Read Online Stillwatch by Mary Higgins Clark - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mary Higgins Clark
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read: PROUD MOTHER GREETS APPLE JUNCTIONBEAUTY QUEEN.“Why not take those issues?” Edwin Shepherd asked. “I’ve gotmore copies. Just remember to give us credit if you use anything onyour program.”It would be awkward to refuse the offer, Pat realized. I can just seeusing that picture, she thought as she thanked the editor and quickly left.A half-mile down Main Street, the town changed dramatically.The roads became wider, the homes stately, the grounds large andwell tended.The Saunders house was pale yellow with black shutters. It was
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on a corner, and a long driveway curved to the porch steps. Gracefulpillars reminded Pat of the architecture of Mount Vernon. Trees linedthe driveway. A small sign directed deliveries to the service entrancein the rear.She parked and went up the steps, noticing. that on closer inspectionthe paint was beginning to chip and the aluminum storm windowswere corroded. She pushed the button and from somewhere far insidecould hear the faint sound of chimes. A thin woman with graying hairwearing a half-apron over a dark dress answered the door. “Mr.Saunders is expecting you. He’s in the library.”Jeremy Saunders, wearing a maroon velvet jacket, was settled ina high-backed wing chair by the fire. His legs were crossed, and finedark blue silk hose showed below the cuffs of his midnight-bluetrousers. He had exceptionally even features and handsome wavywhite hair. A thickened waistline and puffy eyes alone betrayed apredilection for drink.He stood up and steadied himself against the arm of the chair.“Miss Traymore!” His voice was so pointedly well bred as to suggestclasses in elocution. “You didn’t tell me on the phone that you were the Patricia Traymore.”“Whatever that means,” Pat said, smiling.“Don’t be modest. You’re the young lady who’s doing a programon Abigail.” He waved her to the chair opposite his. “You will have aBloody Mary?”“Thank you.” The pitcher was already half-empty.The maid took her coat.“Thank you, Anna. That will be all for now. Perhaps a little laterMiss Traymore will join me in a light lunch. “Jeremy Saunders’ tonebecame even more fatuous when he spoke to the servant, who silentlyleft the room. “You can close the door if you will, Anna!” he called.“Thank you, my dear.”Saunders waited until the latch clicked, then sighed. “Good helpis impossible to find these days. Not as it was when Francey Fosterwas presiding over the kitchen and Abby was serving the table.” Heseemed to relish the thought.Pat did not reply. There was a gossipy kind of cruelty about the
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man. She sat down, accepted the drink and waited. He raised oneeyebrow. “Don’t you have a tape recorder?”“Yes, I do. But if you prefer I won’t use it.”“Not at all. I prefer that every word I say be immortalized. Perhapssomeday there’ll be an Abby Foster—forgive me, a Senator AbigailJennings —Library. People will be able to push a button and hear metell of her rather chaotic coming of age.”Silently Pat reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out therecorder and her notebook. She was suddenly quite sure that whatshe was about to hear would be unusable.“You’ve followed the Senator’s career,” she suggested.“Breathlessly! I have the utmost admiration for Abby. From thetime she was seventeen and began offering to help her mother withhousehold duties, she had won my utmost respect. She’s ingenious.”“Is it ingenious to help your mother?” Pat asked quietly.“Of course not. If you want to help your mother. On the otherhand, if you offer to serve only because the handsome young scion ofthe Saunders family is home from Yale, it does color the picture,doesn’t it?”“Meaning you?” Pat smiled reluctantly. Jeremy Saunders had acertain sardonic, self-deprecating quality that was not unattractive.“You’ve guessed it. I see pictures of her from time to time, butyou can never trust pictures, can you? Abby always
46
on a corner, and a long driveway curved to the porch steps. Gracefulpillars reminded Pat of the architecture of Mount Vernon. Trees linedthe driveway. A small sign directed deliveries to the service entrancein the rear.She parked and went up the steps, noticing. that on closer inspectionthe paint was beginning to chip and the aluminum storm windowswere corroded. She pushed the button and from somewhere far insidecould hear the faint sound of chimes. A thin woman with graying hairwearing a half-apron over a dark dress answered the door. “Mr.Saunders is expecting you. He’s in the library.”Jeremy Saunders, wearing a maroon velvet jacket, was settled ina high-backed wing chair by the fire. His legs were crossed, and finedark blue silk hose showed below the cuffs of his midnight-bluetrousers. He had exceptionally even features and handsome wavywhite hair. A thickened waistline and puffy eyes alone betrayed apredilection for drink.He stood up and steadied himself against the arm of the chair.“Miss Traymore!” His voice was so pointedly well bred as to suggestclasses in elocution. “You didn’t tell me on the phone that you were the Patricia Traymore.”“Whatever that means,” Pat said, smiling.“Don’t be modest. You’re the young lady who’s doing a programon Abigail.” He waved her to the chair opposite his. “You will have aBloody Mary?”“Thank you.” The pitcher was already half-empty.The maid took her coat.“Thank you, Anna. That will be all for now. Perhaps a little laterMiss Traymore will join me in a light lunch. “Jeremy Saunders’ tonebecame even more fatuous when he spoke to the servant, who silentlyleft the room. “You can close the door if you will, Anna!” he called.“Thank you, my dear.”Saunders waited until the latch clicked, then sighed. “Good helpis impossible to find these days. Not as it was when Francey Fosterwas presiding over the kitchen and Abby was serving the table.” Heseemed to relish the thought.Pat did not reply. There was a gossipy kind of cruelty about the
47
man. She sat down, accepted the drink and waited. He raised oneeyebrow. “Don’t you have a tape recorder?”“Yes, I do. But if you prefer I won’t use it.”“Not at all. I prefer that every word I say be immortalized. Perhapssomeday there’ll be an Abby Foster—forgive me, a Senator AbigailJennings —Library. People will be able to push a button and hear metell of her rather chaotic coming of age.”Silently Pat reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out therecorder and her notebook. She was suddenly quite sure that whatshe was about to hear would be unusable.“You’ve followed the Senator’s career,” she suggested.“Breathlessly! I have the utmost admiration for Abby. From thetime she was seventeen and began offering to help her mother withhousehold duties, she had won my utmost respect. She’s ingenious.”“Is it ingenious to help your mother?” Pat asked quietly.“Of course not. If you want to help your mother. On the otherhand, if you offer to serve only because the handsome young scion ofthe Saunders family is home from Yale, it does color the picture,doesn’t it?”“Meaning you?” Pat smiled reluctantly. Jeremy Saunders had acertain sardonic, self-deprecating quality that was not unattractive.“You’ve guessed it. I see pictures of her from time to time, butyou can never trust pictures, can you? Abby always
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