Part 125 (1/2)

was four or five years Blackpool's senior.

”Atta girl,” he said with a chuckle. ”Bite your tongue.”

But she didn't smile. ”It's just that she's been so sheltered.”

”Of course, Mother Superior.”

”Cram it, Johnno.” She picked up her drink again, and kept her eye on

Blackpool. The name suited him, she thought. He had dark, lush hair

and favored black clothes. Leathers, suedes, silks. He had one of

those moody, sensual faces. Heathcliff, as Emma had always imagined

him. And she'd always thought Bronta's character more self-destructive

than heroic. Beside him, Marianne looked like a bright, slender candle

ready to be lit.

”I'm only saying that she's spent most of her life in that d.a.m.n school.”

”In the bed next to yours,” Johnno pointed out.

She wasn't in the mood to laugh. ”All right, that's true. But I also

had all that time with all of you, seeing things, being a part of

things. Marianne went from school, to camp, to her father's estate. I

know she puts on a front, but she's very n;ve.”

”I'd give odds on our favorite redhead. Blackpool's slick, dear, but

he's not a monster.”

”Of course not.” But she was going to keep her eye on Marianne

nonetheless. She lifted the cigarette again, then froze.

Someone had put on a new alb.u.m. The Beatles. Abbey Road The first cut

on the A side.

”Emma.” Alarmed, Johnno gripped her wrist. Her pulse was scrambling,

her skin was ice. ”What the h.e.l.l? Emma, look here.”

”He say one and one and one is three.