girl he had hired didn't show up, and Dorothy had volunteered to help him out for a few days. She'd been with him ever since.
'You do realize that you're shaking your head and frowning,' she told him.
Ray smiled sheepishly. 'Just morning jitters, I guess How are you doing?'
Dorothy immediately became businesslike. 'Fine. I have the file all together on The Lookout. What time do you expect that fellow who wants to see it?'
'Around two,' Ray told her. He bent over her desk. 'Where did you ever dig out those plans?'
'They're on file in the library. Don't forget, that house was begun in sixteen-ninety. It would make a marvellous restaurant. If anyone is willing to spend money renovating it, it could be a showcase. And you can't beat that waterfront location.'
'I gather Mr Kragopoulos and his wife have built up and sold several restaurants and don't mind spending the dollars to do everything the way it should be done.'
'I've never yet met a Greek who couldn't make a go of a restaurant,' Dorothy commented as she closed the file.
'And all Englishmen are fags and no German has a sense of humour and most Puerto Ricans - I mean Spies -are on welfare . . . God, I hate labels!' Ray took his pipe from his breast pocket and jammed it into his mouth.
'What?' Dorothy looked up at him bewildered. I certainly was not labelling - or I guess, maybe I was, but not in the way you took it.' She turned her back to him as she put the file away, and Ray stalked into his private office and closed the door.
He had hurt her. Stupidly, unnecessarily. What in the hell was the matter with him? Dorothy was the most decent, fair-minded, non-biased person he knew. What a lousy thing to say to her. Sighing, he reached for the humidor on his desk and filled his pipe. He puffed thoughtfully on it for fifteen minutes before he dialled Dorothy's extension.
'Yes.' Her voice was constrained when she picked up the phone.
'Are the girls in yet?'
'Yes.'
'Coffee made?'
'Yes.' Dorothy did not ask him if he was ready to have some.
'Would you mind bringing yours in here and a cup for me? And ask the girls to hold calls for fifteen minutes.'
'All right.' Dorothy hung up.
Ray got up to open the door for her, and when she came in with two steaming cups he carefully closed it.
'Peace,' he said contritely. 'I'm terribly sorry.'
'I believe that,' Dorothy said, 'and it's all right, but what's the matter?'
'Sit down, please.' Ray gestured to the rust-coloured leather chair by his desk. He took his coffee to the window and stared moodily out at the greying landscape.
'How would you like to come to our house for dinner tonight?' he asked. 'We're celebrating Nancy's birthday.'
He heard her sharp intake of breath and spun around. 'Do you think it's a mistake?'
Dorothy was the only one on the Cape who knew about Nancy. Nancy herself had told her and asked her advice before she had agreed to marry Ray.
Dorothy's voice and eyes were speculative as she answered. 'I don't know, Ray. What's the thinking behind a celebration?'
'The thinking is that you can't pretend that Nancy doesn't have birthdays! Of course, it's more than just that. It's that Nancy has got to break with the past, to stop hiding.'
'Can she break with the past? Can she stop hiding with the prospect of another murder trial always hanging over her?'
'But that's just it. The prospect. Dorothy, do you realize that that fellow who testified against her hasn't been seen or heard of for over six years? God knows where he is now or if he's even alive. For all we know, he's sneaked back into this country under another name and is just as anxious as Nancy not to start the whole business up. Don't forget, he's officially a deserter from the Army. There's a pretty stiff penalty waiting for him if he's caught.'
"That's probably true,' Dorothy agreed.
'It is true. And take it one step further. Level with me, now. What do people in this town think of Nancy? - and I include the girls in my own office
'You do realize that you're shaking your head and frowning,' she told him.
Ray smiled sheepishly. 'Just morning jitters, I guess How are you doing?'
Dorothy immediately became businesslike. 'Fine. I have the file all together on The Lookout. What time do you expect that fellow who wants to see it?'
'Around two,' Ray told her. He bent over her desk. 'Where did you ever dig out those plans?'
'They're on file in the library. Don't forget, that house was begun in sixteen-ninety. It would make a marvellous restaurant. If anyone is willing to spend money renovating it, it could be a showcase. And you can't beat that waterfront location.'
'I gather Mr Kragopoulos and his wife have built up and sold several restaurants and don't mind spending the dollars to do everything the way it should be done.'
'I've never yet met a Greek who couldn't make a go of a restaurant,' Dorothy commented as she closed the file.
'And all Englishmen are fags and no German has a sense of humour and most Puerto Ricans - I mean Spies -are on welfare . . . God, I hate labels!' Ray took his pipe from his breast pocket and jammed it into his mouth.
'What?' Dorothy looked up at him bewildered. I certainly was not labelling - or I guess, maybe I was, but not in the way you took it.' She turned her back to him as she put the file away, and Ray stalked into his private office and closed the door.
He had hurt her. Stupidly, unnecessarily. What in the hell was the matter with him? Dorothy was the most decent, fair-minded, non-biased person he knew. What a lousy thing to say to her. Sighing, he reached for the humidor on his desk and filled his pipe. He puffed thoughtfully on it for fifteen minutes before he dialled Dorothy's extension.
'Yes.' Her voice was constrained when she picked up the phone.
'Are the girls in yet?'
'Yes.'
'Coffee made?'
'Yes.' Dorothy did not ask him if he was ready to have some.
'Would you mind bringing yours in here and a cup for me? And ask the girls to hold calls for fifteen minutes.'
'All right.' Dorothy hung up.
Ray got up to open the door for her, and when she came in with two steaming cups he carefully closed it.
'Peace,' he said contritely. 'I'm terribly sorry.'
'I believe that,' Dorothy said, 'and it's all right, but what's the matter?'
'Sit down, please.' Ray gestured to the rust-coloured leather chair by his desk. He took his coffee to the window and stared moodily out at the greying landscape.
'How would you like to come to our house for dinner tonight?' he asked. 'We're celebrating Nancy's birthday.'
He heard her sharp intake of breath and spun around. 'Do you think it's a mistake?'
Dorothy was the only one on the Cape who knew about Nancy. Nancy herself had told her and asked her advice before she had agreed to marry Ray.
Dorothy's voice and eyes were speculative as she answered. 'I don't know, Ray. What's the thinking behind a celebration?'
'The thinking is that you can't pretend that Nancy doesn't have birthdays! Of course, it's more than just that. It's that Nancy has got to break with the past, to stop hiding.'
'Can she break with the past? Can she stop hiding with the prospect of another murder trial always hanging over her?'
'But that's just it. The prospect. Dorothy, do you realize that that fellow who testified against her hasn't been seen or heard of for over six years? God knows where he is now or if he's even alive. For all we know, he's sneaked back into this country under another name and is just as anxious as Nancy not to start the whole business up. Don't forget, he's officially a deserter from the Army. There's a pretty stiff penalty waiting for him if he's caught.'
"That's probably true,' Dorothy agreed.
'It is true. And take it one step further. Level with me, now. What do people in this town think of Nancy? - and I include the girls in my own office
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