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The young man who rose to his feet gave Alexa a rather diffident smile along with his polite bow. His deep, pleasant voice held only the very slightest trace of an accent. “I am deeply honored to make your acquaintance, Miss Howard.”
“There. I knew you two would like each other.” Letty Dearborn gave one of her loud, rather raucous laughs as she winked significantly at Alexa, her eyes twinkling. “Didn’t I say so, Paul? He’s an absolute love, you know. Don’t know what I’d do without him.”
Later, after the decanter of sherry had been brought around and the conversation became general, Alexa had an opportunity to study Mrs. Dearborn’s latest foreman from under the shadow of her lashes when he did not happen to be looking in her direction. He was quite a handsome man, she had already decided; well-built and muscular, and of medium height. He had brown, sun-streaked hair that was slightly wavy and hazel eyes that could look quite green from certain angles. In fact, his eyes and olive skin had given her a sudden, almost unpleasant start when she had first entered the room. But the Senhor da Rocha, who had been born in Brazil of Portuguese parents, not only had charming manners but was obviously a gentleman as well. His father owned a large coffee plantation in South America, and he knew almost everything there was to know about the cultivation and harvesting of the coffee bean, Alexa soon discovered.
Aunt Harriet had faded rather purposefully into the background soon after Alexa had entered the room; almost forcing her to play the hostess. After Alexa had, rather defiantly, imbibed two glasses of sherry, it did not seem hard to play the part. In fact, by the time that dinner had been announced and they went in to take their places at the large, formally laid dining table, they were all talking as comfortably together as if they had been friends for many years.
Until tonight, Alexa had not realized that the formal dining room was such a very big room or that the mahogany dining table, even with all the extra leaves taken out, was quite so large. By habit, she had taken her usual place, and now she turned to Mrs. Dearborn rather apologetically.
“Perhaps we should have dined more informally in the parlor, as Aunt Harriet and I usually do. I feel as if we shall have to positively scream at each other in order to continue our conversation.”
“My dear, I love to have the opportunity to dine formally and to get all dressed up, and in any case I always scream, as you should have discovered by now. The loudest voice at any gathering, I’m afraid!” Letty Dearborn gave one of her shouts of laughter again before she added, “Now I’ll be able to talk the rest of you down, won’t I?”
Thanks to Aunt Harriet, everything was just right, from the silver place settings to the arrangement of crystal wineglasses by every silver-rimmed dinner plate. And Alexa had no doubt that the cook and the houseboys had received careful instructions on how each course was to be prepared and how it was to be served. There were so many things that she would have to learn if she was to play the hostess more often.
“But where is Martin? Don’t tell me you are still allowing him to mope and remain shut up by himself in his room like some desert hermit? God’s sake, Harriet. I’d have thought that you of all people would have shaken him out of it by now. Life must go on in spite of everything, mustn’t it? And death’s something we should all learn to accept before it’s our turn, eh?”
Trust Letty Dearborn to speak out with blunt frankness, no matter what the subject might be, Alexa thought wryly during that first frozen second that followed her speech. Even Aunt Harriet coul
d not seem to find the right response, so that Alexa felt almost compelled to say some- thing.
“I’m afraid that Papa is still far too...” Hesitating over her choice of words, Alexa suddenly felt, for a frozen moment, her breathing stop.
“You’re afraid Papa is what? Well, Letty, so here you are, always to be counted on, thank goodness. Wouldn’t miss dinner with you for anything, my dear. Apologize for coming down so late, though. Damn stupid boy didn’t have my clothes ready.”
Papa? Alexa’s head turned stiffly, as if she had been turned into a wooden marionette. It was Papa, but he looked so different somehow. His dinner jacket was slightly creased and he looked as if he might have started to grow a beard, as many men had begun doing since it had become fashionable. And he had grown so thin! His formal evening clothes that used to fit so perfectly now seemed almost to hang on his gaunt frame, and his eyes were still red-rimmed as they had been on the last occasion she had set eyes on him. But...but oh! Alexa thought suddenly with a rush of emotion, what did anything count for beside the fact that he had roused himself out of his stupor of grief somehow, and was here?
“Martin! Why—I suppose I just did not think that...” Alexa had never heard Aunt Harriet stammer before. And the next moment she found herself unutterably thankful again for Letty Dearborn, who shouted cheerfully across the room in her usual down-to-earth fashion and gave them all time to recover from the shock it had been.
“Well, here you are at last, Martin. Was just asking about you! Harvest time’s almost here, you know, and we’ve missed you at our meetings!”
Out of the corners of her eyes Alexa could see the confused servants scurrying about quickly to set a place at the head of the table where Papa always sat. She saw him frown when he noticed, but as always he was too much of a gentleman to deliver a reproof before guests, although he mumbled almost under his breath, “Can’t understand what’s got into the lazy blighters! Act as if they’ve forgotten everything they’ve been taught.” And then he said to the head boy in an irritable voice: “Yes, yes! Of course you may bring around the wine. But you can bring me a glass of brandy, if the ladies will forgive me, of course? Very warming, brandy. Isn’t that right, Mr.—? Have we met? Letty, you’re forgetting your manners again. Haven’t introduced us yet.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Martin. But you know what a scatterbrain I can be sometimes. This is Paul da Rocha, my new foreman. He’s from Brazil, where his father owns a very large coffee plantation.”
“A pleasure, sir.”
Why, Alexa thought suddenly—while dear Letty Dearborn kept up a flow of brisk, loud chatter—why, Papa’s drunk! Quite drunk. Seated at his side, she could smell the almost overpowering fumes of alcohol on his breath. And although at this moment she did not dare attempt to catch Harriet’s eye, she realized that of course her aunt had to know. She must have known all the time that he’d been sitting there in his room trying to drink himself into a state of forgetfulness, poor Papa!
“Well, Martin, and what do you think of the latest prices they’re offering us?”
“What? Beg your pardon, Letty, but it seems as if I forget things too easily these days; must be getting old. Victorine always tells me...” And then, as if with an effort, his head seemed to swivel around as his eyes, glazed and unfocused, became fixed on Alexa’s whitening face. His voice sounded puzzled and rather querulous. “But my dear, why are you sitting here? You know you usually sit at the head of the table when we have guests—or did they forget to set your place too? Can’t understand what’s got into them! Boy!” He rose rather clumsily, extending his hand to her; and like an animated puppet Alexa rose too, feeling the sudden silence grow and grow all around them while her mind almost forgot to function. “Blast your hide, Carolis, you’ve been with us long enough to know better. Set Lady’s place at once, d’you hear?” And then, with one of his old, merry smiles and an apologetic shrug he murmured “Sorry, Letty. Got to put them in their places sometimes when they need reminding, eh? I want to hear about the latest prices again though. Can’t understand why the figures seem to have slipped my mind.”
He thought... Papa actually imagined... Alexa’s hands had turned ice-cold and even her lips felt as if they had been frozen, so that she could not move them except with an effort. Only her legs seemed to move on their own as Papa escorted her, with old-fashioned gallantry, to her mother’s usual place at the bottom of the table, pulling back the heavy chair for her.
“There, my dear. And now you’re in your rightful place.”
All she could manage to do was incline her head slightly. Perhaps she had smiled; she could not remember. But suddenly she felt as if she was living a nightmare. What should she do or say now? How was she supposed to act?
Once again Alexa had cause to feel grateful towards Letty, who immediately embarked on an animated discussion as soon as Papa had returned to his seat again. And this time the young foreman also joined in, enabling Alexa to risk glancing, at last, in Harriet’s direction, finding that her aunt’s face was as paper-white as hers must be, although Harriet of course was watching Papa and Alexa could not catch her eye.
The servants, not understanding too much beyond the fact that the missy was now in the place that had been the lady’s, were now looking to Alexa for the little signals that her mother used to give when one course was to be removed and the next served or when a wineglass was to be filled. She discovered that fortunately her memory served her well; or else she acted on instinct alone as she managed to do what was suddenly expected of her. That much she could manage—but she could not force herself to eat, although she was able to make a pretense of doing so by pushing her food about on her plate and occasionally lifting a fork to her lips.
Dinner had never seemed so interminable, Alexa thought, especially since she longed for it to end. But how would it end? She had not been able to help noticing how many times Papa had signaled to have his glass refilled; and she had even begun to hope that he would drop off to sleep in his chair. Almost anything would be preferable to the ordeal that this evening had turned into.
But somehow, in spite of all her hopes, he managed to stay awake and even reasonably alert; and Alexa found in the end that just as she had feared and dreaded, there was still one more act of what had become a ghastly charade to be gone through.
“My dear?” Papa was giving her that quizzical look which meant... Oh, God, what should she do now? What must she do? Now at last she finally caught Aunt Harriet’s eyes and the speaking, almost pleading look in them that made her force a smile somehow and draw in her breath before saying brightly, as she had heard her mother say on so many occasions before, “Will the gentlemen give us leave to retire?” She could not help it if her voice sounded strained and brittle, even in her own ears. As strained as her nerves, which might snap at any moment and had almost reached that point when she heard Papa use the same words he had always used, accompanied by the same loving smile.
