Even Phil had worked all his life in his own fashion. And there was Jim giving up everything for the priesthood. And here, he would go into his capital for this house. But he didn,t care. Celeste would never forgive him. But he absolutely didn,t care.
"Rather figured you did," Marchent said. "You,re a gentleman reporter, aren,t you? Ah, and you feel very guilty about that, too, I see."
"Just a little guilty," he said under his breath.
She reached out with her right hand and touched his left cheek. Her lips moved but she didn,t really speak. A tiny frown touched her forehead but her mouth was still soft and smiling.
"Dear boy," she said. "When you write a novel someday about this house, you will call it Nideck Point, won,t you, and you,ll remember me in some way in it, perhaps, you know. You think you might do that?"
He drew close to her. "I,ll describe your beautiful smoky-gray eyes," he said, "and your soft golden hair. I,ll describe your long graceful neck and how your hands make me think of birds when you gesture. And I,ll describe your voice, that crisp, precise way you say your words that make it seem like running silver when you speak."
I will write things, he was thinking. I will write something meaningful and wonderful someday. I can do that. And I,ll dedicate it to you because you,re the first person who ever made me think I could.
"Who has a right to tell me I have no gift, no talent, no passion...." he murmured. "Why do people say those things to you when you,re young? Doesn,t seem fair, does it?"
"No, darling, it,s not fair," she said. "But the mystery is why you listen."
Then all the old scolding voices went quiet in his head suddenly, and only then did he realize what a loud chorus they,d always been. Did he ever take a breath without hearing that chorus? Sunshine Boy, Baby Boy, Little Boy, Little Brother, Little Reuben, what do you know about death, what do you know about suffering, what makes you think, why would you ever try, why, you,ve never focused on any one thing longer than - . All those words just dried up. He saw his mother. He saw Celeste - saw her small animated face and large brown eyes. But he didn,t hear their voices anymore.
He leaned forward and kissed Marchent. She didn,t turn away. Her lips were tender, rather like a child,s lips, he imagined, though he had never actually kissed a child since he,d been a child himself. He kissed her again. This time, something stirred in her, and when he felt that stirring, the passion was sparked in him.
Suddenly, he felt her hand on his shoulder, squeezing his shoulder, and gently pushing him away.
She turned around and bowed her head like a person catching her breath.
She took his hand and led him towards a closed door.
He was certain this was the entrance to a bedroom and he had made up his mind. It didn,t matter what Celeste would think if she ever knew. He had no intention of passing up this opportunity.
She drew him into a darkened room, and turned on a low lamp.
Only slowly did he realize the place was a kind of gallery, as well as a bedroom. There were ancient stone figures standing on pedestals, thick shelves, and on the floor.
The bed itself was Elizabethan, an English relic almost certainly, a coffered chamber of sorts with carved wooden shutters that could be closed against the night,s cold.
The old coverlet of green velvet was musty, but he didn,t have a care about that in the world.
Chapter Two
HE WOKE UP out of a sound sleep. There was a low light coming from an open bathroom. A thick white terry-cloth robe hung on the hanger on the hook on the door.
His leather bag was nearby on a chair and his pajamas had been laid out for him, along with his fresh shirt for tomorrow, still in its wrapper, and his other personal things. His trousers had been folded. And his discarded socks as well.
He,d left his leather bag in his unlocked car. And this meant she,d gone out there in the dark alone to get it for him, and this made him a little ashamed. But he was a little too happy and relaxed to feel too ashamed.
He was still lying on the velvet cover, but the pillows had been removed from their velvet shams, and the shoes he,d