Love Walked In
THIRTY-FOUR
They stood staring at each other for some moments. They stood staring at each other for some moments. Vernon was afraid to move in case the image shattered. But no lightning spiked, no thunder boomed, and he moved so quickly toward her he could not remember crossing the room. The cold rain saturating her clothes became his cold rain.
“Nellie.” Arms around her, Vernon said it again.
As if in getting him wet, she realized she herself was soaking wet, she asked Vernon if there was anything around that she could wear. Her wet clothes had been discarded and she had wrapped herself up in Vernon’s bath-robe; Samantha, having returned with the food Vernon didn’t eat, had then been dispatched to buy Nell new clothes-jeans, shirt and wool jacket. And boots. Hers would never dry in time. “In time for what?” Nell asked.
“Dinner.”
In between the wet clothes and the dry ones, Nell told Vernon the story.
He listened for half an hour, interrupting the flow of her talk only once to get her a blanket because she had shivered. He kept clothes and blankets in his office because he sometimes slept there.
With the blanket tucked about her, she went on. “I should have run away after Valerie finally let me out of my room.”
“This is the Hobbs woman?”
Nell nodded. “I should have left them; I should have run.”
“Nell”-he put a hand on her arm-“forget ‘should.’ You did what you thought was right. That’s enough. Go on.”
She told him about the imprisoned mares. “It’s-I can’t think of any words to describe it. But I suppose just stating the facts describes it, doesn’t it?”
Vernon asked, “This guy who grabbed you in the barn that night-why did he? Do you know?”
Nell looked toward the window, thinking. She did not want to turn his attention to the man and the pitch-black room. She knew it would overwhelm the rest. “I don’t know, I honestly don’t. The first thing he did was to spray something in my eyes. I couldn’t see.”
“You couldn’t identify him, then?”
She shook her head. “I know he was short and wiry from having to sit in front of him. He could’ve been a jockey, for that matter. He was certainly a good rider. As far as I know, I didn’t see him again. I don’t think he was one of the men who worked for Valerie Hobbs.”
Vernon looked at her. “It was you,” said Vernon. “The anonymous tip to the police.”
“Yes. Who was that woman? I never saw her before.”
“Neither had anyone else. She was Dan Ryder’s wife. Widow, I mean. Police traced her back to Paris.”
“That’s-” She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do we. Arthur’d never seen her. Have you called him? Does he know you’re back? Does your father?”
“No. Not yet. Please don’t tell anyone.”
Her look was so beseeching he wouldn’t have told whatever she didn’t want told to whomever she didn’t want it told.
“Do you have any idea how much they… sorry.” He realized he’d be laying a guilt trip on her. “Of course you have.”
“It’ll only be another few days. We can get the mares out, can’t we?”
“One way or another. Yes, I can certainly try. Valerie Hobbs. That’s the owner, as far as you could tell?”
“I’m not sure; I think she was. There were a number of others, men. I didn’t get to talk much to them. I mean, they weren’t supposed to talk to me. One of them did; he was pretty nice. Bosworth.”
Vernon was up and pacing from sofa to window. The rain had stopped: the dome of St. Paul’s seemed to shine, rain washed or light washed.
Nell went on. “I don’t think this Valerie Hobbs was the-what do you call it?-instigator.”
He turned and smiled. “The perp? Perpetrator?”
“Yes. I think she was in someone else’s pay.”
“The bastard who grabbed you?”
She shook her head. The one who’d abducted her was not the one who’d paid repeated visits to her room in the night. “I never saw him again.”
Vernon sat down beside her. “Nell, can you think of any reason someone would think you’re a danger to them?”
“Not beyond his assuming I saw him-”
Samantha walked in with several Fortnum’s boxes. She set them beside Nell, saying, “It’s the only dependable place to shop.”
Nell thanked Samantha, thanked both of them, for going to all this trouble.
“Trouble?” said Vernon. “Is there a woman alive who’d rather type than shop? She enjoyed doing it.”
Samantha stuck out her tongue. She enjoyed doing that, too.
The boxes open, Nell pulled out a white silk shirt, Calvin Klein jeans, a blue and brown Harris tweed jacket and a black velvet skirt. Nell pronounced them all beautiful. “I’ll get dressed.”
“Good. We’ll go to dinner.”
Samantha asked, “Where, Aubergine? Did you make a reservation?”
“No, but I’ve got the maitre d’ in a hedge fund that’s making him enough money he can retire. He’s thirty-one, so he’s pleased.” To Nell he said, “Had you planned on overnight digs? You can stay with me. I’ve got three bedrooms and I’m your stepbrother.” He smiled.
“Oh, my,” said Samantha. “I can see a clever defense attorney mounting that as an argument against the possibility of sexual misconduct.” She said to Nell, “Listen, don’t worry on that score. He’s about as romantic as a rise in interest rates.”
“You’d know, would you?”
Samantha laughed, said good night and headed for the door. Vernon watched her go, smiling. She really was worth her weight in gold securities.
