“Here. Let me take your bag.”
She’d rather he hold her hand than her bag, but he took it from her and strode up the wharf to the shore, his unbuttoned khaki shirt flapping behind him.
Mary followed him up the stairs to a winding, climbing path across the manicured estate grounds.
She and Jim strolled side by side. Stone benches beckoned from under shady trees, and colorful flower gardens rested in the bends of the path. At the top of the slope, the Vandenberg home sat long and stately and white, trimmed with gray stone. In the center of the home, the wall bowed outward, graced with huge windows in the ballroom upstairs and the enormous sitting room downstairs. Off to one side lay the tennis courts and horse stables.
Mary could admire such opulence without coveting it, but unlike Gloria, she’d never seen it as an option. In a way, she felt sorry for the girl.
Faint snapping voices rose from down by the water.
“Oh dear,” Mary said. “I do hate when couples argue.”
Jim slung both his bag and Mary’s over his shoulder. “They won’t be a couple for long.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“It was inevitable.” He waved one arm over the grounds. “Arch says he wants a woman with middle-class sensibilities, then expects her to share his upper-class indifference to luxury. It’s happened before, and unless he wises up, it’ll happen again.”
“And he’s such a nice man.”
“He is. He’s a good man, a good officer.”
“It’s too bad that wasn’t enough for Gloria.”
“Yeah.” A wry smile crinkled one corner of his mouth. “I have a hunch it never was.”
“And the more she feels him slipping away, the harder she tries.”
“And the harder she falls. The Vandenbergs don’t like show-offs, and they despise scenes.”
The path curved around a maple tree, and Mary ran her hand under the green leaves, soon to be a brilliant orange-red. “If the Vandenbergs don’t like show-offs, I’m surprised they allow maple trees on their property.”
Jim laughed, stopped, and faced Mary. “They’re show-offs in autumn, but they pay penance in winter. Maybe that’s why they haven’t been chopped down.”
Mary joined his laughter. Jim’s shirt hung open over the long lean expanse of his chest, and a sudden playful impulse leaped inside her. She grasped his open shirt and did up a middle button. “Why, you’re a show-off too. You heard Arch. Put some clothes on and don’t make a scene.”
He stood stock-still. Silent.
What was she doing? Her fingers froze and fumbled with the button, and her breath grew ragged. He must think she was either forward or ridiculous. Somehow she had to save face, so she straightened his collar points. “There. You’re a big boy. You can do the rest yourself.”
She mustered up a smile and looked him in the eye.
His expression turned her knees to mush—the question in his eyes, the parting of his lips, the softness, as if he wanted—as if he wanted to—
Footsteps stomped behind them. “I can’t believe you said that, Archer Vandenberg. Just who do you think I am?”
“Come on, Gloria. Come back here. Let’s talk in private. Don’t make a scene.”
Jim’s expression warped. He stepped back and did up his buttons with his free hand, giving Mary a tight-lipped smile. “So much for the relaxing weekend, eh?”
With effort, she nodded, but the world felt topsy-turvy beneath her feet.
Gloria stormed past them on the path, properly clad but cursing Arch in improper language.
Jim glanced behind them. “Arch will stay on the pier for a while. I know him.”
“Oh. All right.” Mary’s voice squeaked and embarrassed her.
