Very Old Money
Page 34
Amy pressed her hand to her head. “Wait a second. I said it out loud? Really said it? Not just thought it?”
“According to Brooks, loud and clear. It shook him up. That’s why he yelled for me.”
“Mike darling, I didn’t know I said it out loud. But oh, God, am I glad he yelled for you. Anyhow, he had it wrong. What happened was, he found her steak knife missing, and I thought: she didn’t even need it because she won’t eat steak. Then I thought: why would she order tournedos if she won’t eat them? It’s almost as if she just wanted them for that knife, weird as it seemed.”
“Baby, what does this—?”
“Please. It gave me a chill. Somehow I saw Ma’am with that knife. I thought, really a murderous knife. That’s when it struck me: it isn’t that Kim is as tall as I am. It’s that I’m as tall as she is. You see?”
“See what?”
“Mike, listen. Somehow the McEye got to blathering about how tall Kim was and I was. And how dear Miss Margaret must favor tall girls because they’d be physically supportive at least. But of course I knew Ma’am hadn’t gone for Kim because of her height. That was just a coincidence. And that’s when it dawned on me it wasn’t any coincidence. No way. Because Ma’am knew all about Kim first, and one big reason for hiring me afterward was that I was as tall as Kim. Now do you see?”
“You mean—?” Mike said. “Yes. Hell, yes. She’s blind. She wanted someone Kim’s height to practice on. To know how to position herself when the time came. That’s what those phony neck massages were about too. Practice runs. God, that is one terrible woman. To make that girl a victim—”
“You know why, don’t you?”
“I’m pretty damn well sure I do now. Sweet vengeance against Adela, because it had to be that Adela pushed her down those stairs. Now let Adela spend the rest of her life in mourning for the one thing she loved. And if that knife had hit the inside of your wrist instead of—”
“Terrible in her wrath,” Amy said. “In one instant she forever lost her sight, her lover, her dream of being a great artist. The bottom of the pit, that’s where she landed. She must have wished she were dead a thousand times over in those fifty years.”
“Better that way, baby. It would have saved one innocent life and one near miss. You don’t really feel that tender about her, do you?”
“That’s not the word,” Amy said. “But if you keep your eyes tight shut when you walk out there to bring in Dorothy—and you understand you have to keep them tight shut the rest of your life—you might know how I do feel.”
“Not now. Sometime when I’m in the mood. And when I do fetch in Dorothy, just remember she will not be looking her best.”
That was the truth. Thirty going on forty, Amy thought when Dorothy Durie made her entrance, haggard, sallow-complexioned, red-eyed, and with those dark patches like bruises under the eyes. But the husky voice was unchanged. “How are you, Mrs. Lloyd?”
“Fair to middling,” said Amy.
“That’s something.” Dorothy leaned over to touch the bandaged arm. “I’m glad—we’re all glad it wasn’t worse,” she said, and Amy found a reek of whiskey breath filling her nostrils. Unlike the McEye, she thought, family was not required to camouflage that with peppermint. “And of all times to intrude,” Dorothy said, “this must be the worst. But it must be done, Mrs. Lloyd. You’ll appreciate that when I explain it. Unfortunately, I seem to be the one designated as family representative in this.”
“What about Mr. Craig?” Amy asked, and saw Mike look at her curiously as he stood there.
Dorothy shook her head. “Right now, he and my uncle have their heads together with the police and our lawyers and some psychiatric authorities who’ve been called in. My Aunt Jocelyn is under sedation. My husband, well, he’s now driving Mrs. Mac to New Jersey. She has a home there maintained by her widowed sister. And Mrs. Mac, it seems, is why I’m here.”
“She is?” said Amy.
“Oh, yes.” Dorothy gestured at the chair against the wall. Mike brought it forward and she seated herself. She lit a cigarette, and then, cigarette poised, looked around the room. “Ashtray?”
Mike solved this problem, Amy observed, by the simple process of dumping her hairpins from the small china bowl on the dresser and handing the bowl to Dorothy. She placed it in her lap.
“As of an hour ago,” she said, “Mrs. Mac is on full retirement.”
Amy tried to grasp this. “Full retirement? Then she’s not coming back?”
“No, she is not.”
“That was her own decision?” Mike said, and Dorothy seemed a little puzzled, Amy saw, at hearing a voice from that direction.
“Her hard and fast decision,” Dorothy said to Amy. “In fact, everything was done to persuade her otherwise. But she’s really not quite as ageless as she’d like one to believe; she’s high-strung, she’s always taken too much on herself. Tonight—well—she just came apart at the seams. Totally unable to cope. So it was goodbye, here are the keys, I’ll be sending for my things. Of course, she did make the idiotic mistake when the police came of leading them upstairs and walking into that room with them. Quite a sight to behold, I imagine, even if you’re prepared for it, and she wasn’t.”
“But Kim Lowry,” Amy said, “I mean, the body—it’s not there now, is it?”
“Oh, no. Removed to the morgue.”
“Has the grandmother been told?”
“The Taliaferro woman? I gather that the police attend to that. By now they probably have. Then there’s the business of her making identification. I don’t envy the woman. But you do see what I’m getting at, Mrs. Lloyd. It’s not only that you’re taking over Mrs. Mac’s job, but—and I realize the imposition on you—you must attend to it at once. Right now.”
“Do I?” said Amy.
“Obviously.” From that hint of impatience, Amy thought, Dorothy Durie was not one to bear fools gladly. “Considering your injury, I know you can’t go all out, but I’m sure you can handle certain immediate problems more than adequately.”
“Right now.”
“I’m sorry, but yes. The help is in quite a state—most of them are in the staff hall gabbling all kinds of nonsense—and they want an interface with you about the situation. And I gather that a duty roster for tomorrow hasn’t been posted. As it is, we’ll have chaos here tomorrow with the press and television vultures closing in. It’ll be even worse if the staff isn’t given its instructions. And my aunt—that is, Miss Margaret—insists on seeing you. Is making one hell of a fuss about it, in fact. In her condition this kind of emotionalism is the worst kind of thing she can indulge in.”
“I see,” Amy said. “What is her condition?” She took notice that when Dorothy tamped out the cigarette she looked as if she were trying to drill it right through the bottom of the bowl. A case of rising temper, Amy gauged, not too well controlled.
“In my opinion,” Dorothy said, “most interesting. I think you should know, Mrs. Lloyd, since you’ll be dealing with her, that she very calmly made a detailed confession to the police. That’s not hearsay. I was part of the audience along with my father-in-law and uncle. Since then, she’s refused sedation and remained quite calm except during spells when she wants to know when you’ll show up. It’s painful to her brothers especially that you seem to be the one and only, but I disagree with them. I think it’s damn lucky for them there’s anyone in the world she has some feeling for.”
“Perhaps,” Amy said. “But a confession? About what she did? Why she did it?”
“Mrs. Lloyd, I don’t feel that this—”
“Look,” Mike cut in, and he wasn’t being the soul of patience himself, Amy saw. “In a little while it’ll all be headline stuff anyhow. I’d say there’s a certain obligation due us to at least keep us ahead of the papers.”
Dorothy lit a fresh cigarette from the first and drew in a lungful of smoke. She addressed herself to Amy. “She was having an affair with the artist doing her portrait.” The voice was emotionle
ss. “That weekend, the family was away in Maine and his wife was supposed to be visiting friends. Adela Taliaferro. However, she suddenly returned to find the couple in bed. Her bed. In the apartment the Taliaferros had been provided with here. This apartment, in fact. She then went berserk, seized a palette knife, and tried to assault, not her husband, but his victim, who ran stark naked and screaming to the staircase to escape her. At the head of the stairs the knife wasn’t needed. Just one hard shove was all it took.
“Years later—last autumn—the name Adela Taliaferro was suddenly brought to her notice again. It was—”
“Yes, we’re familiar with that part,” Amy said.
Dorothy regarded her narrowly, threads of smoke filtering out between her teeth. “You played her game, you know.”
“Dutifully,” said Amy. “As demanded. But that day it happened—the butler McEye and Borglund and Wilson were the staff on hand here. Did she explain how they managed to cover up everything?”
“No,” Dorothy said, “that came from my father-in-law just now, not that it came easy. McEye heard the screaming from his apartment—right next door here—and ran out in time to see it happen. Borglund and Wilson were evidently close by. When they found she was in a coma, McEye took charge at once. My husband’s grandfather was head of the family then, a totally domineering man and obsessive about any hint of scandal touching it. James Hamilton Durie. And McEye was utterly devoted to him. He managed to get some clothing on her before he called in the doctor and fabricated a story about an accident. As soon as the family could get home he confided only in James Hamilton. Who, close to his death, confided it only to my father-in-law. A sweet legacy, all right.”
“You mean,” Amy said, “no one else knew besides Mr. Craig?”
“Not one of us, until he had to come out with it now. Not even my uncle as younger brother. Absolutely grotesque when you think of it. Those three staff people were assured lifetime jobs for their silence, Taliaferro was given that building, which, I understand, Adela Taliaferro still occupies. And she was warned that if she ever spilled the beans she’d be held for attempted murder. And in his turn, my father-in-law, poor soul, kept the faith until the inevitable day—or was it inevitable? Do you have anything to drink here?”
“Wine,” Mike said, and Dorothy nodded.
He poured half a glass from the carafe in the refrigerator, and when Dorothy held up a hand, finger and thumb widely extended, he filled the glass. She downed most of it without taking a breath.
“So here we are,” she said.
“What happens to Miss Margaret now?” Mike asked, and Amy observed that for the first time Dorothy appeared to take direct notice of him.
“Well,” she said, “that’s being worked out now among our lawyers and psychiatric people and some police brass and a man from the district attorney’s office, and it seems the prevailing winds are favorable. Once certain legalisms are steered around, she’ll be placed in the family’s charge and be required to undergo therapy. That’s about it.”
“She’s very fortunate,” Amy said.
“In a way. But she is seventy years old and blind, Mrs. Lloyd. And does have a long history of what can be labeled psychosis. And doesn’t remember anything about the—well, the climactic episode tonight.”
“Do you believe she doesn’t?” Amy said.
“Do I now?” Dorothy emptied her glass and held it out for a refill. Mike poured the remainder of the carafe into it. She said, “In my opinion—and in the opinion of those parties downstairs investing their good will in this—it would be wise for all of us to believe it devoutly. And now you know as much as I do.”
“Thank you,” said Amy.
“The best thanks, Mrs. Lloyd, would be your taking over Mrs. Mac’s duties immediately.”
“Perhaps. But you see, Mr. Lloyd and I were just preparing to move out ourselves.”
Dorothy seemed to go into shock. “Move out? Give up your jobs? Now?”
“As soon as we pack a few necessaries.”
“No. That’s out of the question. Hell, you know, you’d be leaving us in an impossible situation.”
Amy displayed the bandaged arm. “Well, my own situation—”
Dorothy instantly brimmed over with sympathy. “I understand that. I appreciate what you’ve just gone through. But to make any such decision while you’re in an emotional state—Look, you must know the job is a very good one.”
“An impossible one,” said Amy. “At least the way Mrs. McEye structured it. And it would seem to include my serving Miss Margaret as well.”
“Mrs. Lloyd, all of this can be worked out.”
Amy looked at her husband and saw that he was coming on as imperturbable as Brooks. She said to Dorothy, “If you don’t mind, Mrs. Durie, I think Mr. Lloyd and I must talk this over.”
“But right now, please.”
“Yes. In private.” And when Dorothy said, “Of course,” and was instantly out of her chair Amy said, “No, we’ll go outside. We won’t be too long.”
It cost Dorothy an effort, she saw, to put on that smile of encouragement. “As long as you make the logical decision,” Dorothy said. Then she waved a hand back and forth. “Before you go, would you draw the blinds? Those police car lights are terribly annoying.”
Mike closed the door behind them.
“Well?” he said.
“Well?” said Amy.
“Well, the good news is that the whole book has just written itself in my mind. All I have to do is get it down on paper.”
“About Ma’am?”
“And us. A lot about us.”
“You just made me very happy. What’s the bad news?”
“Baby, I’m afraid I’m not chauffeur material, livery or demilivery. The way things are now, I don’t want to tip my cap to these people for their kind favors. And the book is alive now. Even a nine-to-five job putting snowsuits on infants would allow me a schedule for writing I can’t count on here.”
“So far,” Amy said. “But suppose it wasn’t chauffeuring anymore? Suppose it was a different job here, from—oh—eight to three? As property manager.”
“Property manager?”
“Yes. Since there’s no more secrets around here to be hushed up by polite blackmail, Borglund is due for retirement fast. In style, of course. Then Swanson takes over for him, with a new assistant to help out. The property manager uses the upstairs office, supervises his help, handles maintenance and repair contracts. At suitable pay, it’s understood.”
“And I’m to be property manager,” Mike said. “Is that what you were thinking when Dorothy was laying her grief on you?”
“No. It’s what I used to think when I was in the office with the McEye, and Borglund wasn’t getting things done. The same with Golightly. He goes, and Mabry moves up to chef with a competent cook to back him up.”
“You mean,” Mike said, “you want to stay on here.”
“Only if you do.”
“Amy darling, you yourself just told the lady in there that this housekeeper job is impossible.”
“The way the McEye has it structured. One thing is her penny-pinching, which is really stupid when you consider the money available. There’s no big deal to running the place if you staff it properly. First thing, I’d hire an extra houseman and promote Brooks to butler. He’s made to order for that.”
“You’d hire? It seems to me I haven’t voted yet on staying here.”
“All right, whoever. As butler, Brooks would get a desk in the office too, along with that apartment, and be in charge of staff.”
“I see. Under the housekeeper’s wise supervision?”
“Well,” said Amy, “since there can be only one captain on a ship—”
“I know. You learned that firsthand from your father. Even so, you’re also being expected to nursemaid Miss Margaret on occasion. And she is a crazy lady. A murderously crazy lady.”
“Not murderously,” Amy said. “Not anymore. That’s over and done wit
h.”
“Are you telling me,” Mike demanded, “that you’re not in the least afraid of her now?”
“Not in the least,” Amy said.
She watched him studying her with interest. Finally he said, “If you’re wondering what’s on my mind, it’s that old Quaker tag: ‘All the world save thee and me is mad, and sometimes I wonder about thee.’”
“Then you don’t want us to stay.”
“I didn’t say that,” Mike protested. “Matter of fact, with the kind of restructuring you have in mind for the place here, well, staying does have its attractions.”
“No personal expenses,” Amy said, “And now real big paydays. Befitting very essential talents. The kind of talents that come high.”
“Oh, yes. But before we count the loot what’s the odds on the family approving your household revolution?”
“It’s hardly a revolution. And it’s not family. Dorothy’s the one. It used to be Jocelyn—all self-righteousness—who drove the McEye crazy. But don’t you have the feeling now that Dorothy is taking over as First Lady? And she’s a lot more approachable than Jocelyn. And not the kind to hand out medals for excessive thrift.”
“But her memory?” Mike said. He motioned. “Rest your weary bones on that couch, darling, while I use the typewriter.”
“For what?”
“A memorandum of agreement. We put down all your ideas about the restructuring—two copies for the record—and then your friend Dorothy can make our decision for us. If she signs, good. If not, it’s her loss and the family’s.”
It was evident, Amy saw, that Dorothy was in no mood for any reading of agreements, but read it she did. Then she looked up at Mike. “Property manager?” she said.
“Keeper of the infrastructure, Mrs. Durie.”
“I see.” She looked from one to the other of them. “You’re an interesting team, aren’t you? Well, I don’t find anything in this badly typed document to object to. My concern is the obvious one. I want this place run smoothly and kept up well, and how you do it is your business. Bearing in mind that the books are audited regularly. Oh, yes, and you will see to my Aunt Margaret right now, Mrs. Lloyd. I suppose I sign both copies. Do you have a pen?”