Unknown (20 page)

‘Ah. So that’s the problem,’ he said solemnly, looking suddenly like a wise old owl. She looked over at him again, just in time to catch the gleam in those deep blue eyes of his. ‘Very well, Katherine Russel. I, Harry King, do solemnly swear that when we get home I will not kiss you or touch you or things like that—until you ask me to.’

‘Fat chance that’ll happen!’ She concentrated on the view at her side of the car, where a couple of workmen were cleaning up the gutters. She had to do something with her hands. She gave her tight mass of curls a whirl or two, and then began to use her fingers as a comb. What did he mean by that, she thought. Unless you ask me to? What was the catch? There was bound to be one somewhere in that pile of words. He was too cunning and devious to give up so easily. Too much of a hunter for me to believe that this particular lion was willing to lie down with this particular lamb, and not make a barbecue out of it! Until you ask me to? As if it were a foregone thing, and only the exact time was in debate? Could he
make
her want to kiss him? Well, if he did it once, she knew she would not be able to stop him a second time. Or should she have said she knew she would not be able to stop
herself
at the second one? And the third. And whatever. But if she could avoid that first one, she had a fighting chance!

‘Well,’ he interjected, ‘can we continue this United Nations debate while we’re driving home? This is a bad place to park.’

‘Don’t make fun of things you don’t know anything about,’ she reprimanded him.

‘Okay, okay,’ he chuckled. ‘I apologise for my ignorance, and any other stupid male statements I might make in the next half hour. Can we go?’

‘Yes, we can go,’ she told him flatly. ‘You need to do a lot of apologising. You have a lot of ignorance, and a very great deal of arrogance. I don’t think my grandmother would approve of you at all.’

He started the engine and swung the big black car back up the street to pick up US 19S. ‘Grandma, huh,’ he mused. ‘A tough old bird?’

‘You’d think so if you met her, Harry. When my father died he left me some money—in Grandmother’s trust—until I got married, or became thirty. So, in a sort of way, Grandma is my guardian. She’d chew you up and spit you across the Ohio River, Harry King!’

‘How about that,’ he said. ‘If we get married we’ll have to keep out of her range. Is it a lot of money?’

‘No. Of course not. What was that you said?’

‘I said we’d have to keep out of her range.’

‘No, I mean before that. Just before that!’

‘I don’t remember exactly. I meant to indicate a certain amount of caution when dealing with your—oh, I see what you mean. I said if we get married.’

‘But—I don’t remember anything being said about us—getting married. Except for your aunt. Aren’t you the one who loves ’em and leaves ’em? Isn’t that what you said?’

‘Now, Katie, I can’t be called on to remember everything I’ve ever said, you know. All I’m suggesting is that, although I prefer my bachelor life, I’m willing to let you try to convince me. What could be fairer than that?’

‘You really are an egotistical man,’ she said stiffly. ‘For the record, I’m not going to marry you. I am going home to Ohio for Marion’s wedding, and in between that time and this, there’s really nothing important that I want to say to you!’

‘Are you mad because I didn’t ask you nicely, Katie? It’s pretty hard to do the
down-on-one-knee
bit in a car. And besides, you’ve got to convince me yet.’

‘Take my answer as final, then,’ she snapped. ‘No, I won’t marry you. No, I won’t try to convince you otherwise. There’s more to getting married than—than just hopping into bed. I just can’t imagine why Aunt Grace would ever think that I wanted you. Why don’t you drive off before that policeman behind us gives you a ticket?’

He shifted the car into drive and pulled out into the street before checking in his rear view mirror. ‘Which policeman?’ he asked as they continued on their way. ‘Why Katie Russel, you lied to me just to change the subject. There was no policeman there!’

She made no answer. He drove slowly, both hands on the wheel, but the fingers of his right hand were beating a monotonous tattoo on the leather binding of the steering apparatus. Nothing further was said until they passed Temple Hill, where he broke the silence.

‘Your stepfather, Katie,’ he prodded her. ‘Tell me about him.'

‘There’s really nothing to tell. He’s a fine man. He’s also an outstanding photographer. As far as I can tell he loves my mother, and she loves him. Don’t try to read anything into it, Harry. When he married my mother I was just at that foolish state of mind. I went off to the University, and then, when I came home, things were so different that—well, I decided to take my camera and put in my
Wanderjahr.
Probably—well, I worked closely with my dad. I almost worshipped him. We were closer than any of the other children. And although I respect my stepfather, I wasn’t quite ready to put him in my father’s place.’

They made the turn at Ernestville, and started to climb the mountain. ‘Besides,’ she said pertly, head bowed, but with a giggly smile on her lips, ‘your plan would never work, you know.’

‘What plan?’

‘Your plan to marry me and avoid Grandmother.’

‘If—’ he said. ‘If you convince me, it seems pretty simple.’

‘A lot you know,’ she giggled. ‘Grandma has control of my money. I can’t get married without her permission. And
you
would have to ask her!’

‘Oh hell,’ he groaned. ‘I feel like Custer just after he rode up to the Little Big Horn!’

‘And that isn’t all,’ she said relentlessly. ‘Don’t you ever forget. I’ve got the powers. I’ll give you the biggest case of boils you ever heard of. And not in some convenient place like your arm! ’

‘Boils, smoils,’ he returned, almost absent-mindedly. He turned the Mercedes into the parking lot outside the gates of the house. Only Katie’s embarrassed little VW stood there to welcome it. One of his hands turned the key that killed the engine. The other beat another tattoo on the wheel. She sat silently in her seat, leaning forward stiffly.

What in the world can he be scheming now, she asked herself. There’s something going on inside that clever head of his. If you marry me? What kind of proposal was that? But if he could only have included one word. One single word. Love!

He came around to her side of the car and opened the door. She swung her legs out on to the ground, refusing his preferred hand, and pulled herself upon on the crutches. He backed away, an unreadable expression on his usually mobile face. Awkwardly at first, she manoeuvred herself on the crutches, across the bridge, up the ramp at the front door, and into the house. He followed some distance behind.

In the hall he caught up with her, and turned her round, with one hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off. ‘You promised. No touching,’ she reminded him. He pulled his hand away as if it had been burned.

‘Man, you drive a hard bargain, Katie,’ he said disconsolately.

‘You don’t know
hard
yet,’ she returned. ‘I’m going to take a shower. No, I guess I’d better not. I don’t want
this
cast to come to pieces!’ She looked down to the lump on her foot and shook her head in disgust.

‘You mean you haven’t had a shower since you’ve been here?’ he asked.

‘Of course not,’ she snapped. ‘How could I, with that cast on? The best I’ve been able to do is a hand bath.’

‘You go ahead and get ready,’ he returned, ‘and I’ll get you something to take care of the problem.’

She looked at him suspiciously. ‘No fooling around?’ she queried.

‘No. No fooling around,’ he laughed. ‘Don’t you trust me, Katie?’

‘About as far as I can throw the kitchen sink,’ she retorted.

‘Word of honour,’ he sighed. ‘You go and get ready for that shower, and I’ll show you how to do it without getting the cast wet.’

Still not sure whether to believe him or not, she walked slowly down the hall to her room. The crutches had a tendency to slip on the highly polished floor. She limited herself to short steps, and made slow progress. When she was inside her room, with the door closed, her arms reported their tiredness. She collapsed on her bed and slowly stripped, dropping her clothes on the bed beside her. Then she managed the crutches again to reach her heavy towelling robe. The belt of the robe was barely knotted when there was a rap on the door. Without waiting for a response, Harry bustled in.

‘You could have waited for me to answer!’ she shouted at him.

‘Oh my, still that angry? Why should I have waited?’

‘Because I was changing my clothes,’ she snarled back at him. ‘And you knew it. Do you think I’m running some sort of hill-billy peep show?’

‘Don’t get carried away,’ he replied. ‘I’ve seen you before without clothes, if you’ll remember.’ She
did
remember—that night at the swimming pool, and blushed for her own shame. ‘And we don’t say
hillbilly
around here,’ he continued. ‘That’s considered a derogatory comment. We say Mountain Men!’

‘Oh, all right,’ she said, struggling to contain her anger. ‘So I was wrong. And I apologise. Now what?’

‘Just sit down on this chair,’ he ordered. She complied. He unrolled the little bundle in his hand. It turned out to be a small three-ply polyethylene rubbish sack. He opened it up fully, inserted her cast deep inside the bag, then wound the plastic top around her ankle and lower leg, fastening it tightly in place with two heavy rubber bands. Lastly, he fanned out the top of the bag so that it lay smoothly down the back of her leg.

‘There you go,’ he remarked. She stood up hesitantly and tried to move. ‘Want me to help you to the shower,’ he asked, with a leer in his voice.

‘No, I don’t!’ she replied, exasperated. She manoeuvred herself out of the room and down to the bathroom. He followed close behind her. At the open door she turned round. ‘Why do you do that, Harry?’ she asked. ‘First you’re nice, and then you’re indecent. Isn’t there any half-way point for you?’

‘Not really.’ His voice sounded apologetic, but there was a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. ‘I guess I owe it all to my childhood. My mother and father died soon after Amanda was born. I’m an orphan. Does that make you feel more sympathetic?’

‘I—I don’t think so,’ she stammered. ‘Is it true?’

‘Why, of course it’s true,’ he answered, all injured innocence. And then he started to laugh. ‘It’s all true, Katie, but it didn’t have any particular effect on either Amanda or me. Aunt Grace raised us, and we could never have asked for a kinder or better parent!’

‘Damn you, Harry King,’ she shrilled at him. That’s just what I mean! How in the world is a girl supposed to understand you!’ She slammed the bathroom door in his face and leaned against it, shaking. Outside she could hear his laughter fade away as he walked back down the hall.

Her shower was a great success. Someone had left a tall stool in the shower compartment. She dropped her robe, crutched her way into the stall, perched sidewise on the stool, and turned on the water. The first burst of cold water startled her, but the rushing warmth that followed soothed both skin and mind. She used the soap extravagantly in a sensual massage, and then sat under the water’s balm for twenty minutes. A niggle of conscience drove her out. She dried herself slowly, and then anointed herself liberally with a bottle of Amanda’s Jean Nate after-bath splash.

Katie was fully dressed and drying her hair, when Harry rapped at the door again. This time he waited patiently in the hall until she invited him in. He cracked open the door, stuck his head around the jamb, and announced lunch.

‘You made lunch?’ she asked, surprised more than she cared to admit.

‘Of course I did,’ he chuckled. ‘Anything’s possible.’

‘I’ll bet it is,’ she murmured as she got up and crutched her way across the room.

‘What did you say?’

‘It’s the age of miracles,’ she told him blandly, and swung by him on the way to the kitchen. It was more than lunch preparation he had been up to, she saw. A pure white tablecloth covered the usually bare table. Two places had been set, with a full lay-out of silverware, and a vase of plastic flowers served as a centrepiece. He was waiting for some comment.

‘Nice. Very nice,’ she told him. He held her chair for her, taking her crutches when she was firmly seated, and laying them on the floor at her side.

He served the simple lunch with a flair that brought laugh-crinkles to the corners of her mouth. The soup was quite obviously out of a can, but what kind it had been when it started, she could hardly tell. He had doctored it with all kinds of vegetables and spices, and what might have been a mild vegetable soup had become a Mexican tongue-burner. She managed to down a few spoonsfuls, then pleaded for water.

‘Of course. Water!’ He jumped up and served her. ‘I
knew
there was something I forgot!’ he exclaimed.

, ‘I suspect that’s the
only
thing you’ve overlooked,’ she returned, maintaining a firm control over her face muscles. She went back to the soup, and managed to empty the bowl without giving herself away. He hardly noticed the tear in her left eye. It was brought on by spices, not the company.

She declined a second serving, trying to indicate at the same time how nice it all was. But Harry was too full of
his
own enthusiasm to note. He whipped the soup plates out of the way, and drew out of the oven a tray of melted-cheese open sandwiches.

‘The specialty of the house,’ he announced. ‘They’re hot. Have a couple.’

It would have been graceless to decline. She accepted two. He had carefully trimmed off all the crusts, but there was a smoky odour about them. The bottom of each was somewhat more carbonated than one might want. She would not even have looked, had he not been
so
extremely careful about the way they landed on her plate. Oh well, she told herself. Tonight I’ll make a real dinner. Even Ben Franklin couldn’t cook!