in her enormous dark eyes at Sara Porter’s face. Would Sara be able to help her? Why was it that in spite of her inexplicable shyness, Sue felt that this older woman—almost unknown to her—could tell her what was good and right to do? Maybe it was because Joe liked Sara so well—Joe, who had never really had a home or parents and few real friends like Sara and herself.
Sue sat watching Sara talk with him. They leaned back in their chairs, their voices murmurred. Sara had a light, soft way of saying words, her tone faintly pedantic, perhaps because of her crisp enunciation. Sara sounded all her rs. She didn’t have a typical Western accent.
Sara was thirty but her face looked very young to Sue, perhaps because it was round in shape, the skin very smooth beneath the severely drawn-back hair. Sara wore a rather crumpled green linen dress and white cotton gloves obviously darned. How in hell was it that Sara—with her rumpled dress and her holey white cotton gloves—always succeeded in making other women feel dowdy?
Sue started, surprised to realize that Sara was now speaking to her. She flushed painfully when she understood that she had no idea of what had gone before. She gulped her beer, wiped one splashed drop off her cheek with unhurried dignity.
“Sorry! I’m really terribly sorry, Mrs. Porter, but I was looking at the lake through the trees and wasn’t paying close attention.”
“Poor Sue,” she said. “I don’t blame you. You must be absolutely worn out. Joe told me you’ve walked here from Munich.”
“Oh no, I’m not a bit tired from that,” Sue hurried to defend her beloved from what might be criticism. “It’s the sun, I think. But what were you saying, please?”
She looked calmly from Sara to Joe, then was horrified to hear herself erupt in a loud sneeze that pounced on her with snarling suddenness. She sneezed so violently it rocked the little table upon which a beer glass spilled. She reached wildly for the handkerchief Joe was now offering her. Through her stinging eyes she saw Sara move away from the flooding path of beer before looking at Sue compassionately.
“God bless you,” she said. “Gesundheit! Poor child, I think you’re catching cold. Here, Jean, mop up a bit, will you? And tell me what I owe you. We’ll have more beer at La Prairie—it’s time I get there and start lunch.”
By the time the bill was paid and Sue had given her nose a thorough—and delightful—blow, she felt almost human again. She stood watching Sara pull on her disreputable gloves.
“I’m sorry, Sue, I’ve forgotten to finish what I was saying. I’ve told Joe that I couldn’t put you up, much as I might wish to, and then you came along and I forgot to explain.”
Sara stopped and then looked abstractedly off toward an old man outside the terrace who stood in the garden of the casino delicately pricking his fingers on the sharp needles of a giant cactus.
“The house is full,” she then went on, “but even if I had a room for you, I’d ask you to go up to the village inn this time.”
For a moment there was silence, then Joe spoke. “Because Sue and I aren’t married?” he asked, incredulously.
Sue felt her throat close. This was the woman she’d thought might help her! It had never occurred to her that perhaps Sara might disapprove of her. She looked miserably at Joe, who reached over and touched her hand.
“Oh dear,” Sara said. “Now don’t you two make me feel embarrassed. It’s not me, nor is it Tim. You ought to know that, Joe.”
“Of course,” he said.
“It’s because we have a rather queer household just now. There’s Tim’s sister Nan and my young brother and sister—they’re all right—but there’s also a friend of Nan’s, Lucy Pendleton. She’s the trouble, through no fault of her own, really. It’s bad enough to have one illicit affair, as I am afraid Lucy does describe it, without flaunting another.”
“What illicit affair?” Joe asked, before exclaiming, “My God! Do you mean you and Tim?”
“What?” Sue asked in a small husky voice. She looked blankly from the flush of Joe’s face back to the smooth oval of Sara Porter’s. She felt completely bewildered.
“Haven’t you ever told her?” Sara asked.
“I forgot!” Joe said. “It’s always seemed so natural to me and it’s been going on so long—I’ve forgotten all about it, I swear!”
“That’s an awfully nice thing to tell me, Joe,” Sara said as she lightly touched his arm, then turned. “The thing is, Susan, Tim Garton and I have never married,” she said. “It’s one reason we live here, though it is one of the less important ones. And so poor Lucy Pendleton is over here this summer to guard Nan from our evil influence and she’s rather a nervous type and not well, and I knew you’d understand if I decided not to add fuel to her fire by bringing two more sinners in under our roof. So, I’ve arranged a room for you up in the village.”
Sara then began to laugh with relief at having finished what was a difficult speech. Now Sue felt herself to be smiling, too, for the first time since she’d seen Sara sitting so easily beside Joe in the dappled morning sunshine.
“All right?” she asked Sue.
“Of course!” Sue said, feeling happy suddenly. “But we’ll be at your house a lot, won’t we? Joe says it’s not just heavenly, but heavenly!”
“It is. And you’ll be there as much as we can keep you,” she said, adding, “except for sleeping.” And now Sara listened expertly to the sound of a half-dozen bells striking twelve thirty all over the little town. “We’ll all be there if we can just manage to get there. Come on! We’ll come down after lunch and get your bags.”
Sue laughed and ran after Sara Porter with one hand clutching at the corner of Joe’s coat.
“I do think she’s swell!” Sue whispered as they hurried toward the little black Fiat parked at the curb.
“Sure,” he said. “She’s fine. But what about all those other people?” Joe hated to think of anyone in the world enjoying La Prairie with the familiarity that he had more than once enjoyed it. It had honestly never occurred to him that Sara ever had other guests. A whole summer’s dreams of showing the place to his sweet Sue, of being there with her and with Sara and Tim tumbled into the hard sunlight before his squinting eyes, and he sighed.
“Sue,” Sara directed, “you’ll sit on Joe’s lap in front, as the whole backseat is full of food, as you see?” An unnecessary observation, Sue thought as the three eased themselves into the tiny car.
The streets of Veytaux were almost empty. An occasional worker on a bicycle pedalled home to his late lunch, not even the close heat of lake level slowing his hungry speed.
The little car went fast. Susan, sitting high on Joe’s knees, felt the moving air curve around her head, behind her brown and naked ears, even under her beribboned bun of hair.
They were out of town suddenly. To their left the glitter
