sight.
"Are you coming?" Paul called from up on the landing.
Irena pulled her gaze from the paintings. "Right behind you."
He was waiting for her in front of an open door along a short hall. Irena went past him into a small, immaculate room. There was a wardrobe chest and a bureau with plenty of drawer space. A big window looked out on the balcony at the front of the house. A fresh breeze stirred the white gauze curtains.
"I love it," Irena said.
"You'll probably want to decorate it to your own taste once you're moved in. Feel free to make any changes you want."
"Paul, I'm not sure I'll be staying here that long," she said.
The shadow crossed his face again. "Not staying here? What do you mean? This is your house as much as it is mine."
"It's just that I might want a place of my own. A little apartment, maybe. This house is so big."
Paul dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand. "There'll be plenty of time to talk about it." They walked back into the hall together. "My room is two doors down, on the other side of the bathroom. Now, since you're not ready to go to bed, I want to show you the playroom."
"Playroom?" Irena repeated.
"That's what I call it." Paul started toward the rear of the upper story. "Come on, I think you'll enjoy this."
He led her into a large, high-ceilinged room that was lit more brightly than the rest of the house. The walls were covered with wildly colored circus posters in styles that ranged from the early years of the century to the mid-1960s. Hanging from wall hooks were glittery circus costumes and clown suits. Everywhere there was circus memorabilia—an antique popcorn machine, the garish front of an old ticket booth, a side-show banner featuring a bearded lady, a lion tamer's whip, a pedestal for a performing animal, a wire-walker's parasol.
"Isn't this something?" Paul said.
Irena gazed around the room in wonder. "How did you ever get all these things together?"
"When I was old enough to move back here into the house I wrote all over the country asking people who might know what happened to the old Gallier Family Circus equipment. After Mother and Dad died all of it was sold off to pay the bills. Most of it is gone forever, of course, but whenever I could trace down a piece from the circus I'd buy it and have it shipped back here. For this room. I think the folks would have liked it." He broke off and looked at Irena sharply. "You don't mind my talking about them, do you?"
"No, it's all right. I know all about how they died, but I don't remember it. I suppose you'd call it a psychological block."
"I'd call it a blessing," Paul said. He looked around the room, his eyes glowing. "I really love it. The circus, I mean. I was training to be a performer, you know."
"No, I didn't."
"Oh, yes."
Without changing his expression, Paul suddenly flipped over backwards. Irena gasped in surprise. He hit the floor with the flat of his hands, flexed, and bounced catlike back to his feet. He grinned at her boyishly.
Irena laughed and clapped her hands. "That's wonderful."
"I think I would have made a pretty fair acrobat, don't you?"
"If that's an example, you'd have been terrific," Irena said.
"Oh, I have lots of other tricks, but I'll save them. There's no sense doing the whole show out in front, as Dad used to say."
Irena picked up a photo album from a table along one wall. It fell open to a picture of a handsome young couple—the man in whipcord breeches and boots, the woman in spangled tights. Irena showed the picture to Paul. "Is this our mother and father?"
"Yes. Notice how much they look like us?"
Irena studied the photograph. It was true, especially around the eyes. Allowing for differences in hair style and makeup over the past twenty years, the Phillip and Nora Gallier in the picture could have been their own son and daughter.
Irena flipped past several pages. She stopped at a faded old photo from which a heavy-browed man with a luxurious moustache gazed out at her with
"Are you coming?" Paul called from up on the landing.
Irena pulled her gaze from the paintings. "Right behind you."
He was waiting for her in front of an open door along a short hall. Irena went past him into a small, immaculate room. There was a wardrobe chest and a bureau with plenty of drawer space. A big window looked out on the balcony at the front of the house. A fresh breeze stirred the white gauze curtains.
"I love it," Irena said.
"You'll probably want to decorate it to your own taste once you're moved in. Feel free to make any changes you want."
"Paul, I'm not sure I'll be staying here that long," she said.
The shadow crossed his face again. "Not staying here? What do you mean? This is your house as much as it is mine."
"It's just that I might want a place of my own. A little apartment, maybe. This house is so big."
Paul dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand. "There'll be plenty of time to talk about it." They walked back into the hall together. "My room is two doors down, on the other side of the bathroom. Now, since you're not ready to go to bed, I want to show you the playroom."
"Playroom?" Irena repeated.
"That's what I call it." Paul started toward the rear of the upper story. "Come on, I think you'll enjoy this."
He led her into a large, high-ceilinged room that was lit more brightly than the rest of the house. The walls were covered with wildly colored circus posters in styles that ranged from the early years of the century to the mid-1960s. Hanging from wall hooks were glittery circus costumes and clown suits. Everywhere there was circus memorabilia—an antique popcorn machine, the garish front of an old ticket booth, a side-show banner featuring a bearded lady, a lion tamer's whip, a pedestal for a performing animal, a wire-walker's parasol.
"Isn't this something?" Paul said.
Irena gazed around the room in wonder. "How did you ever get all these things together?"
"When I was old enough to move back here into the house I wrote all over the country asking people who might know what happened to the old Gallier Family Circus equipment. After Mother and Dad died all of it was sold off to pay the bills. Most of it is gone forever, of course, but whenever I could trace down a piece from the circus I'd buy it and have it shipped back here. For this room. I think the folks would have liked it." He broke off and looked at Irena sharply. "You don't mind my talking about them, do you?"
"No, it's all right. I know all about how they died, but I don't remember it. I suppose you'd call it a psychological block."
"I'd call it a blessing," Paul said. He looked around the room, his eyes glowing. "I really love it. The circus, I mean. I was training to be a performer, you know."
"No, I didn't."
"Oh, yes."
Without changing his expression, Paul suddenly flipped over backwards. Irena gasped in surprise. He hit the floor with the flat of his hands, flexed, and bounced catlike back to his feet. He grinned at her boyishly.
Irena laughed and clapped her hands. "That's wonderful."
"I think I would have made a pretty fair acrobat, don't you?"
"If that's an example, you'd have been terrific," Irena said.
"Oh, I have lots of other tricks, but I'll save them. There's no sense doing the whole show out in front, as Dad used to say."
Irena picked up a photo album from a table along one wall. It fell open to a picture of a handsome young couple—the man in whipcord breeches and boots, the woman in spangled tights. Irena showed the picture to Paul. "Is this our mother and father?"
"Yes. Notice how much they look like us?"
Irena studied the photograph. It was true, especially around the eyes. Allowing for differences in hair style and makeup over the past twenty years, the Phillip and Nora Gallier in the picture could have been their own son and daughter.
Irena flipped past several pages. She stopped at a faded old photo from which a heavy-browed man with a luxurious moustache gazed out at her with
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