“I’ll bring the bag,” Ward said curiously and followed them into the rustic but modern house.
Mari loved it. It was big and rambling and there was plenty of room everywhere. It was just the house for an outdoorsman, right down to the decks that overlooked the shade trees around the house.
“I think this place is perfect for Ward, but for heaven’s sake, don’t tell him that! And please don’t let on that you know about his condition,” Lillian added, her eyes wary. “You didn’t say anything about it?” she asked, showing Mari through the ultramodern upstairs where her bedroom overlooked the big pool below and the flat landscape beyond, fenced and cross-fenced with milling cattle.
“Oh, no, Scout’s honor,” Mari said. “But how am I going to help him write his memoirs?”
“We’ll work up to it in good time,” Lillian assured her. “He, uh, didn’t ask why you came?”
Mari sighed. “He seemed to think I’d asked to come. Odd man, he thought I was afraid of him. Me, afraid of men, isn’t that a scream? Especially after what Beth and I did at that all-night department store.”
“Don’t ever tell him, please,” Lillian pleaded. “It would…upset him. We mustn’t do that,” she added darkly. “It could be fatal!”
“I won’t, truly I won’t,” Mari promised. “He sure is healthy looking for a dying man, isn’t he?”
“Rugged,” Lillian said. “Real rugged. He’d never let on that he was in pain.”
“Poor brave man,” Mari said with a sigh. “He’s so tough.”
Lillian grinned as she turned away.
* * *
“Did his sister like this house?” Mari asked later after she’d unpacked and was helping Lillian in the kitchen.
“Oh, yes,” Lillian confided to her niece. “But the boss hates it!”
“Is his sister like him?” Mari asked.
“To look at, no. But in temperament, definitely,” the older woman told her. “They’re both high-strung and mean tempered.”
“You mentioned that he had a male secretary,” Mari reminded her as she rolled out a piecrust.
“Yes. David Meadows. He’s young and very efficient, but he doesn’t like being called a secretary.” Lillian grinned. “He thinks he’s an administrative assistant.”
“I’ll have to remember that.”
“I don’t know what the boss would do without him, either,” Lillian continued as she finished quartering the apples for the pie. Another apple pie might soften him up a little, she was thinking. “David keeps everything running smoothly around here, from paying the accounts to answering the phone and scheduling appointments. The boss stays on the road most of the time, closing deals. The oil business is vast these days. Last week he was in Saudi Arabia. Next week he’s off to South America.”
“All that traveling must get tiresome,” Mari said, her blue eyes curious. “Isn’t it dangerous for him in his condition?”
For a moment Lillian looked hunted. Then she brightened. “Oh, no, the doctor says it’s actually good for him. He takes it easy, and it keeps his mind off things. He never talks about it, though. He’s a very private person.”
“He seems terribly cold,” Mari remarked thoughtfully.
“Camouflage,” Lillian assured her. “He’s warm and gentle and a prince of a man,” she added. “A prince! Now, get this pie fixed, girl. You make the best pies I’ve ever tasted, even better than my own.”
“Mama taught me,” Mari said gently. “I really miss her sometimes. Especially in the autumn. We used to go up into the mountains to see the leaves. Dad was always too busy, but Mama and I were adventurous. It’s been eight years since she died. And only one since Dad went. I’m glad I still have you.”
Lillian tried not to look touched, but she was. “Get busy,” she said gruffly, turning away. “It isn’t good to look back.”
That was true, Mari thought, keeping her own thoughts on the present instead of the past. She felt sad about Ward Jessup—even if he was a dreadful oilman. She’d heard her aunt talk about him for so many years that she felt as if she knew him already. If only she could make it through the week without making him angry or adding to his problems. She just wanted to help him, if he’d let her.
Mari was just going into the other room to call him when her attention was caught by the stream running through the room, lit by underwater colored lights. It was eerie and beautiful indoor “landscaping,” with plants everywhere and literally a stream running through the middle of the living room, wide enough to swim in.
Not paying much attention to where she was going, Mari backed along the carpet, only half aware of footsteps, and suddenly collided with something warm and solid.
There was a terribly big splash and a furious curse. When she turned around, she felt herself go pale.
“Oh, Mr. Jessup, I’m sorry,” she wailed, burying her cheeks in her hands.
He was very wet. Not only was he soaked, but there was a lily pad on top of his straight black hair that had been slicked down by all the water. He was standing, and though the water came to his chin, he looked very big and very angry. As he sputtered and blinked, Mari noticed that his green eyes were exactly the shade of the lily pad.
“Damn you…” he began as he moved toward the carpeted “shore” with a dangerous look on his dark face. At that moment nobody would have guessed that he was a dying man. As quick as lightning he was out of the water, dripping on the carpet. Suddenly Mari forgot his delicate condition and ran like hell.
“Aunt Lillian!”
Mari ran for the kitchen as fast as her slender legs could carry her, a blur in jeans and a white sweatshirt as she darted down the long hall toward the relative safety of the kitchen.
Behind her, soggy footsteps and curses followed closely.
“Aunt Lillian, help!” she cried as she dashed through the swing door.
She forgot that swing doors tend to swing back when forcibly opened by hysterical people. It slammed back into a tall, wet, cursing man. There was an ominous thud and the sound of shattering ceramic pieces.
Lillian looked at her niece in wide-eyed shock. “Oh, Mari,” she said. Her ears told her more than she wanted to know as she stared at the horrified face of her niece. “Oh, Mari.”
“I think Mr. Jessup may need a little help, Aunt Lillian,” Mari began hesitantly.
“Prayer might be more beneficial at the moment, dear,” Aunt Lillian murmured nervously. She wiped her hands on her printed apron and cautiously opened the swing door to peer into the dining room.
Ward Jessup was just sitting up among the ruins of his table setting, china shards surrounding him. His suit was wet, and there was a puddle of water under him as he tugged his enormous frame off the floor. His eyes were blazing in a face that had gone ruddy in anger. He held on to a chair and rose slowly, glaring at Lillian’s half-hidden face with an expression that told her there was worse to come.
“She’s really a nice girl, boss,” Lillian began, “once you get to know her.”
He brushed back his soaked hair with a lean, angry hand, and his chest rose and fell heavily. “I have a meeting just after supper,” he said. “I sent the rest of my suits to the cleaner’s this afternoon. This is the last suit I had. I didn’t expect to go swimming in it.”
“We could dry it and I could…press it,” Lillian suggested