Michael’s Wife (6 page)

“Hi,” he said again with more of a nervous twitch than a smile.

“Who are you? What do you want here?” She still had her hand on the banister, ready to turn and race back up the stairs.

“What?” He looked confused and suddenly boyish.

He's more afraid than I am
! This thought made her slightly braver, but still the dull throb in her head sharpened and millions of tiny pins pricked her skin. “Who are you?” she repeated a little more gently this time. “What do you want?”

“What do I wa … oh … well.…”

“Do come in,” Claire said behind her, as if she owned the place. And the secretary swept down the stairs to the man by the door, ignoring Laurel completely. “I expect you're here to interview.”

“Interview.…” he looked even more confused and glanced at Laurel as if for assistance. His face reddened.

“For the job in the lab.”

“The job … yes,” he said to Claire, but his eyes were still on Laurel, two vertical furrows creasing his forehead.

“Have you had experience in lab work before?”

“A summer job in a medical research laboratory is all … took care of animals and cleaned up … things like that. I have a reference.”

“Good. Well, come along then.” Claire started across the hall. “You're certainly quick. Professor Devereaux just placed the ad yesterday.”

“I need work.” He followed Claire. Soft, rather shy hazel eyes probed Laurel's as he passed her.

“It doesn't pay much, I'm afraid, and it's only temporary.…” They disappeared into the inner courtyard.

Laurel stood staring at the sunburst, not seeing it. That young man had been sneaking
out
of the house. And if he'd come for a job, why did he look at her in that odd way?

They ate lunch, as before, near the fountain where the hideous creature endlessly drooled water. Paul ate hurriedly with one eye on the papers by his plate. He looked up at Laurel once with annoyance but didn't speak. Finishing before anyone else was half done, he carefully placed the papers in a folder and turned to his wife.

“If you see a strange face around here, Janet, don't be alarmed. I've hired a young man to assist me in the laboratory. Just cleaning up, filing, feeding the animals and so on. He starts tomorrow. His name is Evan Boucher. And I've asked Consuela to prepare lunch for one more on weekdays. He'll leave before dinner. Now, if you'll excuse me, ladies, I've.…” Paul rose quickly but not quickly enough.

“You hired
what
?” The husky quality in Janet's voice held a potential roar.

“A lab assistant. With Claire so busy elsewhere, I am in dire need of help in the.…”

“You mean you're sinking more money into that ridiculous hobby of yours?”

“It is a profession,
not
a hobby. And I'll thank you to remember that.” Paul stalked off across the courtyard, and Laurel heard a door slam violently behind her.

She looked at her plate and tried not to smirk. Wouldn't it be funny if he had hired a burglar? That was his problem. No one here would be interested in her suspicions anyway.

“Really, Mrs. Devereaux, your husband is a noted authority.…”

“Rubbish, Claire.” Janet pushed her salad aside. “Evan what's-his-name will be just another mouth to feed.” She turned to Laurel and the contempt in her eyes did not diminish. “At least you're looking more presentable today. Don't you think so, Claire?”

“I think she's overdone it.” And the familiar flush brightened Claire's sallow complexion.

“Nonsense. A little grooming and decent clothes have transformed our ragamuffin into a rather enchanting picture. She's even managed to put some order into all that hair. I can't help wondering what a little polishing would do for you, Claire.”

“Polishing the outside does not make up for what's inside, Mrs. Devereaux.” Claire glanced at Laurel with self-righteous distaste.

“Oh, I see. You parade around with your hair half-combed, no makeup, and such dreary clothes because it proves something about your inside? How fascinating.”

Laurel felt uneasy. These women didn't like each other and they didn't like her. “I wanted to thank you for the clothes … and everything.”

“Oh, don't thank me. I shall present the bills to dear Michael. He can pay the piper for something around here.”

Laurel stayed in the courtyard, soaking in the warm sun long after the others had left. If she went to her room she might meet Jimmy again, and she wasn't ready for that—not just yet.

Consuela came out of the kitchen drying her hands on the black bib-apron that always covered her black dress. “Mrs. Michael, would you like for me to show you the house?”

“Yes, if you have time.”

“Come, I show you.”

The old woman moved with dignity despite her heavy body. Laurel was surprised to find Consuela as tall as she was herself. Some of the rooms she had seen before. The salon and the study were across the entry hall from a smaller sitting room and a formal dining room where there was an extension of the balcony that ran the width of the house. So many stairs and perilous balconies. Claire must have to watch her charge closely. Those four large rooms and the entry hall that divided them composed the first floor of the front of the house. The rest was one-room deep and two stories around the. courtyard, many of the rooms accessible only from the courtyard.

Everything was placed to show off the rooms and their contents to the best advantage—to be looked at rather than for convenience or comfort. And Laurel wondered where Jimmy played, where he was allowed to run free.

The tour was a selected one, Consuela passing many closed doors without comment. Laurel had a feeling that the housekeeper was hurrying through it because she was leading up to something.

Next to the study off the courtyard was Paul's laboratory, where furry little animals slept in cages against the wall and small cacti sat in pots near the window. A door that led to the outside of the house was open and she could see Paul on his knees examining the base of a tall cactus with arms like those she had seen that first morning in the desert.

“Claire said Mr. Devereaux was a professor. A professor of what, Consuela?”

“Of the desert.”

“Isn't that a rather wide specialty?”

“I don't know about these things. But he writes many books and keeps poor little animals away from their mothers and dirty bugs he keeps in there. He plants things inside that would grow better outside.”

“Does he teach?”

But Consuela was hurrying her on her way. There were stone stairways at all four corners of the inner courtyard leading to the upper balconies. The back section of the house was mostly garages, and Consuela led her past them and up a stairway to a door which she unlocked.

“This is a place that I wanted for you to see, Mrs. Michael … so that maybe you would understand.” Consuela's eyes were still expressionless as they studied her face, but there was something watchful about her. This must be what she'd been leading to.

“Understand what?”

“Come and see.” The old woman stood aside for her to enter.

Laurel's first impression was that this was a storeroom for broken furniture. Dusty pieces of chairs, picture frames, wooden cabinets, and a table lay on the floor. She soon realized that it was instead a scene of ugly destruction. How could there be such a room in a house like this?

A drum with a jagged hole in its center … a battered toy truck lying on its side … books torn from their covers and scattered … a barred dirty window, the lower pane replaced with boards.

The room darkened as Consuela closed the door and locked it. And Laurel felt smothered in the dry, dusty air.

“Consuela, what is this place? I don't like it. Unlock the door.”

Consuela lowered her heavy body into the one chair still intact, a wicker rocker that creaked as she rocked. “Here, sit.” She motioned to the single bed which sagged at one corner. “Before you leave I want you to know of this. This was the nursery. He did it with an ax; he cried afterward and then he screamed. We had to call a doctor to quiet him … oh, poor baby.” Tears dripped over pudgy cheeks. “Mr. Paul and I … we had to hold him until the doctor came.”

“Are you trying to tell me that Jimmy did all this? He couldn't possibly.…”

“No, not Jimmy. Jimmy's father.”

“Michael?”

“He was only ten, my poor Michael … such a big strong boy … his brother would not let me clean it up. He would bring him here and make him look at it when Michael was bad … then Michael grew too big to be forced to come … and now no one comes here.” So much emotion in her voice, so little on her face, just the wetness of tears.

“Why did he … do this?” There was something wrong with a child who would do such a thing, and she thought of the burning metallic eyes against the dark skin.

“Because of the death of his mother. Did he never tell you of her death?”

“If he did I don't remember.”

“My Maria and Mr. Devereaux and Michael were coming home one night in the car … and there was an accident. Maria, my lovely Maria … she died … and poor Michael was there and saw it. He was not hurt bad … a few scratches. He loved his mother. He was only ten.”

“Mr. Devereaux—was he killed, too?”

“No, but for many months he was in the hospital. He was a big man. So handsome and full of spirit. But after he came home from the hospital he was never well. He grieved so for my Maria, he became suddenly an old man.”

Sunlight filtered through what was left of the dirty pane and dust speckles floated through abandoned cobwebs.

“Your Maria?”

“I raised her from a little girl. I worked in her father's house and then she brought me here when she married Mr. Devereaux.” Rolls of loose flesh sagged from the housekeeper's arm as she raised it to wipe her cheek with her hand.

“Paul wasn't along when it happened?”

“They never took him with them. He was always in his books, that one. Maria did not like him.”

“Her own son?”

“Oh, no. They were the same age, Maria and Paul. Paul was her stepson. His mother died before we came to this house. There is twenty years between Paul and Michael. Paul, he was never strong or big. He did not like to hunt or do man things with his father. When Michael came, his father was so proud of such a big healthy boy who could do such things. And Maria would sit in this chair and rock her baby, and she would play with him when he got older. They were so good together, those two.”

“Consuela, why did you bring me here and tell me this?”

The old woman got up from her chair and unlocked the door. “Because you are Mrs. Michael and you should know what he can do when he is hurt inside. And because you too are a mother.”

Laurel was glad to return to the sun. She felt cold.

5

The rest of the week went by with little comment about her dark past. They waited and watched her. Through it all—Janet's bickering, Paul's stiffness, Claire's disdain—Laurel knew they were watching her and waiting for Michael.

He was due home for the weekend and it would be left to him to force the issue. Whenever she saw Consuela, she thought of the dusty debris in the old nursery and felt panicky at the thought of Michael's return.

The new lab assistant joined them for lunch in the courtyard. Even he watched her, fumbling with his silverware, looking away when she stared back. She grew to loathe salads. As she slept less it became more difficult to avoid Jimmy and her own thoughts. Her memory refused to budge, and everything she learned about herself made her hate this Laurel the more. She began to think of herself as having two identities—herself as she wanted to be and this Laurel everyone thought she was.

But Jimmy was the hardest to bear. At first he just seemed curious, but she soon suspected he was looking for a friend. His lot was not easy in this magnificent house with only adults for company. His needs were seen to, but he was expected to find love and companionship from toys too old for him and a TV set. Claire spent most of her time scolding him. Janet and Paul ignored him.

One afternoon she found Consuela rocking Jimmy in his room. There was no rocking chair so the old woman sat on the bed rocking her body back and forth, crooning something gentle in Spanish. And Jimmy who sprawled on her ample lap, a thumb in his mouth, the other hand stroking her dress, gazed sleepily up at her face and looked as though this was all the heaven he would ever need. Laurel couldn't sleep that night.

Friday morning as she walked along the inside hall, she heard an enraged scream from Janet's room at the head of the stairs.

“Claire! Get that child out of here.”

And Jimmy came running out of the door his eyes wide and his plump little face white with terror. Laurel caught him before he could reach the stairs. He shivered in her arms but didn't cry.

Janet stood in the doorway and Laurel was startled at the change in her appearance. She wore a filmy peignoir, but her hair was in a net, a greasy mixture smeared over her face and a strap under her chin. She was a sight to scare any child.

“Don't you ever come into this room again, brat!” The strap made her speak through her teeth with a nasty hissing sound.

“Please, he's only a baby. You've scared him half to death. He could have tumbled down those stairs and.…”

“Oh, gone all motherly, have you? Well it's more than a little late. Claire has orders to keep that … child out of my way. I don't want to hear him, see him, or even think about him.”

“But he's your nephew.”

“Is he?” Janet sent her a knowing grimace and closed the door on them.

Laurel looked at Jimmy. He really didn't resemble his father much. She pushed the ugly thought from her mind; she had more than she could handle already.