by John Saul
Anne shrugged. “Why not?” When Julie was gone, she turned to Kevin. “So. Anything been going on this morning?”
Kevin shook his head. “Nothing worth talking about,” he told her. “Just the staff, telling local ghost stories to the kids.”
* * *
Sam Waterman prided himself on his ability to read the outcome of any meeting before he went into it. A lot of it, he knew, came simply from age—the older you got, the more you knew, and he was nearly eighty now. But there was more to it than that: he’d always had a knack for reading character, and that had always given him a little extra edge—if you knew whom you were dealing with, you knew how to approach him.
Today, however, he had no idea what he might be in for, and as he steered his car out onto the causeway to Devereaux Island, he shoved a Tums into his mouth to try to quench the ember of worry that had been burning in his belly all morning. The trouble was, he didn’t know Anne Devereaux at all, and even Kevin, whom Sam had known since the day he was born, had become an enigma.
Part of it was the way Kevin talked now, in the harsh tones of a Yankee. Not a trace of the gentle drawl of South Carolina was left in his voice, and even his manner had changed. There was something that Sam could only call “clipped” about Kevin’s manner. But, of course, the years in the North, where things moved so much more rapidly than they did in Devereaux, would have caused that. Sam chuckled softly to himself as he pulled onto the island. Hell, in Devereaux, things hardly moved at all! But still, he was about to toss something into Kevin’s and Anne’s laps without a clue as to how they might react to it, and Sam didn’t like that at all.
Without thinking about it, he slowed the car, as if the few extra moments of delay might help the situation, but he still arrived at the mansion before he was quite ready. Still, there was nothing to be done except get on with it. If truth be known—and Sam was well aware that the truth was seldom, if ever, known—he should have come out here right after breakfast and gotten it over with. Nothing was going to change, and it might have saved a couple of cents on the Tums bill. Sighing heavily, he reached for the accordion file on the passenger seat, then got out of the car and made his way up the steps. As he was crossing the veranda, the front door swung wide and Marguerite came out. As always, she looked cool and fresh in the summer heat, but today Sam thought her eyes looked a bit clouded and her smile of welcome seemed just a little uncertain.
Maybe she knows, he thought, but then dismissed the idea from his mind. Helena Devereaux had never told anyone but him what she planned to do with her estate, and had sworn him to secrecy too. “It’s not just a whim,” she’d snapped when he suggested she discuss her plans with her only daughter. “Marguerite can’t deal with things—never has been able to.”
“Afternoon, Marguerite,” Sam said now, noticing that whatever Helena had thought of her daughter, Marguerite certainly seemed to be dealing with things in a manner to be proud of. Even at the funeral she’d conducted herself with a remarkable calm. No, there wouldn’t be any hysterics here. “Everybody ready for the reading?”
Marguerite stepped back to let the old lawyer precede her out of the sweltering heat and into the relative coolness of the house. “The children are out with their friends, and Kevin and Anne are waiting in the study.”
Sam nodded briefly, and turned left into the west wing. At the end of the corridor was a large room with windows on all three sides, where the heads of the Devereaux family had always carried on the vast preponderance of their work. Sam, though he’d never asked Rafe Devereaux, had always wondered if the placement of the study was symbolic, since it was one of only two rooms in the house that offered a full view of all the Devereaux holdings.
The other room was the master suite, directly above the study.
Anne and Kevin stood up as Sam entered the room, and after greeting them, he immediately went around the desk and seated himself in the worn leather chair that had been there for the better part of two centuries. But the chair was as well made as the house, and didn’t so much as creak as it accepted his weight. Sam carefully fit his wire-rimmed glasses over his nose, then slid a thin sheaf of papers out of the accordion folder. “Shall we begin?” he asked, peering at the three Devereauxes over the tops of his glasses. When no one objected, he began reading.
Ten minutes later it was over, and, as Sam had expected, a numbed silence hung over the room. Sam occupied himself during the silence by speculating on which of them would speak first. He had finally settled on Kevin when Anne’s voice, tight with outrage, exploded shrilly through the tense silence.
“That’s absolutely outrageous! She can’t have left it all to Kevin! She can’t have!”
“She not only can,” Waterman observed mildly, “she has.”
“But it’s not fair,” Anne protested. “What about Marguerite? She took care of Helena all her life! And now she gets nothing? Nothing at all?” Her eyes were flashing with indignation, and she reached out to grasp Marguerite’s hand. “How could she do that?”
To everyone’s surprise, it was Marguerite who answered her. “It’s the way we’ve always done things, Anne,” she said. Though her eyes were glistening damply, her voice held steady. “Our land has always passed to the oldest son. It was always the only way we could keep the land together. Daddy always said if you divide the land, you lose it. So, of course, it goes to Kevin now. I suppose I should have known, shouldn’t I?”
“Does it really matter?” Kevin asked archly, speaking for the first time since Waterman had finished reading the will. “Apart from the island, and the town itself, is there anything left?”
“A couple of hundred acres,” Waterman replied. “But it’s not good for much—mostly swampland that no one wants.”
“But we can sell the holdings in town, can’t we?” Anne asked. “And split the money with Marguerite?”
“Possibly,” Waterman agreed. “But it won’t be simple—the leases don’t run out for several more years, and there’s a codicil.”
“A codicil?” Kevin echoed. “You mean there’s more?”
Waterman nodded, licking his lips nervously. “It’s part of the will. I tried to talk Helena out of it but I couldn’t. In fact, since she knew I was opposed to it, she had another lawyer draw it up.” He faced Kevin squarely now. “I assume you’re aware of how much your mother wanted you to come back here?”
Kevin nodded, but frowned in puzzlement. What was the lawyer getting at?
“Well, I’m afraid she’s found a way. Although she’s left everything to you, she’s also stipulated that you must live here at Sea Oaks and manage the estate, and I quote, ‘to the best advantage of the Devereaux family and the citizens of Devereaux, South Carolina.’ End of quote.”
Kevin’s frown dissolved, to be replaced by a relaxed smile. “Then we don’t have a problem. All I have to do is take Anne and the kids home, and Marguerite gets everything, right?”
“Wrong,” Waterman replied. “Give your mother a little more credit than that. She may not have been kind, but she wasn’t stupid either. If you refuse to live here and manage the estate, then everything goes to the Fortress. Everything—the land, the house, the bank accounts, the stocks—the whole lot. If you won’t live here, then Marguerite can’t, either.”
A second shocked silence fell over the room. Marguerite’s fingers tightened on the arms of her chair, but she said nothing. Anne looked dazed, as if she couldn’t quite comprehend what had transpired. But Kevin’s face was ashen, and his jaw was clenched with fury. It took nearly a full minute before he was finally able to speak. “I gather you’ve already found there’s no way to break that codicil?”
Waterman spread his hands helplessly. “It’s very long, it’s very complicated, and it’s very complete. She’s covered every eventuality either she or the Charleston attorney could think of, and as far as I know, it will hold up. I even thought of burning it,” he added. “But it wouldn’t have done any good. The original isn’t even in my hands.
”
Anne blinked as if coming out of a deep sleep. “But it’s obscene,” she breathed. “After everything Marguerite’s done for her, she leaves her nothing, and now she wants to force Kevin to change his whole life too!”
Waterman sighed heavily. “I agree with you,” he said. “I did my best to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t budge, And,” he added, “it’s not forever.” His lips stretched into a thin, humorless smile. “Actually, it would have been better if she’d made it forever. That, a court would have ruled was unreasonable. But she got around that. You have to stay ten years. You have full control of the land, but if you sell any of it, the sales can’t become final until the ten years are up. After that, you can do what you want.”
“Generous of her,” Anne remarked, making no attempt to conceal her bitter sarcasm.
“Not generous,” Waterman contradicted quietly. “It was as far as she could go and make it stick. And she told me that she thought ten years was enough anyway. She said if she could get you back for that long, you’d stay on of your own accord.”
Marguerite rose unsteadily to her feet and limped heavily across to Kevin. She put her hands on his shoulders and bent down to kiss his cheek. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know anything about this. Nothing at all.”
Kevin covered his sister’s hand with his own. “It’s all right,” he told her. “I’m not sure what we can do about all this, but there has to be a way to sort it out. And we’ll find it.”
Marguerite managed a smile and bobbed her head. “I’m sure we will,” she agreed, her voice quavering. “But right now I’m a little tired. If you’ll all excuse me?” She glanced at Sam, almost as if asking permission to leave. When he said nothing, she turned and moved haltingly out of the study, pulling the door closed behind her.
“How could Helena have been this cruel?” Anne asked when Marguerite was gone.
Waterman shook his head and began packing the papers back into the accordion file. “I don’t know,” he said, though he wasn’t sure Anne’s question had required a response. “It just comes down to a question of control, I suppose. She never liked being out of control. She hated being sick the last years, and she hated having to be taken care of. Maybe she focused it all on Marguerite in the end.”
“But what are we supposed to do?” Anne asked, her voice taking on a plaintive note. “Surely Kevin isn’t really expected to stay here.”
Once again Waterman’s lips curled into a thin smile. “What the two of you do, of course, is entirely your own decision. But while you think about it, don’t forget Marguerite.” His eyes met hers. “And the rest of us,” he added. “Don’t forget the rest of us either. Whatever you decide, everyone in Devereaux is going to have to live with.”
Five minutes later the attorney left, his car kicking up a thin cloud of dust as he drove away from Devereaux Island. Kevin and Anne watched until he was gone, his car disappearing across the causeway. Then, together, they turned and went back into the shadowy darkness of the mansion.
But it’s not a mansion, Anne silently reflected as she closed the front door. It’s not a mansion at all. It’s a prison.
Marguerite paused at the top of the stairs to catch her breath and wait for the white-hot pain in her hip to ease a little. The pain had begun as she’d listened to Sam Waterman read the will, but she’d done her best not to show it. Instead, she’d simply gripped the arms of the chair harder and harder, until the ache in her hands and fingers took her mind off the pain in her hip.
She’d never thought about the possibility of having to leave Sea Oaks before. Always, since the days after the accident—when she knew she would never be able to dance again—she had assumed she’d live out her life quietly here, with her mother, in the familiar surroundings that had been the only home she’d ever known. Now, as the reality of her mother’s will began to sink in, she realized that it wasn’t just Sea Oaks she’d taken for granted; it was her mother too. And until just now, listening to Sam’s voice as he read, she hadn’t truly realized that her mother was gone, that she would never again hear the angry rasping of the buzzer, never again face her mother’s angry countenance as she made the newest of her ever-increasing demands on Marguerite.
But Marguerite had accepted the demands willingly, accepted the constant interruptions in her day almost eagerly. Taking care of her mother, as her mother had taken care of her, had been the center of her life for more years than she cared to remember. And they hadn’t been bad years for her, despite what everyone else thought.
And, of course, Marguerite knew what they thought, had long ago learned to read the thoughts behind the words when people spoke to her.
“How is your mother,” said in the most solicitous tones and with the most sympathetic of expressions, meant, quite simply, “When is the old hag going to die?”
“How are you?” meant “How can you stand to put up with that nasty old woman?”
Marguerite had always appeared to accept the words at face value, never betrayed her resentment at other people’s assumption that she must have hated her mother. For she did not hate her mother; indeed, she loved her mother, explaining the older woman’s ever-growing bad temper as nothing more than a result of advancing age and retreating good health. Who, confined to a bed, wouldn’t become irritable after a while?
And besides, Marguerite owed Helena far more than she had ever paid. Hadn’t she disappointed her mother so many years ago, when she’d been clumsy enough to fall down the stairs and end the dream Helena had nourished for her since the day she’d been born?
Hadn’t she turned, in that single moment, from the object of her mother’s hopes into a burden her mother had been forced to bear?
And now her mother was gone, and even though Kevin and his family were there, the house would, for Marguerite, be forever empty.
Except, of course, for her girls.
She still had them. Would always have them, or others like them. And Julie.
She mustn’t forget Julie. There was so much of herself in Julie.
She started toward her room, a small smile playing around her lips as she remembered watching Julie dance. It was almost like watching herself again.…
A sudden movement at the end of the corridor caught her eye. Then she realized that someone was in her mother’s room.
Frowning, Marguerite started along the hall, her lame leg dragging slightly, her step uneven, one hand brushing lightly against the wall to hold her balance. The door to the master suite was open, and Marguerite stepped through, then stopped.
The door to the immense walk-in closet where her mother’s clothes hung neatly on padded hangers was thrown wide open, and Ruby was taking the garments off the hangers one by one, folding them, and packing them away into large cardboard cartons. Marguerite’s eyes widened as she realized what Ruby was doing, and she gasped. Ruby turned to look at her, then went back to her work.
“I guess we can send these to the thrift shop,” she said, surveying the long row of gowns. “I’m not sure who’d buy them, but I ’spose there’s always someone—”
Her words were cut off as Marguerite snatched the dress she was holding out of her hands.
“How dare you?” Marguerite demanded, her eyes flashing with anger. “How dare you touch my mother’s things?”
Ruby, startled, stepped back, nearly stumbling over one of the boxes. “Miss Marguerite, you can see plain as day what I’m doing. I’m packing up Miss Helena’s things, just like I packed up Mr. Rafe’s after he died.” She reached out to take the dress from Marguerite, but Marguerite jerked it away.
“No!” she exclaimed, clutching the dress close to her breast. “I won’t let you! Not yet!”
Ruby started to protest, but changed her mind when she saw the angry glow in Marguerite’s eyes. She backed slowly away. “I’m sorry, Miss Marguerite,” she said. “Maybe I should’ve waited til tomorrow.”
As quickly as it had come, the anger seemed to drain
out of Marguerite, and she relaxed slightly. But she did not give up the dress. “Yes,” she said at last. “Tomorrow. Maybe you can begin the packing tomorrow. Or the day after. But not today.” Her eyes took on a pleading look. “Please, Ruby?” she asked.
Ruby’s tongue flicked over her lips for a second and her eyes hooded. But at last she nodded. “All right,” she said. “I’ll wait a day or two. These dresses ain’t going any further out of fashion than they already are.” She turned then and started out of the room, but at the door she looked back.
Marguerite was in the dressing room now, standing in front of a mirror. Her mother’s dress held up against her body, she stared at her image in the glass for a moment. Then, a mysterious smile spreading across her face, she bowed deeply in the style of a prima ballerina.
But the lameness in her leg made the bow clumsy, and pitifully grotesque.
Ruby hurried out of the room.
CHAPTER 8
Julie lay on her back, her right arm shielding her eyes from the sun. She could feel a slow trickle of sweat running down her side, and knew that soon she would have to go into the water, if only to cool off a little. The problem, though, was that she wasn’t sure she had quite enough strength to make the few yards from her towel to the water’s edge. The heat had closed around her like a blanket, wrapping her so tightly she could barely breathe. But around her the rest of the kids—the kids who had grown up here—didn’t seem to be affected by it at all.
There were ten of them altogether, and Julie had decided early in the afternoon that she liked all of them except Mary-Beth Fletcher. And she’d tried to like Mary-Beth, too, even after the way Mary-Beth had acted at the dance class a week ago. But it hadn’t been easy, because each time she’d started to approach Mary-Beth, the other girl had suddenly gotten involved with someone else and acted as if Julie weren’t even there.
