Scandalous Behavior

12

Stone was dressing for Sunday night’s event when he heard voices and car doors slamming at the front of the house. He peered through the curtains and saw people getting out of Jaguars and Range Rovers, dressed to the nines. They were on time, and he was glad he was not the evening’s host.

Someone rapped on his bedroom door, and he admitted Susan, in a tight red dress and a spectacular necklace.

“I’m not expected to be ready on time, am I,” he asked, “not being the host?”

“I suppose not. May I have a drink?”

“I’ll have to ring downstairs for it, and I think they must be pretty busy.”

“You haven’t explored your suite, have you?” She walked to a corner of the room and tugged on what looked like a bell cord for summoning servants. Two panels in the wall slid silently open, revealing a small wet bar.

“You’ve anticipated my every need,” Stone said, mixing her a martini. “Even an ice machine.”

“I have,” she replied.

He poured himself a Knob Creek. “You look good enough to molest,” he said, “if it weren’t for that dress.”

“It comes off quite easily,” she said, “but you can’t muss my makeup. It goes back on very slowly. Can you restrain yourself until a bit later, when we don’t have guests to greet?”

“Oh, I suppose,” he said.

“May I tie your bow tie?”

“If it would please you.”

She buttoned his collar, took hold of both ends of the tie, made a little motion, and it was tied. He checked the mirror. “How did you do that? It takes me three times longer to get it right, and you’ve done it perfectly the first time.”

“Innate skill,” she replied, “and a little practice.”

They tapped glasses and drank.

“Mmmm,” she said, “you do make a good martini, and it’s good to have a head start on the others. I wouldn’t want to go downstairs entirely sober.”

“Then you shan’t,” Stone said. “What do you have left to do to this room?”

“Hanging of the curtains — these are temporary — and pictures — that’s about it. Oh, I picked up a very nice rug for it, too.”

More car doors were slamming outside, and Stone slipped into his jacket, tucked a white satin pocket square into his breast pocket and a jotter pad and his pen into an inside one. “There. Let’s go downstairs and face them.” They both tossed off the rest of their drinks and walked out the door and downstairs into the hall, where Sir Charles and Elizabeth Bowen were greeting their guests.

“Stone, come stand with us,” Charles said, “and meet your new neighbors, and Susan, you come and take compliments. Everything in the house looks splendid.”

They joined the couple and Stone began to meet his neighbors. More than half of them, he noted, were wearing Squadron mess kits, and he was introduced to several of them as officers in the club, one of them the commodore. Each of them took a few minutes to talk with him and compliment Susan on the house. When the arrivals trickled to a stop they took a stroll around the room, meeting others.

“You’ve really done a wonderful job,” Stone said. “This is the first time I’ve seen completed rooms.”

“Thank you, kind sir. Come this way.” She led him into the hall and showed him his Constable, which he liked very much, then into the library, where a pianist was playing, and he came face-to-face with his other new art acquisition. “This is your new Turner,” she said. “It’s called Storm over Cowes.”

Stone was amazed. The castle was in the foreground, and a storm raged at sunset over the village. Boats were in disarray, and people ran for shelter. “I’ve never seen such a sky,” he said.

“If you spend a few summers in Cowes, you will one day, it’s guaranteed.”

Charles came and stood next to them. “I was a fool to sell it,” he said.

“Well,” Stone said, “I’m not giving it back.”

Charles clapped his hands, and the pianist stopped his tune and played a fanfare. “My Lords and Ladies, ladies and gentlemen,” he called out, “please come in from the hall and gather in the library.” People came in and filled the large room.

Charles took Elizabeth’s hand and moved her before the fireplace, where a man stood, holding a book.

“I know this may come as a shock,” Sir Charles said. “It certainly shocked me, but Elizabeth Bowen has condescended to become my wife.”

Applause and delighted laughs broke out. “Stone, will you and Susan stand up for us?”

“Of course,” Stone said, and escorted Susan to the fireplace. It was over very quickly: the magistrate asked the right questions and got the right answers, and he pronounced them man and wife. The magistrate gave the bride and groom and their witnesses the certificate to sign, then Charles handed it to Major Bugg. “Put that in the safe,” he said. “Now, all of you, a buffet is being served in the dining room, and you must be starved.”

The guests got their food and arrayed themselves around the drawing room and the library, and a good time was had by all.

Toward the end of the evening Stone and Susan were nestled on the big sofa in the library, before the fireplace. The last of the party guests finally left the room.

“Finally,” Susan said, sipping her brandy.

Then the door opened and someone came in. Stone and Susan scrunched down so as not to be seen.

“Thank you for inviting my sister and me,” a man said.

“I thought it the decent thing to do,” Charles replied.

“I’ve wanted to talk to you for a long time, and given how little time you’ve got left, according to my sources, I want to know about my father and how this horrible mess came about.”

“It’s quite simple,” Charles said: “Our marriage had hardly begun when your mother began sleeping with a man I thought was a very good friend of mine. I became suspicious when the sex tapered off until nothing, then on two occasions she seduced me, much to my surprise, and a month or so after each occasion, she turned up pregnant, first with you, then with your sister. I still didn’t twig until that time you cut your arm when we were out sailing. Do you remember?”

“I remember — it was a horrible experience.”

“All the more so for me. We got a tourniquet on you, then docked and took you to the casualty ward at the hospital, where the doctor informed me that you needed an immediate transfusion but that your blood group was a rare one. There were half a dozen of us there, but only one had the correct blood group. Your mother had arrived, and she didn’t have the correct group, either, but you were transfused and your life saved. You and your sister had the same blood group, and neither your mother nor I had it, but this one chap, my friend, did.”

“I’ve asked her many times who our father was, because it was so obvious that you were not. Who is he?”

“He’s dead these many years, and if your mother didn’t want you to know, I certainly don’t. Now, there’s an end to it. By the way, if you haven’t already heard, I’ve sold the house and land to an American gentleman, along with the contents and the livestock, so you and your sister may put any thought of inheriting out of your minds.”

“It’s like you to leave us with nothing,” the younger man said.

“Your mother took very good care of you both in her will, so I feel no such obligation. Now, I bid you good night and farewell. We shan’t be speaking again.”

The door opened again and slammed behind them.

“My goodness,” Susan said.

“Your goodness, indeed. I’m sorry we heard that — it was more than I wanted to know.”

“Then you’re a great deal less curious than I.”

They went upstairs, and he did what she had invited him to do earlier. When they were sated with each other Susan asked, “What is the plan for tomorrow?”

“We leave the house at nine AM and make the short trip to Southampton International Airport. Our flight planning has already been done and filed by a service in New York, so we only have to stow our luggage, hop in, and fly. We’ll be in Paris in about forty minutes, where we will refuel and take off for Horta, in the Azores, where we will refuel again and perhaps stay the night. If the winds are more unfavorable than forecast, we’ll land at Santa Maria, which is closer. I had thought we’d overnight in Horta, but what with the time difference and the forecast winds, we can continue to St. John’s, in Newfoundland, where we refuel yet again, then continue to Teterboro, New Jersey, which is just across the Hudson from New York City. None of our legs is more than about three hours, and we should be at my house in the late afternoon, tired and sleepy. We’ll have a good dinner at home, then I will ravish you, and we will sleep like puppies. How does that sound for a day?”

“It sounds just perfect,” she said.