Merrill Landon was not in. Beth had to call again at seven. She approached the phone in a nervous sweat, afraid that her voice would break or her throat go dry and betray her nerves to him. She had to be very casual.
This time she got him from his dinner.
Damn! she thought while the servant summoned him. He probably hates to be interrupted.
“Hello?” he said, and his voice was deep and rough. He spoke in the same tone he would have used to bark an order to a subordinate at the newspaper where he worked. Beth gasped a little before she could say, “Mr. Landon? My name is Beth Cullison. I—I mean Beth Ayers.” Her maiden name! God, she thought in dismay. But there was no time to scold herself.
“Well, which is it?” he boomed.
“Ayers. Mrs. Ayers,” she answered, trying to sound calm. She raced on, hoping to smooth over his first impression, “I’m an old college friend of Laura’s. I’m visiting in Chicago and I thought it would be nice if we could get together.”
Her voice went dry and she had to stop. There was an awkward pause. “A college friend?” he said, as if there were no such things.
“You are Laura’s father, aren’t you?” she asked timidly.
“Yes.” He waited so long to answer that it made her wonder. “What do you want with Laura, Mrs. Ayers?”
“I just wanted to talk to her. If she’s there.”
“I haven’t seen Laura for the last eight years,” he said, and Beth’s heart went cold. He added thoughtfully, “You said your name was Cullison. Were you one of Laura’s roommates at the university?”
For some reason she was afraid to answer yes. Could it possibly be that Laura might have told him about the curious love that had sprung up between them? It was unlikely that he would remember her name unless it had special significance for him. What if he had forced the truth out of his daughter?
“Well?” he said, surprise and impatience in his voice at her delay. “Maybe you can’t remember that far back?”
“Yes. Yes, I was her roommate. Excuse me, I—where is Laura now?”
“Mrs. Ayers, why don’t you come over here tonight? I’d like to talk to you.” And when she hesitated again in a welter of uncertainty he said, “Are you far from here?”
“I have a car,” she said. “I’ll come.”
She took Aunt Elsa’s Buick and drove out to the Landon house. It wasn’t far; it was on one of the pretty shaded streets of Evanston. Merrill Landon lived there alone with his two servants. He had been there since he and Laura’s mother first married and nothing could tempt him away.
There was nothing left of Laura’s mother now but memories. But they bound Landon to her and kept him in the home she had furnished, where he could still see traces of her taste, her touch. No other woman had ever replaced her for him. Except, in a strange and uncomprehended way, Laura. And because she couldn’t be her mother, because she was only a sweet shadow, a photo transparency, he blamed her and was very hard with her.
When Laura had at last understood where she had unwittingly failed him, she left him. She was his daughter, not his wife; that was her crime. And because he couldn’t have her he couldn’t forgive her for living. She was a constant threat to his virtue, a painful reminder of his dead wife. The knowledge of his tormented desire gave her the courage to turn her back on him and run.
He had found her once, after that, almost by accident, and they had it out in words, the awful incredible words that had never been spoken between them before. The rupture had been complete after that. He admitted that he wanted her. He took her in his bearish arms and kissed her mouth brutally. And Laura, in her shock, told him what she was, a Lesbian. And who had done it to her; her own father. So they knew the very worst of each other, had known now for years, and had lost each other. But the knowledge, though it hurt, washed away the bitterness.
Over the chasm of years and miles, Merrill Landon had come to love his daughter in a new way. He had never tried to pursue her, after that one shattering night in a New York hotel room when they had revealed themselves to each other, but he had spent the long years since then wondering about her, wondering how she might be living and with whom. His thoughts were mostly tender, sometimes resentful, always lonely. But he was proud and a little afraid of himself with her, and he would not seek her out again.
Beth rang his bell, ignorant of all that had passed between him and Laura in the years that preceded her visit. No servant opened to her, as she had expected, but Merrill Landon himself, as though he, too, was anxious for the meeting. She had never seen him before in her life but she knew him instantly. His flesh was Laura’s and her whole body was suddenly covered with shiverings.
He was a huge man; not big like Charlie, not tall and long-muscled, but just big. Square-chested, slope-shouldered, powerfully built, with his dark hair and heavy beard. He stood high from the ground but you didn’t realize it until you
