Chapter 10 Cynthia
Cynthia
As she moved quietly along the hall, the muffled sounds of youthful voices could be heard through the room assigned to Pauline’s cousins, Freddie and Patsy.
A shaft of sunlight fell across the polished oak floorboards creaking gently under her feet.
The door to Pauline’s room remained firmly shut as she paused in front of it.
No sound emerged from within. Cynthia considered turning around to return to her own room.
Perhaps it was not the done thing to rise early in the Mayhew household.
At the base of the stairs, she paused, torn between the hammock she knew lay just beyond the front door and the quiet clink of cutlery against china somewhere in the opposite direction.
The bracing scent of coffee floated towards her.
That decided it. She turned to the interior of the house, hoping that Mr. Mayhew could be found at the head of the dining room table.
He had been so welcoming at the train station.
As she came in sight of the dining room threshold, Mrs. Mayhew’s slim frame sat facing the doorway.
She lowered her coffee cup and gestured towards the table.
No other seat was occupied, and Cynthia hesitated as to which to choose.
Somehow she had the sense that Mrs. Mayhew was not particularly pleased to see her.
Leaving a protective space between them seemed the thing to do.
“Good morning, Cynthia. I trust the room was adequate to your needs?” Mrs. Mayhew said, placing her coffee cup in its matching saucer.
A wafer-thin slice of toast and a wedge of cantaloupe sat untouched on a plate before her.
Placed at her right hand lay a pad of paper and a slim gold pen.
As Cynthia drew closer, she could read the words evening frock, bathing suit, and sundresses written in an elegant, spiky script.
She lowered herself into a chair two removed from her hostess and nodded as Mrs. Mayhew lifted a porcelain coffee pot, her eyebrows raised in question.
“The room is lovely. Everything about your home is simply beautiful.”
Mrs. Mayhew shrugged, her slim shoulders moving elegantly beneath a pale-yellow twinset.
Even at such an early hour, she was dressed for the day—every hair in place; lipstick, perfume, and powder all flawlessly applied.
A string of creamy pearls adorned her neck, matching drops dangling from her small earlobes.
“Aren’t you sweet?” She lifted her cup once more and leveled her dark gaze over its rim. After taking a sip, she lowered it again. “So, tell me, Cynthia, what is it that your father does?”
It was a simple enough question, but there was something in Mrs. Mayhew’s tone that made it feel like a test. For a moment she was tempted to embellish her family background, but the impulse faded as quickly as it came upon her.
Surely her hostess would discover any untruths, and that would be far more embarrassing than it would be to simply own up to her family’s middle-class status.
She sat up as straight as possible. Posture was power, after all.
“He’s an insurance agent.”
Mrs. Mayhew’s eyes widened in her face before she recovered herself. “Really? I believe you are the first of our guests to be able to make such a claim.”
What could she possibly say to that? It was likely a statement of fact, but one with barbed hooks.
She had endured similar comments during her time at college.
She had yet to come up with a response that did not sound defensive.
It felt even more awkward coming from her hostess rather than a classmate.
“I shall be sure to let him know of his singularity,” she said, hoping that would not give offense.
“How is it that the daughter of an insurance agent came to be at Barlow?” Her tone was one of incredulity, and Cynthia fought down another wave of defensiveness.
“One of my neighbors attended Barlow and spoke of her time there so fondly I decided to apply.”
“And just like that, they admitted you?” She raised one thin eyebrow and looked Cynthia up and down.
“I believe my academic record had something to do with it. Since I was the valedictorian of my high school class, I decided to apply to schools with rigorous expectations.”
“How very ambitious of you.” Mrs. Mayhew allowed a brief smile to flit across her face. Fortunately, she spoke again before Cynthia was forced to think of a reply to what could only be considered an insult. “I wonder if you might do me the most enormous favor.”
Cynthia nodded reflexively. Despite Mrs. Mayhew’s barbed remarks, she would be pleased to help. It was the least she could do to thank her generous hostess.
“It would be my pleasure.” Cynthia hoped her voice did not betray her nerves. Mrs. Mayhew was an intimidating woman.
“How kind. In a typical display of self-centeredness, my brother-in-law and his wife have telephoned to say that their arrival has been delayed for another day or two and that they will not be available to watch their children. The result of their poor planning is that my shopping trip with Pauline today is endangered.” Her gaze lingered on Cynthia once more, and her smile tightened.
“I shouldn’t think that a girl like you would wish to tag along, now, would you? ”
Cynthia hesitated to respond. Did Mrs. Mayhew mean to imply that she didn’t care about her appearance, or that, for someone of her station, shopping could not make much difference?
Her spirits sank. She had seen that same look on the faces of the mothers of her other roommates, Carol and Sharon, as well.
Their messages had all telegraphed that she was not good enough to be an intimate of their daughters’.
Before she could come to a decision, Mrs. Mayhew narrowed her eyes and looked Cynthia up and down.
“Could I count on you to babysit for me today? Pauline is in dire need of a freshening to her wardrobe, and I had scheduled a trip to Portland to take her to the shops for a few desperately needed items. She is hardly fit to be seen in last year’s summer clothes. ”
Cynthia had long admired Pauline’s vast wardrobe.
She had never known her roommate to be less than beautifully turned out, but perhaps Mrs. Mayhew’s standards were higher than her own.
Be that as it may, she liked Freddie and Patsy.
They reminded her of the kids she babysat during the school year to pick up some spending money.
As generous as her scholarship had been in covering tuition, room, and board, there were still many costs that were unmet.
Every time she needed toiletries, hygiene products, or an occasional trip to the university soda fountain, she needed to find a way to pay for them on her own.
“No, Mrs. Mayhew. I’d be happy to watch the children.”
Mrs. Mayhew smiled triumphantly. “I knew that you would be agreeable. I already instructed the cook to prepare a picnic for the three of you. You will take them to the beach for the day as soon as you have had your breakfast.” Mrs. Mayhew carefully placed her napkin on the table in front of her.
She pushed back her chair and rose to her feet.
“Be sure to have them back, bathed, and ready to greet our guests by the time I return with Pauline for the cocktail party this evening.”
Cynthia watched as her hostess glided out of the dining room. Had she just been relegated to the role of unpaid nanny? Part of her wished to be offended, but mostly she was relieved to be freed of Mrs. Mayhew’s presence.