supply of money.
He was forever buying things: a new gold watch for himself, a Morocco-bound set of Shakespeare’s works for Susanna, new clothes for himself and Augusta. Augusta had arrived at the hotel with only the black dress she wore and two others in her portmanteau. Now she appeared every day in a different stylish frock, grayish green silk in a large-branched broché design, Parma-violet faille, an ecru satin gown for evening wear with a bodice of gold thread embroidery.
Where was this money coming from? Whenever Susanna questioned Dallas , he always said negligently, “I’ve been having a good run of luck at Dutchy’s.” But Susanna was not convinced by this pat answer.
Another thing that bothered Susanna was the unquestioning faith with which Dallas had taken Augusta to his bosom. He was the model son, escorting her to church on Sundays, taking her on shopping expeditions, dining with her every evening without fail—things he had never done with Susanna. If Susanna was jealous of the attentions he paid their mother, she didn’t consciously know it. She was happy that Dallas seemed happy, but she was suspicious of the motives that had brought her mother home.
Augusta was too sweet, too subdued, too eager to prove to her children that “circumstances” had forced her to leave them and that she “mortally regretted” any pain she had caused them. She often invited Susanna to her quarters in the north tower “for a little chat,” and she would talk of the old days when they’d been together, when they’d been happy.
If Susanna should question her about where she’d been for the past eleven years, Augusta would give some vague response or deftly change the subject. Once, when Susanna pressed the point, Augusta said sadly, “I’d rather not talk of that time, Susanna. It’s a period of my life I regret and prefer to forget.”
“If you regret it so much,” Susanna was compelled to say, “why did you stay away so long?”
“If I had returned,” Augusta said pointedly, “would your father have permitted me to stay?”
She had answers for everything, none of which either enlightened or satisfied Susanna. Susanna became so distrustful of Augusta that she eventually began avoiding her, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Dallas .
“What the devil’s wrong with you?” he asked one night in late August. “You’ve been ignoring Mama for the past two weeks.”
“Oh, it’s ‘Mama’ now, is it?”
“Jesus, Sunny, this isn’t like you at all. Can’t you forgive her? Can’t you find it in your heart to have some compassion for her?”
“Compassion, Dallas ? For a woman who left us without even a farewell? You’re the one who’s not behaving like yourself. What is this sudden spate of love for a mother you rarely mentioned all the time she was gone?”
“I couldn’t talk about her,” he said shortly. “It hurt too much.”
“And now the hurt has stopped?”
“No it hasn’t. But she came back to us, Sunny. Can’t you try to overlook the past? You were all too willing to overlook Papa’s faults, and he was far from a saint, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Yes, she had forgotten her father’s faults. He’d been a demanding perfectionist, sometimes to the point of tyranny. He’d been close with his money, so close that Susanna had sometimes felt that he bordered on being miserly. His death had completely obliterated them from her mind. But Augusta was very much alive, and Susanna found it difficult to overlook what stared her in the face daily. And yet, for her brother’s sake, she knew she must try.
“Very well,” she said unwillingly. “I’ll spend more time with her, if that’s what you want.”
“Sunny, I love you!” He gave her a bear hug. “I knew you’d change
He was forever buying things: a new gold watch for himself, a Morocco-bound set of Shakespeare’s works for Susanna, new clothes for himself and Augusta. Augusta had arrived at the hotel with only the black dress she wore and two others in her portmanteau. Now she appeared every day in a different stylish frock, grayish green silk in a large-branched broché design, Parma-violet faille, an ecru satin gown for evening wear with a bodice of gold thread embroidery.
Where was this money coming from? Whenever Susanna questioned Dallas , he always said negligently, “I’ve been having a good run of luck at Dutchy’s.” But Susanna was not convinced by this pat answer.
Another thing that bothered Susanna was the unquestioning faith with which Dallas had taken Augusta to his bosom. He was the model son, escorting her to church on Sundays, taking her on shopping expeditions, dining with her every evening without fail—things he had never done with Susanna. If Susanna was jealous of the attentions he paid their mother, she didn’t consciously know it. She was happy that Dallas seemed happy, but she was suspicious of the motives that had brought her mother home.
Augusta was too sweet, too subdued, too eager to prove to her children that “circumstances” had forced her to leave them and that she “mortally regretted” any pain she had caused them. She often invited Susanna to her quarters in the north tower “for a little chat,” and she would talk of the old days when they’d been together, when they’d been happy.
If Susanna should question her about where she’d been for the past eleven years, Augusta would give some vague response or deftly change the subject. Once, when Susanna pressed the point, Augusta said sadly, “I’d rather not talk of that time, Susanna. It’s a period of my life I regret and prefer to forget.”
“If you regret it so much,” Susanna was compelled to say, “why did you stay away so long?”
“If I had returned,” Augusta said pointedly, “would your father have permitted me to stay?”
She had answers for everything, none of which either enlightened or satisfied Susanna. Susanna became so distrustful of Augusta that she eventually began avoiding her, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Dallas .
“What the devil’s wrong with you?” he asked one night in late August. “You’ve been ignoring Mama for the past two weeks.”
“Oh, it’s ‘Mama’ now, is it?”
“Jesus, Sunny, this isn’t like you at all. Can’t you forgive her? Can’t you find it in your heart to have some compassion for her?”
“Compassion, Dallas ? For a woman who left us without even a farewell? You’re the one who’s not behaving like yourself. What is this sudden spate of love for a mother you rarely mentioned all the time she was gone?”
“I couldn’t talk about her,” he said shortly. “It hurt too much.”
“And now the hurt has stopped?”
“No it hasn’t. But she came back to us, Sunny. Can’t you try to overlook the past? You were all too willing to overlook Papa’s faults, and he was far from a saint, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Yes, she had forgotten her father’s faults. He’d been a demanding perfectionist, sometimes to the point of tyranny. He’d been close with his money, so close that Susanna had sometimes felt that he bordered on being miserly. His death had completely obliterated them from her mind. But Augusta was very much alive, and Susanna found it difficult to overlook what stared her in the face daily. And yet, for her brother’s sake, she knew she must try.
“Very well,” she said unwillingly. “I’ll spend more time with her, if that’s what you want.”
“Sunny, I love you!” He gave her a bear hug. “I knew you’d change
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