Within Reach

by Barbara Delinsky

  Within the hour, Hal Fremont was at her door, looking as pale and somber as Cilla and Jeff had looked two days before. The only difference was that this time she knew its cause and she was able to maintain her poise through the short drive to the airport, then the flight aboard the Lear jet Hal had chartered.

  Danica had no quarrel with Hal, who, as gently as he could, broke the news of Blake’s indictment while the jet winged southward. “I don’t know all the details myself,” he explained, “but I think you should be prepared for the worst. Of course, Blake is innocent, but he will have to face the charges.”

  She listened to his monologue in utter silence, but her initial concern about having to act stunned proved to be groundless because, despite how fully Cilla and Jeff and Michael had prepared her, the whole business was shocking and that much more real coming from Blake’s personal lawyer.

  A car was waiting for them at National, and Danica had actually begun to hope that she had beaten out the press, when the car rounded the corner near Blake’s townhouse and she saw a large media contingent on his front steps.

  “Oh, God,” she murmured. “What do we do?”

  “I’ll get you in. Just keep calm and don’t say a word.”

  The car had barely come to a halt when the horde closed in. Hal stepped out first, shielding Danica with his back.

  “Does Mrs. Lindsay have any comment about the charges being brought against her husband?”

  Hal gave a curt “No,” reached in for Danica and, when she climbed from the car, put a firm arm around her shoulders. He wasn’t a large man, but he knew what he was doing. She followed his lead toward the steps.

  “Did you know of your husband’s dealings in Boston, Mrs. Lindsay?”

  “How did you feel to learn of the indictments?”

  “Will your husband be resigning from the Cabinet?”

  Hal pushed his way through the crowd. “Mrs. Lindsay has no comment at this time.”

  They half ran up the steps, but the questions followed.

  “How close was the Secretary to Harlan Magnusson?”

  “Do you feel that there’s a connection between Mr. Magnusson’s death and the charges brought today?”

  “Has there been any communication with Senator Marshall?”

  The front door was opened, and Danica and Hal fled through. In the abrupt silence that followed its closing, Danica sank trembling into a nearby chair. “I don’t believe them,” she murmured shakily. “‘How did I feel to learn of the indictments?’ How do they think I feel!”

  Hal patted her on the shoulder, then stepped aside. When she raised her eyes, she saw Blake standing on the stairs.

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Danica,” he said evenly.

  She hesitated for a minute, though her gaze didn’t waver. “So am I.”

  “Thank you for coming.”

  Aware that she was being watched not only by Hal but by Blake’s houseboy and two other men who had come to stand at the top of the stairs, she simply nodded.

  Blake’s voice seemed to lose some of its force then. “Why don’t you and Hal come up to the den. You’d better hear what we’ve been discussing.”

  Given little choice, she followed Blake to the top of the stairs, where she was introduced to Jason Fitzgerald and Ray Pickering, the local lawyers Blake had chosen to lead his defense. Once in the den, she refused invitation of a seat and propped herself on the back windowsill in an effort to remove herself from the talk. When an hour later Blake’s houseboy, John, told Danica that she was wanted on the phone, she was grateful for an excuse to leave the room.

  More than anyone she wanted it to be Michael because she felt chilled to the bone and in need of his encouragement, but she knew that he wouldn’t call her here.

  “Hello?”

  “Darling?”

  Danica felt sudden tears in her eyes. “Mom,” she sighed, “oh, Mom, thank you for calling.” It hadn’t even occurred to her to call Eleanor. She had been conditioned for so long not to depend on her help, but she suddenly realized that, in lieu of Michael, Eleanor might be a comfort. “Where are you?”

  “I flew down as soon as your father called me. Darling, I’m so sorry about all this.”

  “It’s not your fault, Mom. But things are pretty awful.”

  “When did you get there?”

  “About an hour ago. I flew down with Hal Fremont. Reporters are swarming all over the place. We had to fight our way through.”

  “Oh, darling, I’m so, so sorry. How are you holding up?”

  “Barely.” She was about to say that it had been a draining three days when she caught herself. “I’ll do it, though. I’ll be good. You don’t have to worry about that.”

  “I wasn’t. I have faith in you. Darling, your father wants to talk.”

  “Mom?” Danica asked urgently. “Mom, I…I don’t want to stay here tonight…with the press outside and all.” It was as good an excuse as any, and the only one she felt she could offer Eleanor. “Can I stay with you?”

  “Of course, darling. I’m sure Blake will be with his lawyers for hours anyway. Why don’t you call me when you want to come and I’ll send the car.”

  “I will. Thanks, Mom.”

  “Don’t thank me. I’m glad I can finally do something to help you.” She issued a muffled, surprisingly impatient “Just a minute, William,” then returned to Danica. “You’ll call when you’re ready?”

  “Yes.” She managed a weak smile. “Why don’t you put Daddy on before he throws a tantrum.”

  “I think I’d better—”

  “Danica?” Her father’s voice held near belligerence. “Thank God, you’re there, girl. I was worried you’d sit on your can up in Maine.”

  Forcing herself to adapt to the sudden shift of gears, she gritted her teeth. “I was in Boston. I came as soon as Blake called.”

  “Maybe you’re finally coming to your senses.” His tone grew even more authoritative. “Now, I want you to know that there’s nothing to worry about. We’ve got trumped-up charges here.”

  “Daddy, the government has evidence that East-bridge made those shipments.”

  “Well, Blake didn’t. Someone’s out to get him, and I don’t know who in the hell it is, but he won’t get far. Blake’s lawyers will make sure of that. He’s with Fitzgerald and Pickering, isn’t he?”

  “He’s with them now.”

  “What are they saying? He’s not resigning, is he?”

  “No. He spoke with the President earlier and they agreed that he’d take a leave of absence. Blake will give a press conference tomorrow explaining that he feels that he can’t give his all to the Department while he’s preparing for the trial and that the Deputy Secretary will be acting in his stead until the trial’s over.”

  “Good. Sounds strong. No suggestion of guilt. What line of defense are Fitzgerald and Pickering planning?”

  “I don’t know. They’re discussing that now. I think it will be a while before they can get the information they need from the Justice Department.”

  “Maybe I can speed that up.”

  “You’ll have to discuss it with Blake. Should I get him on the phone?”

  “No. Don’t disturb him. He doesn’t like my interfering.”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind your help.”

  “Well, he knows where I am if he wants me.”

  Danica detected a subtle anger underlying her father’s words, and she wondered if he, too, was irked that Blake had put them all in this mess. “Have you been hounded by reporters?”

  “A few. I handled them.”

  She nodded. “Well then, I guess I’d better get back to the den. I’ll see you later.”

  “Be supportive, Danica. He needs you now.”

  “Don’t worry, I know my place.” She certainly did, and it wasn’t here. Hanging up the phone, she stood for several minutes. She debated calling her mother to send the car right then. After all, she had made her appearance. Blake had seen he
r. The press had seen her. Her father, though, expected her to stay for a time, at least. And since this entire ordeal was going to be her swan song, she mused, she could easily swallow her pride and acquiesce.

  Rather than return immediately to the den, she wandered to the kitchen to make herself some tea. When John offered to do it, she suggested he see if the others wanted drinks or food. The few minutes alone that she bought were what she needed. When she rejoined the brainstorming session, she felt stronger.

  Unfortunately, being closed in a room with three lawyers and Blake was enervating. She tried to concentrate on the discussion, which jockeyed between handling the press and anticipating the government’s case, but after a time she tuned out, mentally exhausted. When the group relocated to the dining room, she could do nothing more than pick at the Oriental chicken John had prepared. Her thoughts centered on Blake, on the disgust she felt for him, the anger, the resentment. She kept thinking that if he had been a decent man he would have given her a divorce months ago and she would have been spared all this. She kept asking herself why he had done it, if he had knowingly okayed that shipment and, if so, whether he had truly expected to avoid punishment.

  When the men prepared to return to the den, she called Blake aside. “Do you need me here now?” she asked quietly.

  He seemed taken aback. “Where were you planning on going?”

  “I’ll be sleeping at my parents’ place.”

  He stared at her. His lips twisted when he turned his head aside. “It won’t look very good if you march out of here for all the world to see. They’ll grab on anything, including the fact that my wife isn’t sleeping with me.”

  “We haven’t slept together for months, Blake, but that’s neither here nor there. You can inform the press that precisely because of them I don’t feel I can stay here. Say they make me nervous, which is the truth. Say that I’m distraught over what’s happened, which is also the truth. Say that my mother’s distraught and that I’m going to comfort her while you work with your lawyers.”

  “That might work for a day. At some point, though, we’re going to have to present a unified front.”

  “I’m in Washington. Isn’t that enough?”

  “No. I want you with me when I appear in court for the arraignment tomorrow morning. I want you by my side at the press conference after that. And of course I’ll want you sitting in court during the trial.”

  She wanted to lash out in anger, but she bit her tongue and willed herself to be calm. Her day would come, she told herself. Right now he was putting a down payment on her freedom.

  “All right, Blake,” she said slowly. “I will be there on those occasions you mention. But I won’t live with you in this small town house for the next four months. If you want me to stay in Washington, we’ll have to find some alternative setup.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “Danica, I don’t need this. I have enough on my mind right now without having to deal with your whims.”

  “Call them what you will,” she countered, keeping her voice low and steady, a miracle given the fury she felt, “but you’ll have to deal with them.” She headed for the stairs. “I’m going to call for mother’s car now. I’m exhausted. It’s been a difficult day. You can pick me up tomorrow morning on your way to court. You know where I’ll be.” She was halfway down the stairs when Blake called after her.

  “Danica?” She looked back. “I…can count on your support through this, can’t I?”

  She almost felt sorry for him because at that moment he seemed so unsure. She felt no sense of victory, though, only a great sadness that he had brought all of this on himself. “Yes, Blake. You can count on me. I assure you I’ll do nothing to hurt your case.”

  He came several steps closer and dropped his voice. “What about Buchanan?”

  She was surprised. “Michael? He’d never do anything—”

  “Are you still seeing him?”

  “Yes. I love him. I told you that last spring.”

  “But while you’re here, you won’t…”

  He didn’t have to finish. She knew that once again he was thinking of himself. “No. I won’t see him while I’m here. He agrees with what I’m doing. He’s a good man, Blake, a decent, honest, compassionate man. And he believes in me much more than you ever did.”

  “I always believed in you.”

  “Not the way he does. He wouldn’t have to ask if he could count on my support. But then, he wouldn’t ever need it, at least not in the way you do now.”

  Blake stood for a minute staring at her and she realized that he looked every one of his forty-six years. “Well, at any rate, I’m glad to know you’ll be standing with me. I’ll pick you up at nine.”

  She nodded once, then continued down the stairs to call her mother from the lower living room. A glance out the window told her that the press throng had thinned, though even then she wasn’t looking forward to making her way through. But there was no other feasible exit. She spotted her father’s driver pulling around the corner when Blake came down the stairs.

  “I’ll walk you to the car,” he said.

  She saw that he had his suit jacket on again and that he looked perfectly composed, and wondered if one of the lawyers had suggested that a show of husbandly care might impress the media. She would have objected had she not desperately feared the thought of warding off the microphones alone.

  Glancing out the window, she saw that the car was waiting. Taking a deep breath, she let Blake open the door and lead her quickly down the steps.

  “Mr. Secretary, what can you tell us about the charges made against you?”

  “Mr. Secretary, have you spoken with the President?”

  “Mr. Secretary, is there a resignation in the offing?”

  Blake opened the car door for Danica and saw her inside before he turned, still with the car door open, and faced his inquisitors. “I’ll be holding a press conference tomorrow. Your questions will be answered then. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my wife is going to see her parents and I’d like to say goodbye.” Before Danica could anticipate his move, he leaned into the car and kissed her. But the words he murmured against her lips weren’t directed at her. “Thank you, George. I appreciate your coming for Mrs. Lindsay. Drive carefully.”

  Danica didn’t look back when the car began to move. She simply pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and wondered if she would ever make it through this last charade.

  seventeen

  bLAKE WAS ARRAIGNED THE FOLLOWING MORNING in the United States District Courthouse. Dressed in a sedate gray suit, Danica sat in the courtroom and listened while he pleaded innocent to each of the four counts against him. As had been the case when they entered the building, he took her hand in his when they left, and she didn’t resist. She had been up long hours the night before talking with Eleanor, and realized that if she was going to go through with the show, she would have to do it right. Public appearances were all that mattered here. When she and Blake were alone and in private, that was something else.

  From the courthouse they drove to the Department of Commerce, where Blake held the press conference he had promised. Danica sat to his right, his lawyers to his left. She smiled at Blake when he smiled at her, looked poised if appropriately somber the rest of the time; in short, she handled herself as would the devoted wife of a man who was facing a grave challenge.

  Later that afternoon, when she and Blake were alone in his condominium for the first time since she had flown in from Boston, she raised the issues that were foremost in her mind.

  “What happened, Blake?”

  They were having drinks in the living room and had barely said two words to each other since returning from lunch with Fitzgerald and Pickering.

  He stared at her. “What do you mean?”

  “How did that shipment containing high-speed circuits make it to the Soviet Union?”

  “You heard what I told Jason and Ray,” he said indignantly. “I had no more idea that those computers containe
d restricted circuits than I had that they were headed for Russia.”

  “But you were the one who filed the application for an export license.”

  “I thought I was shipping a decontrolled commodity.”

  “You were always on top of the things like that.”

  “I thought I was. Evidently I was wrong.”

  His statement was arrogant, containing no hint of the humility that his words should have suggested. Danica pressed. “Then Harlan was the one responsible?”

  “Exactly.”

  “How did he manage it?”

  Blake took a healthy drink, then set his glass down on the arm of his chair. “Go ask him.”

  “I can’t. He’s dead.”

  “Exactly.”

  “That must make your case easier. A dead man can’t fight back.”

  He stared at her. “What are you getting at, Danica?”

  “He was murdered. Neatly eliminated. You didn’t have any part in that, did you?”

  Blake bolted from his seat and stalked across the room. She could see the fists at his sides, the tension radiating through his shoulders. When he turned at last, his features were rigid. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask that.”

  “I had to ask it. Someone else is bound to, and I want to know the answer.”

  “The answer is no. Unequivocally, no. Look, Danica—” he held out a hand that shook “—I know we’ve had our differences and I know that this trial business can’t be pleasant for you, and even if you can’t find it in you to believe me on the matter of the shipment, this you have to believe. I didn’t kill Harlan! I could never do something like that. Believe I’m a crook if you will, but not a murderer!”

  She hesitated for only a minute. “I do believe you,” she said quietly. “I just wanted to hear you say it. In the ten years we’ve been married, I’ve never thought you capable of violence.” She had come to realize he was capable of other things she hadn’t imagined, but she had to believe violence wasn’t one of them.

  “Thank God for that.” He slowly simmered down and returned to his drink.