Vintage Love (247 page)
The local and national press carried stories on the strange adventure, and made Lucy and Fred out as true romantics. Shiela apparently decided she had no hope of stealing Fred for herself, and soon left St. Andrews to live in Montreal. Jim Stevens set himself the task of writing a book on the Clay family.
The portrait of Jennifer remained in its honored position in the hall of Moorgate. And often on moonlight nights when Lucy and Fred entered the house together, the first thing they’d see before switching on the lights was the moonglow on the portrait.
On one of these nights Lucy turned to her husband and said, “Can’t you tell she’s at peace now? She grows more radiant with the years.”
Fred nodded gently and took her in his arms. “And so do you,” he said as he gave her a tender kiss.
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
Copyright © 1973 by Clarissa Ross
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 10: 1-4405-7425-1
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7425-2
eISBN 10: 1-4405-7424-3
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7424-5
Cover art © 123rf.com
Clarissa Ross
Avon, Massachusetts
CHAPTER ONE
All at once Judith Barnes realized she was alone on the wide steel girder that would provide part of the support for the superstructure of the bridge. Alan Fraser had been at her side only a moment before, but he had taken a few steps back to consult with Bud Stamers, the on-the-site engineer in charge of construction. With Alan beside her she’d felt no alarm, but now she was terrified.
The girder’s surface was no more than two feet wide, and a moment of vertigo or a single wrong step could send her plunging down hundreds of feet into the rough gray water of the harbor below. Not until now had she been aware of the strong breeze on this day in late May. Even though the sun shone bleakly from behind the fleecy cumulus, it was by no means a pleasant afternoon. She heard Alan’s crisp voice in conversation with the young engineer behind her, and she fought back the urge to scream out in terror for him to come to her.
Swallowing hard, she tried to obliterate her fears by concentrating on the view around her. The bridge was to join the city of Port Winter from west to east, and construction had begun at the west end on which they were now standing. At this point all the pillars to support the structure had been sunk in place across this narrow part of the harbor, and steel girders had been erected to connect the pillars halfway across the proposed span of the long bridge. Beyond that, tall cranes and swarms of steel-helmeted workers busily continued the construction. Alan Fraser, as chairman of the bridge authority, had come to make one of his regular inspections of the project. He’d invited Judith, as his secretary, to come along, since this day marked the halfway point in the building of the bridge. She had accepted his invitation with interest, not anticipating the peril she would face. The breeze tormented the skirt and coat of her tweed suit again, and she felt new panic.
Alan was still discussing some phase of construction in a worried tone, and she hesitated to intrude on him with what he would probably consider her silly fears. Not that the handsome, dark-haired young man was cruel or unthinking; actually, he was quite the reverse: too apt to show her consideration in most cases. It was just that he didn’t know of her fear of heights and was so accustomed to striding out on the skeleton of the bridge he’d forgotten this was a new experience for her. Knowing all this, she pressed her elbows close to her sides and clasped her hands together tightly. Keeping the chin of her pert, oval face up, she studied the opposite shore and the city beyond, realizing that should she be so foolhardy as to take a single glance down, she’d undoubtedly faint and topple into the grayish, foam-flecked water.
Ignoring a tugboat cutting through the water ahead, she concentrated on the opposite shore where a land construction team was already building the several ramps and roadways that would join with the bridge to shoot arteries of traffic to various sections of the city of a hundred thousand people. Port Winter was the chief New Hampshire port, indeed the only large one along the state’s short coastline. It was an old city, dating back to the early New England settlers, and its ancient red brick buildings and quaint wooden houses stood out amid the newer structures of colorless gray office and apartment units.
These big buildings had little of the character of the area, and most of the people crowded into them were newcomers, testifying to the population explosion and the business boom the area had recently experienced under the dominant hand of financier S.C. North. The monument to this new growth and industry was the fifteen-story modern office building housing the headquarters of the S.C. North enterprises and located at the foot of the ancient main street, King Street, named in honor of a long dead British monarch before the Republic came into being. A number of the city’s streets were so named, forming links with the tight little island across the sea. Indeed, Port City’s citizens visiting Britain always commented on this fact.
The passing tugboat blew its whistle to greet the workers on the bridge, and the sharp sound from so far below, plus the sight of the tugboat drifting off toward the open harbor, made her sway slightly again. Knowing it was a moment of crisis, she swiftly raised her eyes to the far horizon, the towering grain storage buildings that rivaled North’s new skyscraper in height and the distant broad outlines of the city’s two hospitals set high on hills, along with the spires of the Cathedral and Trinity Church, both a century or so old. Port Winter was a blend of the old with the new, and the bridge was meant to bring its citizens closer together by joining the sections built long ago on opposite sides of the wide harbor.
“Judith, I forgot about you! Are you all right?” It was Alan Fraser at her elbow, speaking in a solicitous tone.
With a great feeling of relief, she smiled at him over her shoulder. “I’ll be honest! I was too frightened to move even an inch!”
He gasped her arm to steady her. “You poor kid! I was so busy checking with Bud about the delayed steel shipment I didn’t give you a thought.”
“It didn’t matter!” she protested, not enjoying his embarrassment.
“You’re not used to it out here,” Alan went on. “I don’t blame you for being scared. It’s a long way up.” Firmly but gently he guided her around so she was facing the shore. “Feel up to starting back?”
She attempted a smile and nodded. “Of course.”
“We’ll just take it slowly,” he said as he led her back along the narrow girder.
“I don’t mind as long as I have someone with me,” she said, although her legs felt trembly and hollow.
Alan gave her a comforting smile. “I won’t ask you out here again until I drive you across in my car.”
She gave a small laugh. “That will be at least two years, if you keep up with your timetable.”
“When you consider we’ve been working on this project for eighteen months now, it’s not as long as it sounds,” the young man at her side reminded her.
“That’s true,” she agreed. Her voice gained assurance as solid ground appeared under them. Now they were walking along the furrowed earth of the new construction area. Everywhere around them were noise and confusion and hurrying men and groaning equipment. The asphalt of the roadway approach to the bridge had not been laid yet.
Alan walked slowly beside her as they left the construction site and made their way to the huge parking area that served the bridge crew. His dark sedan was in the outmost row of parked cars.
“I’m going to take you back to the office,” he said. “Then I’m going uptown to talk to Harvey Wheaton about this steel shipment. It’s too long overdue. If we don’t get part of it in a few days, we’ll have a work stoppage.”
She glanced at this worried face. “You can do without that.”
“After the delays of last winter, we can’t afford to lose a single day,” he agreed. He was about a head taller than she and had dark, slightly curly hair. He rarely wore a hat, so his thin face was weathered by the sun and wind. He had the fine features of a scholar and had taken honors at college, but he also, surprisingly, had been something of an athlete as well. In fact, he’d been a star of the college track team. Since joining his father as a junior in the esteemed law firm of Fraser, Winslow and Stratton, he’d neglected sports. But he was a member of the Dover River Yacht Club and did have a slim, speedy sailboat. He’d taken Judith out on the lovely river more than once.
She said, “Still, it is wonderful to see the work half done.”
He smiled. “When it looked as if we wouldn’t get started at all for a while.”
“I know,” she agreed as she remembered those early days of controversy.
They had reached the car now. Alan opened the door for her, and she got in. He slid behind the wheel of the modest sedan and started the motor. In a few minutes they were heading up Prince Street toward the old bridge that was no longer able adequately to handle the traffic and the main section of the city.
As they drove he said, “Bud Stamers told me that Senator Lafferty has been out to view the construction quite a few times lately. What do you make of that?”
“Nothing good,” she said with a resigned expression on her attractive face. She was twenty-three and from the same background as Alan Fraser, and it was only a twist of fate that had cast her in the role of his secretary.
“I agree,” he said, his eyes on the street ahead as they drove along a residential avenue which included two large public buildings, the Vocational School and the Historical Museum.
Judith’s alert brown eyes were wide and questioning. “What can he be up to now?” she wanted to know.
Alan smiled grimly at the wheel. “He’s not out to help us. Be certain of that. Don’t forget he’s been on S.C. North’s payroll ever since he finished his term as Senator.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” she agreed. She knew that any employee of the powerful S.C. North was apt to be opposed to the project her young boss was heading. There was a strong rumor that S.C. North had been annoyed at not being awarded the steel contract for the bridge and also that the stubborn financier had been displeased with the location of the bridge. Several people claimed he would have preferred a more direct route across the harbor which would have favored some of his business properties.
“Bud said he had a couple of city councilmen and some real estate people with him,” Alan informed her.
“Sounds very solemn, official and typically underhanded!”
“You do not underestimate Senator Lafferty,” Alan said with amusement. “I don’t know whether it’s that public life attracts the worst kind of pompous frauds or turns them into the type.”
“I see it as a fifty-fifty thing,” she said. “In the Senator’s case it would be impossible for any career to spoil him. He must have always had the natural instincts of a crook from birth.”
Alan nodded. “If you’ll study that bloated red face of his, you’ll notice the baby features behind it. I can see him now reaching craftily into the carriage next to him and stealing another baby’s milk bottle.”
“And he’s never stopped since,” Judith said, enjoying it. “Better watch out if the Senator has his eye on you.”
He brought the car to a halt before the entrance to the old gray building opposite the modern fifteen-story edifice that housed the S.C. North companies. It was in this ancient structure, the lower floor of which was occupied by a staid bank and trust company, that Fraser, Winslow and Stratton had their offices. The only concession to modernism was a self-service elevator. And since this had not turned out a successful installation, it was generally regarded as a slow-moving error.