High Tide at Noon Read Online Free PDF Page B

lettin’ any of this Island trash get near his daughter.”
    â€œI can get out when I want to!” she said, her cheeks scarlet.
    For a long moment they looked at each other. Then Simon said, “Round ’bout ha-past-eight, I’ll be up at the Whitcomb place.”
    She thrust her hands into her pockets and walked by him without another glance. “Don’t disappoint me, Jo,” he murmured. He didn’t touch her, yet his voice halted her as his hand might have. She turned to look at him, and all at once that sense of adventure was back again, clamoring in her blood, sending a liquid brightness into her eyes, and softening the curve of her young mouth.
    Then, with the unpredictable whimsy of a young colt, she began to run, straight down the path to the open meadow beyond.

4
    O WEN WAS GOING TO PLAY POOL at the clubhouse after supper, and Joanna went along with him. Hugo was already there when they arrived, knocking balls about the table. The main building was kept locked, to keep the children away from the glossy hardwood dance floor—capital for sliding—but all club members had their keys. Most of the young crowd joined when they were the required sixteen years, and had saved up the fee for a life membership—ten dollars.
    Hugo’s eyes held a darkling twinkle. “Hello, mates. Look what I got!” With a conjuror’s flourish he brought a flat bottle out of his boot.
    â€œWhere’d you get it?” said Owen skeptically. “They say you can go blind, drinking that cheap stuff.”
    â€œHell, nothin’ cheap about this!” Hugo was affronted. “Forest Merrill’s old man got it off a boat yesterday, outside the Rock. It’s pure Scotch whiskey.”
    â€œI’ll tell you about that after I try it.”
    â€œYou know a lot about it,” said Joanna. “You never even tasted pure Scotch whiskey.”
    â€œShut up. You playing?”
    â€œNope.” Her tone was carefully airy. “I’m going over to Gunnar’s and see Kristi for a while.”
    As she reached the door Hugo called after her. “Hey, Jo!” Leaning over the table he grinned like a very good-natured devil. “What did Charles say? You know—”
    â€œI’m not letting her tell you and she ought to know better,” said Owen with sudden brotherly propriety. “Go on, beat it, Jo.”
    â€œAw, you just want to tell him yourself!” Joanna made a face at him and went out. The cool dark wind blew against her hot face as she went up the lane toward the Whitcomb place. It loomed large and pale against the vast blackness of the woods. How very silent the Island was tonight, she thought; it semed to be listening, holding its breath. . . .
    A tiny red glow near the steps was Simon’s cigarette. She saw it move, and heard his soft voice.
    â€œHello, there.” He put his arm around her. “What are you shaking for? Cold? Come on.” His arm urged her up the steps, he opened a door, and she recoiled from the chill blackness of the house.
    â€œIs it all right?” she whispered huskily.
    â€œSure it’s all right. My dad keeps the key. Nobody’ll ever know, sweetheart.” He was so near, yet unseen, that his breath was warm against her cheek.
    They went through the cold silence of the house into the front room. It was like moving in a dream. Everything was strange and unknown; not the least strange was the nearness of Simon. She could smell the stuff he put on his face after he shaved, the clean dampness of his hair; she could imagine how it looked, its red darkened by the wet comb as it sprang into waves. She could smell his sweater, too, soft and woolly. At last he stopped her and put his arms around her, and she was glad, because he was real and she was so queerly afraid. Not of the dark; she’d never been afraid of the dark. . . .
    Simon kissed her. His mouth was gentle and oddly hot against her