But here came the backlash: Kit, stabbing him with sudden shards of memory as he walked unwarily, his head full of recent history on a different level. He’d slept in this room last night, and had felt nothing. But now—
The phone was ringing. He roused himself reluctantly, both grateful at the interruption and moody at being dragged from his reverie, however painful.
The voice was familiar, but in contradictory ways. “Hello? Is this Robert Pratt?” It sounded like someone he knew, and yet it also sounded like a voice he would know from movies or television or the radio, and the confusion between the known and the really known left him tongue-tied until the voice said again, “Hello?”
“Yes,” he said. “This is Robert Pratt.”
“This is Bradford Lockridge calling.” (Of course!) “I wonder if you’d have some time to spare tomorrow. If you wouldn’t mind driving down to Eustace for the afternoon.”
He thought immediately of Mrs. Evelyn Canby. In the first few weeks after the arranged meeting with her he had planned to phone her, see if they might work out some sort of date or something, but he’d just never gotten around to it. The woman hadn’t really attracted him very much, in fact, and he’d only contemplated calling her because he’d thought it was expected of him. But she was too solemn, too dull. Another case of stretch marks, a sad life story just aching to be told. Gradually the time had gone by, until the day came when it was at last too late, when to call her now would be much more awkward than not to call, and with a pleasant feeling of relief he packed the incident away in a trunk in the attic of his mind and forgot about it.
And here it was back in the living room. He had no doubt that ex-President Lockridge was matchmaking again — or still — and his desire was to keep away, but in the clutch he couldn’t think of a legitimate-sounding excuse, and did have to make some response, so in fatalistic irritation he heard himself say, “Not at all, I wouldn’t mind a bit. I have plenty of time tomorrow.”
“Very good. Can you come for lunch? One o’clock?”
“One o’clock. I’ll be there.”
“Fine,” said Bradford Lockridge, and hung up.
“Drat,” said Robert, and also hung up.
ii
Evelyn Canby opened the door herself, but instead of letting him into the house she came out and shut the door again behind herself. “Good,” she said. “You got here early. I was hoping you would. I’d like to talk with you.”
“Sure,” he said. She was better-looking than he’d remembered. She was also behaving like someone with a secret. “Lead on,” he said.
“Let’s take the path down by the pond,” she said, and set off without looking to see if he was coming.
It took him a quick step or two to catch up, and then they walked side by side, out across the gravel driveway toward a stand of trees in front of and a bit to the left of the house. He looked at her set face curiously, but she clearly didn’t intend to say any more until they were well away from the house, so he contented himself with merely walking along beside her.
This was a path he hadn’t been on during his other visit. It led directly into the stand of trees, through which he thought he could catch glimpses of sunlight gleaming on water. Probably the pond she’d mentioned.
Today was another hot and sunny day, but with somewhat less humidity. And also with a change in sight; dark clouds massed low to the west, coming this way. Tomorrow or the next day, an August thunderstorm would stretch out across the land, but for today the sky was still mostly blue and clear.
When they were pretty nearly through the trees, and he could see the pond reflecting the sky, she said, “Did he tell you why he called you?”
He turned to look at her profile again. She was facing determinedly forward, and by her expression she wasn’t pleased. He decided the best thing was to tell the truth, since it was pretty clear none of this was her idea, so he said, “Not exactly. But I got the idea.”
She gave him a quick sidelong glance, and faced front again. “What did you tell him?”
“Tell him?” They stepped out of the trees at that moment, and he hung back to see where she would go next. Her pace slowed, and she strolled down across the grass toward the pond’s edge. The sunlight seemed hotter after walking amid the trees.
He said, “He didn’t ask me anything specific. Just if I’d come down here today.”
She nodded, looking out across the pond. A blue child’s sneaker lay in the grass to their left, but other than that they might have been the first humans ever to stand here. He turned back, shielding his eyes, and could just make out the house through the trees. He wouldn’t have been able to see it if he hadn’t known it was there.
She said, “What will you tell him?”
It was an odd question, under the circumstances. He looked at her again, and she was still gazing somberly out across the pond. He said, “I have no idea. I didn’t think the question would come up. Not out in the open, not with him.”
She turned her head then, to frown at him. “I don’t understand.”
“I imagine,” he said, “this is as embarrassing for you as it is for me, but I suppose the only thing to do is play along with him. Up to a—”
“Play along with him? Just sit back and let him make a fool of himself?”
Now it was Robert’s turn to fail to understand. “How does he make a fool of himself? He takes an interest in you, that’s all, it’s a natural thing to do.”
Her frown deepened, and something like suspicion suddenly came into her eyes. “Mr. Pratt,” she said, “just what do you think we’re talking about?”
“Well — your grandfather.”
“What about him? Why do you think he wanted to see you today?”
“To see you,” he said, shrugging because it was so obvious. And becoming increasingly embarrassing.
And she was becoming angry. “Is that right? My grandfather is matchmaking for me, is that it?”
“Isn’t he?”
“Of course not! You have an inflated opinion of yourself, Mr. Pratt, and too low an opinion of everyone else. Bradford Lockridge has better things to do than be a marriage broker, and even if he didn’t I wouldn’t require the service!”
“Well, he was,” Robert said defensively.
“He was what?”
“A matchmaker. That’s what my other visit was all about. Elizabeth let it slip on the way back.”
An angry denial never quite got spoken. She paused with the words still in her throat, and uncertainty spread a frown on her face. “Elizabeth?”
“In the car on the way back.” Robert was feeling more and more uncomfortable about all this. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I misunderstood you. I thought you knew about it, too, and that’s what you wanted to talk about.”
“Well, if it was Elizabeth’s idea, why should Bradford have anything to do with it?”
“The way I understood it, they talked it over among themselves. Bradford had you on his hands, and Elizabeth had me.” He tried a tentative grin, hoping they could find some gentle way out of this morass, and said, “I suppose the idea was they’d unload us both at the same time.”