Renegade Player (7 page)

Willy turned away slowly and fumbled for the light switch. This time she pulled the shades, not caring to have any interested bystander see her when she dropped to the couch and buried her face in her hands. There were no tears. No, she was a big girl now, in spite of Kiel’s insinuations, and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he could make her cry.

For the first time in ages, Willy was on time the next day. The night had brought with it little rest and she surveyed the overcast sky through her salt-smeared window with a baleful feeling of satisfaction. She could not have stood the false cheer of a brilliant sun today, and if she wanted to wallow in morose self-pity for a few hours—hours that
would
have been spent in a brisk swim and a shared breakfast while they argued amiably over the pages of the
Virginian Pilot
—then what difference did it make, as long as she presented a cheerful facade at work? She could do without speculation in that quarter.

Dotty greeted her with the news that Matt wanted to see everyone in his office at nine-fifteen, and she frowned in fierce concentration at the scribbly appointment calendar on her desk, seeing among her compulsive doodlings the reminder that she was showing a house in Colington at ten.

“You look like you could do with a vacation,” Dotty observed. “Been burning the candle?”

“I tried jogging after an early-morning swim lately. Didn’t I tell you exercise was hazardous to the health?”

“Ha, ha!” the secretary mocked. “The day you exercise to the point of heavy breathing will be a long time coming, Willy Silverthorne, so pull the other one.”

“The Chiswicks. Haven’t I heard that name before?” Willy speculated, glad to leave the subject of her recent activities. “I’m showing them that place at Colington this morning. Any advice?”

“Only that if they’re the same Chiswicks who were in here off and on for the past month, Pete’s already shown them half the county. I think they’re sightseers, taking advantage of a free ride and a guided tour.”

Groaning, Willy got up and poured herself a cup of coffee, staring out the window at the CCE Building as she sipped it, and then, with an exasperated exclamation, she put down her cup and marched into Matt’s office. Each of the three men rose when she entered and both Pete and Frank offered her their chair, but she smiled and took a perch on the corner of a low filing cabinet, absently picking dead leaves off Matt’s begonia.

Half an hour later, the three of them stood morosely, after having had their own observations confirmed. When the two men filed out of the office, Matt signaled Willy to remain behind. He closed the door, then returned to lean against his own desk with a frown marring his nice, regular features. “It’s all too true, you know, Willy. Economic ups and downs, interest rates, gas uncertainties—it all adds up to a slowdown in business. Meanwhile, overhead goes up at a rate that makes my head swim.” He shook his head as if to illustrate his point.

Seeking to smooth out the worry lines on his young-old face, Willy murmured something to the effect that where there were people there would always be a need for housing and not only on a temporary basis. “Second homes are our stock-in-trade, I know, Matt, but look how many newcomers are flocking down here to live. Ada Willits, who lives downstairs from me, said her parents lived out the depression here on collards and croakers, so maybe we should change our focus.”

He grinned, some of the worry leaving his eyes. “Okay, Pollyanna, point taken. All the same, I thought you should know which way the wind’s blowing.”

“Just so it blows. My air-conditioner’s been on the blink for three weeks and the man keeps telling me he’ll get to it terreckly, whatever
that
means.”

“Then why don’t we go out to a nice air-conditioned restaurant and maybe take in whatever’s playing at the Colony House afterward?”

On the point of making an excuse, Willy impulsively agreed. It was just the medicine she needed to keep her mind off Kiel Faulkner. When you get thrown, the best thing to do is to get right back on again, she thought, then immediately began picking holes in her rationale. As if Matt or any other man could take her mind off Kiel.

It was almost ten and she had to meet the Chiswicks at their motel at ten, so she asked if she might borrow the station wagon.

“When are you going to get yourself a sensible car, Willy?” Matt asked, strolling out with her. “Let me get something out of the glove compartment and it’s all yours.”

They stood there in the parking lot for several minutes while Matt went over the points she needed to stress about the Colington place, and then, as she slid under the wheel, he called after her, “I’ll be out all afternoon, so why don’t you just keep this and I’ll drive yours and we’ll meet at the Drake at eight?”

Since Matt lived at Southern Shores, and Willy all the way at the other end of the beach, in South Nags Head, they usually both drove to save time and gas. Willy tossed him her keys, trusting his ultraconservative driving habits, and backed out of the shady parking place and only then did she see Kiel standing outside the CCE offices. He had just turned away from talking with two men who carried rolled-up drawings as if they were priceless manuscripts and now he paused in the act of opening the door and stared at her. Neither of them acknowledged the other, but Willy had the unmistakable feeling that he had been aware of her the whole time she had been talking to Matt and she lifted her chin imperceptibly. Wasn’t this just what she wanted, to let him know that she didn’t have to tumble into bed with the first man who kissed her? She wasn’t that much of a pushover, no matter how devastatingly attractive the man was.

Her foot hit the floorboards in a vain effort to clutch and she swore mildly at all automatic transmissions for preventing people from expressing themselves on the road, and then she grinned ruefully at the self-image
that
thought conjured up. Anyone would think she was a teenage boy with his first hot rod, when actually she simply enjoyed one of the few luxuries that remained to her.

And unless she got on the ball and sold something to someone soon, even that luxury would go by the board. Upkeep and maintenance on a car like her little persimmon were not cheap.

The Chiswicks were a charming couple, retired and boasting of fourteen grandchildren scattered all over the country. While Willy sat in the car and waited for them to explore the Wright Memorial and the nearby museum—“Since we’re passing so close, I’m sure you won’t mind, my dear”—she thought sourly that in a world whose greatest problems stemmed from overpopulation, fourteen grandchildren weren’t so much to be bragged about but to be apologized for, and then her natural good nature came to the surface again and she damned the man who had put her out of sorts toward all mankind today, and set herself out to be charming to the prospective buyers, knowing all along that they weren’t really interested in buying anything more than a morning’s entertainment.

They walked around the tall frame house, with its oddly hopeful look, and Willy pointed out the cistern that was no longer needed for water and the Dorothy Perkins roses, their tiny leaves frosted with mildew, and tried to remember just what it was Matt told her to stress. They strolled through the empty house, their footsteps echoing hollowly, and when Mrs. Chiswick murmured something about the graciousness of high ceilings, Willy told her gently that the heating system was as old as the house itself, and when Mr. Chiswick remarked on the large, multipaned windows, she mentioned the winds that blew in off the sound in the wintertime, making storm windows almost a must.

At twelve-fifteen, she left them at their motel. They thanked her for a lovely morning and she smiled at them warmly and kicked herself for being a fool.

Lunch was a quick milk shake, and she stayed busy, both in the office and out of it, until almost six. When she let herself out the back door, locking up after herself, there was only one car left in the lot besides the station wagon. Kiel Faulkner stood talking to the woman who had been Randy’s secretary and was now his, she supposed, and as they were between the two vehicles, there was no way she could ignore them.

“Willy, you know my secretary, don’t you?” Kiel asked blandly. “Claudia Dunn, Wilhelmina Silver-thorne. Claudia used to work for Collier before he left, as you might know.”

As I might know, Willy repeated irritably in her mind. Her smile was slow in coming and probably not very gracious, but the sleek brunette, looking as flawlessly groomed as if she hadn’t been working eight and a half hours, didn’t even make the effort. They had never had much use for each other, since it was no secret that until Willy came on the scene, Claudia Dunn was all set to parlay a working relationship into something much more.

“You mentioned the Drake,” Kiel said. “Is it any good?”

Rolling down the windows of the station wagon to allow the steam to escape, Willy told him grudgingly that it was average.

“I can’t see you settling for a place that’s only average,” he taunted, looking unfairly cool and unflappable in spite of the sultry heat that bore down on them through a brassy gray sky.

“It does a pretty good clam chowder and I suppose their lemon chess pie is as good as any you’ll find,” she conceded.

“Sounds promising,” he said to his secretary. “You interested?”

Willy didn’t wait to hear the answer. She slammed her door and reversed smoothly out of the slot, thankful for once that she didn’t have any gears to grind because it would be just her luck to do something stupid with those two for an audience.

Matt was late. Willy had been determined to meet him outside and insist on going somewhere else, but by the time he pulled into the crowded lot, she was starved, and he was so apologetic that she hadn’t the heart to suggest they go somewhere else. Besides, knowing Matt, he had made reservations in advance. He always played it safe.

What the hell! The parking lot was jammed and there was no silver-gray Porsche; it would serve him right to come roaring up here only to find there was no room either inside or outside. And there, like a thumbed nose, would be her persimmon-colored Mercedes, and . . .

Oh, Willy! How childish can you get? she ridiculed. As if it mattered one whit to Kiel Faulkner where she ate her dinner!

The clam chowder was too peppery tonight, the hush puppies were dry, and they were out of lemon chess pie. Besides which, Matt was hinting around about one breadwinner in a family being enough and what did she think of raising a family while they were young enough to enjoy them instead of waiting until they thought they could afford them. She asked what was playing at the Colony House and then pretended an interest she was far from feeling. All she wanted to do now was to get out before Kiel and Claudia showed up, which she was sure they would do, and before Matt became more explicit.

They almost made it. Willy was studying the geodetic survey charts on the wall of the minuscule lobby while Matt paid the check and they turned to go out just as Kiel opened the door for Claudia ... a Claudia, Willy noticed with intense distaste, who was clinging like a barnacle and laughing up in his face as if he were the cleverest man on the face of the earth.

“Oh, hello, you two,” Kiel greeted. “How was dinner?”

Irritated by his bland urbanity, Willy told him shortly that the chowder was too peppery and they were out of lemon chess pie.

“I can’t stand clam chowder, anyway,” Claudia asserted, as if only a person of low breeding could, “and they’re sure to have vanilla ice cream.”

Kiel, holding the door for them, said in a low voice as Willy brushed past him, “Personally, I enjoy a taste of spice, and as for dessert, well, I prefer to improvise . . . later.”

“What was that all about?” Matt wanted to know as he saw her to her own car.

“Oh, nothing, he was just passing a smart-aleck remark. Meet you at the theater, all right?”

The picture was as dry as the hush puppies had been and completely lacking in spice, and by the time Matt saw her to her car again, Willy was yawning widely.

“I don’t suppose you’d care to go for a drive,” he suggested wistfully, and Willy thought, For a drive or parking? Matt lived with a married couple and had no place of his own to take a date. So far, he had done little more than hint that he wouldn’t mind spending an evening at Willy’s apartment and she had put him off, instinctively shying away from a deeper involvement with a man she knew could never be more than a friend.

“I’m bushed, Matt. Today was more than I bargained for, and unless you want me trailing in about noon tomorrow, you’d better let me go home while I can still keep my eyes open.” She grinned sleepily and, on impulse, leaned over and kissed him lightly on the corner of the mouth. “It was nice, Matt. I didn’t need the pie, anyway. Remind me to bring you a sample of my own lemon chess pie.”

“
You’re
nice, ” he replied gallantly, “and if I weren’t your boss as well as your date, I might argue with you. Good night, honey. Drive carefully.”

She did—carefully, slowly and far too thoughtfully, seeing Claudia hanging on to Kiel’s arms, her usually composed face alive with frank interest. There were no lights on in Kiel’s house when she pulled up close beside her own apartment and she wondered if he were home yet. Was he alone? Were they parked somewhere watching the moon rise over the ocean, laying out a silver carpet before it? Or were they over there across the way, lying on the cushioned lounge, having a dessert of wine and cheese?

Willy was almost asleep when the first strains of music drifted through her open window, and when she recognized the haunting strains of an aria from
The Pearlfishers
, she pounded her pillow furiously and then pulled it over her head.

For the next few days, Willy saw nothing of Kiel and she hated to admit, even to herself, how badly she missed him. That brief period when she had seen him several times a day could almost have occurred in another lifetime, so isolated did it seem now in the oppressive heat of summer doldrums. She found herself snapping at Pete and Frank when they teased her and even Dotty came in for her share of Willy’s ill humor.