Winter affair, p.13
Winter Affair, page 13
“Dynamite,” Leda pronounced, nodding. “He’ll propose tonight.”
“I hope not,” Anna sighed, backing up so that Leda could unzip her again. “On what the musician’s union pays him he can barely afford to feed his cat.”
“Where are you going?”
Anna shrugged. “To the apartment of some friend of his. The guy plays the trombone, does weddings and party gigs on weekends.” She peered at Leda. “How about you? All set for the big night?”
“I don’t know. I think I’m getting cold feet. It seemed like a great idea before, but now that the time is at hand I’m not so sure.”
“How does Kyle feel?”
“He thinks the whole project is questionable, but he’s going to please me.”
Anna sighed dramatically. “What a hunk. I wish he were interested in pleasing me, I’d have a few thoughts for him.”
“That reminds me, I have to pick up his tux,” Leda said. They both headed for the door, and Anna asked as she folded her dress, “Did you really turn down the tryout for that touring company? Bob said you did.”
Bob was Anna’s agent, and a friend of Leda’s agent, who worked for the same theatrical booking concern. “Yes. I didn’t want to leave Kyle.”
Anna raised her brows. “I can understand that, but it’s a great opportunity. I’m going to see them.”
“Good,” Leda said sincerely, locking the door behind them. “I hope you get it.”
“There’s room enough for two if you change your mind,” Anna called over her shoulder as she went down the walk to her car.
Leda waved in reply. She wouldn’t be changing her mind.
* * * *
Leda was getting dressed when Kyle returned to her apartment from work. He entered her bedroom in his coveralls and held her off, laughing, when she tried to kiss him.
“Leda, I’m filthy,” he said.
“Has that ever been known to stop me?” she asked, winding her arms around his neck.
“No,” he replied, giving in and kissing her back, peeling the robe off her shoulders.
“You’re early,” she said as his lips trailed over the creamy expanse of her skin.
“I told you there was split shift tonight. Everybody wants to party, including me.” He backed her toward the bed.
“I picked up your tux,” she informed him.
He groaned and released her. “Do I really have to wear a monkey suit to this shindig?”
“Yes, you do. This is a formal affair.”
“Can’t we just stay here and have an informal affair in your bed?” he inquired, reaching for her again.
Leda danced away, smiling. “You, Mr. Reardon, have a one track mind.”
“Leda, I’m serious. Maybe we’d better skip this. It’s just going to make everyone uncomfortable.”
“I don’t care,” Leda said stubbornly. “I want all of those righteous people who’ve been giving you such a hard time to see me with you. Maybe they’ll think twice about their high-and-mighty attitude.”
“And you have an idea that if the accused escorts the daughter of Carter Bradshaw, they’ll do that?”
“I hope so.”
He pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair. “Leda, that’s not going to make the board in Harrisburg give me my license back,” he said gently.
“I know that. But I also know that part of their investigation is to question the employer and the neighbors of the person under consideration for reinstatement. Won’t it help if everybody says you’ve been forgiven by the family of the dead man?”
“I haven’t been forgiven by all of it,” he said flatly, his grip loosening.
“Don’t worry about Aunt Monica. She’ll come around.” Leda stepped out of the circle of his arms and went to her closet. “Help me into my dress,” she said, holding it up for his examination.
“I’d rather help you out of your dress,” he replied, but took it from her obediently, dropping it over her head and zipping it up to the waist. The silver lame sheath left her back and one shoulder bare. He planted a lingering kiss on her spine before she turned to face him and then whistled when he saw the full effect.
“Miss Bradshaw, you’re a knockout,” he said gravely.
“I guess you like it.”
“I sure do.”
“It isn’t mine.”
He grinned. “Whose is it? Claire’s?”
“Heavens, no. Claire’s taste run more to asymmetrical stripes in primary colors. I saw this in the prop department at the theater, left over from a production last year. I tried it on and it fit, so I asked the director if I could borrow it just for tonight.”
Reardon shook his head, marveling. “You certainly have some ingenious methods for assembling a wardrobe.”
“Thank you,” Leda said, bowing. “With my limited finances I have to be creative. Now for the final touch.” She went back to the closet and returned with the tux, neatly assembled on a two-tier hanger and covered by a plastic bag. He eyed it suspiciously.
“Don’t look like that, Kyle. It’s not going to bite you.”
“You sure about that?” He took it from her and examined the carefully pressed garments. “I hate these things,” he muttered. “Before I went to jail I was always forced to wear one for some damn party or other. They make me feel like the dressed pig at a luau.”
Leda burst out laughing. “Kyle, what an awful thing to say. I can’t understand your attitude.” She ran a practiced eye deliberately over his form from head to toe. “You have the perfect body for one,” she pronounced. “Tall and slim and elegant.” She smiled, batting her eyelashes.
He shot her an arch glance. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“I thought so. Come on, Kyle. You’ll look wonderful.”
“I’ll look the way I’ll feel, like a damn fool.” But he pulled off the plastic cover and inspected the suit more closely. “Blue?” he said, fingering the ruffled shirt.
“Of course blue. It’ll be great with your eyes.”
He made a face.
“Trust me,” she whispered.
He smiled dryly. “Okay, Leda. This is your show. I’ll go take a shower.”
He ambled off down the hall, and Leda sat down to put on her makeup. Reardon returned a few minutes later, dripping, with a towel wrapped around his waist. He stood by the side of the bed, pushing back his wet hair with his palms. Leda caught sight of him in her mirror, and her breath stopped in her throat. How beautiful he was. She got up and went to him, putting her arms around him and licking the droplets that spangled his muscular arms.
“What are you doing?” he asked huskily, closing his eyes. His hand came up to the back of her head, binding her to him.
“Drying you off,” she replied.
“More like turning me on.” He embraced her fully, turning her toward the bed. Leda pulled back.
“Kyle, we can’t. We’ll be late.”
“We won’t be late, we won’t go,” he answered, reaching for the zipper on her dress.
Leda resisted. “Kyle, it’s important that we go. Important for you. Now come on and get dressed, or we’ll never make it out the door.”
He sighed and let her go. Leda returned to her toilette, watching covertly as he put on the tuxedo. He fumbled with the studs and fussed with the cummerbund, frowning down at it as if he were trying to tie a kitchen apron around his waist.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Kyle, let me do that,” she finally said in frustration, getting up to help him. “I’ve never seen anybody so contrary. If you wanted to wear this thing you’d have it on in a minute.”
She adjusted the waistband and fixed the hooks at the back, patting it into place. She stood at his side as he tied the tie, and then she straightened the bow.
“There,” she said. “Where’s the jacket?”
He pointed, and she got it for him, helping him into it. Then they both studied his reflection in the full length mirror. The dark material complemented his hair, and the blue shirt turned his eyes into molten silver disks.
“You’re gorgeous,” she breathed.
“I’m ridiculous. I look like the maitre d’ on a cruise ship.”
“Take my word for it, every woman in the place will be transfixed. Now, are you going to stop griping and relax? I just have to brush out my hair and I’ll be right with you.”
Leda went back to her dressing table and unpinned her hair, letting it cascade about her shoulders. She started to brush it and then Reardon came up behind her, taking the brush from her hand.
“I’ll do that,” he said softly, and she closed her eyes. He drew the brush through her thick hair until it crackled and snapped with electricity. His arms were much stronger than hers, and the result was a glowing mass of spun gold that shimmered like sunlight. She opened her eyes when he set the brush down and put her head against his shoulder.
“Will you do that for me every night?” she asked him.
“Absolutely. I have a whole list of things I’m going to do for you every night, and that will be added to it.”
Leda laughed. “I think we’d better leave, Kyle,” she said shakily.
“I think you’re right.” He got her cashmere jacket and helped her into it, settling for a scarf and gloves for himself. He had no overcoat.
They took Leda’s car and drove to the country club. On the way there Leda thought about the people they were likely to encounter. Unlike many other clubs of the type, Yardley’s club was not based on wealth, but rather the lineage of the members, many of whom could barely afford their dues. Money didn’t matter but background did. As a result women like Elaine the seamstress and Sara Master were charter members because Elaine’s ancestor founded the town and Sara’s had been a circuit judge in the 1880’s. Monica and Leda were accepted because Monica’s father, Leda’s grandfather, had been an important local lawyer with strong ties to the town blue bloods. The whole atmosphere was snobbish in the extreme, and Leda avoided the place like the plague, except when she made guest appearances to puncture the overblown self importance of the members.
She intended to do so tonight. She was already regarded as something of a renegade because of her choice of profession and her unorthodox lifestyle of shuttling back and forth to New York. The other girls she’d gone to grade school with were married and settled, spending their days pushing baby carts up and down the aisles of the Supermart and their summers beside the club pool. They looked upon Leda as a member of an alien species and didn’t try to conceal it. Leda smiled sardonically as they pulled up to the entrance and Reardon left the car with the attendant. The town would really have something to talk about after tonight.
The lobby of the club was spotlessly clean but a little shabby; with a few exceptions, the members didn’t have the capital to refurbish it. Reardon left their things with the check girl, who greeted Leda and eyed Reardon with undisguised interest.
“Hi, Greta,” Leda replied. “Is my aunt here yet?”
“She’s inside with the others,” Greta said, smiling at Reardon.
“Thanks,” Leda said dryly, taking his arm. They walked past the big Christmas tree that stood by the entrance to the main room, and over the faded Chinese carpet that had been there as long as Leda could remember.
All eyes turned toward them as they went inside. A brilliant chandelier overhead cast a white light on the buffet spread beneath it. The assembled party goers moved back and forth from the attractively displayed food to their tables, arranged around the central dance floor. The orchestra played softly in the background and there were a few couples dancing. Waiters circulated with trays of drinks, and Leda looked around them for her aunt. She spotted Monica, dressed in basic black and pearls, standing by the bandstand. She was with her usual escort, the high school vice principal, a widower in his sixties.
“There she is,” Leda said to Reardon, and they made their way across the room. A hush greeted their passage and Reardon gripped her tightly.
“I feel like a hippie at a convention of Young Republicans,” he whispered to her, and Leda smiled. But she could tell he was joking to cover his nervousness; these were, in effect, the people who had sent him to jail.
Monica turned to face them as they approached. Her eyes flickered over Reardon, and something registered in them, but Leda couldn’t tell what it was. Her aunt’s face was expressionless as she looked at Leda.
“Hello, Monica,” Leda said smoothly. “I think you know Kyle Reardon. Kyle, you remember my aunt, Monica Donlon.”
Kyle nodded, and Monica shook his hand stiffly, meeting his eyes briefly and then looking back at Leda. Sara Master, Elaine, and the postmistress stood hovering in the background, riveted by the scene.
Monica introduced her escort to them, and after a few minutes of polite, awkward conversation Leda said, “Kyle, I think I’d like something to drink. Shall we?”
He led her away, relieved, and got them two glasses of champagne from a passing attendant. He drew his index finger around the inside of his collar and said, “Whew. That’s some tough lady. I can see where you get your grit.”
“The worst is over,” Leda agreed. “Look at them all staring. You’d think they had never seen two people in love before.”
“That’s not why they’re staring, and you know it. This is probably their first close up view of a big, bad criminal.”
“Don’t you believe it,” Leda snorted. “Plenty of them belong in jail, but they’re into the sort of white collar crime that goes unpunished, like tax evasion and illegal shelters.”
Reardon grinned at her. “You really like this group, don’t you?”
Leda had to laugh at that. When the band took a break she led Kyle to the buffet table, where they helped themselves, sitting to eat in a quiet alcove away from the throng. They weren’t alone long , however, before Leda saw Sara Master approaching, all smiles.
“Uh-oh,” she said to Reardon. “Here comes your landlady.”
He stood up when Sara stopped by the table. She greeted Leda and then turned to Reardon.
“Well, Mr. Reardon, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Why not?” Leda replied, standing between him and Sara. “I would have thought my aunt told you he was coming.”
Sara flushed slightly at that but, undaunted, tried again. “This must be quite a change for you,” she said to Reardon, craning her neck around Leda.
“It is,” he said stiffly.
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Yes. It’s a very nice party.”
She shifted her gaze to Leda. “And what a surprise you turned out to be, young lady.”
“I don’t know how you can say that, Sara. You know I can always be counted on to do something unconventional.”
Reardon turned away to hide his smile.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Sara replied huffily. “I was unaware that you knew my tenant, that’s all.”
Leda nodded. “Really? I didn’t think there was much about him that you missed. But then again, I wasn’t sending him any mail so how would you have guessed?”
Sara’s mouth fell open, and Leda seized the opportunity to nudge Reardon toward the dance floor. They danced for a few numbers, and then he said into her ear, “Let’s blow this joint. I think these people have seen enough.”
“I agree,” Leda said airily, and they walked together across the room and out the door. She could hear the buzz of conversation start up behind them.
“Saddle shoes,” he said as he presented the ticket for her coat, “I think we pulled it off.”
Leda smiled as she slipped into her jacket. “They’ll be talking about this for years to come, the old fuddy-duddies.”
Reardon put his arm around her. “Let’s go home,” he said huskily.
“Let’s,” Leda responded.
Back at her apartment, Reardon made love to Leda with an intensity she had not experienced before, although he had always been ardent. This was different: he seemed to be trying to posses her spiritually as well as physically, calling her name over and over, driving into her with a force that left her almost frightened. Afterward, they were both exhausted and drifted into sleep.
In the morning, Reardon left for Harrisburg and another hearing on his license. He had gotten the time off from Jim Kendall and wanted Leda to go with him. But she had her final performance to give at the playhouse and wanted to attend the wrap party afterward, so she stayed in Yardley. It was difficult to say goodbye to all the new friends she had made among the cast, some of whom she was sure she would never see again. Chip Caswell brought a nubile redhead to the party. The newcomer was the subject of much commentary, and Leda was happy to agree with Anna that Chip had finally given up on his leading lady. Anna had signed on with the touring company and was due to leave the next day. Leda said her farewells and left the party early, determined to have another look at her father’s records.
The pile of things she had examined was growing ominously, and it had yielded nothing. She spent another fruitless evening going through some new material, and finally gave up, turning at last to a strongbox at the bottom of one of the bins. She had examined the contents once before and dismissed them: her father’s wallet and keys, a lighter and half a pack of cigarettes, some other odds and ends. She took a closer look at the wallet now, and her eyes misted over when she found a picture of herself enclosed in a cellophane window, backed by a faded snapshot of her mother. She opened the billfold and found some singles, a five, and a folded sheet of notepaper. She took it out, opening it idly, thinking that it was probably an old grocery list or a reminder to make a dental appointment.
It was a memo, similar to the countless others she had been perusing. She read it routinely. Then, her heart beating faster, she read it again.
From: C. Bradshaw To: K. Reardon Re: Test of B-123 fuel. Under no circumstances conduct test of B-123 fuel as planned, preliminaries reveal compound to be unstable. Repeat, test is not to be conducted in my absence. Will discuss upon my return.
It was dated two days before the fatal explosion, and signed by her father.
Leda stared at the paper in her hand in stunned disbelief, and then watched as it fell to the floor.
