Chapter 12
Dan turned from the driveway and went up the front steps-slowly, for he wanted to put off being alone with Leona as long as possible. He knew there would be a scene. It was surprising that she hadn't made one ten minutes ago, in front of the Harwoods'. Perhaps she had been too shocked into silence by what she had overheard Mrs. Harwood say to Dan; perhaps, in spite of her anger and hurt, she had been childishly fascinated by seeing a woman of sixty blush scarlet, and seeing her husband, who, with Leona, had come in from the garden in time to catch his wife's last sentence, even more upset. Watching them, Leona might have forgotten her own feelings. But only for a moment, because Mrs. Harwood had by no means struck her colors. She had turned to Leona, her brown eyes steady in her flushed face, and said, "I've been giving Dan a little advice, my dear. I'm sure he'll tell it to you tactfully, and that you'll both forgive me."
"Come, Marian." Of the two, John Harwood was the more embarrassed. "We really must go." He turned quickly to Leona. "Thank you for showing me your beautiful garden. Good night."
She gave him her hand mechanically, and stood perfectly still as Mrs. Harwood said, "Good night, Leona. I've known Dan since he was a child. That's one reason I've spoken so frankly. The other-but I'm sure you'll understand."
"Dan may," Leona said in a small, cold voice. "I shan't, but that won't matter to you, will it?"
Both the Harwoods were silent as Dan walked with them to the car, but before she got in, Mrs. Harwood pressed his hand and murmured, "I'm so sorry, Dan."
"Please don't be-it's all right."
But, but it wasn't all right. The minute he went into the house he would be plunged into a quarrel worse than any of the arguments that had raged intermittently ever since the night he got back from Boston, to find Leona walking up and down the living room, white with suspicion and jealous anger. He had reminded himself then that it was unheard-of luck she hadn't been hurt in Alan Hunt's car. Still, with all the self-control and tact he could summon, it had been a bad evening.
This one would be worse. He smoked a cigarette and cursed Mrs. Harwood silently to himself. If she had wanted to discuss Leona's shortcomings with him, she could have done it privately, in her own house. But she had come to call, with her husband, for the obvious purpose of a talk with Dan, and she had managed it so crudely.
"Leona, do show John your garden! Your zinnias are too lovely!" And the moment her husband and Leona were out of sight, she had begun, and hadn't stopped until thay were outside the French doors, and well within hearing. Poor Leona, Dan thought. I don't blame her for being upset and angry. Even if she had been riding for a fall all summer ... I wish I knew the best way to help her.
He lingered outside, breathing the night air that smelled of damp earth and dead leaves. Tomorrow was Labor Day; the summer was over. And tomorrow, Christina had told him, Dr. Sanderson was coming to see Anson. This time tomorrow she would know the truth-if anyone could know. He tried to think about Christina, to imagine how she would handle Leona if she were here now. On their drive to Boston he had talked to her a little about his difficulties, and she had said, "Just don't fight, Dan. Simply refuse to quarrel with her." And he had told her rather wryly that she didn't know Leona. Christina had answered, "Maybe I know her better than you think," and he had wondered what she meant.
Well, he must go in. He found Leona walking around the living room, emptying ashtrays and rearranging pillows with impatient, jerky motions. Her face was white, her lips compressed. Dan thought, Maybe we can skip the whole thing. If I talk about something else....
But she had swung around and was looking at him, her tawny eyes bright with anger. "Well? Let's have it. And don't ask me what I mean, because you know perfectly well. I want the rest of that woman's attack on me. I heard enough to know that she must have said a lot more."
Dan took out a cigarette. "How much did you hear?" he asked quietly.
"The last two-and-a-half sentences." She imitated Mrs. Harwood's italics. " 'At heart, I'm sure she's a nice child, and I'm only telling you this for your own protection-and hers. After all, I introduced her to Windover, and I feel responsible-" She broke off, abruptly, then she flung out, "What was she telling you for your own good-and mine?"
He sat down on a corner of the sofa. "Oh, you can imagine, darling. She thought you were rather indiscreet in seeing so much of Alan Hunt."
Leona cut in impatiently. "I've seen him exactly once in the last ten days. He came to say good-bye before he went away for his vacation. What else did she say? Go on!"
"Well," he said carefully, "she spoke of the accident, of course, but she admitted that it could have happened to anyone."
"Kind of her," Leona snapped. "What else?"
"She-Oh, Leona, why do we have to go into all this? It's over and done with."
"Apparently it isn't," she said grimly, "if that old harridan is still gossiping about me."
"Darling," he said, "she's been trying to stop the gossip. Maybe she isn't succeeding, but that's what she told me. Philip Malone made ' quite a story out of finding you and Alan in the ditch, and so did the man who towed the car away and-"
"Who else?"
"Well, Pearson, the head of the school, was rather upset." He hesitated, studying the end of his cigarette. I suppose she'd better hear it from me, he thought.
But she was rushing on. "Upset! He's an old woman! Anyone could skid on a wet road and hit a telephone pole!"
"Of course," he agreed. "Pearson is probably a fool. But he's decided to replace Alan on the faculty this fall."
Leona's face grew even paler; then hot color rushed into her cheeks. "You mean because of that stupid accident?"
"It wasn't just the accident. It was-remember, you asked for this-it was the fact that he'd been neglecting his work, seeing too much of a married woman. And it's true," Dan said slowly. "He has been here all summer, playing tennis with you, swimming, having cocktails. Pearson wanted to speak to him about it before, but didn't, and then came the accident. And he was tight, Leona. You told me so that night."
"He'd been drinking, but I wouldn't have let him drive if he'd been really-Oh," she went on, her voice shaking with anger, "it's the most outrageous treatment I've ever heard of! To dismiss him for a little thing like that."
"He wasn't publicly dismissed," Dan said. "Pearson is announcing that he's on a leave of absence and that his place is being filled by a former faculty member."
"I see. And Mrs. Harwood came here tonight to warn you about your wife-to make sure she didn't lead any more young men astray. Was that it?"
"No," Dan said. "Not really. She-oh, Leona, you know all about a woman like that. She's lived here forever, and she thinks-"
"She's the Dowager Duchess of Windover, and the self-appointed guardian of its morals. She's responsible for us because she gave a stuffy cocktail party last spring and got me to do a lot of deadly garden club stuff." She stood still, her eyes blazing, red spots flaring in her white cheeks. "And what did you have to say about it all?"
"I told her that you and I had seen a lot of Alan, and that we were all three good friends, and that any gossip she had heard had no foundation. I said the accident was simply one of those things."
She broke in, her voice rising, "Did you tell her that it was disgraceful that I should be talked about? Did you tell her that the head of the school was a self-righteous fool and that his wife was a jealous harpy, and that it was none of their business-and certainly none of Mrs. Harwood's-what I did or whom I saw? Did you?"
"Not in so many words," he said dryly. "But I made it fairly clear."
"No," she insisted, "but what did you say?" Before he could answer, she went on: "I suppose you explained to her that I was young and flighty, but that from now on you'd try to keep me in hand. Was that it?"
"Listen, Leona, we've talked enough about this."
But she wouldn't be stopped; she was working herself into a blind, hysterical rage. "You couldn't defend me, I suppose," she said. "You couldn't tell that-that woman to mind her own business. No, you had to make excuses for me, as if I'd done something really wrong. When all the time you-you-" She choked and stopped.
He asked, very quietly, "What about me?"
She faced him, her eyes blazing. "You haven't managed to avoid gossip yourself, you know. You've been seen everywhere with Christina Barr. The whole town is talking about your not-so-secret trip to Boston."
"Leona." The harshness in his voice surprised him. "I told you all about that when I got back. I drove Christina to Boston on private business of her own, business that I knew nothing about. I left her there, and she took the train back."
"But why didn't you tell me you were going? Why were you so, so furtive about it?"
"I've explained that about four times," he said wearily. "Christina didn't like to bother Anson with her private affairs. He's ill, as you know. She didn't want to worry him."
"I should think," Leona said, "that it would worry him a good deal more to have her meet you at seven in the morning. I told you that you were seen in the village, but I won't tell you who saw you. You went off with her openly, and yet you lecture me about being indiscreet!" A fresh gust of anger shook her. "How you dare, and how that Harwood woman dared! She came here to our house to criticize me, and you let her. You let her call your wife an immoral little beast."
"Leona, she didn't"
"You didn't even try to stop her! I know you-you hate fights and arguments. Anything to stay out of trouble. Well," Leona said, "that's not my way. I'm a fighter. I ought to have had it out with that woman tonight, and I'm going to tomorrow."
"You're going to do nothing of the kind."
"Really?" She challenged him, a slim, furious figure. "What do you suggest?"
"That we act as if nothing had happened-go about our business, meet our friends-yes, friends, Leona. Go to the Labor Day dance at the club tomorrow night together."
"Yes," she said bitterly. "Make a public announcement that I'm forgiven, that you're willing to be seen with me, that you're making an honest woman out of me! So that's your idea! Well, it isn't mine."
"Then you're more of a fool than I thought," he said curtly. "It's the only way to kill the gossip about you and Hunt."
"And what of the gossip about you and Christina Barr? Alan's going away, but Christina is still here." Leona drew a breath and spoke deliberately. "You can keep me in order," she said, "but Anson Barr is an invalid. He doesn't know what his wife is up to."
"Leona!" Until this moment, his anger had been under control; now he was on fire with rage that he had never felt toward anyone before. There was something glorious, almost exalted, about such anger. He didn't want to control it. But habit, some discipline deeper than his will, made him speak quietly. "Leona, you are not to say one word against Christina Barr, to anyone. If you do-" He stopped.
"And if I do?" She mocked him. "I suppose you'll divorce me and marry her. It would be convenient if her husband died, wouldn't it? Wonderfully convenient."
He clenched his hands. "You are not to talk like that, Leona," he repeated stonily.
"Is that your last word?" He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The silence was like steel, like a sword between them. "I see," she said. "You've made it all beautifully clear. And this is my last word. Would you like to hear it?"
"Certainly."
Her eyes gleamed, but coldly now, and her voice was dangerously calm. "If you don't defend me, if you don't go to Mrs. Harwood and tell her that she is an interfering old woman who must keep out of my life and yours; if you don't go to the head of the school and tell him the same thing, if you don't go on a regular crusade telling Windover the truth about me, I shall leave you. I mean it, Dan. I'll leave you tomorrow."
He knew that in spite of her momentary calm, she was hysterical with rage and hurt pride; he knew that she was an overwrought child and that he ought to quiet her, even comfort her. But her words about Christina still echoed in his ears, holding him silent and motionless.
"Well?" Her words were like acid, biting into the stillness. "Will you do what I ask, Dan? Will you defend me?"
"No," he said. "Not that way."
She looked down at him, her face hardening. Then without another word, she turned and went out of the room. He heard her high-heeled sandals cross the floor, go up the stairs and along the upper hallway.
His anger had ebbed, and he felt nothing but a sick weariness. He got up at last, turned out the lights, and went upstairs. He heard her walking about, then again on the stairs.
It had all turned sour and Dan felt powerless in the face of it. He could live with the rumors and the scandal as long as he believed that it was the product of provincial narrow-mindedness. But this was something else. Leona had changed, slowly, but dramatically.
She was vile most of the time. Bitter and sniping, not at all herself. Or was this the real Leona, Dan wondered, the Leona he would have to live with the rest of his life?
She entered the room and stood in front of him, her hands on her hips-her usual pose. "Well?" she asked.
Dan felt exhausted. "Well, what?"
"Have you made up your mind?"
"About what?"
Her anger was a visible, ugly thing. "About defending your own wife to that shrew!" Leona screamed at him.
Suddenly, for the first time in his life, Dan slapped her. He stood up, dropped the book he had been reading to the floor, and slapped her hard across the face. Leona reeled back, her expression a mix of anger, surprise, and pain.
"How's that?" Dan asked crisply. He advanced toward her and she squealed and ran for the bedroom.
Leona tried to lock the door before he got there but she failed and he pushed in angrily. She ran around to the other side of the bed, trying to think how to handle him.
"Get in bed, "he said.
"Are you crazy?" Leona asked.
"Stupid maybe, but not crazy," Dan answered. She tried to run around the bed but he caught her and threw her onto the bed.
Leona was gasping for breath. She had never seen Dan like this. She feared that he had lost his mind. Even the expression on his face was different. Fierce, angry, filled with emotion. She wanted to escape any way that she could.
He began to undress.
Leona bit her lip. There was no doubt about it. He must have lost his mind, she thought. He had never acted like this in all the years she'd known him.
Still, there was an odd excitement to it, a warm feeling that Leona enjoyed.
She watched as he stepped from his pants and pulled down his shorts. His erect cock popped forth from its nest of curls.
Leona smiled. She could handle him if that was all he wanted, she thought.
He slapped her again, sending her tumbling across the bed. The suddenness of the blow-the surprise of it-made it hurt even more than the first. Groggy now, Leona turned to him and saw that he was grinning.
"Strip," he said quietly.
She opened her mouth to say something, but then thought better of it. There was no reasoning with him now, Leona could see that.
"I said strip!" Dan screamed. Leona scurried to the far side of the bed.
Dan started after her. "OK," Leona said quickly. She stood up and began taking off her clothing. Dan watched with a smirk on his face. "Hold it, "he said.
Dan walked to the bedroom radio and turned it on. He tuned it a station playing loud, raucous music. "Just something to add more color to the moment," he said, a leering grin on his face.
Leona was watching him carefully. It was the most bizarre situation she had ever encountered. Especially with Dan, that paragon of normal, clear-headed behavior. She almost wanted to tell him that she liked him this way, but it might prove to be too much.
She listened to the music, getting the hard, fast rhythm down, then began moving with it, tossing her hips, shaking her full breasts as the beat got to her.
Dan watched, enjoying the spectacle of his wife doing exactly as he said. It gave him a feeling of power, of domination, and he liked it.
He liked the raw, hot feeling of it, the imposition of his will on her. In a way he was ashamed of himself and he knew that he would feel guilty about it later. But for now he was going to enjoy it and he didn't much care if Leona did or not.
She had never enjoyed oral sex, and Dan knew it. He knew that the only reason she did it was to please him, and then only when he was the passive partner. She had never allowed Dan to pleasure her.
Tonight was going to be different.
Leona was naked now, still dancing, a lewd, wanton exhibition of her inner soul. She was breathtaking, a perfect whore about it, Dan thought. Still, it was tremendously sexy and it was driving him crazy.
He knew that in the privacy of her mind Leona was dancing for other men, loving their arousal, taking delight in their moans of pleasure.
He could see it on her face. She was lost, somewhere else, safe from him. He walked around the bed and grabbed her by the arm and led her to the easy chair.
It snapped her out of it. She looked at him with a question in her eyes. He turned her around and pushed her down into the soft velvet chair.
"Put your legs on the arm rests," he said. "I want to see you!"
She smiled coyly, and it only added to Dan's considerable heat. She placed her legs over the armrests and slid down in the chair.
Dan could see that she was already aroused and ready.
He knelt before her and when she tried to her legs close he grasped each thigh in his hands and ducked his head between her legs, licking avidly, probing her flesh, loving the manner in which Leona threw back her head in sudden hot pleasure. She loved it and Dan knew she would. She was eager for it now, humping forward, anxious to garner as much of his tongue as possible.
She climaxed loudly, trying to force her legs closed but still restrained by Dan's strong hands. She locked her fingers in his thick hair and urged him on, pushing herself against his mouth.
But he had had enough.
He stood and when she leaned forward, eager to orally satisfy him, hungry for his orgasm, he pushed her back and told her to stand up.
Then he walked her around the velvet easy chair and bent her forward, and, gripping her hips, plunged into her from behind.
She gasped as he entered, then furiously pushed back against him, eager to get it all. He sank his fingers into the flesh of her hips and pulled her back to him, feeling the satisfaction of deep, throbbing penetration.
She was moaning, deep in her orgasms, unaware of where she was or who was with her. He savaged her, a series of powerful strokes that made her legs tremble and wobble, but still she hung on, ready for the rest of it.
And then Dan was lost in it himself, his mouth open, his loins hot and churning. His orgasm was copious, soothing and easing the terrible burning between Leona's legs.
They did not speak for the rest of the night.
Leona did not sleep much either. She was thinking, thinking so hard she was forced to get up once and take a couple of aspirins, to drive the headache away. She returned to the guest room.
She knew what she had to do, but she didn't know if she had the courage to do it. She must bluff him ... leave him ... and make him come to her on his knees.
But what if he called her bluff?
Well, what will be will be, she had decided before dawn. Either she was going to run this game or there wasn't going to be a game! She'd been through these kind of crises in her younger life, often. And she had always won out. She always got her way. And she would this time, too.
In the morning, waking to a silent house, he remembered that it was a holiday. Leona was probably asleep. They'd poured out their anger, Dan thought, and now she could relax. He hoped that was what Leona was doing.
But when he left his room he saw that the guest room door was open and the bed made. She must be up. Then, halfway downstairs, he saw her note-a sheet of paper propped up on the hall table. He knew what it would say before he read it.
After last night, I can't stay in Windover any longer. You can't expect me to. I have gone to my family's house in Edgartown. You can reach me there when you have decided what to do. You know what I want, and I haven't changed my mind.
Leona.
I have taken the small car.
He read the note through twice, put it in his pocket, and went to the telephone. "Christina? Would it bother you if I ran out for a moment? I won't keep you long."
Twenty minutes later, he had described the evening briefly, and had shown her Leona's note. As she read it, the liquid September sunlight touched her bright hair and her face, which was thinner than it used to be, its high cheekbones more sharply defined. When she looked up, he asked, "Well-what shall I do?"
She said slowly, "I should do nothing. She expects you to follow her, to beg her to come back. She's like a child that wants to be teased out of its corner. I wouldn't do it, Dan."
"But her family-"
Christina shrugged. It was the most nearly cynical gesture he had ever seen her make. "If you're afraid of what she'll tell them, go after her. But I wouldn't. She's a spoiled child, and you've helped to spoil her. I'd leave her alone."
He said, thinking aloud, "But if she doesn't come back-"
"Do you want her to?" she asked unexpectedly. "Do you love her, Dan? I've never been quite sure."
"I'm not sure, either," he said. "Sometimes I love her very much. But when she's like this-" He frowned.
Christina's eyes were on him. "She won't always be like this. It depends on you."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll tell you sometime. But now I must go to Anson. This is the day Dr. Sanderson is coming."
"Christina!" He felt ashamed of his selfishness. "I'd forgotten. You shouldn't have let me come."
She smiled, giving him the note. "I'm glad you wanted to, Dan."
"Wanted to! If you knew-" He stopped, and went on in another tone, "You're right about Leona. I won't follow her to her family's. She'll come back, and if she doesn't-" He left the sentence hanging in the air.
But she didn't finish it for him. She only said, "I think she'll come back."
Afterward, driving home, he remembered the note in her voice when she had said that. It had held a queer finality, almost a sadness. He wanted, suddenly, to turn around and go back, to ask if he might sit in her garden, not bothering her or talking, simply being there, near her. But that was impossible; she had too much already, with Anson, and with the doctor's coming. His mouth tightened. On the drive to Boston she had told him about Anson's illness-not much, but enough to make him see what she had gone through in the last three years. And the amazing thing was that with it all she hadn't changed; she hadn't become embittered or hard or martyred, or even painfully good. She had simply stayed herself, the same person he had known seven years ago, with the same wonderful sanity, the same gift of accepting life. And death, too. For she knew that it might be death. During that drive, so like their old drives together, yet so strangely different, Dan realized that she had faced the future, no matter what it would bring. Well, today she would know.
He thought, Thank God for Mark Sanderson! At least that was one thing I could do for her-take her to see him, and persuade him to come here. If only I could do more. But there's nothing now but to wait, as she is waiting, and Anson, too.
But Leona did not come back, and in a way, Anson never did either. Just a week after Leona's departure, Anson's heart gave out-from the strain of dragging himself around so long, the doctor said-and at the funeral Dan stood by Christina's side, for all the town to see.
Life has a way of timing things. It was the very moment that Dan returned home from the funeral that the process server arrived and presented him with Leona's divorce papers.
Christina and Dan had dinner together that evening.
And every evening since.