Read Vicky Banning for Free Online

of course you are,” Vicky said with great sympathy. She switched her look, abruptly, to one of confusion. “But what has that to do with my son?”
    “We know what happened to him because he worked there,” Burton mumbled.
    “ My son?” Vicky laughed. “My son is a banker in Boston ,” she said. Or a butcher in Barstow , or a baker in Berkeley , ” Vicky thought. Whatever’s convenient. “What made you think he worked at Three Mile Island ?”
    It was Burton ’s turn to look confused, but his look extended into total consternation. “Didn’t you tell Sarah”—he halted, realizing that he’d let the name slip out but, since he couldn’t retract it, continued—“that you and your husband, a Swedish count, had a son who turned black after the incident at Three Mile? That the man who carried your bags into The Sanctuary was your son?”
    Vicky’s eyes and mouth flew open with surprise. She allowed a long pause and held the pose until she was sure it had registered, then chuckled softly before letting it blossom into full- chested (such as it was) laughter, watching all the while as the group of “bystanders” drew near. “My son?” she said, between gasps, she forced her laughter to subside to a Cheshire grin. “The man who carried my bags was a taxi driver, an extremely nice and intelligent gentleman, I might add. I’m sure that any woman would be proud to call him her son, but how could anyone imagine him to be mine?
    “As for my husband, I don’t remember mentioning to Sarah that I was even married, much less to a Swedish count. It’s a lovely thought, I must say, but I’m afraid I’ve never met one, much less having married one. Banning is an English name, not Swedish, and Gerald, my son’s father, was an actor.” A little truth can’t hurt. “From Akron .” Not too much, though. “Tell me,” she said, lowering her voice to a stage whisper, “does Sarah often make up stories? Or maybe like to tipple a bit? Poor dear, she must be older than I thought. Probably doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.”
    Burton looked dumbfounded. “But, when the driver left, you told him not to forget to write.”
    Vicky nodded. “As I said, he’s a very intelligent man. He told me that when he gets home from work he’s so tired that he often forgets to work on the book he’s writing. So I said to him…oh, my goodness…and you thought I meant for him to write to me .” Effervescent giggles burst forth from her again.
    While Vicky was so engaged, Burton turned away from her, leading with his firm lower jaw, to glare at Sarah, who had made her way to the forefront of the observers. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time,” he snapped at her. “Always the troublemaker, aren’t you?” He stood, stretched his long, lean body to its fullest height. “Now you’re trying to make fools of us all while picking on this charming little lady here. Well, I’ve had it with you. I don’t want to hear another gossipy word, or anything else you have to say.”
    He turned back to Vicky. “I am so sorry for all of this,” he said, spreading his hands before him. “Would you like to join us? We’re going to the TV lounge to watch Lawrence Welk .”
    The Beatles were more Vicky’s style, but she said, “Yes, thank you. I would. You go on, though and I’ll be along in just a few moments. Please save me a seat,” she added for Burton ’s ears only. The members of the elderly group filed from the room through the far door. Each avoided Sarah, who had sunk defeated and without a word into an armchair, as they passed.
    Vicky felt a twinge of guilt at Sarah’s forlorn figure, but she felt, as she always had, that if you’re going to get caught telling lies about someone, you should at least make up your own lies.
    Sarah was studying the fingertips on one hand as they pressed against the tips of the other, seemingly deep in thought. Vicky rose with her magazine and crossed behind her chair. “I