," Mona began.

  Jane was genuinely puzzled. "I don't know what you mean," she said.

  "Well," Mona went on, "Simon is a very intense and dedicated writer. He will do anything for inspiration when he's into a book, even…" She paused for a moment while she put her cigarette out. "… even to the point of trying a little seduction on the handiest female. Just to judge her reaction, you understand. Oh, it's happened before, several times, and occasionally the poor girl has taken him seriously. When Simon realizes that he's gone too far, he usually turns to me to get him out of an embarrassing situation." She stretched again and then smiled brightly at Jane. "Oh, I know it's miserable of him to behave that way, but then one must make allowances for a genius, I suppose."

  Jane could not think coherently. The cruel words that Mona had just spoken were more than she could take in. Disjointed memories flashed through her mind. She found herself remembering Simon's words at luncheon on that first day when she had come to the house on the ridge to apply for the job as his research assistant. He had been talking about his book and he had said, "I had decided to make my heroine black Irish—you know, raven hair, green eyes, but after seeing you, Miss Sullivan, I am inclined to change her image. Perhaps dark golden hair and blue-grey eyes would be more appropriate." Was that what he had done then, used her as a model for his heroine and then deliberately set about checking her reactions to his lovemaking? Had none of it been genuine? She also remembered her consternation at the fact that he had never used the word "love" even during their most intimate moments. Yes, it all made sense. The phrase "used her" kept going around and around in her mind. She couldn't bear it, she couldn't bear another moment of it. "Excuse me," she gasped and got up and left the room. Mona leaned back on the chaise longue and smiled.

  Jane stumbled out of the room and almost ran along the corridor and through the door connecting the two wings of the house. Finally, she reached the safety of her room and flung herself on the bed, too distraught even to cry. Her whole body seemed to be burning with shame. How he must have laughed at her. What fun he and Mona must have had when he recounted to her Jane's passionate responses to his advances. And yet… and yet. It didn't seem possible that it had all been an act. She remembered Simon's anguished face as he sat beside her bed after her accident. But Mona had said it had happened before. It would be foolish to believe that she was the one exception, that he had lied to all the others, but had been truthful with her. And then finally she remembered Mona's words. "When Simon realizes that he has gone too far, he usually turns to me to get him out of an embarrassing situation." So Simon had asked her to speak to Jane, "to get him out of an embarrassing situation." It would also account for his recent coolness with her. He had realized that he had gone too far with her, and had been trying to get it across to her that none of what had happened between them had meant anything to him. Jane couldn't bear it. She would never be able to face him again. She got up and started to pack, haphazardly, throwing things helter skelter into her bag and finally, when the closet and drawers were empty, she crept silently down the spiral staircase and out to the parking area. The sound of laughter and splashing came from the pool at the other side of the house. No one would notice her departure. She felt badly about not saying goodbye to Mrs. Armitage, but she couldn't face her. She would drop her a note when she got back to Toronto. "Back to Toronto." The phrase brought her up short. Where would she go in Toronto? The letter that she had received on Friday from the professor who was renting her house had stated that they would be moving out at the end of the week. But she had to get away from the house on the ridge. She maneuvered the car blindly down the twisting driveway, and when she had reached the concession road, pulled over to the side of the road and put her head in her hands and tried to think.

  The mid-afternoon sunshine filtering through the huge, old trees that arched over the country road, the sounds of birds, a dog barking in the distance, a teenager on horseback who suddenly appeared at the top of a hill, all reminded Jane of a time that seemed so long ago. Another summer afternoon when she had first encountered John Baxter on this same road. Of course, she thought, John Baxter, kind, dependable and strong. She would go to him. And then she remembered. He was away for a week. It suddenly seemed that every door was closed to her.

  But then she thought, even if John was away, she was sure that Mrs. Morgan would let her stay until he returned, if she explained to her that she simply needed a place to stay until her house in Toronto was vacant. She and Mrs. Morgan had become good friends during the time of her illness. She was sure that she wouldn't turn her away. She started the car and drove down the road to the Baxter Farms.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jane needn't have worried. When she arrived at the Georgian house, and was admitted by the butler, she asked to speak to Mrs. Morgan. He led her to John's study and asked her to wait there. Moments later, Mrs. Morgan came in, took one look at Jane's distraught face and bustled over and gave her a great bear hug. "My dear child, whatever is wrong? No, don't answer that question yet. Here, sit down. I'll fetch you some brandy."

  Jane tried to protest, but Mrs. Morgan simply ignored her. In a moment, she had returned with a snifter of brandy and pulling up a chair beside Jane, said simply, "Now, tell me all about it."

  Jane took a sip of the brandy and choked on it. "Take your time, dear," Mrs. Morgan, said encouragingly.

  Jane's words came out in a rush. "Mrs. Morgan, I know it's a terrible imposition. I know Mr. Baxter is away, but I simply have to get away from… from…" and here she stopped and took a deep breath, "from the house on the ridge. My house in Toronto will be vacant at the end of this week, but I have nowhere to go until then. So I wondered… you and Mr. Baxter have been so kind to me…" She couldn't go on. Finally, the tears came with all the pent-up emotion of the past few days and she found herself sobbing helplessly.

  Mrs. Morgan got up and came over, knelt beside Jane's chair and put her arms around her. Her voice was low and soothing. "There child, have a good cry." From one of her numerous pockets she produced a large, clean handkerchief and handed it to Jane. "As long as I am housekeeper in this house, and as long as Mr. Baxter owns it, you will have a home here. You can stay as long as you want. We all saw what it meant to Mr. Baxter having you here after your accident. Took ten years off his life, it did. Now you drink that brandy down…" As Jane started to shake her head…"Do as I say, that's a good child, drink it down. I'll have Gordon take your bag to your old room. You get undressed and get into bed and have a good rest. Later, I'll bring your dinner up to you on a tray, and if you want company, I'll sit with you a while."

  Jane did as she was told, and as she wearily climbed the stairs to her room thought how wonderful it would have been to have had a mother like Mrs. Morgan.

  Whether it was the brandy, the lack of sleep the night before, or the emotional exhaustion, Jane did sleep that afternoon, a long, deep sleep that left her groggy and confused. When she finally awoke, the shadows were lengthening across the dark gold rug. Someone, probably Mrs. Morgan, had been in the room while she slept and opened the French doors leading to the stone balcony. Her bag had been unpacked and the room was full of fresh flowers. Jane glanced at her watch and then looked at it again in disbelief. It was six o'clock. She estimated that she had arrived at the Baxter house around one o'clock and had spent perhaps an hour talking to Mrs. Morgan and getting settled in her room.

  She must have slept four hours. She got out of bed and went into the cream and gold bathroom and had a warm, luxurious bath. As she was towelling herself dry, there was a knock on the bathroom door. Jane wrapped herself in one of the huge towels and opened the door a crack. It was Mrs. Morgan. "Here dear, put this on. There's bath pow
der and perfume on the vanity. I've taken the liberty of setting up your dinner on the balcony. It's such a nice evening." She held out to Jane a nightgown and housecoat of heavy ivory satin, embossed with tiny fleurs de lis. Jane gasped as she looked at it. "But, Mrs. Morgan…" she began, but Mrs. Morgan wasn't listening. "Do as you're told child. Get into that and come and have your dinner before it gets cold." Jane did as she was told, and brushed out her heavy golden hair that hung like a veil down her back and curled around her face in tiny tendrils from the humidity. She walked through the bedroom and out to the balcony, expecting to see Mrs. Morgan with her ever-present knitting. But instead of Mrs. Morgan, there was John Baxter sitting at a dinner table covered with snowy linen, and set with glittering crystal and silver.

  "John," she gasped. "How on earth…?" Perhaps it was her imagination, but John Baxter seemed to have grown in stature since the last time she had seen him. His answer was crisp and precise. "Simple, my dear. Mrs. Morgan called me at one-thirty and I immediately flew back in my private jet. There are times when having a lot of money is worthwhile."

  "But," Jane gasped, "you shouldn't have."

  "And why not?" he asked. "Mrs. Morgan intimated that you needed me, and so I am here. But never mind that now. Let's have our dinner before it gets cold." He reached over and poured some wine into her glass. "May I say that I have never seen you looking so beautiful, and may I also say that that's the most serious statement that I am going to make tonight. All other serious discussion is postponed until tomorrow." Jane started to laugh and then struggled to check her laughter. It would have been easy to slip into a kind of hysteria. The relief of being here, of being cared for and cared about was too much of a contrast compared with the ugliness of her conversation with Mona, the confrontation between David and Simon of the night before. It was like coming home. John's eyes, looking so deeply into hers, were so much like her father's. She felt so safe with him. An errant thought, almost like the gentle breeze that ruffled her hair, flitted across her mind. But did she want to feel safe? If she were completely honest with herself, did she not, even now, long for the threatening pressure of Simon's body pressed against hers, long for the urgent demand of his kisses that had seemed to search out her very soul? She struggled to bring her mind back to what John was saying, a recital of the problems that he had encountered in his stables in Virginia. Somehow, she told herself, she must forget Simon.