Rachel, and had then explained that, himself an architect, he had been referred to her by James Prentize, a fellow architect whose penthouse in the hi-rise building Prentize had designed for a noted real-estate developer had been decorated by Rachel herself some nine months ago.
Rachel had been both flattered and startled. Word-of-mouth referral was, to be sure, one of the best ways of getting lucrative new business in the interior decorating field. But what had startled her when Arnold Cantwell had been ushered into her private office by her golden-haired receptionist Dinah Williams had been his astonishing resemblance to her own husband. They were of the same height, and Arnold Cantwell's nose and eyes were very much like Tim's. His way of looking directly at her and his direct but soft-spoken way of talking were also very much like Tim's.
During the conversation, it developed that Arnold Cantwell shared the mansion with his elderly mother and spinster sister. There had been few changes in that Colonial type house since it had been built over fifty years ago, and the handsome bachelor architect observed that the idea of redecorating it was really therapeutic: the last year or two his mother and older sister had been extremely depressed because of the death of a favorite cousin.
Fortunately Rachel had been free of appointments this afternoon, and so she accepted Arnold Cantwell's invitation to drive her out to the, house to make an appraisal of what work would have to be done. On the way out there, sitting beside him at the wheel of his new Impala, she learned that he was thirty-two, widely traveled, and that his hobbies were chess and music. An idea began to glimmer in the back of her mind. Soon after her marriage, she had seen a chess set and board on the writing desk in Heather's room.
He had driven her back to the Michigan Avenue shop about five, then invited her to dinner at the London House to continue their talk about the necessary work and its possible cost. Rachel had welcomed this hospitality not only because it gave her a better understanding of her new client's likes and dislikes as regards decor, but also because she was really starved for intellectual conversation. Heaven knows there hadn't been very much of it at the Woodling house.
Arnold Cantwell drove her home about eight o'clock, walked her to the door of the old Gothic house and smilingly told her that she would have carte blanche in putting more gayety and color into his old house and that he hoped she could begin the work by the next week. She had made a date to be there the following Monday morning, shaken hands with him and thanked him for the dinner, and smilingly watched him drive off. Then, with a sigh of pleasure, she had let herself into the house…
She had just taken off her cloche hat and her suitcoat, and was beginning to unfasten her smart tweed skirt when her door suddenly opened and red-haired Heather stood smirking at her. Heather wore baby-blue silk pajamas and soft fluffy mules, and her mouth was freshly lipsticked. She advanced now, in a sort of swaggering way, glancing around Rachel's bedroom with a proprietary air. 'You're back at last, Mummy. Did you have a good time with the guy in the Impala?'
Rachel flushed hotly. 'He happens to be a new client, Heather, I'm doing over his 'house in Wilmette starting next week. It'll mean a good deal of money. Of course,' deciding to return the young woman's sarcasm, 'that will come in handy for me to live on in case I get kicked out at the end of the month.'
'You're awfully sharp tonight, Mummy. I give you credit for guts, though. Are you sure you didn't go to a motel with him just now? If I thought you were cheating on Dad, it'd be just one more good reason to boot your fancy ass out of this house, you know.' Her cat-green eyes were narrow and cruel, her lips curved in a rictus of mocking contempt.
'No, as a matter of fact I didn't, Heather. If you like, you can call the London House and I'm sure the hostess will verify the fact that we spent several hours there having dinner and talking over Mr. Cant-well's plans.'
'It's really not important.' Heather shrugged her lovely shoulders. 'Fact is, I'd just as soon you weren't already fucked out. You see, Mummy, now that Dad's out of town, Timmy and I figured tonight would be as good a time as any for a little family get-together. Any objections?'
Rachel found herself shivering 'as Heather insolently swept her voluptuous body up and down with those cynical young eyes. But she managed to stiffen her shoulders and face the amoral young tormentress:
'I always keep my word. All right, then. Suppose you give me a few minutes to take a shower and change into something more suitable.'
'You can have ten minutes, Mummy. I'll go call little brother.'
'Just one more favor, if you please.'
'Shoot!' Heather snickered, moving back into the hallway.
'I don't think you'll need the camera tonight. You see, I kept my word about not telling your father. Besides, one set of films ought to be quite enough if you have to resort to anything as low as that.'
'Hey now, Mummy, don't you be getting up on your high horse and telling me and Timmy what we ought to do!' Heather angrily sneered. 'Anyhow, I wasn't figuring on taking more movies. Timmy still has those dandy ones of the other time, and he's just dying to show them to some of his pals in case you lose your amateur status around her. Well, see you In ten minutes, Mummy. Have a good shower and soap yourself good between your long legs. Timmy might just want to go down on you.
She slammed the door shut, and Rachel clenched her fists and bowed her head, fighting the tears of humiliation and shame which burned her eyes.
Under the stinging spell of the shower, she tried to collect herself so that she could face this ordeal without flinching. And yet this time the prospect was certainly more hopeful than it had been that incredible Friday night during Tim's first New York trip. Because now at least she could cling to the knowledge that for the first time she and Tim had been able to enjoy each other in bed. He had been so grateful, so happy. And now all that remained was to heal the wounds of rancor and resentment in young Tim and Heather, and to direct those energies int6 different channels. Arnold Cantwell might well be part of the solution for Heather. And she thought she might equally be able to find some absorbing way to curb young Tim's ruthless arrogance.
Nevertheless, tonight was going to be a fearfully taxing ordeal because now she was going to yield to it. That other time, she might well be able to rationalize as having been the result of coercion and the surprising shock of discovering what her stepchildren had in store for her. This time, she was going to be expected to submit passively to the role of whore. And yet, hadn't Matt Varney treated her in his own selfish way to a similar kind of rough sex? His violent usage of her body without caring whether she herself had climax, his open insolence in making no secret of his affairs, even to bedding his paramours in their own house-wasn't that, in its own way, even more brutal than what Heather and young Tim proposed?
She had dried herself and dabbed a little perfume at the valley of her breasts, at her armpits and belly and the curly fleece of her pubis. She drew on the black nylon nightie that she had worn for Tim last Friday night, and smiled back at herself In the mirror. 'Maybe you can even learn something tonight, Rachel Woodling,' she told her image. 'Maybe if you get to be as smart as that Eleanor, you'll be able to be a better wife and lover for your own husband. It's certainly worth a try, and that's the only way you can look at it right now. So get with it, girl.'
Taking a deep breath, she moved back Into the bedroom, drew the covers, propped up two pillows at the headboard, and awaited her stepchildren…
Just before the door opened again, Rachel had quickly swallowed two of the little red secondal pills, remembering how she had been made to take the sleeping pills when they had invaded her bedroom that time before. But this time, she took the pills of her own accord to help quell the protests of that embattled conscience to which tonight she had resolved to pay not the slightest heed. Symbolically as well as physically, it would make her imminent ordeal easier.
Nevertheless, she could not help shivering and catching her breath when Heather and young Tim appeared, the latter wearing only his pajama pants and smirking at her, his blond hair tousled. Just outside Rachel's door, he had slyly tried to thrust his hands under the waistband of Heather's baby-blue pajamas, and she had whirled and slapped him, then put her palm against his head and shoved him back with a hissed 'Save that for Mummy, you sneaky little bastard! And one more thing-when we're in bed with her, just don't get any fancy ideas about making it a twosome, hear me?'
'Your ten minutes are up, Mummy. Well, now, how very accommodating of you to be in bed all ready for us,' the redhead tauntingly drawled as she advanced to the bed and quickly seated herself on the edge, studying the mature brunette with gloating anticipation. 'This time, I'm going to go first just to warm you up a little, Rachel. Then Timmy will take over. Any objections?'
Rachel Woodling shook her head, but she could not halt the sudden furious blushes that suffused her olive- satiny cheeks, and before the boy's greedily lustful stare, she turned to look at Heather. 'You-you won't have to use
