Burweed nodded pleasantly before disappearing into the house, and a moment later a man took her place.
“Hello,” he said, “I’m Gerald Willis.”
8 .
If an angel could be six foot two, with softly curling chestnut hair, a generous mouth, and a chiseled chin as smooth as any choirboy‘s, then Gerald Willis was an angel. His blue-green eyes were filled with light, like chips of glacier ice, and fringed with long, dark lashes beneath delicately arched brows. He was wearing small round spectacles, and as he took them off he smiled, and a solitary dimple appeared in his left cheek.
I thought I heard a heavenly choir sing.
“May I help you?” he asked, with emphasis, as though he’d said it once already.
He was about Bill’s age, but fit, with a stomach as flat as a Nebraska wheatfield. He wore a dark-brown shirt of old, soft cotton tucked into jeans so faded they were nearly white. The black leather belt that hugged his hips reminded me of the one Nell had wrapped around her outsized blazer and was equally superfluous—Gerald’s snugly fitting jeans were in no danger of drooping.
“Have you come about the telephone?” he inquired.
I tried to speak. I could feel my lips move, but the words refused to come, so I stood there mouthing air like a stranded guppy.
“No, we have not come about the telephone.” Nell’s voice seemed to come from some distant planet. “I’ve come to see my grandfather. I know he doesn’t want to see me, but I won’t be turned away.” In an aside to me she added, “I’m sorry I lied to you, Miss Shepherd, but I must see your employer face-to-face. Pardonnez-moi. ...” Whereupon Nell shouldered her way relentlessly past a dumbfounded Cousin Gerald and sailed into the Larches, calling, “Grandpapa! I know you’re here! Come out at once!”
He’s a womanizer, I was reminding myself urgently. He’s a threat to Willis, Sr. He‘s— Grandpapa ? Nell’s words finally penetrated the dense fog shrouding my brain, and I gaped at Cousin Gerald in stark confusion. Grandpapa ? What script were we working from now?
“Oh dear,” Gerald said, with a sympathetic wince. “Child-minding for the boss?”
I nodded, more grateful than Gerald could know for his prompt assessment of the situation. The double shock of seeing him in the all-too-attractive flesh and Nell in yet another role had turned me into a gibbering idiot. I had no doubt that I looked exactly like a hapless employee saddled with the boss’s spoiled brat.
“I assume the grandpapa in question is William Willis?” Gerald asked.
“Uh ...” I informed him.
“Never mind,” Gerald said kindly. “I’m sure it’ll sort itself out. In the meantime, my housekeeper is preparing tea. Would you care to join me, Miss ... ?”
“Shepherd,” I managed.
Gerald ushered me into a small entry area at the bottom of a narrow staircase. He eased the briefcase from my unresisting grasp and placed it on the floor beside a rickety-looking telephone table. As he straightened, the phone rang, and he started slightly.
“Good Lord,” he said. “Is it working?” He picked up the receiver and covered it with one hand before nodding toward the hallway. “Back parlor, third door on the right,” he told me. “You go on ahead. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
I stumbled back a step or two, turned, and fled blindly up the hall, raising a hand to find my wedding ring through the gray silk blouse, and gripping it between my fingers like a talisman, while snatches of Gerald’s phone conversation floated to me from the entryway.
“Yes, I know, Doctor.... It’s only just been fixed.... It was inconvenient for me, as well.... No, I’m sorry, but—could you please speak up? ...”
His voice was soft as velvet, rich as old wine, seductive as a Siren’s song, and, desperate to be beyond its reach, I fumbled for the doorknob on my right, slipped hurriedly into the room, closed the door behind me, and slumped against it
“Hello,” he said, “I’m Gerald Willis.”
8 .
If an angel could be six foot two, with softly curling chestnut hair, a generous mouth, and a chiseled chin as smooth as any choirboy‘s, then Gerald Willis was an angel. His blue-green eyes were filled with light, like chips of glacier ice, and fringed with long, dark lashes beneath delicately arched brows. He was wearing small round spectacles, and as he took them off he smiled, and a solitary dimple appeared in his left cheek.
I thought I heard a heavenly choir sing.
“May I help you?” he asked, with emphasis, as though he’d said it once already.
He was about Bill’s age, but fit, with a stomach as flat as a Nebraska wheatfield. He wore a dark-brown shirt of old, soft cotton tucked into jeans so faded they were nearly white. The black leather belt that hugged his hips reminded me of the one Nell had wrapped around her outsized blazer and was equally superfluous—Gerald’s snugly fitting jeans were in no danger of drooping.
“Have you come about the telephone?” he inquired.
I tried to speak. I could feel my lips move, but the words refused to come, so I stood there mouthing air like a stranded guppy.
“No, we have not come about the telephone.” Nell’s voice seemed to come from some distant planet. “I’ve come to see my grandfather. I know he doesn’t want to see me, but I won’t be turned away.” In an aside to me she added, “I’m sorry I lied to you, Miss Shepherd, but I must see your employer face-to-face. Pardonnez-moi. ...” Whereupon Nell shouldered her way relentlessly past a dumbfounded Cousin Gerald and sailed into the Larches, calling, “Grandpapa! I know you’re here! Come out at once!”
He’s a womanizer, I was reminding myself urgently. He’s a threat to Willis, Sr. He‘s— Grandpapa ? Nell’s words finally penetrated the dense fog shrouding my brain, and I gaped at Cousin Gerald in stark confusion. Grandpapa ? What script were we working from now?
“Oh dear,” Gerald said, with a sympathetic wince. “Child-minding for the boss?”
I nodded, more grateful than Gerald could know for his prompt assessment of the situation. The double shock of seeing him in the all-too-attractive flesh and Nell in yet another role had turned me into a gibbering idiot. I had no doubt that I looked exactly like a hapless employee saddled with the boss’s spoiled brat.
“I assume the grandpapa in question is William Willis?” Gerald asked.
“Uh ...” I informed him.
“Never mind,” Gerald said kindly. “I’m sure it’ll sort itself out. In the meantime, my housekeeper is preparing tea. Would you care to join me, Miss ... ?”
“Shepherd,” I managed.
Gerald ushered me into a small entry area at the bottom of a narrow staircase. He eased the briefcase from my unresisting grasp and placed it on the floor beside a rickety-looking telephone table. As he straightened, the phone rang, and he started slightly.
“Good Lord,” he said. “Is it working?” He picked up the receiver and covered it with one hand before nodding toward the hallway. “Back parlor, third door on the right,” he told me. “You go on ahead. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
I stumbled back a step or two, turned, and fled blindly up the hall, raising a hand to find my wedding ring through the gray silk blouse, and gripping it between my fingers like a talisman, while snatches of Gerald’s phone conversation floated to me from the entryway.
“Yes, I know, Doctor.... It’s only just been fixed.... It was inconvenient for me, as well.... No, I’m sorry, but—could you please speak up? ...”
His voice was soft as velvet, rich as old wine, seductive as a Siren’s song, and, desperate to be beyond its reach, I fumbled for the doorknob on my right, slipped hurriedly into the room, closed the door behind me, and slumped against it
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