Burnt Offerings (Valancourt 20th Century Classics) (5 page)

“That’s my girl. Just leave the graceful exits to me.”

(3)

The voices were in the hall, just outside the closed doors – Walker’s and the cracked rasp Marian remembered hearing on the phone Monday.

“Where do you want this stuff?”

“In the car, where else?”

“There’s no more room in the car.”

“Well, make room! What do we pay you for anyway?”

Ben had gone out onto the terrace to check David who was amusing himself, safely and in plain view, at the foot of the lawn; away from the water, as Ben had told him. When
he reentered the room, he said, “He’s fine; playing – ” but Marian
was holding up her hand and nodding in the direction of the voices. The knob was turning and one of the doors moved a bit. Marian cleared her throat.

“And take that mirror out too,” the woman said. “It’s cracked.”

“Not the only thing around here that’s cracked,” Walker replied.

Ben snickered and Marian was trying hard not to smile. The door was pulled shut suddenly and whatever the woman retorted was muffled to a small paragraph of sibilants. When it finally flew open, a small, energetic woman in her early sixties walked in briskly. She was sharp-faced, with highly lacquered pepper-and-salt hair. Her outfit, dark blue, was tailored and expensive, and she wore a double strand of pearls.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said, extending a jewelled hand to Marian and then to Ben, almost as an afterthought, “but I’ve had a
morning
.” She looked toward the hall and then raised her voice. “Some people just don’t know which side is
up
anymore.” There was no reply, just a distant shuffling in the hall. “Old fool,” she muttered, and then turned abruptly to Marian. She smiled sweetly and said, “I’m Roz Allardyce. Brother will be down soon as he pulls himself together.”

Marian let Ben make the introductions. Before he could mention David, Miss Allardyce said, “There’s a boy too, isn’t there?”

“Our son, David,” Ben said. “He’s gone down to look at the water.”

“Is that all right?” Marian asked.

“Sure, let him romp,” Miss Allardyce said. “Kids are good for the place. Anybody else?”

“Just the three of us,” Ben said.

She remembered speaking to Marian, remembered the name Rolfe even though she was bad at names and, besides that, had a headful of names at the moment; the phone hadn’t stopped ringing since the ad appeared last Sunday. “I keep forgetting how many folks there are who want to get out of that terrible city.”

“There’ve been other people?” Marian couldn’t help asking, and if Miss Allardyce hadn’t been watching her so closely, she would have pantomimed an apologetic “Sorry, too anxious” to Ben. But she
was
watching her, like Walker.

“
Other people?
” Her voice broke on the laugh. She cut it off and the voice became low and confidential. “The wrong kind, most of them.”

Marian tried not to look at Ben who was jerking his thumb in his and then Marian’s direction, and nodding.

“We’re very particular, Brother and me,” Miss Allardyce continued, touching Marian’s arm for emphasis. “We don’t do this that often to begin with; last time was two, three years ago, I forget. Some years there’s nothing but wrongos, and others . . .” She smiled, her makeup flaking in the crevices, and let her hand slip from Marian’s arm.

“But it’s still available?” Marian asked, and this time she made it sound less anxious.

“It’s available,” she said after a pause, and to Marian it was clearly an invitation.

Ben moved closer to them. “I suppose we ought to get down to particulars,” he said to Marian.

“A practical man,” Miss Allardyce said, still looking at Marian. “Just like Brother.” She finally turned her attention to him. “Particulars are simple enough, Mr. Rolfe.” She waved her hand over the room. “What do you think of it, the old homestead?”

Ben followed her hand. “This?”

“That’s right, this.”

The question was unexpected. He thought a moment, nodded, impressed, and said, “It’s quite a place.”

“Indeed it’s that. Over two hundred acres, a lot of it prime waterfront property. Where do you see that nowadays? And the old barn itself – well, I’m sure Mrs. Rolfe appreciates something this special. Right?”

Marian let her eyes travel over the room, as though she were seeing it for the first time. “It’s extraordinary,” she said quietly.

“Your kind of house, am I right?”

“Anybody’s, I’d think.”

“You’d be wrong. Not anybody’s.” She flicked her forefinger against a red Sandwich vase, which rang. “Know anything about antiques?”

“A little,” Marian said.

“Then you’ve got some idea what’s in here. The house is crammed with them.” Her voice became soft and reverent. “Our mother is – was, really – a great collector.” She paused and seemed to go within herself. “Our sweet darling.”

“It’s just lovely,” Marian said and her words were full of sympathy.

Miss Allardyce composed herself with a deep breath, more like a sigh. Her face became sharp again – a ferret, Marian thought – and the bark was back in her voice. “Hell to keep up. Too much for two old wrecks like Brother and me, especially since the accident.” They were spared the tangent by the quick shuffling sound out in the hall again. “And of course that old fool’s no help; been senile for years now.” She raised her head slightly and yelled, “
Walker!
” The shuffling stopped, something was muttered, and then he appeared just outside the door, struggling with a large carton; a lamp and shade, dismembered, lay on top.

“What now?” he asked testily.

“Brother’s gardenia plant, next to the window.”

“What about it?”

“In the car, please. It’s dead.”

“Right now?”

She closed her eyes; her face reddened under the makeup
and her voice shook, just slightly. “Whenever your busy sche
dule permits.” Her eyes opened as Walker shuffled past the open door. She shook her head ruefully. “A crime, just a crime the way things go around here. Brother’s greenhouse used to be something miraculous. Now not even a plant. The responsibility of a place like this – too much, too much.”

At least she was aware of it, Marian thought, whatever that was worth. And maybe the old lady’s words, which seemed to be addressed directly to her, triggered it – the strange proprietary feeling that came over her again; the feeling that this house, which she had never seen before, was somehow reserved for her. It showed obviously; something a little deeper than blank awe, and less objective, had crept into her face, because Miss Allardyce looked straight at her and said, “I know, you’re thinking what you could do with it, aren’t you?”

Her accuracy made Marian color a bit. Did she look that hungry? “I’m afraid I am,” Marian said, and gave Ben a helpless shrug.

“My wife,” Ben explained, putting an arm around her, “is the type that clips pictures out of
House and Garden
. Like other ladies cut out paper dolls. She’s got albums filled with them.”

“Nothing wrong with that, is there?” Miss Allardyce said. “Until the real thing comes along.”

“Nope.” He gave Marian a warts-and-all squeeze and then released her.

“You were getting down to particulars,” Marian reminded him.

He heard the
please?
and said, “About the cottage, Miss Allardyce . . . I’m afraid we had something a little different in mind.”

“Cottage?” she replied, “What cottage?”

“The one down the drive.”

“The old shanty?”

“That’s the one.”

She looked at Marian. “What’s he talking about?”

It was confirmation, and relief, enough for her to say, very sincerely, “We assumed it was the cottage you were renting.”

“Who’d want an old wreck like that?” Miss Allardyce said
distastefully. “It’s this house we’re renting.” And then to Marian, with a nudge in her voice: “You knew that, didn’t you?”

Marian looked at Ben innocently. “Oh,” he said, and the disappointment was to her clearly token. “That solves that.”

Miss Allardyce drew her head back and looked at him over imaginary glasses. “There’s nothing wrong with it, is there?” she asked, a little affronted.

“Nothing at all,” Ben said. “It’s just a little more than we were looking for.”

“Then that makes it a real nice surprise, doesn’t it?”

“It’s that, all right.” He let her see how impressed he was, giving the room a long, appreciative look. “But not for us, I’m afraid. Right, babe?”

Marian hesitated. “The ad did say ‘reasonable.’ ” She looked
at Miss Allardyce for corroboration.

“ ‘Very reasonable,’ as I recall,” she said. “And so it is, for the right people.”

“Who are they?” Ben asked.

Miss Allardyce paused and her small eyes, watery blue, became calipers. “Oh, a nice young couple,” she said casually, “with imagination and muscle. Someone who’d love the place the way Brother and I do . . .” She waited, watching Marian.

He was weighing it and in all probability whatever he said would come out suitably thoughtful and cautious and, inevitably, negative. Marian had been through it before; Miss Allardyce hadn’t. And so she said, diffidently, “Assuming that was us, what would ‘reasonable’ be?”

He reacted with a “Marian, honey . . .”

“There’s no harm in asking, is there, darling?”

“Something like this is way over our heads,” he said. “It’s an estate, it’s – ”

“Four walls and a roof,” Miss Allardyce said simply. “You know what they say about nothing ventured, Mr. Rolfe.”

“My husband is a maddeningly practical man, Miss Allardyce.”

“All right,” Ben said with resignation. “In the interest of peace. Four walls and a roof – let’s talk about them.”

“Good,” Miss Allardyce said. “Now there are of course a few preliminary questions.” Marian nodded and looked at her anxiously. “We’re talking about the summer. You’d be willing to take the place all season – whenever to Labor Day?”

“We could,” Ben said, as non-committally as possible. “Term’s over June twentieth.”

“Ben’s a teacher,” Marian explained with an enthusiasm that surprised them both.

“So let’s round it off to July one, how’s that? Give Brother and me time to get things in order.”

“Fine,” said Marian. She added, “Isn’t it?” to Ben who shrugged a tentative “yes.”

“And there’s just the three of you, is that right? You two and the boy out there?” Her voice had assumed an official tone, as though she were reading off a questionnaire.

Marian waited for Ben to reply. When he nodded, she said to both of them, “Four, really. There’s Aunt Elizabeth. Think how she’d enjoy this, Ben. We were talking about it this week, the idea of her getting out of the city.”

“Who’s she?” Miss Allardyce asked.

“Ben’s aunt.”

“How old?”

The question surprised her. She let Ben say, “Seventy-four.”

“An old gal then.” She thought and then asked Marian, “You wouldn’t mind, having an old gal around?”

Trick question possibly. Despite the energy and the lacquer, there was lots of crepe hanging on Miss Allardyce. “No, not at all,” she answered, and honestly.

“Some people would, you know.”

“Aunt Elizabeth’s a doll.”

Miss Allardyce paused; the question was obviously important. “That’s very sweet,” she said, “very sweet indeed.” Her voice had become surprisingly soft. It rose again, inquisitorial. “Just four then? No other family?”

Ben was leaving the preliminaries to her. “Ben’s parents are dead,” she said.

“Yours?”

“In Florida.” Miss Allardyce grimaced at that. “A sister in California.”

“Okay, four.” She seemed disappointed.

“Is it important?” Marian asked.

“Not necessarily. It’s just that there are more than thirty rooms here. It can take a heck of a lot of people to make a house this size come alive.”

“There are just four of us,” Ben emphasized. A house that size was exactly his point. Absurd. Marian wondered if they’d seen more of the thirty rooms.

“No matter,” Miss Allardyce said. “We can close most of them off,” and Marian could hear herself saying, The west wing is closed; we’ll have to put you in the east. Grandly. “It’s quality that counts anyhow,” Miss Allardyce said, and smiled. “Not that it’s important, but – pets?”

“None,” Marian said.

“Good. Brother can’t abide them. I’m sure you could provide references?”

“Yes.”

“Not necessary. Brother and I make up our own minds.” She moved a little closer to Marian. “What’s more important, Mrs. Rolfe, is that you’d be willing to stay and tend the place, as far as you could. Maybe even bring some kind of life back into it. Would you?” The voice had suddenly become less impersonal; there was even something of a plea in the last words. She looked at Ben. “All of you?”

She was waiting, it seemed to him, more for a commitment than a reply. “That’s a pretty big order,” he said. “We’re used to an apartment. Small, hot, and noisy,” he added, for Marian’s benefit. “We wouldn’t know the first thing about running a place like this.”

“It takes care of itself, Mr. Rolfe. Believe me. What I meant was – how shall I put it?” She stirred the air with one hand and found the words: “Love it, the way Brother and I love it.” She stopped and became meditative. “And our darling, of course.” Again, the reverent pause. “That’s all. The rest comes naturally.”

When he started to say, “Yeah, but this kind of responsibility . . .” Marian said, “Of course we would,” very quietly. She reached for his hand and pressed it. He returned the pressure, hard enough to make her wince.

“It seems to me,” Miss Allardyce began slowly, working out the figures in her head, “we’re talking in the neighborhood of – seven hundred.” She looked up, underlined the figure with a firm nod, and waited for them to react.

“A month,” Ben said.

“A
month?
Heck, no!” she said, vastly amused. “Seven hundred for the summer.”

“For this?” The figure and his surprised reaction (enthusiasm, in Ben) made Marian close her eyes in relief.

“The house and all two hundred plus acres. The pool, the beach, the works. Now is that a
deal?
” Her expression had become almost philanthropic.

“We’ll take it!” Marian said. It came out like a great sigh. She squeezed Ben’s arm. “Won’t we?” she pleaded, “Won’t we,
please?
”

It’s certainly something to think about, he was going to say, but there was a sudden noise in the hall – a metallic clattering and the low buzz of a motor.

“Brother,” Miss Allardyce announced. The motor stopped, then started again. “Told you it was reasonable,” she said, listening. “For the right people.”

Again, the buzz stopped; the clattering, louder now, was coming from the staircase which, Marian remembered, had a metal track running up its base. “
Walker
!
” a phlegmy voice boomed, “
Walker, for Chrissake!
”

“Heck.” Miss Allardyce shook her head. “Brother’s stuck on that damn inclinator again.”