Classic Love: 7 Vintage Romances

by Dorothy Fletcher

  “Like this?”

  “Right. Good girl.”

  There was a great deal of scrambling again, as Dinah let the jib sheet fall, after which she dashed for her life to the other side of the boat, and then hauled. “You’re terrific,” Dick shouted. “You’re great, Dinah!”

  They changed sides. “Make it snappy,” Dick said rapidly, and it was truly a lightning procedure. “Watch it, watch it,” Dick said anxiously, but it went very well. When they were on their new tack, Dinah was breathing like a steam engine.

  “This is work,” she said breathlessly.

  “But it’s great. Isn’t it great?”

  “It’s wonderful.”

  “You really like it?”

  “It may kill me,” she said. “But it’s the most fun I’ve ever had.”

  Spray drenched her, and she did what he told her to; took off her cotton shift. Now she was in her bathing-suit, a coral one-piece. I might as well be naked, she thought. She was soaked to the skin.

  They had their picnic lunch on an enchanted isle; sturgeon sandwiches, turkey sandwiches, smoked salmon, black and green olives, cherry tomatoes, marinated artichoke hearts and mushrooms. There was a thermos of coffee, steaming and strong, an assortment of petit fours for dessert.

  This is a dolce vita life, Dinah thought, and was frightened at how she was taking to it. Perhaps, unbeknownst to herself, she was a lotus eater at heart.

  “Harris and his wife will have dinner for us,” Dick said to her, when they beached the boat and watched it lifted on its hoist and placed in a trailer. It was just after six; the sky was violet-pink.

  “I thought we were going out for dinner?”

  “I don’t want to hurt their feelings,” he said. “They’ve made bouillabaisse. As soon as they found out I’d be here today they went to work. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No, of course not. Only — ”

  Only what? Did it matter? They’d have dinner at that beautiful house, perhaps on a patio overlooking the sea, with the lights across the Sound winking at them.

  But it did matter. There was a gulf between them again; there were unanswerable questions in Dinah’s mind. She was bone-tired after the day’s sailing, hardly able to keep her eyes open. They were served by Harris; Clara, the wife, apparently did the cooking. “Mr. Dick,” the manservant kept on saying, and Dinah went on wondering. Was it really a friend who owned this house? Or was it, in fact, Dick who owned it? And if so, what other girls had he brought here?

  The food stuck in her throat. The after-dinner cognac gagged her. What was she doing here? What was happening to her?

  “That will be all, Harris,” Dick said, as they got up from the table. “Please tell Clara it was first-rate. Thank her for me, will you?”

  Now we’re alone, Dinah thought, when they went back to the vast living room with the French Impressionist canvases and the timbered ceiling. Drawing room comedies, from The Late Show, came into her mind … the butler gone to bed, the lights dimmed in intimate fashion. She started when Dick’s hand stole over and stroked her arm as they sat on the sofa. The light touch of his fingers was like a sudden electric shock. She reached over and pulled a cigarette from a silver box on the table. Dick took his hand away and lit it for her.

  “Happy?” he asked. “Comfy?”

  “It’s a lovely house,” she said. “To whom does it belong?”

  “Oh, a friend,” he said lazily.

  “Do you have many friends?”

  “Tons of them.”

  “How is it that the friend who owns this house isn’t using it on a marvelous weekend like this?”

  “People go away, after all.”

  “It’s very obliging of him to let you use this place whenever you want.”

  “He’s a decent sort.”

  “I get the feeling,” she started to say, and broke the sentence off. His hand was on her arm again, traveling up and down with gentle strokes. Her eyelids drooped and her breathing accelerated. Almost objectively, she judged that her pulse rate had speeded up. She took a quick drag of her cigarette and leaned over to drop the ash in a tray. Dick’s hand fell off her arm with the movement. When she leaned back again the hand returned. “You don’t look comfortable,” he said. “Why don’t you put your feet up? How about some music?”

  “Yes, music,” she said, just so he’d be away from her for a few minutes, during which she could collect herself and tell him casually and yawning prettily, that it was time to go home. Better go home very soon, she warned herself.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, she thought hazily. She didn’t know whether she trusted him or not, but that wasn’t the point. It was that she didn’t trust herself. The thing was that it was so quiet. Where were Harris and Clara? It seemed to her that she and Dick were the only two people left in the whole world.

  The disc on the turntable rotated and the music poured through the room. “Music to relax by,” Dick said, joining her on the sofa again.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “This is the life,” he said, and picked up the brandy bottle.

  “No, no more for me,” she said, covering her glass.

  “Just a bit.”

  “No, really not, Dick.”

  “Just a whisper.”

  “Well, all right, just a drop. That’s enough. Thanks.”

  She was watching him pour it out into the glasses. He had long, tapered hands, with strong knuckles, and there were sun-scorched hairs that grew thicker toward the wrist. She remembered his bronzed torso as he stood at the helm of the sailing boat, his broad shoulders and sturdily-muscled chest. The sharp pitch of the boat came back to her and she seemed to be swaying with it. Dizzy, she tried to fend off his movement toward her.

  “It’s getting late,” she said.

  “No hurry.” His eyes were gazing into hers. “It’s only a two hour drive. Relax, darling.”

  Everything young and eager in her responded to the touch of his mouth. His kiss was soft, leisurely, and he wasn’t clutching her but simply holding her gently. Her response was immediate; her arms wound around him. “Your lips are like apricots,” Dick murmured, and engaged her mouth again. A shudder ran through Dinah. I love him, she thought. Or at any rate I’m in love with him. She felt as if she were falling, falling… .

  The clock on the mantel ticked. It sounded like, Watch out, watch out, watch out.

  “Listen,” she said, stiffening slightly. “Watch out, Dick.”

  “Hmmm?” His mouth closed over hers again. I’m not falling; I’m drowning, she thought, and remembered the wild water of the Sound. It was heaven … and it was dangerous.

  “Dick, it’s getting late.”

  “So?” His fingers threaded through her hair.

  “Late,” she repeated. “We’d better — ”

  “Do we have to talk?” he asked.

  “Yes. That is … we have to go home. Dick, it really is getting late.”

  “Why should we rush home tonight?” he asked reasonably. “There are plenty of rooms here. Relax, lovely girl. You’ll be at work early enough tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh, no, I must be back tonight,” she said sharply.

  “Silly girl.” His eyes shone in the lamplight. “What’s the difference? Just so long as you’re there in the morning.”

  “Just a minute,” she said, pushing at his chest. “Let’s get this straight.”

  He took it as a sign of play. “Funny little Dinah,” he crooned. “Stop fighting it, sweetheart. You don’t have to worry. You’ll be at your post at the usual time.” His lips found hers again. “Dinah, darling,” he murmured against them. “I’m crazy about you.”

  The alarm sounded again. This was arranged, she told herself. He never intended to take her home tonight. There were all those rooms, and those two servants, whoever they were and whomever they belonged to, knew exactly what was happening. They had disappeared, and now it was Dick’s intention to —

  “Let me go!” She
shoved at him.

  “Not a chance.” His breathing sounded in her ear.

  “You!” She wrenched herself free. When you had to be strong you could be strong, she thought. Oh, this was awful; it was so disillusioning. It was so disappointing. It was so horribly, heartbreakingly wretched. Just agame to him, that was all. Take a girl out a few times and then bring her here, expect her to —

  “Is this what you think of me?” she demanded, sliding off the sofa. She lost her balance and almost fell to the floor. His arms went out to save her, but she flung them away. “The big seduction scene,” she said coldly. “Well, forget it, Dick Claiborne. I won’t cooperate.”

  “But … I thought …” He got up too, and stood facing her.

  “You thought I was a pushover. That’s quite plain. Bring a dressy little something so we can go out to dinner at some nice place. Then dinner at home. Why, it’s too old-hat! Like something from the Forties on television. The servants dismissed for the night … the flickering fire …”

  “Fire?” he asked foolishly. “In July?”

  “It’s the same thing. Passion on a bear rug. The help retired for the night. ‘That will be all,’ you told that man, like Cary Grant telling his butler to go beddy-bye so he can make naughties with Myrna Loy. How dare you?”

  “You’ve got it all wrong,” he said, and he seemed to tower over her. He was so damned tall. He could overpower me in a minute, she thought, and was half drawn to the idea. I’m a goose, she told herself sternly. How dare I want to be abused? What’s the matter with me? “The whole thing is very amusing, only I’m not laughing,” she flared.

  “What is this?” he asked. “I kiss you, and that was absolutely all, and now … what is this?”

  “A grade C movie rape scene,” she said scathingly.

  “But I’m in love with you.”

  “If you don’t take me home this instant, I’ll walk. It may take me three days, but I’ll walk.”

  “Now you listen to me,” he said, grabbing for her.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  “Dinah …”

  She eluded him. “Yes, and it’s a very funny thing,” she raged. “You know all about me, but I don’t know a blessed thing about you. You’ve met my family. My sister. My brother-in-law. You’ve met my patients. But I haven’t met your friends. Or your family. You know where I work and where I live. I don’t know one single thing about you. You appear out of the blue one day, a mystery man. You must live somewhere! You must have a family!” She gestured, an arm sweeping the room. “This place belongs to one of your friends, you say. Whoever that friend may be.”

  Her eyes blazed. “How dare you proposition me!”

  “Dinah, I didn’t realize,” he said, looking absolutely astonished. “Mystery man? Why … I … what makes you say such a thing?”

  “Because who are you? Whose place is this? Where do you live? Suddenly you seem very sinister.”

  She drew herself up. “I refuse to be someone’s prey,” she said loudly. “It’s disgusting. I think you’re one of those rich, careless people who think they can do anything they want. Only you can’t. Not with someone like me. Never mind, don’t take me home. I’ll walk. There must be a station somewhere around here. I’ll take a train. Thank God I have money in my handbag.”

  “That will do,” Dick said quietly. “We’ll leave right away. Does that satisfy you? You’ll be back at the Wallaces by eleven-thirty.”

  “Yes. Thank you very, very much.”

  “Not at all.”

  “I’m most grateful.”

  “Whenever you’re ready.”

  “I won’t be a minute.”

  She collected her possessions. In the bathroom she bathed her face and then dusted some powder across her sunburned nose. Her face flamed. I’ve blown it, she thought. I’m suspicious and stupid and middle-class. But she couldn’t help it.

  And she’d almost given in to him. That was what he had wanted.

  Was that all he had wanted?

  I’m so unhappy, she reflected miserably.

  “How about some coffee?” Dick asked, halfway toward home.

  “What?”

  “I think we ought to stop off for coffee.”

  There was a long silence while Dinah considered. He wanted to stop off for coffee. In spite of herself her spirits lightened. After all, if he was just going to take her home and ditch her, write her off as a bad try and a poor guess, why would he suggest stopping off for coffee?

  “Let’s, okay?”

  “All right.”

  The bright lights of the roadside diner were dazzling after the dark silent drive. They went in and sat in a booth. “How do you want your hamburger?” Dick asked, when the man came over.

  “Hamburger?” She was shocked, sickened. He could eat? He thought she could eat? Wildly, she considered taking the veil. Just cloister herself in a nunnery and seal the world off her.

  “Rare or medium rare?” Dick asked, leaning forward so that she had to meet his eyes.

  “I don’t want a hamburger,” she said sulkily. She was wary. Was that a smile behind his eyes?

  “Please. We have some talking to do. Let’s do it over a hamburger.”

  “I don’t know what talking we have to do.”

  The waiter stood patiently, his eyes going from one to the other … as though, Dinah thought, he were watching a tennis match. It was no time to feel frivolous, yet she couldn’t help it. She was suddenly able, God knew why, to see the funny side of it.

  “Rare,” she said. “With bacon, please. I’d like the bacon nice and crisp.”

  “Make it two,” Dick said, and suddenly left alone by the departure of the waiter, they smiled at each other. “Oh, Dinah,” Dick said, shaking his head. “I had no way of knowing you felt the way you said you did. About not knowing my family. I have so little in the way of family. It’s odd, though, because there is someone I’d like you to meet. Someone I’m very fond of. A dear old auntie of mine.”

  “Oh.”

  “You’ll like her, I’m sure. And she’ll like you.”

  “Well …”

  “I’m sorry you got the wrong impression.”

  “I just didn’t know what to think,” she said in a small voice.

  “Anyway, it’s all right now, isn’t it?”

  “I guess so. I hope so. I didn’t mean to sound like a shrew.”

  “Let’s forget about it.”

  “All right, let’s.”

  “Next Thursday, then? Your evening off?”

  “You mean meet your aunt?”

  “Yes. I’ll call her tomorrow morning.”

  “It would be lovely.”

  “Then it’s a date. Ah, our baconburgers.”

  I was wrong, Dinah thought, eating ravenously. All the time she had been wrong. He could have forced her, but he hadn’t. She was going to meet his family … his aunt …

  “Have a good time?” Mrs. Wallace asked, when she was home at last.

  “Marvelous.”

  “Sleep well, Dinah.”

  “You too.”

  “Don’t worry about me. The pills are already taking effect.”

  Lying in bed, Dinah felt the motion of the sailboat, remembered the salt spray hitting her face, the thrilling speed of their surge forward in the blue waters of the Sound. She was inundated with happiness. She felt secure at last, in a snug harbor.

  VII

  VICTORIA BLANDING was having French toast sprinkled with confectioner’s sugar and strawberry jam in her breakfast room. She made a face over the tea which was, as usual, weak as maid’s water, and was cutting another forkful of the toast when Hannah, her servant, came in and announced that Dick was on the line. She lumbered up out of her chair right away, for Dick was one of her favorite persons in the world.

  “Hello,” she barked. “Is this you, Dick?”

  “Vicky? Yes, me. How are you?”

  “As well as can be expected,” she said briskly. “When am I going to see
you, young man?”

  “On Thursday,” he said. “That is, if you haven’t other plans.”

  “I shall cancel them,” she said, to establish two things: one, a fictional appointment book crammed with social activities and two, to let him know how truly fond she was of him. “Thursday when?”

  “In the evening. For dinner.”

  “Splendid.”

  “I’m so glad you’re free,” he said. “I was afraid you’d put me off.”

  “Never that, Dickie,” she said, and repeated that it would be splendid to have dinner with him on Thursday. “I’ll be with a girl,” Dick said. “Someone I want you to meet.”

  “Camilla? I’ve met her, thank you.”

  “No, not Camilla,” he said, and he sounded, she thought, rather harried. “Someone else.”

  “Someone else who?” she demanded.

  “A girl I’ve recently met.” There was a rather crackling silence. “To tell the truth, Vicky, someone I’m rather smitten with.”

  “What?” She clucked impatiently. “Try to make sense, Dick.”

  “Yes, I know. It was all rather sudden.”

  “This kind of thing passes all understanding,” she said sharply. “I thought you were engaged to Camilla.”

  “As a matter of fact I am. That’s what makes it so difficult.” There was another silence. “She wants to meet my family,” he said.

  “Who is she?”

  “Someone … someone different. Well, not the usual kind of girl.”

  “What do you mean, deformed or something?”

  “Don’t you be difficult too,” he begged. “I’m in a bit of a spot. You see, I can’t have her meet Dad. He wouldn’t approve of it at all. He’d think I was … well, he’d spill the beans, there’s no doubt of that. But you’ll understand, I’m sure. You’re — ”

  “Why isn’t she to meet your father? What has that to do with it?”

  “He knows I’m supposed to be married.”

  “So do I,” she said levelly. “Is this some kind of an unsavory thing, Richard?”

  “Good God, what kind of a thing is that to say?”

  “Heavens,” Miss Blanding said, sitting down quickly on the nearest chair. “Have you gotten some unfortunate girl into trouble, Richard Claiborne?”