Room Beneath the Stairs (11 page)

My good humor restored, I started back toward the house, my heels tapping on the patio. The wind tore at my hair, and I was extremely conscious of the cold now. Insanity to have come out in a backless dress without a wrap. I'd probably catch a dreadful cold, and it would serve me right if I did. I stepped onto the veranda at the far end of the house, moving slowly along its length to the front door. It was very dark; I could barely see the baskets of plants hanging from the rafters. I stumbled over a bamboo wicker chair and almost knocked over a coffee table. Pausing, I rubbed my knee, and it was then that I saw the dim orange glow in the dark recess of a door several yards ahead.

Staring intently, I could vaguely discern the form outlined in the lighter darkness of the doorway. Someone was there. My heart seemed to stop beating.

“Who—who is it?” I called in a tremulous voice.

There was no reply. The glow became a thin orange streak flaring like a minute rocket through the night, splattering into sparks as it landed on the ground. Someone had been smoking a cigarette and had tossed it over the railing. Although I knew my alarm was absurd, I was paralyzed. I stared at that large, dark shape, watched it move out onto the veranda in a decidedly stealthy manner. The clouds suddenly parted, and misty rays of moonlight illuminated the veranda with a dim silvery blue light. I could see him clearly now. It was Burke. He stood perhaps ten yards away, peering at me with an inscrutable expression.

“You frightened me,” I said. “I thought—”

Before I could finish, he turned and walked away, soon swallowed up by shadows as the moon disappeared behind another bank of clouds. I felt weak, unnerved by the experience. He had merely stepped out to have a cigarette, I told myself. That was all. It meant nothing. There was no reason to feel this chilling uneasiness. Yet why hadn't he answered me? How long had he been standing there, watching me? Although I couldn't have said how I knew, I felt certain he had deliberately followed me outside, had deliberately concealed himself in the doorway to spy on me. Why? It was preposterous, but the certainty was there.

The house was silent. Only a few lamps were burning. As I made my way up the stairs and down the long hallway, I sensed a change of atmosphere. In the afternoon sunlight, the house had seemed airy and spacious with its large rooms and whitewashed walls, but with the advent of night everything seemed curiously different. The silence was oppressive. The gleaming white walls were gray, shrouded with shadows, and the large rooms seemed to hold a subtle threat. I was acutely
aware
of the house, as though it were something alive, surrounding me on every side. Absurd to indulge in such fantasies, I scolded myself, yet I felt extremely exposed and vulnerable as I hurried down that wide, only partially lit hall. No lamps at all burned in the narrow hall that led to the enclosed spiral staircase. The passageway, unlit, was a tunnel of stirring shadows.

I hesitated.

I had never considered myself particularly nervous, nor was I one of those jumpy, timorous women who visualize life as one perpetual peril. Although I wasn't fond of them, mice failed to alarm me, and I never gave a thought to being mugged. Skittish, apprehensive women might be attractive to some men, but I found them rather tiresome. Fainting spells and vapors may have been the rage in the Victorian era, but in today's world young women were better equipped to take care of themselves. Nevertheless, as I peered down the narrow hall with its dark, menacing walls, all my brisk, modern confidence vanished. The incident with Burke must have disturbed me more than I realized, leaving my nerves in wretched condition.

Squaring my shoulders, irritated with myself, I moved hurriedly down the hall and up the staircase, vastly relieved when I stepped into the sitting room, where the lamps shed a warm yellow glow. I could laugh at myself now, but for a moment or two I had been prey to an alarm as genuine as it was chilling. It had been a long, long day, filled with an inordinate amount of emotional stress, I reasoned, trying to justify the totally uncharacteristic sensations I had experienced in the hall.

The bedroom looked warm and inviting. Judy had turned the bedcovers back, and robe and nightgown were laid out across the pillows. As I prepared for bed, I wondered what was keeping Grey so long. I had expected him to be waiting for me. Frowning, impatient for him to join me, I brushed my hair. I prowled around the room. I tried to read. Every minute seemed to drag, and still he didn't come.

I had hardly seen him since we arrived. The minute he stepped into the house a change had taken place in him. I was his wife. I should be the most important thing in the world to him, and yet … Don't let your emotions get the best of you, Carolyn, I told myself. This has been a strain on Grey, too. You must think of him as well.

An hour passed. Another. I was sitting on the window seat, staring out at the night, when he finally arrived. All the lamps but one had been turned off. It created a dim glow. I was so immersed in my thoughts that I didn't hear him until he stepped into the room. He wore brown leather slippers, tan pajamas and an opulent robe of heavy brown satin, sash tightened at the waist.

“Carolyn?” he said quietly. “I thought you'd be asleep.”

“I was waiting for you.”

“It took longer with Evan than I thought it would, and then I had to freshen up and get ready for bed.” His blue-gray eyes filled with male appreciation as he studied me. “I say, that's a most fetching nightgown. You look lovely, you know.”

“Grey—”

He pulled me into his arms and kissed me. It was a very thorough kiss, very provocative, yet I managed to pull away from him. He grinned, reaching for me again. I wanted to talk. He knew that, and he wanted to avoid the discussion. What better way than to kiss me, lead me over to the bed, make words superfluous? He was extremely seductive in the satin robe, yet I resisted, giving him a stony look that drove all thoughts of bed out of his mind.

“What's this?” he asked irritably.

“We—we have to talk, Grey.”

“Later,” he said.

“I—there's so much I don't understand. I have to know. I can't rest until I do.”

“Look, Carolyn, I know everything must seem pretty strange, but we've just been here one day and—”

“There's someone else, isn't there?” I interrupted. “Some wealthy girl they wanted you to marry. I came along and spoiled all their plans. That's why they resent me. That's why—”

“Which one of them told you that?” His voice was harsh.

“Neither, but neither of them denied it. Your aunt made her disapproval quite plain, and your cousin as much as told me the business was on the verge of bankruptcy. Your marrying a rich heiress would have solved everything.
Was
there another woman, Grey?”

He hesitated a moment before replying, and when he spoke he did so very carefully, weighing each word.

“I met you. I fell in love with you. I never loved anyone else, and I never wanted to marry anyone else. Perhaps they did have other plans for me, but I married
you
.”

“You should have told me. You should have prepared me for—”

“I don't intend to discuss it anymore,” he said firmly.

“There's something else, Grey. Your aunt—why did she put us in separate bedrooms? It's unthinkable. I won't—”

“I told her to,” he replied, cutting me short.

“You
told
her to? But—”

“I know you must have been confused, and I'm sorry about that, but I wanted it that way. I'm a restless sleeper, Carolyn. Sometimes I get out of bed half a dozen times during the night. Furthermore, I'm as surly as a bear in the morning.”

“That's an absurd reason to—”

“I'm only thinking of you. I don't want to disturb your sleep. I don't want you to suffer the brunt of my early-morning grouchiness. This is the perfect arrangement, luv. Separate bedrooms help preserve the romance in marriage. You won't see me at my worst, and I won't see you in cold cream and curlers.”

“I don't use cold cream. I've never worn curlers in my life. Grey, I don't
want
separate bedrooms. I love you, and—”

“You won't be sleeping alone.”

“I know, but—”

“Indulge me, luv. This is a very romantic situation, almost illicit. Here you are in a maddeningly fetching nightgown, and I've crept along the hall to visit you. The lights are low. I'm in a powerfully sexy mood.”

“Grey, I appreciate your feelings, but—”

“Indulge me.”

“I just don't think it's the right—”

His mouth stopped me, and then his hands, and then all thought of argument fled. Later—much, much later—I sat up in bed. The room was in darkness now, but moonlight spilled through the windows, making faint pools of silver in front of the recess. Outside, the wind raged, and beside me Grey slept soundly, his large body sprawled out, warm. His robe was a heap of crumpled satin on the floor. I thought of all that had been said, all that had happened during the remarkable day that had just passed. Something wasn't right. Something hadn't been satisfactorily explained.

I understood now why I had had such a cold reception at this house. I could see now why Helen and Evan would resent me, and Burke, too. He was almost a member of the family, had practically raised Grey. Although I disagreed with Grey about it, I understood why Helen Porter had put us in separate bedrooms, but there was something else, something vague and elusive. I had the feeling that all of them, Grey included, were hiding something from me, some dark secret. Reason told me that I was imagining things, but instinct and intuition were stronger than reason in this instance. All was not right. All was not as it should be.

I was convinced of that. Perhaps it was a premonition, but I knew Grey and I could never be happy together in this house. Sleepless, unable to relax, I watched the moonbeams fade, watched the sky outside lighten from black to ashy gray to misty violet, and I knew that some way, somehow, I had to persuade my husband to leave this house, leave the island. Soon, a voice inside me urged.… As soon as possible.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Dazzling rays of sunlight poured through the windows, filling the room with silvery brightness. Beside me, the bed was empty, although a distinct impression remained and the pillow was dented. When I finally slept, I must have slept soundly, for I had no idea when Grey had left. The sun was high. The sky was a bright blue-white. Through the windows I could see sea gulls circling over the water. I heard their cries and the sound of the waves as they pounded against the rocks below. I sat up, stretching, feeling very alone, wanting Grey with me.

I felt the strange house around me. Even with sunlight reflecting on the whitewashed walls, it seemed cold, alien. I could never belong here. I could never be a part of this place. Sitting in the lonely bed, I felt defenseless. If only Grey were here to hold my hand and laugh at my fears. I needed him. I needed his rich voice and his amiable smile. The thought of waking up alone in this bed every morning was unbearable. For a moment I seemed to be prey to invisible forces, and then I climbed out of bed, determined to be bright and cheerful and meet this new day with fortitude. I would persuade him to leave—I
had
to—and I needed all my resources.

After washing my face and brushing my hair, I changed into a pair of tailored gray and blue checked slacks and a dark blue turtleneck sweater. I had just finished dressing when Judy stepped nimbly into the room.

“Mornin', ma'am,” she said. “It's dreadfully
late
.”

“Good morning, Judy. Is it? Late, I mean.”

“After ten,” she retorted. “Mrs. Porter thinks it's
shocking
for anyone to sleep so late. Myself, I'd adore the opportunity. Up and at it at six for
me
, no matter how late I was up the night before. I'll be old and creaking before my time.”

“You look radiant today,” I remarked, smiling.

“Really?” She darted over to the oval mirror to examine herself. Her blue eyes were sparkling, and there was a delicate pink flush on her cheeks. She patted her short, glossy black curls and smiled a pixie smile, obviously thinking about something enchanting. I felt sure it was male in gender.

“You've got a beau, haven't you, Judy?”

“How did you
know
?”

“It shows. What's his name?”

“Ned Stockton, ma'am, and he's a dream. Owns his own boat, he does, completely independent at twenty-two. I have a bike, and I bicycle down to the village to see 'im—Mrs. Porter'd have six fits if he was to come up here. Doesn't approve of him, her, and I'll have to admit she has a point. He's rough and rowdy just like all the village boys. No class, none of 'em, but so
gor
geous. My Ned has dark gold hair and wicked brown eyes and such shoulders.…” She sighed, thinking about the shoulders. “Cook and Stella say I'm a perfect fool over him, but then they're
old
. A girl has to have
some
thing to amuse 'er on this wretched island.”

“I'm happy for you, Judy.”

“You're very sympathetic, ma'am. I'm young, you see, and in London there was so much to do.…” Judy looked pensive for half a minute, then she sighed again and smiled, her bubbling good humor returning. “The old lady wants to see you,” she said. “In a dreadful humor this morning, she is.
Threw
things at me. She's a dear, actually, only a bit loony. I'm really quite fond of her. I imagine I'd have given my notice and gone back to London a long time ago if it wasn't for her. She depends on me, you see. Won't let anyone else wait on 'er.”

“I'll visit her as soon as I've had breakfast.”

“Oh, you'll breakfast with her. She has such goodies in her room. Orders 'em through the mail—fancy jellies and jams, little tins of meat, marvelous biscuits and toast. I've instructions to bring up a fresh pot of coffee as soon as I leave here.”