The Love Talker Part 10

She didn't stop running until she had crossed the garden and was safely hidden behind the boxwood hedge. Then she paused to catch her breath.

It was cold and sunny. The garden looked forlorn under its cover of slushy snow, spiked with the dead brown branches of rosebushes. Hands in her pockets- she had forgotten her gloves, as she always did- Laurie started along the path between the high green hedges. The box was Ned's pride-over a hundred years old, most of it. Its thick, healthy growth made a rather dismal shade, which had kept the snow on the gravel path from melting. It was crusted hard. Laurie took a few quick running steps and slid. It was glorious. She did it again, throwing her arms out for balance.

She saw Jeff long before she ran into him, but there was nothing she could do except yell a warning.

Clinging to one another, they swayed back and forth until they had attained a precarious balance. Laurie was whooping with laughter. The sight of Jeff's anxious face, as they tottered, only made her laugh louder.

She was unaware of what an attractive picture she made as she stood there, cheeks red with cold, dark curls wind-blown; but she was too experienced to miss the change in Jeff's expression as he looked down at her. His arms tightened.

"Sorry," she gasped.

"I'm not."

The words were trite enough, but Jeff's deep baritone invested them with glamour. He drew her closer.

A romantic moment would certainly have ensued if Laurie had not remembered something. "I met the Love Talker . . ." Nonsensical, meaningless memory-but her smiling lips tightened and her body stiffened. Jeff's arms released their hold.

"What were you running from?" he asked lightly.

"How did you know I was running from something?"

"Male intuition. Weren't you?"

"The telephone," Laurie admitted.

"Ah. The worthy Mr. Schott?"

Laurie shoved her hands in her pockets and turned away.

"Do you know everything that goes on around here?" she asked. She meant it as a joke, but her tone was petulant.

"Hey, don't get mad. You know what small towns are like-gossip, nothing but gossip. Shall I challenge him to a duel, or waylay him in a dark alley?"

Laurie's momentary annoyance evaporated.

"No need to go that far," she answered, smiling. "But you could help me to think of a good excuse to get rid of him. I had already considered insanity and alcoholism."

"Not nearly good enough." Jeff wrinkled his forehead and appeared to ponder deeply. "Tell him you've been converted to Buddhism or some other eastern sect. Stare into s.p.a.ce and talk about the Light."

"Not bad."

"You're cold," Jeff said, as she blew on her fingers. "Come on to my place, if you're still on the lam."

Laurie eyed him askance. He shook his head, his eyes twinkling.

"There's no spot on earth where you'd be safer from my advances, lady. I took a girl there once; every time I-er-started making progress, my guilty mind conjured up an image of your aunt, staring at me in frozen disapproval. The thought paralyzed every muscle in my body."

"I'd like to see your pad," Laurie said with a smile. He took her arm-to keep her from slipping-and they walked on.

"Or," Jeff said suddenly, "you could tell him you'd expect him to adopt your illegitimate baby."

"What illegitimate-"

"I see your problem," Jeff said thoughtfully. "You're too literal-minded. If you could just dismiss the feeling that your remarks to Hermann have to have even the slightest foundation in fact-"

"But he'd tell his mother and she'd tell the aunts," Laurie protested. "Ida would have a heart attack."

"You've got a point."

He continued to produce increasingly absurd "excuses for Hermann" as they crossed the yard. They finally decided that the best was a vague, unfounded accusation. "I know about you, Hermann; you don't suppose I could ever be serious about a man who has done what you've done?"

"That's perfect," Jeff said gleefully. "How can he disprove something that never happened? Although," he added, after a moment of thought, "I wouldn't be surprised if he turned pale and ran. He must have something nasty on his conscience."

The little cottage where Jeff lived had once been one of the slave quarters. The small stone buildings had stood in a line behind the stables, on a tiny street of their own. All but three had tumbled into ruin years before. Jeff's was the largest of the lot. Built of the same pale stone as the main house, it had two small windows, one on either side of the door, and an even smaller window above. Jeff flung the door open with a flourish and stood back.

Laurie had expected something small and low-ceilinged and dark. The glare of light that met her eyes made her blink.

The whole lower floor was one large room. The back half of the roof had been replaced by gla.s.s, like a skylight. Stairs led up to a loft, open at one end. The furniture was spa.r.s.e: only a low bed, covered with a bright modern spread, a few chairs, a table, a desk, and a typewriter. Cupboards lined the end wall, which also had a tiny sink, stove, and refrigerator.

Laurie's first impression was one of austerity and cold. The plain plastered walls had been whitewashed; the floor was bare except for a few scatter rugs. But the rugs were lovely handwoven blends of brilliant color and the spread on the bed was a print of savagely vibrant reds and emeralds and blues.

"I like it," she said, and then blushed, thinking what a stupid, patronizing thing it was to say. But Jeff's voice was warm when he answered. "Thanks. I fixed it up myself; your folks paid for the materials, but I did the work."

Laurie went toward the desk. It was covered with papers. A thick sheaf of them stood beside the typewriter. Before she could get close enough to see what was written on the pages Jeff was beside her.

"No fair peeking," he said.

"Okay," Laurie said meekly. "I don't blame you; I hate having people look at my stuff before the final draft. Do you ever let anyone read any of it?"

"No. I take my motto from Sir Walter Scott: 'I neither give nor take criticism.' "

"Well, okay; I was just asking."

"Fair enough," Jeff said. "It's just a phobia of mine, I guess. When I was living in New York-" He broke off suddenly, and Laurie asked, "Is that where you're from?"

"I was born in the Midwest. But I worked in New York for a while; some of my friends were would-be writers. I got b.l.o.o.d.y sick and tired of those arty sessions where everybody sits around drinking wine and reading bits of their work. None of it ever amounted to anything. They didn't really want to write, they just wanted to talk about writing."

"The same thing happens in the academic world," Laurie said. "Some of my friends have been working on their doctorates for years and years. Me, I just want to get it over with."

"Sit down and tell me about the Middle Ages," Jeff said, gesturing toward the bed. "I'll make some coffee."

"Where shall I start?" Laurie sat down. The bed was very low and very soft. It was almost impossible to sit primly on it, so she kicked off her shoes and curled up, feet tucked under her. She wondered as she did so if she was acting wisely; not that she would have been averse to what her aunt would have called. . . . Good G.o.d, what would she call it? She couldn't imagine Ida referring to the subject at all, no matter how obliquely. As for Laurie's own instincts, they were under complete control. The very idea of being caught in a compromising position (yes, Ida might put it that way) by one of the aunts, or Uncle Ned, made her break out in a gentle sweat.

Yet, perversely, she was mildly put out when Jeff handed her a mug of coffee and promptly retreated to a chair clear across the room. He hadn't been kidding when he asked her to talk about the Middle Ages; he started firing questions at her. They were good questions, specific and detailed.

After admitting ignorance on two points in a row, Laurie said ruefully, "There's quite a difference between a scholar's approach and a novelist's, isn't there? I'm stupider than I thought."

"It's a different approach," Jeff said. "I need such tiny details. It's hard to find them in history books. I want women to read this, so I've got to have stuff about clothes and jewelry and makeup. Even the men's clothing-did they wear underwear? If so, what was it like?"

"Oh, it's that kind of book, is it?"

Jeff grinned. "That's what sells, honey. And if Sir G.o.dfrey rips the clothes off Lady Isabeau I can't describe her b.u.t.tons popping unless they had b.u.t.tons back then."

"It would be fun to do a take-off," Laurie said. "Have Lady Isabeau's b.u.t.tons pop, then break off for a long pedantic discussion of b.u.t.tons. When they were introduced, what kinds of b.u.t.tons they were. Quote your authorities-"

"Invent authorities," Jeff interrupted. "The learned Professor Doctor Hermann Von Schott, Die b.u.t.ton-geschliipfer der Mittelalten uber den Hauptglobber-"

Laurie started to laugh. "It wouldn't sell, I'm afraid."

"I could do it in odd moments, as comic relief," Jeff said, his eyes gleaming. "Come on, give me some more authorities."

"Edward Hightower-Smythe," Laurie suggested. "Clasps, b.u.t.tons, Buckles, and Other Methods of Joining Together Garments During the Period between 1415 and 1418."

They had composed a lengthy bibliography-including a journal ent.i.tled Zeitschrift fur Studien der Untergarmenten-when the mood was broken by a prolonged howling without. Laurie recognized her own name.

"What the h.e.l.l is that?" she demanded.

"Sounds like your brother," Jeff replied calmly.

"My ... Oh. Doug."

"He is your brother, isn't he?" Jeff inquired. "Hey, there's one for Hermann. Tell him you and Doug-"

"That's not nice." The frigidity of Laurie's tone surprised her as much as it did Jeff. She added, "I don't even like him."

Jeff tried to keep a straight face, but his lips twitched violently, and after a moment Laurie broke down.

"I just meant," Jeff explained, "that you could tell Hermann he was your lover, masquerading as your brother. If Hermann tattled that one to the aunts, they'd think he had flipped and they'd stop pus.h.i.+ng him at you."

Doug's bellows were getting louder. Laurie rose reluctantly to her feet.

"I'll consider it," she promised. "Thanks for the coffee, Jeff. I enjoyed this."

"Me too. Seriously, can I pump you some more? I've got a lot of unanswered questions."

"Any time." Laurie peeked out the window. "I think I'll just wait a minute. . . ."

"Scared of him?" Jeffs voice was scornful.

"Certainly not!" Laurie grabbed her coat with one hand and the doork.n.o.b with the other. She plunged out of the house straight into Doug, who was standing on the doorstep. He promptly fell over and Laurie fell on top of him.

It took him a few moments to get his breath back. Laurie was in better shape, her fall having been cus.h.i.+oned by his body; her elbows on either side of his face, she watched with mild concern while he gasped and wheezed. The door of the house had closed quietly behind her, as if Jeff had decided it would not be tactful to volunteer a.s.sistance. A wise decision, Laurie thought.

"This is ridiculous,." Doug said, after a time. "Get up. If Ida saw us . .."

Laurie scrambled to her feet and offered a hand which Doug coldly ignored.

"Were you looking for me?" she asked.

"Yes, I was looking for you. The aunts are dithering. They said you walked out two hours ago and disappeared. Lizzie thinks the elves kidnapped you. Ida thinks a bear ate you-"

"And you thought I had gotten lost? How nice of you to be so concerned."

Her brother told her what he had thought. "And I was right, too," he concluded, with a malevolent glance at the door of the cottage.

Laurie gasped indignantly. "You have a dirty mind."

"You have a dirty mind, if you think that's dirty. Look, I don't give a d.a.m.n what you and Heathcliffe do in your spare time, but don't do it here, will you? It would shock the aunts out of their socks if they got wind of it; they'd fire Jeff and then we'd be up the creek with no resident caretaker."

"Practical, aren't you?"

"Always. There's a fairly decent motel in Thurbridge, called the-"

"Oh, shut up."

Doug rubbed his bruised shoulder.

"Actually," he said, in a more conciliatory tone, "I was looking for you because I thought we had a date. To see the Wilsons."

"Oh. I forgot."

"I bet you did," Doug muttered. "All right, all right. Let's go, shall we? Better tell the aunts you're safe first; then they can take their nice naps."

Laurie refused to go into the house, in case there had been further messages from Hermann, so Doug went to announce her return and then joined her at his car.

"You're supposed to call Herrman," he announced, rolling the r's viciously.

Laurie said a bad word. Doug grinned.

"You can't avoid it," he said smugly.

"Oh, yes, I can. And," Laurie added, "you'd better help me. He'll be throwing out not so subtle hints about you calling Sherri and setting up double dates, once he gets a foothold."

"Hmmm." Doug rubbed his chin. "Maybe you're right at that. I think I'll tell Herrrrman I'm married."

"Oh, no, you don't. I may need to use that one myself. I'm in a much more vulnerable position than you are."

The car slid between the stone pillars and out onto the main road. Doug said in a changed voice. "Have you thought about what we're going to say to these people?"

"No," Laurie admitted. "Not in detail. I was just going to tell them the truth."

Doug gave her a quizzical glance.

"Innocent creature. Well, maybe that's the best line after all. I certainly can't think of any sensible lie."

"Do you know where we're going?"

"Not exactly. It's down this way, I think; I seem to remember a mailbox. Look for the name."