“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dinah said, picking at a piece of cheese on a nacho.
Coleman twisted a paper napkin in her fingers and tore a bit off the corner. “I have this financial agreement with Jonathan—he can take over the magazine if profits fall, and while they haven’t fallen much yet, they could. The leaks have hurt the magazine—the numbers are a little off for the first time. I thought he might want to take over, and I didn’t want him to know I was having problems.”
“I see,” Dinah said, sipping her margarita. She was furious with Jonathan, but she couldn’t believe he’d take Coleman’s magazine away from her. If he had any such idea—well, it would never happen. She wouldn’t let it.
Coleman looked up from the shreds of her napkin. “I didn’t want to ask you not to tell him. I thought I’d be putting you on the spot.”
“Let’s forget about it for now. What else is bothering you?”
The waiter came with their food, and Coleman was silent while he served. Then, “I’m embarrassed to tell you what else. I had this crush on Heyward Bain, mostly because he’s so good-looking, but I also think he’s interesting, and, I don’t know, the mystery of him appeals to me, and—I can’t explain it—I hardly know him. Anyway, at first I didn’t tell you because I was so humiliated when he didn’t call me. And when I realized he liked you—”
Dinah looked up from her enchiladas. “Hold on. What do you mean ‘he liked me’?”
“I heard him ask you out to lunch at the Rist opening. He said he wanted to see you alone. You didn’t tell me about the lunch, so I thought you liked him, too. You don’t have to tell me about it—why are you laughing?”
“Because—” Dinah sputtered, choking on her margarita. When she could speak, she said, “He invited me to lunch to talk about you. He asked me all kinds of questions about you. He knows a lot about us, Coleman. About when we were children—things I didn’t think anybody knew. But this is the really astonishing part: he knows about what happened to you at Duke with Maxwell Arnold and his homeboys.”
Coleman’s eyes widened. “How could he know? Nobody knows. I’ve never told anybody but you.”
“Neither have I—not even Jonathan. Bain told me he heard it ‘indirectly’ from one of the boys,” Dinah said.
Coleman leaned forward, frowning. “Wait a minute. Dinah, are you saying he likes me? Did he tell you he likes me?”
Dinah smiled. “Well, he didn’t come out and say ‘I’m in love with Coleman,’ but he must be. He’s so curious about you, and when he talks about you, he’s intense. There’s no other explanation. I pressed him as to why he hasn’t asked you out, but he was evasive. He wouldn’t answer any of my questions, but he sure asked plenty.”
“I had the same experience with him—he doesn’t give away a thing. But why didn’t you tell me? What else did he say?”
“I meant to talk to you about it, but the moment never seemed right. We haven’t had any private time, and I’ve been away, and I’ve been so worried about Jonathan and the gallery. I’m sorry, Coleman. I’m not going to let anything get in the way of talking to you again.”
“Me, either,” Coleman said.
After a short silence, Dinah said, “Did you know Judy, Jonathan’s ex-wife, was at the opening last night?”
“No! Did you see her?”
“Yes, she’s gorgeous. I’m going to have another margarita.” Dinah signaled the waiter.
“Speaking of Judy, what do you know about Jonathan’s marriage to her?” Coleman asked.
“Nothing. He won’t talk about her. I don’t even know why they split up.”
“Well, at the Rist opening, Marise told me that Judy trapped Jonathan into marrying her. She’d lied, said she was pregnant. And then he caught her in bed with somebody, and that’s why they got divorced.”
“No! Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t Marise tell me?”
“As you said, there hasn’t been much time, and I haven’t seen you alone. And Marise wasn’t sure you’d want to know,” Coleman said.
Dinah sighed. “I guess that explains Jonathan’s jealousy and possessiveness, but knowing why he’s the way he is doesn’t make him any easier to live with.”
“What else did Bain say?”
“He offered to put me in business in a bigger gallery—to finance me. He thought the reason I’m in a small offbeat space is lack of capital—”
“No! Doesn’t he know Jonathan is rich?”
“Apparently not. I explained that Jonathan is my backer, and that I wanted to move and expand. I said that if Jonathan doesn’t finance me, I’d be in touch. But as you know, I got the loan from Zeke.”
Coleman frowned. “I think Jonathan would have an apoplectic fit if you took Bain’s money.”
“I agree. But Jonathan and I might not be together. He’s too controlling. I can’t stand it anymore. This baby thing was the final straw. If we can’t straighten things out, I’m going to divorce him. I’ll give it another try on the phone tonight—lay it out for him, tell him about everything, including my lunch with Bain, and Bain’s offer, and that I borrowed money from Zeke. If I can’t make him see sense, I’ll hire a lawyer.”
Dinah looked at her watch and groaned. “It’s nearly nine o’clock, and we have an early start to Virginia tomorrow. I’ll probably be up half the night talking to Jonathan—he said he’d call when he gets back from Boston.” She called for the check.
A few minutes later, outside on the sidewalk, Coleman said, “Why don’t we take a look at Blackbeard’s? It’s around the corner. It’s a gay bar. We should be safe.”
Dinah looked at her watch again and sighed. “Oh, all right. In for a penny, in for a pound.”
The exterior of Blackbeard’s was undistinguished. The name was painted in small letters on a dark glass window, and they couldn’t see inside.
“Let’s go in,” Coleman said. “We won’t ask about Jimmy or Chick, but let’s see what it’s like.”
“Jonathan would be furious. He told us not to do anything like this. But—oh, all right! Let’s do it, as long as we’re here.”
The nearly empty bar stank of stale beer and cigarette smoke and a dirty men’s room. Two men in business suits sat in a booth at the back, and a young man in jeans nursed a beer at the bar. The bartender was maybe six five, and his black sleeveless tank top revealed huge tattooed biceps. His shaved head looked like polished mahogany. All four men glared at the women.
“You’re in the wrong place, girlies,” the bartender said. “Why don’t you run along before you get in trouble?”
“I’m with a magazine,” Coleman improvised, “and I’m looking for a couple of good body types—twins if possible—to pose for some pictures. I heard this was the place to come.”
“Somebody’ll call you,” the bartender said. “It’ll be after midnight. Write your number here.” He handed her a pad and the stub of a pencil, and Coleman scribbled her home number.
When they were outside again, Dinah said, “Coleman, you’re crazy! What if they call?”
“I hope they will. I’m going home to change the message on my answering machine. I’m sure that bartender didn’t believe I was with a magazine. I bet he thinks I want them for a date—can you imagine? Yuck. I bet that’s how you book the hulks, through that bar. Maybe Chick came here and asked about them just like I did, and their connection with La Grange, and that’s all it took to get him killed. I’m going to nail these creeps, I swear I am.” Coleman signaled a passing taxi. “Let’s go. I have to get ready for their call.”
Monday evening
Boston
It was after five when Jonathan left Laramie’s office. Could he be totally wrong about Bain? The source of his wealth was definitely not from money laundering or drug transactions as Jonathan had suspected. Unless Bain had used his original fortune to expand into less righteous activities.
He wished he knew Daniel Winthrop, a friend of his parents, well enough to call him. He was thinking how to appr
oach Winthrop when his cell phone rang.
It was his secretary in New York. Daniel Winthrop had called, knew Jonathan was in Boston, wanted to see Jonathan right away, and made it clear Jonathan’s convenience didn’t concern him. Jonathan was to come to Winthrop’s house on Beacon Hill immediately.
What in Heaven’s name—? How did Winthrop know he was in Boston? What could he want? Jonathan sighed. He was tired, and he wanted to go home. But a summons from Daniel Winthrop could not be ignored. And Jonathan would have a chance to ask him about Bain.
In the mahogany-paneled library at Winthrop House on Beacon Hill, Daniel Winthrop gave Jonathan a scotch on the rocks, seated him in a chair opposite his desk, and sat back down behind it. His normally friendly face was angry.
“I’ve known your family all my life, went to school with your father, and I attended your christening. I’ve followed your career with interest, and I used to think you were pretty smart, but you’ve made a fool of yourself with your suspicions of Heyward Bain. Our lawyers told me you were inquiring about Bain, and I instructed them not to give you any information. Bain’s background is none of your business. But you stumbled on the MIT connection, and I let the lawyers set up that appointment, since I’m convinced you won’t give up.
“Because you’re obsessed with Bain, I’m going to tell you a little of his history. My information comes through The Firm. The Firm administers Heyward’s trust funds, and we’ve known him since he was a child. I’m one of his trustees.”
The Firm. Winthrop, Winthrop and Cabot, the prestigious law firm where generations of Winthrops had worked. “The Firm” was always mentioned as if it were capitalized, and as if everyone should know which firm was meant. Most people did. To invoke The Firm’s name on the side of an issue or as the source of information was to settle the matter.
“Bain never knew his mother, and his father despised him. He inherited enormous wealth from his grandfather, but he was banished as a small child to a remote estate he’d inherited from his maternal grandparents, with only servants and lawyers to take care of him.
“He was a prodigy with wide interests, and he was given every kind of tutor, book, learning device, hobby kit, and lesson known to man. But he had no playmates, no friends, no social associations of any kind. He did nothing but work and study, although his physical needs, including riding, tennis, swimming lessons, trainers, and the like were provided.”
Winthrop walked to the fireplace and stood with his back to the fire, his hands clasped behind him. “The name of the owners of the estate where he grew up was different from his name, which, incidentally, is not the name you know him by. And the name his tutors knew him by is different from the name of any relative or connection of his. His fortune, which is far larger than the press has suggested, is managed through trusts, and his many inventions—which have paid him far more than his inherited fortune—have been patented in corporate names. The Firm became involved with him through the estate in South Carolina he inherited. I share his hatred for tobacco, and I became interested in his inventions, his activities, and his future.
“As you’ve learned, when he was twelve he spent some time at MIT, but he was unhappy there, and in any case I thought Boston might be dangerous for him. He has many enemies, all connected to the tobacco industry. Since he came of age, he’s lived in states where other recluses have hidden. He’s had everything in the world that money can buy, but he’s the loneliest person I’ve ever met. He’s generous—he’s given major gifts to colleges, including Harvard, where he had no connection except that he knew me. He has never wanted recognition. His gifts are always anonymous.”
Winthrop paced the area in front of the fireplace. “I was astonished when I heard he’d become a public figure in New York. He must have a compelling reason to emerge from his anonymity, and he must believe it’s less risky than it once was. I haven’t talked to him in the last year or two, but you have my word that in all the time I’ve known him, he’s never done anything illegal or dishonorable.” Winthrop sat down at his desk again.
Jonathan was speechless, stunned by Daniel Winthrop’s anger, and even more by what he’d said about Heyward Bain. That settled that, if all of this was true. And how could it be otherwise, given that the source of the information was Winthrop, Winthrop and Cabot, and that Daniel Winthrop vouched for Bain? Jonathan didn’t like being wrong, and he’d had enough lecturing and disapproval for one day. He thanked Winthrop, put down his glass, and stood up. He excused himself, and Winthrop rang the butler to show him out.
Jonathan felt as low as he’d ever been, even during the months before and after his divorce. He had plenty of time to think about his behavior on the way back to New York: the drive to Logan Airport, the wait for the shuttle, the plane ride, and the seemingly interminable trip to Greenwich Village.
He’d made a terrible mistake in his assessment of Heyward Bain. He’d clung to the idea that Bain was evil when he’d had absolutely no evidence to back up his opinion. He’d been blinded by prejudice and jealousy. The prejudice was an infamous Hathaway characteristic. The jealousy he’d developed on his own, a result of his experience with Judy.
He’d thought that if he could prove to Dinah that he was right about Bain, she’d see that he was right about other things, too. She’d stop trying to be so independent, and stop—stop what? Stop moving away from him. That’s what was at the heart of his insistence that the Greene Gallery remain small and non-competitive, that it be an annex to their home: he didn’t want Dinah to be a successful businesswoman. He wanted all of her attention focused on Jonathan Hathaway.
Jonathan didn’t like the picture of himself that Winthrop had forced him to see. He was acting like his father, or worse. Less than seven months had passed since his and Dinah’s wedding, and he’d made a mess of the marriage. He didn’t know what he’d do if he lost Dinah.
When the driver pulled up in front of the house he shared with Dinah, the dark windows made Jonathan’s heart sink. She hadn’t come back, as, for no good reason, he’d thought she might.
He’d eat crow on the topics of Heyward Bain and the gallery. He’d make amends. He’d start by sending flowers to her at the Creedmore Club, with a letter saying how sorry he was he’d hurt her, and that he was behind her new gallery one hundred percent. He’d tell her she was absolutely right about Heyward Bain. He only hoped it wasn’t too late.
Thirty
Monday night
New York
Coleman got out of the taxi at the corner of Fifty-Fifth and First Avenue. She scooped Dolly out of her pouch, and put her down on the sidewalk. “Okay, Dolly, time for a last stroll, and then bed.”
They walked towards Second Avenue, passing the door to her building, where she waved to Ralph, the night doorman. But a few doors west of the entrance, Dolly sat down. She looked up at Coleman, her dark eyes beseeching, and refused to budge. “What is it, Dolly? C’mon, I’m tired. Let’s walk to Second Avenue and back.”
Coleman tugged at Dolly’s leash, but the little dog held firm. Coleman tugged again, and Dolly rose, turned, and pulled Coleman towards First Avenue. “Oh, Dolly, no. It’s so dark near the river.” She leaned down, picked up Dolly, and headed back towards Second Avenue. A few doors later, Coleman put her down, and this time Dolly reluctantly followed.
Despite Chick’s death and her feelings of grief and guilt, Coleman was happier than she had been for some time. She no longer had secrets from Dinah. Heyward Bain was not in love with Dinah, Dinah was not in love with Heyward Bain, and Heyward Bain was interested in Coleman Greene. Whatever Bain’s problem was—why he didn’t call her, why he didn’t ask her out—she was sure she could fix it.
She felt like whistling, singing, skipping. When had she last skipped? A shadow emerged from a doorway, and before she could react, strong arms grabbed her from behind. Her assailant clamped a hand over her mouth and nose and held an arm tightly around her throat. She had an impression of hair and scratchiness—a beard, a rough t
weed coat, wool gloves, and then she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, couldn’t move. Blackness closed in. She fell to the pavement. She heard Dolly’s shrill bark and someone shouting. “Ms. Greene! Ms. Greene!” Then nothing.
When consciousness returned, she was lying on her back on the icy sidewalk. Faces stared down at her, and Dolly was licking her cheek. Her back and legs were numb with cold, and her neck hurt. She struggled to sit up and recognized Ralph, the doorman, leaning over her. A uniformed policeman knelt beside her. “Are you okay, miss?”
She put her hand on her throat. “I think so,” she whispered. “My neck hurts, and my throat’s sore, but I don’t think anything is broken. What happened?”
“You were mugged, Ms. Greene.” Ralph was speaking so fast she could barely understand him. “I saw you walk by with the dog, and the dog barked—this dog never barks,” he said to the policeman, whose expression suggested it was not the first time he’d heard Ralph’s story—“so I went to see why she was making all that noise. A guy had a hold of you, and I yelled and ran toward you. The perp took off, and this cop came running.”
“Did he take anything, miss?” the policeman asked, helping her up.
“I don’t know—no, here’s my bag—it’s okay, Dolly,” she said, picking up the dog and putting her in her pouch. “I can’t thank you enough, Ralph—you and Dolly saved my life. You, too, officer.”
“Oh, no, miss, just your purse,” the policeman said, his tone reproving. “Muggers want your money. You must’ve struggled with him. You shouldn’ta done that. You shoulda given it to him. It’s not worth getting hurt.” He looked as if he’d like to shake his finger at her.
“I promise you, officer, I didn’t have a chance to give him anything,” Coleman whispered. “He just jumped me, and tried to strangle me. I’d like to go inside—I’m freezing. That is, if we’re through here?”
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