“I’m sorry, Fiona. I feel that way too lately. What has happened to change you?”
She answered with unexpected perception, considering the fog that was upon her. “The same thing has happened to change me that has happened to change you. Adam’s death. Everything I was stops there. And I can’t ever go back. It’s all done. Destroyed. Finished.”
“Destroyed, but not finished,” I said. “Go on—please tell me what you know.”
There was a long silence from the woman on the bed. Then she seemed to make an effort to rouse herself, to recover a semblance of what she had once been. She sat up and drew her knees to her chin, looking at me directly with those blue-gray eyes, and with nothing blurred about her gaze. She spoke as calmly as though she were still the old Fiona, always serene and unmoved by others’ passions.
“It’s time for you to stop being so stupid, Christy. If you weren’t Adam’s daughter I wouldn’t listen to you. But you are, and I owe him that at least—to try to save his daughter. You don’t need to be as reckless as he was. You don’t need to ask for your own death.”
“So he was murdered! And you’ve known it all along!”
Her look told me that she did not really like me. That all her efforts to be a mother to me in the past had been false and contrived—something she had attempted to please Adam. The breach between us, which had closed momentarily with our mutual grief, widened. I tried to strike through her guard.
“Had you stopped loving him by the time he died? Is that why you’ve let everything go? Is that why you’ve never spoken up, as I’ve spoken up? Because you didn’t care any more? Because his death didn’t mean to you what it meant to me?”
If I expected my tirade to sting, I was disappointed. She regarded me calmly, without liking, but without anger.
“You’ve always thought you were the only one who could love Adam as he deserved to be loved,” she said. “Why you ever married Joel, I’ll never know, when it’s only the image of Adam you can love. But Adam is dead. He killed himself. Because he couldn’t face the exposure of what he’d been doing. Be satisfied with that and get back to your own life. You owe that to Peter, at least.”
If she was speaking truths, I didn’t want to hear them now. She didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. Adam would never rest—nor would I—until his death was—was what? Avenged? Or at least until the truth of it was exposed.
But I could be surface-calm too and turn away from her hurtful words. I moved about the room, noting its Fiona-neatness, stopping before my father’s cowhide suitcase set beside the closet door, where I had not noticed it before.
“I see you’ve brought Adam’s things here,” I said.
“I asked a maid to bring them from your room. You said I could have them.”
“Of course. They belong to you. I have his watch. There’s nothing else I want.”
We were both oddly calm, as though hot words had never been spoken between us, as though a sort of truce had been declared. Fiona was going to keep her secrets, however terrible, and I was not going to give up my purpose in coming to Spindrift. But we were through for now with railing at each other. Or so I thought.
I paused beside the hall door. “Tell me about Bruce Parry. I’ve known him for years, of course, but I’ve never known much about him. Was he ever married?”
“Yes, he was—when he was quite young. His wife was killed in a plane crash years ago. And he never married again. But that’s not for want of women being interested in him. Or he in them. Why do you want to know?”
“When he showed me Zenia’s room he seemed sympathetic. He said he understood loss. He must have been thinking about his wife. Did you know her?”
Fiona shook her head. “No. She was an invalid much of the time. He was always taking her to new doctors to try to help her. Things must have been hard for him then. Perhaps it was a mercy when she died.”
The pang of loss struck through me once more, and I had to deny her words. “It’s never a mercy when anyone dies. It’s a loss and a tragedy and an insult. Do you think it was a mercy when Adam died? Because you were tired of marriage?”
Her calm had been broken, and the truce was over. The serene Fiona picked up a book from the nightstand and threw it at me.
“Get out! I don’t care what happens to you. And the sooner the better!”
The book missed my head, but her sudden passion startled me. My words had uncovered something unexpected. I realized that I knew very little about Fiona Keene. I had lived in the same house with her for years, but my selfish young gaze had always been turned inward—or toward my father. I didn’t know what she was really like and I certainly didn’t know what turmoil was stirring in her now. I went out of the room and closed the door softly behind me. It did not give me a good feeling to know how much I had upset her. Yet what else was I to do?
It was nearly lunchtime and Ferris Thornton was going down the hallway to his room.
“Hello,” he said. “You look thoroughly ruffled. Have you been solving any more mysteries?”
“One or two,” I told him, not lingering to talk. I didn’t want any lunch. I was too upset myself. Some of the things Fiona had said had begun to burn in my mind, and I wanted to be alone until I could shake them off.
“Have lunch with me,” Ferris said. “I want to talk to you. About Theodora. If we’re early no one else will be there. So hurry and get ready and I’ll meet you downstairs.”
He went on to his own room and left me standing there, helpless to refuse his suggestion. I went into my room and once more bathed my hot face with cold water. When I came out of the bathroom I found Joel sitting in one of the flowered chairs.
“I hope you don’t mind my coming in,” he said with stiff formality. “I just found out that you’d moved.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should have told you. It was just that I couldn’t stand that room any longer. It made me nervous. I like this one better. It’s a warm room, and it likes me.”
There had been a time when Joel would have understood such a reaction. Now he said nothing, and his very silence set us apart.
“I suppose Theo is disappointed to find my vagaries real for once?” I asked.
“You’re too hard on her,” Joel said. “You always have been.”
And he had always been deceived by her. In his presence she dissembled.
“With good reason,” I told him. “She hated our marriage. She couldn’t forgive me for being Adam’s daughter when there was a time when she wanted Adam herself.”
“All that is buried in the past.”
“Where the present has its roots. Fiona tells me that the last log Adam kept is missing. And that she read something in it that frightened her before he died.”
Joel was listening intently now and, I thought, a little warily. “So?”
“So I’m going to find that log if it still exists—as it probably does. Fiona thinks Adam hid it somewhere—perhaps in this very house. I don’t believe anyone has found it yet and that’s why this atmosphere of uneasiness and distrust exists.”
Joel left his chair to roam around the room, tossing words at me over his shoulder.
“Oh, Christy, let it alone! We know Adam was involved in something unsavory. It has all been exposed. The log would tell the same story and that would make everything worse for you. And for Fiona.”
“No! It would tell the truth. The truth that is frightening Fiona and making her a coward. Adam wasn’t a coward and I won’t be.”
Joel had reached the balcony window in his turn about the room and he stood before the french doors staring out toward Redstones.
“Those were your things I saw over there this morning, weren’t they?” I said abruptly. “Your flight bag, with articles in it that belong to you.”
He did not move from the window. “I thought you might have guessed. But you didn’t say anything to the others.”
“No. I don’t know why, but I didn’t.”
“Don’t
tell them,” he said.
“Why not? What are you up to over there?”
He turned about slowly and his smile had a wry twist. “Perhaps after you’d told me what you’d seen, I just wanted to plant the evidence of a light over there. So no one would think you were imagining things again. It’s too bad I didn’t put the candle in the right room.”
I stared at him in surprise. “You’d protect me like that? When you believe I was imagining that I saw a light?”
“I don’t know whether you saw one or not. But I hate all these clashes with my mother, Christy. I know what you’ve been going through, but I hope it will stop.”
“But why the flight bag with a flashlight and extra candles—as though you meant to return?”
“Perhaps I do. Perhaps I’d like to find out whether there really is something going on over there. If I go over some night and stay for a few hours, perhaps I can find out. In any case, all this isn’t why I came to talk to you. Christy, do you know what Mother believes about us?”
I didn’t want to know, and I shook my head.
He spoke quietly, with his usual restraint. “She thinks there is no point in our continuing a sham marriage.”
Something inside me began to tremble, and unexpected tears burned behind my eyes. Tears for the loss of a love that could never be recovered? I couldn’t go back, but I could still remember. I blinked my eyes, trying to steel myself against memory. I knew very well what Theo meant by this. I knew she wanted Peter.
“What do you think?” I asked Joel.
He hesitated and his eyes did not meet mine. “I won’t oppose you if you want to go, Christy.”
No, he wouldn’t oppose me. He wouldn’t fight for me! It was unreasonable for me to condemn him for this. If he had fought for me I would fight him back. Yet I couldn’t help measuring him beside Adam. In a similar situation Adam would never have behaved like this. Nor, I thought, would Bruce Parry. If Bruce wanted a woman, if he felt she was worth it, he would fight for her against all odds. I didn’t know how I knew that, but I did. However, there was Peter to consider, and I could not yet risk being free. Not until I could prove myself strong and worthy as a mother. Too much of the time lately I had been close to an emotional brink and I would not let Theo push me over.
“For the time being, I’m satisfied the way things are,” I said. “There are things we both need to think out. For one thing, we’ve got to talk about Peter. He’s turning into a child I don’t know, and you’ve stood by and let it happen. Theo’s influence on him is vicious—poisonous.”
I could sense the stiffening in him. “Those are strong words, Christy, and I can’t accept them. All children go through phases. Peter will pull out of this.”
“Not without help,” I said. “And we need to work together. The sooner we take him away from Theo, the better.”
“We can’t do that until you’re well, Christy. The last thing Peter needs is an emotional mother tearing at him.”
The injustice of his words, considering the care I had taken with Peter, stung me to the quick. This, of course, was something Theo had convinced him of.
“I’ve been trying very hard not to upset Peter,” I said.
He gave me a long, thoughtful look and walked quietly out of the room.
I was not without guilt. I sensed that I had hurt him. Even though he would not raise a finger to stop me if I wanted to go, I knew his hurt went deep. Yet I could do nothing to prevent this. I couldn’t deal with everything at once.
The palms of my hands felt damp as I went downstairs. No one believed I was well again, and sometimes in this state of helpless frustration, I doubted it myself.
8
Lunch, like breakfast, was served on the buffet in the smaller dining room, with its Tudor roses and ivory-paneled walls. Ferris was already there when I came in and he got me a plate and served me from the hot casserole of lamb and peas. We were alone in the room and we sat together at the round table. Joel had not followed me downstairs.
“You wanted to talk to me about something?” I asked him, buttering a hot roll. I had to try to eat. To keep up my strength.
“Yes. We’d like your help in influencing Joel—Theodora and I.”
Nothing could have surprised me more. I was about to say that if I’d ever had any influence with Joel, I’d lost it—but with Theo seeking the breakup of our marriage, that wasn’t wise.
“You’ll have to tell me how you want him influenced first,” I said.
“I’ve been talking to him,” Ferris went on, “and for the first time he seems receptive to Theo’s wishes concerning the books he’s been publishing at Moreland Press.”
In the past I had been proud of Joel’s publications. They might not make a great deal of money, and you wouldn’t find them on the best-seller lists, but they usually received excellent reviews and they were distinguished publications. The other editors at Moreland Press did not, in my opinion, do nearly as well.
“What about his books?” I asked.
Ferris had the grace to look faintly uncomfortable. “Theodora feels he is getting nowhere on the course he’s following. Of course she doesn’t read what he publishes, but she thinks it’s a waste of time and a loss to the company to get praise and poor earnings. Oh, he needn’t compromise when it comes to quality, but she feels that he could give a little more attention to a wider market.”
There had been a day when Theo had placed herself on the other side of this argument and against Hal, humoring Joel in whatever he wanted to do. But now that Theo had the managing of income in her hands, she might very well see matters in a different light. Once I would have been angry about this, but for months now the only emotion I was capable of feeling was tied up with Peter and Adam. I didn’t really care any more.
“Why should you need my help? Why doesn’t Theo just tell him what she wants?”
Ferris smiled. “She’s a little afraid of him.”
“Afraid? Of Joel?”
“Only when it comes to his work. He has never let anyone interfere with him there.”
I supposed that was true and it added to my contrary sense of resentment. Joel would let me go without a word, he would bow to whatever Theo chose to do with Peter, but let anyone raise a finger toward one of his authors, and he would turn into a pillar of ice. He simply froze his opponents out and went his own way. Once I had admired him for this. Now it seemed a narrow and unimportant course in which to play the untouchable knight-errant.
“He’d be unlikely to listen to me,” I said, “even if I wanted to argue Theo’s premise. Which I don’t. Joel is doing a top job in the books he edits and publishes. Adam always said so.”
“And you would never go against anything Adam ever said—is that it?”
The cut of unexpected sarcasm startled me. Ferris had never been unkind to me before.
“I’ve read Joel’s books,” I said. “I know how good they are.”
“For a special audience, yes. But I think Theo is right when she feels that he could reach many more readers if he would compromise a little.”
“He won’t compromise,” I said flatly. My feelings were contrary indeed. I was a little proud of Joel’s obstinacy, even while I resented it.
“Then you won’t try to influence him?”
“It would be useless.” I changed the subject abruptly. “There is something I’ve been wanting to ask you, Ferris. Fiona says you had a quarrel with Adam a few days before he died. Will you tell me what it was about?”
Only a slight hesitation before he spoke hinted that I had caught him off guard. Then he answered me quietly.
“I wouldn’t call it a quarrel. A disagreement, rather.”
“What was the—disagreement about?”
“A private matter, Christy, my dear. Nothing that would help anything that faces you now. Your father was planning a course of action which I couldn’t approve. I had to argue against it.”
“A course of action that threatened someone—so that h
e had to be stopped?” Was this the answer to that note of Theo’s I’d found, accusing Adam of “treachery”?
Ferris’s look warned me. “I wouldn’t go around saying things like that, Christy.”
I felt that someone I had always loved and trusted had turned suddenly against me. This was not the Uncle Ferris of my childhood. But before I could say anything more, his tone softened and he spoke to me more gently, so that I wondered if there had really been a warning in his words.
“I’ve been discussing with Theodora your request to have a freer hand with Peter, and she agrees that this should be made possible. Your plan for an excursion into town this afternoon has been approved.”
I was still upset. “I’m not seeking her approval or disapproval. I simply mean to take my place as Peter’s mother. We would go to town this afternoon whether she approves or not.”
“I’m not sure you would,” he said evenly.
I started to make an indignant response, but just then Joel and Fiona came into the room. They greeted us and went to the buffet to fill their plates.
Fiona did not look at me, but she seemed to have recovered a semblance of calm, probably because of another drink or two, and she seemed very pleased about something.
“What do you think?” she said to Ferris. “Joel is going to take on Jon Pemberton as one of his authors! Moreland Press has coaxed Pemberton away from his present publisher, where he’s been dissatisfied, and Joel will be his new editor.”
I nearly spilled the coffee I’d been drinking. Jon Pemberton was nothing if not a big seller and his books were enormously popular. Which in itself didn’t damn them. But he wasn’t Joel’s type of author and I couldn’t see this at all.
I must have been staring at him in astonishment because he gave me a grim look and nodded to Ferris. “I’m doing this as a favor to Theo. I’ve met Pemberton and I like him. Perhaps we’ll do each other some good.”
I couldn’t withhold my indignation. “But he’s cheap!” I cried. “His books are often trash.”
“Often, but not always,” Joel said quietly. “Perhaps we can do a good one together.”
Spindrift Page 13
