After the Fire

  If only we were alone on that beach in Brittany, she thought while he held her, with the tide racing and the mind racing and nothing to think about, nothing….

  “I'll take care of everything, Hyacinth. Leave it to me. Now undo these buttons of yours. I can't seem to manage—”

  The buzzer sounded.

  “Dammit!” he cried. “Who's that?”

  “I can't imagine,” she said, and then heard from the lobby that it was Arnie, already on the way up. A moment later there came a knock on the door.

  “Open up, celebrity, it's me, Arnie. Remember me? Don't look scared,” he said as he stepped in. “Everything's fine. I'm here on a quick two-day trip to see a guy in this neighborhood, so I thought I'd take a chance on finding you in.”

  He had never done anything like this. And with the merest touch of coolness, she said, “You scared me. I wasn't expecting anybody. Will Miller, Dr. Arnold Ritter.”

  The two men made the usual acknowledgments, and there remained nothing to do but sit down and say something.

  Hyacinth began. “We've just had dinner. Can I get you anything? A piece of pie?”

  “Thanks, no. Just ate with this guy. But you had a good dinner, I know that,” Arnie said, addressing Will. “This lady can feed a man. Many's the good meal I've had at her table.”

  Will said something, but Hyacinth was in such turmoil that she barely heard what it was. Every nerve in her body was electrified, ready to spark. What to do if Arnie should say the wrong thing about the status of Jerry and Emma? When the time came to tell Will, she, not Arnie, must be the one to do it. She ought to have told him before this. But she had been dreading it so, dreading the questions that would follow.

  “I thought at least I could cool off coming up north,” Arnie said. “But it's as hot as Florida.”

  “I've just come in from California. They seem to have escaped the heat there this summer. Weather's always a gamble, you never know.”

  Weather, thought Hyacinth, is always a safe subject when the air is filled with tension. And she said inanely, “Come January, with ice in the streets, we'll remember this and wish it back.”

  The men agreed. And Hyacinth was saying silently, Arnie, why don't you just get up and go, when suddenly he drew an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to her.

  “Have a look at these,” he said with a broad smile. “I took them last week at the gymkhana. Emma's taken to horses like a duck to water.”

  There they were, side by side in their fine habits on their fine mounts, looking like children in some glossy magazine. Her babies.

  “Matter of fact, I think Emma's going to outdo her brother. Wait till you see,” he added, sounding like a proud father.

  There was nothing to do but hand the photos to Will. He took rather a long time over them and then, returning them, remarked that he also had some pictures in his pocket.

  “I meant to give them to you before this, but I took them to California by mistake.”

  And there they were, Will and Hyacinth, in Paris with the obelisk in the background, in Deauville, in Brittany, in front of the Louvre, in a garden, and in front of a pond with swans in the background. Wearing her usual jeans and top, she stood with her hair blown like a ribbon in the wind. In the dress with the lace sleeves, she was elegant. And finally she was on the beach wearing the bikini that Will had bought because she had not packed a swimsuit. In every scene was Will with his arm around her, making them unmistakably a couple, no casual friends on a genial outing, but a couple.

  “Let's see,” said Arnie, reaching his arm out. Slowly he flipped through the collection and handed it back, remarking pleasantly that it looked as if they had been having a grand time over there.

  “It was a business trip,” Hyacinth explained. “Lina wanted me to look at French fabrics, and Will's firm has bought Lina's, so we're all one now.”

  She knew each of these two men so well that she had no doubt what each was thinking. Will, of course, was annoyed at this intrusion on their night, and Arnie was simply jealous. With a touch of wonderment, she reflected that this was her first experience of being in a room together with two men, both of whom desired her.

  Will broke the uncomfortable pause. “Do you live all year round in Florida, Dr. Ritter?”

  “Oh yes, I'm well settled. I'm in practice there. Surgery.”

  “Then you're a native, the real thing,” Will said pleasantly.

  Arnie laughed. “Nobody's a native there. No, I just gave up my practice in Hyacinth's town a few years ago. Her former town, I should say. That's how we met. We're old friends by now.”

  “That's how we met, too. My family had a store there, R. J. Miller, on the square.”

  “That right? Used to buy my stuff there all the time, ties, sweaters, and things. You had nice merchandise. You still there?”

  “No, we sold out. They've torn our place down to put up a ten-story office building. The town's growing fast. When I think of what my great-grandfather paid for the land a hundred years ago and what we got for it—it's unbelievable.”

  Now that they've got onto a subject, Hyacinth was thinking, Arnie will never leave.

  “I know what you mean. I built my office, let's see, it's seventeen years ago, and the difference in cost is also unbelievable. I had a beautiful little white building, a fortune's worth of limestone, not big, just two stories, but the location couldn't be beat. It was just three blocks off the square.”

  “That wasn't the office that burned down, was it?”

  “Yeah, that's it.”

  Arnie's glance passed over Hyacinth. The glance was neutral. Then he coughed.

  Perhaps three seconds, no more, went by before Will sociably continued the conversation. “I was in a rush that day and got into town not long after dawn, so I passed through all the excitement. It was still blazing. Terrifying, with the hook and ladder, the broken glass, the crowds, the flames and the smoke, a war zone. Fire and human flesh—it's an age-old terror.”

  “Sure is,” Arnie said. “Pretty tough.”

  As always, when she was in distress, Hyacinth's hands clenched together in her lap. Now, willing herself to appear relaxed, she placed her hands on the arms of the chair.

  “I heard talk that it might have been arson,” Will added.

  Arnie shrugged. “There's always talk,” he replied.

  Will, agreeing to that, went on to explain his interest in the subject. “We had some big trouble like it in one of our stores about twenty years ago. I remember all the talk every night at the dinner table. They did a lot of investigating. I guess everybody but the FBI must have been called in, and finally they narrowed it down to an employee who, after first denying anything, finally admitted that he had been smoking and must have been careless. My father never believed him, though. The fellow had a grievance against the company, and everybody knew about it. He had a clear motive.”

  “So what happened?” asked Arnie, showing interest.

  “I don't recall the details because I went away to college about that time, but I know they got him and he served a couple of years.”

  “Was anyone hurt?” Arnie asked.

  “No, fortunately nobody was, though it's a miracle. The place was an inferno.”

  “He would have served a hell of a lot more if anybody had died in it,” Arnie said. “That's a felony-murder, probably second degree.”

  Hyacinth did not look at him. Why is he prolonging this conversation? Why is he doing this to me? He could easily turn it to something else, like real estate values or where Will had gone to college.

  “It makes you wonder, doesn't it,” Will said, “how anybody can let a grievance turn into such rage. It makes you wonder about people, about whom you can ever trust. He looked so innocent, my father said, the kind you never suspect.”

  This was unbearable. Her very heart and soul were exposed. She might as well have been sitting here naked between these men. And hoping that her face was not as bloody red as it felt, Hyacinth
rose and moved to the television set, observing that it was time for the eleven o'clock news.

  Arnie jumped up. “Eleven already? I've got some day tomorrow, enough to break your back. So I'm going to run along, Hy. I'll be in touch. Say, Will—don't mind if I call you that, I hope—we can share a cab. It's tough getting one in this neighborhood this time of night, and we're lucky if we find one, let alone two.”

  Now there was nothing to do but see them both to the door. How adroitly Arnie had pried Will loose! But it was just as well, for she was now in no condition for the night of love that had just begun when Arnie had intruded.

  “It makes you wonder about people, about whom you can trust.”

  What shall I tell him? He will want to know why, for all this time, I have hidden the truth. At the very least, he will doubt me. At most, he will despise me. I would, if I were he.

  In an odd way, she saw herself stunned and mentally immobilized by terror. She walked the length of the living room and back. Back and forth. Midnight struck, and she lay down, hot and cold by turns, and too paralyzed to weep. The night passed.

  The telephone rang twice in the morning, the first call being Will's.

  “Your friend threw some cold water on us last night, didn't he?”

  “I should say so. Funny, he's never visited without calling first.”

  “Tell me about him. He's what you call a character, isn't he?”

  She knew by Will's voice that he was displeased, which surprised her, because he seldom allowed things to displease him seriously.

  “There's nothing much to tell. He's never had children, and he's one of those people who should have them, so he's been very attached to mine when—when they're in Florida. He's horse crazy, and he's made them horse crazy, too, which is very healthy for them.” She was babbling too much. “So that's about all,” she concluded.

  “He's jealous, Hy. He didn't enjoy those pictures of us in France and he showed it, as if he didn't give a damn whether he offended you or me. Especially me.”

  “No, no. Arnie's not interested in me. I'm nothing to him. He's got women all over the country, pop singers, starlets, gold shoes in the daytime, piles of makeup, glamour types. Not me.”

  “I don't agree. A man sees other men more clearly than a woman ever can. He wants you, Hyacinth, and if he were your type, I'd have reason to be jealous. But since he's so obviously not your type, God bless him and good riddance to him even though he interrupted our fun last night.”

  “I know, but he really is a good sort.”

  “Well, okay, but what about our important discussion? Can we continue it tonight?”

  She was not ready. She must get away to think. She must figure out how to tell him about it all, the divorce, the children, the fire…. She had a mountain to climb.

  Uncertain about what to answer, she said, “You forget that I'm going to my mother's house for a few days and I'm leaving this afternoon.”

  “Well, hurry back, will you?”

  “Of course I will, as fast as I can, you know that.”

  “While you're gone, I'll go apartment hunting. Want to bet that I'll have found a great place by next week? Have a good time. Say hello to your mother for me, and to Emma and Jerry. I'm waiting to meet them all.”

  Not five minutes later, Arnie called. He was abrupt. “I want to see you tonight, Hy.”

  She did not want to see him and was beginning to say so, when he insisted, “Tonight, Hy. It's important. In the restaurant at my hotel at nine.”

  “Arnie, you're worrying me. Is anything wrong?”

  “Yes, and then again, no. But we need to talk.”

  At least the children, at Francine's house, were all right. Obviously then, this was to be all about Will.

  In the evening she came prepared to upbraid him at once for last night, but the first sight of him showed that he was troubled, and she did not. His lavish silvery hair, always so carefully tended and waved, was tousled, and his hand-painted imported tie was askew.

  “I didn't sleep last night,” he announced as he took his seat on the other side of the table. “It was one of the worst nights I've ever had, and I don't mind telling you.” He waved away wine and waved away the menu. “Order something, Hy. Whatever you want, I'll eat. I don't feel like eating, anyway. Haven't had a thing in my mouth all day except coffee.”

  “I haven't felt very well either, Arnie. First, before we say anything else, tell me why you kept harping on that subject last night? You must have known what you were doing to me. When you said that about felony-murders. I could hardly believe it was you saying it.”

  “Did you know what I was feeling when your boyfriend showed those pictures? I went into a rage. I couldn't help it. I'm sorry, Hy.” And as he leaned forward within inches of her face, Arnie's familiar, friendly eyes became hard, copper-colored slits. “He's your lover, isn't he? Level with me.”

  “We love each other,” she answered simply.

  Now, drawing back, he gave a low whistle. “Right here under my nose! I was waiting for you, Hyacinth. Didn't you realize that? I thought we had a—an understanding. A relationship, or whatever you call it.”

  The light revealed a drop of sweat on his forehead. And because he had never seemed to be a person whom one would associate with suffering, it astonished her that he should be feeling it so deeply. Then, ashamed of having made so superficial a judgment, she felt both guilt and pity.

  With a break in her voice, she answered, “I'm sorry, too. I thought we were just very, very good friends. I never meant, I never would deceive you.”

  “You knew we were more than good friends! You can't tell me you didn't.”

  On the fifth floor, directly above this table, was the room with the bed. It flashed now before her: a fancy cream-colored headboard against striped wallpaper and a pair of lamps with pink shades on either side. She had been standing not more than fifteen feet away from that bed and far less than fifteen minutes from lying in it. They had been two warm, eager bodies, she with her breast already bared. Of course she had known!

  “You never made it clear to me,” she said awkwardly.

  “I saw how confused you were, and I gave you time to get over your troubles. You had the kids, your work, and the other business on your mind.”

  The other business.

  At the piano across the room, a young man was singing one of those old love songs from the 1930s that never seemed to go out of fashion. Somebody at the next table was humming along. A cork popped. Did anybody ever have, or could anybody here, in the midst of all this velvety comfort, imagine something like “the other business”? Her thoughts had already strayed from Arnie, so she brought them back to him, repeating, “I'm sorry. I never meant to deceive you. Believe me.”

  When the dinners were placed before them, he took a mouthful and laid down the fork, declaring, “Fact is, after your friend brought up the subject last night, I kept it going on purpose. I wanted to hear how he might deal with you if he ever should know, God forbid that he ever should.”

  “God forbid? But I have to tell him. The trouble is that I don't know how, or else I haven't got the courage.”

  “You really want to marry him, Hy?”

  “Yes. Oh, yes!”

  “I'll be damned, that's all I can say. I'll be damned. I can't get it through my head. Close as we've been, and the kids and all. Oh, I know I'm not like him, Hy. He's good-looking, not that I'm so bad, but he's more your age, and—oh, I know his type—high-class music and books, the stuff you like. But I'd do all that, too, to please you. You bet I would. And with me—well, there are no secrets. See? You're scared to tell him, and you should be. You damn well should be, Hy.”

  The emphasis alarmed her, and she cried out, “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” he said, lowering his voice to a secretive tone, “because he won't like it. You heard him talking about that case of theirs. It was a case exactly like yours. He'll hesitate, or maybe he'll be scared away right off the bat. A
nd he's got family, hasn't he? He'll talk it over with somebody he trusts. He'll want another opinion, and he'll get it. You'd better believe he'll get it. Take my word, Hy. If there's one thing I know, it's people. Nobody fools me.”

  True enough. Arnie had all the marks of a man who knew his way about the world.

  Nevertheless, she spoke bravely. “Then I'll marry him without telling him.”

  Arnie frowned. “Oh, no. You'd never last more than a couple of weeks that way. People can't live together and keep things like that buttoned up inside. The secret would torment you. Every time you looked at him or touched him in bed, you'd feel you ought to tell him. And what then? Do you think any man would appreciate getting a hell of a present like that one dumped on him after he's just put the ring on your finger? What kind of a marriage do you think you'd have then? Or would you have any marriage? You want another divorce? And with the secret out? Once it's out, you know, it's out, let me tell you. And then there goes everything—big job, good name, kids, the whole works. No, you're better off the way you are, Hy. Take it from me. I wasn't born yesterday. And neither was your friend Will. He's on the way up in the world, and he doesn't need to carry your troubles in his luggage.”

  “Why don't you stop this? I never knew you could be so cruel,” she cried angrily. Yet when she took out a handkerchief to wipe her eyes, Arnie looked away. For a man so blunt-spoken, he also had unusual delicacy.

  “Why do I love you? Why do you love me?” the man sang at the next table. People were laughing.

  She took a forkful of mashed potatoes. She needed to be home in her bed in the dark with the blanket drawn over her face. She needed Will. Yet not right now, or until there was some light at the end of this tunnel. Her thoughts were raging and battling in her head.

  “Either way, it's not easy,” Arnie said.

  She did not catch his meaning until he continued, “I hate to tell you, but you've got something else to think about besides love right now. The kids aren't happy. There've been changes.”

  “Changes?” she whispered.

  “Gerald's had a visitor all summer, one of his singers, starlets, or whatever you want to call her. She doesn't get along with the kids. Maybe it started because they don't like her. She takes Gerald's time—when he's not working—and that means less time for them. He plays tennis with her, for instance, instead of with Jerry. That kind of thing. Look, I'm no psychologist, but that's what I think. And a couple of weeks ago, they had a big run-in, something about Charlie, the dog, you know. She hit it, and Emma went wild and hit her. Then Eareen—some crazy, invented name—no, Arveen—slapped Emma, and Jerry pitched into Arveen. It's a mess. I heard about it from the nanny. Now the nanny's quit the job. Too much for her, she said.”