Keeping Secrets Read online

“Not exactly, but it does a lot of winding. In fact, not far from here it takes a couple of horseshoe swags. The reason we’ve crossed so many bridges right in town, though, is because it makes a sharp turn to the left, goes the length of a couple of blocks, turns to the right again and goes back to where it started.” He glanced back at my bewildered face. “It’s like three sides of a box,” he added, then shrugged helplessly. “Lady, you’d better get a map.”

  I laughed a little nervously and said, “A person could get lost here and never find the way out.”

  The Menger suite was large and airy, handsomely furnished, with great windows showering the bed and sitting rooms with afternoon sunlight. Upon entering, my spirits rose, and I walked through the rooms, looking out the windows upon the garden below, as though wandering through a world of secluded fantasy. A bowl of fruit and some little cakes had been provided on a table, and also a bottle of good brandy. I searched for a card with the sender’s name, but found none.

  After a few minutes my wary nature surfaced, and I began to assess the business immediately before me. Just fifteen minutes from now a man I didn’t know would come through the door of the sitting room. So far he had directed all the moves. Shall I take off my hat and coat, and let him discover me lounging casually on a sofa, a book in my hand, perhaps?

  Decidedly not.

  I didn’t like being looked over. I unlocked the sitting-room door, and walked into the adjoining bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar. Still feeling at a disadvantage, I switched on the lamps in the sitting room and returned to the bedroom, pulling down the shades and closing the draperies. Then I sat on the edge of the bed and waited.

  At a quarter past three my whole body jerked to the sound of a light rapping on the door. I walked as far as the passage door and called out, “Come in, I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  When he came into view I could tell this was a marvelous figure of a man, beginning with his full black beard. From there down he was more and more pleasing, with broad shoulders tapering to a well-tended mid-section, narrow hips, and long muscular legs, which, as his body shifted around, revealed the well-developed, hard thighs of a horseman. He took off his coat, which he threw absently against a chair as he removed his black wide-brimmed hat. Even then I didn’t recognize him.

  His back to me, he was pouring himself a glass of brandy when I chose the moment to come through and close the door behind me. All at once I wished he wouldn’t turn around. Maybe I wasn’t at all what he had in mind. Maybe …

  “It’s been a long time, Leslie,” he said, then turned around and smiled. He might have smacked me on the cheek for my surprise.

  “Emory Cabot?”

  He threw back his head in laughter, then walked right over and swung me around in his arms. I can never recall being so astonished to see anyone in my life. All I could say, over and over, was, “I can’t believe it!”

  “Let’s have some brandy,” he said, and we sat down to talk.

  He didn’t want to discuss his object in getting me to San Antonio just yet, and since he’d started from Childers and trailed me all the way to the little town between Denver and Durango, there didn’t seem to be much I could tell him about myself. I insisted upon knowing step by step everything he’d done since leaving our hometown and he didn’t mind sharing a good part of it with me for he was not a modest man. He’d gone from place to place as a hired hand in the beginning, then finally made it to the Oklahoma oil fields. He won a lot of card games and saved a lot of money, then bought a very small interest in a well that happened to be one of the biggest strikes in the fields.

  “Does good luck always follow you around?” I asked.

  “It has so far, but I didn’t want to push it too much then, so I backed off and started investing in land. Went into New Mexico and, later, all the way down into South Texas.”

  I shook my head in admiration. “Most card players I’ve known didn’t have that kind of sense. Sooner or later they lost it all. You set out to accomplish something and kept your mind on it until you got where you wanted to go. I always knew you would. Now, how does it feel to be a self-made success?”

  He paused thoughtfully. “I haven’t finished, yet.”

  The coming of evening threw long irregular shadows across the floor, and the lamplight playing on Emory’s face gave him an ever more secretive look even as he continued telling me about himself with apparent candor. He kept our goblets full of brandy and took me through tale after tale of adventure and risk, yet I found myself losing concentration because I was transfixed by his gaze and had to look away now and then as though fending off a wizard’s spell. Deep-set and piercing, his eyes were like those of a wild animal, bolder and even more full of suspicion than I’d realized as a youngster. That Emory at thirty-four would have matured into such a dazzling man was a prospect I had never considered. I’d always wondered where he had gone and what he had done, and remembered him as the boy with the smooth face, lean frame, and a sack thrown over his back.

  Finally I emptied my glass and leaned back. Emory the man was simply too good to be true. This evening could not be happening to me.… Then a question came to mind with a thud. “Are you married?”

  “No. I live alone, except for Nathan Hope. He works for me.”

  “Speaking of work, you’ve spent a good deal of effort, not to mention an awful lot of money, getting me here. What sort of job did you have in mind?”

  He cocked an eyebrow at me and began pacing the floor. “There are a few things you ought to know before I tell you that. First of all, I have never forgotten you, not in all the years. I never forget anyone who is good to me; I’ve never been one to forgive a person who gives me a bad turn, and I always get even.”

  Then he paused and looked at me, his expression softer. “I’ll tell you something else. I made up my mind when I put that agency to work that if they found you married with a passel of kids, I’d never interfere with your life. As it was …”

  “Emory, you did me a great favor and don’t think I fail to be grateful. But surely when you learned the truth you could have come to me instead of going to all this bother of bringing me here. Why didn’t you?”

  “I just—” he began, then paused and looked away. “I have too many business obligations to make a trip right now.”

  “It’s all right, Emory. I can understand your not wanting to see me in that place.”

  He turned to me again, and smiled gently. “I guess that was obvious, wasn’t it. Still it was more than that. “I felt that here you could face me with some … dignity.”

  I was too moved by that remark to make a reply. Finally I realized I still had no answer to the question at hand. “Just what is that ‘highly specialized position’ you mentioned?”

  “I want you to be my wife.”

  I was thoroughly dumb-struck. “But I … can’t. Surely a man like you could take his choice of any young woman—” I stammered.

  “I don’t want just any young woman. I want you,” he said, then smiled. “Besides, it would take one hell of a female to put up with me.”

  I sat back, feeling dizzy. “I wish I’d known this before I came down here. As I said, I can’t possibly marry you.”

  “Why not?”

  “The reasons should be obvious.… I’m not the same Leslie Weems you left in Childers.”

  He laughed. “I’m well aware of that. When did you change your name? That damned well kept me from finding you.”

  “Long ago,” I told him, but his question provoked another from me. “Just how did the agency go about finding me?”

  “It was no easy job. Your Uncle Jack was the only Weems left in Childers, and apparently he was even less friendly than he used to be.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Not much. He opened the door about halfway and when the detectives mentioned your name, he told them you had run off as a youngster and had never been any good. Then he slammed the door. The agency started in a circle around Childe
rs and went from there until they found a record of an Electra Weems. They wrote me to see whether I thought that might be you, and I told them I didn’t know but they might as well have a go at it. From then on it wasn’t so difficult to trail you.”

  “Was there anyone left in Childers from your family?”

  He shook his head. “I assured them I wanted nothing to do with any of the son-of-a-bitching Cabots if they did run across one. I wouldn’t give my boot heel—”

  He was so full of hatred that I winced and lowered my eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to get started on that …” he apologized. “God knows your childhood was no more pleasant than mine. It’s no wonder you changed your name to Electra—I like that, by the way. I’m lucky you didn’t change your last name, too.”

  He sat down on the opposite end of the sofa and considered me. “Other than that you are very much the same,” he said softly. “Your hair is still blond … maybe just a little lighter than I remembered … your figure has certainly blossomed. You seem to have put on flesh in all the right places,” he observed, then moved so near our shoulders touched. “Let me look,” he said, and turned my face toward his. “Your eyes are the same when you look at me. I’d almost forgotten how that used to make me feel … like I could whip the world.”

  He ran his finger around my chin then kissed my neck, igniting me. “You tricked me,” I said with a gulp.

  “You’re absolutely right,” he answered, then pulled me against him and kissed me hard, and it was good, so good to kiss him back and feel his hand move up and loosen the bow around the neck of my blouse, then, one by one, to fiddle the buttons loose. He picked me up and carried me to the bedroom, which I had darkened earlier for my own protection, and we shed each other’s garments easily, naturally as though we had done this many times before. He was dealing the cards now, and could have had it any way he liked but he took it slowly and gently, caressing my neck, stroking my hair, fondling my breasts, moving his hard thighs between my legs and still going slowly, slowly, giving me time to find my own joy with him first, over and over again, before I felt the final deep thrust, the quick rush, flowing warm inside, which left his body spent and limp above mine. We held on to each other for a long time afterward. It seemed almost as though the years had not come between, and I was doing the thing I had so ardently wished to do the day I watched him walk away … to hold him.

  Much later in the evening, when finally he rose, he said, “I’ll keep no key to these rooms. Think it over for as long as you like, and when you’ve decided, give me a call at my office downtown. I’ll leave my card on the dresser.”

  At the door he added, “My man Hope has been told a woman—a widow named Mrs. Dexter—is visiting the city. She’s an old friend of mine. Should she call while I’m out, he is to find me immediately.”

  This was my first acquaintance with Emory’s style: no bouquets, no bended knees or anxious eyes awaiting the reply; yet I had to smile at his thoroughness. When he was gone I fell asleep and didn’t awake until very late the following morning.

  3

  One week later we were married in a tiny chapel hidden within the confines of a monstrous cathedral. My decision had not been without reservations, which I openly discussed with Emory beforehand. First, there was to be no mention of what he knew of my past. Ever. Neither was he to question me about the parts he did not know.

  Secondly, there was the matter of children. I felt a man so well established would expect offspring from a marriage, so when I explained I was barren I watched his expression carefully for signs of disappointment. To my surprise he said quickly, “I got a bellyful of squawling brats growing up. I have no desire for any of my own.”

  “And you’re certain you won’t ever change your mind, come to resent me?”

  “You can count on it.”

  Once we had that businesslike conversation behind us, I felt more confident. Somehow this tying up of loose ends helped me to accept the fact that for the first time in twenty years I was truly letting my heart rule my actions. Emory had awakkened something in me that I had thought long since dead. Perhaps I’d loved him through the years as he claimed he’d loved me. Yet if so that feeling for him certainly lay dormant until he appeared in my life again. From the morning I awoke in the hotel suite, I missed him terribly.

  I tried cold reasoning. I tried mentally listing all the risks that lay at the altar for me. I tried not thinking about him. I tried to convince myself that I would get over him; after all, what were a few hours compared with all the time I’d managed to survive without him? But through it all I kept going back to the day so long ago when he’d walked away from me in Childers, and how it hurt, and somehow that quickly closed the chasm which had widened between us with the years, and I knew that I would be a fool to let the only man I ever cared about walk away again.

  On the day before the wedding Emory drove me through a pouring rain to see a house he wanted to buy for us, located a few blocks from downtown. He preferred convenience to his office over living farther out in the newer suburbs. On the way he explained that the neighborhood was fairly old but exclusive—merchants and professional people lived there—and so full of German families and traditions that some called it “Sauerkraut Bend.”

  I was excited at the prospect of inspecting the house, though the blinding rain ruined my chance of seeing the neighborhood. As it turned out the realtor’s car flooded out and therefore he failed to meet us with a key. All I could learn was that the house stood on a large lot backing up to the river, at the corner of Beauregard and Washington streets.

  One look at the tall structure convinced me I was going to like it, so I asked Emory, “How soon can we move in?”

  A little hesitantly, he said, “I’m pretty sure they’ll take my offer, but there’s just one thing. I want Nathan to move in with us. He can remodel so that his quarters seem almost completely apart from ours.”

  “But why? I’d rather have total privacy—”

  “I travel some, and I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone while I’m away.”

  “But you don’t mind leaving me with another man?”

  “Nathan’s different. You can trust him implicitly. He’ll do anything you ask. I’ve already made that clear to him.”

  “I see … well, I suppose we can give it a try.”

  “It’s important to me,” he said, then changed the subject.

  Emory drove a Cole Six automobile, with wide comfortable seats and armrests that must have made it a special luxury for a man of his build. When I remarked on this as we rode to the wedding, he replied, “I get enough horseback riding in Mexico. When I’m in town I want to ride around in something that keeps the rain off and doesn’t rub blisters.”

  “Mexico?” I repeated, beset with visions of a barbaric country crawling with bloodthirsty bandits. “Surely you don’t go down there often … do you?”

  “Only three or four times a year at this point. But I’ll explain more about that later.”

  I slumped in my seat. Following a few moments of silence, Emory asked, “Something wrong?”

  “You might have mentioned earlier your travels included Mexico.”

  “I’m sorry, Electra. There hasn’t been a lot of time to give you all the details of my life, and remember, I didn’t flinch when you spoke your mind about conditions important to you.”

  “Yes, but I gave you some forewarning.”

  “You can still back out. We haven’t reached the church yet.”

  I watched him for a while then, as he faced the street ahead, frowning and puffing on a big cigar. How little I knew about the molding of the character and personality of the man sitting next to me. In a way Emory was like an old picture puzzle you find in a forgotten place one rainy day, and though some pieces have been lost, enough remains for you to complete most of the picture, and fill in the empty, oddly shaped contours with your imagination. The missing pieces may turn up someday, but are of no concern at the moment.�
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  Nathan was the sole witness to our brief ceremony, and proved the biggest surprise thus far. From the time Emory mentioned his name, I had pictured him as someone about the same age, big and burly, maybe a bit crude and boisterous—a good companion for a single man who led an impetuous, adventurous life, matching Emory drink for drink on lonely nights, and keeping secrets when called upon.

  He proved instead a slight young man—four or five inches shorter than Emory—with closely cropped auburn hair and light brown eyes, big and round, behind spectacles. He peered down the aisle as we entered, ther uttered something to the minister. I didn’t intend to stare at him, yet he was so different from my expectations I scarcely heard the brief explanation of the vows being given us, busy glancing toward Nathan as often as I dared. His narrow forehead was pale, his face smooth (was he no more than a boy, I wondered?), and later, as he handed over the gold wedding band during the ceremony, I noticed that his small hands, with meticulous nails, were shaking. In fact he fumbled and nearly dropped the ring, bringing a flash of contempt to Emory’s eyes.

  When the service was over, Nathan mopped his brow and drew a long sigh. “It’s stuffy in here. Why don’t we go on outside,” I suggested, and would have further invited Nathan to dine with us.

  Emory cut in, however, and told Nathan, “Get back to the office and make sure that shipment is priced out right. We don’t want any mix-ups now that we have it going again.”

  Nathan looked at me, then at Emory, and said, “Of course.”

  On the way out I told Emory, ‘You could have been less abrupt. I think he wanted to wish us well, or at least introduce himself to me.”

  “He doesn’t have time for that. I’ve got work for him to do.”

  The curt exchange was my first glimpse at the strained relationship between Emory and Nathan, and I was both taken aback and filled with misgivings. I wouldn’t have guessed the two men were at odds with each other before—if so, why would Emory keep Nathan on, and why would he stay?—yet that day they seemed like two animals of different species, mistrusting each other, at the least.…