Chapter 8

Christina liked to walk in the rain, and when she learned at the garage that it would take half an hour to oil and grease her car, she started off to do some errands on foot. It was a soft, warm rain that fell gently on the thick leaves of the elms, and that lay in pearly drops on her tweed jacket. She got some books for Anson at the library, and then, remembering that she had tried unsuccessfully to get Leona Collier by telephone that morning, she decided to walk around to what she still thought of as the Blake house.

Going up the drive, she thought the house looked deserted; perhaps Leona had gone to Deanebury with Dan. Then she saw Pete Roman's truck standing near the gardener's cottage, and she thought, I'll ask him if anyone is at home. But just then the rain began to fall harder, so she went quickly up the steps of the big house and rang the bell.

There was no answer; she would leave a message with Pete. As she turned from the door, she heard his voice: "Hello. Mrs. Collier's home."

He was standing at the foot of the steps, the rain dripping from the brim of his old felt hat. Christina smiled at him. "Not much of a day for gardening."

"I'm cleaning the cellar. Fenn and his men left a pile of stuff. Ring again. She's in."

"Perhaps she's taking a nap."

He smiled-ironically, for Pete. "Could be. They had quite a party last night, I heard. Dan's gone to Boston, but some of the company's still around, that Hunt fella for one. I heard his voice a while ago."

Christina hesitated. "I don't want to disturb her," she said. But she pressed the bell again, while Pete stood watching.

In the silence, they both heard Leona Collier's voice. "Oh, for heaven's sake! Why can't people leave you alone?" Impatient footsteps crossed the hall, and then the door was jerked open. Christina wondered how she ever could have thought Leona was pretty; now, frowning with annoyance, her face pale and her dark hair tumbled, she looked decidedly plain. "Oh!"

The frown vanished, but there was constraint in her voice as she said, "Hello."

"I won't keep you," Christina said hurriedly. "I stopped by for only a moment to ask-"

Leona interrupted. "Come in-don't stand there in the rain!" But when her guest was in the hall, she didn't suggest her coming into the living room. "You wanted to ask me something?" she said.

"Yes, to help at my table at the church fair. It's Tuesday, a week from tomorrow."

"Which church?"

"The one on the Green."

"Oh." Leona regarded her curiously. "I should think you'd go to the one in the village."

Christina said evenly, "My husband's father was a deacon of the Congregational Church."

"All right," Leona said briefly. "I'll help you."

"That's awfully nice of you. A week from tomorrow, at two." In the silence that followed, Christina was aware of two things: one was the sound of subdued music, as if a radio was turned very low, and the other was the presence of someone in the living room. It wasn't just the smell of fresh cigarette smoke; it was something subtler, yet more definite, the feeling of a person standing in the next room, waiting for Leona to come back, listening.

As if she read Christina's mind, the girl said quickly, "I hope you'll forgive me for not asking you to come in. But we had weekend guests, and one or two of them are staying on because the weather's so rotten." She laughed, shortly. "None of us feel very bright or I'd make you stay for tea or something."

She looked tired, Christina thought; she was very pale-or was it the bright green sweater?-and there were dark lines under her eyes. She narrowed them at Christina. "Don't look so disapproving," she said.

"Was I?" Christina said. "I didn't mean to."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Again that uncomfortable little laugh. "I suppose," she added defiantly, "that you'll tell Dan."

Christina said gently, "My dear child, it's not my business what you do when Dan's away."

"So you know he's in Boston," Leona said. "I suppose he told you he was going, the other day."

Christina stared. "When?"

"The day you met him by the river. You did, you know. I saw you."

So that was who had driven in and turned around! "We simply happened to meet there," she began, and then she stopped. She didn't owe Dan's wife an explanation of her actions, and if Dan thought he did, that was his own affair.

Leona was still watching her, her eyes glittering like topazes in her pale face. Christina felt a curious sense of shock. The girl was jealous-jealous, and angry. More, she was frightened. Christina said quietly, ""I'm very sorry if you think-"

A man's voice cut through her words: "Leona, for God's sake, stop whispering with that gardener of yours and come on back! Johnny and I are both ... Oh, excuse me!"

Christina saw a tall young man standing in the living room doorway. She recognized him. It was Alan Hunt, who taught at the school. She couldn't tell whether or not he recognized her; he merely bowed with exaggerated formality, and disappeared.

The interruption seemed to restore Leona's poise, though two red spots burned her cheeks. "My guests are getting a bit out of hand," she said. "So, if you'll excuse me-I'll come next Tuesday." She added, with a queer smile, "If you still want me."

"Of course I want you. Tuesday, at two."

Leona didn't answer, and Christina went out, as quickly, she thought, as she had left this house a winter day years ago when she had come here with an order from the drugstore. The door closed heavily behind her and the damp air was cool on her face.

She was halfway down the driveway when Pete Romano's truck stopped beside her. "I'll take you to wherever you're going. Did you find her in and the boy friend, too?"

She said, "You mean her guest from New York?"

"Yes, and the Hunt fella. He's getting some competition now. He used to drive over, now he walks. I suppose he don't want people to see his car."

Christina turned to him. "Pete-"

He slowed the truck obediently. "Yes?"

"You don't want to upset Dan, do you?" He shook his head. "Well, then, keep everything you see and hear at his house to yourself."

"Sure." His dark eyes looked a little hurt. "I know what you mean. I was only kidding."

"I know you were. But she's just a child, and-"

"And Dan's a nice fella. I know. Trouble with her, she ain't got enough to do. When my wife was her age, she had three kids."

"Children aren't always the answer, Pete," Christina said.

"Sure, I know," he said. "I like her, though. She's a nice girl, Dan's wife."

"And Windover's a small town."

Pete laughed shortly. "You're telling me? Don't you worry, Christina." They had reached the garage, and he stopped the car. His eyes were thoughtful under the sodden hat brim. "I'll keep my mouth shut," he said. "Don't you worry about anything. You've got enough to think about, or so I hear. So take it easy, will you?"

"I'll try to," she said. "Good-bye, and thanks for the lift."

She drove home slowly. So that was what Dan had meant when he said nothing was the matter-yet. And Leona had seen them together at the river. Remembering her narrowed, glittering look, Christina's cheeks burned again; then her anger was lost in a rush of sympathy for Dan. She's too much for him, she thought. Too young, too spoiled, too passionate and jealous. He asked me to help him, but how can I? I don't want to make things worse between them ... what can I do?