near the open living room window that provided a gentle southern breeze.
She was returning to her bedroom when she heard an auto braking out front. Thinking that Patsy must have forgotten something, she muttered, “Not a moment’s peace around here.”
But when she looked out the window, her irritation evolved into apprehension. Bernie Croft was climbing out of an unfamiliar automobile. It wasn’t his long touring car, but a much smaller roadster. For once, his chauffeur, whom she secretly feared, wasn’t with him.
She overlapped the sides of her silky, floral-patterned robe and tied the belt tightly around her waist. It was almost back to what it had been before the baby. Her curvy figure was coveted by women and lusted after by men. Arthur had been worth the temporary bloating, but she was glad to have her notable figure restored.
As Bernie neared the door, she opened it and, with more bravado than she felt, said, “This is a surprise.”
“A good one, I hope.”
“A delightful one.”
She stood aside; he came in.
This being his first time ever to come here, he took a look around. Like the rest of the house, the main room was shabby overall. The wallpaper was faded. The window curtain sagged unevenly. There were stains on the rug.
In these surroundings, Bernie looked all the more immaculate and imposing.
“I’m a mess,” she said. “Give me a sec?”
“Of course.”
Norma rushed into her bedroom and inspected herself from the different angles provided by the tri-panel mirror. Dammit, she didn’t look her best. Although it was after lunchtime, she’d spent a lazy morning and hadn’t even powdered her nose. There wasn’t time to pin up her hair, so she fluffed it around her shoulders. Grabbing a tube of lipstick, she applied a coating, then turned toward the door as Bernie strode in and tossed his hat into a chair piled with discarded clothing.
Embarrassed over the bedroom’s messiness, she made a self-conscious gesture of helplessness. “The baby keeps me so busy, I don’t have time to do much else.” Then around a nervous laugh, she added, “Not that I’ve ever been much of a housekeeper.”
“You weren’t expecting company.”
“Especially not such important company.”
His affectionate smile relaxed her. Gabe wouldn’t have been fool enough to tell Bernie that she was in on their secret about Pointer’s Gap.
“Would you like something? Maybe some iced tea?”
“Nothing, thank you. Except privacy.”
He shut the bedroom door with his elbow. She would have preferred that it be left open a crack so she could hear Arthur if he stirred, but Bernie was having to bat away the articles of clothing hanging on the back of the door that had swung outward and swiped his face, so she let it go.
“Did you see Arthur?”
“I took a look,” he said, “but you’re who I came to see.”
Responding to the suggestiveness of his tone, she moved her shoulder enough to make the robe slip off it. “I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t consult you on the baby’s name. Do you like it?”
“It’ll do.”
“Well, I couldn’t name him after you, could I?”
He laughed. “God, no.”
“He has your wide brow. I hope no one notices the resemblance.”
“No one will be looking for one,” he said. “If they look for resemblances to anyone, it will be Gabe.”
“Yes, our marriage coming so soon after his wife’s disappearance may raise a few brows, but I’ve come up with a tragic love story.” She placed the back of her wrist to her forehead and struck a dramatic pose. “Arthur’s father was taken too soon, I’ll say, and give a delicate sniff-sniff. He never got to see his son, but he would be pleased to know that his child’s stepfather is a prominent physician, a loving man who treats Arthur as his own.”
He grinned. “You’ve got it all planned.”
“I am a planner. But I do like surprises.” She leaned back against her vanity table, letting her robe fall open, baring her legs.
Appreciating the view, Bernie walked toward her. “You’re no pious-looking madonna, Norma.”
She fluttered her eyelashes. “Thank you for saying so.”
“How is motherhood?”
“Sleep-depriving. But I adore Arthur. He’s a good baby.”
Bernie fingered the silk lapels of her robe, then impatiently pushed them apart. “Are you a good mother?”
“I think so. I want to be.”
“I’m sure you are.” He covered her breasts with his wide hands and squeezed. “With these titties? I’m sure you excel. Arthur’s a lucky little bastard.”
She recoiled. “Don’t call him that.”
“That’s what he is.”
“It’s an ugly word.”
“I agree.” He looked up from her breasts into her