Marise watched until he had driven off. Then, when she turned to go into the house, she saw Judy and Roger and stiffened. The laughing gaiety with which she had bade Sam goodbye was gone, and her lovely face was much less lovely now.
“So there you are, Roger,” she snapped. “I’ve been wondering where you were. I might have known, of course, that if there was a pretty girl around, you’d be wherever she was.”
“Thanks,” said Judy dryly.
Marise shot her a swift, hostile glance and turned toward the house.
“Come along, Rog; we need another hand for poker. Sam chickened out on us.” She flung the words at Roger over her shoulder, as though there could not possibly be any objection to such an order.
“Smart guy, that Sam!” chuckled Roger in Judy’s ear as they walked into the house behind Marise.
He walked with Judy to the foot of the stairs and stood for a moment smiling at her. Behind him Marise appeared in the drawing room door, calling to him, “I’m waiting, Rog.”
“Presently,” said Roger over his shoulder.
Judy, facing Marise, saw a blaze of fury on the lovely face and heard the whiplash sting in Marise’s voice as she spat out, “Now, Rog! This minute!”
Roger winked at Judy, lifted his shoulders and turned to walk past Marise into the drawing room. And Marise walked to the foot of the stairs and stood looking up at Judy with that twisted, malevolent look on her face.
“Please stay away from my men,” Marise spat out furiously.
Judy added to Manse’s fury by being completely untouched by the venom. In fact, she laughed and said lightly, “Suppose you keep your men away from me. I was merely showing Roger the rose garden by moonlight. It’s quite a sight.”
“Rose garden in the moonlight!” sneered Marise. “How romantic can you get?”
“Oh, we go in for romance down here fairly heavily,” Judy drawled.
And before Marise could manage an answer to that, Judy turned and went on upstairs, leaving Marise to stand staring after her in cold fury and helplessness.
It was very early in the morning, and Sam was returning from the morning gallop with which he usually began the day. Rounding a turn in the bridle path that led to his cottage, he reined his horse in so sharply that the gelding reared and almost stood on his hind legs, whinnying to protest the tightened reins.
Sam slid down from the saddle and went swiftly to where Alison stood, crouched against a live-oak tree, a slender, shaking figure in tan slacks and a thin sweater, her shaking hands over her face.
“Here, here, what’s this?” he asked her. She flung herself upon him as his arms closed automatically about her, as though she had been a terrified child. “What happened?” he insisted.
Clinging to him, her hands clutching his shoulders, her tearful face hidden against his chest, she said, “It was horrible. I thought it was a crooked stick, and I started to pick it up, and it
wiggled!”
“A snake? What kind of snake?” Sam asked, and looked about swiftly, his arms still holding her.
“I don’t know! I have a thing about snakes. They terrify me and make me slightly sick at my stomach,” she sobbed.
“Was it black? Like a stick?”
“Oh, yes. That’s why I started to pick it up!”
“Well, then it was probably a blacksnake, and they are perfectly harmless. He was probably more frightened than you were. He was taking a snooze in the sunlight, and you probably scared him into going back into hibernation!”
Sam was being deliberately teasing, hoping to bring her out of the near-hysteria. And Alison, sensing his intention, drew a deep, hard breath and drew herself reluctantly from his arms, color rising in her tear-wet cheeks.
“I suppose it was like that,” she agreed. “But if he was any more frightened than I was, I’m truly sorry for him.”
Sam laughed comfortingly.
“Well, now, ma’am, that’s right kind of you,” he retorted, and added, “What are you doing out this early? It’s not seven o’clock yet.”
“I didn’t sleep very well,” she admitted, avoiding his eyes. “And when the birds started singing, I thought I’d get out and see what it was they were singing about.”
“Well, it’s the very nicest part of the morning,” Sam told her. “You haven’t had breakfast, have you?”
“I didn’t even think about breakfast.”
“Good! Then you can have it with me. I haven’t had mine, either. So come along.”
Alison’s eyes widened.
“Your housekeeper won’t mind your bringing a guest home for breakfast without warning her?”
“Who needs a housekeeper just to prepare breakfast?” Sam asked. He tucked her hand through his arm and, with the horse following them docilely, led the way down the path and to the small white cottage.
The house was nestled deep in blossoming shrubbery. There were neat flower-beds along the bricked wall, and gigantic clematis vine flung itself riotously across the small front porch.
“You live here?” Alison asked, enchanted.
“I was born here,” Sam told her as he guided her up the steps and across the small front porch. “You must have grown very tired of hearing about the people who were born at Oakhill, their parents before them and their parents before them! But that’s the way Oakhill grew from a wilderness into what it is today. Come in.”
He pushed open the screen door, and Alison stared.
“You don’t even lock your doors when you go out?” she marveled.
Sam looked quite honestly puzzled.
“Now why would I do that? Nobody here ever does. That’s for city folks. Oakhill people know it’s not necessary here, since we are all known to each other and are friends.”
Alison looked about the neat, small living room, a man’s room obviously. There were comfortable, slightly shabby chairs; a good rug that was worn but whose colors were still bright; reading lamps scattered about; books and magazines spilling from the tables.
“Now you see why I need a housekeeper,” Sam chuckled. “And she will be very upset that I brought somebody here before she had time to clean the room up. I try to keep her from doing it, because when she gets it all tidied up I have trouble finding things.”
“It’s so comfortable-looking,” Alison said wistfully, “as if people really lived here, had roots here, and were not just passing through.”
“Then it’s telling you the truth.” Sam smiled at her. “Come on in the kitchen, and we’ll see about some breakfast.”
Alison said hesitantly, “I can’t cook!”
“So what? I can!” Sam told her. “Bachelors usually learn that early; that is, if they have any idea of remaining bachelors!”
Alison perched on a stool out of his way, her hands folded on her knees, and said, “As of course you do.”
Sam straightened from the big refrigerator that took up half of the kitchen wall, a bowl of eggs in one hand, a container of meat in the other, and his brows drew together in a faint scowl of bewilderment as he repeated, “As of course I do what?”
“Intend to remain a bachelor.”
He put down the eggs and the ham and grinned at her as he lit the gas stove and brought out a heavy blackened skillet.
“You’re quite wrong there,” he assured her. “I don’t intend to remain a bachelor any longer than it takes me to find a girl who’ll have me.”
Alison’s smile was faintly mocking.
“And that’s a terrific task, of course.”
Breaking eggs into a big yellow mixing bowl, Sam said, unexpectedly grave, “Well, it hasn’t been easy.”
“And the search still goes on?” The mockery had left her voice.
Sam nodded as he beat the eggs briskly, while the thick slices of ham gave off a fragrant odor from the stove.
“The search still goes on,” he repeated. He placed a toaster and a plate containing several slices of bread before her, with a butter dish conveniently at hand. “You mind the toast while I get the coffee going.”
Working at the stove, seeing that everything was as it should be, he glanced at her now and then, and a tender smile touched his mouth. For she was like a child, so absorbed in the small task he had assigned her that she didn’t even look up at him. She waited, bent over the toaster, and as the toast popped up, she buttered it with a concentrated attention that made him suddenly deeply aware of her as a delightful person.
When at last the meal was ready and they were settled at the table, she looked across at him and said humbly, “I never realize quite how stupid I am until a time like this. Only there’s never been a time like this for me before. I mean helping to get breakfast, even if all I did was butter the toast. I know all about calling room service and ordering food, and planning menus with a haughty chef and all that. But working with my hands—well, the typewriter is about the extent of my ability.”
“I missed you last night,” Sam told her quietly, his eyes catching the brief flush that crept over her face.
“I had some letters to write for Marise,” she explained, and would not meet his eyes.
“And they couldn’t have been done today?”
“Marise didn’t think so.”
Suddenly she put down her fork and the bit of buttered toast and clenched her hands tightly in her lap, as she lifted her chin with a hint of defiance.
“I suppose you despise me,” she said through her teeth.
Puzzled, Sam studied her.
“Now why would you suppose a thing like that?” he asked.
“For, well, for hanging onto Marise no matter how badly she treats me. Oh, she does; I admit it. She treats everybody shamefully if she can get away with it. And for those of us she calls her entourage—most of all—I have to admit that—” Her voice stumbled and broke and fell into a miserable silence.
Sam helped himself to more coffee, refilled her cup and asked quietly, “Why do you put up with it, Alison?”
Puzzled by the question, she looked straight at him, her brows faintly furrowed.
“But what else can I do? I’ve never been trained for any business or a job that would make it possible for me to earn a living,” she pointed out. “There was never time for that. Uncle Jeff didn’t see any reason I should be trained for anything but to act as a companion and playmate for Marise. And the estate was left entirely to her to do with as she chose. There wasn’t even a legacy for me. Oh, of course I wasn’t really entitled to one.”
“
Be
quiet!
” snapped Sam so unexpectedly that she caught her breath and could only stare at him, wide-eyed. “Stop being so blasted humble! Entitled to a legacy? Something that would set you free from your dependence on that spoiled, selfish, egotistical brat? Don’t be a fool, Alison! Your uncle should certainly have left you a substantial legacy—enough for you to be able to train for a job.”
“That would have been the one thing he didn’t want to happen,” Alison told him swiftly. “All he ever wanted of me was that I look after Marise; see that she is never left alone; that her checkbook always balances; that her bills are paid promptly; that when she gets a sudden urge to go somewhere, I make travel arrangements, hotel reservations; and when she wants to entertain, that I look after all the tiresome details and leave her free just to have fun and enjoy the party.”
He watched her curiously and did not speak.
After a moment, her head high, color flowing into her cheeks, she went on, “And in return for doing that for Marise, I have lovely clothes, because she wouldn’t want me to look shabby, and travel first class, and meet a lot of amusing people. Is that so bad?”
“Not if it’s what you want.” His tone was curt.
The color deepened in her face.
“How would I know? It’s all I’ve ever had,” she reminded him.
For a long moment his eyes on her were curious. Absurdly enough, it was as though he were seeing her for the first time.
“What about other things that are much more important than luxuries, nice clothes, travel, all that you’ve had?” he asked.
“Such as?”
“Such as love and marriage, if you don’t mind my being corny.”
“What chance would I have for love or marriage competing with Marise; who’d ever give me a second glance?”
“Any man with a nickel’s worth of brains in his head.”
Her smile was thin-lipped and faintly bitter.
“Then I’ve never met a man with a nickel’s worth of brains in his head,” she mocked him.
“Have you ever given yourself a chance?”
She hesitated a moment, and then she asked curiously, “How would I be able to do that?”
“Oh, a beautiful girl like you—” he began, but her words cut him short.
“Beautiful? Me?” Her tone was one of genuine surprise, and Sam’s brows drew together in a scowl.
“Well, for the love of Pete, of course you are beautiful,” he all but snapped at her. “Don’t you ever look into a mirror?”
“Well, of course I do. But Marise is usually there, too, and she is much more beautiful than I could ever hope to be,” Alison pointed out. “And, of course, there is also the fact that Marise is enormously rich and I’m not.”
“So of course you take it for granted that all men are fortune-hunters,” growled Sam. “With that attitude toward men, no wonder you haven’t fallen in love.”
Alison, pink-cheeked, eyes faintly frosty, pointed out, “Well, what chance do I have to meet men who are not attracted to a lot of money?”
Sam nodded a reluctant agreement to that.
“So your only hope is to get away from Marise, on your own, so the men you meet will see you as you really are, not just as a companion for the wealthy Miss Parker,” he advised her.
“Get away from Marise?” The thought seemed startling.
“Why not?” He waited for her to think that over and watched with a curious intentness the various expressions that flitted over her face until at last she shook her head.
“I couldn’t do that,” she told him, and there was a note of finality in her voice.
“Then I’m afraid you’ll just have to go on being her favorite whipping boy, if you feel that the rewards for being her companion and letting her shove you around are sufficient to compensate you for what you are giving up,” he said quietly, and smiled a pleasant, though cool smile. “And I do hope you’ll forgive me for my impertinence in trying to talk you into a revolt. I had the crazy idea that you were not entirely happy in your present situation, and no doubt I talked out of turn.”