“If it’s to be done right, it will take time,” she rationalized. “How’s Anne doing?”
“She’s okay.”
“I’ve been meaning to call Em, but somehow … time just … goes.”
“Mmm.” Jordan looked down at her. He had debated saying anything about Cavanaugh, because the last thing he wanted was for Katia to worry about the police contacting her. Somehow, though, he feared that it would be worse if she was taken off guard. “You may be getting a call from Robert Cavanaugh, the detective in charge of the case.”
“Me?” She frowned. “What could he possibly want with me?”
“Routine questions. He’s trying to piece together everything he can about Deborah and Mark.” Jordan snorted softly. “I think he’s trying to piece together everything he can about all of us.”
“That’s part of his investigation?”
“With a stretch of the imagination, I suppose it is.”
Katia caught his troubled expression. “Have you met this fellow Cavanaugh?”
“Mmm. We had coffee together.”
“Well?”
“He’s bright. Educated. And perceptive.”
“I’d think that would be good news, but you don’t look terribly thrilled.”
Releasing her, Jordan began to walk idly around the office. “I don’t know, Katia. It’s weird. He was really hostile at first, like he despised me … or my family … or whatever it is he thinks we represent.” He was at her drawing board, absently running his fingertip along the edge of the storyboard she had been working on. “He eased up after a time, but I have to think that he’s approaching this case with a definite bias.”
“So much so that he won’t be able to do a good job?”
“No,” Jordan answered, but his voice wavered. He scratched the back of his head, then turned a puzzled look her way. “But he’s prepared to dig. He’s that type. He’ll turn over every possible stone looking for the tiniest worm.”
“Isn’t that good? We all want the case solved.”
“Yeah. The question is how many irrelevant worms he’ll bring up, and how much dirt will come along with each worm.” His gaze grew sharp. “They have a fixation on us, Katia. Guys like that, given a case like this and the kind of carte blanche it offers, would just love to unearth things that the public either doesn’t know or has forgotten.”
Katia was beginning to understand. “You’re afraid that he’ll do something to tarnish the image,” she said, but without criticism. She was enough of a Whyte-Warren, albeit once removed, to find the prospect of mudslinging as disturbing as Jordan did.
“It’s not that the image is squeaky clean, by any means. But every family has its skeletons in the closet; we’re not the only ones who’d just as soon keep them there.”
Katia went to his side and put a gentle hand on his arm. “He wouldn’t spread dirt for the sake of spreading dirt, would he?”
“I don’t know. He’s bent on interviewing all of us. I think I convinced him to hold off on Mom and Lenore. They’ll be the ones who’ll be most hurt should anything come out.”
“He won’t learn anything he doesn’t already know,” Katia stated softly.
Jordan didn’t answer. He simply looked down at the storyboard again.
“Will he, Jordan? Are there skeletons in the closet—harmful ones?” She was wondering if there were things even she didn’t know.
Jordan wrapped his arm around her shoulder and drew her close. “Only time will tell, babe. Only time will tell.”
Chapter 7
Natalie would have welcomed Jack home from the war with open arms had they been free, but one held three-year-old Nick and the other held two-year-old Mark. Both babies began to scream when the tall stranger took them from their mother and tossed them, each in turn, boisterously into the air. Still, Natalie was smiling broadly, delighted that her husband was back with her for good and that the hopes she had nurtured during the years he had been gone would finally see fulfillment.
When no instant change in her life followed, she was somewhat shocked. The small house in Brighton, in which she had been living with Jack’s father and the two boys—Gil and Lenore’s house in Cambridge had quickly become too crowded once children had started coming on both sides—seemed that much smaller with Jack’s presence. But she didn’t have the heart to suggest that they move before Jack had had a chance to get the business back into full swing.
Nor did she have the heart to suggest that Jack was working too hard when he spent fourteen-hour days at the office. She knew that the time he put in was an investment in their future, and since it was a future she badly wanted, she let him have his way.
She did an admirable job of convincing herself that their lives couldn’t possibly be a rerun of that blissful two-day honeymoon when they had had time and eyes only for each other. Now there were two demanding toddlers and an even more demanding business to attend to. When Jack finally returned home from work at night he was tired, as was she. Though there were brief times when they came together, sweetly and passionately, in bed, those times were few and far between.
Jack’s dedication to his work quickly began to pay off. The airline returned to its prewar status, then leaped ahead. Within a year of its mastermind’s return from the Pacific, the Whyte Lines had spread its wings over the eastern third of the country. Though Natalie knew that Jack had borrowed large sums of money to finance the expansion, she felt no qualms when he borrowed a little more to purchase a large brick home on a lovely, tree-lined street in Brookline. This was what she wanted. She was moving up in the world.
Moreover, Lenore and Gil had bought a similar house three streets away.
Lenore and Natalie were as close as ever. During the war years they had continued to share their dreams, along with the joys and the challenges of raising children. Lenore took the greatest delight in her eldest child, Laura, who was well behaved and a comfort to her even after Benjamin, and then Peter arrived, bringing a measure of pandemonium to the house in Cambridge.
If the boys’ antics discouraged her from time to time, once Gil returned he didn’t mind them a bit. He wanted a large family, the start of a dynasty. The noise and toys and diapers didn’t faze him—but then, he was rarely home. His law practice monopolized his time and thought. He had picked up where he’d left off and spent lunch hours, cocktail hours and dinner hours meeting and cultivating new clients.
On occasion he invited Lenore to accompany him, which she did with pride—pride in her husband, in the clothes and jewelry he bought her, in the impressive company he kept. Often on such occasions they were with Natalie and Jack, for, as always, the two men enhanced each other.
Most often, though, Gil left Lenore at home while he concentrated on his career. In some ways she was relieved; Gil was a whirlwind of boundless energy, broad smiles and handshakes. He made it his business to know everyone and to know that everyone knew him. He was adept at even the most banal conversation and was inevitably the center of attention in a group. Lenore, who had somehow not anticipated the amount of work it would take to attain social and professional prominence, found him exhausting to be with.
She was busy herself, first with the children, then with the new Brookline home. She took painstaking care in its decoration, though it seemed that whatever new touch she added was immediately threatened by the destructive power of tiny hands. A crystal vase shattered; a series of crudely etched doodles appeared on a fine mahogany side table; the eyelet edging of the sheer draperies in the dining room was distorted where small fingers poked through it.
Another woman might have taken such innocently inflicted damage less seriously. But Lenore, who was obsessed with preserving her possessions, as though without them she was nothing, nearly fell apart at the seams with each new loss.
She needed help, she informed Gil, who promptly hired a maid. The girl, Cassie, was young, barely eighteen and a wartime refugee from Europe, but what she lacked in experience she made up for in dete
rmination. Bright and industrious, she took over the cooking and cleaning chores, leaving Lenore free to manage the children. If Cassie increasingly handled that task as well, Gil didn’t complain. He wanted his wife fresh and attractive for those times when he needed her by his side.
And those times grew more frequent as 1947 drew to a close.
“I’m not sure I understand it,” Lenore confessed to Natalie one afternoon when she had gone to visit. “For two years now Gil has been satisfied with an evening together every second or third week. Suddenly it’s several times a week.”
Natalie, who had given birth to a third son, Jordan, the month before, had been slower in recovering from this latest delivery. She, too, had help; Jonathan McNee served as chauffeur, handyman and butler, while his wife, Sarah, was a capable housekeeper. Yet Natalie, who treasured the memories of the time her own father had spent with her, insisted on taking major charge of the children, which left her spent. So rather than go shopping, as she and Lenore had so often done before, they had taken to stealing quiet afternoons together in Natalie’s cozy, paneled den while the children napped.
Natalie studied her friend, noting that while Lenore looked tired she also looked classier than ever. Of course, anyone who was slim looked classy to Natalie at that point. “I’d think you’d be pleased,” she offered in gentle response to Lenore’s complaint about Gil’s demands. “He wants your company.”
“He wants my presence,” Lenore corrected with a pinched look that reminded Natalie disconcertingly of Greta. Lenore’s mother had seen her younger daughter, Lydia, married several years before and then had remarried herself, albeit not in the style she had once known. “There’s a difference. It’s not as though we’re ever alone.”
“But aren’t you doing what we always dreamed about? Just this week you’ve been to dinner at Locke-Ober’s, a cocktail party at the Parker House, and to the symphony. Last week it was that party on Beacon Hill and a charity benefit at the Statler. I think it’s great, Lenore! I’m green with envy!”
Lenore wasn’t so wrapped up in her own worries that she didn’t hear Natalie’s wistfulness. “But you’re still feeling under the weather, Nat. When you’re back to snuff you and Jack will be doing the same.”
Natalie thought about that for a minute, then sighed. “I don’t know. Jack is always so busy. He’s off traveling again. To Chicago this time.”
“Chicago? Is he going to start flying there?”
“In time—soon, I’m sure. But this trip is something different. He’s negotiating the purchase of a hotel.”
“A hotel? My Lord, that’s a far cry from an airline.”
“Not really. If people fly into Chicago they have to stay somewhere. Jack claims that Chicago is bound to be a major hub for air travel. He feels it’s the natural stopover for people traveling from the east coast to the west.”
Lenore smiled in admiration of Jack’s reasoning. “That’s very possible.” She gave a slow nod. “So the Whyte Lines is doing well. How lucky you are, Nat. He’s in such a … stable business.”
Natalie would have been surprised if the comment had come from anyone other than Lenore, to whom stability and security had always been the highest priority. “It’s not any more stable than any other business,” she pointed out with due indulgence. “What Gil does is stable.”
“Not so. Clients come and go.”
“But there is—and always will be—a need for lawyers. And aren’t many of Gil’s clients steady ones? Before the war he represented many banks and corporations.”
“He still does, but it seems he’s always out looking for new clients.”
“How is his associate working out?”
Lenore shrugged. “All right, I suppose. He’s still there.” She had only met the man once. He was young and aggressive; she wondered how long he would be satisfied being an associate as opposed to being made a full partner and demanding a larger slice of the pie. The thought made her nervous. “And Gil’s thinking of taking in a second one.”
“Then he must be doing well,” Natalie declared with a smile. “See? You’re worrying for nothing!”
As it happened, Lenore wasn’t. Several weeks and numerous social engagements later Gil informed her that he had decided to run for state representative. They were in their living room, Lenore wearing the sleek dressing gown she favored for an evening at home, Gil still dressed in the tuxedo he had worn to the party from which he had just returned. He had mixed them drinks at the cherry wood bar and had come to stand victoriously before his wife.
“Politics?” she asked in a very small voice.
“Politics,” Gil responded with a very large smile. “We’ve done well over the past few months, you and I. We’ve charmed them. I’ve been guaranteed the support of several very powerful party backers who are fed up with the incumbent. I shouldn’t have any trouble.”
“Getting elected?” she asked in the same small voice.
“Of course. We are talking about an election here,” he mocked softly.
Lenore continued to stare at him, for once untouched by the devastatingly handsome picture he made with his dark hair, broad shoulders, lean hips and long legs. Her fingers were ominously tight around her old-fashioned glass. “Then … that’s what all the parties have been about?”
For the first time Gil showed a trace of impatience, but it was only a trace, the slightest flare of his nostrils in an otherwise perfectly composed face. “What did you think they were for?”
“I … I thought … they were for the sake of your practice.”
“Indirectly perhaps. The job of representative isn’t a full-time one. I’ll be able to maintain my practice on the side.” He was looking at her strangely. “I thought you’d be pleased, Lenore. This could be an important first step for us.”
Lenore wrapped an arm around her stomach. “First step?”
“We have to start somewhere.” He looked beyond her, then smiled. “Yes, Cassie?”
“I was wondering if you or Mrs. Warren would like anything before I go up,” came the soft voice of the woman standing beneath the broad archway. The vision was equally as soft; neither the long blond hair pulled into a neat knot nor the starchy, slate uniform could detract from the girl’s obvious appeal. Over the months in which she had been employed in the Warren household she had proven herself more than capable of her job. The children adored her, which was relief to Lenore, whose primary fear was that Cassie would up and marry the man she had been seeing and leave them. Lenore had come to depend on her.
Now Lenore stared at her blankly. It was Gil who had the presence to answer.
“Thank you, Cassie, but we’re fine. You go on up now. Good night.”
With a nod, Cassie disappeared, and Gil slowly returned his gaze to his wife. She was a stunning woman, yet the softness he had been so attracted to at the start had seemed to wane. Still, she was the faultless companion when they were in public, and that was what most concerned him.
“You’re cut out for this every bit as much as I am,” he said in an attempt to compliment her into a more receptive frame of mind.
“I thought we were doing just fine with your law practice.”
“Come on, sweetheart,” Gil coaxed. “My law practice is doing just fine, but this is something really exciting!” Lowering himself to the cushion beside her, he took her hand in his, seeming oblivious to the fact that it was cold. “I start slowly with the House, then move on to the Senate, then maybe to a statewide office. Hell, do you know what opportunities lie beyond that?” His enthusiasm grew with the picture. “Once I get statewide exposure, I can think of running for Congress. Washington, Lenore. That’s where the real power is in this country.”
Lenore felt as though the fragile stilts on which she had been trying to build a stately life for the past two years were wobbling badly. “But politics is so … so—”
“Challenging! It’s what our government is all about.”
“Politics is dirty!”
> Gil straightened slightly, then shrugged. “I can play rough if the next guy does.”
“And the corruption—”
“Only works if one is corruptible. Do you see me as being corruptible, sweetheart?”
Lenore didn’t know how to answer that one, because she realized that there were many, many things she still had to learn about her husband. Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined that he would set his sights on running for public office.
“But politics is such a gamble!” she finally cried, wearing her heart very clearly on her sleeve.
Unfortunately, Gil was myopic where Lenore’s deepest fears were concerned. Insecurity was something he staunchly refused to admit into his personal way of thinking. “Everything in life is a gamble, Lenore, if the goal is worth a damn. The secret,” he went on, warming quickly to the subject, “is in minimizing the gamble and maximizing the reward. In this case, that’s exactly what I’ve done. I have a thriving law practice with two associates to cover for me during the time I’ll be campaigning. In turn, even while I’m campaigning, I’ll be attracting new cases. There are some very wealthy people in this district. Once I’m elected my name will be familiar to each and every one of them. People flock to the guy who has connections. My connections will be as good, if not better, than any other lawyer in this state.”
Lenore raised her glass to her lips, took a healthy swallow, then mustered her poise. “You’re that sure you’ll win the election?”
The confident smile Gil bestowed upon her was his only answer. It was the first and last time she would ever ask that question.
* * *
In November, 1948, Gil celebrated his election to the Massachusetts State Legislature by throwing a huge victory party at the Parker House. Lenore was by his side wearing a stunning silk dress of royal blue which was nipped in at the waist and hit mid-calf as was the fashion decreed by Christian Dior, a sapphire choker, matching earrings and bracelet, and a brilliant smile. No one ever knew that she spent the next two days in bed.
No one, that is, except Natalie, and, of course, Cassie.
Twilight Whispers Page 13
