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Camille promised herself that one day soon she would scout out those possibilities.
“Dearly and Simon have their apartment over the garage and assure me that they are satisfied with it as it is. You might be able to convince them that a new coat of paint wouldn’t hurt. Then when you’ve gained access, give it a good refurbishing,” he chuckled.
Camille noticed that Rayburn seemed to be fatigued. The tour had taken longer than she thought it would, and it was getting late. Sparing his pride, she faked a broad yawn and affected embarrassment over it. “I’m sorry, but I think the day has been more taxing than I had realized. I think I’ll go to bed now if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, of course,” he agreed hastily.
As they went down the stairs, she explained the procedure she would follow. “In the morning we’ll start looking through sample books and deciding on the basic changes you want made. When we have made all our choices, I’ll call my studio and they’ll order everything from there. While we’re waiting for the materials to come in, we can start doing some of the less glamorous jobs like sanding floors, painting, regrouting tiles, etcetera. I may need to hire some outside help for the heavier jobs. Will that be all right?”
“Anything you need, my dear, don’t hesitate to ask for.” He had escorted her to the back of the house, but she stopped him from seeing her any farther.
“I can go the rest of the way alone, Mr. Prescott. I’ll see you in the morning. Rest well.”
“You too, Camille. If you need anything, pick up the telephone extension and buzz Simon or Dearly. All of the buttons for each extension are well marked on the telephone.”
“Thank you. Good night.”
“Good night.” He paused before he added shyly, “I’m glad you’re here, Camille. I think you’ll be good for all of us.”
She turned and smiled, but, in her heart, she really didn’t agree with him. How could anything good come out of her being here under the same roof with a man whom she hated with reciprocated intensity?
She walked through the shadows to her room.
* * *
A soft breeze was stirring the sheer curtains at Camille’s window when she opened her eyes a fraction and realized that it was still very early. She had drawn down the shades while she was undressing the night before, but after she had turned out the light and climbed into the four-poster bed, she discovered that with the windows obscured, the room became stifling. She got up, pulled the shades open, and crept across the darkened room back to bed. The drone of the overhead fan’s motor and the cooling breeze soon lulled her to sleep despite her disturbing thoughts.
Now, she pushed back the sheet and tugged the tail of her nightshirt down over her bikini panties as she stumbled into the bathroom. She used the commode and was leaning over the sink, filling a glass with water, when she saw the snake coiled up behind the fixture.
Camille’s scream ripped the air, and she dropped the glass in the sink, shattering it into a thousand pieces against the porcelain. She stood frozen for an instant and then jumped quickly into the bathtub. A snake couldn’t get in there, could it? She screamed again when the long, striped snake began to uncoil. Over her whimpering she heard the front door open and then slam shut as heavy footsteps hurried in.
“Camille? Camille, are you all right?” Zack’s anxious voice barely penetrated her terrified mind as she stared in fixed horror at the snake.
Zack’s large frame filled the doorjamb. He was dressed for the plantation in faded work jeans and a blue chambray shirt. His straw cowboy hat was pushed back on his head and a pair of
leather gloves was sticking out of his belt.
He looked at Camille’s white face as she stood cowering in the bathtub, not even aware of the fetching picture she made. Camille was too distraught to notice that he took in every detail of her figure. The pink nightshirt was cut like a man’s dress shirt and just brushed the tops of her thighs. Her dark curls were in a tumbled tangle around her head.
“What in the hell is the matter with you?” he asked. He glanced quickly into the sink and seeing the broken glass asked, “Did you cut yourself?”
Camille pointed a shaking finger at the snake that had recoiled itself under the pedestal sink. “Snake,” she croaked hoarsely.
Zack leaned down and spotted the object of her terror. In disgust mingled with a touch of humor he swore, “Oh, for God’s sake.”
Camille watched with disbelieving eyes as he grasped the snake behind its head and lifted its writhing body off the floor. Zack looked at the snake and then at her, shook his head in consternation, and walked out of the room. Camille heard the door slam again. He was gone and the snake with him, but still she stood trembling in the middle of the bathtub.
No more than a few minutes could have passed before she heard her door open again and Zack returned to the bathroom. He stood there with his hands on his hips and stared at her scornfully.
“You scared the hell out of me when you screamed like that. Have you ever heard the story about the little boy who cried wolf?”
“He… he wasn’t… poisonous?” She could barely control her stuttering tongue and quivering lips.
“Hardly. He’s a friend of the family and lives in Dad’s garden. He’s a harmless garter snake.”
She was infuriated by his calm explanation. It didn’t matter to her what kind of snake it was. One species was as loathsome as another. She cried out defensively, “It could have been a water moccasin for all I knew.”
“A water moccasin is usually found near the water and is ugly, the color of mud. They don’t have the pretty stripes that our garter snake friends do.” He was mocking her in a sing-song voice like a kindergarten teacher would use on children, and she couldn’t take that mockery with her nerves already shattered as they were. Try though she did to hold them back, the tears came. Her shoulders shook and she stammered as she tried to speak. “I… I hate snakes.… I don’t care what kind they are.… They… it frightened me. I couldn’t… I couldn’t…”
