Terrible Tide (3 page)

“I don’t know what you expect for wages. Earl wouldn’t stand for more than fifty a week plus your room and board, I do know that. It’s not much, but it’s a case of take it or leave it. He won’t spend a penny more than he can help, and he grudges even that little bit.”

Holly felt sorry for Claudine, though she wasn’t sure why. “I’m not too concerned about the money. As Fan mentioned, I’m mainly looking for something to do till my scars heal. At least there won’t be many people out there staring at me.” She tried to laugh.

Claudine nodded. “That’s true. Nobody will see you but Annie and Bert Walker, unless Earl Stoodley chooses to barge in and throw his weight around. Bert does the chores every night, but he never goes beyond the kitchen. Nobody does. You remember that.”

“Not even the doctor?”

“We don’t bother the doctor. What’s the use? All right then, Holly. I’ll phone up and tell Annie you’re coming. You go pack your belongings. And I presume you understand once you’re there, you stay. Annie needs a person who’s going to be around when she’s needed, not running back and forth to the village every time she takes the notion.”

“I couldn’t run if I wanted to,” Holly snapped back. “Shall I take my own towels and bedding, or what?”

At that, Claudine managed a bleak smile. I expect there’s linen at Cliff House the moths haven’t eaten yet. You’re not going to any resort hotel, you know. Cliff House was a beautiful place in its day, but it’s pretty rundown now. It’s still filled with beautiful things, though, which is why we have to be so particular about no visitors. Even relatives,” she added, with a tight-lipped glance at Fan.

Fan shrugged. “Take it easy, Claudine. I know better than to gate-crash. Bert tells me that old housekeeper keeps Cliff House locked up like a fortress.”

“She’d better. Don’t you ever forget, Holly. Nobody sets foot in that house except the fire brigade, God forbid, if they should ever be needed. You can’t keep Earl Stoodley out because he’s the other trustee, but don’t let him near Mrs. Parlett. He’s itching for her to die so he can start his stupid museum and get his fat face in the papers. I wouldn’t put it past him to accidentally drop a pillow over her face, or open the windows in the hope she’d catch pneumonia. And if that’s defamation of character, I couldn’t care less. You can start tomorrow morning.”

She glanced at the door. The Howes took the hint. Once outside, Holly burst into half-hysterical giggles.

“What have I got myself into? Is she always like that?”

“Pretty much,” said Fan. “Did you notice how she got in a dig at me for not showing up at the Women’s Circle? I went a few times when I first came up here, but I soon saw it wasn’t going to help Roger any, so now I don’t bother.”

Holly had other things to think of than the Women’s Circle. “What did she mean about that Earl Stoodley and his museum?”

“Mrs. Parlett’s willed Cliff House to the town after she goes. Earl Stoodley’s got this bee in his bonnet about turning it into one of those historic homes people pay to see. He claims that’ll attract more tourists to Jugtown and be good for business. I must say it sounds reasonable to me.”

“But would anybody actually come to see the place? Jugtown’s awfully off the beaten path.”

“Stoodley claims the house is full of genuine antiques. Maybe you can sneak me in for a peek on Annie’s day off.”

Fan pretended to be joking, but Holly could see sticky times coming. Having seen what Fan could do to unguarded premises, she wasn’t about to risk turning her sister-in-law loose at Cliff House. She changed the subject.

“Why’s Mrs. Parlett leaving Cliff House to the town instead of to Claudine and her brother?”

“Because they’ve had a big fight over something or other. Somebody at the Women’s Circle told me Claudine vowed never to darken the door again as long as Mrs. Parlett was alive. From what she said just now, I guess she meant it.”

“So instead she sits down here and frets herself into a state because she can’t go to see Mrs. Parlett. That makes sense!”

“Don’t kid yourself. Why should Claudine fret about what happens to Mrs. Parlett? She’s not going to get anything out of her.”

But she did care. Fan couldn’t have noticed how close the antique dealer had come to breaking down. Fan never did notice much that wasn’t connected with Roger’s needs. Right now she was heading for the grocery store, wondering aloud how she was going to stretch their meager food budget over those seven elegant little dinners Roger expected to be served every week, not to mention breakfasts and lunches. What a life for a woman brought up to affluence!

Fan did appear to be genuinely distressed at the prospect of Holly’s moving out to Cliff House. Maybe it was just Holly’s board money she was going to miss, but what the heck?

“Look, Fan,” Holly said, “I’m not taking all my stuff out there, till I see how things are going to work out. How about if I go on paying you, say twenty-five dollars a week, to keep it for me? That way if the deal falls flat and I have to come back in a hurry, I won’t feel I’m imposing on you. Does that sound fair?”

It wasn’t fair at all, in fact. Holly had every right to leave her own things in her own half of the house. Fan naturally didn’t see it that way. She was just glad and relieved.

“Sure, Holly. It sounds fine. Look, any time you need a ride or anything, let me know.”

“There’s one thing you can do for me right now.” It had occurred to Holly that she might have to pass a lot of boring hours at Cliff House. “Mind dropping me at the public library, if there is one? If I’m going to be stuck out there with two old women, I’ll need something to keep me entertained.”

“They must have books in the house.” Nevertheless, Fan made a detour and pulled up in front of a squarish building with ivy marching in well-disciplined ranks across its red-brick walls.

Holly opened its door on a smell she always enjoyed: dust and paper and printers’ ink, with gentle overtones of dry rot. Models spend a lot of time sitting around waiting, so she’d developed a passion for reading. Now that she couldn’t squander money on paperbacks, she might as well make use of the public facilities, such as they might be.

In fact, Jugtown had a pretty good library, for its size. Holly had no trouble selecting some good novels and a couple of biographies she’d been wanting to read. Getting the librarian to let her take them out was another matter.

“I’m sorry, but you must have a library card.”

“Then could I have one, please?”

“Certainly, if you’re a local resident. Just fill out this form and your card will be ready by Wednesday.”

“But I don’t think I’ll be able to come then.”

The librarian must be a relative of Claudine Parlett. She didn’t exactly snatch the books away, but she didn’t look very unbending, either. Holly tried another angle.

“Perhaps I could take them on my brother’s card or his wife’s? I’m staying out at Howe Hill with Mr. and Mrs. Roger Howe.”

The librarian flipped through her file. “Neither of them is on our list of borrowers.”

Holly might have known. Roger had his own reference books on antique furniture, he never looked at anything else, and where would Fan find the time to read? She was about to admit defeat when an unexpected rescuer appeared.

“You may use my card, Miss Howe, if you’ll forgive the liberty. I’m Geoffrey Cawne, and I have had the pleasure of meeting your people, though less often than I’d like. You won’t mind, will you, Marie?”

“Not if you don’t, Professor.” The librarian smiled at him as she stamped the books and handed them across the desk.

“Thank you so much,” Holly told her sweetly, “and thank you, Professor Cawne. I do appreciate it, and I’ll be sure to return them on time.”

“I have every confidence in you,” he assured her in a voice that was a pleasant blend of academic precision and human warmth. “Now can I offer you a lift to Howe Hill? I’m a neighbor of sorts, you know. My house is that odd-looking gray one on the knoll just before the curve in the road. You may not have noticed because it sits rather far back.”

“I certainly have, and I love it. My sister-in-law is picking me up on her way back from getting the groceries. Otherwise, I’d be glad to ride with you.”

She would have. Geoffrey Cawne was the kind of professor who made college freshmen—the female ones—swoon on the spot. He was an inch or so taller than she, which would bring him close to six feet. Shell-rimmed glasses added just the right note of strength to what might have been almost too blandly attractive a face. His slacks were handsome Crombie tweed; his cardigan knit of the finest New Brunswick homespun. He must be twice her own age, but Holly couldn’t help wondering if there was a Mrs. Cawne in that ultramodern gray house. Not that it would do her much good if there wasn’t. A man like Cawne wasn’t apt to be much interested in a mangled assistant housemaid, if that was what she’d so recently become.

Anyway, they stood chatting about nothing in particular until Fan’s truck stopped outside with a squeal and a loud honking. After a hurried goodbye, Holly grabbed her books and ran.

Fan leaned over to open the door for her. “Did you get what you wanted?”

“Yes, and I met a friend of yours.”

“Didn’t know I had one.” Fan didn’t ask who it was. The truck, always temperamental, had picked this time to stall.

“His name is Cawne,” Holly persisted. “He says he’s a neighbor.”

“Geoffrey Cawne?” Fan quit fiddling with the ignition long enough to stare at her. “You mean he actually came up and spoke to you?”

“He let me use his library card.”

“I’ll be darned! You may not know it, but you’ve been honored. Cawne’s our local celebrity. He’s a famous writer.”

“I’m not surprised. He looks the type. What does he write?”

Fan shrugged. “I don’t know, but he’s well-known in his field.”

Holly didn’t ask what his field was. If Fan had known, she’d have said. It couldn’t have anything to do with antique furniture or Fan would have been cultivating his acquaintance like mad on the chance he might be able to do Roger some good.

There was still a chance he might be able to do Holly some good, though. “He told me he was sorry not to see more of you and Roger,” she remarked.

“Did he really?” Fan started to put on the Westchester manner she hadn’t used for so long, then gave it up with a sigh. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to ask him over. He’d be somebody for you to know. Though what good it would do—still, if he lent you his library card—”

“Oh, that was just because the librarian was being stuffy and he heard me tell her I was Roger Howe’s sister. What is he: divorced, a widower, or just not interested?”

“A widower, I think. They were saying something once at the Women’s Circle about his wife dying young of cancer, but it might have been hearsay. Blast this starter!”

Fan climbed out and lifted the hood. Holly stayed in the cab, opened one of her books, and pretended to read with one eye on the library door. She was glad she’d chosen a biography. It looked intellectual. Ah, here he came, with a book under his arm and both hands in his pockets. Did he look pleased at seeing the truck still there, or was he only amused by the sight of Fan’s fuzzy brown behind sticking out from under the hood? Anyway, he wasn’t going to pass on without speaking again.

“Having problems, Mrs. Howe? What a bore. Anything I can do?”

“Yes.” Fan backed out and stood up to face him. “Find me a halfway reliable second-hand truck, dirt cheap. This heap’s about had it. How are you, Professor? Holly was just telling me how you bailed her out with your library card.”

“Marie’s a stickler for the rules, I’m afraid. What seems to be the problem?”

“Oh, the wiring’s all shot. I don’t know whether I’ve made it better or worse. Try the starter again, Holly.”

“Where’s the key?”

“In my pocket, most likely. Force of habit.” Fan wiped her greasy hands on a tattered tissue and fished out the ignition key.

“Here, let me.” Cawne took the key from her and slid behind the wheel. To nobody’s surprise, the engine purred obediently at his first try.

“There you are, ladies. Not at all. My pleasure.”

He smiled away their thanks and gave Fan a gallant boost into the driver’s seat. “I do hope I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you again while you’re here, Miss Howe.”

“Come to dinner tonight,” Fan said to her own evident surprise. “Don’t ask me what you’ll get to eat, but we’ll manage something.”

“I’m sure it will be delightful.” Cawne looked as if he meant it. “What time would you want me?”

“Could you make at quarter to seven? We keep early hours now that we’re country folks.”

“A quarter to seven is exotically late for Jugtown. My housekeeper will be impressed. See you then.”

He waved and turned off toward the shops. Fan put the truck in gear, looking a trifle blank.

“Whatever possessed me to do that? I was planning to go back and get the rest of that paneling. Now we’ll have to stay and clean house.”

“You go for the boards and I’ll do the cleaning,” Holly offered, glad of the excuse to dodge another vandalizing expedition. “It’ll be good training for my new career.”

“You sure do have rotten luck,” Fan sympathized in her own fashion. “Just when an interesting man shows up, you go and stick yourself out at Cliff House, where they don’t allow visitors.”

“Thanks, Fan. You really know how to cheer a person up. What shall I cook for dinner?”

They talked housekeeping the rest of the way back, except for a minor squabble when they passed Cawne’s driveway. Holly wanted to turn in for a closer look at the house. Fan was anxious to fix Roger’s lunch and hustle herself back to the walnut mine. Fan won.

“R
OGER MUST HAVE A
customer!”

Fan got a momentary charge out of seeing an almost-new station wagon parked in the yard. To her chagrin, the visitor turned out not to be a wealthy Yank making a pilgrimage to the master’s workshop but Bert’s nephew looking for a job.

“That’s an expensive car,” she fussed. “This Sam must charge a mint for his work. I hope Roger doesn’t commit himself to paying so much for the carving that we wind up making zilch out of the furniture. Maybe I’d better go in there.”