“Annabel?” Mrs. Donavan called on the intercom. “Your aunt and Mr. Thiell are here.”
Mr. Thiell? Along with Jade she had to lunch with J Thiell? She could imagine that shadowy brain, like a dark computer, storing and categorizing every painful instant, saving it for some great cruel printout one day.
“Your father,” said Mrs. Donavan, “wants you and your guest promptly in the sunroom.”
My guest, thought Annabel. Give me a break!
Annabel gestured to the door, standing back so Jade was forced to go first, and go alone. The wide white halls stretched like prison entrances. Jade felt naked. She wished she had a big heavy coat to belt over her fears. She wished she’d been nice to Annabel; an ally really would have been better.
You screwed up, Jade told herself. Don’t do it again. This is the one that counts. Don’t let Theodora see you’re scared. It would be like letting a pack of Dobermans see.
The sunroom was a large stone porch with glass walls. Acres of wicker chairs, flowery fabric, and ugly rooty-looking plants that turned out to be orchids. There were a few beautiful, heavily scented flowers, but mostly there were repulsive brown plant fingers. Jade fought off shudders. I will not be intimidated, she said to herself.
Theodora Jayquith was actually there.
Jade had pulled it off.
The woman had come. She gave off energy the way the sun gives off heat. What had that fabulous suit cost? Were those huge green earrings that glittered like science-class prisms really emeralds?
Twenty feet separated them. Jade stood as still as a fawn in the forest.
The woman who had given birth to her was trembling.
Yes! thought Jade, blinking hard over perfectly dry eyes. The great unflappable Theodora Jayquith. Moved to tears over me. “I’ve hoped … for so long … that somehow … we would meet.”
But Theodora Jayquith was not trembling with tears. She was trembling with rage. She was not even bothering to look at Jade. She was glaring at her brother. “Hollings! How can you do this to me! Who let this woman in these gates?”
This woman? In spite of having wanted to be a grown-up all her life, Jade hated that word used on herself. Women could take care of themselves. She wanted to be a girl, who needed to be taken in, and sheltered, and given money.
“Tommy—”
“Tommy? Our driver! He’s fired.”
“Theodora, listen to me,” said Hollings. “The girl has proof.”
Theodora stood extremely still. To Jade she looked as if she had died. There were no vital signs. No breath, no pulse. “No,” she whispered.
Hollings was angry. “Theodora, you knew your daughter existed.”
“No. I knew that the O’Keeffe’s daughter existed. Do you not comprehend adoption, Hollings? The O’Keeffes have a daughter. I do not.”
Jade’s hate was so immense that she too seemed to have no vital signs: She too neither breathed nor bled. She just hated.
Slowly, uncertainly, like a beginner on a balance beam, Theodora turned toward Jade. She looked upon her daughter as if afraid of the glare, of becoming snow-blind. She closed her eyes against the sight of Jade and then slowly, hoping the vision would have vanished, opened them again.
Jade held up the birth certificate. The adoption papers. The photograph. She had been right in her instinct to play to Hollings Jayquith instead of to Theodora, and she continued on that path. “I’m so proud to be your daughter,” she said huskily. Theodora cringed, as Jade had expected her to, but Hollings was touched. Sentimental fool, thought Jade. She could not help turning to see how the others were taking it. J Thiell, whom she remembered from the wedding, seemed richly amused. But Annabel—
Annabel was not there.
Jade hated them both. Annabel could not be bothered to waste her time with Jade’s entrance into the family, and Theodora could not even be bothered to speak to Jade.
I’ll fix you! thought Jade. The strength of her own hatred turned the world and her heart to ice.
Eleven
ANNABEL TOOK HER HORSE.
It was wonderful, like an episode in Black Beauty.
Annabel could not think of a time she had enjoyed herself more. Not once in her life had she even thought of disobeying her father. It was heady stuff. She would have to do it more often.
The wind lifted her hair off the back of her neck. Her thighs pressed against Snowstorm’s wide flanks. They headed through the woods, fording the brook and following a narrow overgrown path off the estate.
Annabel and Emmie had separately gone through years of horsey stages. She and Emmie had probably ridden the same paths at the same time, but had not met each other until Wythefield. Emmie learned to ride at Hilltop Hunt Club and Annabel at Snowy Wind Stables, where she got her horses. Annabel had had Snowy Night and Snow Star before she was good enough to control a big horse like Snowstorm.
Annabel emerged from the woods into a newmown meadow. Surely the smell of horse and the scent of cut hay made the world’s best perfume. She laughed out loud. “I’m coming, Daniel!” she yelled, as if he and his horse were just ahead, and out of sight.
A few miles later they came out onto Black-brier Lane, where Emmie lived. Annabel slowed the pace, cooling Snowstorm down. No cars passed and in a few minutes she turned down the Pearse driveway. The place was jammed with cars and guests. For a moment, Annabel blanked out. What was going on? Then she remembered it was Sunday and second-day parties were beginning. There were people here for brunch, tennis, swimming, and even things like croquet and cards.
She waved to guests who were thrilled to see a horseback rider appear. It was perfect. People grabbed for cameras. Annabel and Snowstorm ambled past the tennis courts and she turned Snowstorm over to the stablehands. She went into the house by a side door, said hello to the housekeeper, and dashed up to Emmie’s room.
Empty. No doubt Emmie was off with the adorable Alex.
When this is over, thought Annabel, Emmie and I will need an all-nighter to tell each other the details of our romances.
Throwing off the clothes her father had ordered her to wear, she pawed through Emmie’s closets for something else. Then she rooted through Emmie’s purse for keys and scribbled a note. Taking your car. Explain later. Extremely extremely extremely very valid reason, lots of love, Annabel.
Emmie had inherited Venice’s last car, an open-topped Jeep so Venice could explore wildernesses. Emmie hated the Jeep, but Annabel drove with as much pleasure as she’d ridden Snowstorm. She hardly slowed for corners and she shifted hard, pushing the rpms way above the red line.
Dust settled on skin and hair. Well, a girl who rode horseback and took corners on two wheels to escape her father’s medieval-princess-imprisonments had to expect a little grime.
How funny, she thought. Everything’s going wrong, and yet I’m having a wonderful time! I should run away more often.
She reached Tanglewood ridiculously early. The huge parking areas were largely vacant and nobody was at the ticket gate.
An ordinary, old dark brown Buick with shaded windows pulled up next to her. What a dull suburban car. Why wouldn’t you buy something snazzy if you were going to buy something at all?
She was totally unprepared to have Daniel step out.
He laughed at her expression. “Camouflage,” he said. “They don’t expect Senator Ransom’s son in this.”
She sat behind the clear vinyl door of the Jeep, soaking up the sight of him. He turned the door handle slowly, sensually. Annabel swung her slender ankles out, Emmie’s fragile sandals clinging to her feet like a row of tiny seashells. Her thick hair fell forward.
“And I must say, I did not expect Annabel Jayquith in a Jeep whose hubcaps obviously spend a lot of time in mud.”
She giggled. “I stole it.”
He laughed with her. “Hey. I like a billionaire’s daughter with a hobby.”
Theodora would look at Jade with fascination, and then look away, sorting her silver and folding her linen n
apkin.
What memories did Theodora possess? In all her plotting and planning, Jade had not asked herself who the other parent was. But out there somewhere was a father. Was Theodora thinking of that man and that moment? What had he been like? What had Jade inherited from him? Why had they not married?
Jade did not have room for yet another worry. She was dealing with enough ignorance just getting through the meal. She didn’t know which fork to use when, so she didn’t eat. She’d give them no weapons to use against her. She was the one with the weapon. She existed. That was weapon enough.
It was a pleasure to manipulate one of television’s greatest manipulators. “These are Annabel’s clothes,” said Jade. “I don’t have anything nice. We were very poor, you know.” She paused to look sad and lost. “Or didn’t you?”
Theodora lifted her chin. “I assumed your parents would take proper care of you.”
Jade waited a beat. “They didn’t.”
Theodora wet her lips. Jade liked that. In all the tapes she had of Theodora Jayquith, not once had Theodora flinched or stumbled.
J Thiell put strong fingers on Theodora’s shoulder and closed them, as if she were a door he intended to shut hard. Jade would not have been comforted. Obviously Mr. Thiell and Theodora were an item, but Jade found him threatening, like a tornado not yet unleashed.
As for Theodora, Jade could not identify her major emotion. Theodora was controlling herself with visible effort, but successfully; Jade was unsure what the woman was thinking. “I wish you had written to me first,” said Theodora.
Sure you do, thought Jade. Not because you wanted to hear from me. But to give you a chance to build more gates and fences. “I wrote several times. Nobody answered. I telephoned. Nobody put me through to you. I went to the studio. Nobody let me in.”
Theodora did not respond to these statements. But Mr. Jayquith said, “I’m sorry.” He sounded sorry, too.
Jade went to work on him for a while. “It’s my fault Annabel is not here, Mr. Jayquith. I’m sorry I upset her.” Jade knew perfectly well that what had upset Annabel was not being able to meet Daniel, and what really upset Annabel was the order to stay home, and what really really upset Annabel was having the gates locked. Jade, against whom all gates had always been locked, loved it that the princess in the story had faced a little pain at last.
“Where is Annabel anyway?” said Theodora, very glad to discuss her niece instead of her daughter.
“She’s probably not able to handle having me here,” said Jade. “This is a great blow to her. She isn’t used to sharing. She’s probably afraid your love will be divided.”
Theodora looked at the ceiling with great irritation. “Annabel is not like that,” said Theodora sharply. “She’s a dear girl.”
“A dear girl in love with a turkey,” said Mr. Jayquith. “Or at least, son of a turkey.”
“She’s in love?” cried Theodora. “With whom? She didn’t tell me anything about it. She tells me everything, Hollings.”
So, thought Jade. Aunt and niece can be buddies. But not mother and daughter.
Mr. Jayquith set his fork down so carefully Jade knew he would have preferred to stab somebody with it. “Would you believe the son of Senator Madison Ransom? Daniel front-page-news himself? She met him at that charity ball I had to skip that was held at the Met. Then he turned up an usher for—well, you must know him, J. He’s your son’s friend.”
Mr. Thiell nodded, but absolutely no expression crossed his harsh face. Jade could not imagine why he was tolerated around here. The beautiful people should have higher standards. “It’s only the mother who’s nuts, Hollings,” said Mr. Thiell. “Unfortunately they’re a package deal.”
“I will be interviewing Daniel this week,” said Theodora. “It should be fascinating. He has a prepared statement to read. I can hardly wait.”
“A statement?” said Hollings Jayquith. He looked alarmed. “About what?”
“It is the tenth anniversary, Holl. And he and his mother are obsessed on the murder, of course. Well, who could blame them? Madison Ransom was a wonderful, wonderful man.” Theodora shook her head, and for a moment Jade actually thought she would get tearful, as if the senator had just been buried. “His death did change the course of their lives. No woman ever wanted to be First Lady so much.”
“Why didn’t she run for office herself?” said Mr. Thiell.
Theodora laughed. “Catherine Ransom? Very old-fashioned girl. She stands by her man. Her man does it all, she’s simply decorative. Now the man who will do it is her son. Her son is her life.” She frowned. “I’m worried about Annabel, Holl. The Ransoms would be a very difficult family to get involved with.”
“I told her. She didn’t listen.”
Theodora shrugged exclusively with her hands. “Girls in love don’t.”
“What statement could the kid make about the murder?” said J Thiell.
“My impression,” said Theodora, whose impressions were quoted globally, “is that the boy and his mother think they have uncovered enough new facts to warrant reopening the hunt for the real murderer.”
Mr. Jayquith swore. “That means me. It isn’t enough I went through this ten years ago, along with every other businessman whose name appeared in Senator Ransom’s notes. Now we’ll have to go through it again. Senators will be slitting each other’s throats to be placed on the new commission. There’s always lots of publicity and reelection value in murder investigation. Prime TV time, too,” he added, giving his sister what Jade could only call a dirty look.
“News is news,” said Theodora.
The sunroom was heavy with moisture from the plants. It was a hateful place. Why roast in this thick air? Why not use the cold, shining white room? Jade resented the whole conversation. The Ransom family was just an easier topic than Jade. “May I go?” asked Jade as sweetly as she could manage.
They were blank.
“To the studio,” she amplified. She made her voice worshipful and filled her eyes with adoration for Theodora. “Of course I never miss your television show, but this time I could see you behind the cameras.”
Theodora looked unglued.
You don’t want me there? thought Jade. Then that’s where I’ll be. Count on it, Theodora. “Please?” she coaxed, sweetly, so that Mr. Jayquith would fall for her request even if Theodora didn’t.
Theodora actually put a hand to her stomach, as if to keep herself from throwing up. She answered without quite looking at Jade, staring instead at the white orchids whose heavy scent was suffocating Jade. “Daniel is a celebrity. Getting him on the show is a coup. I will be very, very busy. The studio will be chaotic. I won’t have the time to spend with you.”
“I won’t make you ashamed of me,” said Jade, knotting her hands up where everybody could see.
“I didn’t say I was ashamed of you,” said Theodora quickly, proving that she was.
“Do you think,” Jade turned to Mr. Jayquith, “that Annabel would permit me to borrow something of hers to wear into New York? I don’t want to offend her any more than I already have.”
“You may take anything you like,” he said.
Mr. Jayquith was not arguing with her assertion that Jade needed something to wear to New York. She might really get to go with them! She would be in the real studio of a real network. She would take those elevators to the twelfth floor of the Jayquith Building.
She wondered if she should have her name changed. Jade Jayquith. Were the first and second names too similar? Or was it perfect? Would it be her ticket to the world?
The sun lowered like the flame of a broiler, toasting them. Daniel had a six-foot triangular tarp, which they kept shifting so Annabel’s face would be out of the sun. He memorized the pale curves of her cheek and the pillowy way her hair fell.
The ancient history of his life seemed no more important than the symphony playing in the shed. He barely heard the music, certainly didn’t care about it. He could hear Annabel breathe and see her e
yelashes rise and fall. He knew how she held her hands to applaud. She wore no lipstick but even so he could see the print of her lips on the glass of lemonade he had bought her.
She told him about her father having the gates closed. About her horses and Emmie. She even told him about her grave-visits. She said she had never told anybody and he believed her. She trusted him. “We visit my father’s grave a lot,” said Daniel, trusting in return. “I hate going. That eternal flame—I hate it. It rules my life. I’d like to extinguish it.” Usually he never let that thought finish its way through his mind. He was supposed to honor his father’s memory and he did … but oh, the price he paid. He wanted to live among the living, not the dead.
Annabel touched his cheek. Her fingers rested there, cool and soothing.
“It’s always on me,” said Daniel. “His fame. When I see the headstone, and read out his name, I remember all my mother expects me to do. I’m going to. I’ve promised her. But I really wanted—”
He could not believe it when he talked to her about becoming a doctor. He never told people his dreams. Especially when they could never come true. He was enrolled in law, not medical, school.
“Will you enjoy law at all?”
He tried to laugh. He was dreading it. There was so much reading in law school, and about what? Old cases, old arguments, old hatreds—his life was full of that now; what could there possibly be to enjoy?
She rubbed the small of his back.
A camera clicked.
Daniel went rigid.
“It’s all right,” she murmured. She smoothed his cap down over more of his face, and moved her face under it, too. Their lips were an inch apart. “They’re not after you. We’re just atmosphere. Smooching couple on grass at Tanglewood. We’re going to go in some tourist’s album.”
“You sure? The media follow me something fierce. You should see it on campus. They even know my schedule. My dorm room. The hour school lets out for vacation. They love that one, because they get my mother hanging onto my arm.” Had Annabel ever stared at his photograph, wondered what he was like, wished they could meet? He had studied her portrait, the famous eighteenth birthday party shot. His mother had actually taken the magazine cover and snipped it with scissors. “I won’t have that murderer happy in his family,” Catherine Ransom said. “We’re getting him, Daniel. It’s taking a decade, but it’s here. We’re bringing him down.”
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