Whispers Read online

  He nodded. “A world-class orchestra. As fine as anything in New York.”

  “I’ve never been there.”

  “When I was at the Wharton School, I went often to the theater. It’s only a short train ride from Philadelphia.”

  Her tongue was loosening. The wine might be helping. “I’d like to see the east. I’d like to see Europe, England, France, Rome.”

  His eyes were shining and smiling at her. “The places that you read about in Portrait of a Lady last week?”

  She was astonished. “How did you know?”

  “Simple. I saw the book on your desk. Don’t they call me ‘Hawkeye’ in the office?”

  She laughed and blushed. “How on earth can you know that? Nobody ever says—”

  “I’ve also got sharp ears.”

  She struck out boldly. “Is that why you invited me tonight? Is that what gave you the idea, that I read Henry James?”

  “That had a little to do with it. I was curious. You must admit that the rest of them on the staff don’t go much beyond movie magazines, do they?”

  “They’re my friends. I don’t pay attention to things like that,” she said loyally. “They’re not important.”

  “Don’t think I’m a snob. I don’t judge people by their knowledge of what’s in books either. But you have to admit that it’s pleasant to be with people who like the same things you like. Besides, you’re beautiful. That must have had something to do with it, don’t you think?”

  “Thank you.”

  “You don’t believe you are beautiful, do you? Your eyes say that you’re doubtful. I’ll tell you. You’re a porcelain doll. Your skin is white as milk.”

  She parried, “Is it good to look like a porcelain doll?”

  “I think so. I meant it as a compliment.”

  This dialogue was certainly different from any she had ever had before, with Bill or anyone else. And she was not sure what she ought to say next.

  “Well, go on with your story about yourself. You’ve only just begun.”

  “There isn’t much more. Dad couldn’t afford college, so I went to a very good secretarial school that had courses in English lit. I’d always loved to read, and it’s there that I learned what to read. So I read and I cook. That’s my second hobby. Maybe it’s boasting, but the fact is, I’m a very good cook. And that’s all, I guess. Now it’s your turn.”

  “Okay. Born and grew up in Pittsburgh. No brothers or sisters, which made for a bit of lonesomeness. I had a good home, though. My parents were especially loving. They spoiled me a little, I think. In their way they were unusual people. My mother played the piano and taught me to play. I’m not all that good, but I play because it makes me think of her. My father was a learned man and very quiet and kindly, with an old-fashioned sort of dignity. His business took him around the world. Every summer they went to Salzburg for the music festival.” He paused. “They were killed in an auto accident the summer I was graduated from college.”

  She felt a stab of horror. “How awful for you! It’s bad enough when someone has a heart attack, as my mother did. But a car accident’s so—so unnecessary, so wrong!”

  “Yes. Well, life goes on.” His face sank into sadness, the mouth and eyes gone still.

  At the back of the room, just then the pianist was singing, “A tale told by a stranger, by a new love, on a dark blue evening in a rose-white May.”

  The poignant words of the forties, so long ago, coming at this moment of Robert’s revelations, filled her chest with a longing almost painful, a confusion of sadness and thrilling joy. Tears came to her eyes.

  When he saw them, he touched her hand. “Gentle girl … But enough of this. Come, we’ll be late for the movie.”

  She went home and lay awake half the night. I want to live with him for the rest of my life, she thought. He is the one. But I’m an idiot. We had an evening together, that’s all. He won’t seriously want me. How can he? I’m not nearly good enough for him. He won’t want me.

  He had wanted her, though, wanted her badly. In the office they hid their intense emotion; passing each other, their eyes turned away. Joyously, she kept their secret. She alone came to know the other side of this man whom others found imperious, the part of him that was so very tender. She alone knew about the high tragedy of his parents’ deaths, and about his lesser sorrows too.

  He confided, “I’ve been married.”

  She felt a rush of disappointment, a pang of jealousy.

  “We met at college and were married in commencement week. Looking back, I wonder how it ever happened. She was very beautiful and very rich, but spoiled and irresponsible, too, so we were completely unsuited to each other. Querida—her mother was Spanish—was ‘artistic.’ She did watercolors. I don’t mean to disparage her, but she was just a dabbler. She took a job in a small gallery and on her day off was a volunteer docent at the museum. Anything to get out of the house. She hated the house. The place was a mess, no meals, the laundry not even sent out half the time, nothing done. I could never bring anybody home from the office, never solidify the contacts one needs to make it in the business world.” He shrugged. “What can I say except that hers was an entirely different way of life from what I was used to? We grated on each other’s nerves, and so of course we argued almost daily. She disliked my friends, and I wasn’t fond of hers, I can tell you that.” He smiled ruefully. “We would have parted even sooner if it hadn’t been for the child. Jeremy. He’s six now.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “I haven’t seen him since he was a year old. But I support him, although he wouldn’t be in want if I didn’t. Querida went back to live with her parents, so he’s growing up in a mansion. She didn’t want joint custody, said it was too confusing for a child, and I didn’t want to fight her decision.”

  “Still, how awful for you not to see him! Or for him not to know you.”

  Robert sighed. “Yes. Yes, it is. But he can’t remember me, so for him at his age I suppose it’s as if I had died. I hope so much, though, that he’ll want to see me when he’s old enough to understand.” And he sighed again.

  “I’m sure he will,” Lynn said, in her pity.

  “Well, he’ll know how to find me. His money goes into the bank every month. So that’s the end of my little story.”

  “It’s a sad story.”

  “Yes, but it could be worse, Lynn. It seems like something that happened a lifetime ago,” he said earnestly. “I’ve never talked about it to anyone before this. It’s too private. And I’m a very private person, as you know by now.”

  Inevitably, the affair of Robert and Lynn had to come to notice. In the second month she took him to Helen’s house. Helen’s husband, Darwin, was a good-natured man, round featured with an extra chin. Beside him Robert sparkled with his white collar glistening above his dark blue blazer. Darwin looked rumpled, as if he had been napping in his clothes. In a nice way—or perhaps not such a nice way?—Lynn was proud to let Helen see the contrast between the two, proud and a little ashamed of being proud.

  The next day Helen said, “Of course you want to know what I thought of your new man. I’m going to tell you right out flat: I didn’t like him much.”

  Lynn screamed into the telephone. “What?”

  “I’m always honest with you, Lynn. I know I can be too blunt—but he’s not your type. He can be sarcastic, I notice, and I have a hunch he’s a snob. He thinks he’s better than other people.”

  Lynn was furious. “Have you anything else nice to say about a man you don’t even know? Any more hunches?”

  “He has a critical, sharp tongue.”

  “I’ve never noticed it.”

  “I thought it was in poor taste, even cruel of him, to talk about that girl in the office and her long nails. ‘Filthy long nails. Can you imagine the bacteria snuggled under them?’ It was belittling to name her, and Darwin thought so too.”

  “Oh, dear! I am so sorry you and Darwin don’t approve. Really sorry.”<
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  “Don’t be angry at me, Lynn. Who wishes you more joy in life than I do? Dad and I. I just don’t want you to make a mistake. I see that you’re infatuated. It’s written all over you.”

  “I’m not infatuated.”

  “I feel in my bones that he’s not right for you.”

  “Does it possibly occur to your bones that I might not be right for him? Robert’s brilliant. He’s head of computer marketing for the whole region. I hear the salesmen talking—” Indignation made Lynn almost breathless. “An international company—”

  “Is it that that impresses you? Listen, Lynn. You never know about big corporations. You’re on top today and out tomorrow. It’s better to be your own boss, even in a small way, instead of at other people’s mercy.”

  Helen’s husband had a little plumbing business with five employees.

  “Are you accusing me of being ambitious? Me? You think that’s what I see in Robert?”

  “No, no, I didn’t mean that at all. You’re one of the least materialistic people. I didn’t express myself well. I meant that perhaps you felt—a kind of admiration, hero worship, just because he is so successful and—I only meant, don’t get too serious so fast.”

  “Do you know what I think? I think you’re an idiot,” Lynn said before she hung up.

  But it was not in her nature to hold a grudge very long. Helen was transparent. She was undoubtedly not even aware of it, and would deny it, but her motive was envy, even though she lived happily with Darwin. Pure and simple envy. And Lynn forgave her.

  Almost three months passed before they went to bed together; Lynn had to wait for her roommates to go out of town.

  On the weekend this finally happened, the two women had scarcely reached the airport before she had a lavish dinner prepared, and he arrived with flowers, record albums, and champagne. In the first moment they stood staring at each other as if this sudden marvelous freedom had transfixed them; in the next moment everything happened, everything moved. The flowers in their green tissue paper were flung onto the table, Robert’s overcoat was flung over a kitchen chair, and Lynn was lifted into his arms.

  Quickly, deftly, in the dim light of the wintry day, he removed her clothes, the sweater and the white blouse with the lace collar, the plaid skirt and the underthings. Her heart was speeding. She could hear its beat.

  “I never—this is the first time, Robert.”

  “I’ll be very gentle,” he murmured.

  And he was. Persistent, warm, and gentle, he spoke soft, endearing words while he held her.

  “So sweet … So beautiful … I love you so.”

  Whatever little fear there had been now dissolved, and she gave herself into total passionate trust.

  Much later when they released each other, Lynn began to laugh. “I was just thinking, it’s a good thing I hadn’t yet turned the oven on when you arrived. We’d be having cinders for dinner.”

  Over her expert ratatouille and tarte normande they talked about themselves.

  “Twenty-year-old virgins are becoming very rare these days,” said Robert.

  “I’m glad I waited.” She was still too shy to say: It makes me belong all the more to you. Because, would this last? She trusted, and yet there were no guarantees. Nothing had been said. But I shall die if he leaves me, she thought.

  They went back to bed. This time there was no need to be as gentle. She worshiped his strength. For a man so slender he was exceedingly strong. And, surprisingly, she found herself responding with a strength and a desire equal to his. They slept, until long before dawn she felt him return to her and, with willing arms, received him. Sleeping again past dawn, they awoke to see that a heavy snowfall was darkening the world.

  “Let’s stay indoors the whole day,” he whispered. “Indoors, in bed.”

  All through Saturday and Sunday they knew no surfeit.

  “I’m obsessed with you,” Robert said. “You are the most erotic woman—I’ve never known anything like you. And you look so innocent in your sweaters and skirts. A man would never guess.”

  On Sunday evening Lynn looked at the clock. “Robert, their plane gets in at ten. I’m afraid you have to leave in a hurry.”

  He groaned. “When can we do this again?”

  “I don’t know,” she said mournfully.

  “This is no way to live!” he almost shouted. “I hate a hole-and-corner business, skulking in highway motels. And I don’t want ‘living together’ either. We need to be permanent. Lynn, you’re going to marry me.”

  They set the wedding for June, taking advantage of Robert’s vacation to have a honeymoon in Mexico.

  “Of course, you’ll have to quit your job,” he told her. “We can’t be in the same office.”

  “I’ll find another one easily.”

  “Not yet. You’ll need time to furnish an apartment. It should be done carefully. Buy things of quality that will last.”

  Helen generously offered their house for the reception. “You can’t very well have it at Dad’s, since he’s only got three rooms now,” she said. “With luck, if the weather’s right, we can have the whole thing in our yard. Darwin has plans for a perennial border, and you know his green thumb. It should be beautiful.”

  To give her fullest credit Helen did not speak one disparaging word from the moment the engagement was announced. She kissed Lynn, admired the ring, which was a handsome one, and wished the couple every happiness.

  “Every happiness,” she said now as a chill blew in over Lake Michigan, loudly enough, apparently, for the couple with the poodles, who had circled back, to turn and stare. An eccentric woman, huddled there talking to herself, that’s what she was. An object to be stared at. Ah, well, there was no stopping memory once it got started back and back.…

  Robert endeared himself to everyone during that expectant enchanted spring before the wedding. Helen’s little boys adored him; he bought small bats, taught them to pitch, took them to ball games, and showed them how to wrestle. While the ice held, they all went skating, and when the days warmed, had picnics in the country.

  In Helen’s kitchen Lynn cooked superb little dinners, quiches, cassoulets, and soufflés out of Julia Child’s new book.

  “You put me to shame,” Helen said.

  After dinner Robert would sit at the old upright piano and play whatever was called out to him: jazz, show tunes, or a Chopin waltz.

  At his suggestion the two couples went to hear the St. Louis symphony. Darwin had never gone before and was surprised to find that he liked it.

  “Once you acquire the taste, you’ll never be without music,” Robert told him. “For me it’s another kind of food. We’ve got to get season tickets next year, Lynn.”

  Naively, kindly, Darwin praised Robert. “It beats me, Lynn, how he knows so much. I can just about make it through the daily paper. And he sure knows how to get fun out of life, too, and knows how to fit in with people.”

  Her father approved. “I like him,” he said after Lynn and Robert’s weekend visit. “It’ll be good to have a new son. And good for him to have a family. Hard on a young fellow to lose his parents like that. What kind of people were they? Do you know anything about them?”

  “What is there to find out? They’re dead,” Lynn answered, feeling impatient.

  “That’s all he has, the old aunt back in Pittsburgh?”

  “And an uncle in Vancouver.”

  “Practically alone in the world,” Dad said with sympathy.

  In the hardware store, being introduced as customers came in, most of them from the farms, Robert knew how to meet their jovial simplicity in kind. She saw that they approved of him, as did her father.

  “I like him, Midge,” Dad kept saying. “You’ve got yourself a man, not like the kids who used to hang around you. No offense meant. They were all good boys, but wet behind the ears. This one’s a man. What I like is, he hasn’t let the education or the job go to his head. I’ll be glad to dance at your wedding.”

  A woman reme
mbers every detail of her wedding day. She remembered the long ride, the organ singing, and the faces turned to watch her marching toward the altar.

  Her hand had trembled on her father’s arm. Easy now, he said, feeling the trembling hand. There’s Robert waiting for you. There’s nothing to fear. And then it was Robert who took her hand, while they stood together listening to the gentle, serious admonitions: Be patient and loving with each other.

  The rest of that day was jollity, music, dancing, kissing, teasing, and ribald, friendly jokes. The office crowd came, of course, and friends from the hometown came. Darwin’s and Helen’s friends were all there and Robert had invited the friends he had made in St. Louis; he had been away from Pittsburgh too long to expect people he scarcely knew anymore to come to his wedding.

  One relative came, Aunt Jean from Pittsburgh, the uncle in Vancouver not being well enough to travel. It was curious, Lynn reflected now, that such a pleasant, rather self-effacing little woman, with graying curls and a conventional print dress, should have been the cause of one out of the two false notes in the wedding.

  It was not her fault. It was Robert’s. They were at the family table after the ceremony when Aunt Jean remarked, “Someday I’ll have to get at my pile of photographs, label them, and bring them when I come to visit you. There are some of Robert that you just must have, Lynn. You’d never believe it, but his hair—”

  “For once, Aunt Jean,” Robert interrupted, “will you spare us a description of the blond curls I had when I was a year old? Really, nobody cares.”

  Chastised, she said nothing more, so that Lynn, with a gentle look of reproach in Robert’s direction, said gaily, “I care, Aunt Jean. I want to hear anything you can tell me about Robert and all the family, father, mother, grandparents, cousins—”

  “It’s a small family,” Jean said. “We don’t have any cousins at all, on either side.”

  Then Dad, who had heard only this last remark, cried out, “No cousins? Heck, well be glad to lend you some. I’ve got a dozen on my side alone, in Iowa, Missouri, even two in California.” And in his friendly way he inquired whether Jean was related to Robert’s mother or his father.