Possessions

by Judith Michael

  That was in May. One month before he disappeared.

  Leaning against a tree—handsome, bearded, sniiling—Craig watched Katherine bend over her sketches. He accused her of leaving Vancouver, of making a home with no place for him, of wanting to be a professional and manage on her own. "Well,

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  what would you rather I did?" she asked his picture. "Sit in a comer and cry? Whine to your mother and father or the rest of your family—whom you never even told me about? What should I do?"

  She waited, as if giving him a chance to respond. "Well," she said after a moment, and turned back to her work. A glint of light from the silver leaf caught her eye and she picked it up. The contentment of finishing it swept over her again, warming her as if she sat in a sunlit clearing. And if a shadow hovered nearby, which might dull the shine of her silver leaf, she did not look up to see if it was there.

  Chapter 7

  B

  Y the middle of October, Christmas materials had been deJivered for Heath's windows and Lister and Katherine spent two days in the supply room, checking clothes and props against his master list. Katherine was unpacking linens for a children's bedroom scene when the telephone rang.

  Lister took all the calls. This time he barked, "For you," and glared at Katherine as she took the receiver. He forbade personal telephone calls at work but, thinking of the children and Craig, Katherine ignored him. "Hello," she said, her voice low, her back to Lister.

  "Derek Hayward, Katherine. We met at dinner— "

  "I remember." She sat down. Derek?

  "You're probably busy, so I won't keep you. Will you have dinner with me? Tomorrow night, if you can manage on such short notice."

  "No," she said without thinking. "I'm sorry, but—"

  "Next week, then. You name the night."

  "No, I'm sorry but I ... I don't go out to dinner."

  There was a pause. "Then / should apologize; that didn't 106

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  occur to me. Lunch, instead? Tomorrow? A business lunch.'*

  "Business?" Katherine turned and saw Lister watching her. "I can't talk now and I can't imagine what—^"

  "Family business," Derek said. "Making you welcome. That's something more than one of us should do." His voice was like Ross's, warm and deep, and the words were casual, but they had an edge.

  "Who—?" she began, then changed it. "How did you find me?"

  He laughed shortly. "The family. Twice. Melanie told me she'd seen you at Heath's, and a day or two later Ross told Victoria he'd taken you to lunch, and Victoria told Tobias, who mentioned it to Melanie, who passed that along to me, also. Did you follow all that? It's one of the joys of a large family."

  She would have laughed but he was not joking. "I've never known what that was like," she conmiented. He was silent. "I have to get back to work," she said. "I don't think lunch is a good idea. UsuaUy I just bring something and eat here or across the street in the square."

  "I'll meet you there," he said promptly. "And I'll bring lunch. Do you have a favorite bench?"

  "I sit on the grass."

  *Then I won't wear my best suit. Until tomorrow."

  But he was wearing a suit when she saw him the next day, waiting at the soldier's memorial statue in the center of Union Square. "I might take off my tie," he said as they sat on the grass in a sunny comer between tall hedges. "But if I didn't wear a suit on a weekday I might forget who I am. And what are you wearing, after all?"

  "I confess," she laughed. "A suit." He was handsomer than she remembered, with the same dark blond hair and deep-set eyes as Ross, but smoother and more polished. And there was another difference. He made her conscious of the way he looked at her.

  "Lunch," he announced, and opened a woven straw hamper. "Of course I had very little time to plan it properly, but I think it deserves at least polite applause."

  Katherine watched in astonishment as he took out a wooden box and unfolded it to a small table. Dipping into the hamper again and again like a beguiling magician, he drew out two

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  china plates, heaped them with thin slices of rare roast beef, hearts of palm vinaigrette, and buttered rounds of rye bread, and balanced a silver knife and fork across each one. He poured a ruby-red Bordeaux into two crystal wine glasses and handed Katherine a linen napkin. "Of course I had very little time."

  Katherine had expected sandwiches and potato chips in a paper bag. "You bought this just for today?"

  "You said you wanted to eat on the grass; I bought a lunch for eating on the grass. But of course you're right; we should indeed use it again. In fact, from a strictly economic point of view, which I confess I had not considered, we can amortize the cost to reduce it to a rock-bottom ten dollars each by eating on the grass once a week for about thirty weeks. Can you arrange that? After all, we're right across the street from your office, or wherever it is you spend your time. Which reminds me, what is it you do over there?"

  "Decorate windows." Six hundred dollars for a picnic lunch. She was appalled—and fascinated. "But that's not what you mean, is it? You're really asking what I'm doing in San Francisco."

  He considered her. Of course that was what he meant, but he hadn't expected her to pick it up so quickly. She'd improved, he thought, since the night they'd met: the haggard look was gone and she no longer hunched over as if expecting a blow. But why the hell did she twist her hair in a bun and wear a suit that was too big and the wrong color for someone with pale skin and no makeup? With surprise he realized how good-looking she was. But she had no idea of what she might make of herself. Which meant Craig hadn't cared. Or hadn't looked. "I want to know all about you," he said. "Start with your job. And where you're living."

  He listened as she talked, his face absorbed, and when he smiled at her imitation of Gil Lister, Katherine wondered how she could have thought of him as cold and aloof. Either she had been wrong or he was acting a part. But why would he do that? If he wanted something from her, all he had to do was ask. She liked him and she was having a good time; there was no reason not to be honest.

  But their talk circled about, until Katherine looked at her watch. "I have to go in a few minutes. And I haven't told you

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  why I came to San Francisco. I haven't even talked about Craig. And he's the reason you bought this incredible lunch."

  Derek's eyebrows went up. Underestimated her again. Just because a woman is not glamorous, Victoria used to say when he was dating in high school, it does not mean she is simple. Katherine, without a jot of glamour, was not at all simple. "I bought the lunch to impress you," he said. "But of course 1 want to hear about Craig. I was about to ask if you plan to go back to Canada or stay here. And about his partner. Will he press charges?"

  "I don't know. I just want Craig to come back; we can think about Carl then. Oh. That's what was worrying all of you at dinner. You thought I'd ask you to pay back what Craig took."

  "Hardly." Derek smiled faintly. "I imagine we could scrape together that amount."

  *Then what was it? Why didn't anyone want me?"

  "Are you going back to Vancouver?"

  "No! At least—not until I hear from Craig. What difference does it make?"

  "Some of the family," he said casually, "think it might make a difference in the division of Victoria's estate."

  "She's not dead."

  "She's eighty-one. The question comes up—what Craig might get if he were here."

  "You mean money."

  He smiled again. "That would simplify it. Of course, money. But also, Victoria owns fifty percent of the Hayward Corporation."

  Katherine began to understand what was involved. "Who inherits her fifty percent now?"

  "As far as we know, Ross and I."

  Money and control of the corporation, Katherine thought. Ross and Derek. "Ross wouldn't try to keep Craig away because of that."

  Derek's face hardened, though his voice remained light. "Ross would do wha
tever is necessary to accumulate sufficient power and wealth to use the Hayward Corporation for his own purposes."

  Katherine shivered at the knife-edged words spoken in his pleasant voice. I don't believe that, she thought. She looked

  log

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  across the square, at crowds waiting for streetlights to change. "Craig has been gone almost four months. If your family really is worried about what he might do, why isn't anyone trying to find him?"

  "Claude hired an investigator."

  She stared at him. "No one told me."

  'There's been nothing to tell. He's found nothing."

  "But I could give him information—"

  "I'm sure he'll call you when he's ready."

  "You still think I might have arranged this with Craig! Isn't that right? Your investigator doesn't trust—" She stopped. At the comer a man moved forward: bearded, with brown hair. He was talking to someone, his face partially turned from her, but the way he held his head, tilted a little—

  She clambered to her feet. "Katherine!" Derek said. The light changed and the bearded man turned toward her to cross the street. Not Craig; not even like Craig. But as if her thoughts had brought him to the square, Katherine felt his presence so powerfully he might have been standing beside her in the warm afternoon sun. Derek's voice faded. She felt Craig's eyes on her, puzzled and reproachful, and she felt ashamed of her laughter and her pleasure in Derek's extravagant lunch. She was as bad as the rest of the Haywards, pushing Craig to the background, forgetting that he was in trouble, thinking only of the present.

  Craig, she thought, missing him with the stab of pain that she thought had faded in the crowded weeks. She put out her hand, but no one was there. It's the sun, she thought dizzily. And the wine. And I was up so late last night, making sketches after my class. She closed her eyes against the glare.

  Derek's hand, cool and hard, grasped hers. "Sit down. I'm sorry I upset you."

  In the bright darkness behind her eyes, his voice sounded like Craig's. Everything reminded her of Craig. She opened her eyes. "You didn't upset me. I thought I saw Craig."

  "You haven't finished your lunch."

  "I can't. I'm sorry . . ." She took a step away from him. *Thank you—it was so impressive—I hope you can use the hamper again, and amortize the cost—"

  "Wait a minute; I want to see you—"

  "Goodbye, Derek." It was as if Craig were pushing her. no

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  Almost running, she crossed the street with the crowds, and pushed through the revolving doors that sent her into Heath's, and back to work.

  Two nights later, after Jennifer and Todd were asleep, Tobias appeared like an apparition at Katherine's front door. "I know it seems rude," he said, ducking his head apologetically as he walked past her into the living room. "But one could call it a sign of intimacy. In the general sense"—he sat down and cheerfully began to inspect the room— "of closeness. To pay a visit without telephoning first." His inspection reached her face. "You don't agree?"

  "Did Derek send you?" she asked.

  Tobias looked bewildered. "Ordinarily I am not sent anywhere, by anyone, but even if I were, what in heaven's name would Derek have to do with it?"

  "He didn't tell you we had lunch together?"

  "Lunch," Tobias repeated.

  "In Union Square."

  He gazed at her blankly. "There is no restaurant in Union Square."

  "On the grass. He brought a picnic lunch."

  "Derek? On the grass? Not possible." Tobias sat erect on the edge of the couch, hands on his knees, and cogitated briefly. "I have learned over the years to believe many unbelievable things about Derek, but not this. What was he wearing?"

  "A business suit. If he didn't tell you, why are you here?"

  "Well." They looked at each other. He seemed so carefree, with blue eyes as bright and innocent as a child's, and an open smile above his little white beard. But now and then, unexpectedly, the blue eyes would turn sharp, not so innocent after all, and at others, when his smile dimmed, his face would sag in crepelike folds. He's seventy-five, Katherine remembered, but those creases in his face were from sadness as well as age. "Well," he repeated, and smiled like a friendly conspirator. Katherine found herself smiling back, liking him, even as she asked herself why another Hayward was suddenly paying attention to her. "I heard you were in the city. Ross told Victoria he'd taken you to lunch and—"

  "Victoria told you," Katherine interrupted. "And you mentioned it to Melanie, who passed it along to Derek. But Melanie

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  had already seen me working at Heath's and had told Ross, who then invited me to lunch. And I heard all that from Derek."

  Tobias laughed delightedly. "'The babbling gossip of the air.' Shakespeare," he added helpfully. "You'd think he knew our family. I brought you a housewarming gift." He took a box from his coat pocket and gave it to Katherine, who looked at it nonplussed. "Open, open!" he cried, as eager as Jennifer and Todd, and Katherine unwrapped it to find a crystal and silver candy dish.

  "How lovely," she said. *Thank you—"

  Tobias was surveying the room again. A comedown, he thought, from the Vancouver home she and Ross had described. Overcrowded; brought too much furniture with her. Good quality, though a trifle shabby; his candy dish looked a bit out of place. But she'd made the room cheerful: light colors, an oil painting that looked like an original, a silk scarf knotted around a lampshade, making it glow like stained glass. Good sense of color and balance; she'd made the place look larger than it was. One oddity: a small table in a comer cluttered with pencils, buttons, string, sketch pads, construction paper, X-Acto knives, and empty, flattened toothpaste tubes. Tobias looked a question at Katherine.

  "Homework," she said, adding almost defiantiy, "I'm studying jewelry design."

  "Ah." Tobias nodded. "But—toothpaste tubes?"

  "For models. They're so soft I can cut and shape them the way I'd cut and shape silver and gold—if I had any. You haven't told me why you're here."

  *To deliver my gift—which I'm pleased you like—and to talk. My dear, is there anything to drink in your house?"

  "Oh." She was embarrassed. "I haven't had a chance to stock anything—"

  She hasn't the money to stock anything, Tobias thought. "My favorite is ice water," he lied cheerfully. "Or coffee. If you wouldn't mind—?"

  Following Katherine to the kitchen, he sat at the oak table, talking, while she made coffee. "I thought you should know something about us, since you're here—and you are here, aren't you? That is, permanently. Is that correct? You're not going back to Canada?"

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  Just like Derek. They all want to know when I'm leaving. "It depends on what Craig wants to do."

  "Craig?"

  "When he comes back." She met his eyes, daring him to challenge her.

  "But until then," he prompted.

  "This is where we live. The children are in school and I have a job. If you're trying to get rid of me—"

  "No, no, what an odd thing to say; why would we want any such thing?"

  "Because of the corporation, and his grandmother's estate."

  "Where did you get that idea?"

  "Derek said some of the family were concerned— "

  Tobias began to laugh, his pointed beard dancing. "Kath-erine, dear Katherine. When E)erek tells you someone in the family is worried about something, what do you think that means?"

  She filled two mugs with coffee and carried them to the living room. "He told me what he meant."

  "Yes, but with Derek, my dear, one looks under the words to pry out the unspoken ones. Now think; who is most worried about Hayward money and power?"

  Katherine watched the steam rise from her coffee. She had hked Derek until he talked bitterly about Ross. She had liked Tobias until she heard the sharp glee in his voice as he talked about Derek. "Does your family always make accusations about one another?" she asked. "It's not ver
y pleasant."

  "Ah." Tobias, too, contemplated the steam. "Do you know how Hugh Hayward made his money?"

  "Of course. Construction; the Hayward Corporation."

  "Oh, my, no. The company was fairly modest until Curt took over—his son, you know, Derek and Ross's father— though Hugh had made the Hayward reputation for excellence. The real money came earlier, in the twenties, when Hugh smuggled liquor from Europe and Canada. Prohibition, my dean good Scotch made many a millionaire in those dry days. No one in the family likes to recall it, but I find it amusing that our enterprising Hugh was slipping cases of Scotch past the eagle-eyed law, while he and Victoria danced at charity balls and had their pictures in the newspapers as fine young

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  socialites who donated generously to good causes. 'Everyone is a moon and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.'"

  "'A daiic side,'" Katherine repeated slowly. "Who wrote that?"

  "Mark Twain. Fits the Hayward men like a glove. Hugh was only the first." He sighed and sipped his coffee. "I did enjoy Hugh. I still miss him, even after all this time. A huge man, devious, witty, handsome. How he adored Victoria. He would have handled that sailing mess differently, but he'd been dead three years, and Victoria had shut herself off, mourning him, and there was no real authority in the family. Is there more coffee?"

  Katherine refilled his cup. Of course, she thought. He came to talk about Craig. "You mean the sailing accident," she said.

  "Ah, well." Tobias looked around the room, nodding to himself. "It was a mess. Not that I ever heard the whole story, but I expect to know it some day. Professors of literature are experts at ferreting out long-buried tales. And as I am writing the family history, of course I must discover everything there is to know. Your husband, my dear, caused me untold problems, since no one would talk about him. These days of course everyone is talking about him because you're here, reminding us."