Logan 05 Olivia Page 29

  What could possibly keep Nelson there that long? I wondered. It surely couldn't have been Belinda's conversation. Were men really that easily amused? Making love for three or four hours didn't seem a possibility to me either. Even with Samuel's groping and wet, sloppy kisses, we never had sex more than ten or fifteen minutes at the most. What could Nelson possibly do with Belinda for three or four hours?

  "These meetings between the two are somehow confirmed?" I followed.

  "I took some pictures of him entering and leaving." "You took his picture?"

  "From some distance, of course," he quickly explained. "I wasn't seen, I'm sure. It's what I do for a living, Mrs. Logan."

  "I'd like those pictures today," I said quickly.

  "Very well. I did some discreet questioning, Mrs. Logan. These . . meetings . . . were not the first.

  They've met at this location a number of times before these two occasions. I have certain indisputable evidence and . . ."

  "All right. There is no need to go into any more detail over the phone. However, I don't want you coming to the office," I told him and gave him directions for our rendezvous in two hours. When we met he handed me a packet that contained detailed information and the pictures and I gave him his check.

  "Thank you," I said. "I have no more need for your services."

  He nodded, gazed at me for a moment with a little curiosity and then left. I felt dirty using him. Despite his polite ways and businesslike manner, his profession and purpose seemed as sleazy as a peeping Tom who had turned his depravity into his life's work. I shuddered at what I had him do, but then I sat in my car and went through the documents.

  Mr. Koson was meticulous with his details, going so far as to describe the weather conditions at the time of the assignations. Somehow he had gotten copies of the room receipts as well. He had more than a dozen in the envelope, covering a period of four months. It took my breath away. What a good liar Belinda had been, and what a better liar Nelson Childs was.

  Having the confirmation in black and white as well as pictures didn't make me feel any better, any stronger, or any more complete. It left me with a stomach that resembled a washing machine, tossing and turning its contents. There was a deep emptiness in my chest as if my heart had shrunken and left a cavern echoing with the heavy thump, thump, thumps. I took deep breaths to bring in cool air and turn down the furnace under my breast. It had been one thing for Belinda to make her confession, but another to gaze at a clear color photo of Nelson lumbering along toward the entrance of the Inn, his face bright with

  expectation, eager. When he left, the pictures revealed he wore the look of a satisfied, confident man, his shoulders back, his head high, pride rippling across his lips.

  I returned to my office and worked as hard as I could for the remainder for the day, trying to chase back those images. Toward the end of the afternoon, Samuel stopped by to remind me that tonight was his weekly card game with his fishermen cronies down at the Wharf Ale House.

  "Unless you have something else in mind for us," he added. He always added that and I always said, "No, nothing."

  "I'm too tired to do anything tonight anyway," I said. "You do look down, Olivia. Aren't you feeling well?"

  "I'm just tired, Samuel. I had a lot to do today. If you were here more, you would notice."

  "I wish you would let me do more here, Olivia. I really do," he said in-that whiny, pleading tone of voice I had come to despise.

  "We'll see," I said.

  He nodded again, skepticism filling his face.

  As soon as he left the office, I sat back and thought about what I would do next regarding Belinda's situation. There was no sense in putting it off, I decided. I got up to close my office door and then called Nelson's office.

  "Just one moment, Mrs. Logan," his secretary said, "I'll see if he's available."

  Oh, he's available, I thought and waited, my heart puttering like an outboard motor.

  "Olivia!" Nelson cried. "What a nice surprise. Business or pleasure?"

  "Neither," I said. "You and I have to see each other tonight, Nelson."

  "Pardon me?"

  "I've been sitting here thinking of an

  appropriate location and I've decided my yacht. We'll have the required privacy for certain. Be there at eight," I said sharply. He was silent for a long moment before replying.

  "What's this all about, Olivia?"

  "It's better that we discuss it at eight, Nelson," I told him.

  "This is rather short notice. I promised Louise I would take her to a movie and . ."

  "I wouldn't be calling and making these plans with such short notice if it wasn't important to both of us, Nelson."

  "Maybe we can meet tomorrow night," he began to suggest. "I have something I can easily cancel and . . ."

  "The Admiral's Inn, Boston," I said.

  "What?"

  "I don't really have to repeat that, do I, Nelson? Eight o'clock you will find me on my yacht," I said and hung up, my heart now beating more like a gong in a grandfather's clock.

  Concentrating on my work was impossible for me after that call. Every time I began something, I found my eyes slipping off the page and my thoughts meandering back to Nelson's voice on the phone. Would he have the nerve not to show up? Finally, I decided to give up and leave the office for home a little earlier than usual.

  Samuel noticed a difference in me at supper and kept questioning me about my health. Belinda, who sat like a beaten puppy at the other end of the table, her eyes low, her words few and far between, glanced at me each time he inquired.

  "I told you I was just tired, Samuel. Leave it be," I finally ordered.

  "Just trying to be a good husband," he quipped and looked to Belinda for some support, but unlike any other time Samuel smiled at her, she dropped her eyes quickly.

  Needless to say, he was eager to leave and get to his card game and happier surroundings. As soon as he left, Belinda turned to me.

  "Did you . . do anything yet, Olivia?"

  "No, but I'm about to," I told her.

  "What should I do?"

  "There's nothing for you to do. You've done it all," I growled. She started to whimper.

  "You're wasting your tears, Belinda. Daddy's gone." She pulled up her head and glared at me.

  "You're going to really hate me now, aren't you? You're going to make my life miserable," she predicted.

  "No, you've done that yourself," I said calmly. "I'm going to rescue as much of your life as I can, as much of all our lives as I can. That appears to be my role in this family."

  "You enjoy it," she accused, her eyes smaller now. She followed that with a mad, light laugh. "You always did. You should have been a schoolteacher or a minister. Or better yet, a prison matron."

  "I am what I have to be," I said firmly. "I don't have time to enjoy it, believe me. I don't expect your thanks, but I do expect your respect, Belinda, and especially your appreciation."

  She held her smoldering look of resentment for a moment longer and then her face folded as she shrank into a tight ball, wrapping her arms around herself and looking down.

  "I'm going to meet with him tonight," I revealed and she looked up, her eyes wide.

  "Tonight? Where?"

  "It doesn't matter where. I don't want you there," I said.

  "How are you . . . I mean, what will you say?"

  "I'll come to see you before you go to sleep," I promised, "and tell you everything."

  She nodded, looking more grateful than defiant now. I knew what she was about to say.

  "Don't say it, Belinda. I'm tired of hearing how sorry you are. Please, just . . . go to your room, watch television, talk to your empty-headed friends, fix your hair, be yourself and wait for my instructions."

  She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. Even she knew now that in the end, excuses were like the fabled straws everyone tried to grasp to keep from falling. The only thing that could keep her from sinking any farther in this life was the
actions I would take on her behalf. That realization was written in her eyes.

  She rose and left the dining room with her head lowered like a flag of defeat, but I harbored no pity for her. She was the one who was carrying Nelson Childs' baby, not I.

  I spent some time with the boys before I left the house. Thelma had done wonders with Jacob, actually teaching him how to read a little and teaching him his additions and subtractions. He loved to show off for me. Chester was a far more physical child, walking months before Jacob had and thus becoming a constant problem because he could reach for things and had interest in touching everything in sight. Twice already, he had gotten into Samuel's fishing tackle and tangled himself up so badly that he had to wail for help. Samuel thought it was amusing, but I warned him if he left his gear out again, I would dump it all in the garbage.

  "Jacob has more sense than you," I told him. Jacob was so much more serious when it came to watching his younger brother and keeping him from doing mischief. I began to wonder how two boys from the same parents could be so different in nature.

  Our yacht was moored at the dock behind the house. It was a 62-foot sailing cruiser, driven solely by sails and included living facilities. Normally all the deck chairs were put away, but Samuel had used the yacht just the day before to take some prospective clients out to enjoy a half day's sail. This particular evening was murky with fog. I could barely see twenty yards or so out to sea, but I could hear a foghorn off in the distance and occasionally caught the blink of a light through the steamy air. It was humid however, the air heavy enough that I thought it might rain. I boarded the yacht a little before eight and waited, listening and watching the grounds. Just a minute or so after eight, I saw Nelson emerge from out of the swirling mist, looking like a figure rising from the darkest underworld. He strode along firmly, his posture revealing his anger and annoyance as he swung his arms and approached.

  "Well," he said boarding the yacht and standing in front of me, his hands on his hips, "I'm here as you commanded." He wore a light jacket and a pair of dungarees. I stared at him a moment and then looked at the fog.

  "Why don't you sit, Nelson. This will take a while," I said calmly.

  He hesitated and then plopped into a deck chair across from me.

  "So?"

  "You've been seeing my sister for months and months," I began. "As recently as last week," I added. "She told you that?"

  "No, she didn't tell me half of it," I said. "There's no point in your denying anything either," I said. I reached down to turn on a lantern and then I handed it to him along with the folder Nicholas Koson had given me. He twisted his lips into a crooked smile and shook his head.

  "What is this, I wonder?"

  He read and I waited as he turned the pages. When he found his pictures, he blew a soft whistle.

  "You had us followed?" he asked incredulously.

  "I did on a suspicion that quickly turned into a dreadful reality," I said.

  "I can't believe it," he muttered closing the packet.

  "Imagine how I feel, Nelson. I think I feel more betrayed than Louise will feel," I said. With the light glow of the lantern on his face, he looked as pale as a ghost, his dark eyes strangely haunted.

  "You intend to tell her?" he finally asked.

  "No," I replied and took a deep breath. "I'll leave that aspect of your life to you."

  "Olivia, I have no defense except to say my life has been so complicated lately, I needed some distraction. I happened to meet Belinda in Boston one night and she . . well, she can be so beguiling. I shouldn't have succumbed to temptation again, I know, but I had been drinking and she's so full of lightness, it . . ."

  "I don't really want to hear all that, Nelson. You did quite a job on me, put on some act, especially that fiction about her asking you for work. I should have realized Belinda is too simple to deceive and connive."

  He nodded and leaned forward, his hands clasped.

  "I want to promise you, to swear to you on my children that from this night on, . ."

  "It's too late for that," I said with a heavy voice, the voice of a judge pronouncing the most severe sentence, a voice he himself knew so well.

  "What do you mean?" he gasped. "What are you going to do?" He waited through my silence a moment. "Surely you realize this wouldn't do either of us any good, Olivia. This town feeds on nasty gossip. There are real sharks in these waters, Olivia," he continued, his voice rising with warning. "Don't underestimate any of it. Please consider both our families and . . ."

  "Belinda is pregnant, Nelson, pregnant with your child," I blurted.

  Even in the dim light, I could see his face turn blood red. He seemed unable to speak, unable to move. Finally, he released a small gasp and then took a deep breath. He shook his head.

  "No, she can't be. She told me she was on the Pill. She even showed me the packet. She can't be pregnant. She's lying."

  "It's been confirmed by a doctor, Nelson. Belinda might have taken one or two or even a dozen pills, but I'm sure she missed days and neglected them, leaving what what we would euphemistically call a window of opportunity, and since she's been only with you these past few months, repeatedly with you as evidenced here," I continued, indicating the packet of papers and pictures and driving nail after nail into his weakened manly armor, "there is no doubt you are the father of Belinda's illegitimate child."

  "Oh no," he cried covering his face with his hands. "This can't be true." His shoulders shuddered. "What was I thinking? How could I be so weak."

  I couldn't permit myself to feel sorry for him, but a small warm feeling managed to penetrate my fortress of anger. I had hoped to sit and enjoy his turmoil and squeeze his remorse dry, but the affection for him I carried in the secret places in my heart sounded a note of mercy.

  "There's no point in dwelling on what happened. It's happened and it's done," I said softly.

  "What are you going to do about it?" he asked, dropping his hands from his face, still handsome but dark and grave. "If she's having an abortion, I'll pay for it, of course, and do anything . . ."

  "She's not having an abortion," I said. "It's too late."

  "It can't be that late, Olivia."

  "I don't mean physically or medically too late, Nelson."

  "What do you mean then?" he asked, almost in a whisper.

  "Belinda has made this sort of mistake before," I began. "We've always cleaned up her messes and limited her suffering to a minor inconvenience."

  "Yes, but using this as a means of teaching her a lesson . . . I mean . . ."

  "I'm not just teaching her a lesson, Nelson," I said sharply. My eyes held his for a long moment.

  "What do you want to do?" he asked, practically pleading.

  "She's having the baby and the baby will live here, with me," I said. "No one will know the identity of its father."

  He sighed with some relief. Then his thoughts turned charitably to Belinda.

  "You know of course that this will destroy her in this community, Olivia."

  "I really haven't held up any hope for her in this community or any community for that matter for some time now, Nelson. Belinda is never going to amount to anything," I pronounced with the certainty of a Biblical prophet.

  "Do you really think you should decide all that for her, Olivia?"

  "The decisions were made long ago, Nelson," I replied. "I'm just carrying them out, trying to cope."

  He shook his head.

  "Well, if you're determined to do this, I suppose there's nothing I can do to stop it."

  I laughed.

  "No, hardly," I said. He looked at me sharply. "What do you want from me? Money?"

  "I'll call on you from time to time to help in little ways, always discreetly of course," I said nodding. "As long as I can depend on your cooperation, that is."

  "That sounds almost threatening, Olivia."

  "It's not meant to sound that way," I granted. "However, you should never underestimate my determination."

&nb
sp; "No," he said with that soft, charming smile returning, "I can see that." He sat back. The fog thickened. Drops of mist made our clothing damp. "Does Samuel know?"

  "No, not yet. I'll deal with him later," I said.

  "So he doesn't know what you intend to do about the child? Don't you think he should have a voice in this? I mean, you're going to ask him to be a father."

  I felt myself coil tightly like a spring.

  "You'll always be the child's father, Nelson. You and I will always know that to be so," I reminded him curtly.

  "Why are you doing this, Olivia? There's more to it. I know there is. Why do you want to bring up my child in your home?"

  "It's my sister's child, too."

  "Yes, but . . . there's more to it, Olivia."

  "It should have been my child," I said, disbelieving my own voice, my own utterance. How did such a truthful feeling escape the prison in my heart? Nelson nodded. He seemed to understand.

  "Don't do this, Olivia. It won't be what you expect it to be," he said, now sounding prophetic too.

  "I'm doing it," I said. "We're doing it," I corrected. He blew air between his closed lips and looked away. The first drops of rain began to fall.

  "We're going to get caught in something here," he said.

  "Let's go inside the yacht," I said and rose. He followed, but with reluctance. I snapped on a small lantern in the lounge and sat on the sofa. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the wall. The rain began to grow harder.

  "There's a small storm sweeping through. It won't last," he said.

  His damp hair fell over his forehead. How young and handsome he looked and how much he reminded me of that night when he and I and Belinda had gone walking on the beach, the night he went swimming with her, the night it all began.

  He stared at me.

  "Olivia, you don't know what you're doing here. You can't play with people like you play with pieces on a chess board. Chess pieces aren't made of flesh and blood and haven't feelings and emotions."

  "You should be more grateful that I can play with people, Nelson. I'm solving your problem and saving your reputation, your career, your life."