Classic Love: 7 Vintage Romances (162 page)

“Here we are,” Dick said. “Pull up over there, Di, just in front of the house.”

Almost before she had a chance to cut the motor, the door opened, and a man came out on the veranda. He walked quickly down the steps and came toward them, opening the door on Dick’s side. “It’s a pleasure,” the man said, stepping aside as Dick got out, and then running around the car to Dinah’s side.

She stood looking about her after Dick made the introductions. “Dinah, this is Harris. Harris, this lovely girl is Miss Mason.” Intimidating was the word that came to her; it was like something from an Elizabeth Taylor film. Or perhaps something out of a dream. Quiet, sheltered, handsome and opulent, it was the kind of house to which she had never been, or even imagined seeing the inside of. And Dick seemed very much at home there, though she herself felt vastly out of place.

“Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” Dick said, when they were inside an enormous living room with the beams stripped and exposed, and a gargantuan fireplace over which a richly-framed French Impressionist canvas dominated the room. “A brandy will put some zip into us before our expeditions on the main,” Dick told her, and left her to her own devices for a few minutes. She walked over to the fireplace and scanned the signature on the painting.

Renoir.

An original Renoir?
We may presume so
, she thought, turning to survey the rest of the room. Just a cozy little cottage, she thought dryly, and her darkest suspicions were confirmed. Richard Claiborne came from the landed gentry. His friends owned places like this.

Well, and what of it? You were brought up to regard the lilies of the field with distrust. Good and honest toil was a requisite to a place at the right hand of the Kingly Throne; a camel could sooner pass through the eye of a needle than that the rich man should enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

But that’s middle-class morality
, Dinah thought … if you pricked them, did they not bleed? Assuming that Dick Claiborne came from a background such as this … did that mean he was a cad and a bounder and lacked all humanity? Just the same, she was apprehensive and suspicious, with the feeling that she was trapped, feeling out of her depth and defensive. “Drink deep of the cup,” Dick said, returning with a dusty bottle and two snifters. “I understand the water’s roughish. According to Harris, there’s a wind coming up from the north.”

“Is it safe?” she asked, sipping the brandy he poured for her.

“I told you I was an able seaman,” he said. “I’m only trying to test your mettle. You’ll love every minute of it, and there isn’t a single, solitary thing to be afraid of.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Harris and Clara … that’s his wife … are making us a lunch. We’ll be off and away in another half hour.”

The brandy lulled her, and when Dick slid down in his chair, stretching out his long legs, she thought what a different person she was when she was with him. It was as if something which had been held captive in her had finally found its way to freedom. Perhaps, she thought, that was exactly what happened when you fell in love.

The Sound was spanking blue, like glass, until you were actually sailing in it. Then it was another matter entirely. Dinah was quite unprepared for the fear of it. Hands trembling, she followed Dick’s succinct orders.

“You take the tiller, Dinah, and point her into the wind.”

“Which way is the wind?” she asked in a tremulous voice.

“Take a look at the telltales.”

“What are
they
?”

Explanation revealed that the telltales were two little pieces of strings, like knitting wool, which were tied about seven feet up the halyards. Fluttering in the wind, they indicated the direction the wind was taking.

“Hauling the main,” Dick called, and soon the white canvas fluffed out dramatically. “Haul the mainsheet,” he bellowed. “That’s right, Dinah … you’re doing fine.”

Remembering his instructions before they boarded, she pulled the end rope to tighten the sail so that it would get power. “Keep her into the wind, Di …”

Dick was busy raising the jib, cranking away. Orders came thick and fast after that, with Dinah completely forgetting her briefing. She was here, doing his bidding, and then she was there, and suddenly the boat was a swift, thrilling instrument of power, heeling to starboard, one end lifted high above it, the other scraping the waves that pounded at the sides of it. “Now we’re on a nice even tack,” Dick shouted, and suddenly it was like being a butterfly skimming the surface of the water.

It was beautiful, wonderful, Dinah thought, beside herself with elation. They were gliding, almost flying, and it was so quiet, with only the velvet
slush
of the water rushing by, the wind singing in the stays, the slight creaking of the mast. “How do you like it?” Dick asked, beaming at her.

“It’s heaven.”

Heaven, however, didn’t last for long. According to Dick, you only stayed on that tack for a while, then you adventured once more, changing direction. “Well, all right,” Dinah said, resigned, and Dick barked out. “Ready about … hard alee …”

“I’ll loose the main,” he called out. “You loose the jib.”

“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?”