In the Shadow of Lakecrest(9)
But I couldn’t help remembering Aunt Constance’s warning. I’d brushed her off because I didn’t believe Matthew could be dangerous. Now I did.
CHAPTER THREE
Matthew was already eating when I walked into the dining room the next morning. I smiled warily as he stood up and pulled out a chair.
“Good morning,” he said. “Did you sleep well?”
There was no hesitation, no trace of embarrassment. No acknowledgment of what had happened in my compartment the previous night. I sat down and stared at the serving platter piled with eggs and bacon and toast in the middle of the table. If Matthew was putting on an act, it was perfectly played.
“I did have a rather strange dream,” I said at last.
“Oh?”
Matthew’s face revealed nothing other than polite interest. Had I been dreaming? Looking at Matthew in the bright morning sunshine, content and well rested, I began to doubt my own memory. It already seemed ridiculous that I’d thought of him as frightening, and I didn’t see how I could bring up the incident without offending him.
“It’s not important,” I said nonchalantly. “I’ve already forgotten it.” And maybe it was better I did.
“Well, I’m glad you were able to sleep in,” he said, “because we’ve got a big day ahead. We’ll be arriving in Chicago earlier than expected, and I thought I’d show you around.”
“Are you sure you have time?”
“Don’t you worry about that. I’ve telegrammed the office and told them I’ll be taking a few days off. You accused me of never having fun—well, I’m going to prove you wrong.”
Matthew was so charming, so obviously pleased about our upcoming adventure, that it was easy to dismiss any lingering doubts. When we arrived, his car and driver were waiting at Union Station, ready to take us on a tour of the chaotic city. I craned my neck at the soaring office buildings that reached toward the clouds and marveled at the crowds along State Street, a horde of strangers propelled by a common ambition. The whole experience had an air of unreality, as if I couldn’t possibly be here with Matthew in this sprawling, unfamiliar place. These hours might be only a brief interlude in my otherwise humdrum life, but those downtown blocks hummed with a restless energy that resonated with my own hopes.
Like me, Chicago was striving for more.
I begged off dinner, saying my cousin was expecting me, and Blanche was amusingly flabbergasted when I told her who’d dropped me off at her boardinghouse. Though we hadn’t seen each other in years, I’d made a point of staying in touch with Aunt Nellie’s family, remembering their kindness when they were my guardians. Blanche had moved to Chicago the year before and was working as a nightclub coat-check girl while she tried to make it as a singer. She had the kind of bubbly personality that puts people instantly at ease, and I guessed she wouldn’t be stuck behind a counter for long.
Blanche told me she’d seen Marjorie Lemont at the club, but never her brother.
“He’s quite a man of mystery,” she gushed. “The very last person I’d expect to sweep a girl off her feet!”
For the first time, I saw the puzzlement that would be directed my way in the weeks and months to come: Why would someone like him be interested in someone like you? I had no answer. There was nothing to set me apart from the hundreds of prettier, more sophisticated girls Matthew must have met in his lifetime. I still couldn’t quite believe it myself.
When Matthew picked me up for lunch the next day, I resolved not to drop any coy hints about my expectations or how long I planned to be in town. I’d be a happy-go-lucky traveler, seeing the sights with my new friend.
“Are we friends?” he asked.
“I certainly hope so,” I said. “Otherwise I’ve made a complete fool of myself, and I’ll have to scurry home in shame.”
“Well, we can’t have that. I’m determined to make you fall in love with Chicago.”
“Why’s that?” I asked, eyebrows raised.
“So you’ll stay.”
I grinned, delighted that he was already talking about the future.
Over the following week, Matthew insisted on acting as my companion, rediscovering the city he claimed as his hometown but didn’t really know. The product of a New England boarding school and college, he’d spent most of the past few years in Europe on business, so in many ways he was as much a sightseer as I was. When I heard about the roller coaster at Riverview Park, I begged Matthew to take me, even though he jokingly rolled his eyes and said it wasn’t his usual crowd. I screamed and clutched his hand as we careened down the stomach-churning drops, and as our car slowed to a stop, he wrapped one arm around my shoulders. It was the first time Matthew offered an opening, and I took it. I leaned my head up, and he leaned his down, and we kissed in full view of the factory workers and their families, the bored ticket takers and the disapproving nannies. It wasn’t more than a quick peck, but it felt like I was back at the top of the steepest drop, my skin tingling with nervous anticipation.
Then Matthew was standing, offering me his hand, and the ride was over. He let go of my fingers as we wound our way to the exit, and there were no more displays of affection, though I tried to signal they’d be welcome by brushing against him when I could. We reverted to our friendly but cautious selves, as if the kiss had never happened. I was beginning to wonder if he regretted it, and then he suggested dinner at the Drake Hotel.