Chapter 2
The next morning, as he carried the last of the suitcases to the cottage living room, Leona said, "I can unpack all next week, but I've only got you for these two days. Thank God for weekends! You can help me get started on lots of things."
Dan yawned, and sat down on the doorstep. "I can't imagine going to work on Monday. That's the trouble with a lot of sleep-it leaves you lazy. Why get started on anything-yet?"
"Because we ought to," Leona said. She stood still in the middle of the room, looking around it, doubtless, Dan thought, mentally rearranging furniture. How easily women adjust themselves to changes, he thought. A week ago-no, only yesterday-she had been protesting at coming to Windover; now she was intent on getting settled here.
"Well," she said, coming out and sitting down on the step beside him, "are you going to help me? Not with housekeeping-I can do that when you're at the plant. I mean with people. Who lives in Windover, anyway? Natives, summer people, and some all-the-year-round who are neither?"
"That's about it," Dan said.
"Summer people aren't here yet, I suppose. Do you know any all-the-year-rounders?"
He thought. "There are the Harwoods," he said. "He was a friend of my uncles-a retired architect. They live here most of the year, in a big house on the Corning road."
"I mean people our age," Leona said. "Whom did you play with when you lived here?"
"No one," Dan said. "I didn't live here. I stayed here for ten days, sometimes two weeks, between the end of school and the beginning of camp, and from the time camp closed until the opening of school in September. Except," he added, half to himself, "for one summer."
Leona ignored his last words. "You mean, you never saw anyone? What did you do? Wasn't there tennis or swimming or country club dances?"
"There's a club, but I didn't belong. We had our own pool. Sometimes Uncle Edgar made me play golf, which usually ended by my caddying for him, much to the rage of the professional caddies, local kids who needed money. No," Dan said cheerfully. "I'm no help at all to you socially. We're both starting from scratch. But we'll meet people-probably too many. There's a boys' school on the other side of town, you know, and there must be some young faculty."
"But not in the summer." Leona said.
"It's not summer yet, even if you are dressed for it." He glanced at her. She wore a cotton dress and a soft sweater; her slim legs were bare, ending in red play shoes. With her dark hair tied back with a red ribbon, she looked about fourteen.
There was a brief silence. Then Leona said, looking across the drive at the garden that lay below the terrace of the big house, "That's a nice color, that purple thing. What is it-iris? I suppose I ought to learn something about flowers." She sat up as a man rounded the corner of the cottage, a short, powerful man in blue jeans and a khaki shirt. He was middle-aged, with thick, graying dark hair, and very white teeth in a brown face.
"Hi, Dan!"
Dan got up. "Pete, for heaven's sake! How are you?"
"Swell." The man shook hands warmly. "Well, look at you! Last time I saw you, you was a kid. And is this-"
"This is my wife. Leona, this is Pete Romano."
"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Collier." Pete Romano shook hands gravely and turned back to Dan. "I heard you was married."
"And how did you hear we were in Windover?"
"It was in the Reporter. You can't keep a secret in this town." Pete studied him, grinning. "So you're living here?"
"Yes, and working for the construction firm that's building the new electrical plant in Deanebury."
The older man nodded. "I heard that, too. I was wondering if you wanted anything done on the place. That lawyer of your uncle's paid me off last fall, but"-Pete looked away, elaborately casual-"I kinda hated to see it go to weeds, so I been cleaning up some this spring. I'm not charging you for that-goodness knows, I worked for your uncle long enough. I've got other jobs lined up, but I thought I'd drop around and see if you needed any help. A day a week, or something like that. I wanted to give you first chance at my time."
"That's nice of you, Pete. We only got here last night. I don't know how much gardening we're planning. Leona, what do you think?"
Ten minutes later, it was settled; Pete was to come two days a week for a while, to finish the cleaning up and to start Leona on the garden. She got on beautifully with him from the first moment. As they walked around the place, Dan watched her vivid face turned to Pete's dark one, and watched his answering smile.
"You got a pretty wife," he said as he was leaving. "Nice, too. Good-bye, Mrs. Collier. See you Wednesday. Good-bye, Dan." He started for his car, turned back. "I met Christina Barr in the post office," he said. "You used to know her, didn't you? Sure you did-that last summer you was here-her, and her old man, too. He's dead now-died five, six years ago."
"Who?" Dan asked, unnecessarily, for his cheeks were growing hot.
"You know, Christina Edgren-used to work in the drugstore. She married Anson Barr, Dr. Barr's boy." Pete scowled. "Not such a boy, either. He went to war in South Viet Nam-got himself pretty well smashed up. He's bad off, they say, though he don't talk about it, and neither does she. Well, she said to tell you she'd be over sometime."
"That's nice," Dan said, feeling Leona's eyes on him. "We'll be glad to see her. So long, Pete, and thanks for coming."
They stood watching him climb into his shabby pickup truck and rattle off. "He's a nice man," Leona said. "I adore Latins-I was in love with my Italian teacher at school. Who's Christina Barr? You said you didn't know anyone here, and now I find that the whole town knows you. You act as if-" She bit her lip. "Who is she, anyway?"
"A Windover girl." He added, dryly, "As you and my Uncle Edgar would say, a native."
"That sounds as if she wore a necklace of ivory teeth, but I take it from her name that she's Swedish or something Scandinavian. Is she pretty?"
Dan frowned. "I don't know. She's nice looking, but-"
Leona's eyes were very bright. "And you were in love with her when you were eighteen. The son of rich summer people and the local gal-was that it?"
"No." He was surprised at the sharpness in his voice. "That wasn't it at all. There you go again, making up movie plots! Christina was just a girl who was kind to me. She's years older than I."
"Really?" Leona pulled a blade of grass and began to chew it. "How many years?"
"I forget-six or seven. Now don't try to put her into a grade-B picture." He laughed, to cover his embarrassment. But Leona saw it; she was watching him with a gleam of amusement, and of something else. "I was at loose ends that summer," he said, "and Christina was kind to me-she and her father. He was a marvelous character."
"It's all right for me to type him, then?" Leona asked dryly.
Dan went on, "Lots of people in town thought he was queer, but I didn't. He could have been almost anything-poet, a philosopher, a musician. The trouble was, he couldn't work because he was ill, and he drank too much, so Christina and her mother had to support the family. She worked in the drugstore and Mrs. Edgren opened and closed houses for summer people. There were two boys, one about my age, and one younger. I don't know what happened to them. But Christina was-"
"I'm sure she was," Leona said smoothly. "You don't have to protest, darling." He reddened, realizing that he had been talking too much. "Besides," she added, "you're speaking of her as if she were dead, and, according to our friend Pete, she's alive and coming to call on us. We must hurry and get straightened up. She's probably a wonderful housekeeper."
"Leona," he said, "there's nothing to be sarcastic about."
She opened her amber eyes wide. "I'm not. I'm being perfectly serious-and efficient. It's after eleven, and we have dozens of errands to do. Go and get the car and I'll make a list."
As they drove to the village, Dan tried to remember what he knew about Anson Barr, whom Christina had married. He had a vague picture of a tall young man with a lean New England face who had once come to ask his uncle for money for something: was it a church organ, or the Windover Library? He recalled more clearly Edgar Blake's comment on his visitor: "The last of the Barrs! Too bad about these old families. His father graduated from Yale and from a good medical school, but there wasn't enough money for Anson to go to college. He's working in an office in Deanebury and trying to keep the farm going for his mother-half-killing himself, of course. Well, he's the kind who would."
And Christina had married him. He must be a good deal older. She had been twenty-four, that last summer, when Dan was eighteen and a half; now she was thirty-two. He wondered when she had married Anson Barr; and if she was happy. He glanced at Leona, but she was scribbling a shopping list on an old envelope, and didn't see he was distracted. He had told the truth when he said he didn't know whether or not Christina was pretty. He thought, It's amazing how you can know a person well, and think of her for years, and yet not really know what she looks like. He remembered the straight glance from her blue eyes, the way her rather wide mouth curved when she smiled, the way she moved-but when he tried to fit the pieces together they wouldn't make a picture. Pretty? Probably not. But perhaps she was beautiful. He didn't know; he only wondered when he would see her again.
The village was crowded with Saturday morning shoppers, strangers to Dan. The fruit-and-vegetable man, who was Pete's brother-in-law, greeted him genially, but Dan saw that he made out the charge slip to Blake, and corrected him. "It's Collier," he said. "We're in the Blake house, but my uncle died last year."
"Sure, Dan, sure. I was forgetting."
They had finished their errands and were stowing the last of the bundles in the car when Leona said, "Darn it all, I forgot to get bacon. Turn around and I'll dash back. I won't be a minute."
She was a good deal more than a minute. Dan sat on in the noonday warmth, watching what, in Windover, amounted to a traffic jam. A blue convertible was backing out of a tight corner and holding up a line of cars; when it pulled away, a black sedan slid unobtrusively into the space. Someone behind honked angrily, but the driver of the sedan, a woman, paid no attention. She got out and stood by her car, waiting to cross the street. The sun struck her golden hair. It was Christina.
Dan was on the sidewalk before she crossed the street. But she had seen him; she was coming straight toward him. "Dan," she said. "I heard you were here."
"Christina!" He felt her cool, firm handclasp. For a moment he was speechless; then, meeting her eyes, he knew there was nothing he needed to say. They were remarkable eyes-sea-blue and very direct, set under straight brows that were much darker than her hair. They were graver than they had been, perhaps older, but, as he looked into them, seven years fell away and he was eighteen again. It was a September afternoon and he and Christina were sitting by the river.
"You look just the same," he said.
She shook her head, and the slow smile he remembered curved her mouth. "No one is, Dan. You aren't the same. You've grown up."
"Thank heaven." He laughed. "Tell me-" He stopped.
"What?"
"Lots of things. How you are, and your husband."
"I'm well. Do you remember Anson? He was much older than you. And you're married, too-to a lovely girl, I hear."
"Thanks." It was Leona's cool voice. She had slipped into the car by the farther door. "I've heard about you, too," she said. "You're Christina-Barr, isn't it? I'm Leona-Collier, of course." She made no move to shake hands, but Christina took a step toward her, smiling.
"I'm so glad you and Dan have come to Windover."
"I hope we'll be, too," Leona said. "So far we've only got as far as the gardener's cottage, but we're hoping to climb a little higher when we move into the big house."
There was a brief silence, a silence that was full of an odd tension. Christina broke it. "I mustn't keep you. May I come and see you soon?"
"Of course," Dan said. "And we'll drive out to your house."
".'It's not far, four miles. Good-bye." Christina raised a hand in farewell, turned and walked toward the store. She was tall for a woman, almost as tall as Dan, but she moved beautifully. He remembered how her father used to make fun of her wide, thin shoulders. "You look like a coat hanger," he had said. But now she wasn't too thin; she was exactly right-deep-breasted and narrow-hipped.
"As your Uncle Edgar would say, a fine figger of a woman. Or would he?" Leona's light voice made him turn quickly and get into the car. "A Viking's daughter, a true Nordic type.
But she has lovely hair. I wish I could wear mine straight back like that, twisted into a knot. Shall I grow it out and try?"
"No," Dan said. "You're very pretty as you are."
"Pretty," Leona repeated. He glanced at her quickly, and saw that though she was smiling, her amber eyes were narrowed. "Isn't it funny the way words are used? Brunettes are always pretty, but blondes are beautiful."
Dan started to reply and then stopped. When she was in this mood, it was best to leave her alone. "Any more errands?" he asked.
"None, unless you have some more old acquaintances you want to hunt up. I don't mean to be nasty, Dan-I'm just hungry. That breakfast at the Inn was much too dainty for a growing girl. Hurry home, and we'll cook up masses of scrambled eggs."
Something inside of her began to steam. Perhaps it was just a sudden need to have the warmth of his body next to her as reassurance. Or perhaps it was that well-known little twinge of jealousy. She didn't know ... but it was there all right.
Dan felt wonderful.
Perhaps it was simply that he had returned to Windover. Perhaps it was the feeling that his life was now on the right track.
Leona had cleared the dinner dishes from the table and seemed ill at ease. It wasn't easy on her, coming to Windover. But Dan felt it would all work out for the better. "Hey," Dan called out. "How about joining me for a brandy?" He went to the counter and held the bottle of amber liquid up to the light. "Plenty here for two," he said.
Leona laughed. "Maybe it's what I need," she said.
Dan poured out two tumblers and handed Leona one. She looked great, Dan thought. Tall, pretty, clean. He grinned when he thought of the words he would use to describe his wife.
"What's so funny?" Leona asked smiling.
"You're such a good-looking woman," Dan answered. "I'm so lucky to have you."
She sat on his lap and placed her brandy on the table. Leona wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head to her bosom. Dan breathed deeply, aware of his sudden excitement. Leona had always had the power to stir him quickly, and he loved her for it.
He felt her warm breasts through her sweater and said, "I'm glad you're one of those liberated ladies who doesn't wear a bra!"
Leona laughed and sat back, then pulled her sweater off. Her juicy breasts jiggled beautifully before Dan's eyes, and he applied his mouth to them hungrily. First one, then the other. Her nipples became the centers of his pleasure and he licked until both nipples were hard pebbles of excitement, and Leona was breathing heavily when he finally pulled back and grinned at her.
She stood quickly and unfastened her skirt, allowing it to fall to the floor. Dan watched, his arousal so complete that he feared an early finish.
"Well?" Leona asked, standing naked in front of him, her hands on her hips.
"Well what?" Dan asked.
"You just going to sit there all night? I feel all alone all of a sudden!"
Dan laughed and stood up, taking Leona by the hand, pulling her close to him. She wedged her hand between them and grasped his hard lump, clutching it though his wool pants. He kissed her on the mouth, working his tongue hard, and the answering touch of Leona's tongue almost set him off.
He tugged her by the hand, leading her to the bedroom. She followed eagerly, and when he stripped, tossing his clothing on the floor, she watched with hungry eyes.
Then he led her to the bed.
Leona sat on the edge of the bed and Dan stood in front of her. She stroked his cock, loving the way it stretched and thickened under her manipulations. She eased it toward her mouth, and she felt Dan's hands on her head, entwined in her hair, pulling her forward, eager for her mouth.
She grinned. It was funny how much he enjoyed this. It was the only reason that she did it-it actually did little for her own satisfaction, she thought.
Still, she was able to enjoy his excitement and his obvious pleasure whenever she took him in her mouth. She teased him at first, running his hot, hard shaft alongside her face, pressing it to her cheek. She felt him shift his feet, anxious to insert his cock into her mouth. She grinned, knowing that on his face would be a look of pleasant consternation.
Not that Leona was a tease-far from it. But she liked to prolong erotic moments, stretch them out, let them fill her empty nights.
Sometimes Dan was too quick for her, almost brusque in his lovemaking. She desired a slower, more exotic approach to sex.
Then she allowed the tip of his cock to brush her lips, and she felt the shiver of pleasure that it caused in Dan. She did it again, and this time she allowed the swollen head to penetrate her mouth slightly, but she pursed her lips at the last moment, forcing his hardness out. Then she extended her tongue and ran it over the smooth hot head of his cock, and he moaned loudly with pleasure.
It was so easy, Leona thought. Dan was an easy man to please. A little of this, a little of that. She wondered if Dan was going to be her only love in life. Somehow, even though she loved him, it didn't seem fair. She had so much more to offer a man.
Then Dan held her head between his hands, using some force, which Leona enjoyed, and thrust his cock at her mouth, eager for it now.
She smiled and took it, sucking loudly because she knew that it pleased him. He was so large-larger than usual, it seemed to Leona-and that awoke an erotic response in her.
She closed her eyes and it was no longer Dan but a stranger, and Leona lost herself in a fantasy. She always felt guilty afterward, but she never mentioned it to Dan. He was far too conservative to play such games with her. It had to remain her own private pleasure, but she enjoyed it nonetheless.
Leona was a imaginative woman, and she let her imagination run wild during sex. This time, as her fantasy surfaced from the cloudy depths of her mind, she was pretending to be a common prostitute, a woman available to any man who met her price.
Dan was a seaman, recently arrived in port from an extended cruise, and eager to sample the joys that he had missed in the rough company of his shipmates.
He had taken her to a dirty little hotel and forced her to do as he desired. He was using her, unaware of Leona as a "person. "Suck!" she imagined him telling her, and Leona complied with the imaginary command, her arousal sparking her to take every bit of Dan's length.
Then she felt his hands on her shoulders. "Hey," Dan said softly, jarring Leona's fantasy. "Not so hard."
Leona grinned up at him, her eyes bright. "I just feel like it tonight," she said.
Dan smiled at her. Sometimes his wife's fierce eroticism took him by surprise. Of course, that was part of the delight of Leona. So wholesome, so proud-and then suddenly capable of the most erotically wanton behavior he had ever known in a woman.
He pushed her over and climbed into the bed next to her. His hand groped between her legs and he was amazed to find her wet and hot, ready for it, eager for it.
He rolled over and entered her easily, loving the way she grasped his hardness. She was warm and alive, like so many tiny fingers around him, pulling him in, demanding her satisfaction.
He stroked easily but she wanted more. "Harder," she whispered, "do it harder!"
Her talk was exciting and Dan did as he was told, and she shivered in his arms as he stroked deeper and hard, and when he felt the shudderings of her approaching climax he quickened the pace, feeling the resistance in her loins, and then suddenly she was wide open, giving it all to him, and he stroked twice more and joined her in sudden powerful orgasms that carried both of them to the brink of joyful darkness.