Winter Affair (6 page)

Claire shook her finger at Leda. “I always said you’re a lot more naive than you look. For example, with that face and figure, who would believe that you’ve only had one lover in your entire twenty-five years of life?”

“Why don’t you put it on the six o’clock news, Claire?” Leda said sarcastically.

“Winfield Scott,” Claire went on airily, ignoring her. “He’s the reason for your aloof attitude with men. You just won’t admit it.”

Leda looked away, not replying. Claire had struck a nerve. Win Scott had been the director of the first production Leda acted in after her graduation from college. He’d seduced Leda, who thought herself in love, and then moved on to the next conquest when the run ended. It had left Leda with a bad impression of relationships, and it had taken her a long time to get over it. She’d avoided such entanglements ever since.

“It’s more than just the timing, isn’t it?” Claire asked, breaking into her thoughts.

Leda smiled derisively. “Come on, Claire. The choice could hardly be worse. You know what happened in the past, you know the whole history between Reardon and my father. If I scoured the earth I couldn’t find a less suitable…”

“Mate?” Claire suggested innocently, and Leda threw her a dirty look.

“Don’t make faces at me,” Claire said defensively. “I mean, what are we talking about here? I don’t think you want to play pinochle with him, after all.”

“I don’t want to do anything with him,” Leda said despairingly.

“Yes, you do,” Claire replied. “And I know why. I’ve seen him.” She favored Leda with a mischievous grin.

Leda looked at her. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“You didn’t give me a chance. As I recall, since I arrived you’ve done all the talking ,” Claire said indignantly.

“Where did you see him?”

“In town, at the post office. Betty Parsons pointed him out to me.”

Betty Parsons was the postmistress, the third member of the triumvirate that included Leda’s Aunt Monica and Elaine. Sara Master, Reardon’s landlady, was part of the hoi polloi that served under these three, coddling favor with little tidbits of gossip but never actually rising to the level of the autocracy. Sara’s stock must have jumped dramatically with Reardon’s arrival, Leda thought dryly.

“Very attractive,” Claire pronounced sagely. “Great body. Nice eyes too. Blue, aren’t they?”

“Gray,” Leda corrected, and Claire laughed.

“All right, so I noticed,” Leda admitted, flushing faintly.

“Does he know who you are?” Claire asked, sobering.

Leda nodded slowly. “Yes, I’m sure he does, though he’s never actually said so.”

“Not much chance for him to,” Claire observed practically. “You’ve only been with him a couple of times, briefly.”

“That’s what frightens me,” Leda said seriously. “To be this affected by him, after such limited contact. . .well, it has me rattled.”

The telephone rang.

“Be still, my heart,” Claire hissed.

Leda got up to answer it. “Relax, Claire. It’s probably the plumber calling to arrange a time to fix my sink.”

“Not at eleven-thirty, it isn’t,” Claire said, glancing at her watch.

It wasn’t the plumber, but it wasn’t Reardon either. It was Monica, in a snit.

“I heard about that little performance you put on at the Phelps place the other night,” Monica announced without preliminary. “Leda Bradshaw, what on earth is the matter with you?”

“Hello, Monica,” Leda answered calmly, loud enough for Claire to hear. “Isn’t it a little late for you to be calling?”

“I called the moment I heard about it,” Monica replied huffily. “Have you taken complete leave of your senses? The whole town is buzzing.”

“Who’s the whole town, Monica? You and Elaine and that gossipy group of nitpickers you pal around with?”

“There’s no need to be sharp with me, young lady. I’m only looking out for your welfare. Think of your reputation, think of your poor father and what that man did to him. I can’t believe you would behave this way.”

“I don’t expect you to understand this, Monica,” Leda said wearily, “but I was trying to stop a fight. And I did. That’s all there is to it.”

“All there is to it!” Monica shrieked. “You throw yourself at the man who ruined your father in front of a room full of staring people and that’s your explanation?”

Leda held the phone away from her ear and crossed her eyes at Claire. Then she put the receiver back again.

“Word certainly gets around,” Leda said bitterly to her aunt. “There weren’t that many people there.”

“Enough, apparently,” Monica said unhappily. “Leda, I don’t know how you can be so calm about this. I’m mortified.”

“Don’t be. You didn’t kiss him, I did.”

There was a shocked silence from the other end of the line. Leda took advantage of Monica’s momentary lapse to end the conversation.

“Monica, I have to go. Claire’s here and it’s rude to leave her sitting alone while I talk to you. Don’t worry about this now. It’s over and the gossip will die down. It always does. Goodbye.”

“Wait a minute!” Monica protested. “I’m not finished with you.”

“Yes, you are,” Leda said firmly and hung up the phone.

“She was upset,” Claire said flatly.

“She certainly was.”

“I could guess the reason from your end of the conversation,” Claire said. “Well, you can hardly blame her. She sat all through Reardon’s trial and saw him convicted. Now she thinks you’re making a fool of yourself over an ex-convict whose criminal activities drove your father to his death.”

“Is that what you think too?” Leda asked miserably.

Claire shrugged. “I don’t know what to think,” she replied candidly. “I wasn’t around when it all happened. I don’t have the same prejudices your aunt does. I can easily see where you would find Reardon compelling , even irresistible, but it might be wise to bear in mind that a jury found him guilty. You may not want to believe that he was responsible for those deaths, but twelve of his peers, who listened to a great deal of evidence, did.”

“I know,” Leda whispered. “I can’t tell you how that preys on my mind.”

“I can imagine,” Claire said sympathetically. She shifted in her seat. “What are you going to do about your aunt?”

Leda shrugged. “Nothing,” she said. “You heard what I said to her. If she insists on dramatizing that incident any further it’s her own fault.”

“But we both know there is a real reason for her to be concerned,” Claire said quietly.

Leda closed her eyes. “Can we change the subject?”

Claire stood and reached for a notebook she’d brought in with her. “By all means. Help me pick a Christmas project for my elementary classes. What will it be, papier-mache angels or tinsel ornaments?”

“Oh, papier-mache,” Leda answered, smiling. “Kids love to make a mess with it.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Claire said briskly. “The bigger the mess, the better the time they have.” She opened her notebook and gestured for Leda to take a look.

Leda bent over the diagrams obediently, but her mind was on what Claire had said about Reardon. Twelve reasonable people had thought him guilty. Why didn’t she?

* * * *

Two nights later Leda found herself taking a second curtain call, along with the rest of the company, from a packed house. Gary had spoken to the whole cast and crew about this performance, the first since the nightmarish fiasco that Leda had recounted for Claire. The director had boosted everyone’s confidence enough to give the show another try, and this time everything worked. The mood was jubilant as the curtain rose again. Leda joined hands with the rest of the principals in a straight line to take a synchronized bow. As she raised her head and looked out at the audience, visible now with the house lights up, she froze.

Kyle Reardon was in the middle of the front row.

Leda moved woodenly, clapping as the bit players took their bow. She watched as he stood with his arms folded, not applauding like the others, but staring intently up at the stage. She couldn’t tell if he was looking directly at her.

Leda knew instinctively that his presence was no coincidence. He had found out what she did for a living and had come to see her. She saw him turn while the others were still clapping and make his way toward the aisle. She realized with alarm that he had no intention of making himself known to her and was on his way out of the theater.

When the curtain came down, she bolted. Chip called after her to wait, yelling that it was going up again. She ran on, down the backstage stairs, through the green room, and out into the departing audience. Oblivious of the stares and whispers of the theatergoers who recognized the performer who’d been onstage only moments before, Leda threaded through the milling crowd into the lobby. She spotted Reardon going through the door, and knew that if she didn’t attract his attention she would be too late. Still in costume and makeup, she stood on tiptoe and called his name.

“Kyle,” she called, projecting her voice as if she were trying to reach the third balcony.

He heard it and stopped. He turned, and his gray eyes met hers over the heads of the people in between as if they weren’t there.

He knew instantly who had called him.

Leda raised her hand in greeting, her heart pounding. Reardon held her gaze for a long moment, and Leda wondered if he would turn away and leave.

Then he began to push his way through the crowd toward her. She moved forward too, as best she could, and met him in the middle of the jostling throng.

Hello,” she said breathlessly. “I saw you in the audience and came after you. Did you enjoy the play?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I thought you were very good.”

“Would you like to come inside and wait while I change?” Leda asked him, wondering where she got the nerve. “We could go for a drink, there’s a place just across the street where the cast drops in after the show.”

He didn’t answer right away, and Leda’s heart sank. I am making a fool of myself, she thought wretchedly. Maybe Monica wasn’t so wrong.

Then he spoke, and Leda knew the reason for his hesitation.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked, his gaze locked with hers, his mouth grave. He seemed to be holding his breath in anticipation of her response.

“Yes,” she said simply. “I know.”

“And you still want to go with me?” he asked. His voice was husky, laden with an emotion she couldn’t name.

“I asked you, didn’t I?”

He extended his hand. “Show me where to go.”

Leda took his hand, her fingers lost in his big palm, and led him back to the dressing rooms.

Chapter 4

Leda brought Reardon backstage, showing him the way through the warren of partitions and storage areas to the dressing room she shared with Anna. Leda was relieved to see that her roommate wasn’t there.

“I’ll just be a minute,” Leda said to Reardon anxiously, half afraid that he might leave.

He nodded, lounging against the wall and shoving his hands into his pockets. “Take your time.” When she remained standing there, looking at him, he added quietly, “Go on. I’ll wait.”

Leda hurried inside, shutting the door and running to the middle of the room. She didn’t know what to do first. Makeup, that was it. She had to remove her makeup. She dashed to her vanity table and reached for the jar of cold cream.

A few minutes later the door opened and Anna came through it. Her expression was awed.

“Who is that gorgeous creature standing out in the hall?” she demanded, jerking her thumb in the direction of the corridor.

“Kyle Reardon,” Leda said shortly. Anna was from Chicago, and the name would mean nothing to her.

“You brought him back here?” Anna asked.

“Yes.” Leda stepped out of Madge Owens’ party dress and headed for the stall shower Gary had rigged in a corner. It was inadequate, with a curtain like a sheet of plastic wrap and a thin stream of lukewarm water, but a decided improvement over banging down the door of the bathroom at the end of the hall.

Anna clapped her hands together. “For me? I know! He’s my Christmas present. Leda, you shouldn’t have.”

“Give me a break, Anna,” Leda replied, stripping off her underwear and standing under the tepid dribble. “I’m trying to get out of here in a rush.” She soaped her body efficiently.

“I’ll bet,” Anna said wisely, watching as Leda held her hair up to keep it dry as she rinsed off. “Now I know why you haven’t been giving poor Chip Caswell the time of day. Neither would I if I had somebody like that guy outside hanging around at the stage door.”

Leda dried herself with her terry bathrobe and reached for her skirt. “Will you hand me that blouse?” she said to Anna, gesturing to the pile of her clothes on a chair. “I hope it isn’t too crushed. Oh, why didn’t I wear something decent tonight? At every crisis of my life I invariably look like an unmade bed.”

“Is this a crisis?” Anna said eagerly, looking interested.

“Forget I said that,” Leda responded quickly. “Poor choice of words.” She dressed in seconds, snagging her thumbnail on her nylons and muttering under her breath.