Hold Back the Night (12 page)

'Well, have you seen?' he asked, his voice edged with an acid self-mockery. 'Do you approve?'

'They're... nice,' Domini said jerkily.

'Your enthusiasm is overwhelming,' he returned with heavy sarcasm.

Domini rallied, realizing that she could not allow herself any more emotional displays. There had been far too many already, and her feelings would simply have to be put into cold storage until later, when she was safely at home. If the years had taught her nothing else, they had taught her to curb her emotions and her tongue in public. She took a breath, closed her eyes briefly in a silent prayer for strength, and said in a perfectly level voice, 'I like them very much indeed. It's just that I think you're capable of far more. I've seen the unicorn, remember.'

'A copy,' he said, his tone derogatory.

'That's so,' Domini said slowly. 'But when your sister was chatting about it earlier, she referred to you as an artist, not an artisan. Aren't you a sculptor?'

'I'm a carpenter.'

'A man would have to be far more than a carpenter to make that copy, especially if he were blind. It's very good.'

'I'm a carpenter,' he repeated bluntly.

'Were you ever a sculptor?'

His long silence ended in a terse 'Once.'

'When was that?'

'Too long ago to remember,' he said discouragingly.

Domini pressed on with questions to which she knew the answers, realizing she could not ask for details about Sander's past few years without establishing some basis of knowledge as a foundation for her interest. Gradually, and only by sheer doggedness, she managed to drag several grudgingly admitted facts into the open: that he had once been sighted, that he had worked in Paris, that he had worked in stone, that he had been in New York for only a few months less than Domini herself had been. And that he had never had any operation that might restore his vision.

Heart in her throat because of his dampening manner, Domini braved, 'Why not?'

His lips drew back in exasperation, briefly baring clenched teeth. 'Is that any of your concern?' he returned with outright rudeness.

Domini knew it sounded like idle prying, but she couldn't help continuing. 'Isn't your condition operable?'

He remained silent, putting a wall around himself, his nostrils flaring with deep resentment.

'I mean, if there's anything that could be done to help you, it should be done,' Domini went on, personal interest adding an urgent tone to her persuasions. 'I wish there were some way to ... '

'Help me? Do you think I want your help ... yours or anyone's?'

Domini took a moment to answer. 'I don't suppose you do,' she said quietly. 'But everyone needs help sometimes.'

'I want none,' he grated. His face had become a cruel mask, his mouth insolent, his eyes harsh with shadows caused by more than the uncertain lighting in the room. 'And why such avid interest? Are you one of those women who feeds on freaks? To whom a handicap is an aphrodisiac? There are some like that.' He paused partway through his sneering condemnation and added with brutal intent, 'No, I think you have no particular interest in men. You were too prudishly nervous at finding yourself in my bed. Besides, your old-maid hair-do suggests as much. I felt it, you know, when I took your sweater off. Just as I felt your breasts.'

He intended to shock her, of course, to hurt her in retaliation for her prying. Domini gazed at him, aching inside for the man Sander Williams had become. She knew to her own sorrow that that streak of cruelty had always been there, but it had not always been so marked. And there had been another side to him then ... the man who had tried, at one point, to be kind while discouraging a lovesick teenager. Four years ago there had been good and bad in Sander Williams, and she had suffered at the hands of the bad and hated him for it. But she could not hate him now, no matter what deliberate unkindnesses he inflicted.

'Perhaps you judged me on the wrong evidence,' she said levelly. 'You're aware that your sister is picking up my daughter. Are you also aware that I've never been married?'

'No doubt your fiance didn't like the sample,' he cut back insultingly.

'Actually I wouldn't have married the man if he'd asked. Now are you so sure of your conclusions?'

That earned no particular easing of the unfriendly expression on his face, but it did put an end to that particular topic of conversation. 'Is the day-care centre some distance away?' he asked curtly. 'Miranda's been gone a long time.'

Domini glanced at her wristwatch, marvelling that she herself had not noticed how late it had become. Instantly worry creased her brow. 'Well, they are taking quite a while,' she agreed with alarm. 'Oh, dear. I wonder if I should try to find out what's going on. May I please use your phone?'

There was perceptible hesitation before Sander said gruffly, 'The gallery phone wasn't used much, so it was taken out last month. There's a pay phone in the restaurant across the street. You can make your call from there.'

No telephone. Of course, she should have known. Domini stood at once and started to shrug her way into her fur-lined coat. 'If Tasey turns up, tell her I'll be right back. And please, don't encourage her to think we're staying for supper. I have a stew at home, and-'

'Tell her that yourself,' Sander interrupted. 'Miranda just brought her in the door.'

Domini's ears went instantly alert, but several seconds passed before she heard the sounds that Sander's sharper senses had detected. And then they came to her: Miranda's footsteps on the stairs, along with something else ... the impatient clatter of a child's boots.

'Where is Mummy? Where is she?'

Tasey erupted through the door, a small cyclone of energy undiminished by the planned activities of the excellent day-care centre she attended. Excitement lit her eyes, dark blue like Domini's, and snow dusted her flyaway hair, dark and vital like Sander's. A trail of powdery white, like a small blizzard, marked her passage across the room. She flung herself bodily into Domini's arms.

Domini picked her daughter up, lifting her high to administer the hug that always attended reunions, even daily ones. Normally, because Tasey's weight was growing too great for such displays, she would have put her back on the floor at once. But this time Domini hung on.

'Put me down, Mummy! I'm not a baby now!' Tasey sounded indignant. 'I have to take off my coat!'

'Not now, poppet,' Domini said. She adjusted the wriggling burden to rest on one hip and smiled at Miranda, who was standing in the doorway beaming, looking neither exhausted nor bemused as most people did after a bout with Tasey. 'The lady has been very kind, and I want you to thank her nicely. But we have to get home now. We can't ... '

'But we're staying for supper! She promised!'

Domini slung her purse over her free shoulder and aimed for the door at once, not wanting to linger so long that she would have to introduce Sander to his daughter. In fact, she thought she couldn't bear even one more minute with both of them in the same room. She could drop by tomorrow and thank Miranda properly, and perhaps speak more to Sander, too, after she'd had time to think. 'Not this time, Tasey. We have to ... '

'But she bought ice cream!' Tasey proclaimed, gyrating with such efficiency that Domini was hard pressed not to drop her altogether. It was like having an electric eel in her arms. 'She asked me what I wanted and I told her! Fried chicken and cake and ice creaml!And she bought chocolate sauce too!'

Too late Domini saw the parcels in Miranda's arms. Her headlong progress came to a sudden halt as she was struck by the awful realization that now there was no way to leave gracefully. Slowly she let her daughter slide down to the floor, keeping a firm grip on the small mittened fingers so that Tasey couldn't explode into action until she'd been given a few ground rules.

Domini's eyes went up to meet Miranda's. 'It's very good of you,' she said evenly. 'Of course we'll stay.'

How could she not, after the sacrifice that must have been made to put that ice cream on the table?

'Mummy, look!' came a small imperative voice asTasey squirmed free, leaving only an empty mitten in Domini's hand. With the supper plans assured, her will-o'-the-wisp attention had turned to other things, and already she was dancing circles in a fever of excitement, deciding what she would make a dive for first.

'Look! Tools and saws and hammers and nails . . . and, and . . . lots of toys and ... ' She halted suddenly, her sturdy little legs coming to a rare standstill as she noticed Sander for the very first time. 'Mummy, who's the man with the funny eyes?'

'Oh, Lord, what am I going to do about him?' Domini whispered to a nocked pink milliner's head she was about to decorate with pink and white daisies. A week had passed; Christmas had come and gone; the unicorn had been given to Tasey. That, at least, had been a success, making the occasion every bit as magical as Domini had hoped, even though the only other presents under the tree had been homemade, and very simple ones at that.

Cross-legged on the built-in seat beside a big arched window, and surrounded by the clutter of her work, she was more preoccupied with thinking of Sander than with the mannequin before her, which was intended for a small display case showing spring fashion accessories. Although the stores would start pushing spring almost as soon as the holiday season was over, the head wasn't really needed for a while. Most of the morning she had been gazing out the window with troubled eyes, thanking her stars that most of her clients wanted no change of window display until after the New Year. The few that had been requested had been done; the last of the large papier-mache constructions required for January had been constructed. During the week she had refused all dates, partly to save baby-sitting money but mostly in order to devote the evenings to work. It had been hard slogging, but the next two days were free. She had freed the days because she knew she had to do something about Sander, although she still hadn't decided what.

The events of the previous week still troubled her greatly. The blindness, the poverty, the pride; all these things were seared into her consciousness. Before

Christmas, Domini had dropped a small package off at the gallery by way of thanks for Miranda's good-heartedness, but she had not asked to see Sander because she could think of nothing to see him about. She could hardly tell him that she had made a resolution to help him, not only because he was sure to be angered by that, but because she didn't know what form her help was going to take.

'Why his eyes?' Domini muttered, taking one of the daisies from her lap. She stuck a long pin through it and jabbed it on to the faceless milliner's head, not as the first flower of a petailed wig as she had intended, but in the exact place where an eye would be. It stared back at her solemnly, the white petals like lashes around the soft pink centre.

The supper a week before had been a disaster. As to Tasey's opener about Sander, Domini was still trying to remind herself that it had been a perfectly innocuous remark, not meant the way it sounded. At the time, Domini, in deep mortification, had turned towards Sander and seen the distinctive quicksilver sheen, particularly emphasized because at that moment he happened to be standing directly under the one source of light in the room. She had saved the situation as best she could. 'That's Mr Williams, Tasey. Don't you wish you had silver eyes too?' Oh, why was it that young children always managed to hit on the exact words that made you want to sink right through the floor?

It had not been an auspicious beginning, and the evening had gone rapidly downhill after that. Tasey had exploded in all directions. Normally it wasn't impossible to keep some kind of rein on her, but perhaps that night she had been infected by Domini's state of mind. Her inner turmoil had been adequately hidden from the adults, Domini was sure, but children had a way of sensing those things and taking advantage. Eventually, with a grim mouth, Sander had left the room.

And naturally, about that point, Tasey had begun to behave a little less like a human cannonball. In fact, a short time later she'd climbed into Domini's arms, yawned, transferred some remains of chocolate syrup from her mouth on to Domini's sweater, rubbed her eyes, and settled in for a sleepy cuddle. By then Domini could have gone home but she hadn't, wanting the opportunity to talk to Miranda without Sander present. And indeed she had managed to glean some information, an easy enough matter because the march of events had quickened the making of a new friendship. Domini asked if there were any photographs of the sculptures Sander had once done. A number were produced, and after that it was easy. Normally Miranda might have tried to put a good face on things, but Domini had seen the upstairs and there was little use pretending. Besides, Miranda was as anxious to share her concerns about her brother as Domini was to hear them.

She had been appalled to learn that Sander's condition was irreversible. Any hope that had been held out in France had been dashed in Germany years before. After countless X-rays and consultations, the specialists had finally detected a tell-tale paling of the optic disc. It confirmed what they had privately suspected: that a fracture of the bone had severed both optic nerves.

Shortly after the grim diagnosis Miranda had travelled to Europe to escort her brother back to the United States. They had spent a number of days at the pension, sorting and settling his affairs in Paris. It was during this period, Domini concluded, that Sander had received her call and lulled her with his lies.

With careful questioning, she elicited the information that the Williams's family background was indeed one of extreme poverty. The father, a brilliant self-employed chemist, had died in a lab explosion while still quite young. He had left crushing debts, no insurance, and a widow whose fierce pride had led her to work herself to an early grave trying to settle old obligations, while raising two children as best she could. Following her example rather than losing themselves in the seedy neighbourhood where they lived, Sander and Miranda had both earned the money for their own education, and both had graduated from college. Operation Bootstrap, Miranda called it. She spoke eagerly of her older brother's resolve during those early days.

Domini learned other things about their present life. Occasionally Sander did some picture framing when the task was not too complex; the more ornate frames required sight and had to be done elsewhere. Most of the tools had once belonged to Miranda's husband, who had done that work in addition to running the gallery prior to his death some years before. In palmier days, when the couple had lived in a suburb of New York, the upper part of the tiny gallery had been used for storage and picture framing only; business had been much brisker then.

'I guess the Santa's Workshop show was a bad idea,' Miranda had sighed at one point. 'Customers who want toys just don't walk into an art gallery, and when it comes to children most of my artists simply don't have a clue. I decided to give it a try because the toy shop Sander used to supply went bankrupt ... too much prestige and not enough plastic. I had to show my regular artists, of course, but I managed to slide a few sales through for him as well. All the same, there are so many unsold things sitting on his shelves...'

It hardly brightened the horror picture growing in Domini's mind. At the time, she had refrained from remarking that Sander might have been better served if some effort had been made to place his output in a proper toy shop before Christmas and that Miranda might have been better served by putting on a decent show for herself.

'She was only trying to help,' Domini told the milliner's head. Its one solemn eye looked unblinkingly back at her, offering no solutions. Helping other people, Domini had long since decided, must be one of Miranda's missions in life. A laudable aim; why did it so often backfire?

And after all, wasn't that what she herself was trying to do? Help Sander. On her limited budget she could not help him much financially, as she once had done. Things would be quite tight enough with payments still to be made on the unicorn. Domini spared a glance for it now. It occupied pride of place in the centre of the room, the one spot that remained clear of the stored display props Tasey had been taught not to touch. Well, nearly taught.

Domini's living quarters were as cheery as Sander's were dismal. Piles of big puffy cushions served for the furniture she had not been able to afford. The walls were off-white, partly because Domini had decided there was more than enough colour in the vivid, whimsical creations of her craft, but also because light bounced off white, and Domini liked light as well as needing it for her work. Gay colours were everywhere, even on the exposed water pipes, which had been painted like barber poles in bright pink and white stripes in order to take advantage of something that could not possibly be concealed. The whole loft was working space except the tiny kitchen, the bathroom, and one screened alcove big enough for two single beds. Domini had fixed it up herself, having had quite enough of dreary rooms during her early days in New York. It occurred to her briefly that given a free hand and some paint, she could do quite a lot to brighten up Sander's living quarters too...

But what good would that do when he couldn't see? And anyway, what he needed was money. Money. Domini was certain that if she had the wherewithal, she would be able to find some way to get it into Sander's hands without his knowing, just as she had done once before. Unwillingly she spared a moment to think about the real unicorn, the original, and what she could have done with the money from its sale. Three hundred thousand dollars! The rocking horse had been hers, a gift, and the money should have been hers too!

But that thought only caused a bitter gall to rise in her throat, and she thrust it away determinedly. She'd never ask Papa for help now. 'Learn to help yourself,' he had said to her once, on the occasion when he had refused her request for a large amount of money. She'd been doing that ever since, and she intended to do it now.

'Learn to help yoursef,' she said sternly to the milliner's head with its one cockeyed daisy. The daisy looked grand, she decided with the professional part of her mind, much better than a floral wig would have done. Perhaps she'd place a few white petals like a lowered eyelash where the other eye should be. And from her sign painter she could order a showcard that read 'Eye-openers for Spring' or some such thing.

Help yourself...

The idea started to tingle through her, and suddenly she was on her feet, the lapful of daisies spilling everywhere. Domini laughed out loud. Of course! Why hadn't it occurred to her before? She could help Sander very little as far as money was concerned, but maybe she could help him to help himself. Maybe his pride would permit that much. It was certainly worth a try!

Before she raced for the telephone, which she kept under a business listing, she spared a few more joyous words for the milliner's head on the window seat. 'If you want another eye,' she declared with a grandiloquent gesture at the haphazardly strewn daisies, 'there it is. Help yourself!'