A woman’s voice answered this time, a voice spiced with Irish brogue: “Mr. Gregory’s residence.”
“I... I called a moment ago. I was cut off. May I speak to the man who answered the telephone then? He was a Negro, a butler, I suppose.”
“There’s some mistake, ma’am,” the voice answered her cheerfully. “There are no butlers here and no Negroes.”
“Then the operator must have given me a wrong number that first time. May I speak to Mrs. Corbett? This is Miss Corbett.”
“Mrs. Corbett isn’t here now, ma’am, and she’s not expected.”
“Oh, thank you.” Amy jiggled the lever. “Operator, that first call was a wrong number.”
“I’m sorry, madam. Excuse it, please.”
“You don’t understand. I’m not blaming you. I just wanted to know what that wrong number was. It’s important.”
“But, madam!” The operator was bewildered. “If it was a wrong number, it was a mistake. I did it without knowing it. I can’t tell you something I don’t know myself, can I?”
“Oh! Then give me six five three.” But no one answered that number.
Twenty minutes later Amy tried again.
“Dr. Galt is not here now,” said a woman’s voice with a tart Yankee, twang. “But— Oh, wait a minute! I think I hear his car just coming into the drive.”
“Amy!” Allan Galt’s welcome was cordial. “I had no idea you were coming back today. When can I see you?”
“Right away. Unless you’re busy.”
“Something wrong? You sound upset.”
“I am. Something queer just happened. I need advice.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. I have a few more house visits to make.”
Amy put down the telephone. Through the open doorway she could see dune shadows turning blue in the sand hollows, while the sunlight that lingered at the level of each crest was taking on its late afternoon luster, bright, still, golden. The day was dying, as summer itself was dying at this time of year. She shivered, suddenly aware of the threat of winter and night.
Have you thought... when? What about... tonight?
Amy frowned. Why was she so sure she had heard that woman’s voice before, somewhere, some time?
Upstairs, slipping into a white pique dress, she heard footfalls below. Allan already? It was little more than half an hour since she had telephoned him. She ran to the head of the stairs. A single lamp was lit in the dark hall below. Within its circle of light a flash of sapphires drew her gaze to her mother’s hands, arranging flowers in a vase on the table. Pale, slender hands, tipped with rose-petal nails.
“Why, Amy! I had totally forgotten you were coming today. You might have reminded me!”
“I did try to reach you by telephone when I got here.”
“Dear child, that was thoughtful!” Natalie Corbett beamed at her daughter as if she meant every word. In a way, she did. That was the funny part. It wasn’t quite the special compassion a mother feels for a child who is crippled or defective. It was rather the deprecating tolerance a breeder of dogs feels for the one puppy in a thoroughbred litter that hasn’t enough points to make the bench show. Poor little brute, no form at all! But he is faithful and affectionate, so I do make rather a pet of him... A girl who dressed carelessly as well as simply, a girl who would rather go to a play than a debutante dance, a girl who treated ineligible men as if they were eligible... Well, it was trying, all Natalie’s friends agreed.
“I wish you’d worn a prettier dress, dear,” Natalie was saying. “And as for that lipstick! The wrong color for your eyes. And crooked. There’s a new shade upstairs on my dressing table that Esther Gregory gave me. Vin Rose. Do run upstairs and try it. I don’t suppose there’s any use suggesting you try the nail polish that goes with it?”
“No, there isn’t.” Amy smiled. “I told you why I stopped wearing nail polish, Mother. At college I developed an allergy to it quite suddenly.”
“You never mentioned such a thing,” exclaimed Natalie.
“Yes, I did, Mother,” Amy said. “You’ve forgotten. I didn’t talk too much about it. I believe people don’t talk about their allergies until they’re cured. It’s humiliating to know that you’re so vulnerable to things normal people use without any trouble.”
“Thank goodness, nothing like that ever happened to me!” Natalie regarded her pearly pink nails with satisfaction. “That Allan Galt is here. He seems most anxious to see you. If I were you I wouldn’t hurry out to the terrace. I’d keep him waiting. A little finesse on your part wouldn’t be out of place at all!”
Amy sighed. “Mother, you know I can’t finesse with anybody and I don’t want to!”
“As you please!” Natalie shrugged as she moved toward the terrace door.
Amy hesitated on the threshold. The terrace seemed crowded, though actually there were only eight people. Natalie had gone over to the cocktail table. No one noticed Amy in the darkness. She recognized her sister-in-law’s fair, fluffy hair and kitten eyes, wide apart, round and wisely wondering. Peter’s wife was sitting apart from the others, and that seemed odd. Amy slipped into a vacant chair beside her. “Hello. Kate!”
“Why, Amy! I didn’t know you were back. How nice!”
“Only for a week. Where’s Peter?”
“Over there at the table with your mother, mixing cocktails.”
Now she had been told where to look, Amy picked out her brother’s figure in the shadows. Peter was like his mother, slim, neat, almost dapper. In the darkness, beyond the lamplight that spilled through the hall doorway, another woman sat on a wicker settee with two men. Amy could see only a whiteness of face and throat and arms against a drift of black dress. The hair must be dark indeed, for it blended with the night. The black lace of a mantilla would have been invisible without a crescent of diamonds that glittered through its mesh.
Kate’s glance followed Amy’s. “That’s Esther Gregory.”
“I’ve known Curtis Gregory for years,” said Amy. “But I think the only time I met Esther was at their wedding in town two years ago. She was a widow, wasn’t she?”
“Yes. A Mrs. Maitland from San Francisco. She’s become a great friend of your mother’s down here.”
“I’ve heard about that.”
Just then the woman’s laugh rippled, light but thin and chill, as the ring of a crystal goblet tapped by a fingernail.
Kate spoke quietly: “I don’t like her, because Peter likes her so much, I suppose. But she’s got a husband. Why does she want all the other men to dance attendance on her as well? Even Allan.”
“That doesn’t sound like Allan.”
“He’s changed, Amy. You’ve stayed away so long you don’t know. He’s over there in the dark sitting with Esther and her house guest, Mr. Payne.”
Amy was startled. Couldn’t Allan have made some excuse to leave Esther Gregory by this time?
“Kate, do you know anyone who has a living-room 30 feet wide?”
“If anyone has, I wouldn’t know it. I’m no good at guessing distances.”
“Well, just a big living-room, then, with a hard floor, stone or tile, and a picture window?”
“Lots of people have big living-rooms with hard floors and picture windows.”
“Are here many who have stables?”
“Probably. You remember there’s fox hunting here in the fall.”
“How many people have Negro butlers?”
“I don’t know any, but several have Negro chauffeurs.”
“Do many people keep Siamese cats?”
“The Pettys have one. What are you driving at, Amy?”
“Think, Kate. Do you know anybody at all who has all these things? A big living-room with a picture window and a bare, hard floor, stables, a Negro chauffeur, and a Siamese cat?”