Twilight Whispers

by Barbara Delinsky

  Jack, meanwhile, was carving a similiar niche for himself in the Fortune 500. The Whyte Estate had become a large and powerful corporation. Its chain of hotels grew regularly, spreading through the country, then on into the Caribbean. The single plant for the production of television sets had spawned a network of plants producing microelectronics and computers. And the airline, with its clever advertising and its frill-filled service, had become one of the nation’s most prominent.

  With the last of her children off to college, Natalie found she had more time on her hands than she knew what to do with. Jack rarely needed her. He was wrapped up in the world of business, spending no more than two or three days out of the week at home. Nick was working with him, but if Natalie had thought that her son’s presence would free up her husband she had been wrong. Jack was busier than ever.

  She had to give him credit; when Jordan had been playing ball he had made a point to attend every game. He had likewise made himself available for Anne’s graduation and subsequent matriculation at Smith. But, other than an occasional dinner at the country club or a theater engagement or a party, he had little time for Natalie.

  To counter the superfluity she was feeling Natalie became active in civic causes. She volunteered her time to work at the flower shop at the Deaconess, helped plan fundraisers for the New England Home for Little Wanderers, became active on the board of the Museum of Fine Arts. If Jack made the occasional disparaging comment regarding the long-range usefulness of these endeavors she ignored them. She had discovered that it wasn’t enough to have things and be someone. She needed to be needed.

  Lenore didn’t need to be needed as much as she needed to be loved. She came whenever Gil called, ostensibly because of the agreement they had made, but also because a small part of her still wanted to please him. She wanted to do the same for her children, but too often her nerves were her undoing. When Laura’s toddlers contracted the chicken pox she hovered over them in such a state of worry that their faces would be permanently scarred that Laura finally sighed and sent her home. When Peter asked her to tutor his disgruntled wife on the fine points of living with a lawyer, Lenore could think of nothing to say and ended up simply treating the young woman to lunch at the Ritz. When Deborah became engaged to Mark Lenore bought them a complete set of Baccarat crystal, then went into near hysterics when they exchanged it for two Nikons and a camper. And when Anne came home from school madly in love with her math teacher, who was twenty-four, a notorious playboy and, by the way, married, Lenore was the one who went to bed.

  Cassie watched it all quietly, aware of the remarkable irony of the situation. Lenore Warren and Natalie Whyte were regarded by the overall public as two of the luckiest women alive. Yet neither was totally happy. Neither had quite found what she had been seeking.

  The public didn’t know about the weeks of tension that plagued the Whytes in 1971 after Jordan informed his father that he was going out on his own.

  “I won’t walk in your shadow!” Jordan shouted when tamer reasoning had failed to produce results.

  “Nick is part of the Estate, and he’s not walking in my shadow!” Jack shouted right back.

  “Like hell he’s not!”

  “Don’t swear in front of your mother!”

  “Why not? She’s heard it from you often enough—”

  “Natalie, can’t you talk some sense into your son?”

  “You do swear, Jack—”

  “Not about swearing! About joining the business!”

  Natalie found herself right in the middle. She ached for Jack, whose idea of an empire called for the involvement of his sons, but she also ached for Jordan, who had turned down acceptances at Yale and Columbia to play football at Duke, where he felt he had a chance of shining on his own, much as he wanted to do now. She was tied up in knots as the argument went on, and for days after, even when Jack had offered token surrender, she was torn.

  The public didn’t know, in 1972, of the behind-the-scenes maneuvering Gil had to do to bail Peter out of a land development scheme whose organizers, unbenownst to Peter, were connected with the Mob. Lenore knew, however, and for days she awaited word that a hit man had done his thing.

  The public was totally unaware of the uproar in the Whyte home when, in 1973, Nick announced that he had decided to promote his most attractive secretary to the position of his administrative assistant. Jack’s arguments against the move were so thorough and vehement that Natalie suspected he had either had or wanted the young woman for himself—and not in the capacity of administrative assistant.

  In 1974 Emily Warren threw her family into a tailspin by taking up with the head waiter at a two star restaurant in New York, but the public didn’t know about that, either, because while it added more gray hair to Gil’s head than he cared to count, the affair was brief and hushed up. The waiter in question quite readily accepted a position at a four star restaurant in Dallas, leaving Lenore to explain to Emily why that restaurant in Dallas just happened to be in one of Jack Whyte’s hotels.

  The public did know, however, of the tragic airplane crash that took the lives of a hundred and sixty-two people in 1975, and about the eventual finding by the FAA that weather conditions rather than negligence on the part of Trans-Continental Airways, as the Whyte Lines was now known, had been its cause.

  The public also knew that Gil Warren won reelection in 1976 by his largest margin ever, and that in 1977 he played a backseat role in negotiation of the new Panama Canal treaties, and that in 1979 Whyte Electronics received a three-hundred-million-dollar contract for computer parts from the Air Force.

  No one—not the public or Jack Whyte or Gil Warren or any of their offspring—knew, though, of what took place in the attic of the Warren home in Dover on a heavily overcast day in December of 1980. Cassie had been restocking the second floor linen closet when she noticed that the door to the attic was open. She went to close it, then paused and on impulse slowly began to climb the steps. What she saw at the top stopped her cold.

  Surrounded by dusty cartons, used baby paraphernalia and beloved but crippled furniture was Lenore. She sat on an old chair, staring fixedly at her hands, and if she had heard the creak of the steps she made no sign.

  “Mrs. Warren?” Cassie held her breath for a moment, but there was no response. “Are you all right?”

  At first there was silence. Then, very slowly, Lenore raised her head. “I’m … not sure.”

  “Are you feeling ill?”

  Lenore thought about that, then shook her head. “I just … came up here.” She sent a disconsolate glance at the rafters. “My father died in an attic like this one.” Her eyes fell to Cassie’s. “He hung himself. Did you know that?”

  Cassie shook her head. Her insides were quivering, and the fact that she saw no sign of a piece of rope or other potential noose in Lenore’s hand was small solace. “Maybe you should come downstairs. It can’t be healthy to be brooding about that.”

  “I can almost understand why he did it,” Lenore rambled on, oblivious to Cassie’s words. Her eyes were on the rafters again. “He felt that he couldn’t face tomorrow. It was sudden in his case. He’d been playing with fire for years, but he thought he’d never be burned. Then, in one shot he was. He couldn’t handle the pain.”

  “You’re much stronger than he was, Mrs. Warren,” Cassie said with a calm she didn’t feel. The fact that the woman might be considering suicide chilled her to the bone. “You’ve lived with pain and you’ve overcome it.”

  “Overcome? I don’t know about that.”

  “Please, come downstairs. It’s drafty here. I’ll make you some hot tea—”

  “I want a drink.”

  “There’s plenty downstairs.”

  “Could you bring me something here? I’d appreciate that.”

  Cassie’s mind was working quickly. She refused to leave Lenore alone, but she couldn’t refuse the woman’s order. Turning, she quickly descended the steps. At the bottom, she called out for the maid, who
, if she was doing her job, would right about now be dusting Lenore’s perfume tray. “Isabel? Isabel!”

  The thin girl appeared at the doorway of the master bedroom.

  “Isabel,” Cassie instructed, her voice little more than a whisper, but filled with urgency, “I want you to go down to the kitchen. Call Mrs. Whyte and tell her that Mrs. Warren needs her right away. Then make a cup of tea with lemon and honey and bring it to me.”

  “Tay? Lemoon an howney?”

  “Yes, girl. Tea—boiling water with a tea bag—no, just tell cook to do it—tea with lemon and honey. But call Mrs. Whyte first. The number is at the top of the list by the kitchen phone. This is important, Isabel. Can you do it?”

  The girl nodded. “I do et,” she said and ambled toward the stairs.

  “Quickly!” Cassie whispered. “Run!”

  Only when she was sure that the girl had increased her pace did Cassie hurry back to the attic. She feared what might have happened even in those few short minutes she had been gone, and breathed a small sigh of relief when she found Lenore still sitting in her chair.

  “Isabel’s gone for something to drink. She’ll be back shortly.”

  Again it was as though Lenore hadn’t heard her. “Do you know what it’s like not to want to face another day, Cassie?”

  In other circumstances Cassie might have been evasive. But she was determined to keep Lenore interested and talking. “Yes.”

  “Is that what you felt when Kenny died?”

  “Yes. And when I learned what had happened to my parents and brother. I didn’t think it was fair that I should have to live without them. I would have exchanged my life for Kenny’s in a minute.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  Sliding onto the corner of a carton, Cassie gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I couldn’t. He was dead. Not even self-sacrifice would have brought him back.”

  “And you had Katia to live for.” Lenore’s eyes were on Cassie again, but Cassie ignored their sharpness.

  “Just as you have Mr. Warren and your children and grandchildren.”

  “Ahh, but they don’t need me. They’re all involved in their own lives. I’m the one who’s marching out of step.” She frowned and spoke gruffly. “Where is that drink?”

  Cassie wasn’t as concerned about the drink as she was about Natalie. The more she talked with Lenore the more reassured she felt, because Lenore certainly wasn’t catatonic and she didn’t sound depressed to the point of self-destruction. Still, she was obviously disturbed. Once Natalie arrived Cassie would feel better. “Isabel will bring it.”

  “She’s so slow, that girl. I sometimes wonder if she’s on another planet.”

  “In another country sometimes, I fear,” Cassie said more lightly. “But she’ll be along. She’s really a good girl.”

  Lenore sighed. “You do look to the brighter side of things.”

  “Do I have a choice? Do any of us? If we think only of the dark side we get nowhere.”

  “If there’s nowhere to go it doesn’t matter.”

  “You can’t be talking about yourself, Mrs. Warren. You have a full life.” Between the occasional trip to Washington and the more regular ones to Maine, not to mention local visits to Laura’s house and Peter’s house, Lenore was often on the go. Of course, she was often home, too.

  Lenore moved her head in short shakes. “The children are all on their own. They have their own lives. I’m in the way.”

  “That’s not true! You and Mr. Warren are the cornerstones of the family. Look at the Thanksgiving we just had. If either of you hadn’t been there there would have been a void. And Christmas is coming up. It’ll be the same then. The children may be on their own, but their lives are fuller knowing that they can always come home.”

  Lenore seemed to consider that for a minute, but when she spoke again it was on a different tangent. “Do you miss Katia?”

  Cassie adjusted quickly. Though she hadn’t often discussed her with Lenore, Katia was her favorite topic. “Very much. But she’s busy, and she’s happy.”

  “Mr. Warren wanted her to go to Washington.”

  “She needed to be on her own,” Cassie explained, then offered a guilty half smile. “I’m afraid I coddled her for a long time.”

  “After Kenny’s death, you mean?”

  “It was hard not to. She was all I had. In some ways Kenny’s death was harder for her later on than when it happened.” She kept talking, buying time. “I wanted to protect her from grief, so I minimized it and tried to act as if nothing had happened. Only I couldn’t pull it off. Katia knew that I was different and she was afraid to say anything for fear of upsetting me more. It was a full two years after that telegram came before she and I really talked about Kenny. She cried that night like I couldn’t remember her ever having done.” Her voice cracked. She had to take a deep breath before continuing. “After that I felt even stronger about protecting her from anything upsetting. Seeing her smile means the world to me.”

  “She is a happy girl,” Lenore admitted quietly. “She has a kind streak in her.” What Lenore might have said was that Katia had always been kind to her, even when given little encouragement. But she didn’t say that, for it verged on thoughts better left unsaid.

  “I tried,” Cassie went on. “I wanted her to be kind and good and successful. I’m not sure she appreciated the nights I spent drumming the importance of studying and then working into her head. There were many times she would far rather have been out with her friends.”

  “Like Emily was.”

  “Katia adores Emily. She’s glad they’re in the same city now.”

  “I worry about Emily. She’s so … impulsive.”

  “She’s an actress. Isn’t that part of the image?”

  “I suppose, but still—”

  “Lenore! Are you up there?”

  Lenore recognized her friend’s voice instantly. After sending a quick frown Cassie’s way, she called back. “I’m here.” Under her breath she muttered an impatient, “Where is Isabel?”

  Then Natalie was at the top of the stairs, taking in the scene. Cassie tried to warn her with her eyes that Lenore was upset, but Natalie sensed it on her own. “What are you doing up here?” she asked gently. She extended the cup and saucer she held in her hand.

  “What’s this?” Lenore asked, regarding the innocuous drink as though it were poison.

  “Tea. Isabel sent me up with it.”

  “I wanted a drink. Not … this.”

  “You do not want a drink, Lenore. You haven’t had a drop in two years and you don’t want one now.” She thrust the cup and saucer toward Lenore, who had the choice of taking it or being scalded when Natalie plunked it on her lap. She took it.

  “I just wanted a little something, Nat,” she simpered. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

  “It would hurt,” Natalie insisted softly. “One little something would lead to another little something, which would lead to more of something, and before you knew it you’d be right back up there. Come on, Lenore,” she coaxed, lowering herself to a carton on the opposite side of Lenore from that on which Cassie sat, “you spent six weeks drying out, and you felt so much better about yourself afterward. Do you really want a drink that badly that you’re willing to undo all you’ve done since?”

  Cassie, who was well aware of the treatment Lenore had undergone, even if no one outside the immediate circle of Warrens and Whytes knew of it, was beginning to feel uncomfortable. With Natalie there her presence was unneeded. But when she started to rise, Lenore caught her wrist. “Don’t go, Cassie. I’m not sure I can handle this woman on my own.”

  A touch of humor. Cassie felt better. “Of course you can,” she said with mock sternness. “We may not always agree with her, but Mrs. Whyte has a good heart. Indulge her. And drink your tea.” Again she made to leave, but it was Natalie this time who stayed her.

  “Don’t go, Cassie. Tell me what you and Mrs. Warren were discussing.”

  “We were discuss
ing,” Lenore began boldly, “my daughter Emily and her impulsiveness. But now that I think of it, she’s no worse than the others. Peter is as arrogant as they come. He’s already dumped one wife, and if he doesn’t get off that high horse of his his second will dump him. And Deborah—good Lord, is she ditzy. There are times when I wonder whether the hospital switched babies on me. She’s so odd!”

  Natalie laughed.

  “It’s not funny,” Lenore argued. “Are my feelings about Deborah any different than yours about Mark?”

  “My feelings are the same as yours,” Natalie replied.

  “And doesn’t it upset you?”

  “Of course it does. But there’s absolutely nothing I can do about Mark. He has a mind of his own and a life of his own. If I were to try to change him, it would only drive him away, and he’s far away enough already.”

  “Then you’re happy with the status quo?”

  “Happy? No. I wish things were different, at least where Mark is concerned.”

  “What about the others?” Lenore asked with a hint of belligerence.

  It had become a free-for-all, Cassie mused, and she wasn’t sorry. Lenore needed to spout off much more than she had ever needed to drink.

  “Do they give you pleasure?” Lenore was demanding.

  Natalie considered that for a minute. “Overall, yes.”

  “And that’s why you have to bury yourself in causes?”

  “I don’t have to. I want to. I could be sitting around feeling sorry for myself like you are, but—”

  “Feeling sorry for yourself?” Lenore interrupted her. “Why?”

  Natalie gave a tiny toss of her head. “There’s always something. Life isn’t perfect. Take Nicholas. He’s married now, the perfect picture of the family man, but do you honestly think he doesn’t still have his eye peeled for a shapely pair of legs?”