Love, Come to Me(71)

“I remember you telling me—”

“And when you apply yourself, your work is quite . . . satisfactory. Which is why I gave you that assignment to interview Mayor Shurtleff.”

The younger man shifted uneasily in his seat as Heath’s blue eyes pinned him with a fierce stare. As Heath continued to develop his own executive style, the combination of that stare and that soft, drawling voice was increasingly able to reduce the most audacious reporter to a pile of wood pulp.

“Sir, I can explain about that—”

“What you might not have remembered, Bartlett, is something else I told you.”

“What is that?”

“People don’t like to read old news.” Heath paused and then slammed his palm down on the table for effect, causing Bartlett to jump in his seat. Heath was not above using theatrics to get his point across. “Everyone knows Shurtleff went to Harvard. Everyone knows he’s caused a few streets to be built here and there. Everyone knows he belongs to practically every historical society in the state. What is the point of writing about all of that? After reading this interview you handed in, it is damned obvious that you didn’t ask him why he spends more time worrying about history than he does worrying about organizing a decent fire department! Why doesn’t he do something about the public parks? What does he think about the Morrill Tariff Act and what it’s done to the poor? What does he think about the Bostonians’ attitude towards Reconstruction legislation? You didn’t ask him any of those questions!”

“But, sir . . . there were other men present in the room.”

“What,” Heath asked with ominous patience, “does that have to do with anything?”

“A gentleman would not think of embarrassing another in front of his peers.”

“Bartlett,” Heath groaned. “Good Lord! It’s your job to do that. Don’t you understand? . . . no, you don’t.” He sighed, thought for several seconds, and then looked back at the sheepish reporter. “All right. This is something you’ll understand. Go back to Shurtleff—tell him there were one or two things you wanted to clarify—”

“But—”

“If you have to, remind him outright that he doesn’t want bad publicity. And when you talk to him, ask him about the fire department, or the Tariff Act, or something equally controversial. If you can come back to me with an answer to one embarrassing question—just one—I’ll raise your salary by ten percent. That clear enough?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Now, go. And for ten percent, it better be a hell of a question you ask.”

Now that the house was nearly finished and a complete staff had been hired—including a coachman, a cook, two maids, and a butler—Lucy had hours of free time on her hands. From a woman she had met during one of her shopping expeditions, she accepted an invitation to attend a Friday lecture and luncheon sponsored by the New England Women’s Club. Enjoying herself immensely, she made many acquaintances and tentatively began to attend other social engagements and salon discussions. Oh, how different it was from the club meetings she had gone to in Concord! Fashion, small-town scandals and love affairs were never mentioned in the salons in Boston. Here, the women talked about literature and politics, they listened to lectures from celebrated social figures and educators, and they argued—politely, of course—over rights and wrongs, and changes that would occur in the future. Lucy would listen raptly, entranced by the debate between two Harvard professors or the monologue by a foreign statesman, which would go on for several minutes while all of them ate slices of sponge cake and sipped tea out of cups as fragile as seashells.

Thirstily Lucy drank in ideas and information, finding to her delight that she sometimes managed to surprise Heath with her understanding of the current issues that his and other papers were grappling with.

Occasionally Heath would invite Damon to dine with them, usually after they had worked until late evening. After the first time that Heath had appeared with the unexpected dinner guest, Lucy had privately objected, telling Heath that she hadn’t appreciated the lack of advance warning, and besides that, she wasn’t especially fond of Damon Redmond’s company. Heath had countered with the explanation that Damon had no wife to take care of him, and that since he had missed the regular meal with the Redmond clan, he would have either had to dine out alone or skip dinner. That had made Lucy feel a little sorry for Damon, and a little guilty that she hadn’t wanted him there, and she always made a special effort to be hospitable to him after that.

The occasional dinners with Damon were much more pleasant than the first one at the Parker House had been. Since he had become accustomed to Lucy’s uninhibited manner with her husband and her lively interest in the newspaper, Damon had learned to join in her discussions with Heath. Relating scraps of news that would amuse her, Damon made her laugh with his sly humor. He became much more relaxed around her, less cautious, freer with his smile. And then, there were times when she was telling Heath about what had been said that day at a lecture she had gone to, or what events were taking place in connection with one of her clubs, and she would glance over at Damon to find that his coal black eyes were fixed on her with disturbing attentiveness. Lucy was puzzled by him. Despite his impressive heritage and his distinguished name, he seemed to have no home, no family; he was a loner, just as Heath had been before their marriage. And because she sensed that in him, Lucy unconsciously offered him a timid sympathy that went far in softening his heart towards her.