"Valerie," Lily said suddenly. "Would you mind... Would it be all right..." She looked at her clasped hands, then raised her eyes and looked at Valerie with something like desperation. "Could I come to live with you, just for awhile, until I figure out whaf s going to happen to me?"
That afternoon, leaving Lily with Rosemary, Valerie went to work, and went straight to Nick's office. She had barely seen him since Saturday night, almost a week ago. He had called several times, late, after Chad was in bed, and they had talked for awhile, but they were awkward. Nick felt like a college student calling his girl, not necessarily a bad way to feel, just an unfamiliar one. And Valerie felt almost as if she had no experience at all. She thought she'd pursued him about as much as she could without being ridiculous, and she was getting tired of the peaks and valleys of their times together. She wished they had met for the first time this year; they probably would have been terrific together with no images or expectations to overcome.
But we're terrific now, she thought. At least sometimes. But she had no idea how often they could repeat the miracle of last Saturday night, with no quarrels, no tensions, no reminders of their memories: a long evening of what easily could have passed for love.
On Friday afternoon, pushing aside the conflias she felt with him, she went to Nick's office to tell him about Lily. "She's very vulnerable, she's been hurt in so many ways, but she'll be living with me for awhile, and at some point Tm going to ask her about Graceville. I thought you'd like to be part of that."
"I would; thank you," he said. 'I'd like to get to know her anyway.
I've watched her a couple of times; she has a remarkable quality of belief, in herself and others."
"She's lost the belief in herself, at least for now. But you should meet her. Come to dinner tonight. And bring Chad. It will be very casual; I don't want Lily to think I'm setting her up. I feel uncomfortable about this, anyway: questioning her while she's my guest, and in trouble."
"The mark of a true journalist," Nick said, amused. "Never pass up an opportunity."
"You mean I'm using her."
"I mean you're taking advantage of her living in your house. But if she wants to talk about Graceville, I don't see a problem. Except that it may hurt her. I asked you that before, you know; what you'd do if we find things about Graceville that will hurt her."
"I don't know. I'd have to find out how she feels about it. She's pulling away from Sybille; it may be that she's pulling away from the church and the town too. She says she won't preach this Sunday."
"That isn't what I asked," Nick said. "What we learn may hurt her whether she's still involved in it or not."
Valerie nodded. "It sounds like the kind of story that doesn't have a happy ending, no matter which way we go. And I have to ask you the same question, about Chad."
Nick picked up a pencil and rolled it between his fingers. "Yes, I've thought of that. If everything points to Sybille, it could be very bad." He flicked the pencil to his desk. "We don't know where any of this is going yet. Why don't we confront the moral issues when we know what's real and what isn't?" He stood. "I'm late for a meeting. I'd like very much to come to dinner, and if I can speak for Chad, he'd love it. What time?"
"Seven-thirty."
"We'll be there. What kind of wine would you like?"
Their eyes met and the memories came with a rush. Wine seems to be your weak point. The only one Fve found. So far. She had bought wine and they had gone to his apartment, and cooked together, though she had barely been able to put together a salad. And then they had made love. We^ll talk about what we^regoing to do tomorrow. And every day after that.
"I read some books," Nick said with a smile. He wanted to prolong the moment when memories bound them together, instead of keeping them apart. "And so did you, evidendy, if you're cooking dinner."
Valerie laughed. "You won't know for sure until you've tasted it.
But I think we can trust each other. White wine, please. I'm looking forward to tonight."
She was still producing her four-minute segments for "Blow-Up," researching Graceville for a full-length feature, and beginning to work with the research department on another subject, this one a prominent political aide who had a criminal past. Scutigera had been pushed to the bottom of her list of possible subjects. No one talked about it; they all were willing to let the story die without causing her embarrassment. But Valerie still felt frustrated and bereft at her failure: her idea, her interviews, her script... and nothing to show for it. Graceville will be different, she thought. I'm going to make something of Graceville. And Lily.
Lily. Graceville. Sybille. What a combination. Working in her office after talking to Nick, she wondered again what Sybille had to do with the board of the Hour of Grace Foundation: how she could demand a meeting when, according to her, her only relationship with the board was to produce Lily's two programs.
But she didn't even do that, not really, Valerie thought. She picked up a pencil and began to roll it between her fingers. Sybille herself didn't work on any of the shows that her company produced. Al Slavin and Gus Emery did the work.
She reached for the telephone and called Sybille Morgen Productions. She had never forgotten the phone number. But when she asked for Al Slavin, the operator told her he no longer worked there. "He's at CNN in Adanta," she said.
Valerie called him there. "Hey, Valerie," he said, "great to hear from you. Everything okay? What can I do for you?"
"I thought you might tell me something about producing Lily's shows."
"Whatever I can. How's she getting on? We see her down here; she looks good."
"Yes," Valerie said. "Al, does Sybille have anything to do with Graceville?"
"Not that I know of I can't believe they'd want her, the way she screws them on production costs."
"What does that mean?"
"She bills them three times what they cost. We didn't say anything —none of our business—but it annoyed the hell out of me; dirty thing to do to a religious board."
"What was the usual profit?" Valerie asked.
"It didn't work that way. The Hour of Grace Foundation was the only customer we had that hired us to produce their programs. The rest of the time we made our own pilots and then went out and sold them for a thirteen-week series or whatever. The Foundation was the only one we produced for."
At the end of the conversation, Valerie made a note of it, to tell Nick. Nothing illegal, she thought, as she did so often in researching the Foundation. Sybille can charge whatever she wants, and if they're dumb enough to pay it... She went back to work, but she had trouble concentrating, and finally, an hour early, she went home. She had to plan her dinner.
She had learned to cook simple dishes and Nick had learned to buy complex wines, and, over dessert, sitting at Rosemary's Hepplewhite table in the overcrowded combination living and dining room, they raised their glasses to each other. "To progress," said Nick. "It was a wonderful dinner."
"With a perfect wine." Valerie's glass touched his.
Lily saw the way their eyes held, the way they leaned toward each other without realizing it, and she turned her head away. She would never have that. No one would ever love her the way Nick obviously loved Valerie.
Chad saw the sad curve of her mouth and tried to think of something to say to cheer her up. She was very pretty, he thought, not nearly as spectacular as Valerie, and she didn't have Valerie's smile or the way Valerie had of making you think you were the most important person in the world, but Lily was pretty, and nice, except she was awftilly quiet. Her clothes looked too big, maybe that was why she was so sad. He cast about for something to say, and decided on food. "Did you like the trout?" he asked.
Lily turned to him. He was such a handsome boy, and so nice, almost as nice as his father. It was like a family dinner, she thought: Rosemary was the grandmother, Nick and Valerie were the parents, and she and Chad were the children. They were all so nice to her. Valerie had given her clothes to wear, and Rosemary
had given her a comb and brush for her hair, and Nick had brought a book by Jamaica Kincaid about growing up that he thought she'd enjoy. A family, she thought again. It was such a comforting thought it made her sad that it wasn't true.
"The trout," Chad repeated.
"Yes," she said. "I loved it. I loved the almonds on it."
'It's called trout amandine," said Chad wisely. "It's one of my favorites."
"Trout amandine," Lily repeated. "I didn't know that. How many other favorites do you have?"
"A couple hundred. I like food a lot. I've seen you on television; you work for my mother."
'Tour mother? I don't know who that is, but I couldn't work for her; I don't work for anyone. Only God." She bit her lip. "But I'm not sure about that anymore, either."
"Sure you work for her. She told me so. Sybille Enderby."
Lily stared at him. She turned to look at Nick, talking to Rosemary and Valerie. It couldn't be true. Dimly, she began to get a sense of complex relationships she could not begin to fathom. I have no experience of the world, she thought. She had thought it before, but it had always been a worry, not a truth. Now she knew how ignorant she was. She had kept to herself in boarding school; she had kept to herself with Rudy, and then with Sybille. None of them had taught her what she needed. She could only get that on her own.
"Sybille used to produce my programs," she said to Chad. "I always thought we were working together for a higher purpose."
"What do you mean, used to produce?" Chad asked. "Doesn't she do it anymore?"
"I guess not." Lily tried to smile. "I know that sounds silly; it's just that so much has happened I'm a little confused. I'm pretty sure I don't want Sybille to do it anymore, but I have a lot of decisions to make."
"About what?"
"About..." Lily looked around, hoping to be rescued from Chad's curiosity, and Valerie saw her. She brought her into the conversation, and the five of them talked casually for a long time, sitting at the table while the summer evening faded. In the gathering darkness, Rosemary Ut candles. Lily found her gaze fixed on them hypnotically. Her head drooped. "I'm sorry," she said at last. "I'm falling asleep."
"Oh, dear," Rosemary said, "we haven't made up the sofa. And, anyway, you couldn't sleep here, with all of us talking."
"Sleep in my bed," Valerie said. "I'll wake you later, when it's quiet here and the sofa is ready. It's no trouble," she added when Lily hesitated. "Go on, Lily; go to sleep."
Lily nodded drowsily and climbed the stairs to the bedroom. Rosemary gathered the water glasses together. "I'll help," said Chad, jump-
ing up. He stacked dessert plates and followed her into the kitchen.
Valerie looked at Nick. "Does he always do that?"
"As litde as he can get away with. We discussed it on the way here."
She smiled. "Thank you. Mother's been cleaning up for the two of us, but I think she was feeling daunted by a dinner party. She'll be glad to have help. And company."
They sat in silence, close but not touching. They were working together, they were sharing, they were thinking of something other than themselves. The best part, Valerie thought with amusement, watching Nick divide the last of the wine between their two glasses: we're learning to be comfortable together by not thinking of ourselves.
"I found something this afternoon," she said. She kept her voice low so it could not be heard in the kitchen. "Sybille triples her costs when she bills the Foundation for producing Lily's programs."
"That's steep, even for Sybille," Nick said. "And it's hard to believe the board pays it. They must have gotten bids from other producers."
"Maybe not. If Sybille really is involved with them, they might want to do her a favor."
"In return for what? There isn't much creativity in producing Lily's two shows; what else could she be doing for them?"
"I don't know."
"They can't be that crazy," Nick said stubbornly. "Thirty million for the land; three times the cost of production... The only way that would make sense is—"
"—if part of the money goes back to them." Valerie said quietly. "The board members, not the Foundation."
They looked at each other. "Thafs supposedly what the Bakkers did," Nick said. "Took contributions from the faithful, and siphoned off a steady flow for themselves."
"But we don't know that about the Foundation. So far all we have is that they tend to overpay. Sophie thought they just seemed incredibly stupid."
"I'm not sure what we have. Would you bring me some paper?"
Valerie brought him a pad of paper, and he undipped a pencil from the inside pocket of his jacket. "You heard Sybille setting up a meeting of the Foundation board; she mentioned two members by name. One of them owns the bank that seems to be financing Graceville. The other owns a construction company that's probably building the town. The construction company seems to have been set up to build the town; we found the date it was incorporated, and it fits, and that seems to be all they're working on. Which means, of course, all the
money for construction gets funneled through one corporation. We probably won't ever know what Marrach bills the Foundation, but if Sybille's bills for production are any indication, the construction bills are probably inflated like a dirigible. Graceville is going to be a very expensive town."
"I can't sleep," Lily said. She stood at the foot of the stairs, blinking at them, her face flushed. She wore a robe of Valerie's that was too long; her hands were almost hidden in the sleeves. "Is it all right if I sit with you?"
Valerie and Nick exchanged a quick glance.
"Oh," Lily said blankly. "I'm sorry. I should have thought... of course you'd rather be alone... of course you don't want me. I'm sorry." She turned to walk upstairs.
"Of course you can sit with us," Valerie said quickly. She went to Lily and put her arm around her. "It wasn't that we didn't want you. We were afraid you might be upset if you knew we were talking about Graceville."
Lily sighed. "I knew you were. I heard you say it would be expensive. You think something is wrong with it."
"Something might be," said Nick. "But we don't know very much."
"But you must," Lily said. She looked at Valerie. "You must know a lot. You were in on the beginning. I thought that was why you and Sophie came out that day, to see what the town looked like, because you were part of it."
"Part of it? Lily, I've never had anything to do with it."
"Of course you did," Lily insisted. "Well, maybe not directiy, but it was your money, too, wasn't it? Graceville wouldn't even be built— there wouldn't be anything there at all—if it wasn't for Carlton. He gave us the money to buy the land."
A silence fell over the table. Valerie stared at Lily.
"You knew that," Lily said uncertainly
Nick grasped Valerie's hand, to give her something solid to hold, and twined her fingers in his. She sighed, a long, trembling sigh. Thirteen million dollars for the land. And thirteen million dollars that Carlton had raised by mortgaging everything they owned, and then ... spent. And now she knew on what.
"I don't understand," Lily said. "Why wouldn't Carlton have told you? It was such a wonderful thing to do; the kind of thing people do together."
Valerie looked at Nick. "I didn't tell you before. Carl and Sybille were having an affair."
"Oh, no!" Lily cried.
Nick put his finger to his lips. 'We don't want Chad to hear any of this."
"Oh, yes, of course. But how could they—.""
"She got him to invest in Graceville," Nick said to Valerie. "But he didn't have the money, is that right? He'd lost a pile in the stock market."
Valerie nodded. "Close to fifteen million dollars. We didn't know anything about it until after he died. Carl never told me when things weren't good. Sometimes he told me later, when he'd pulled himself out—recouped what he'd lost, or whatever he did—but mosdy he acted as if everything was fine, and I just assumed everything was. I never had any idea how bad things could be."
"Recouped what he'd lost," Nick repeated slowly.
Watching him, Valerie heard her own words. When he^d pulled himself out — recouped what he'd lost... "Sybille," she said.
Nick gripped her hand more tightly. "If she told him he could recoup the money he lost in the market by investing—"
"—in land," Valerie said, picking up the thought. By now it was a puzzle: less personal, and so easier to think about. "They'd buy it with his thirteen million and sell it for thirty—"
"—and he could make.,. well, we don't know how much he could make because we don't know how many people got a piece of the thirty million. But suppose he got twenty-five or so—double what he'd put up—enough to replace most of what he lost in the market and pay off his mortgages and loans. You wouldn't know anything about it, and he'd try to make back the rest—a million, two niillion, whatever it was—in the market."
"But Carl didn't buy it," Valerie said. "Neither did Sybille. Beauregard Development bought it."
"Right. A Panamanian corporation, which means it doesn't have to reveal the names of its stockholders, and there's no way of checking. But if you had to guess who they are, who would it be?"
"How about Sybille?"
"Or the Foundation," Nick said. "Run by those board members who keep cropping up. Either one would be a pretty good guess."
"That doesn't make sense," Lily said. She had been listening with a deep frown, her chin propped in both hands. 'Tou're saying the board bought the land, and then bought it again, from itself. That just doesn't make sense. If Sybille or the Foundation already owned it, why would they take thirty million dollars from the Foundation—thafs
money that people sent in, a few dollars at a time, because they believed in what we were doing!—why would they use that to buy land they already owned?"
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