Transgressions

Now I spend most of my time in Maine. But I recently had the cottage redecorated, and added an infinity pool on the lake side. Do you like it, Peter?'

'I'm impressed.'

'Why don't you have a look around inside?'

'Looks like you've got company. Anyway, what's the point?'

'The point is, the cottage is yours, Peter. A wedding present for you and Echo.'

Peter had hit a trifecta two years ago at Aqueduct, which rewarded him with twenty-six hundred dollars.

He'd been thrilled by the windfall. Now he was stunned. When his heartbeat was more or less under control he managed to say, 'Wait a minute. You . . . can't do this.'

'It's done, Peter. Echo is in the garden, I believe. Why don't you join her? I'll be along in a few minutes.'

'Omigod, Peter, do you believe it?'

She was on the walk that separated garden and swimming pool, the breeze tugging her hair across her eyes. There were a lot of roses in the garden, he noticed. He felt, in spite of the joy he saw in Echo's face, a thorn in his heart. And it was a crushing effort for him just to breathe.

'Jesus, Echo—What've you done?'

'Peter—'

He walked through the garden toward her. Echo sat on a teakwood bench, hands folded in her lap, her pleasure dimmed to a defensive smile because she knew what was coming. He could almost see her stubborn streak surfacing, like a shark's fin in bloodied waters. Peter made an effort to keep his tone reasonable.

'Wedding present? That's china and toasters and things. How do we rate something like this? Nobody in his right mind would give away—'

'I haven't done anything,' Echo said. 'And it isn't ours. Not yet.'

'I'm usually in my right mind,' John Ransome said pleasantly. Peter stopped, halfway between Echo and Ransome, who was in the doorway to the garden, the setting sun making of his face a study in sanguinity. He held a large thick envelope in one hand. 'Escrow to the cottage and grounds will close in one year, when Mary Catherine has completed her obligation to me.' He smiled. 'I don't expect an invitation to the wedding. But I wish you both a lifetime of happiness. I'll leave this inside for you to read.'

Nobody said anything for a few moments. They heard a helicopter. Ransome glanced up. 'My ride is here,'

he said. 'Make yourselves at home for as long as you like, and enjoy the dinner I've had prepared for you.

My driver will take you back to the city when you're ready to go-'

The night turned unseasonably chilly for mid-September, temperature dropping into the low fifties by nine o'clock. One of the caterers built a fire on the hearth in the garden room while Echo and Peter were served after-dinner brandies. They sipped and read the contract John Ransome had left for Echo to sign, Peter passing pages to her as he finished reading.

A caterer looked in on them to say, 'We'll be leaving in a few minutes, when we've finished cleaning up the kitchen.'

'Thank you,' Echo said. Peter didn't look up or say a word until he'd read the last page of the contract.

Wind rattled one of the stained-glass casement windows in the garden room. Peter poured more brandy for himself, half a snifter's worth, as if it were cherry Coke. He drank all of it, got up and paced while Echo read by firelight, pushing her reading glasses up the bridge of her nose with a forefinger when they slipped.

When she had put the twelve pages in order, Peter fell back into the upholstered chair opposite Echo.

They looked at each other. The fire crackled and sparked.

'I can't go up there to see you? You can't come home, unless it's an emergency? He doesn't want to paint you, he wants to own you!'

They heard the caterer's van drive away. The limo chauffeur had enjoyed his meal in a small apartment above the garage.

'I understand his reasons,' Echo said. 'He doesn't want me to be distracted.'

'Is that what I am? A distraction?'

'Peter, you don't have a creative mind, so I really don't expect you to get it.' Echo frowned; she knew when she sounded condescending. 'It's only for a year. I can do this. Then we're set.' She looked around the garden room, a possessive light in her eyes. 'My Lord, this place, I've never even dreamed of— I want Mom to see it! Then, if she approves—'

'What about my approval?' Peter said with a glower, drinking again.

Echo got up and stretched. She shuddered. In spite of the fire it was a little chilly in the room. He watched the rise and fall of her breasts with blurred yearning.

'I want that too.'

'And you want this house.'

'Are you going to sulk the rest of the evening?'

'Who's sulking?'

She took the glass from his hand, sat down in his lap and cradled her head on a wide shoulder, closing her eyes.