Until We Meet Again(21)

So what is that jalopy doing out there in the middle of the night?

A door slams. The engine roars to a start. I strain to get a look at the driver, but he turns a hard left and peels out of the driveway.

I watch until the lights vanish behind a row of trees in the distance. It’s not that I don’t trust our watchman, Porter, but I can’t help feeling uneasy. True, a house like this has a constant flow of people coming and going. Caterers, maintenance workers, and servants. But still…I make a note to talk to Porter about the car in the morning.

Thinking of notes, excitement resurges in my chest. I head for the fresh ream of paper in the study and forget about the strange automobile.





h


The sultry murmur of a woman’s voice pulls me from heavy

layers of sleep. A softness of flesh brushes against my cheek.

Exhaustion fights back hard, but I pull myself into the dewy

sunshine of consciousness.

She speaks my name. “Lawrence.”

A glimmer of long, golden hair comes to me. Her face. Her

probing blue eyes. Cassandra. In the overbrightness of light

streaming in through those linen curtains, I can see her standing over me. She’s come back.

I sit up, inhaling sharply.

Fay is perched on my bed beside me. Her slender eyebrow

rises.

“Morning, Lonnie.”

I strain my eyes, and Cassandra’s face vanishes as she did last

night on the beach. For a sharp, fleeting moment, the terrifying

thought that it was all a dream cuts into my lungs. But I catch

a glimpse of the frantic writings stacked on my desk and my

stomach relaxes. It was real. It happened.

Fay smiles a little and pulls at my loosened shirt. I’m still

fully dressed, lying on top of the blankets where I collapsed

sometime last night.

“Up late studying, I assume?” she asks. “Getting ready for

college?”

My eyes dart to the papers on my desk once more, but

this time with a surge of panic. I can’t remember much of

what I wrote, but the words on the page seem to shine like

a beacon, exposing my secret to Fay. I slide off the bed and

grab for them as casually as I can, stuffing the pages into the

drawer.

“Something like that.”

Fay takes my spot, reclining on my bed and curving her hips

to expose just a touch of her lace stockings at the thigh.

“You’ll make one heck of a lawyer, Lonnie, though I pity the

woman who marries you. Lying all alone in bed at night as you

study up for your next case.”

”I suppose it will take a patient gal,” I say, distractedly, still

feeling nervous that she read the pages while I was sleeping. She has that knowing smile, but it’s her trademark. She makes sport of pretending she knows something you’d rather

she didn’t.

Fay stretches out her arms in a lazy yawn that makes her

dress strap slide down her shoulder. She runs her fingertips

along her décolletage.

“I’d never put up with such a man,” she says. “I demand to be

adored above everything else. I must be worshiped.”

I met Fay here at the house at a party celebrating my arrival.

She’s been appearing at social events all summer. She’s like a

phantom. She never comes with anyone else, never speaks of

a life outside the noise and frivolity of Ned’s parties. She exists

only to haunt me with her sly laugh. And I still can’t quite

figure out what she wants. Moments like these, I’m certain

she’s trying to seduce me. But other times she seems aloof, even

resentful of me.

I glance at the door. “I suppose it’s rather late. Ned’s probably

waiting for me.”

Fay watches me and then sits up, brushing her sleeve back in

place. “He gave that up hours ago. It’s almost noon, you know.”

“Ah.”

Fay’s still analyzing me, though she’s trying to hide it with a

casual, almost bored expression. “As a matter of fact, you slept

right through my visit. I have to go now.”

“Must you?”

She stands, and I catch a hint of hurt on her face. “I have an

appointment in town.” She smoothes her hair and breezes past.

“Do ring when you’re ready to give me the time of day.”

I grab her hand. “I’m sorry.”

She forces a laugh. “What for?”

“Fay.”

All at once, she presses her lips to mine. Her kiss is short,

but slow and tempting. The tip of her tongue brushes lightly

against mine. It’s indecent and intoxicating in a way only she

can manage. When she breaks off the kiss, a curl of triumph

pulls at her smile. She pats my cheek.

“Enjoy your studying.”

With that, she glides out of my room, her hips swaying ever

so slightly, like they always do.

Feeling flushed, I loosen my collar. I have half a mind to run

after her. But then my eyes fall to my desk. I slide open the