Her Father's House by Belva Plain Page A

watch, and his wife covered her mouth to yawn. Half an hour had gone by since Donald's last sight of Lillian.
    Puzzled, a little worried, and a little angry, too, he got up and walked away from the tent. The night air and the sudden quiet once the band was out of hearing were soft. A few stars rose above the glow of the lanterns that had been hung among the trees. Little groups were scattered upon the lawn, strolling or standing. If he had not had something else on his mind, he would have absorbed the rare beauty of the scene.
    Well, she can't be far, he thought, and began to walk. Somebody must have seen her.
    Two men, passing him, mentioned a name that was all too familiar. “Son of a gun, they'll never catch him. He's smarter than ten Interpols. Or top-notch law firms, or the IRS, either.”
    The other man chuckled. “I'm on his side. Feather your nest, is what I say.”
    Chuckled!
A lump of disgust formed in Donald's throat. Enough of this. Where the devil was she? Find her, and go home.
    â€œLooking for your wife? We saw her going down to the pond, I think.” Turning, Donald saw Rick with his wife hurrying away toward the road.
    The wife said, “We're leaving early. The baby-sitter, you know. But it was a lovely party.”
    Innocent, he thought, watching them go. She wanted to be polite about the party, which obviously they had not enjoyed. And he walked on toward the pond.
    Frank Sanders and a woman whom Donald did not know were standing there. “Looking for Lillian?”
    â€œYes. She seems to have disappeared. I can't imagine—”
    â€œHave you looked at the beds?”
    â€œBeds?”
    â€œThere are three or four of them on the other side of the tent.” Frank laughed. “You haven't heard about them?”
    For an instant, Donald went blank. In the second instant, when recall came, he was sure his blood pressure was rising.
    â€œYes,” he said, “I'd read something, heard something, about parties like those, but I didn't expect it here.”
    â€œWhy not? Anyhow, they're over that way if you want to look.”
    Donald's blood pounded; he even felt its swelling pressure under the wedding band on his finger. Walking rapidly back toward the tent, passing it almost at a run, he rounded a corner of high shrubbery and came upon Lillian walking ahead, accompanied by a man.
    Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned, and seeing Donald, cried out, “Where've you been? I've been looking all over for you. Hugh—it is Hugh, isn't it?—this is my husband, Donald Wolfe.”
    Both men nodded. Then the other one said, “Well, now that you've found each other, I'll look for my own party, be on my way.”
    â€œLillian, what was that about?” demanded Donald when the other man was out of hearing.
    â€œAbout? I was looking for you. I met this man, and he was helping me look, that's all.”
    Light touched her flushed face; slanting across a bay enclosed by young spruce, it revealed a bed in the background, a proper bed with a couple lying on it.
    â€œDon't fool with me, Lillian,” he said, still very quietly.
    â€œWhat are you doing to me? I didn't even know about this, did you?”
    â€œNot till a few minutes ago.”
    â€œThen why are you accusing me? You always pick on me, Donald.”
    â€œThat's not true. You know very well I don't.”
    Now as they walked away and drew closer to a lantern, he saw that her face was burning. She stumbled, and caught herself. There was a large, wet stain on her dress.
    â€œWhat have you been drinking?” he demanded.
    â€œDo I have to explain every breath I take? Do I?” she whimpered.
    Suddenly he thought he understood. No, she would not have been going voluntarily to one of those beds. The man had been about to take advantage of her condition. It was an old, old story.
    â€œCome this way, Lil. We're going home. We've had enough of this place.”
    â€œMaybe you