Woman in Red (13 page)

Lowell may have been known to have a weakness for pretty girls, but he never showed Eleanor any special favoritism. In fact, her first few weeks on the job he seemed oblivious to her charms: the small waist and high, full bosom; the long, shapely legs that had driven the boys in school to distraction. She might have been a filing cabinet or the blotting paper on his desk, for all the attention he paid her. That he found her unattractive didn’t bother her at first, but as the weeks wore on, she began taking special care with her appearance, choosing her most flattering outfits, using a shade of lipstick darker than the one she normally wore, and arranging her tumble of russet hair atop her head like Betty Grable’s. Male clients began to take notice—a few even asked her out on dates, which she, of course, refused—but her boss remained oblivious.

So when one morning he stopped at her desk and told her he had some business on the mainland and needed her to come along, she thought nothing of it. She was pleasantly surprised when, on the ferry ride, he chatted amiably with her the whole way. He was different away from the office,
warm and personable, asking about her family and her interests. Before long he knew her entire history, brief and uninteresting though it was: that she lived with her parents in the rectory behind the Episcopal Church, and that she had an older sister named Lillian, who’d gotten married last year, a wedding at which Eleanor had been maid of honor.

By the time the business was wrapped up, the ferry they’d planned to take back was long gone. With several hours to kill until the next one, Lowell offered to buy Eleanor dinner. She readily accepted, imagining it would be just a quick bite at a local tavern, but the restaurant he took her to was fancy, the kind her parents couldn’t have afforded. Seeing the red-jacketed waiters gliding past, the damask tablecloths set with silver and crystal that gleamed in the candlelight, she felt as if she’d walked onto a Hollywood set. If it hadn’t been for Lowell, steering her lightly by the elbow as they were escorted to their table by the captain, an intimidating-looking man in a starched shirtfront who’d greeted Lowell by name, she’d have turned right around and left. Instead, she found herself sinking into the chair Lowell pulled out for her and nodding mutely when he asked if she’d like some champagne.

After her second glass, she began to feel more relaxed. Never mind that the other girls in the office might get the wrong idea. She knew this wasn’t what it looked like; Lowell was being the perfect gentleman. So it came as a shock when, halfway through the meal, he leaned across the table and said, quite matter-of-factly, “You’re very beautiful, you know.”

Eleanor was speechless. “Thank you. That’s nice of you to say,” she replied primly when she’d recovered her wits. She lowered her head so that her hair, worn loose that day, fell
forward to cover her cheeks that were flushed with more than the champagne.

“I’m sure you hear it all the time,” he went on in the same matter-of-fact tone, “but I have a feeling you don’t believe it. I just wanted you to know it’s true. You are. Breathtaking, in fact.”

She peeked from behind the curtain of hair to find him eyeing her with an almost fatherly bemusement. Usually when men said such things, they wanted something in return. But Lowell White seemed content merely to have her bask in the glow of the compliment.

“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” she stammered.

He smiled, and lit a cigarette. His eyes that in daylight could sometimes appear world-weary were seductively heavy-lidded in the candlelight. “When you’re a little older, my dear, you’ll know that it’s a beautiful woman’s prerogative to say nothing at all.”

“I’m eighteen!” she protested, which only made him smile all the more.

“Eighteen,” he echoed, as if marveling that he himself had ever been that young, though he couldn’t have been more than forty. “Well, that calls for another glass of champagne.”

It might have been crushed diamonds he was pouring, the way it sparkled as it swirled up from the bottom of her glass. And why was it she’d never noticed before how perfectly shaped his hands were? Square and manly as his physique, which was muscular from sailing. Not like her father’s pale, narrow ones that, splayed against the nubby black cover of his bible, resembled dove’s wings. Lowell’s thick brown hair, combed back in brilliantined waves that to a less discerning eye might have given him the appearance of a slick salesman,
had sprung several curls that looped down over his forehead. She found herself wanting to brush them back, thread her fingers through his hair.
What’s come over me
? she wondered, aghast at the direction her thoughts had taken.

On the ferry ride home, she imagined it was all her doing when he slipped an arm around her shoulders and, later on, when he gently kissed her good night. She must have led him on in some way, though in her tipsy state she wasn’t exactly sure how. At the same time, she felt excited by his attentions, even knowing that her parents would disapprove. She hadn’t felt this way with any of the men she’d gone out with before: the deep thrill that had shot down through her belly when Lowell’s gaze had lingered a beat too long or his fingers had brushed hers. Each precious moment of the evening she tucked away to be savored later on; she was reluctant even to wash away the smell of cigarette smoke that lingered in her hair when she woke the next morning.

But amazingly, at work, it was as if nothing had happened. Lowell barely glanced at her when he walked in, greeting her only with a curt, “Good morning, Miss Miner,” as he breezed past on the way to his office. All morning she was close to tears, wondering what she could have done or said that had put him off. It wasn’t until she was leaving work at the end of the day, after having stayed late to type a letter, that everything fell into place.

She was making her way down the stairwell when she looked behind her and saw her boss, hurrying to catch up with her. They were alone, and when he reached her he grabbed her by the shoulders, roughly almost, pushing her back against the wall and kissing her. Not a gentle kiss this time, but a deep and passionate one that involved his tongue.

“God. I’ve been going out of my mind all day,” he breathed. “It’s been torture.”

Eleanor trembled, wanting for him to go on kissing her and at the same time feeling she was in over her head. He was her boss, after all. And suppose the stories whispered about him were true? “I . . . I thought I’d done something to make you angry,” she said in an unsteady voice.

“Angry?” He gave a short, guttural laugh, as if at the absurdity of such an idea. “My God, I could barely concentrate. You’ve been driving me crazy, looking like that. Even your perfume . . .” He snatched up a handful of her hair, burying his face in it with a groan. “It was all I could do not to walk over there and kiss you in front of everyone.” She shivered, both thrilled and scandalized at the thought.

After that, they began slipping away together after hours. She’d lie to her parents about working late or going to the movies with friends and she and Lowell would go on long drives, or he’d take her out on his boat. It was exciting at first, but after a while she began to grow impatient. Why did they have to sneak around? It wasn’t as if they had anything to hide. If it became a problem at work, why, she’d just find another job.

But when she timidly broached the subject, he claimed he was only being cautious for her sake. “I could set you up with another job just like that,” he said, with a snap of his fingers. “But that wouldn’t solve the problem.”

“What problem is that?” she asked, half dreading his reply.

“Your parents. Think how it would look to your father, him being a minister and all. His innocent young daughter under the spell of some middle-aged rogue. Believe me, it’s best we take it slow.”

“Maybe if he got to know you a bit first, it’d be easier when I told him,” she suggested.

“What exactly did you have in mind?” asked Lowell, with a sardonic arch of his brow.

“I don’t know.” Flustered, she cast about in her mind. “You could start attending services on Sunday, for one thing. If they knew you were a churchgoing man . . . ”

Lowell cut her off with a laugh. “Darling, you’re forgetting one thing. I’m hardly the God-fearing type.”

Eleanor kept her mouth shut after that, fooling herself into believing he would eventually do the right thing.

The night she lost her virginity they were out on his yacht, anchored off one of the uninhabited islands that dotted the sound, where there was only the moon to bear witness. He took his time, plucking away at her inhibitions stitch by stitch until at last they came unraveled. He stroked her as she shivered with pleasure, parting her legs as gently as if they were petals on a rose. When he finally entered her, she scarcely felt the pain. Even then he took his time, making love to her the way she’d always dreamed, not giving in to his own pleasure until he’d brought her to climax. As Eleanor fell back against the cushions and tilted her head up to the sky, the stars spilling across it seemingly within reach, she knew at last what it was to desire and be desirable. The fact that she hadn’t waited until they were married seemed inconsequential. He would make an honest woman of her before long, as soon he got around to popping the question.

Worry didn’t begin to creep in until several more months had gone by without his making a single move in that direction. She began to notice things, too—how he would sometimes seem distracted when they were together, staring off
into space while she chattered on. Then there were the personal calls he’d take in his office with the door shut, when she’d steal glimpses through the glass and feel a flutter of uneasiness noting the expression on his face: the same one he’d worn when romancing her. She told herself she was imagining things—he loved
her
!—but it grew harder to dismiss her fears. When her nineteenth birthday came and went without so much as a card from Lowell, she was crushed.

The hurt and worry made her physically ill. She was tired all the time and sick to her stomach. The fact that she’d missed a period didn’t overly concern her—she’d always been irregular—but when another month passed with no sign of it, she could no longer deny what she’d known deep down: She was pregnant. A week later, a doctor in Anacortes confirmed it.

It should have put her into a panic, but Eleanor felt a strange sense of peace come over her instead. Now there would be no more putting off the wedding. Her parents would be upset when she told them, of course, but once they calmed down and saw how good it could be, they’d come around. Lowell, too, once he got over the shock, would be happy about the baby. How could he not be? Hadn’t he told her a thousand times that he loved her?

And when she broke the news to him, she thought at first that’s how it was going to go. They were at the office after hours. Everyone else had gone home, so they were alone. Lowell took her in his arms, soothing her. “My poor darling. Don’t you worry. I know a doctor who’ll take care of it, no questions asked.”

Horrified, she jerked free of his arms. “You want me to
kill
our baby? How could you even suggest such a thing?”

He smiled, as he had countless times before, at her provincial ways, but this time it wasn’t out of affection. “That’s being overly dramatic, don’t you think. Really, Ellie, this sort of thing happens all the time. If every woman felt as you do, there would be far more unwanted children in the world.”

“But . . . I . . . I want this baby.” She hadn’t fully realized it until the words were out, and now she faced him in defiance.

“Unfortunately, it takes two, and I have no intention of becoming a father just yet,” he said, lighting a cigarette, and peering at her through the smoke that swirled lazily up around his head.

She began to weep, still believing it was the shock making him act this way. “You can’t mean that. I caught you by surprise, is all. But don’t you see? Maybe it’s all for the best. And it’s not as if we weren’t going to be married anyway.”

“You thought I was going to marry you?” Perched on the edge of his desk, he laughed in disdain, stubbing out his cigarette. “I’m sorry if I ever gave you that impression, but frankly, my dear, it never occurred to me. And if you insist on having this child, I’ll deny it’s mine.”

“But everyone knows—” She caught herself, realizing that no one knew about them, in fact. That had been part of his game plan all along, the reason he’d kept their relationship a secret, in the event of something like this. But if anyone had been in the dark, it was her.

Lowell scribbled a number on a slip of paper and handed it to her. “When you’re willing to see reason, call this number. Don’t worry about the expense, I’ll take care of it.”

But she didn’t have to think about it, not for one second. Furiously, she crumpled the piece of paper and tossed it onto the floor.

Lowell pushed himself off his desk, saying, “You’re a fool then. If you want to do it the hard way, you’ll be doing it without me. We’re through, Eleanor. Now why don’t you pack up your desk and go.” Cruel words that pelted her like icy raindrops.

Eleanor couldn’t believe the man she loved, whose child she was carrying, was the same one standing before her, eyeing her so coldly. She covered her face with her hands and wept softly into her fingers, blocking out his hurtful presence. At the sound of his footsteps fading into the hallway, she sank slowly onto her knees, as if in prayer. She didn’t know how long she knelt there—minutes, hours?

When she finally dragged herself to her feet, she felt stiff and achy all over, as if from a beating. In a kind of trance, she gathered up the personal items off her desk. As she walked out the door for the last time, she felt not only stupid but dirty, knowing
she
would be the one whispered about around the office in the days to come. Lowell’s latest conquest. Discarded like all the others when she’d ceased to amuse him.

Her parents, when she told them, were more devastated than angry. Her father became an old man overnight, stooped and gray, while her mother drifted about, wan and red-eyed, avoiding Eleanor whenever possible. They wore their daughter’s shame as if it were their own, telling no one, fearful of being judged.