Houses of Stone, KATHY [classic literature books TXT] 📗

"Dr. Meyer thought not. He pointed someone out to me—a woman named Dorothy Angelo—"

"Dorothea." Karen laughed, and saw the flush on his cheeks deepen. She wasn't sure why he was so angry, but she was rather enjoying the spectacle of Cameron the imperturbable about to lose his temper. "She's a little crazy, but she wouldn't do anything so stupid. Bill is just being melodramatic. And overprotective."

"I see." After a moment he said, in a voice as cool as hers had been, "In that case I won't belabor the point. I wanted to assure you, as I assured Dr. Meyer, that Ms. Angelo has not approached me. I never saw her before today."

"I appreciate your telling me," Karen said formally. She turned away. "I'd better get back now; Peggy buys the most extraordinary things if I'm not there to restrain her."

Cameron followed her in silence.

Turning the corner of the barn, Karen suddenly found herself again face-to-face with her landlady. This time the encounter was even more direct; they would have run into one another if Mrs. Fowler had not fallen back, with a shriek and a look of such horror, one might have supposed she had come in contact with a leper. Her abrupt movement set off a chain reaction; she bumped into the stomach of the Colonel, who was following on her heels, his arms loaded with miscellaneous objects—presumably her purchases as well as his own, since Mrs. Fowler's hands were empty. The Colonel staggered, lost his grip, and a rain of small items fell to the ground. Mrs. Fowler swayed wildly back and forth until Cameron caught her arm and steadied her.

"Sorry," he said. "My fault. Are you all right, Miz Fowler?"

Karen stooped to pick up the fallen treasures—chipped cups and miscellaneous saucers. "Lucky the ground is still soft," she said pleasantly. "They don't seem to be damaged."

Since the Colonel's arms were fully occupied, she offered the objects to Mrs. Fowler, with what she hoped was an ingratiating smile.

Mrs. Fowler could retreat no farther. She was pressed up against the Colonel, whose red round face hovered over her like that of a gargoyle. Hers was almost as colorful.

"How dare you?" she gasped. "Cameron, you planned this, I know you did. Well, you can just get her away from me and keep her away. I will not lend my countenance to such a person."

"Now, Miz Fowler—" Cameron began.

"She made a laughing stock of me! She deliberately, cold-bloodedly set out to humiliate me. You knew what she was when you brought her to meet me." She proceeded to describe what Karen was, using words her astonished auditor had encountered only in Victorian novels. "Brazen hussy" and "trollop" were two of the mildest terms.

If she wanted to avoid publicity, Mrs. Fowler was going about it the wrong way. The noise level had risen—her piercing soprano voice, the Colonel's bass rumbles of indignant agreement. People were staring and edging closer. Cameron's face was brick-red and he was having trouble controlling his mouth, but Karen couldn't decide whether anger, amusement or embarrassment was responsible.

Mrs. Fowler finally ran down; either her breath or her vocabulary had given out. Cameron's voice was soft, but there was an edge to it. "You can't say things like that, Miz Fowler. Take her home, Colonel. She's making a fool of herself."

The Colonel swelled like a crimson toad. "Sir, if I were a younger man and you were a gentleman, I would ... I would ..."

Karen had found the business mildly entertaining thus far, but things were getting out of hand. The old man looked as if he were on the verge of a stroke, and Cameron was on the verge of losing his temper. She would have enjoyed seeing that phenomenon, but not under these circumstances; it was too ludicrous, like a travesty of a Southern romantic novel. The two men squaring off in defense of their ladies . . . Some ladies!

"I think we've had enough of this," she said. "I'll move out on Tuesday, Mrs. Fowler. I've paid my rent till then, if you remember."

She couldn't resist the last dig. It had an effect she had not anticipated. The angry color faded from Mrs. Fowler's face and a look of calculation narrowed her eyes. "That won't be necessary. Unlike some people, I keep my word once I've given it. Our business arrangement still stands. Just don't you expect me to take notice of you on a social level. No, Colonel, not another word; they aren't worth it."

Realizing that Karen had no intention of retreating she did so. The Colonel followed, growling like a very large dog.

"I'm sorry," Cameron began.

Karen turned on him. There were a lot of people watching them, so she kept her voice soft and the smile fixed on her face. "For the love of God, will you stop apologizing for everything everybody does? If anyone is responsible for that poor crazy old creature's foul mood, it's me!"

He studied her in silence—counting to ten, Karen thought. Why didn't he let himself go? Such self-control was abnormal—unhealthy, Sharon would probably say. And why, Karen wondered, did she give a damn?

Fascinated by the twitching of the muscles around his mouth and jaw, she did not see Peggy until the latter spoke.

"Wonder how she got at the booze this early. Carries a flask, maybe."

"What are you talking about?" Karen turned. Simon, at Peggy's side, smiled sardonically.

"It needn't have been alcohol talking, Peggy. You've encountered people like that, I'm sure. The world revolves around them, and they interpret everything in terms of their narrow little egos."

Cameron's rigid shoulders relaxed. "She drinks, all right," he said wearily. "She thinks no one knows, but . . . How did you know, Peggy?"

"I recognized the signs," Peggy said curtly.

"I'll find you another apartment, Karen," Cameron said.

"That's kind of you, but you needn't bother."

"Why not? It's my job."

"You're a realtor?"

It had never occurred to her until then to wonder what he did for a living. His eyes shifted away from her curious gaze