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“Agreed.” He smiled.
“If it turns out the way I think it will, he’ll love it. I’ll give it every ounce of talent I have. It’ll probably end up being the showplace of the mansion.” She laughed. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and Zack joined her laughter. It warmed her heart to see him relax somewhat after being so tense. The lines around his eyes testified that he was tired and hadn’t been sleeping well even when he was home for that purpose.
Their encounter in the hallway the night after Rayburn’s attack had made them wary of each other. They were like two fencers, choreographed in a strange ballet, thrusting and parrying with each other’s words and emotions. Around other people they appeared to be close friends, sharing a common concern over a loved one. In private, they were edgy, uncommunicative, careful.
Camille wasn’t nearly as afraid of Zack as she was of herself. She had stormed into her room that night, disgusted with herself for allowing him to make love to her that way. Love? No! Love played no part in his embraces. Hadn’t he as much as said he only wanted her. Then. For the moment. “I need you tonight,” he had cried in a soft whisper. He needed a woman, a body. Camille Jameson just happened to be the only one there.
If he had said, “I love you,” what would she have done? She admitted ruefully that she would have thrown herself into his arms and begged him never to release her. Her love for him was a part of her, and, though Zack would never return it, she knew that as long as she lived she would love him. She had ever since Snow Bird.
It wasn’t fair of him to continue seducing her body when it was her soul that cried out for him. Then she remembered how his lips felt against her own, against her flesh, how his hands were demanding and gentle at the same time, and how his body displayed such evident desire for hers. She confessed that her physical longing was a very real part of her love. But without love, desire became a sham, a surrogate for the real thing, and Camille couldn’t settle for less than love, even with Zack.
She resolved to prevent herself from getting into a situation where his advances would make her susceptible to surrender. She would do her job and be his friend in this time of need, and that was all. Her love for him would be her secret, something treasured in private. She wouldn’t allow it to be visible to him or anyone else.
Despite everyone’s assurance that Rayburn would be watched closely twenty-four hours a day, Zack insisted that he stay in the hospital room with his father at night.
“He’s been hooked up to those machines that monitor everything, but now he’s on his own in there. I want to be around if… if anything happens.” He argued with an army of nurses and then with Dr. Daniels, but he remained adamant.
Camille was worried about him. She could tell by his gaunt face and quivering voice that he was exhausted, and his nerves were frayed like an old rope, ready to snap at any instant as he prevailed upon George Daniels.
“Very well, Zack. You’re a grown man, and bigger than I am, so I couldn’t physically throw you out,” Dr. Daniels conceded grudgingly.
“I’ll rest during the day when there are a lot of nurses and doctors around to take care of Dad.”
So it was settled, and there seemed to be nothing anyone could do about it.
In the daytime Camille was too involved with the restoration to see Rayburn as much as she would like. She tried to soothe his petulant whining about this when she managed to run to the hospital for a brief visit. It was difficult not to give away the surprise about his new bedroom that was taking up so much of her time. She wanted it to be finished by the time he came home from the hospital. It would be her get-well present for him.
She remembered him telling her how he moved all of his plants into the house during the winter and how crowded it became. She expounded on that idea and decided that, structurally, the screened back porch was the solution to settling Rayburn in a room downstairs. She contacted a carpenter who had the time available to enclose the room. Glass was put inside the screens so that the open-air look was not sacrificed. Camille ordered woven-wood window coverings that could be raised or lowered depending on the natural light desired or privacy required. She wanted to leave him an unobstructed view of the grounds he loved.
She divided the long room in half. One side became a bedroom complete with a small bath that was conveniently connected to the existing plumbing. The other half of the room she made into a den. The floor was covered with indoor-outdoor carpet. His favorite easy chair was re-covered in a new, bold fabric using the earth-tones color scheme Camille had chosen. His television set, bookcases, and personal items were moved from the room upstairs. With Zack’s hearty approval, a few new pieces were added. Camille and Simon filled the den with plants. She installed a humidifier both for Rayburn’s comfort and the health of the tropical plants. Everyone in the household was involved in the project and did their best to hurry along its completion. Camille was satisfied with the results and only regretted that the lovely furniture upstairs, the tester bed, the rosewood armoire, would not be used by the head of the house any longer. But Rayburn’s health was far more important than furniture.
Zack liked the new arrangement. During the day, his father would be within calling distance of Dearly as she worked in the kitchen. The downstairs rooms would make it easier on the Mitchells, who were past middle-age, as they helped Rayburn to convalesce. All in all, Camille’s idea had been the solution to their problem, and she glowed under Zack’s praise when he saw the rooms taking shape.
He had been at the hospital five nights straight, and, when he came home long enough to hurriedly gulp down dinner, Camille was astonished at how fatigued he looked.
Later in her room, she was restless, pacing the floor of the dowager house. Her concern for Zack was no less than her worry over Rayburn. He was too stubborn to admit that he would do his father little good if he became ill, too. She had made the mistake of pointing that fact out to him
. After he left Dearly and Simon had sympathized with her for his verbal abuse. It had been a nasty scene before he grabbed his jacket and stormed from the house.
“It doesn’t matter,” she reasoned with them. “He’s so tired, he doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
She couldn’t rest, and, after convincing herself that she was doing the right thing, she went into the kitchen of the main house, made a telephone call, raided the refrigerator, and left for the hospital.
Camille opened the door of Rayburn’s room apprehensively, but determined. It was dark inside, with only one nightlight giving faint illumination. She could tell by his even breathing that Rayburn was in a deep, drug-induced sleep. Zack was standing by the window. His hands were supporting him against the sill as he leaned his forehead on the cold glass panes.
He turned when she came in, and she saw the surprise on his weary face. “I thought you were a nurse. What are you doing here? Is anything wrong at home?” His voice was tired.
“No. Everyone else is fine. You’re the one who looks and feels like hell.” He glowered at her from under lowered brows, and she stifled an impulse to laugh.
“Thanks,” he said succinctly.
“You’re welcome,” she replied sweetly. “I brought you a snack. Cold roast beef sandwich, apple, and homemade cookies. Eat it,” she commanded. He hesitated only a moment, then sank gratefully into a deep chair. She pulled up a small table and spread the food out for him. “I’ll be back in a minute with some milk. No more coffee for you tonight.” Without waiting for his protest, she walked smartly toward the door and went through it with a toss of her head.
When she came back after buying a container of milk out of a vending machine, she noticed that the sandwich had already disappeared and Zack was working on the apple. As he chewed, he tried to keep the apple from crunching loudly in the stillness of the room. She suppressed a giggle at his effort and received another dark, glowering look for her attempted levity. He finished the light meal in silence, and drank the milk in one long swallow.
“Very good. Thank you.” Zack wiped his mouth with the paper napkin she had brought and began putting the wastepaper in the small brown sack that had held his snack.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. I’ll be right back.” She left again, but returned only seconds later. Zack had resumed his position beside the window and was rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and trying unsuccessfully to cover a yawn with the other. Camille walked in with a militant-looking nurse behind her carrying aloft a long, intimidating hypodermic needle.
