by Tinnean
She knew what I was talking about; she gave me an innocent glance. “It’s a gift.”
“Yes, I imagine it is.” I just wished I’d gotten it as well.
“Shall I order breakfast?”
“I hope you haven’t been waiting for me.”
“I had the Continental breakfast a few hours ago, but I wouldn’t say no to a croissant and another cup of coffee. Would you prefer the English or the European breakfast?”
“Decisions, decisions….”
She chuckled. “Go take your shower. I’ll order both.”
“Thank you, Mother. You’re a treasure.”
“I am, aren’t I?”
I laughed myself, then closed the door, laid out what I’d need, and walked into the bath that adjoined my room.
“I hope everything is still warm,” I said as I came out of the bedroom, fastening a cufflink.
“Of course. This hotel wouldn’t have it any other way.” Mother had changed into a slim skirt suit of gray and lavender, and now she stood by the window, where she’d been looking out over Davies Street.
I joined her and kissed her cheek, and she tilted her head and brought her hand to my face, stroking my chin.
“I’m not going to ask if you’ve forgotten to shave.”
“No.” I escorted her to the center of the sitting room where a small table had been placed between an armchair and the sofa. “I thought I’d change my look a bit.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Your father wore a Vandyke once, for an operation.”
“Really? I had no idea.”
“Because it was for an operation, we couldn’t take photographs, which was a shame. He looked very dashing. Unfortunately, it was also rather itchy, so once the operation was concluded, the Vandyke became a thing of the past. However, I’m sure Mark will think you look as dashing as your father.”
“Really?” I asked again. I could feel my cheeks heat up.
“Oh, indubitably. And I’m not saying that because I’m your mother.”
“Thank you.” I kissed her cheek, took her arm, and led her to where our breakfast feast was laid out. “This looks very good.”
Room Service had set up the selection of breakfast items. I waited for Mother to sit.
“Yes.” She sank gracefully into the chair, positioned her legs to the side and crossed at the ankle, and poured a cup of coffee for me.
I smiled my gratitude as I took a seat on the sofa, added the British version of half-and-half to my coffee, and stirred it.
She offered me a plate of fried eggs framed by toast, sweet bacon, and grilled tomatoes.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You know, sweetheart, I had hoped you would have grown past the inability to sleep on transoceanic flights.”
I paused with a slice of toast halfway to my mouth. “Father never did, did he?”
“No, and of all the things to inherit…. You do have his looks, though.” Her smile was very fond.
“I’m pleased you think so.”
My parents had been the most amazing couple, and I’d been blessed to be part of the love they’d shared.
Mother took a croissant and broke off the end. “Gregor called.”
“Oh?” I observed her under my lashes. “He missed you that much?” I was grateful that she had found happiness again.
“Actually, he did, but that wasn’t why he called. He wanted to let me know he’ll be staying at Shadow Brook. Ludovic asked for his assistance.”
“Is Uncle Jefferson that ill?” I knew Olive and Henry Plum, the housekeeper and butler who’d looked after the family at Shadow Brook for decades, were reaching the time of life when they would need more help. It made sense Ludo would call in Gregor if he felt it was truly necessary.
“He was, although he’s somewhat better now. Ludovic had to drive him to the emergency room.”
I frowned. “Was it food poisoning?”
“No, it was some form of stomach flu. He was dangerously dehydrated, and Ludovic had to more or less twist his arm in order to get him to the emergency room. You may not be aware that your uncle isn’t the best of patients.”
“As a matter of fact, I am. Grandmother spoke of it.” I took a bite of the fried eggs. It had been that time when Jeff had been missing for a number of days.
“Did she? That’s unusual.”
I kept my expression bland. I wouldn’t say anything, but I’d gotten the impression that Jeff had been Grandmother’s favorite child.
We all waited in the house in Chevy Chase that Grandfather used whenever he was working at State.
Gregor and Alyona were in the kitchen, preparing food they knew we’d only pick at, but it gave them something to keep their minds occupied.
Grandfather closed himself in his study, where he stayed in constant contact with Bryan, who was running the retrieval, and Tony, who aided wherever he could.
Mother paced the long corridor that ran from the front door to the back of the house.
Grandmother sat alone in the small parlor and stared out the window that overlooked the tiny backyard, at the flowerbeds with the last of the autumn flowers. I glanced from my grandmother to my mother, and Mother caught my gaze. She gave a discreet nod toward Grandmother, and then resumed her pacing.
I went into the parlor and sat beside Grandmother. If it had been Mother, I would have reached for her hand, but Grandmother never encouraged physical contact. She never displayed any emotion, for that matter, although Mother had assured me she and her brothers never doubted their mother felt some affection for them.
After a few minutes, Grandmother began talking about her second born son. If she was worried, she concealed it, and all I could hear in her voice was her pride and regard.
“He’d never had measles, mumps, or chicken pox,” Mother said, “but I remember him coming down with a strep throat when he was fifteen.”
“But you would have only been five at the time.”
“Yes, and I still have vivid memories of that time. Trust me, Jefferson could be a beast. And I say that with love.” She chuckled, and her love for her brother was obvious.
It was sad that this branch of the Sebrings ended with my uncles. Although Tony had been engaged at one point, it had been broken off—ostensibly by the young lady—a few months before the wedding, and his marriage to Cara Mia Ford, a woman young enough to be his granddaughter, had ended in annulment. It seemed he’d never met his “one.”
Bryan had married a widow with two children, and while she’d gotten pregnant a number of times, she hadn’t been able to carry any of them to term. Bryan and Aunt Johanna had divorced in 1990.
And as for Jefferson, he was very happily gay.
It seemed that other than some distant cousins, I was the last Mann also. I’d missed having siblings growing up, and I wondered if Mother would have wanted more children.
Would she have wanted grandchildren? We’d talked about it a bit on my birthday, but—
“Jefferson was admitted overnight and given IV fluids,” she was saying. “He’s home now, but the problem is Ludovic—he’s come down with whatever it is your uncle had.”
“Ah. So that’s why Gregor is at Shadow Brook.”
“Yes. I just hope he doesn’t catch it as well.”
“That would be the icing on the cake.”
“It would. I believe I’ll have a conversation with Jefferson when we get back. Olive and Henry don’t want to retire, but they should have more than occasional help.”
“Young Henry and his wife?” Young Henry was actually in his late forties, and he’d been trained by his father to follow in his footsteps.
“Perhaps. I know he’s happy working for Allison.” Allison Dashwood was Mother’s TZE sister from Wellesley and my godmother as well.
“I haven’t seen Aunt Allison in some time. How is she?” I dipped a corner of the toast into the egg yolk and bit it off. It was quite tasty, and I wondered if I could get whatever eggs they used in the Stat
es. I was certain Mark would enjoy them. I washed the mouthful down with a swallow of coffee.
“She’s doing well. No pun intended, but she really took a chance marrying Chance Dashwood.”
Aunt Allison’s marriage to Dashwood a few years before had caused quite a bit of talk, since he was only a couple of years older than her youngest son. Of course no one had dared say anything in front of Mother; she would have had no problem in verbally eviscerating anyone who dared criticize her friend.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I knew Dashwood had tried to set up a catering business. Mother had intended to see he got the job at one of her charity affairs, but that had fallen through when prior to that, he’d prepared the food for the embassy ball at the Anthony Wayne Convention Center. It had been... disappointing, to say the least.
“Thank you, but no, sweetheart. We had lunch a few weeks ago, and fortunately things seem to be smoothing out between them. I have a feeling a good deal of that has to do with her sister-in-law deciding to relocate to Seattle. Allison did mention how relieved she was over that. Well, there are more than twenty-seven hundred miles between them now.”
“Mother.” Aunt Allison’s sister-in-law had been the Realtor who’d facilitated Mark’s purchase of his condo, and he hadn’t thought much of her. Neither had Mother, if it came to that.
“Yes?” She raised an eyebrow and then brought her coffee cup to her lips.
“What did you do?”
She put the cup onto its saucer, placed it back on the table, and gave me a sweet smile. As she did when she preferred not to answer a question, Mother responded with a question of her own. “What makes you think I had anything to do with Ms. Dashwood moving to the coast?”
“I know how loyal you are to your friends.”
“And aren’t you as well?” There was a bowl of fruit in the center of the table, and Mother speared a slice of mango with her fork and nibbled on it, holding her napkin under it to catch the juice.
I imagined her phoning Francesca Dashwood and making a luncheon date, possibly at the Café Montpelier on the ground floor of the Madison Arms. And at some point during the meal, she would give Ms. Dashwood a steely-eyed gaze and tell her she had until sundown to get out of town.
I bit back a laugh. I knew it would be futile to press for details, so I decided to change the subject.
“How did it go yesterday?”
“Surprisingly well. After a moment’s surprise, Jack smiled ruefully and said he’d been giving our relationship a good deal of thought of late.”
“And?”
“He said he’d come to the conclusion that he’d gotten into the habit of thinking he was in love with me.”
Hmm. “From your tone of voice, I have to ask: are you buying that?”
“I have no reason not to, do I? However, it does have me wondering.”
“Do you think he’s trying to save face?”
“Possibly. Or possibly he’s decided he prefers a woman who’s less high maintenance.”
“High maintenance, Mother? You?”
“Your father never thought so, but that incident last fall shook Jack.”
“I believe I’m safe in saying it shook us all.”
“Not Mark.”
I had to laugh. No, not Mark. What it had done was piss him off that someone should dare to do that to Mother, and he’d gone after them—Wexler, his wife, and his aide—with deadly intent. Although as it turned out, someone else had dealt with Mrs. Wexler.
“Tell me something, Mother. If Gregor hadn’t revealed his feelings, would you have married Jack?”
“No, although I have to confess I would have considered it. I never would have loved him as I loved your father, as I care for Gregor, but ….”
I reached over and squeezed her hand. She had been alone for a long time, and it wouldn’t have been fair to deny her a modicum of comfort if she could find it.
“In any event,” she said briskly, “Jack has invited us to dinner this evening. Let me know what you think.”
“Of course.” I’d finished my breakfast, and now I helped myself to a chunk of papaya. It was sweet and juicy, and I grabbed up a napkin to dry my chin. “Do you have any plans for today?”
“I thought we might go to Harrods. I’d like to order a hamper for Jefferson and Ludovic—by the time it arrives, they should be feeling better—and choose something for Gregor as well, perhaps a new watch.”
That sounded like a good idea. I’d look for something for Mark also, and perhaps I’d tease him about bringing him home a present.
“And afterward…” Mother mused.
“Yes?”
“There’s a little bookshop off Fleet Street, The Best of Times. Would you mind if we visited it?”
“Whatever you wish, Mother.”
Once again, she raised her coffee to her lips, but I knew concealed behind that cup, she was smiling.
Chapter 9
Our visit to Harrods proved to be very satisfactory. Mother arranged to have a hamper containing cheeses, biscuits, and caramel-syrup waffles shipped to Shadow Brook, while I found a twenty-five inch braided lanyard key ring for Mark. It had a lobster clasp that would fasten to a belt loop and a silver key ring loop, perfect for holding all his keys. It also had a small dog tag, and in a moment of whimsy I had it engraved. I couldn’t help chuckling over it. How would Mark react to being declared mine?
Once the transaction was completed, the helpful saleswoman put it into a gray suede pouch she told me was a dust bag, and I tucked it into my jacket pocket.
Mother couldn’t find anything for Gregor though, until we passed a little shop a few doors away from The Best of Times. It seemed to carry junk for the most part, but tucked away in a dark corner toward the rear was a pocket watch the proprietor of the shop informed her dated from 1914. As well as a gold chain and fob, it came with a leather casing that enabled it to be worn on the wrist.
“It’s obvious whoever gave this to the original owner thought very highly of him.” The proprietor opened the case, and inside were the words Though we be far apart, God keep thee safe for me. He closed the case and turned it over. “As you can see, the owner’s initials were engraved on the back of the watch as well. However, no one has ever been able to discover who TFS was.”
“Lovely sentiment,” Mother said as she took out her wallet. Without blinking an eye, she paid almost six hundred pounds for the watch. She placed watch and wallet in the purse she carried, then tucked her arm in mine, and we left the shop and strolled on to The Best of Times.
I opened the door of the used book shop for Mother, and she stepped inside. The shop was dim and dusty, and I found myself sneezing multiple times in a row.
“How I remember this shop!” And it was obvious her memories were pleasant ones. “This is where I found the seascape that hangs in my office. I gave the other one to your grandfather. Your uncle met me here—”
“After he met with Bart. Portia. It’s good to see you under more agreeable circumstances.” The woman who stood there was taller than Mother, her dark hair streaked with silver.
“Folana. Thank you again for the violets.” They hugged and kissed each other’s cheeks. “Let me introduce my son, Quinton. Quinton, this is Folana Fournaise, a very dear friend of mine. Although if anyone should ask, her name is Vanessa Wood.”
But I recognized her.
On the day we buried my father, I’d dozed off in his recliner, and when I’d awakened some hours later, I’d gone looking for Mother. I’d been startled when I came across her in the small parlor at the back of the house with another woman with whom I was unfamiliar.
Neither knew I was there—I was silent and watched the scene play out before me.
“I expected us to have a lifetime, Folana.”
“In a manner of speaking, you did.”
“Not long enough. Oh God, not nearly long enough.” The agony in Mother’s voice hurt my heart.
“Portia, you’re not going to do an
ything foolish, are you?”
Mother said nothing for a time, then sighed and answered. “Of course not. I have my son to live for.”
“And if you didn’t?”
“I’d always thought Juliet was a foolish girl… And left no happy drop to help me after?... but now….” Mother had taken her hair down, and now she brushed the long blonde locks back from her face; I could see how red and swollen her eyes were from weeping. She hadn’t cried earlier, not when we’d gone to identify Father’s body, not when we’d laid him in his casket. “Do you know how simple it would be for me to obtain enough barbiturates so I could join my darling?”
“Of course it would be simple for you. You’re Portia Sebring.”
“Portia Mann,” Mother corrected.
“But you won’t.”
“No. I won’t. I wouldn’t do that to Quinton.”
I bit my lip to keep from crying out, shaken not by the depth of the love she had for my father, but by her love for me.
She leaned against the woman, who accepted Mother’s slight weight without protest.
“Sleep, my dearest friend.” Her expression as she gazed down at Mother and stroked her shoulder down to her wrist was filled with sorrow. She pressed a kiss to Mother’s hair, and, unseen by either of them, I slipped away and returned to Father’s study.
“Ms. Fournaise. I haven’t had the opportunity to thank you for what you did for Mother.” Somehow Folana Fournaise—who was supposed to have been shot dead in Albania some years ago, hence the name Vanessa Wood—had learned the part the senator’s wife had played in Mother’s “accident” and took her own form of revenge. She’d almost destroyed Mrs. Wexler’s face with a little wooden dumbbell that was her weapon of choice.
I was grateful to her on two counts—firstly, Mother’s injuries had been severe, and I wanted that revenge. Only recently was Mother able to stop using a cane to maintain her balance. And secondly, although Mark had fully intended to deal with Mrs. Wexler, and although he would sneer at the thought of what he’d planned for her keeping him up nights, I didn’t want something like that weighing on his conscience.
