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Authors: Charlotte Armstrong
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beholder, she thought. In a pig's eye.
"I've got good ankles" she said, muffled among the clothes. The knowledge that Althea couldn't hurt her made her dizzy.
Althea had sat down on the foot of the bed and her shining eyes that caught and reflected the light as if they had been metal, like silver buttons with black centers, were fixed on Tyl as if to read her very soul.
"What on earth happened to your hair?" she cried.
Althea's own hair was a soft silvery cloud of curls, cut short, swept up, every tendril blending charmingly with the whole effect. Mathilda shook her brown mane, which hung free to her shoulders. "I washed it myself," she said defiantly.
Althea's delicate eyebrows trembled with pitying comment. She touched the nape of her own neck with a polished finger tip. "I've been down with the grippe," she said, and sighed. "I've been miserable."
"Too bad." Tyl bit her lip. Laughter bubbled inside. She could hardly keep it under. And I've been shipwrecked and rescued and half around the world, she thought, and it's eating you. Oh, it's eating you.
Althea said, with grudging admiration, "You re a sly one." She sloped gracefully back on one elbow. "Where did you find this Francis of yours?"
Mathilda, in her slip, let her bare shoulders fall a little.
"A millionaire," complained Althea. Her voice verged on a whine, "Really, Tyl, you scarcely needed a millionaire. It doesn't seem just and fair. Look at Oliver and me, poor as church mice, both of us."
And it's eating you, thought Tyl. "I know what you mean," she said aloud, flippantly. "Maybe we ought to shuffle and deal again."
She saw, in the mirror, Althea's dainty body stiffen, saw the painted lashes draw down to narrow those gleaming eyes. What ails me? she wondered. She was treating Althea to a taste of sauce, as she had never dared before. She thought, It's true. She is envious. She always has been. She thought, But I ought not to let her go on thinking I'm married. I mustn't be childish.
She said aloud, "There's something you don't know about—"
"Is there, indeed?" said Althea acidly. "About true love, I suppose?"
Tyl picked up her own turquoise-handled hairbrush and made her mane fly. She thought, Just for that, you can wait. And again, suddenly, she wanted to laugh. Her mouth began to curve. She had to control it The whole situation was so totally turned about. So ridiculously altered from what she had feared. For it wasn't Althea who had the husband Tyl had wanted. No, It was Althea who wanted the husband she thought Tyl had. Althea had her silver eyes on Francis.
Chapter Ten
Inside the study, the man named Press waited. He stood looking down at the floor.
"Now, as I said," purred Grandy, "I don't intend to repeat such a broadcast. They came around, you know, and I had to claim a good deal of poetic license. But you needn't worry. You are still unsuspected. As I said. And don't come here. I'll be in touch with
you from time to time."
The man had a very round head and wide-spaced dark eyes. He looked up. The eyes had no hope in them.
"Don't you know" said Grandy ever so softly, "I rather enjoy playing God?"
The man named Press barely nodded. His eyes were still hopeless.
Outside, in the living room, Francis smiled politely at the blond secretary. "Had to tell her the yam," he said, as if he were saying, "Hello, how are you?"
Jane's pretty baby face was a perfect mask. "Oh, no," she moaned.
"Something's going to bust any minute. Pray I get hold of Althea before it does. Who's in there?"
"That man Press. The same one."
"I'm going to tell Grandy the duckling's lost her memory."
"Why?" Her pleasant smile might have been sculped on.
"For time," he said. "To tempt him. Be ready to get out of here,” he murmured, brushing by.
"Oh, Fran," moaned Jane.
Grandy s study door had a little whimsical knocker on the
"I've got good ankles" she said, muffled among the clothes. The knowledge that Althea couldn't hurt her made her dizzy.
Althea had sat down on the foot of the bed and her shining eyes that caught and reflected the light as if they had been metal, like silver buttons with black centers, were fixed on Tyl as if to read her very soul.
"What on earth happened to your hair?" she cried.
Althea's own hair was a soft silvery cloud of curls, cut short, swept up, every tendril blending charmingly with the whole effect. Mathilda shook her brown mane, which hung free to her shoulders. "I washed it myself," she said defiantly.
Althea's delicate eyebrows trembled with pitying comment. She touched the nape of her own neck with a polished finger tip. "I've been down with the grippe," she said, and sighed. "I've been miserable."
"Too bad." Tyl bit her lip. Laughter bubbled inside. She could hardly keep it under. And I've been shipwrecked and rescued and half around the world, she thought, and it's eating you. Oh, it's eating you.
Althea said, with grudging admiration, "You re a sly one." She sloped gracefully back on one elbow. "Where did you find this Francis of yours?"
Mathilda, in her slip, let her bare shoulders fall a little.
"A millionaire," complained Althea. Her voice verged on a whine, "Really, Tyl, you scarcely needed a millionaire. It doesn't seem just and fair. Look at Oliver and me, poor as church mice, both of us."
And it's eating you, thought Tyl. "I know what you mean," she said aloud, flippantly. "Maybe we ought to shuffle and deal again."
She saw, in the mirror, Althea's dainty body stiffen, saw the painted lashes draw down to narrow those gleaming eyes. What ails me? she wondered. She was treating Althea to a taste of sauce, as she had never dared before. She thought, It's true. She is envious. She always has been. She thought, But I ought not to let her go on thinking I'm married. I mustn't be childish.
She said aloud, "There's something you don't know about—"
"Is there, indeed?" said Althea acidly. "About true love, I suppose?"
Tyl picked up her own turquoise-handled hairbrush and made her mane fly. She thought, Just for that, you can wait. And again, suddenly, she wanted to laugh. Her mouth began to curve. She had to control it The whole situation was so totally turned about. So ridiculously altered from what she had feared. For it wasn't Althea who had the husband Tyl had wanted. No, It was Althea who wanted the husband she thought Tyl had. Althea had her silver eyes on Francis.
Chapter Ten
Inside the study, the man named Press waited. He stood looking down at the floor.
"Now, as I said," purred Grandy, "I don't intend to repeat such a broadcast. They came around, you know, and I had to claim a good deal of poetic license. But you needn't worry. You are still unsuspected. As I said. And don't come here. I'll be in touch with
you from time to time."
The man had a very round head and wide-spaced dark eyes. He looked up. The eyes had no hope in them.
"Don't you know" said Grandy ever so softly, "I rather enjoy playing God?"
The man named Press barely nodded. His eyes were still hopeless.
Outside, in the living room, Francis smiled politely at the blond secretary. "Had to tell her the yam," he said, as if he were saying, "Hello, how are you?"
Jane's pretty baby face was a perfect mask. "Oh, no," she moaned.
"Something's going to bust any minute. Pray I get hold of Althea before it does. Who's in there?"
"That man Press. The same one."
"I'm going to tell Grandy the duckling's lost her memory."
"Why?" Her pleasant smile might have been sculped on.
"For time," he said. "To tempt him. Be ready to get out of here,” he murmured, brushing by.
"Oh, Fran," moaned Jane.
Grandy s study door had a little whimsical knocker on the
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