Fortune's rocks_ a novel - Anita Shreve [36]
As she draws nearer to the Highland Hotel, however, her progress grows more tentative. The hotel is grand in the way of many of the hotels scattered along that part of the coast; but none of them, she thinks, is as appealing as the Highland, with its excessively deep porches, its pristine white railings, and its black wicker rockers lined up against the railings like sentries on their watch. Men and women, on their way to and from the hotel, pass by her, carrying with them a distinct air of festivity. She watches as a cluster of employees poses on the steps of the hotel porch for a photograph; they seem unable to contain their merriment at the enterprise, much to the consternation of the hapless photographer. Behind them, plates of oysters are being passed among the many hotel guests, some of whom are splendidly dressed, the women with hats so large and ornate that they seem like lush peonies that might bend the slender stems beneath them. Other men and women, with racquets in hand, lounge less formally at the far end of the porch and appear to be waiting for a game of tennis to begin.
Her eye scans the porch and pauses at a figure seated in a rocker. Collarless and hatless, he is reading a pamphlet. She stops abruptly in the sand. Her sudden stillness must stand out in the scene, for he glances in her direction.
She turns around and begins to walk briskly along the beach, her boots in her hand. She can hear nothing but the surf of foolishness in her head: Whatever was she thinking to be so bold as to present herself at the hotel? Knowing that she might encounter Haskell? Knowing how inappropriate such a presentation would be? With her body bent forward, she is determined to retreat to the other end of the beach as soon as possible. And so it is that she does not at first hear her name called, and it is only when she feels a restraining hand upon her arm that she stops and turns.
“Olympia,” Haskell says, breathless from trying to overtake her. “I spotted you from the porch.”
She drops her skirts.
He bends to catch his breath. “I have regretted not having had the chance to visit with you and your father,” he says, “as I very much enjoyed my stay with your family.”
“And we as well,” she says politely.
He rights himself and puts his hands on his hips. “And how are your father and mother?” he asks. “Well, I trust?”
“Oh, yes, very well,” she answers. “And Mrs. Haskell and the children? Are they with you on this holiday?”
“No,” he says. “I must be at the clinic in an hour, and I have given most of the others the afternoon off. It seemed pointless to send for Catherine when I could not join her in the festivities. In any event, I shall be with her in York tomorrow.”
Olympia crooks an arm over her forehead to shade her eyes from the light. She is forced to look up at Haskell in order to speak to him.
“And how is your work at the clinic?” she asks.
“Difficult,” he says without hesitation. “There has not been sufficient time for me to reorganize the staff in the way it must be done, and I am still awaiting supplies and medicines from Boston, which have been unpardonably late in arriving.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” she says.
“Oh, I think we shall manage all right. Although I shall be dreadfully short-staffed this afternoon,” he adds, putting his hands into his trouser pockets. He seems to have recovered his breath. “May I accompany you back to wherever you are going?” he asks. “I should welcome an opportunity to greet your father if he is here with you.”
His eyes scan her face.
She turns, and they begin to walk toward the bonfire. The beach slopes precipitously, and she is nearly as tall as he is.