Sam looked around the parlor with approval. "You have a lovely home, Mr.
Marston." She sipped her whiskey and water with lady-like delicacy. The
facets of the glass caught shards of candlelight and threw them back into
the room.
Marston shifted in his chair. "I'm glad you like it, Miss Flanagan." With an effort he managed not to gulp his own drink.
It had taken most of two hours but the shock had eventually worn off. There had been an unspoken agreement between them not to discuss the situation until after dinner. The result was one of the most enjoyable meals he had ever experienced. But now he wanted answers from his very unexpected guest.
His initial impression remained. She was a very attractive young woman in her mid-twenties. When she returned from washing up before dinner, he saw that her hair was even more golden without a layer of dust from the trip. Her personality was vivacious, her smile charming. The only sign that she was less than fully confident of her reception was the strained look in her eyes.
After a minute examination of the carved mantel over the fireplace, she faced him directly. "I suppose I owe you an explanation, don't I?"
He set his glass down on the table with a bit more force than he intended. "You owe me nothing. I would never demand anything from such a charming guest." He leaned forward and clasped his hands in front of him. "However -" He cocked an eyebrow in her direction. "- just to satisfy my own curiosity, you understand - is your name really Sam?"
Her dimples appeared briefly. "Yes. Dad was so sure I was going to be a boy that he told everyone he knew that I would be his namesake. Then when I was born he didn't want to go back on his word."
In spite of himself, he smiled back. "A man of his word, indeed."
"Of course, when the boys were born, he kicked himself for giving away the 'best' name." Her ponytail bobbed in the air when she laughed.
The atmosphere in the room was lighter now. Marston made his move. "You don't have to give me an explanation. I am the richer for our acquaintance. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed myself so much over a meal." He walked over to the sideboard and opened a box on the top. After selecting a cigar and rolling it between his fingers, he strolled back to his chair. "I'll miss it when you go back to Fremantle next week."
"I thought the work would take longer than that. In your letter you offered a twelve-month contract." Her fingers clutched her now empty glass. "You are very hard on your employees."
"You are not my employee." He leaned forward and lit his cigar at the nearest candle. "I did not hire you."
"You hired Sam Flanagan to come out here and take on a job for you." She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "That's what it says in the letter you sent me. I have it right here."
He swallowed and gripped his cigar tighter. It was hard to believe that she was wearing the same sort of linen shirt he wore for working outside. He had never noticed before that they were so roomy in the front.
"Miss Flanagan, I sent that letter to a man with an established reputation as an armed security agent. This.." He struggled for the word. "..substitution is not acceptable to me." He picked up his glass and drained it.
"You sent that letter to a man who no longer exists." Sam looked away from him to the fire.
"He's dead?" Marston frowned.
"May God forgive me, sometimes I wish that were true." Her head fell forward into her hands and her shoulders shook with sobs.
Marston shifted in his chair. "I'm glad you like it, Miss Flanagan." With an effort he managed not to gulp his own drink.
It had taken most of two hours but the shock had eventually worn off. There had been an unspoken agreement between them not to discuss the situation until after dinner. The result was one of the most enjoyable meals he had ever experienced. But now he wanted answers from his very unexpected guest.
His initial impression remained. She was a very attractive young woman in her mid-twenties. When she returned from washing up before dinner, he saw that her hair was even more golden without a layer of dust from the trip. Her personality was vivacious, her smile charming. The only sign that she was less than fully confident of her reception was the strained look in her eyes.
After a minute examination of the carved mantel over the fireplace, she faced him directly. "I suppose I owe you an explanation, don't I?"
He set his glass down on the table with a bit more force than he intended. "You owe me nothing. I would never demand anything from such a charming guest." He leaned forward and clasped his hands in front of him. "However -" He cocked an eyebrow in her direction. "- just to satisfy my own curiosity, you understand - is your name really Sam?"
Her dimples appeared briefly. "Yes. Dad was so sure I was going to be a boy that he told everyone he knew that I would be his namesake. Then when I was born he didn't want to go back on his word."
In spite of himself, he smiled back. "A man of his word, indeed."
"Of course, when the boys were born, he kicked himself for giving away the 'best' name." Her ponytail bobbed in the air when she laughed.
The atmosphere in the room was lighter now. Marston made his move. "You don't have to give me an explanation. I am the richer for our acquaintance. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed myself so much over a meal." He walked over to the sideboard and opened a box on the top. After selecting a cigar and rolling it between his fingers, he strolled back to his chair. "I'll miss it when you go back to Fremantle next week."
"I thought the work would take longer than that. In your letter you offered a twelve-month contract." Her fingers clutched her now empty glass. "You are very hard on your employees."
"You are not my employee." He leaned forward and lit his cigar at the nearest candle. "I did not hire you."
"You hired Sam Flanagan to come out here and take on a job for you." She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "That's what it says in the letter you sent me. I have it right here."
He swallowed and gripped his cigar tighter. It was hard to believe that she was wearing the same sort of linen shirt he wore for working outside. He had never noticed before that they were so roomy in the front.
"Miss Flanagan, I sent that letter to a man with an established reputation as an armed security agent. This.." He struggled for the word. "..substitution is not acceptable to me." He picked up his glass and drained it.
"You sent that letter to a man who no longer exists." Sam looked away from him to the fire.
"He's dead?" Marston frowned.
"May God forgive me, sometimes I wish that were true." Her head fell forward into her hands and her shoulders shook with sobs.