said.
“About the will?”
“Yes.” She looked at me gratefully; glad that I was coming around. “Tomorrow all the world will know,” she said with a certain insincere overstatement which made me think that for a million dollars she didn’t give a damn
what
the world knew.
“There’s nothing you can do about it now,” I said soothingly.
“If only there were!” She still held one hand close to her throat, the way bad actresses do in moments of crisis on stage.
“People forget so quickly,” I said.
“Not in Talisman City,” she snapped. Then, recollecting herself, she added more softly, “The world is so unkind.”
I allowed that, all things considered, this was so.
“It was unfair of Lee … of my father to act the way he did.”
“You mean in …
being
your father?” I was dense.
“No, I mean in declaring to all the world my … shame.”
To which I replied, “Ah.”
“I can’t think why he chose to do it like this, so publicly.”
“Probably because there wasn’t any other way of leaving you his money.”
There was no real answer to this so she exclaimed again how terrible it all was.
“What does your husband think about it?”
She sighed.
“Did he know all along that … about the Senator and you?”
“Oh yes. He’s known for a year.”
“And the will … did he know about that, too?”
She closed her eyes, as though in pain. “Yes,” she said softly, “I think he knew about the will, too. I think the Governor told him.”
“But they never told you?”
She hesitated. “No,” she said. “Not exactly. I suppose I knew, in a way, but they never actually told me.” This was a bit of news, I thought. The outline of a plot suggested itself to me. “My husband never liked to talk about it … neither did I. It was just one of those things. What was that?” She started, and looked toward the door.
Nervously, expecting an angry husband, I opened the door and looked out. The hall was empty. “It was the wind,” I said, turning around. She was standing directly behind me … I could smell the musk and rose of her perfume.
“I’m frightened,” she said and this time she was not play-acting. I moved back into the room, expecting her to move too but she did not. Then I had my arms around her and we edged toward the bed. She wore nothing under the blue silk negligee and her body was voluptuous and had a young feel to it, smooth and taut with wide firm hips and her nipples pressed hard against my chest, burning through the pajama top. We kissed. She was no novice at this sort of thing, I thought as she gave the cord of my pajama trousers a deft tug and they fell to the floor beside her crumpled dressing gown. She pulled me against her violently and for a moment we stood swaying back and forth in one another’s arms. Then we fell across the bed.
An hour passed.
I sat up and looked down at her white body sprawled upon the bed; the eyes shut and her breathing regular and deep. “It’s late,” I said in a low voice.
She smiled drowsily and opened her eyes. “I haven’t been so relaxed in a long time,” she said.
“Neither have I,” I lied nervously; I didn’t like the idea of being treated like some kind of sedative.
She sat up on one elbow and pushed her hair back out of her eyes. She was obviously proud of her body; she arranged it to look like the Duchess of Alba. “What on earth would my husband say.”
“I hope I never know,” I said devoutly.
She smiled languorously. “He’ll never know.”
“Great thing sleeping pills.”
“I don’t make a habit of this,” she said sharply.
“I didn’t say you did.”
“I mean … well, I’m not promiscuous, that’s all … not the way Ellen is.”
I was a little irritated by this. Somehow, I felt she had nobusiness talking about Ellen like that since, for all she knew, we might really have been engaged. “Ellen’s not that bad,” I said pulling on my pajamas. Then I handed her
“About the will?”
“Yes.” She looked at me gratefully; glad that I was coming around. “Tomorrow all the world will know,” she said with a certain insincere overstatement which made me think that for a million dollars she didn’t give a damn
what
the world knew.
“There’s nothing you can do about it now,” I said soothingly.
“If only there were!” She still held one hand close to her throat, the way bad actresses do in moments of crisis on stage.
“People forget so quickly,” I said.
“Not in Talisman City,” she snapped. Then, recollecting herself, she added more softly, “The world is so unkind.”
I allowed that, all things considered, this was so.
“It was unfair of Lee … of my father to act the way he did.”
“You mean in …
being
your father?” I was dense.
“No, I mean in declaring to all the world my … shame.”
To which I replied, “Ah.”
“I can’t think why he chose to do it like this, so publicly.”
“Probably because there wasn’t any other way of leaving you his money.”
There was no real answer to this so she exclaimed again how terrible it all was.
“What does your husband think about it?”
She sighed.
“Did he know all along that … about the Senator and you?”
“Oh yes. He’s known for a year.”
“And the will … did he know about that, too?”
She closed her eyes, as though in pain. “Yes,” she said softly, “I think he knew about the will, too. I think the Governor told him.”
“But they never told you?”
She hesitated. “No,” she said. “Not exactly. I suppose I knew, in a way, but they never actually told me.” This was a bit of news, I thought. The outline of a plot suggested itself to me. “My husband never liked to talk about it … neither did I. It was just one of those things. What was that?” She started, and looked toward the door.
Nervously, expecting an angry husband, I opened the door and looked out. The hall was empty. “It was the wind,” I said, turning around. She was standing directly behind me … I could smell the musk and rose of her perfume.
“I’m frightened,” she said and this time she was not play-acting. I moved back into the room, expecting her to move too but she did not. Then I had my arms around her and we edged toward the bed. She wore nothing under the blue silk negligee and her body was voluptuous and had a young feel to it, smooth and taut with wide firm hips and her nipples pressed hard against my chest, burning through the pajama top. We kissed. She was no novice at this sort of thing, I thought as she gave the cord of my pajama trousers a deft tug and they fell to the floor beside her crumpled dressing gown. She pulled me against her violently and for a moment we stood swaying back and forth in one another’s arms. Then we fell across the bed.
An hour passed.
I sat up and looked down at her white body sprawled upon the bed; the eyes shut and her breathing regular and deep. “It’s late,” I said in a low voice.
She smiled drowsily and opened her eyes. “I haven’t been so relaxed in a long time,” she said.
“Neither have I,” I lied nervously; I didn’t like the idea of being treated like some kind of sedative.
She sat up on one elbow and pushed her hair back out of her eyes. She was obviously proud of her body; she arranged it to look like the Duchess of Alba. “What on earth would my husband say.”
“I hope I never know,” I said devoutly.
She smiled languorously. “He’ll never know.”
“Great thing sleeping pills.”
“I don’t make a habit of this,” she said sharply.
“I didn’t say you did.”
“I mean … well, I’m not promiscuous, that’s all … not the way Ellen is.”
I was a little irritated by this. Somehow, I felt she had nobusiness talking about Ellen like that since, for all she knew, we might really have been engaged. “Ellen’s not that bad,” I said pulling on my pajamas. Then I handed her
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