Low Country by Anne Rivers Siddons

level
    look or two, but when I lifted my shoulders in an al-
    most imperceptible shrug and raised my glass to him,
    he did not look again. I knew that I had broken my
    end of the bargain—to engage and draw out the wo-
    men while he began spinning their husbands into the
    cocoon of the company—but I was bone-tired and
    annoyed with them all, and wished suddenly for
    nothing so much as to be safely in the marsh house
    on the island and not required to speak another word
    until tomorrow. The morning in Kylie’s room had bled
    me more deeply than I had thought. And my afternoon
    encounter with the young black woman Clay had hired
    had made me both angry and bored, a combination
    unbeatable for sheer enervation.
    I had stayed too long at Lottie’s studio, and by the
    time I got back to the house I barely had time to run
    out again to the little supermarket in the Plantation’s
    chic, lushly planted little mall for

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    provisions for the guest house. When I got back to the
    Heron Marsh house it seemed as empty as when I had
    left it, and the kitchen was in its same pristine state,
    so I put my grocery bags down on the counter and
    was unloading them when a cool voice said, “I beg
    your pardon?”
    I looked around as guiltily as if I had been caught
    rifling the silverware. A tall young black woman stood
    in the door to the hallway. She wore a severely cut
    ivory linen pantsuit and simple gold jewelry, and was
    utterly beautiful; her skin was the color of coffee with
    a great deal of sweet cream in it, and her face looked
    like something on the wall of a highland African cave,
    newly come to light after millenna. She was not smil-
    ing. Her delicate brows were lifted high over almond
    eyes.
    “I’m sorry,” I said, smiling. “I didn’t know anyone
    was here. Your plane must have been right on time.”
    “Are you the baby-sitter?” she said.
    I laughed.
    “No. I’m Caroline Venable, Clay’s wife. I wasn’t
    sure what you would want to do about dinner,
    whether or not you’d want to leave your little boy with
    a sitter, so I brought some things over for supper in
    case you wanted to stay in tonight. I know how it is
    the day you get in from a long trip.…”
    “Mark is fine with sitters,” she said levelly.

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    “Mr. Howland said the company had them available.
    I’m sorry, I thought you must be someone he sent.
    He’s gone to the office to see about it.…”
    “Well, I’m afraid we weren’t able to do much on
    this short notice. This time of year is crammed full of
    things for the children. But my housekeeper said she’d
    be delighted to sit. She’s wonderful with children; she
    practically raised mine, and she has a raft of grandchil-
    dren herself.…”
    “That will be fine,” the woman said, and then, put-
    ting her slim hand out, “I’m Sophia Bridges. I’ll be
    doing research and development for the new property
    eventually, but right now I suppose there’ll be indoc-
    trination and that sort of thing. It’s kind of you to bring
    these things for us, Mrs. Venable, but I mustn’t keep
    you. I’ve got Mark down for a nap, so I’m going to
    use the time to get unpacked before we leave for din-
    ner. What time could your housekeeper be here?”
    Her hand was chilly in mine, and firm, but it did
    not linger. The slim fingers disengaged hurriedly.
    “Please call me Caro; everyone does,” I said. “I hope
    I’ll be seeing a lot more of you, and of course I want
    to meet Mark. Estelle can be here around five, I should
    think. We’ll probably leave for Charleston about a
    quarter of six. It takes an hour or so to drive it. We’ll
    be taking two cars over, so I’ll pick you up, or perhaps
    Clay will.

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    Somebody, at any rate. You needn’t change, what you
    have on is lovely.…”
    But I was talking to her slender back as she turned
    and went back down the hall toward the bedroom,
    where her son presumably slept a cool and