I closed my eyes and fought to get hold of myself. What a moment to show weakness. I thought. I took another deep breath, and when I opened my eyes again and looked out at the beach. I saw a young man in a white shirt and jeans trekking along, his head down. He carried an easel under his arm and a black leather case in his left hand. He was barefoot.
His blond hair was so bright in the sunshine it looked frosted. It was long, nearly to his shoulders, and hung limply over his ears and down the sides of his face. I couldn't see much of his face because he never lifted his head as he walked. He kept close enough to the sea to step into the trail of the waves as they spread over the sand and retreated.
"Ali," Thatcher said as he returned and saw the direction of my gaze. "Linden is returning home already. Usually, he finds a spot out there and stays most of the day. Maybe he's hungry: for lunch. Here." He placed the glass of orange juice in front of me. 'Freshly squeezed. I saw to it myself."
"Thank you." I drank it. It was good.
"Linden!" he shouted. "Hey, Linden!" The young man didn't lift his head,
"He hears me," Thatcher said. "but he couldn't care less. Sure you still want me to introduce you to that mad family?"
"Yes," I said after drinking the juice. "Please." I stood up.
"All right, Right this way." he said, leading me down the steps from the loggia.
We crossed behind the pool. The water ran over a shelf of slate and looked absolutely delicious and inviting. It was practically the color of the ocean, too. Once again. Thatcher seemed to read my mind.
"It's a saltwater pool," he said. "Better for your skin. Anytime you want to take a dip..."
"Thank you."
"No problem. The rich are generous when it comes to showing off their wealth and property. you'll find. If you qualify as someone who will show her appreciation, that is."
"Why do you remain here if you find the people so superficial?" I asked him.
He stopped and looked at me and then at the sea. "I'm not sure I belong anywhere else." he said. "Maybe I'm a coward after all. That's what attracted me to you this morning," he added.
"What?"
"You looked like someone who belonged out there." He nodded at the horizon.
"Out where?"
"There. The real world." he said. And then he added something that practically rang bells in my heart. "Grace Montgomery is like you that way. She's no longer part of this place.
"Maybe she will talk to you." he concluded, and we walked on toward the beach house, the bells still sounding in my heart and in my bones.
7
Thatcher
.
The walkway between two rows of hedges led
up to the much smaller loggia and the front entrance of the beach house. The building looked as if it had once been painted the same rich pearl white. Now the walls looked faded from the sea air. There were two second-floor balconies that faced the ocean, each with a set of potted palm trees, and vines ran along the sides of the building, reaching the tiled roof.
"Servants do well here," Thatcher said. 'There are twenty rooms in the building, not including the dining room and two sitting roams. My parents' servants live here as well, of course. That also makes the Montgomerys untouchables," he concluded with a tone of bitterness, "Living with servants.
"Okay, here we go," he said, and rang the door buzzer. No one came, so he rang it again. 'They just might not respond at all," Thatcher said. ''But it still counts as far as our bargain." he insisted.
That brought a smile to my face just as the door did open. Linden stood there gazing out at us. He was a fragile-looking young man with an immediately angry fact. His straggly hair. which I had thought looked frosted, out of the sunlight looked pale yellow. The expression in his dark eyes, the turn of his lips, the way he held his body so stiffly with his hands tightened into fists, made him appear downright belligerent.
"What is it?" he demanded instead of any sort of civil greeting.
"We have an interesting guest who would love the opportunity to speak with your mother, if she is available." Thatcher said calmly.
"Why?" Linden demanded. He took a step toward us, trying to keep his eves on Thatcher but dropping them to me. I thought I caught a note of some interest that overcame his suspicion. I was encouraged by it and smiled.