Before Jackie could form a response, the doorbell rang. Esther walked wearily to the door, glanced through the security peephole, and murmured worriedly, “Oh no. This is just too much.”
Jackie rose to her feet as the door opened. Which proved a good thing, because she definitely did not want to meet this newcomer sitting down. The black woman who entered was as tightly coiled as she was perfect in poise and dress. Navy suit. Pearls. Graying hair done in a carefully clenched helmet. Determined chin, fierce dark eyes. With a linebacker’s stride, she crossed the room and planted herself in front of Jackie. The woman demanded in a voice somewhere between alto and angry bass. “Is this her?”
“Kay, not tonight. Please, we’ve only—”
“I asked you a question, Esther.”
She waved a weary hand of introduction. “Jackie Havilland, Kay Trilling.”
“I can’t believe you did this, Esther. You know Graham would be against it. As I am. Totally opposed.”
“How did you find out?”
“Nabil called me. He, at least, thought I should know what was going on here.”
“If you’d just sit down and hear what I’ve—”
“I have no intention of being taken in like the rest of you. It was wrong to draw her in, and doubly wrong to bring her here.”
“Kay, this has been one of the worst afternoons Graham has had. The doctor was here for hours.”
“All the more reason.” She spun about. “I want a word with you in private.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow—”
“Now, Esther.”
Esther sought her own fierce resolve but found too little to argue. “Let’s move into the kitchen. Excuse us, please, Jackie.”
Jackie turned and went back to the other room. Carter watched her approach with a blank expression. She demanded, “What did I miss in all that?”
“Senator Kay Trilling,” Carter said. When that explanation was not enough, he added, “Lady doesn’t mince words.”
“I noticed.”
“She and Graham—” He was cut off by the doorbell ringing once more. They stopped and listened for Esther, but heard only an argument rising from the kitchen. And the weak sputter of a cough from the bed.
Carter moved quickly for such an ungainly man. He padded around to the bedside table, shook the cup to make sure there was still liquid inside, then fitted the straw into the man’s mouth. The doorbell rang a second time. Jackie asked, “Is it like this all the time?”
“A lot of people miss our Graham.” Words spoken in the matter-of-fact tone of someone who lived with that fact night and day. “See who that is, will you?”
13
Friday
WHEN VALERIE CALLED and suggested they meet at the Longworth building entrance, Wynn protested, “I’m drowning in work here. I’m not going to be able—”
“Nonsense,” she replied, and cut the connection.
Fifteen minutes later she called once more to announce in dulcet English tones that she was downstairs waiting for him. Wynn sat there a moment longer, hearing nothing save the rise of his own dread.
His footsteps rang empty and forlorn as he padded downstairs and passed the building security. Outdoors he discovered that night had slipped in and captured the world without his notice. Across the street, the Capitol was lit up like a crown of gold-flecked stone. The traffic sounds were muted, the sidewalks empty. As he appeared at the top of the stairs, the rear door of a limousine opened to reveal a pair of emerald-stockinged legs.
As Wynn slipped in beside her, she said, “A word to the wise, Congressman. Diligence is indeed a noble concept.” Valerie’s outfit this night was an elegant muted gray. She leaned one shoulder against the black leather upholstery and allowed her hair to spill over her arm. “But Fridays do arrive, even in Washington.”
“I noticed. The place upstairs was a tomb.”
“Well, of course it was. Not to mention the fact that the Easter break begins next Wednesday. Come Tuesday afternoon, you’ll find tumbleweeds blowing down the empty streets of Capitol Hill.”
The driver pulled from the curb and called back, “The Watergate, Ms. Lawry?”
“That is correct, Gene. Thank you.”
As she pressed the button to roll up the glass divider, Wynn started in, “Valerie, listen—”
“Just a moment.” When smoked glass sealed them in, she slid closer and revealed a smile as fetching as her perfume. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again, Congressman.”
But he would not be put off. “I don’t want to go up with you.”
Her lips were dark and full as vintage port, begging to be tasted. She mocked him with her smile. “Not that old thing again. I thought we had this settled.”
“You don’t understand.”
“On the contrary, Wynn, dear. You are the newcomer here. I am the one experienced at Washington tactics.” She had the hands of a pianist, fingers long and perfectly straight, with nails painted the same tone as her lips. She dragged one across the back of his wrist. “We’ll be in and out of the Hutchings’ flat in a flash, then off to someplace you’ll love. You can drown your sorrows in a fine Merlot and regale me with tales from the Dismal Swamp.”
“The Dismal is in North Carolina.”
“The Everglades, then. Someplace full of wild beasties and woodsmoke and big dangerous men.” She waved a hand at the built-in bar. “Can I pour you a drink?”
“No.” There was nothing for it, save the truth. “You don’t understand. You can’t. Esther and I go back a very long way. She was my late wife’s best friend.”
Valerie did something with her legs, making a pretense of wrapping her skirt more tightly about her thighs, yet drawing herself closer still, almost curling up against him without touching more than the back of his hand. “You lost your wife two years ago, isn’t that correct?”
“How did you know?”
“I told you at the reception, Wynn dear. It is my job to know.” She used her free hand to sweep the hair from her forehead. “So Esther will be delighted to see you.”
“Not a chance.” Except for fleeing the car, he saw no way to avoid disclosing, “Esther was the one who told me Dianne was ill.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“We had separated about six weeks earlier. Dianne hadn’t told more than a handful of friends about her illness. I was locked into a court battle and an acquisition and running an understaffed company.”
Not the image returned then, but the feeling. Of tension stretching him out on the corporate rack until every sinew and brain cell shrieked from intolerable strain. Of sleeping in breathless gasps, jerking awake to jumbled images of having forgotten something vital, or missing an unseen attack. Of never being rested or drawing a comfortable breath. Not ever again. “I returned home. We stayed together until the end. It seemed right. I haven’t seen Esther since Dianne’s funeral.”
He lifted his eyes to find Valerie watching him, so full of sympathy he could have buried his head in the perfumed veil of her hair and wept for all the bad moves and worse motives.
She leaned forward and kissed him gently. No passion, no pressure. Soft as evening’s wind. There and gone.
The car pulled up and stopped. Without waiting for the driver to come around, Valerie slid out, then leaned back in and held out her hand.
Wynn had no choice but to rise and follow her inside.
The upstairs corridor was lined with antiques and had little brass-and-crystal chandeliers attached to the high ceiling. The carpet was thick enough to absorb all sound save that of Wynn’s own faltering heart. It was not merely that he dreaded seeing Esther again. This contact dredged up memories of a terrible time and hinged them to whatever hopeful might appear in the here and now.
The door was opened by an attractive young woman. Not in Valerie’s class, neither in looks nor style. But good-looking just the same. Her skin held the translucent quality possessed by a very few blonds. No
makeup. Silk T-shirt of midnight blue, matching linen slacks, and soft leather boots. Nothing Washington or tony about this woman. Perhaps a few years younger than Valerie, with a timeless poise all her own. “Can I help you?”
Valerie spoke for them. “We’re here to see Esther Hutchings.”
“She’s busy right now.” She stepped aside and led them into the parlor. They could hear angry voices in the distance. “Would you like to have a seat?”
Once more, Valerie said for them both, “Thank you, but we won’t be staying long.”
“That is most certainly the case.” Esther Hutchings did not so much step through the swinging door as blaze into the room. She ignored Valerie entirely as she careened towards Wynn. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“Hello, Esther.” As the rear door swung back in the opposite direction, Wynn caught sight of a vaguely familiar figure seated at the kitchen table.
“You are an utterly appalling man.”
“I’ll go if you want. I just thought it would be nice to . . .” Then he caught sight of the two figures in the back room. “Is that Carter Styles?”
“Nice? Did I truly hear you use that word?”
Carter rose from his chair, neither welcome nor warmth to his gaze. He stood in his stockinged feet, the newspaper dangling from one hand. The figure in the bed did not move.
Esther Hutchings closed the gap between them. “Of all the words that I might use to describe your actions, nice is certainly not among them. Appalling, self-centered, loathsome, greedy, false . . . Shall I go on?”
“I’ll leave.”
“Perhaps I should have told you this at Dianne’s funeral. I wanted to. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.” She took another fraction of a step closer, until he had no option but acknowledge the stretched features, the flaming gaze. “Dianne knew she was ill. But instead of going in for treatment, she ignored the warning signs until it was far too late. She knew how you loathed weakness. But you left her anyway. You spotted the frailty, and you fled. She might have needed more than you were willing to give. Isn’t that right.”
“No.”
“You sacrificed everything on the altar of your own success. You murdered her in all but name.”
Carter said quietly from the other room, “Esther.”
“And if that weren’t enough, now you’ve accepted a nomination the governor had no business making. But it was convenient, wasn’t it. The fact that it desecrates my husband’s good name means nothing to anybody.”
“That’s not true.”
“Oh, spare me. And to find you here on our tiny patch of hallowed ground . . .” She inched forward. “You are the utter embodiment of evil in my eyes.”
“Esther,” Carter repeated. “Enough.”
“Yes, dear,” said the woman pushing through the kitchen door. Wynn recognized her then. Senator Kay Trilling. Perfect. The senator went on, “Do calm down. Graham can hear you. Not to mention our other guest.”
Esther backed off a fraction and turned to Valerie. “Do I know you?”
“Valerie Lawry, Mrs. Hutchings. I merely wished to stop by and express my condolences. I admired your husband very much.”
“I doubt the feeling was reciprocated.” This from Trilling. When Esther turned her way, the senator added, “Ms. Lawry is one of our K Street friends.”
Esther turned back, not to Valerie but to Wynn. “You would bring this hired gun into my house?”
Wynn found minor solace in retreating toward the door. “Good-bye, Esther. I’m sorry. For everything.”
The door slammed behind them and echoed in his brain during the silent ride back downstairs. When the elevator deposited them in the lobby, Valerie said, “You look pale as a ghost.” When he did not respond, she continued, “Listen, my dear. Esther Hutchings is bitter over the loss of her social roost. I am sorry she took it out on you. But there it is. What shall be remembered is that you kept your cool, you paid your respects, you did your duty.”
He wondered how the flames had managed not to touch her. “I’m sorry. I really need to get back to my hotel. There’s no way I’d be good company tonight.”
“I’ll let you off this one time,” she said. “But only if you agree to do dinner with me tomorrow.”
“I can’t. I’m attending a conference in College Park and I don’t know when I’ll be done.”
“Not that silly thing on debt relief. The issue is utterly passé.”
“I said I’d go.”
“Washington is like Hollywood on that score. ’Let’s do lunch’ is not an invitation but a polite form of farewell.” When he did not respond, she pressed, “Sunday, then.”
“Sure.”
Valerie showed faint amusement over his shaken state. “You really must grow thicker skin if you are going to swim the Washington social waters.” She motioned toward the car. “Can I at least offer you a lift?”
But Wynn was already moving away, searching for the nearest shadow dark enough to swallow him whole.
AFTER THE VISITORS DEPARTED, Jackie took a seat by the back wall. The air was sharp with the smell of scorched flesh. She’d had a lifetime’s experience avoiding the aftershocks of anger and wanted nothing more than to be away.
But the room was no longer a dangerous place. The atmosphere, though still highly charged, was not unfriendly. Senator Trilling walked over and hugged Esther fiercely. The two women clung together for a long moment. Then the senator stepped back and spoke in a voice entirely different from the one she had used upon her arrival. “Are you all right, dear?”
“Nothing is all right.” Broken and weary now. “Are you attending tomorrow’s conference?”
“I can’t. We’re working flat out this weekend, finishing up last-minute details. I leave for Cairo on Thursday.”
Carter Styles remained standing between the living room and the immobile figure in the bed. “Wynn Bryant is going to be in College Park.”
That turned both women around. “What?”
“A pair of OEOB flunkeys put it to him Wednesday. Wanted him to go to Cairo, too. He accepted only for tomorrow.”
The senator planted fists on both hips. “And precisely when were you planning on telling us?”
“Don’t look at me like that,” Carter replied, utterly unfazed. “You were the one who came in here with both guns blazing.”
Kay Trilling glanced toward Jackie, showing the evening’s first hint of uncertainty. Esther asked Carter, “Why didn’t you mention this to me?”
“You already had enough on your plate. I had no idea Wynn was going to show up. Besides, right now you need to be focusing on tomorrow.”
Kay Trilling turned back. “Tomorrow?”
Esther looked stricken by the coming confession. “We’re moving Graham to a hospital in Fairfax. They want to do some new scans. If it turns out to be what they think, they’ll operate immediately.”
“Oh, Esther.”
“Apparently he’s not responding as he should. His deterioration suggests something other than a stroke. They don’t hold out much hope, but it’s better than seeing him locked inside the prison of his own body. You know how he would hate this.”
Kay asked faintly, “What are his chances?”
Esther merely stared at the figure lying in the bed.
Carter spoke for them both. “She’s doing the right thing, Kay.”
Jackie watched as the senator walked to the bed, settled a hand upon the inert shoulder, and said, “I pray for you each and every day, Graham.”
To Jackie’s astonishment, Carter said, “Maybe you should give Ms. Havilland a chance, Kay.”
The senator remained leaning over the bed. “Why should I?”
Carter gave a minute shrug. “Graham always said he’d take Esther’s hunches over a full-on staff analysis any day.” When the senator did not speak, he went on, “Just pray on it. I know that’s what Graham would tell you.”
Senator Trilling leaned closer to the head with the bright
staring eyes. “Please get up and get well, Graham. I don’t think I can do this without you.”
“He’s just resting up for the big push,” Carter said, directing his words toward Esther, who had not moved from her place near the door. Carter folded his paper and reached for his shoes. “Just getting ready for the next battle on the floor.”
The senator turned and walked back into the living room, where she glared at Jackie, then enfolded Esther into another embrace. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“These days everything I do seems either wrong or not enough.” Trilling walked to the door and left without another word.
Carter approached Esther. “I’ll see you at nine.”
“Yes. All right.”
He patted her arm, gave Jackie a swift nod, then let himself out. The room seemed to expand a fraction and take an easier breath. Esther sighed her way over to the sofa. “Please forgive us.”
Jackie moved over to the neighboring settee. “There’s nothing—”
“Graham was the first man I ever met who cared nothing for my money. Oh, he enjoyed it enough. But it had no hold over him. I was utterly fascinated by his indifference to wealth. I had spent a lifetime building barriers to keep out people who only pretended to care about me. Yet here was this man, dashing and fiery and full of ideas, who had no time for my airs or my reserve.”
Jackie listened, knowing the words were not really meant for her at all. The older woman was simply trying to knit the fabric of her world back together. Esther continued to direct her gaze and her words toward the empty fireplace. “Graham refused to permit me to hide away. He could be positively brutal in his impatience. What he saw in me, why he forced me to open up, what he expected to find . . .” She turned so she could glance at the bed, seeing another time, another man. “I should have been more ready for this. I should have prepared myself better. Learned more. Become stronger.”
Drummer In the Dark Page 11
