Chapter 24

That very same morning, Robin Young was a lovely young college freshman in the full bloom of her youthful virginity when she came to Pickford's Meadows to visit her cousin Priscilla Devereaux for her summer break. Actually, she had come to visit her Uncle James Devereaux, for she adored the strong and confident man with the sense of humor that kept her in stitches through the whole time when she came to see him, but the excuse was to spend time with her rowdy cousin.

Priscilla, if the truth were told, never ceased to rub Robin the wrong way. The younger girl found her selfish, abrasive, malicious, and, from what she had gathered, promiscuous. In private, Priscilla's speech never ascended to anything above parties, sex, and her obsession with the married man, Mark Denning, now irrevocably united with the lovely young woman Desirée, nee Mitchell. Frankly, Robin had heard enough of Priscilla's hatred for Desirée, whom Robin liked and admired, having seen the beautiful, blonde piano teacher sing in church and having talked amiably with her on many occasions. Though only a few years younger than Desirée, Robin had found herself hoping to emulate her in many ways.

Like Desirée, Robin was a girl without guile or ill-will for anyone. Though she felt she lacked the musical talent to equal Desirée's, she had taken up a voice class and a violin class at the university, and she was definitely opposed to living off her parent's wealth, indolently, in the way Priscilla seemed quite happy to do. Robin was studying to be a doctor.

She was a lovely girl, with thick, straight, silky brown hair that just brushed the tops of her shoulders, flowing like liquid chocolate, the way the elegant lines of her dancer's body flowed from one perfect feature to the next, from the full but not-too- heavy, wide-based, cone-shaped breasts, to her tiny, supple waist and hard, flat belly, to her gently-curved, girlish, dancer's hips running into long, perfect, slender legs.

Yes, she was a lovely girl, innocent in the way most girls were until corrupted by an overwhelming love for some animalistic man. She had never had a real boyfriend and even the few chaste kisses she had had were few, dry, and far between. Watching Desirée, from over a year before, when she had still been in high school, she had formulated a tentative plan for her life, that was, physical and mental fitness and moral rectitude, like her uncle seemed to lean toward and which Priscilla seemed to have rejected.

Hearing Priscilla talk about men and sex was often more than faintly nauseating to Robin, who had always been fairly regular at church and straight about her love life. Yes, too straight sometimes, she admitted to herself when she thought of the feminine instincts growing daily in her healthy loins. To dampen those impulses she had thrown herself with ever more energy into her studies.

Her Uncle James Devereaux met her at the door when the middle-aged driver who had met her at the airport dropped her on the wide veranda of the mansion.

"It's so good to see you, Uncle Jim," she cried, throwing her arms around his strong neck and feeling the rasp of his afternoon shadow of beard on her tender cheek. His was a comforting avuncular embrace, the feel of his body, in spite of his wealth hardened by his activities on his ranch, pressing his strong, paunchy belly against her own lean form. Their kiss of greeting, always before just a brief peck, lingered a trifle longer than was comfortable for her and then broke. Robin peeled her arms away from her favorite uncle's shoulders, and stepped back.

"It's good to see you, Robin," he said, leading her inside. "Hope you enjoy the summer. But it looks like you're getting a bit too big for kid's games." His creased, blue eyes devoured her fresh, new sexual maturity for just a moment before turning away.

"Oh, I'll be fine, Uncle Jim. Do you know if Desirée Mitchell is still giving piano lessons? I'd like to study some with her again this summer."

"I can't tell you about the piano lessons," he said, leading her toward the guestroom, "but her name isn't Mitchell anymore. She got married a month or so ago."

Robin stopped. "Desirée married? I don't believe it!"

"It's true, Robin, but she's still around and I'm sure she'll be happy to give you lessons. You and she were always close friends, not so?"

Robin nodded. Desirée, though only a few years older than she, was Robin's idol, her quintessential ideal of feminine perfection. Though it was unlikely that Robin's singing voice could ever equal Desirée's in natural talent, she did hope to rival her one day in piano. Robin also played the violin and harp. And her lithe body gave her an advantage in dancing that Desirée, with her heavy, round breasts, could not hope to better.