“Hey, Cinda, what you got there? A diamond in the rough?”
“A horse,” Lucinda said as she kept walking. Jay hopped lithely out of the trailer and followed her. He reached out for her left arm, the one not holding the lead rope.
“Wait a minute,” he said, pulling her to a stop. The mare immediately began hunting for grass. Lucinda pulled her arm out of Jay’s grasp.
“Don’t touch me again. Ever,” she said.
“Ok, ok,” he said. “It’s just that it’s so great to see you again. I missed you.”
“Have you tired of Caitlin already?” Lucinda said, breaking her newly made rule of not letting him pull her back into his toxic web. She shook her head, adding quickly, “Look, I don’t care what you do. Just hear this, we are no longer student and teacher or buddies or lov… .or anything else.” She started leading the mare back to the barn.
Lucinda encountered Margo as she approached the entrance to the wing where Bally Glen and Lady Grey were stabled.
“Good for you, huh?” Margo said. “He came back. Now that you’re free.”
Lucinda walked past Margo into the stable. She had so often stifled the urge to slap Margo in the face that the impulse flashed up and died away just as quickly. So much for Salt Marsh being a kind of haven from the stresses of her life, as she’d hoped when she moved the mare here last week to get Lady Grey around other horses and at a good facility for training. She knew Margo would be there, but it was a big place and she usually just easily avoided her. Lucinda hated work dynamics intruding on her horse time, but if she were going to be at Salt Marsh — on its way to being part of the college — she would have to adjust. Just then she glanced up and saw Frank Wickes ascending the stairs to the observation room.
“Oh, hell,” she said to Lady Grey. “They’re coming at me from all sides.”
Camille Augustine emerged from the stall next to Lucinda’s.
“Then give back in spades,” the vet said. Her hazel eyes flashed with humor while her straightened hair curved under her chin like parentheses, framing her trademark diamond stud earrings.
“How are you, Lucinda?”
“I’m ok, Dr. C. Can’t complain.”
“Oh, I bet you could.” She wrote something on a clipboard and stuck a note on the stall door. “But good for you for not.”
“How goes the annexing move with the stable? I hear you’ve been laying out some plans,” Lucinda asked.
“Moving along. Just need to convince our president.”
“Oh, that’s why he’s prowling around.”
“Yes,” Dr. Camille said, her whole face animated, Lucinda guessed, by a witticism at the expense of Frank left unuttered. “No further comment. I’m off to check on Kildaire. Catch you around, Lucinda.”
Lucinda led Lady Grey back into her stall, wondering what Dr. Camille would have said had she felt free to speak her mind. She also made a mental note to ask Dr. C. if she’d speak to potential donors — she’d be a great PR asset for the college with her high professional standards and great stallside manner — and to high school seniors, although that was more Margo’s territory.
Ramsey scooped out grain portions from a wheelbarrow in the center aisle. Tori considered putting in chutes for grain feeding, but opted for the hands-on approach. The sweet molasses-laced oat scent spread throughout the barn, and all equine heads turned toward the wheelbarrow. A few horses kicked their stall boards in anticipation of dinner.
“Enough, guys!” Ramsey said. “Wait your turn!”
Lucinda gave Lady Grey, more concerned with food than farewells, a final pat, then headed for her car. On the drive home, the wet leaves blew in kamikaze packs in front of her car, the sky a dizzying kaleidoscope of racing blue-gray clouds, the kind of visual second Bart loved to capture. He’d anchor the clouds to something stationary to give the viewer a perspective from which to appreciate the chaos, to feel the thrill of being present but not totally vulnerable. He was always attempting to nail down the turmoil of the world, frame it, but lost himself somewhere. She lost him somewhere. How could she bring him back to the world they shared?
Mirror, Mirror
Frank’s face gave nothing away. He’d summoned her via e-mail to the Pecan Room without explanation, setting up a personal turf advantage. She chose the lounge chair perpendicular to the couch. From there she could see the door, through which the staff chef approached bearing earthenware mugs on a tray, the hallway beyond, the sofa on which Frank sat, and a large mirror reflected back to another smaller mirror across the room over a narrow table supported by curvy legs.
The chef placed a mug on a pink granite coaster on the coffee table for Frank and handed Lucinda hers. Mulled cider. It smelled spicy, wonderful. Lucinda remembered her Aunt Jean heating apple cider on her cast-iron stove — the one she and Bart had replaced. She hadn’t had any kind of hot cider for more than a decade.
“How thoughtful, John,” Lucinda said.
Frank looked annoyed or impatient, she couldn’t decide which. At least it was some emotion. Dealing with a face purposely drained of emotion — his usual mask — was unnerving.
“I’ll take coffee, John,” Frank said.
John nodded and retrieved the mug Frank refused. As he approached the doorway leading out of the room, Lucinda turned away from Frank briefly and caught a glimpse in the smaller mirror of John sipping cider reflected from the mirror on the opposite wall. In John’s wake, Lucinda suddenly became aware of the ticking of snow against the floor-to-ceiling windows behind her and to her right along the front wall of the house.
While Lucinda took her first sip, Frank said, “We need to ramp things up. Big time.”
He moved over to the fireplace and ignited the gas fire. “Warren brought in four new hundred-grand donors last month. I need you doing the same.”
Lucinda watched the flames settle into artificial regularity before she spoke.
“According to the fundraising plan, we’re only a hundred fifteen thousand below where we should be for the rest of the calendar year.” She paused and sipped cider. “There’s a pledge payment due in December that more than covers that, and the next four weeks are traditionally fast and furious. The end of the tax deduction season is — ”
“I want you to know that Fargill and Dover have told me they can do much more after February if we can keep up.”
She focused on the fire, willing herself to pause, think. Keep up?
“What have you arranged exactly with Fargill and Dover? Some kind of challenge match?” she asked, keeping her voice neutral. “I never received any paperwork about them.”
Frank picked up a fire poker, only ceremonial now with the gas flame, cradled it, peered at his reflection in the tall darkened window, and then put the poker back in the fireplace tool rack.
“Dover Industries has agreed to provide extensive in-kind donations of building materials for the capital campaign.”
“But we’ve just only finished the Feasibility Study. What timeframe did you give them?” Lucinda asked. Her gaze settled on the large mirror in which she saw John reflected in the smaller mirror entering the room with Frank’s coffee. Momentarily dizzy, she focused on the real John as he approached the coffee table.
“Here you go, sir,” he said, winking at Lucinda. “I’m off now.”
“Be careful on the steps,” Lucinda said. “It’s starting to get icy.
“Will do. Good night all.”
As John left for the evening, Frank picked up his mug and sipped. The ticking sound stopped, but the snow, dryer now, blew against the windows in abrupt gusts.
“Frank, as I mentioned at the last Development Committee meeting — you got the minutes — I’m working with Aden, Jennifer, and Honor on several multiyear, multimillion-dollar gifts and grants. These are to fund the priorities we agreed to — annual fund and scholarships, the new grad school programs, art department capital, and athletic fields. Among about a dozen others.”
She paused and glanc
ed at Frank’s face. He studied the fire — it was anyone’s guess what he was thinking.
Lucinda continued, “Warren’s handling the business school, and it’s great he’s bringing in new donors. I’m thrilled he’s making new connections. My other fundraisers and I are producing according to the revenue projections that I submitted to meet the budget projections, but asking for smaller gifts now for the capital campaign would be shooting us in the foot in terms of the big pic — ”
“That’s all fine, Lucinda, but I need you hustling more gifts to come in during the next three months.”
“Frank, I’m not sure you’re aware of how my priorities are set. When I have clear space in my schedule for major gift solicitation, it’s for the big leagues. I focus on donors who are primed to give the largest — ”
“Then have the new hires get out there. That’s what those new major gift officers are for.”
Lucinda watched snowflakes, no longer rice grains of ice but mimicking small lace sugar cookies, appear suddenly out of the dark through the windowpanes, then whirl away quickly as if as surprised at the sight of her as she was of them. She turned back to Frank, who was watching her.
“I need to explain this then. You can’t carve up the goals into arbitrary quotas with artificial timeframes and assign them to new solicitors with no relationship to the donors. They’ll see right through that and snap their checkbooks shut.”
“We will get more donors in the next three months if Warren has to acquire all of them. He’s got the long term in mind too, but he’s not afraid to hustle,” Frank said. Then added, with relish, “He’s headed for a promotion.”
“To what?” she asked, her voice rising in pitch despite herself. The next job up for Warren was hers.
“He could take on some of the things you don’t have time to do,” Frank said. “Lighten your load.”
“Hear me out, Frank,” Lucinda said, her eyes meeting his for a few seconds, catching him in an unguarded moment when his face reflected what she could only conclude was barely contained malice. Or was she imagining things? She looked away to the left over the wavelike curves of a parlor chair toward a table holding a chessboard. God, he has the bit in his teeth. What can I say to make him understand?
She took a breath and looked back toward Frank. He appeared superficially relaxed, yet ready to spring, if threatened. Coiled energy. Like that night at Ben’s party.
“Having been in this game awhile,” Lucinda continued, smiling reflexively to soften, just a tinge, her message, “I know corporations can be even more fickle than individuals and foundations. I’m not going to sacrifice the whole Development Department to the desires of two companies that have yet to prove their loyalty. They can cut you from their budgets next year without a thought. They’re in it for return, and the timeframe for what they get out of the bargain is — ”
“Believe me. Fargill and Dover won’t cut and run,” Frank said, smiling confidently.
He must have worked out something funky that gave him such surety, beyond what he’d told her they’d pledged, or else he was just a dammed fool. She didn’t think it was the latter.
Draining her mug to buy some time to think, she noticed Aden’s face in the window reflected back between the two mirrors. She blinked and closed her eyes. When she opened them he was gone.
“… bring in an additional unrestricted million five by Valentine’s Day and all will be well,” Frank said. “I won’t keep you any more tonight.”
He was standing in front of the fireplace poking numbers on his phone’s keypad when she looked away from the mirror toward him. He was done with her; she was to let herself out. He has the manners of a boulder when he doesn’t have time for you. The way he treats John. Me.
She headed for the coat rack in the corner, donned her cobalt wool coat, and flipped up the hood. It was that bad out. On the front steps, she noticed a set of footprints that led down the steps and across the flagstone walkway. John’s. She followed them to where they turned right onto the grass. The front light was extinguished. He’d barely given her enough time to get to the small visitor parking lot by the side of the house. Another set of prints crossed John’s between the grass and the parking lot. Turning to see where they led, she slipped on the icy layer under the thin covering of fluffy snow. She sprawled onto the ground, frozen spiky grass sticking up her nostrils.
Aden helped her up.
“Thanks,” she said, brushing snow off her coat, inhaling the primal scent of winter — refreshing after an evening of dizzying curves, mirrors, and duplicities. “What are you doing here?”
“I picked a bad night to play PI,” he said. “I thought we were just supposed to get a few flakes.” He looked up at the night sky as if it had broken a promise.
“Since you’re here, we need to talk. Unless you heard all that? Have you set up a wire yet?” she joked, but was half hopeful. “I saw your face in the mirrors.”
“Yes, Frank’s House of Mirrors. How about my office? Or somewhere in town?”
“Too visible. How about Salt Marsh?” Lucinda suggested. “The P-H folks should have cleared out by this time. I’m welcome there any time.”
“Sounds good. Let’s take both cars.” They parted, and Lucinda drove down the center campus drive to Salt Marsh while Aden took a slightly longer route, arriving two minutes later.
It was a little after seven when they sat in the observation room after walking quietly past the fed and blanketed horses. Most of them stood on three legs with the fourth cocked to rest, head lowered. Tori had left for Wellington two days before. Ramsey usually went home right after the five pm feed, and Thea had night watch. Lucinda noticed Thea’s yellow VW Beetle out front and another car she didn’t recognize. But not Margo’s, thank God.
“You first,” Lucinda said.
“Well, it’s obvious that Frank conducts his real business at his residence. I’ve regularly caught Warren and Margo slinking over there in the evenings and just recently some guy in a green Jaguar. Here’s the kicker, Frank is giving Warren a percentage for every new hundred-grand donor he reels in.”
“How do you know?” Lucinda asked.
“A few weeks ago, John let me into the president’s residence one evening when Frank happened to have Margo and Warren over, whom Frank keeps in separate rooms, by the way. I told John that Frank asked me to check on something in the library, so John lets me in, and I was happily poking around when I heard people approaching the library. I stepped behind that black Japanese screen with the cranes on it, near that potted tree, scared shitless they would find me. I thought I could just poke around quickly and see what I could find out before Frank returned; his assistant said he was in Newcester for the whole evening. Instead, I heard Frank and Warren’s discussion that clarified what Frank was paying for what, hence the need for Mr. Green Jaguar. Frank’s created his own accounting department.”
“Which will determine whether this is just unethical or illegal.”
“How can it not be illegal?” Aden asked.
“Well, it depends where he’s paying Warren from. If somehow he’s convoluting it so that it comes out of Frank’s own money with no connection to P-H, one could make the case that it’s only unethical. But it’s not something I’m going to stand for in my department either way. Plus he’s angling to replace me with Warren.”
“Yeah, he said as much too. I am not reporting to Mr. Slick Top,” Aden said. Lucinda grinned.
“Things went great until the end when I shifted my weight onto a creaky floorboard. Frank heard the noise and suspected something, but then they left.”
“Why didn’t you tell me when we were laying everything out on that whiteboard?”
“I was hoping to get something concrete you could report to Honor, not just what I heard spying on him in his residence.”
“Too bad we don’t have the conversation recorded. Oh and get this — I’m also to raise an additional unrestricted million five by Valentine’s Day. Just like that.
” She snapped her fingers. They heard giggling from the other end of the hall, the location of Thea’s apartment.
“Thea having a slumber party?” Aden asked.
“I didn’t recognize the other car.”
“A million five? He’s crazy.”
“I explained up, down, and sideways about the fundraising strategy, the plan. Blah, blah. I could talk till I turn purple and fall over, and he’d just ring for the staff to haul me away and then replace me with Warren. He’s got something going with Fargill and Dover that I don’t doubt really is illegal. But what?”
They heard voices outside the observation room door.
“Really, Jay! That would be fabulous!” Thea said.
“Shhh!!!” Lucinda said to Aden. She walked over to the closed door and listened.
“You could groom for me too next year on the circuit, during your school breaks. You really have a natural way with horses, Thea. To be sure. And you’re… .”
Lucinda strained to hear more, but they moved off down the stairs. She walked back to Aden.
“Who’s that?” Aden asked.
“Jay Parnell.”
“Oh,” Aden said, breaking eye contact. “Look, I need to be getting back. Gretel will want to make snowdogs.” The forced lightness in his voice sounded an off-note to Lucinda.
“Hey, Aden. Jay’s done all the damage he’s going to do in my life. I’m sorry the donors dumped on you about him last spring. It was the stupidest thing I ever did, but it is over.”
“I’m glad,” Aden said. “I never met him, but he did not seem to be the most savory character. That… fling… never seemed like you.” He looked into her eyes. She met his gaze levelly.
“I wasn’t myself last year. I haven’t been myself for a while.”
Aden smiled, with obvious relief. “Who have you been?”
“I don’t… You’d be surprised what Jay will do to lure his prey in. Some idiot female like me.”
“Hey, stop beating yourself up! It’s done. Let’s go. Maybe we can each salvage some of our evening.”
Halt at X: A North of Boston Novel Page 12
