Return to Peyton Place (36 page)

“Well, it's over now, thank God. Now that Selena is going to marry Peter Drake, I'll have only you and Allison to worry about.”

“I'm waiting for a rich producer,” said Steve. “So I'll probably die an old maid. All producers are married. Sometimes I think their mothers marry them off when they're thirteen.”

After they had finished the dishes they took the coffeepot and cups into the living room and sat before the fire. They sat quietly, resting, watching the beautiful and strange shapes the fire made, enjoying the peace and silence of the house.

A
T
R
OAD'S
E
ND
, Allison and Lewis sat in the front seat of the car and looked at Peyton Place, diminished and toylike below them. The houses seemed to have absorbed from the wintry sky its dead grayness. They looked like tombstones, Allison thought, and shivered.

Lewis drew her closer to him.

“I don't know why,” he said, “but it makes me rather sad to look at Peyton Place from here. It seems so forlorn.”

“It's that time of year,” Allison said. “I feel it too. It's the melancholy of autumn. Even though we know that every season is a new beginning, autumn always seems like an ending. So many things die.”

Lewis took her face in his hands and looked at it for a long time; then, very gently, he kissed her eyelids and her lips.

“I love you, Lewis,” Allison said.

“I hope it lasts forever, Allison.”

“I know that our love will, Lewis. I wish that we could, too.”

He laughed. “Autumn doesn't just make you melancholy, Allison. It makes you downright morbid.”

“I know. I'm sure that once I get back to work it will be all right again. When I'm working, I forget what day it is, what season it is, what year.”

“I hope you won't forget me,” Lewis said.

“Not even if I tried, darling,” Allison said. She pushed open his overcoat and pressed her body against his.

“Necking in a car,” she said. “I feel like a schoolgirl. Not that I ever did this when I
was
a schoolgirl.”

She looked around her at the bleakness of Road's End's landscape while Lewis' hands caressed her body. “I don't think I ever had even a crush on a boy,” she said, thinking aloud more than talking. “My daydreams kept me so busy, I guess, that I didn't have time for boys. This is where everything began, Lewis, here at Road's End. Sometimes I think there would never have been a
Samuel's Castle
if there hadn't been a Road's End.”

She smiled dreamily in the cocoon of warmth they had created in the small enclosed space of Mike's car. Lewis' hands roved freely over her body. She put her mouth against his ear and with her tongue traced its outline. His hands gripped her tightly for a moment; then he relaxed and said, “Tell me more.”

“Once a boy named Norman kissed me here,” she said.

“I am insanely jealous,” Lewis said, and Allison felt his warm breath on her throat as he laughed.

“If it hadn't been for Road's End,” she said, “there'd have been no novel, no New York and no Lewis Jackman.”

“Impossible,” Lewis said. “Unthinkable. I refuse to consider such an impossibility. If you hadn't existed, I would have invented you.” He bent and kissed her sweater where the tips of her breasts pressed.

She held his head, rested her own on the top of the seat, her eyes closed. Lewis' hand moved gently and slowly, her head turned, her eyes half opened.

“Talk to me,” he said.

She thought, All of Peyton Place can look up here and see this car, but they can't see us.

“Talk to me,” Lewis repeated.

“I can't,” she whispered. “Oh, Lewis, I can't.”

She drew his head to her and kissed him, her tongue seeking his. He bit her and she groaned at the sweetness of the pain. When he had brought her to the very peak of pleasure, she pushed him away.

Her lips were dry and her voice trembled. “I want all of you.” She did not hear her own voice crying out or the fierce words of love she uttered. She was enfolded in darkness, and her voice, hoarse and savage, was unrecognizable to her own ears.

When she opened her eyes, she found herself lying in Lewis' arms. Night had fallen and a sparse winter moon gave a watery light. The shadows of the trees were black on the hillside and black on the road.

“My God,” Allison said, her voice low and unbelieving. “I thought we had had everything.”

Lewis smiled and said nothing.

“I didn't think it could ever be better than what we already had,” Allison said. She put her face to Lewis' chest and felt his heart beating against her lips. “Will it keep on like this, Lewis?” she asked, in a small, frightened voice. “Getting better and better, I mean. Will it? I hope it doesn't. I'm afraid I'd die if anything like this happened too often.”

Lewis stroked her hair. Smiling, he said, “I don't think there's any cause for alarm, darling. Human beings are so oddly constructed that they get used to pleasure just as quickly as they get to misery.”

“I'm glad I found you, Lewis.” She tightened her arms around him. “You'll always take care of me, won't you?”

“Always,” Lewis promised.

“And in a few weeks I'll be back in New York, darling,” Allison said, “and then I will be there always to take care of you. I'm going to take a year's lease on that gorgeous white and gold room, and I'm going to work all day and make love all night.”

She sat up and lit a cigarette.

“Lewis,” she said, “do you think that little manager will mind your coming to my apartment every night?”

Lewis laughed. “You are, at one and the same time, the most sophisticated and the most naïve woman I've ever met. The answer is: Yes, the manager will mind; and no, he won't say anything.”

“Why won't he say anything?” Allison wanted to know.

“Because you are paying such a high rent that it's profitable for him not to mind. That's why,” Lewis said. “As long as we're not noisy and don't disturb the other tenants, you'll never hear a word of complaint from him. The manager of that kind of hotel, the very expensive kind, is a professional not-minder. One of the first lessons he had to learn at school was how to avert his eyes gracefully.”

Allison laughed. “He also took a course in How to Walk Backwards. For the final examination, he had to walk backwards through a crowded room, bowing all the way, and never bumping into anything.”

“And he did postgraduate work in finger-snapping,” Lewis added. “When he snaps his fingers at those Hungarian ghosts, it goes off like a pistol shot.”

“If it can't be heard across a hotel lobby, it just isn't good enough,” Allison said. “Flabby-fingered managers don't grow up to be Conrad Hilton.”

They laughed at themselves; everything seemed delightful. Not even the bleak New England landscape seemed depressing any more, and Peyton Place glowed like a jewel in the valley below. Allison imagined she could tell which house was hers, and imagined Mike and Constance and Steve around the fire. She wondered if they were talking about Lewis and her.

“What are you thinking about?” Lewis asked.

“I was just wondering if they are talking about us.”

“If we don't get back soon,” Lewis said, “they most certainly will be.”

“Oh, I know,” Allison said, groaning. “But I hate to leave here. It's so private, darling. It's the last chance to be alone with you until after the New Year.” She kissed him lightly. “But I see that now that you've had your way with me all you're interested in doing is getting back to civilization.”

“That's the way we men are,” Lewis said. “I plan to tire of you in a week or two and cast you aside like a worn-out rag.”

Allison started the car. “You'll have to wait for a snowy night,” she said. “It wouldn't be fair to turn me out in nice weather.”

They began the long, curving descent to Peyton Place. Lewis turned on the radio and was bent forward, looking for music, when Allison became aware that something was wrong. She had tried to slow for the wide curve, but the brakes did not seem to respond; the car only swerved oddly. She made the curve and, taking her foot off the brake, found the car handled better. She sighed with relief.

“There,” Lewis said. He sat back to enjoy the symphonic music he had found on a Boston station.

Allison touched the accelerator very softly with her toe; she wanted to increase the speed just a little for the upgrade. The car shot forward at a much greater speed than she had expected. What in the world's going on! she said to herself. Again she applied the brakes, and again the car swerved. She released the brakes and then, by the feel of the car, she knew what had gone wrong. The accelerator had stuck!

They were on the downgrade then and the car was going at sixty miles an hour. Allison tapped the accelerator with her toe, she gave it a sharp rap, thinking that would release it. But it remained stuck, only now it was in farther than it had been before and the speed of the car and her helplessness made her feel sick. She gripped the wheel tightly and watched with agonized eyes as the curve drew closer and closer.

As Lewis said, “Don't you think you'd better—” she slammed her foot on the brake, pushed it down to the floor boards and held it there. She smelled the brake linings beginning to burn.

“What's happening, Lewis?” she screamed, overcome with horror.

She saw his hand moving with terrible slowness toward the steering wheel. And then they went off the road and the car turned over and over.

She closed her eyes. She thought, Oh God, how many more times will it go over before it stops?

She sat in the kitchen with Mike and Constance; they were drinking coffee and laughing at one of Mike's jokes. I will never leave them, she thought, they are so good, so good.

Allison. Allison, Constance said. Allison. Allison.
Allison, darling!

Allison opened her eyes. Gaunt trees swayed and bent above her, the moon caught in the branches like a bird in a trap. She pulled herself up and looked wildly about her.

The car, she said, the car. I must find Lewis.

She felt the pain stab in her chest; it made her weak and she fell to her knees.

Lewis, she called, Lewis. I'm coming, darling. I'm going to take care of you.

She raised her head and saw the car. She began to crawl toward it.

J
ENNIFER STARED AT
R
OBERTA
over the big Thanksgiving turkey. That cold-blooded bitch, she thought savagely. Nobody had better ever say anything about my being nosy again. If I weren't, there's a damned good chance that, by tomorrow night at this time, I'd be dead.

Roberta poured coffee and smiled and talked about who had been at the Congregational Church.

“And did you have a good nap, dear?” she asked.

Jennifer, giving a headache for an excuse, had stayed behind to take a nap while the rest of the family went to the Thanksgiving services.

“I couldn't sleep,” replied Jennifer. “So I decided to read.”

She waited to see if Roberta would react to that, but her motherin-law remained as calm as ever.

After they were finished with dinner, Harmon and Ted went to the home of one of Harmon's friends, where they played chess and drank beer until nightfall. Roberta and Jennifer were alone in the house.

“I think I'll take a nap,” said Jennifer. “Those enormous dinners of yours always make me sleepy.”

“Go ahead, dear,” said Roberta. “I have some letters to write.”

I'll bet, thought Jennifer acidly.

She went upstairs and, when Roberta peeked into the room a half hour later, Jennifer seemed to be fast asleep. Roberta closed the door quietly and went to the linen closet in the hall.

Thank God for well-oiled hinges, thought Jennifer as she opened her bedroom door.

Through the narrow opening she watched Roberta pick up the box of soap flakes and dig for her key ring. Then she watched her tiptoe quietly down the carpeted stairs. Jennifer went to her dresser and took out the notebook, and then, just as quietly as Roberta had done, she followed her down the stairs. From the doorway to the living room she watched Roberta unlock her desk and reach into the bottom drawer. She watched her stiffen in surprise and yank the drawer wide open and paw frantically through it. When Roberta turned, Jennifer was standing very still in the doorway with the notebook in her outstretched hand.

“Is this what you were looking for?” she asked sweetly.

Roberta jumped up, her face so white that for a moment Jennifer thought that the older woman would faint.

“How did you get that?” Roberta whispered in horror.

“By unlocking your desk drawer, Mother dear,” said Jennifer. “Tell me,” she asked, and her lips curved in a contemptuous smile, “did you really think you could get away with it?”

“Give me that notebook!” cried Roberta.

“Not yet, Mother dear,” said Jennifer with maddening calm. “You know, I wondered why you'd taken to reading murder mysteries. I'd always thought you were a real, dyed in the wool Book-of-the-Month type. But I really never guessed that you'd think up anything as dumb as this. You don't have to tell me why, either, because I know that, too.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Roberta gasped.

“Oh, yes you do,” said Jennifer. She advanced slowly toward Roberta and the little smile never left her face. “You're jealous of me,” she said softly. “Every time Ted and I go to bed, you're huddled in the little room next door to us and you listen to your son make love to me and you're so jealous you can't stand it.”

Roberta staggered back toward the desk as if she had been struck.

“You're jealous,” said Jennifer. “So jealous you can't stand it. You wish it was you in bed with Ted.”

“You're crazy!” said Roberta and was sure that she had screamed, but her voice was nothing but a harsh whisper.