To Love and to Honor by Loring Emilie

Author:Loring, Emilie [Loring, Emilie]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: New York : Bantam Books
Published: 1974-09-21T04:00:00+00:00

"Does that mean you couldn't love a girl who had made that sort of marriage, Tom?"

"I do love a girl who made that sort of marriage—but it wasn't to me."

Ken Stewart in white summer formals appeared suddenly from out the shadows.

"Beat it will you, Slade? Give me a chance to talk with her."

"You've had your chance, my God, what a chance it was. I-"

"Don't beat it, Tom." Cindy interrupted his bitter accusation. "I won't talk with him. I'll never speak to you again. Bill—Kenniston Stewart. You've made me ridiculous before—" She stopped to recover her voice. "I'm going-"

She deftly avoided the hands outstretched to stop her, raced along the porch, outdistancing pursuing feet, flew down the steps and along the broad drive banked solidly with automobiles on each side. Cinderella fleeing from the ball, she thought.

"Red shoes run faster," she remembered having read somewhere. Hers were fast as the wind.

She backed into the shadow of a black limousine and held her breath to listen. No sound save the ebb and flow of the tide on the beach in front of the Inn and the faint strains of "Old Man River" drifting through an open window. No footsteps approaching. The person who had followed her along the porch had given up the chase.

Now what? Time to think, she answered her own question. Shivered. The weather had put on a lightning-change act from the day's heat to cold so characteristic of the region. The white fur jacket was hanging in the stage dressing room with her raglan. Were her teeth chattering from cold or fury? The latter ought to make her hot, not cold.

If she could get inside the car against which she was huddling she could cover herself with a robe—if there were a robe—and watch for Tom from the window. Although the license plate wasn't visible the Town and Country convertible parked across the drive looked like his. No use to try to get into it, he had said it was locked. He would know she would be near and come looking for her. Better not dash over yet, she might be seen by Bill—Ken Stewart, he had said he wanted to talk with her and from past experience she had learned he was not to be diverted from what he set out to accomplish. Hadn't he persuaded her to accept the pearls from—himself? Just let her get home and they would go back to him so quick it would make his brain whirl.

She tried the handle of the rear door of the limousine. It turned. She reconnoitered. No one coming along the drive either way. She cautiously opened the door. A folded robe on the back seat. Br-r-r, that puff of icy breeze was straight from the ocean. Why stand here and freeze? Someone coming.

She stepped into the car with her right foot, drew up the Other. The red satin slipper dropped. At the risk of pitching out on her head she leaned over to retrieve it. Someone coming down the porch steps.

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