Eighteen

“This isn’t his house!” Miriam shouted.

“Lower your voice. He is my guest and welcomed here.”

Bill turned away, forced himself to look again at the objects on the dressing table.

Ellie went on. “You spent all of your inheritance in less than two years, Mir. Grandfather knew you were like our parents.”

Bill knew this part of the story. Their grandfather had raised the girls after their parents-wild, spoiled and reckless, according to Ellie-were killed in a car wreck. While Miriam received a large inheritance, Ellie’s grandfather had left the house and most of his money to Ellie, thinking Miriam too much like his late daughter.

“Don’t start speaking ill of the dead,” Miriam protested to Ellie.

“All right, I won’t. But the fact remains…”

“That you’ve made money and I’ve lost all of mine. Don’t rub it in, Ellie. Now I’ve even lost the condo.”

“I know.”

“You know? Then you understand why I want to live here.”

“Not really. But forget living here. I’ll help you buy a home, free and clear. But this time, I’ll keep the title so that you can’t mortgage it endlessly.”

“I want to live here. This is my home!”

“Fine. Then you won’t get another dime from me.”

Bill watched in the dressing table mirror as Miriam swallowed hard, then lifted her chin. “All right, if that’s what you want to do. My bags are in the car. Harry can pick up the rest of my things-”

“No!” Ellie interrupted sharply, clenching her hands, smushing part of her marshmallow necklace. She shook her head, then said more calmly, “You won’t badger that man. I swear you won’t be allowed to live here if you do. I’ll sell this place first.”

“All right, all right. I won’t cause trouble, Ellie. You’ll see. I’ll even bring my cook and housekeeper with me. That will save Harry a lot of work.”

Bill was hardly paying attention by then. He was nettled. So nettled, he didn’t offer to help Miriam with her bags as she left the room. He kept his back to Ellie, pretending to caught up in the game again.

My guest. It was accurate enough, he supposed. Not “my lover”. Not “my friend.” Not “the man I want to spend my life with.” My guest. He picked up the music box again.

“You’ve got a burr under your saddle, Bill. What is it?”

He ignored her for a moment, lifting the lid of music box. It played “The Merry Widow Waltz.”

He heard Ellie sigh behind him. “I’m not happy about it, either, “she said, “but there’s nothing I can do. Perhaps having Miriam here won’t be so bad.”

He closed the lid of the music box. “Shadow of a Doubt,” he said, and schooled his features into a smile before turning toward her. “Thank you for all the effort, Ellie. It’s always an amusing game.”

She looked puzzled. He hadn’t fooled her, of course. Belatedly he realized that she must have watched him in the mirror. But if she could be obstinate, well, by damn, so could he. He excused himself and left the room.

As he paid the tab in a bar that evening, Bill had to acknowledge that the slight had escalated into silent warfare, and much of it was probably his fault. He had not yet managed to tell Ellie how she had given offense. In one moment, it seemed of so little importance that he was ashamed of himself for thinking about it at all. In the next moment, it seemed to stand as a perfect symbol for everything that was wrong between them. There were several drinks between moments. But in the end, he had firmly resolved to talk to her, not to let one comment ruin all that they had shared until then.

Bill looked up to see a familiar figure coming toward him. Not the one he most wanted to see, but close enough. Harry had come to fetch him.

“Did she send you for me, Harry?” Bill asked, allowing Harry to lead him outside.

“No, sir.”

“You came on your own?” he asked in surprise. Harry had never indicated approval of Bill, a lack Bill took to mean disapproval.

“No, sir,” Harry replied, but Bill noticed that the old man actually seemed a little embarrassed to admit it. Harry gently guided him into the back seat of the Rolls.

Bill waited until Harry got into the car. He felt as if he might be sick, but he fought it off. “Why’d you come after me?” he persisted.

“Miss Miriam suggested it. She has many suggestions, sir.”

Bill signaled him to wait, opened the door and spared the upholstery.

Harry drove him home, windows down. But even over the long ride, Bill had sobered little. He made it into the house under his own steam, and began the climb the stairs. He swayed a bit as he reached for the bedroom doorknob, twisted it, and found it locked. He stared at it in his hand, as if somehow he were just doing it wrong, this simple act of opening a door.

Harry came in then, and quietly coming up the stairs, asked in a whisper if Bill might need some assistance. Bill was hanging on to the knob, staring dumbly at the door. Harry reached and tried the knob, then murmured, “It’s locked, sir. Perhaps…” but his voice broke off as they heard another door open.

Miriam, clad in a nightgown that seemed to offer little difference from sleeping in the nude, smiled and called out, “Ellie left some things for you outside the bedroom off your office downstairs. I guess you’re in the dog house tonight, Billy Boy.”

“You seem happy to hear it,” Bill said, trying to stand up straight. Having this greedy woman in the household would sorely try him. Harry stepped aside as Miriam came closer. Miriam tried to put an arm around Bill, giggling when he clumsily pushed her hand from his waist. She stepped back.

“Why do you two stay together?” she asked. “Ellie doesn’t seem interested. I could see why you tried to win her over at first, but now-well, why bother? You’ve got plenty of money. Most women would consider you quite a catch.”

“For your information,” Bill said, his drunken state not obscuring her intentions, “I wouldn’t make any money without your sister. If I leave her, I can’t write. She’s my Muse.”

Whatever reply Miriam might have made was lost when a loud crash sounded against the other side of the bedroom door.

“Ellie! Are you all right?” Bill called frantically.

“Go to hell!” came Ellie’s voice from the other side.

Bill heard Miriam giggle behind him as she closed her bedroom door.

“Don’t do this, sir.”

Bill was so taken aback by Harry’s plea that he stopped packing for a moment. But he shook his head and latched the suitcase.

“Sorry, Harry. I can take the silent treatment, and finding out that she threw a portrait of me against the door that night. I can even take the blame for starting this. But I can’t stay here if she doesn’t trust me.”

Until that afternoon, Bill hadn’t heard a word from Ellie in three days. After that first morning, when Harry brought Bill’s clothes into the bedroom adjoining Bill’s office, Bill hadn’t tried to go back to the room he had shared with her. He had heard her move about in her office, just on the other side of the wall. Each day, she had gone from her room to her office and back again, speaking only to Miriam or Harry. Miriam, suddenly the solicitous sister, would take meals to Ellie in her room. Bill tried to ignore it, told himself her temper would cool, and he would be able to tell her just how much she meant to him, that she was much more to him than the means to an end. Until then, he would keep his distance.

But this morning she had ventured outside the house, asking Harry to take her for a ride. They had been gone for about an hour when Bill heard someone rustling papers in her office, and went to investigate. Miriam was bent over some documents on Ellie’s desk, pen in hand.

“What are you doing?” he asked, startling her.

“None of your business.”

He moved closer, and she snatched one of the pages off the desk and wadded it up in her hand.