a2bca4eca45f74213bb9abd82a2242db by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Format: epub
Published: 2019-02-05T16:00:00+00:00

8: The Depths

Then came the morning after. Grant lay in bed feeling sick. Mrs. Cane was cuddled possessively up to him, still asleep but with a smile on her lips. From now on, there would be a conscious, personal element in her smile. It might be a long time—it might be never—before she made any attempt to capitalize on their relationship. But they would both be aware that she had agreed once and might do so again at any time, if he asked. He had become entangled. To that degree he was less free.

Jean Bronson had called him in Washington to ask him to a party at the Bronson place in Connecticut; “so many” of her friends wanted to meet him. Grant knew

what that meant, especially when Lynn seconded it. They wanted to show him off, prove they’d had him. It would do wonders for their social positions among their women friends. “I’m getting too used to this kind of thing; the White House affair was practically the only place I’ve been this week where I wasn’t propositioned. And I thought the country girls were bad. Time to get back home and get to work before I get into real trouble. If I haven’t already,” he said to himself.

The trouble with, say, a girl like Jean was that, if he stayed much long, he wouldn’t be able to forget her. He had no business getting tangled up with girls. He could be killed any time, and that was no prospect for marriage. “That’s one thing about Mrs. Cane. There won’t be any trouble.” He could never fall for her.

A moment later, though, he knew his feelings for her might be hard to control now that she had a hold on him. For when she woke up, smiled at him lazily, and climbed out to stretch, nude, free, and regal before the unshaded window, Grant knew he could never return her to the secondary place she had held.

But, with a sudden flash of insight as he got up, he thought, “Now she’s fixed to move up in the Institute. In the end, all the power comes from me. She has gotten close to me.” He’d have to watch out she didn’t ruin the Institute.

Grant’s return to Missouri was second-page news; he had regularly been on the front page during the week. It was a great relief to him to be off page 1. He really felt that he had come home when, the next day, his first name was called out in the hall by an old man dressed in overalls. A couple of well-dressed young executives stared as the man said, “You tryin’ to git me fired, boy?” He had a gray mustache and a birdlike eye and manner, thin hair more white than gray, and was small and spare even in the overalls.

“Nope. Why?”

Jake Carl started to laugh in a quiet, gurgling way. “Why, you went and painted out those names Martin told me to paint up. Somethin’ about

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