cosmetics bag and stepped out into the hall.
The big house was silent. Irena glanced up and down the hall, saw that all the other doors were closed. She walked to the bathroom, tapped lightly on the door, and when there was no answer she went in.
There were modern fixtures that had obviously been added after the house was built. The smaller bathroom downstairs must have been the original one.
She took a long, luxurious shower and dried herself with one of the fluffy towels hanging on a rod. Her hair was short enough that she would not have to worry about it. It would dry in a few minutes by itself and fall naturally into place.
After wiping down the tub with a sponge, Irena pulled her nightie back on and went back to her room. There was still no one else stirring in the house. What time, she wondered, did people get up here? She took her wrist watch from the bedside table, wound it, and saw that it was nine o'clock. Curious, she pulled on a light nylon robe and went back into the hall. There was still no sound from any other part of the house.
She walked down the hall to Paul's room and rapped lightly on the door.
"Paul?"
She rapped again, more loudly. Still there was no response from inside.
She tried the knob, feeling like a sneak thief. But that was silly, she told herself. Paul was her brother. The knob turned easily in her hand, and the door swung inward.
The big bed, its tall headboard flush against the wall, dominated the room. The bedspread was stretched smoothly across it, the pillows rolled and tucked under. If anyone had slept in the bed last night, he had done a careful job of making it this morning.
Irena stepped tentatively into the bedroom. There was a tang of man's cologne in the air. She walked to the open window and looked out. It gave on the same long balcony that ran outside her room. The trees sighed and whispered in the wind.
Feeling a sudden chill, Irena turned away from the window. She half-expected someone to be standing behind her, but the room was still empty. It was almost bare of furnishings. The only picture on the wall was one of their parents in costume. Each of them was smiling, with an arm extended, palm up, the traditional circus salute to the crowd.
The few personal items in the room—hairbrush, manicure kit, deodorant, talc—were set out on the bureau with geometrical precision. Feeling more than ever like an intruder, Irena backed out of her brother's room, closed the door, and returned to her own.
She dressed quickly, feeling uncomfortably alone in the big house. She was a little annoyed with Paul for not being here when she awoke. He had seemed so warm and glad to see her the day before.
When she went back into the hall she caught the welcome aroma of coffee brewing downstairs. At least she hadn't been completely deserted. Eager for the sound of another human voice, she hurried down.
The kitchen was the warmest, brightest room in the Gallier house. The sun spilled in through a wide window over the sink. Merry pink and red geraniums grew just outside in a window box. One entire wall was hung with well-used pots and pans and cutting implements. Jars, bottles, and cannisters holding mysterious condiments ranged along the counter. The smell of coffee and bacon frying was heavenly.
Femolly stood before a big gas range, tending to a black frying pan. An old-fashioned percolator bubbled gently on a side burner.
"Good morning," Irena said.
"What you want for breakfast?" the dark woman asked. "Eggs or pancakes?"
"Eggs will be fine."
"Good thing. I got no pancakes." Femolly turned from the stove with a smile, to show that this was a favorite joke. "All the same, I like to give people a choice."
Irena smiled back at her. She liked this woman, and she liked this room. At the far end of the kitchen was a sturdy round table covered with a red-and-white checkered cloth. On it were a sugar bowl, cream pitcher, and a heavy pair of salt and pepper shakers. Irena started toward
The big house was silent. Irena glanced up and down the hall, saw that all the other doors were closed. She walked to the bathroom, tapped lightly on the door, and when there was no answer she went in.
There were modern fixtures that had obviously been added after the house was built. The smaller bathroom downstairs must have been the original one.
She took a long, luxurious shower and dried herself with one of the fluffy towels hanging on a rod. Her hair was short enough that she would not have to worry about it. It would dry in a few minutes by itself and fall naturally into place.
After wiping down the tub with a sponge, Irena pulled her nightie back on and went back to her room. There was still no one else stirring in the house. What time, she wondered, did people get up here? She took her wrist watch from the bedside table, wound it, and saw that it was nine o'clock. Curious, she pulled on a light nylon robe and went back into the hall. There was still no sound from any other part of the house.
She walked down the hall to Paul's room and rapped lightly on the door.
"Paul?"
She rapped again, more loudly. Still there was no response from inside.
She tried the knob, feeling like a sneak thief. But that was silly, she told herself. Paul was her brother. The knob turned easily in her hand, and the door swung inward.
The big bed, its tall headboard flush against the wall, dominated the room. The bedspread was stretched smoothly across it, the pillows rolled and tucked under. If anyone had slept in the bed last night, he had done a careful job of making it this morning.
Irena stepped tentatively into the bedroom. There was a tang of man's cologne in the air. She walked to the open window and looked out. It gave on the same long balcony that ran outside her room. The trees sighed and whispered in the wind.
Feeling a sudden chill, Irena turned away from the window. She half-expected someone to be standing behind her, but the room was still empty. It was almost bare of furnishings. The only picture on the wall was one of their parents in costume. Each of them was smiling, with an arm extended, palm up, the traditional circus salute to the crowd.
The few personal items in the room—hairbrush, manicure kit, deodorant, talc—were set out on the bureau with geometrical precision. Feeling more than ever like an intruder, Irena backed out of her brother's room, closed the door, and returned to her own.
She dressed quickly, feeling uncomfortably alone in the big house. She was a little annoyed with Paul for not being here when she awoke. He had seemed so warm and glad to see her the day before.
When she went back into the hall she caught the welcome aroma of coffee brewing downstairs. At least she hadn't been completely deserted. Eager for the sound of another human voice, she hurried down.
The kitchen was the warmest, brightest room in the Gallier house. The sun spilled in through a wide window over the sink. Merry pink and red geraniums grew just outside in a window box. One entire wall was hung with well-used pots and pans and cutting implements. Jars, bottles, and cannisters holding mysterious condiments ranged along the counter. The smell of coffee and bacon frying was heavenly.
Femolly stood before a big gas range, tending to a black frying pan. An old-fashioned percolator bubbled gently on a side burner.
"Good morning," Irena said.
"What you want for breakfast?" the dark woman asked. "Eggs or pancakes?"
"Eggs will be fine."
"Good thing. I got no pancakes." Femolly turned from the stove with a smile, to show that this was a favorite joke. "All the same, I like to give people a choice."
Irena smiled back at her. She liked this woman, and she liked this room. At the far end of the kitchen was a sturdy round table covered with a red-and-white checkered cloth. On it were a sugar bowl, cream pitcher, and a heavy pair of salt and pepper shakers. Irena started toward
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