He had seen those pictures, had studied them time and again. Though there had been no evidence that Danica was having an affair, there was plenty of evidence that she might well do so in the future. He had warned her, but he couldn’t be sure she would listen. What he needed was solid evidence one way or another, and the only way to get that would be to keep Emery on the case. It was only a matter of money, a small price to pay if by doing so he could prevent Danica from making fools of them all. With evidence, something compromising, he could confront her. Better still, he could confront Buchanan, even the senior Buchanan if need be.
But that was a ways off. First, he had to get Emery on the stick. Once he had done that and once he knew that Eleanor was safely installed at home, he would be able to return his full concentration to more important business in Washington.
November in the Capital tended toward the chilly, yet Cilla had always preferred it to spring, when hordes of sightseers flocked to see the cherry blossoms and the myriad of historical sights the city offered. But then, she had always been a rebellious sort. She liked to root for the underdog in a baseball game, eat spinach instead of peas, wear her skirts long when designers said hemlines were rising. She thrived on doing the unexpected, so it was no surprise to her when she found herself very happily in bed with her ex-husband.
“Ahhh, Cilla, we always were good together,” Jeffrey breathed when his pulse finally began to slow.
She tipped her head on the pillow to look at him. “In bed, yes. Why is it, do you think?”
“Chemistry?”
“I think there’s something more. We’re both committed, intense. Making love with you is always fierce. It’s a challenge because there’s always some new little part of you that comes out.”
“Like a puzzle. We’re both puzzle freaks.”
“Mmmm. Ironic, isn’t it? The same thing that makes us dynamite in bed keeps us apart out of it.”
Jeffrey took a deep breath and drew her head to the crook of his shoulder. “Let’s not talk about that.”
“We have to at some point. This has been going on for two months now. We’ve been together several nights a week, but there’s still a barrier there.”
“Just like the old days.”
“Right. Doesn’t it bother you?”
“Of course it bothers me. Why couldn’t you have made your millions producing homemade chocolate chip cookies?”
“Why couldn’t you have made yours inventing Trivial Pursuit?”
He tucked in his chin to look at her. “Have you played?”
She stuck hers out. “Sure. I’m unbeatable.”
“That’s because you’ve never played against me. I never miss a question on history or geography or science or sports.”
“That still leaves entertainment and art. You forget, I have the memory of an elephant.”
“Mmmm. I bet we could team up and win championships all over the place. Hey, that’s an idea. Why don’t we both resign from our jobs and go on the road as trivia experts?”
She snorted. “We’d probably fight over who was going to roll the dice.”
“No, we never fought over petty things.” He grew pensive. “Just over big things, like cases we’re working on.”
She rolled over and propped herself on his chest. “Okay. Let’s see how far we’ve come. Tell me about what you’re doing.”
“Cilla…”
“See. You still don’t trust me. You trust me to do all kinds of wicked things to your body, but you don’t trust me with your thoughts.”
“God, we’ve been over this so many times before.”
“And we’ll go over it many times more. Unless—” she made to rise from the bed “—you’d just as soon call it quits now.”
He snagged her back. “I don’t want that. You know how I feel about you.”
“No. Tell me.”
“You know.”
“I…want…to…hear…the…words.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “You like it when I’m vulnerable, don’t you? It gives you the upper edge.”
“There you’re wrong. There’s nothing ‘upper edge’ about it. We’re talking equality. I know that I’m at my most vulnerable when I’m with you. I just need to know that I’m not the only one.”
“You’re not.” He hesitated a minute longer. “I loved you when we were married, and I love you still.…Hell, I feel so naked when I say that.”
“You are naked.”
He looked down the creamy length of her back. “So are you.”
She caught her breath at his near tangible caress. “Guess so. I do love you, Jeff. So help me, I’ve tried not to. I’ve dated plenty since the divorce, but I keep coming back. In my mind, at least.”
“Not only your mind.”
“Well…”
“Come on. Give a kiss.”
Her eyes grew sly. “Where?”
“Here, for starters.” He pointed to his mouth and opened it when she came. But it was only for starters because the combination of chemistry and challenge and love was a potent one with a will of its own, and before long they were sprawling over and around each other in a mutual search for satisfaction.
Some time later, when they were once again at rest in each other’s arms, Jeff sighed. “And we’re right back where we started, aren’t we, with a roadblock smack in front of us.”
Cilla rubbed her cheek against the matted hair on his chest. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m doing a story on toxic waste seepage into the Chesapeake Bay. The problem is that the source of the seepage is a chemical plant, which is owned by a very prominent and politically active taxpayer.”
Jeff went still for a minute, not because of what she had said but because of the fact that she had said it. She had offered him a part of her work that she would at one time have guarded religiously. He felt very good.
“Have there been reports of the seepage before?”
“Oh, yes. For years officials have known the Chesapeake had problems. It was once thought to be the nation’s most productive body of water, but that’s changing. Industrial wastes from Pennsylvania flow in through the Susquehanna. Toxic kepone spills in through the James from Richmond and Norfolk. Even treated sewage adds chlorine toxicity to the bay.” She forced herself on. “The particular chemical plant I’m looking at is in Baltimore harbor. Its owner has passed around enough money to keep its spills under raps.”
“Do you have evidence?”
“Of the seepage? The Army Corps of Engineers has documented it.”
“What about the money? Any evidence?”
Cilla looked up at him because his questions were coming strong and fast. She felt a habitual wariness rear its head. Jeffrey read her instantly.
“I’m sorry. That’s the interrogator in me at work. And I’m not this way because of my job. The reverse is more accurate. I’m good at my job because I am this way. But it’s just me now, Cilla. Just me. It won’t go any further. Please. Trust me.”
She saw the sincerity in his expression and knew that if they were to have any hope for a future together, she had to do as he asked. She nodded. “We’re getting evidence of the money, but it’s slow. Things have been well hidden. We have to be careful because if word gets around that we’re on to something, doors will suddenly close on us.”
“Sounds familiar. I’m having the same problem.” In general terms—and with an ingrained caution—he outlined the investigation he was undertaking into high-tech espionage. “We know that Bulgaria received the goods. We know that they came from Austria. We even identified the Austrian firm that did the shipping, then nothing. There has to be an originating American firm, but we can’t find it. Records have been destroyed; storefronts have been physically demolished. It’s frustrating as hell when you know what’s been done is illegal but you can’t clinch it with hard evidence.”
Cilla considered his frustration, then spoke with reference to her own. “That’s the worst part, I think. Time passes a
nd you know that the public good is in danger, but you have a responsibility to do and say nothing until you can back your words up.”
“But you can’t give up because you know. You know. And there’s a responsibility in that, too. Maybe it’s a good guy complex and corny as hell, but damn, it gets into your blood.”
She slanted him an understanding smile. “I know. And it’s nice to know you know.”
He returned the smile, surprised that the sharing had been relatively painless. “Any more word from your sex maniac?”
“Which one?”
He pinched her bottom. “The one who called you that day wanting to talk about power and lust?”
“Oh. That one.” She sighed. “No. No more calls. I did meet this guy, though. It was at a diplomatic reception. He was kind of standing by the wall looking disgruntled, like he wasn’t terribly happy to be there but he just couldn’t stay away. When he started talking to me, I could have sworn the voice was the same.”
“As the one on the phone?”
“Mmmm.” She shrugged. “I’m probably wrong. I mean, the telephone usually mangles tones.”
“Not that much. What did he have to say at the reception?”
“Oh, he railed on about the power of the wealthy and how you had to play their game if you wanted to survive in this town.”
“He’s right.”
“But he sure was angry.”
“People who have to play by others’ rules usually are. What was his position?”
“He mumbled something about working in one of the departments. State or Labor, maybe Commerce …I’m not sure which, and when I started to ask him more, he turned the conversation around to me. He just loved the fact that I’m with the press. He started asking all kinds of questions about the glory in that. I couldn’t get away fast enough.”
Jeffrey chuckled and hugged her closer. How does it feel to be on the other end of the firing line?”
“Pret-ty annoying. I like to do the asking, not the telling.”
“Seems to me you’ve done a little of each tonight.”
She smiled then and stretched up to kiss him. “I have at that, haven’t I?”
“Was it painful?”
“Was it for you?”
“There you go, asking the questions again. Cilla, Cilla, Cilla, what am I going to do with you?”
Sliding her mouth to his ear, she proceeded to make several very naughty suggestions, after which Jeffrey had neither time nor strength to ask another thing.
thirteen
eLEANOR RECOVERED SLOWLY BUT STEADILY. Danica visited her often, driving to Connecticut and back twice a week, always on days when she was sure that her father would be otherwise occupied. She told herself that her mother would appreciate the company more on those days, but deep inside she knew that she didn’t want another confrontation with her father.
To her surprise, she found herself more relaxed with her mother on each successive visit. While the time she had spent with Eleanor at the hospital had been devoted to supporting her in a time of great physical insecurity, the days she spent with her at home were more ones of discovery that the woman she had always thought to be merely an appendage of William Marshall was a thinking, feeling being on her own. They talked of many things, and as Danica gained confidence, she began to ask about her mother’s life.
“Didn’t it ever get to you—the steady stream of political functions?”
They were relaxing in the solarium, though the sun was pale and the warmth primarily from baseboard heating units. Eleanor sat on a lounge chair with a blanket covering her legs. Her weak right hand lay quietly in her lap, but she gestured freely with her left, and with the feeling returning to her face, she spoke with only the barest hint of impediment. Mercifully, her mind had been unaffected by the stroke.
“I loved them. Right from the start, I found them exciting. You have to remember that I came from modest means. Things you were weaned on I never had. I suppose at the beginning it was a novelty. But then, I had lived through William’s first campaign with him. You were too young to realize it, but he ran for Congress with a few strong backers, a whole lot of determination and not much else. So there was a certain triumph in going to Washington and taking a place we had earned.”
“You say ‘we.’”
“And I mean it. Oh, I’m sure William could have made it on his own, but I worked every bit as hard as he did. I was on the campaign trail with him. I spoke at women’s luncheons while he spoke at men’s. On the day of his election I was every bit as tired as he was.”
“I hadn’t realized,” Danica said slowly. “All I knew was that you were never here. I guess I didn’t know much about what, exactly, you were doing.”
Eleanor brooded on that for a minute. “My fault, perhaps. I didn’t think you’d want to know the details. You were so young, and we were so busy. I felt it would be better to keep you here where we knew you were safe. Then, in time, there were other things we wanted for you.”
“Tennis.”
“That, and school. There’s no place for a young child in politics. We were constantly in and out, doing one thing or another.”
“Not all politicians’ wives are that way.”
“True. And maybe I was wrong to leave you behind. I worried about that.”
“You did?”
“Any mother would,” Eleanor answered defensively. “But I had to make choices, just like everyone else. On the one hand, I was William’s wife. On the other, I was your mother.”
“You opted for the first.”
Eleanor looked off toward the yard. “It wasn’t as simple as that, Danica. There was a third party involved. Me. I had to think of what I wanted in life. I had to look down the road and ask myself where I’d be ten or twenty years hence. I knew that one day you’d be off on your own, just as you are now, and that you wouldn’t need me. I realized that William always would. Your father’s position is very secure now, but I like to think that I still complement it. Maybe what I’ve done over the years is to cement my position in a personal bureaucracy. But it hasn’t been bad, because I like what I’m doing.” When Danica still looked skeptical, she continued. “I know that you think I’m a hanger-on—”
“No—”
“Maybe not using that word, and you’re not alone. To the outsider, it might look like I’m nothing more than an ornament hanging on William’s arm. Only the insider knows that what I do, that what any dedicated political wife does is important. We offer the eye in the storm, the quiet presence at the end of every day. Sometimes we don’t ask questions, but even then that’s what our men need. In social situations we act as a buffer. We can be charming and diplomatic. We can ease a roughness that may exist between our men and others. I think,” she said with a deep sigh, “that like many women, we’re highly underestimated.” Then she laughed, but her jaw sagged. “This is wearing me out. I think I’m overdoing it.”
Feeling quickly contrite, Danica handed Eleanor the glass of water that stood on a nearby table. “I’m sorry. I should have stopped you, but I enjoyed listening. Why didn’t you ever tell me these things before?”
Eleanor sipped through a straw, then rested her head back against the lounge and spoke very quietly. “I guess because you never asked, and because we’ve never spent much time together, and because it’s taken a long time for us to see each other as equals. Maybe, too, it’s because I realize that I won’t be around forever and there are some things I want to share with you before I go.”
Leaning forward, Danica gave her mother a hug. She couldn’t speak because her throat was tight, and it wasn’t only the thought of Eleanor’s mortality that saddened her. It was also the fact that there were some things she wanted to share with her mother, too, but she didn’t yet dare.
Danica saw Michael every Thursday night. They ate at different restaurants each week, made love at different hotels. She never stayed the night, though, and while Michael tried desperately not to pressure her, his frustrati
on grew. For a time he sublimated, throwing himself that much more deeply into both his teaching and his writing. It worked, though the end result was self-defeating. He finished the book and sent it off to New York shortly before Christmas. At the same time, his classes ended. Since his appointment had been only for the half-year seminar, he had nothing left but to grade the term papers he had assigned in lieu of exams.
Exhausted by the pace he had kept, discouraged by the fact that his love for Danica was growing even as his hopes that she would divorce Blake were fading, he decided that he needed to get away. Not to do research for another book. Simply to get away.
He was in the process of studying travel literature one Monday morning in mid-January when his door-bell rang. Rusty reached the door before he did. “It’s okay, boy.” He scratched the dog’s ears as he opened the door. Then, in a flash, he knew it wasn’t okay. He had never formally met the man standing before him, but the face was familiar enough to even the most impartial of observers, of which group he was definitely not one.
“Michael Buchanan?”
“Senator Marshall.”
“You’ve been expecting me?”
“No. I recognize your face from newspapers and television.” He could see no resemblance to Danica, but perhaps he simply chose not to. “I think I assumed that one day we’d meet.”
William Marshall stood sternly, with a small portfolio beneath his arm. “May I come in?”
Nodding, Michael stepped aside. A glance toward the drive revealed a rental car—it was too small and common a model to have actually belonged to this United States senator—and no other driver. He deduced that William had flown into Portland and driven down himself. It was not terribly promising if he had hoped for an amicable chitchat, but then, he hadn’t. There could be only one reason for William Marshall’s seeking him out, and William, it appeared, had no intention of mincing words.
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