Cutler 03 - Twilight's Child by authors_sort Read Free Book Online Page B

desk. Right now he seemed to be leering down at me, his head slightly tilted forward, his light blue eyes fixed on me. As I crossed to the other side of the room the portrait gave the illusion of his gaze following me. I thought that even though the artist might have been instructed to capture a strong, authoritative and distinguished look, he had also managed to replicate some lightness and charm in the way he had drawn and painted my father's lips.
    What sort of a man could he have been? I wondered. How could my father have been a conniver, deceitful and lustful? What had made him decide to rape my mother, if it was indeed a rape? What sort of morality did he have if he could make love to his son's wife? Obviously he had had some pangs of conscience, for he had tried to atone for his act by giving me this inheritance and making a full confession after his death. And he had been compassionate enough to worry about how it would all affect Grandmother Cutler and so left instructions for none of it to be revealed until she had passed away, too.
    As I gazed into my father's eyes—eyes strikingly like my own—I wondered what, if anything—beside some physical attributes—I had inherited from this man. Would I now become as ambitious as he was? Would I live up to the responsibilities placed on my shoulders and develop into a good administrator? Did I have his charm when it came to pleasing guests? Had he been fair with the help and liked by them, and would I be? I realized I had developed a great hunger for knowledge about him and hoped I could get those members of the staff who had worked under him and were still here to talk to me about him. I certainly didn't expect Mother to tell me anything worthwhile, and as for Randolph . . . well, from what I understood and saw, Randolph couldn't be counted upon for anything these days.
    I went around the desk and sat in Grandmother Cutler's chair. Looking over the large desk from this point of view, I began to see things in a more natural and realistic perspective. It was as if sitting in her chair and taking her position imbued me with the confidence I would need to carry on. The office wasn't as large as it had always seemed to be to me. I could do a great deal to brighten it up, I thought. I would replace the rug and the furniture. Then I would hang up some bright paintings.
    I sat back. I could almost feel Grandmother Cutler seething behind me and grinding her teeth. Maybe I can do this, I thought. Maybe I can.
    Then I realized what time it was and jumped up to see about Christie. But as I was passing through the lobby Patty, one of the older chambermaids, stopped me.
    "I think you had better go down to the laundry," she advised, and she nodded as if she were slipping me some secret.
    "Something broken?" It was on the tip of my tongue to ask her to see Mr. Dorfman, but she shook her head vigorously.
    "Someone ought to go down there," she repeated, and she left me standing in confusion. I asked Mrs. Boston to go up and see about Christie while I went downstairs to the basement of the hotel, where the laundry was situated.
    At first I thought no one was there, but when I turned into the room where all the washing machines were housed I spotted Randolph off in a corner by a table used for the folding of linen and towels. He had dozens of measuring cups lined up on each side of the table, and he was using a measuring spoon—the kind used to measure flour or sugar in a kitchen—only he was using it to scoop soap powder into the cups. He had two different brands of soap powder in big vats beside him.
    "Randolph," I said, approaching, "what are you doing?" He didn't turn around. He kept scooping the soap powder carefully.
    "Randolph?" I put my hand on his arm, and he looked at me, his eyes bloodshot and wild.
    "I'm right about this," he said. "I suspected it, and I'm right." He turned back to the soap powder.
    "Right about what, Randolph?" I asked.
    He stopped and smiled