After the Fire by Belva Plain Read Free Book Online Page B

two hundred at least. But Jim, didn't Gerald say they want to start by six o'clock? Then they should be changing now—where is Gerald? I don't see him.”
    “He went inside a while ago,” Granny said. “Too much wine, maybe. Too much excitement.”
    “Well, I'll go ask him what he wants. The band is flexible. They'll stay or quit, whatever we like.”
    The house, except for the busy kitchen, was otherwise silent as Francine walked through it. Then she thought she heard voices above, coming from Hyacinth's little studio at the top of the stairs. And she went up, calling, “Is that you, Gerald?”
    “Yes, here I am. I've been showing Hy's—Hyacinth's work to her friend, Martha.”
    A dart of anger struck right to Francine's heart. What was the meaning of this? As Francine entered the studio, Martha had a vivid white smile for her, and Francine had to look twice to recognize her. She had been working and living in New York; her light hair was now blond, expensively so, with gleam and without roots.
    Martha exclaimed, “All these years we've known each other, and I never had any idea that Hy was so talented! This one of her father—it's absolutely superb! And the still life, the fruit, is perfect.”
    “It's sold,” Gerald said. “One of her friends at the museum is buying it. And her grandmother is buying the watercolor of this house to give George on his birthday.”
    “I never, never knew! But Hy is so modest. She always was, all through school and college, so modest.”
    “That she is,” Gerald said.
    “Well, she's an artist. They're not like other people, are they?”
    Francine was scolding herself: Don't be an idiot. What on earth do you think they were doing up here, arranging a rendezvous? Still, it doesn't look right, walkingaway from the party together. They both should know better.
    That girl does know better. She feels her power over men and loves to use it, even as casually as this. Oh, didn't I know? But once I had Jim, I never used it, and there's the difference.
    “I adore this snow scene,” said Martha. She was taking her time to comment on the pictures, thus to emphasize the earnest purpose of this visit to the studio. “You can really feel the cold, can't you?”
    Thoughts that Francine had long stifled now rose like an emergent weed that has, despite much effort, not been eradicated after all. Wasn't it a French philosopher who had written, or was it simply a folk saying, about “the one who loves and the other who is loved”? Hyacinth loves. Hyacinth gives her heart and soul, without guile, because she has no guile. Blunt-spoken and honest, she is one of nature's innocents. Of “street smarts” she has none.
    And standing there at the window, Francine gazed down at the happy, noisy party below. All of a sudden it was a throng of agitated bees buzzing around one another.
Morbid thought! Is that what it's all about, struggling to get on top?… Of course he knew Jim would come up with the money…. He played it well.
    Gerald spoke to her. “You were calling me?”
    “Yes. I remembered that you and Hyacinth plan to start at six, and I wanted to remind you.”
    “Thanks. I was coming right down.” He turned to Martha. “Look at Francine. Isn't she beautiful?”
    “Absolutely beautiful. And she doesn't grow older, either.”
    Putting his arms around Francine, Gerald kissed her cheek. She had always observed his expressive eyes. At this moment they were gentle and deep with empathy.
    “You're worried. Your last baby's leaving, and of course you're feeling sad. But please try not to be too sad. I promise to make her very, very happy.”
    How do I know he will not? I have no right to revive my morbid thoughts. I am looking for trouble. I must be careful to guide and guard the way I think.
    “I'm sure you will,” she said.
    The red car, its trunk filled with new luggage, stood ready in the driveway while the farewell crowd waited for the bride and groom to appear. Francine and Jim, in