Faye lifted her head, her gaze following the sound, but she could see no one in the shadowed darkness. Only the bronze boy of the fountain caught the last light, he with that perpetual mischievous grin that both teased her and promised her escape, if she would only dare. Faye had the sensation that he was smiling directly at her. As she stared into the boy’s face, the strange, evocative melody enveloped her. Moved, she reached out toward him, then, realizing what she was doing, stopped herself abruptly and dropped her hand.
“Stop looking at me like that, boy,” she said aloud, speaking more to herself. “I can’t just pick up and run away. I’m not a child. I have adult responsibilities. People who count on me. So just play your music elsewhere.”
Suddenly the music stopped. Faye gasped and quickly looked around the garden, an eerie feeling creeping along her spine that she was not alone. All was quiet and still. The wind shifted, the clouds moved, and the brass boy was cloaked in darkness. I must be losing my mind, she thought to herself. Or someone is playing tricks on me. She heard a faint scuffling noise.
“Who’s there?” she called out.
No one answered. The night was as still as death. “Someone is there! Come out!” Her voice was strident, demanding.
“Hold on there,” came a voice from the darkness.
Her hand grabbed the chair as she stumbled back a step.
“It’s just me. Jack.”
“Jack?” She released a chest full of pent-up air. “What games are you playing now?”
“Games?” He stepped from the darkness. “I was in my kitchen, and I heard you call out. I thought something was wrong and came out to check. Is everything okay?”
“You weren’t playing music? A flute or something?”
His brows rose with the corners of his mouth. “A flute? Me?”
Faye flushed. “I heard some music, and I thought... Well, never mind what I thought.”
“It’s a still night and the music probably came from a neighbor’s open window.”
“Yes, yes of course. That’s the explanation. I guess I’m just feeling a little jumpy.”
He frowned and tucked his fingertips into his pockets. “Not because of me, I hope.”
“No,” she answered quickly. Then, thinking again of another night, “Well, maybe yes. A little.”
“I’m sorry about that.” He paused. “We’ve been avoiding each other.”
She looked up, relieved to see him looking straight at her once again. “Perhaps we have.”
His brows furrowed and he nodded, accepting her acknowledgment as enough said.
Then, turning, he began to walk around the garden, creating a natural transition away from the awkward topic. She was grateful. Sometimes it was easier to leave things unsaid.
She breathed easier with the company and sat back down on the iron chair, watching him covertly. A bottle of beer dangled from his long fingertips as he strolled. He was barefoot, of course, and moved with the grace of an athlete. Jack was one of those men who looked sexier dressed in faded jeans and a worn out T-shirt, a good, Midwestern boy with a corn-fed smile that could set a girl at ease and make her blood sizzle all at the same time.
Yet, he was also as full of contrasts as the shadows he walked in. Beneath his sunny exterior, she sensed a dark sorrow and an emptiness as vast and mysterious as the outer space he studied.
“They’ve been doing a great job,” he said. “You should be proud of your children.”
She flushed with pleasure.
“I am.”
“Where are those two wild ones, anyway? I’m surprised that they’re not out here with you.”
“They are up in the nursery. With Wendy.”
Jack broke into a wide grin. “Really? Why that’s great. They must be having a ball.”
“They are. But Mrs. Lloyd is going to have a fit. No doubt I’ll hear from her. Mrs. Jerkins wasted no time sending out the alarm.” She frowned. “Ol’ Horseface...”
“So what if she does? Wendy’s capable of making her own decisions. Believe me. That’s one cagey old lady up there.”
“She certainly seems to have some magic over Tom.” Faye snorted. “Or should I say Tootles. You won’t believe it, but when I came home he was running around dressed as a pirate. Bare chest, eye patch, and all.”
Jack’s mouth dropped opened. “Tom? The mouse roars?” He scratched his head in amazement.
“He’s not speaking yet, though Wendy does seem to understand him perfectly. It’s like they have this special connection.” She sighed and pursed her lips.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s the children. I have a problem. Mrs. Jerkins put her foot down tonight. She won’t stay a moment past six. And just today my boss let me know he expected me to burn the midnight oil. I’m stuck between a rock and hard place. I need to find someone to take care of them for the few hours I may be late coming home.” She sat in the chair and tapped her lips in thought. “If I called the agency, perhaps they could find me someone who only wants to work part-time. I suppose I could afford that. After all, my job is on the line.”
“Faye, you’re missing the forest for the trees. The answer is right under your nose. Or should I say above it.” He pointed upward toward the third-floor window. As though on cue, the trill of children’s laughter poured from the window.
“Wendy? Babysit? Don’t be ridiculous. She’s ninety-something, and I have my doubts about her mental capacity. Besides, Mrs. Lloyd will never allow it.”
“Mrs. Lloyd—or you? Are you sure you’re not jealous of her relationship with the kids?”
“I should be. Only... I’m not. How could I be jealous of someone who is doing my son so much good? And Maddie...She’s positively transformed. She met me at the door as proper and charming as a little princess. No, I’m not jealous. But I can’t take any chances where my children are concerned. There’s something odd about Wendy. Different. I don’t want anything to happen.”
“You have to accept that something might happen. The world is a dangerous place. Bad things happen. That’s life. The question is, can Wendy handle it if something does happen?”
“I have to admit, she does seem capable. Responsible.”
“And most nights, I’ll be close by.”
“But Mrs. Lloyd said...”
“Yeah, yeah, we all know what that old battle-ax said. I get the feeling that Mrs. Lloyd has her own agenda for her mother, and it may not include Wendy’s wishes.” He stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders. She flinched at his touch, but he held firm. “Faye, in my business, sometimes we have to fly in the face of sense and logic and trust our instincts. I’ve watched you with your kids. Sure you’re persistent and demanding. Moms have to be, I guess. But you’ve got great instincts, too. What do they tell you to do?”
Faye thought of Wendy’s youthful exuberance with the children. Her joy in their company lit up her face, even as it shone in the children’s. Faye thought of how lonely the woman must be, all alone in the nursery, without friend or family to visit, with only stern Mrs. Jerkins to check on her. Was it any wonder she befriended the stars, or that she returned to the joys of her childhood to comfort her? She could remember a few nights when she herself spent time gazing out through a cloudy window. No woman should be so isolated.
“But can I trust Wendy with the children’s care?”
As though in answer to her question the garden door swung open and the two children clamored out, all smiles and calls of greeting. Tom’s face was freshly scrubbed, and he was dressed neatly in his usual shorts and top. Glancing at her wristwatch, Faye noted that it was exactly eight o’clock.
“Here, Mom,” Maddie said, handing her a small brown bag. “Wendy said we had to ask you first if we could eat these cookies before bed. And she packed a few sandwiches for you for later, too. In case the fish got too cold.”
“Did she now?” Smiling with relief, Faye made her decision. “It seems Wendy is going to take care of all of us,
” she replied, smoothing the hair on Maddie’s face.
* * *
The following day, at 6:05 p.m., Faye sat back in her cramped office, put her feet up on a box, and sighed with relief. Her telephone call to Wendy confirmed that the transfer of command was successful.
“We’re learning how to paint!” Maddie exclaimed, breathless. “Wendy said she’d teach us how to paint a mural. Could we, Mom? In our bedroom?”
“It’s not up to me, honey. It’s up to Mrs. Lloyd.”
“No it isn’t,” Maddie corrected indignantly. “Wendy said it’s her house. That what happened to the house was up to her.”
Interesting, Faye thought, tucking away that bit of information. So, the house was still in Wendy’s name. One would never guess, what with the way Jane Lloyd maneuvered Wendy’s life decisions.
“How about you paint me a few pictures to frame first, honey. Then we can talk to Wendy about murals.”
“Okay,” she’d readily agreed, to Faye’s continued amazement. Maddie had become less recalcitrant and more ready to compromise. In turn, Faye had felt less rigid with her demands, more inclined to agree. She wondered if the magic ingredient to this sweeter stew wasn’t a certain old woman in No. 14.
After she hung up, Faye closed her eyes and imagined Wendy and the children spreading out the paper, lining up the paints, and spouting forth their imagination in bright colors and swirling shapes. Feeling her heart ping, she squeezed her lids tighter. How was she going to manage letting go of that special time with her own children? They were growing up so fast, poised for leaving. Too soon, they would be on their own, painting the world with their own, special colors. These days were, she knew, precious.
She wouldn’t always be under such a relentless push, she reconciled in her mind. Tomorrow she’d make time. Or the day after that. As soon as she could. She promised herself that she would pick out a day and mark it on her calendar, in red ink.
On the way home she hummed a peculiar little tune that she couldn’t get out of her mind lately. It lifted her spirits so much that she didn’t panic when she found Mrs. Lloyd waiting for her in the foyer. Her back was as straight as the wooden chair she sat upon, and when Faye entered, the older woman bolted upright to confront her. Faye could feel the woman’s cool waves of anger roll over her as she approached.
“Mrs. Lloyd, how nice to see you again.”
Mrs. Lloyd offered a quick, tight smile, but her eyes couldn’t conceal her irritation.
“I’m sorry for the lateness of the hour, but I felt it imperative that I speak with you. Immediately.”
“I see. Well, won’t you come in?” Opening the door, she felt a foreboding, knowing full well the reason for Mrs. Lloyd’s call. She would have to be very careful how she handled the situation. She needed Wendy, yet she couldn’t afford to aggravate her daughter and lose the flat. There was no way she could manage finding another flat, another move, and a new campaign under this pressing deadline.
“Tea?” she asked, hoping to ease the tension.
“No, thank you. I won’t be staying long. I’ve come to speak with you on a subject that, frankly, I’d thought was settled between us.”
Faye paused, then lowered her shoulders. “I assume you are referring to Wendy.”
Mrs. Lloyd drew her shoulders up. “You mean Mrs. Forrester.”
Faye closed her mouth tightly.
“I thought,” Mrs. Lloyd continued in her clipped manner, “that I’d made it quite clear that your children were not to bother my mother. Yet I’ve learned that they are in and out of her flat all day long. Like bees to honey, or so I’m told. This is most inappropriate, Mrs. O’Neill. My mother is very old. She is not well. I should think you'd more careful than to allow the children free rein.” She sniffed and drew her purse close to her chest. “I should have thought you’d have respected my wishes.”
Faye could feel her Irish bubbling beneath the surface and struggled to maintain her cool. “Mrs. Lloyd, in the first place, if my children are allowed free rein it is because Mrs. Jerkins cannot manage them. If you recall, you were the person who referred me to her.”
“Mrs. Jerkins is quite capable, I’m sure. She’s been in my employ for many years. However, her hands are tied when your children are permitted by you to visit Mrs. Forrester.”
“The children are permitted to see Mrs. Forrester at six o’clock each evening until I return. This is by arrangement between Wendy and me.” Faye heard her voice rising and took a moment to collect herself.
“Precisely!”
“Mrs. Lloyd,” she began again in a lower tone of voice, “I believe your mother is capable of much more than you do. She is vibrant, alive. The children bring her pleasure, as she does to them. It is a perfect arrangement all the way round.”
“It doesn’t go halfway round!” exclaimed Mrs. Lloyd. “You really have no idea.”
“Is there something I should know about your mother? You aren’t referring to the Peter Pan thing? If I recall, you yourself informed me that was harmless.”
Mrs. Lloyd visibly startled. “Silly rumors, is all. It’s just that, well, there have been incidents.”
A stirring of alarm coursed through Faye. “What kind of incidents?”
“Harmless as I said, but... Well, it’s hard to explain. You see, when children are near her, they tend to want to try to fly.”
“Fly?”
“It isn’t amusing, believe me. We’ve had near accidents.”
“They don’t try to jump from windows or anything like that?”
“Heavens, no. Yet, one wonders what could happen. Children are so unpredictable. It’s more likely they’ll jump from a high place--a chair, a bed-- and bump their heads. It’s all too much trouble.”
“It’s working out so well. The children adore her. And she them. Why don’t you go upstairs and see for yourself?”
“I don’t have to,” she sputtered. “Children always love Wendy. That’s the problem.”
“Why is that a problem? I should think it’s a blessing.”
“My mother is...well, suffice to say that when she is in the company of children she relapses into this world of make-believe. She loses touch with reality. She becomes like a child herself, playing games, planning new adventures, having much too much fun for a respectable woman of her advanced years. She won’t listen to reason and is so stubborn.” She paused to take a deep breath and settle her rising frustration. “At this point in her life, Wendy should be dignified, wise. She should allow me to take care of her.”
“Mrs. Lloyd, your mother is the wisest, most dignified woman I have ever met. And she is more than capable enough to take care of herself, and others.”
“I don’t believe you are qualified to make that judgment.”
“Are you?”
“I am her daughter.”
“Of course. I don’t mean to insult. Mrs. Lloyd, please don’t interfere with her visits with the children. Not for my sake, but for theirs. I promise I will monitor the situation closely, and if my children bump their heads, I assure you, I will not sue!”
Mrs. Lloyd drew her shoulders back and met Faye’s gaze squarely. Faye saw the resolve ice over the older woman’s pale blue eyes, and she realized that Mrs. Lloyd was a woman who liked things to go her way. Defiance flared in Faye, and she stared back, almost daring the other woman to blink first.
Mrs. Lloyd dug in her heels. “I don’t like to speak of unpleasantness, but if you persist, I shall be forced to consult my solicitor and ask you to leave.”
“I see,” Faye replied, coupling her hands before her. She thought of Maddie’s comment earlier that evening and suspected that, contrary to all Mrs. Lloyd’s machinations, Wendy still held the balance of power in this mother-daughter relationship. “Perhaps I had better discuss this with Wendy.”
“My mother?” Jane’s voice betrayed her with a hint of alarm. “Why ever would you bother my mother with such business?”
“I don’t believe your mot
her would be happy if we canceled the visits.”
“I am asking you, insisting, that you stop the visits.”
Faye picked up the gauntlet and stood her ground.
“No.”
“What? You will persist? Even over my objections?”
“I will allow Mrs. Forrester to decide and abide by her wishes.”
Mrs. Lloyd’s mouth silently worked, but her eyes flashed in fury. Faye knew that she had won.
“I warn you, Mrs. O’Neill. Only trouble will come from this arrangement. And when it does, I shall hold you entirely responsible! Good-bye, Mrs. O’Neill. I shall find my own way out.”
Chapter 11
Faye watched the door close behind Mrs. Lloyd and placed her palm over her forehead wondering what had come over her? She had meant to try to placate her, to smooth things over. Instead she’d stiffened her spine, stood her ground. It had been such a long time since she’d done that. Dropping her palm, her eyes blinked in wonderment, and she took in a deep, gratifying breath. It felt great! Even though she’d only succeeded in alienating Jane Lloyd further. She was probably scurrying home right this minute to phone her lawyer and have him find some loophole in the contract that would permit their eviction. Something like, No children allowed.
She slipped her briefcase against the wall, thinking as she did so that it might’ve been wiser to simply have kept her mouth shut and agreed to Jane’s terms. She stopped and bunched her fists. But when she heard Jane Lloyd talk about Wendy like she was some brainless invalid, something snapped. It was cruel to speak of Wendy in those terms. Simply mean-spirited and unfair. Wendy was eccentric, true, but she was also gracious and kind. Wise and generous. A good friend. In Faye’s opinion, the world would be a better place with a lot more Wendy Forresters. And in her gut, Faye knew that Wendy was the best tonic for what ailed her Tom. She would fight an army of Jane Lloyds to help her son.
Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was only six-thirty, “hoppassix” as Mrs. Jerkins would say. The house seemed as quiet as Texas after a tornado, and her thoughts wandered to a certain corn-fed boy who would certainly applaud her victorious bout with Jane Lloyd. She imagined how he’d break into an appreciative grin, and suddenly she wanted the satisfaction of seeing it for herself.
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