CHAPTER THREE

Ray pushed open the door to his office, unable to shake the nagging sensation of worry that like an unlocated toothache was throbbing somewhere inside him. What was the matter? It was more than just making Nancy acknowledge her birthday and risking the memories it aroused. Actually, she'd been pretty calm. He knew her well enough to understand when the tension was building about that other life.

It could be triggered by something like the sight of a dark-haired boy and girl together who were the age of her other children, or a discussion of the murder of that little girl who'd been found dead in Cohasset last year. But Nancy was all right this morning. It was something else – a feeling of foreboding.

'Oh, no! What does that mean?'

Ray looked up, startled. Dorothy was at her desk. Her hair, more grey than brown, casually framed her long, pleasant face. Her sensible beige sweater and brown tweed skirt had an almost studied dowdiness and signalled the wearer's indifference to frills.

Dorothy had been Ray's first client when he had opened his office. The girl he had hired didn't show up, and Dorothy had volunteered to help him out for a few days. She'd been with him ever since.

'You do realize that you're shaking your head and frowning,' she told him.

Ray smiled sheepishly. 'Just morning jitters, I guess How are you doing?'

Dorothy immediately became businesslike. 'Fine. I have the file all together on The Lookout. What time do you expect that fellow who wants to see it?'

'Around two,' Ray told her. He bent over her desk. 'Where did you ever dig out those plans?'

'They're on file in the library. Don't forget, that house was begun in sixteen-ninety. It would make a marvellous restaurant. If anyone is willing to spend money renovating it, it could be a showcase. And you can't beat that waterfront location.'

'I gather Mr Kragopoulos and his wife have built up and sold several restaurants and don't mind spending the dollars to do everything the way it should be done.'

'I've never yet met a Greek who couldn't make a go of a restaurant,' Dorothy commented as she closed the file.

'And all Englishmen are fags and no German has a sense of humour and most Puerto Ricans – I mean Spies -are on welfare… God, I hate labels!' Ray took his pipe from his breast pocket and jammed it into his mouth.

'What?' Dorothy looked up at him bewildered. I certainly was not labelling – or I guess, maybe I was, but not in the way you took it.' She turned her back to him as she put the file away, and Ray stalked into his private office and closed the door.

He had hurt her. Stupidly, unnecessarily. What in the hell was the matter with him? Dorothy was the most decent, fair-minded, non-biased person he knew. What a lousy thing to say to her. Sighing, he reached for the humidor on his desk and filled his pipe. He puffed thoughtfully on it for fifteen minutes before he dialled Dorothy's extension.

'Yes.' Her voice was constrained when she picked up the phone.

'Are the girls in yet?'

'Yes.'

'Coffee made?'

'Yes.' Dorothy did not ask him if he was ready to have some.

'Would you mind bringing yours in here and a cup for me? And ask the girls to hold calls for fifteen minutes.'

'All right.' Dorothy hung up.

Ray got up to open the door for her, and when she came in with two steaming cups he carefully closed it.

'Peace,' he said contritely. 'I'm terribly sorry.'

'I believe that,' Dorothy said, 'and it's all right, but what's the matter?'

'Sit down, please.' Ray gestured to the rust-coloured leather chair by his desk. He took his coffee to the window and stared moodily out at the greying landscape.

'How would you like to come to our house for dinner tonight?' he asked. 'We're celebrating Nancy 's birthday.'

He heard her sharp intake of breath and spun around. 'Do you think it's a mistake?'

Dorothy was the only one on the Cape who knew about Nancy. Nancy herself had told her and asked her advice before she had agreed to marry Ray.

Dorothy's voice and eyes were speculative as she answered. 'I don't know, Ray. What's the thinking behind a celebration?'

'The thinking is that you can't pretend that Nancy doesn't have birthdays! Of course, it's more than just that. It's that Nancy has got to break with the past, to stop hiding.'

'Can she break with the past? Can she stop hiding with the prospect of another murder trial always hanging over her?'

'But that's just it. The prospect. Dorothy, do you realize that that fellow who testified against her hasn't been seen or heard of for over six years? God knows where he is now or if he's even alive. For all we know, he's sneaked back into this country under another name and is just as anxious as Nancy not to start the whole business up. Don't forget, he's officially a deserter from the Army. There's a pretty stiff penalty waiting for him if he's caught.'

"That's probably true,' Dorothy agreed.

'It is true. And take it one step further. Level with me, now. What do people in this town think of Nancy? – and I include the girls in my own office here.'

Dorothy hesitated. 'They think she's very pretty… they admire the way she wears clothes… they say she's always pleasant… and they think she keeps to herself pretty much.'

"That's a nice way of putting it. I've heard cracks about my wife thinking she's "too good for the folks around here". At the club I'm getting more and more ribbing about why I only have a golf membership and why I don't bring that beautiful wife of mine around. Last week Michael's school called and asked if Nancy would consider working on some committee. Needless to say, she turned them down. Last month I finally got her to go to the realtors' dinner, and when they took the group picture she was in the ladies' room.'

'She's afraid of being recognized.'

'I understand that. But don't you see that that possibility gets less all the time? And even if someone said to her "You're a dead ringer for that girl from California who was accused"… well, you know what I mean, Dorothy. For most people it would end there. A resemblance. Period. God, remember that guy who used to pose for all those whisky and bank ads, the one who was a ringer for Lyndon Johnson? I was in the Army with his nephew. People do look like other people. It's that simple. And if there ever is another trial, I want Nancy to be entrenched with the people here. I want them to feel she's one of them and that they're rooting for her. Because after she's acquitted she'll have to come here and take up life again. We all will.'

'And if there's a trial and she isn't acquitted?'

'I simply won't consider that possibility,' Ray said flatly. 'How about it? Have we got a date tonight?'

'I'd like very much to come,' Dorothy said. 'And I agree with most of what you've said.'

'Most?'

'Yes.' She looked at him steadily. 'I think you've got to ask yourself how much of this sudden desire to opt for a more normal life is just for Nancy and how much because of other motives.'

'Meaning what?'

'Ray, I was here when the Secretary of State of Massachusetts urged you to go into politics because the Cape needs young men of your calibre to represent it. I heard him say that he'd give you any help and endorsement possible. It's pretty hard not to be able to take him up on that. But as things stand now, you can't. And you know it.'

Dorothy left the room without giving him a chance to answer. Ray finished the coffee and sat down at his desk. The anger and irritation and tension drained from him, and he felt depressed and ashamed of himself. She was right, of course. He did want to pretend that there wasn't any threat hanging over them, that everything was just nifty. And he had a hell of a nerve, too. He'd known what he was getting into when he'd married Nancy. If he hadn't, she certainly had pointed it out. She'd done her best to warn him.