“I know you were, and honestly, I do appreciate that, and I am grateful to you for the kindness you’ve shown me these last few weeks.”
“You were in such a bad way when you got here, and we didn’t want to distress you anymore than you already were. We felt we had to be careful. It was like . . . like walking on eggs.”
“I’m sorry, Parky.”
“Oh, there’s no need to apologize, Mrs. Mal, I mean Mrs. Andrew. We understand. We loved Mr. Andrew and the wee bairns—” Her mouth began to tremble and her eyes filled, but she took a deep breath and finished. “Such a tragedy, so hard to live with . . .”
“Yes, it is.” I coughed behind my hand, trying to control myself. I knew I might easily break down if I didn’t keep a tight grip on my emotions. My grief was never very far below the surface.
Parky said quietly, almost to herself, “Like my own child, he was,” and then she put down the rolling pin and hurried into the adjoining pantry. “Got to find that big pie dish for the steak-and-kidney pie,” she called to me in a muffled voice without looking around.
“I shall go for a walk,” I said, and went out of the kitchen swiftly, knowing it was wiser to leave her by herself to recoup. Otherwise we’d both be in a flood of tears.
I headed in the direction of the mudroom. Once there, I took off my penny loafers, pulled a pair of Wellingtons on over my jeans, and struggled into one of Diana’s old harbours. Wrapping a scarf around my head, I went outside.
It was a clear day, crisp but not really cold, and there was the lightest of breezes rustling through the trees, making the new leaves flutter and dance. I dug my hands into the pockets of the barbour and struck out toward the pond down near the woods. Behind the pond there was a narrow path, which the gardeners had cut through the dense mass of trees some years ago, and this led up to the lower moors.
The grounds were deserted, I noticed as I walked.
Usually Ben and Wilf were somewhere or other, digging, planting, and pruning, or burning leaves. This afternoon they were nowhere in sight.
But by the time I got closer to the pond, I saw Wilf pushing a wheelbarrow along the path that led from the orchard up to the house. When we drew level with each other, he stopped and touched his cap. “Afternoon, Mrs. Mal.”
“Hello, Wilf.”
“You’re not going up on yon moors?”
“Yes, I was thinking about it,” I answered.
“Aye, no, don’t be doing that.” He turned his head, shaded his eyes with his hand, and peered toward the hills silhouetted against the distant horizon.
“B’ain’t wise. Weather’s right dicey up on yon moors this time o’year. Sunny for a bit, like now, but then t’clouds roll in and t’rain comes down in torrents. Blows in from yon North Sea, it does that.”
“Thanks for telling me, Wilf,” I murmured and hurried on down the path, thinking what an old fool he was, gormless, as Andrew had always said. It was as clear as a bell today; the sky was blue and without a single cloud.
But something about his words must have registered at the back of my mind, because in the end I avoided the moors. It was such a long, steep climb, anyway. Instead, I went for a more leisurely walk through the woods, and a half hour later I came back and circled the pond, before taking the wide stone path that cut through the lawns. I had been out long enough today. I already felt tired. Obviously I was out of shape and still quite weak.
As I approached the house, I saw Hilary coming toward me, waving and beckoning.
I increased my pace, and when we met in the middle of the stone path, she said, “There’s a phone call for you, Mrs. Andrew. From New York. It’s Mr. Nelson.”
“Thanks, Hilary.”
Together we went around the side of the house to the back door, and as we hurried in, I said to her, “Would you tell him I’ll be there in a moment, please. I just want to get my Wellies off.”
“Yes, Mrs. Andrew,” she answered, disappearing down the back hallway.
A few seconds later I was picking up the phone on the long refectory table in the library. “Hello, David, how are you?”
“Good, Mal, and you?”
“I’ve finally recovered from the flu. There’s nothing wrong, is there? My mother’s all right, isn’t she?”
“Yes, she is, and everything’s fine. She worries about you, of course, and keeps talking about coming over to see you. She wants us to take a trip to England, if you’re planning on staying in Yorkshire for a while.”
“Why don’t you come? Is that the reason you’re calling, David?”
“No, it isn’t. I have some news for you, Mal.”
I caught the change in his voice, the tension. My chest tightened. I gripped the receiver harder as I said, “From DeMarco?”
“Yes. There’s been a break in the case. He just called me about fifteen minutes ago. Luckily, I wasn’t in court today.”
“Have they caught the killer? The gunman?” I asked in a tight voice.
“No, but they will, and very soon, Mal. This is what happened. Twenty-four hours ago, Johnson and DeMarco arrested a small-time narcotics dealer who operates in that neighborhood. Those arches under the elevated train tracks are part of his territory. Anyway, he’s trying to strike a deal, to plea-bargain. He says he knows who shot Andrew and the children. Four local youths who hang out together, one of whom has talked about it. He’s given their names and addresses to DeMarco, and he and Johnson hope to take them into custody today, bring them into the Twenty-fifth Precinct for questioning immediately. DeMarco’s got a strong feeling that those unidentified fingerprints found on Andrew’s Mercedes will match up with theirs. He’s banking on it.”
My legs suddenly felt weak, and I sat down heavily on the cut-velvet chair. I could hardly speak, but finally I managed to say, “If the fingerprints do match, what happens then?”
“The perpetrators will be taken down to Central Booking in Police Plaza and booked on charges of murder in the second degree. And all four of them will be booked, Mal, you see—”
“I thought there was only one gunman?” I cut in.
“That’s what DeMarco believes, yes. But a person doesn’t have to pull the trigger to be booked or found guilty of murder. Just being there, just standing there when the crime is committed, is enough to convict,” David explained. “It’s called acting in concert. If there’s enough evidence, within seventy-two hours they’ll go in front of a grand jury in criminal court downtown. And if they’re indicted in the grand jury hearing, they’ll go on trial.”
“When would that be?”
“I’m not sure. It could take several months. Not only to get on the docket, but the assistant district attorney will want to be sure he has every scrap of evidence he can get, that he has a watertight case. DeMarco and Johnson will have to work their butts off on this one, and they will, I’ve no doubt. The prosecutor wants a guilty verdict, not an acquittal, and so do they.”
“And if the youths are found guilty?”
“There’s no death penalty in New York State, Mal. They’ll get twenty-five or thirty years to life. No parole.”
“I see. Could they—” I paused, took a deep breath, and asked, “Could they get off?”
“No way. DeMarco and Johnson are convinced they’ve struck pay dirt with the drug dealer, that they’ll turn up all the evidence they need for a conviction.”
“I hope so.”
“They will. It’s a personal crusade with them, especially DeMarco. Also, I know the judicial system inside out, and the judge will go for the maximum, trust me on this. The killers will never see daylight again; they’ll never get out.”
“Should I call DeMarco, David? What do you think?”
“You don’t have to, Mal. He asked me to pass the news on to you. Anyway, I doubt that you’d get him right now. He’s on the investigation full blast. Now that he’s got this lead, he wants results fast. He wants to put these . . . animals away. He wants them under lock and key. Today.”
�
��I understand. And thank you, David, for everything.”
“I’m always here for you, Mal. Give Diana my best.”
“I will. Oh, does Mom know about the break in the case?”
“Yes. I told her before I called you. She sends her love.”
“Give her mine.”
“I’ll be in touch as soon as I have more information from DeMarco.”
“When you speak to him, thank him for me.”
“I will, honey. Bye.”
“Bye, David.”
After we hung up I sat with my hand resting on the phone, pondering everything David had told me. I felt nothing, only emptiness inside. Knowing the killers of my family were about to be arrested did not relieve my pain and grief. And it would not bring them back.
Gazing out of the mullioned window, I drifted with my thoughts for a while. But at one moment the sky darkened, and I lifted my eyes. The garden was still filled with sunlight, but on the moors the blue sky had turned, was curdled and gray. Ominous dark clouds were blowing in, and up there it had started to rain, just as old Wilf had predicted. Shivering involuntarily, feeling suddenly cold, I walked over to the fire and sat down on the sofa to get warm. And to wait for Diana.
I must have fallen asleep, for I woke up with a start when I heard her voice. She was coming into the library with Hilary in her wake carrying the tea tray.
“Hello, darling,” Diana said, hurrying forward. “Are you feeling a bit better today?”
I would never feel better. But I nodded; it was the easiest thing to do.
She bent over me, kissed me on my cheek, and then went and stood with her back to the fire, as she often did, just as Andrew had done. Saying nothing, she surveyed me for a few moments. As soon as Hilary had put the tea tray down and departed, she said, “What is it, Mal? You look as if you have something to tell me.”
“I do,” I replied. “David called me a short while ago. There’s been a break in the case at last.”
“Tell me all about it!” she exclaimed. She came and sat down next to me on the sofa.
Her eyes did not leave my face as I recounted my entire conversation with David.
When I finished, her reaction was the same as mine had been. “Thank God,” she said quietly. “But it won’t bring my son and my grandchildren back to life . . .” Her voice wavered slightly, and she took a moment to regain her composure, then she added, “But at least we know that justice will be done, and that those responsible will be punished.”
“It’s small comfort,” I murmured. “But it’s better than knowing they are free.”
“And that they might kill again,” Diana said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“I have to go to Paris on Wednesday,” Diana said. “Why don’t you come to London with me tomorrow? And then we’ll go to Paris together. I think it would do you good, Mal.”
Diana and I were sitting in the library on Sunday morning, reading the newspapers. Or rather, she was reading; I was merely glancing through them.
Looking up, I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I’m still feeling a bit debilitated after the flu.”
Diana stared at me for the longest moment, and then she said, “Nonsense, Mal, you’re much better, and you have been for the last week. Your problem is your mental apathy.”
Startled by her brisk, matter-of-fact tone as well as her words, I recoiled slightly, then said, “Maybe you’re right.”
“I know I am,” she replied and put down her newspaper. Leaning forward, focusing every ounce of her attention on me, she continued, “Mal, you can’t go on like this.”
I returned her steady gaze, but I remained silent.
“What are you going to do? Sit on that sofa in this library for the rest of your life? Is that your plan?”
“I have no plans,” I said.
“But you do have a choice. Actually, you have three choices. You can sit around forever, as you’re doing now, letting your life drift away from you. You can kill yourself, which I know you’ve contemplated more than once, from the things you’ve said to me. Or you can pull yourself together, pick up the pieces and go on from here.”
“Go where?” I muttered. “I just don’t . . . don’t know . . . what to do . . . what to do with myself,” I began hesitantly, at a loss in more ways than one.
Diana sat studying me, her eyes full of love, her expression sympathetic, as it always was. Her voice was caring when she murmured softly, “I know only too well what you’ve lost—those you loved with all your heart, those most precious and dear to you. But as hard as it may seem, you must begin again. That is your only choice, Mal darling. Trust me, it is. God knows, you’ve nothing to lose, you’ve already lost it all, but you do have everything to gain.”
“I do?”
“Yes. Your life, for one thing, a new life. You must try, darling, not only for yourself, but for me.”
I sighed and looked away, and then I felt the tears rising to flood my eyes. “I can’t,” I whispered, fighting the tears, the pain, and the grief. “I’m weighted down. My sorrow is unendurable, Diana.”
“I know, I know. I’m suffering too . . .” Diana could not finish her sentence. Her voice choked up, and she came and sat next to me on the sofa. Taking my hand in hers, she held on to it tightly and said finally, “Andrew wouldn’t want to see you like this, Mal. He always said you were the strongest woman he’d ever known, other than me.”
“I can’t live without him. I don’t want to live without him and the twins.”
“You’re going to have to,” Diana said in a voice that was low, suddenly quite stern. “You’ve got to stop feeling sorry for yourself, right now. Do you think you’re the only woman who has ever lost loved ones? Lost a family? What about me? I’ve lost my son, my only child, and my grandchildren, and before that I lost a husband when I was still a young woman. And what about your mother? She is as grief-stricken and heartbroken as we are.”
Taking a deep breath, she added, “And what about the millions of other people in the world who have had to survive the loss of their families? You only have to think about the survivors of the Holocaust—those who lost husbands and wives and children and mothers and fathers in the death camps, to realize we are not alone. Loss of loved ones is part of life, I’m sorry to say. It’s terrible, so difficult to accept—”
Diana could not continue speaking. Her emotions got the better of her, and she began to weep, but after only a moment or two she said through her tears, “There isn’t a day goes by that I don’t think about him, think about my Andrew, and about little Lissa and Jamie. And my heart never stops aching. But I know I can’t give in, that I mustn’t. And so I try to keep myself together, the best way I can. Mal, listen to me. You can’t throw your life away. You have to try, just as I try.”
The tears trickled down her cheeks, and she looked at me helplessly. I put my arms around her and held her close to me. And I wept with her.
Her words had found their mark, had touched the core of me, and I realized with a small shock how badly I had behaved; I had thought only of myself.
“I’ve been so selfish, Diana,” I said at last. “Very selfish. You’re right, I’ve only thought about my feelings, about my loss, my pain, not yours or Mom’s.”
“I didn’t mean to sound harsh, darling,” she murmured, extricating herself from me, sitting up on the sofa and drying her cheeks. “I was only trying to make you see . . . see things a little more clearly.”
I didn’t say anything for a few minutes, then glancing at Diana, I asked quietly, “What did you mean when you said I had everything to gain?”
“I told you, your life, primarily. But that also means your health, your well-being, your sanity. You’re only thirty-three, Mal, still so very young, and I simply won’t allow you to become a vegetable, a blob sitting around doing nothing except mourning and feeling sorry for yourself. It’s vital that you mourn, yes. We must do that, we must get the grief out. But I can’t, I won’t permit you to throw yo
ur future away.”
“Do I have a future, Diana?”
“Oh, yes, you do. Of course you do. That’s another thing you have to gain. Your future. But you must reach out, grab life with both hands and start all over again. It will be the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, the most painful, even, but it will be worth it, I promise you that.”
“I don’t know what to do. How would I begin again?” I asked, my mind starting to work in a more positive way for the first time since Andrew’s death.
“First, I think you have to get yourself completely fit physically. You’re far too thin, for one thing. You must start eating properly, and walking and exercising, so that you regain your strength, that vigor and energy of yours which I’ve always admired. And then you must think of the kind of job you’d like to find. You must work, not only because you need to earn money, but because you must keep yourself busy.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start.” I bit my lip and shook my head. “I realize I have to begin to support myself, and very quickly. I can’t let my mother and Dad go on helping me. But I don’t have any idea what I could do. Or what I’m capable of doing, for that matter.”
“You wrote advertising copy once,” Diana reminded me.
“That was a long time ago, and I’m not sure how good I was, even if Andrew did say I was brilliant. Besides, I don’t think I’d enjoy working in an office, and I know I can’t live in New York. So we can forget Madison Avenue.”
“You could live in London,” she suggested, eyeing me intently. “I’d like that. You’re all I have left, Mal, the only family I have.”
I nodded. “I know, Diana, and you’re very much a part of me, part of my life. It’s a possibility, living in London, I mean. I suppose I could always sell Indian Meadows.”
“What’s happening with the apartment? You haven’t said anything lately about Sarah’s cousin and her plans.”
“Vera wants to buy it, and she’s agreed to the price my mother asked. But she hasn’t gone before the board yet, the board of the cooperative. I think she’s supposed to be interviewed by them this coming week. I’m not worried though, Diana; I know she’ll pass.”
Everything to Gain and a Secret Affair Page 24
