Legacy Of Terror Read Free Page B

at his Master's degree. He was, in other words, a man who accomplished things.
    Dennis, as far as she could see, accomplished very little. He had studied painting and maintained a studio in the finished half of the attic. He had not made a financial success of his work. Elaine doubted that he ever would.
    “Of course,” Celia Tamlin said, “I have only first impressions to go on so far. But I really do think you would gain the most out of a change if you opted for a generous use of ultra-modern California grouping for your main rooms. Plastics and lamanated woods, chrome and specially treated leathers. A light wall perhaps, changing patterns and colors. The contrast between the positively gothic look of this house and the far-out furniture would create an entirely new aesthetic whole.”
    Lee Matherly was as skeptical as Elaine, though he vocalized his skepticism. “I've always sort of liked the house. It's quiet and restful, the furniture so dark.”
    “I agree with Celia,” Paul Honneker said. “I suppose it's really none of my business, since I'm not of the family, but I think the dreary place could use a- light wall.” He was a large, ruddy-faced man with hands nearly as big as the dinner plates. His hair was in disarray, and he looked as if he had slept in his clothes. Despite this sign of a disorderly mind, Elaine rather liked him. He was a painfully honest man, she realized, as he had proved several times during the meal by stating his disagreement with some particularly empty-headed notion the interior decorator had proposed. If he agreed with her now, he was not merely trying to make amends, but presenting a genuine opinion.
    “Well,” Dennis said, finishing with his food, “I've asked Celia to stay overnight, at least, to get the live-in feel of the place.”
    “Good idea,” Lee said, as if he were hopeful that she would come to love the clumsy, dark furniture as much as he did.
    Even if she did not learn to love the place, Lee would give Dennis the okay for major changes without much protest. Elaine was sure of that. Already, she could see that Lee favored his gaudier son. She could not say why.
    “Better yet,” Lee said, “why not stay the weekend, Celia. If you have no other plans, we'd welcome you here.” This was Thursday evening, with a full day left of the work week, but Celia said she could manage it. “Well,” Dennis said, “you'd better get started back to town to pack a bag or two. Should I come along?”
    Celia said, “No, no. I can be into the city and back here by eleven, if that's not too late. I don't need an escort. And I know how much you've been wanting to finish the oil you're working on.”
    “I have been a bit restless to get on with it,” Dennis admitted.
    “Another landscape?” Gordon asked. It was one of the few times he had spoken on his own initiative.
    “No, something special,” Dennis said, ignoring the tone of sarcasm in his younger brother's voice.
    “A portrait of Celia, then?"'
    Dennis laughed. “You know that I gave up portraits when dad didn't even recognize the one I did of him. My talent doesn't lay in that direction.”
    The jolliness with which the older brother admitted his limitations would ordinarily have pleased Elaine. But now it seemed just another part of his irresponsible nature. He knew that he did not have a broad talent as an artist, and yet he persisted in wasting his time at it. She knew that Gordon was thinking the same thing.
    “You're both excused, then,” Lee said.
    “What about me?” Paul asked.
    Lee grinned. “You won't want to be excused until dessert comes.”
    “True enough.”
    Bess, Jerry's wife, a heavy woman who embodied all the stereotypical virtues of motherhood (good humor, affection, gentleness and a fantastic cooking ability), brought the peach shortcake which she had proudly announced as the final dish before she had ever served the first. It was delicious; everyone told her so. Garlanded with praise, she retired to her kitchen, beaming and