Arthur tried to have dinner with them as often as he could, and he was growing worried about paying for the help, their schools, their food, and the apartment. Little Megan had been sick several times, and there were doctor bills, and new shoes. Most of the money from Solange's jewelry had gone to defend Sam, and what was left was barely enough to make a difference. And their meager funds were dwindling. And there were times when he wondered if Hilary knew it. She was forcing everyone into economies, and had even learned to mend her own clothes, much to Arthur's amazement. Megan had already begun to regard Hilary as her mother.
By the spring, Sam had lost thirty pounds, and all the psychiatric evaluations had been completed. The doctors who saw him all said that he was suffering from a deep depression. They were also willing to say that he had acted, in killing Solange, under the passion of the moment, and had perhaps been insane while he did it, although they all found him sane, normal and intelligent. His only problem was his very understandable depression. Arthur almost felt as though he couldn't reach him, and Sam did nothing to help prepare his own defense. He seemed uninterested in all of Arthur's efforts, and Arthur worked all night on his defense for months, looking up similar cases in the past, searching for improper technicalities, and desperately seeking new angles.
But the trial itself was a nightmare. The prosecutor was swift and sure, and he had found every tramp, whore, and starlet whom Sam had ever slept with. There was a parade of women dragged through, testifying to the fact that he drank too much, was sometimes violent when he was drunk, and had no morals whatsoever. And the portrait of Solange painted by the prosecution was one Arthur could hardly disagree with. They described a woman of intelligence and wit and charm and almost saintly devotion to her husband, anxious to do anything possible for him, to help further his career, and keep him happy, while taking extraordinarily good care of their three daughters. She was said to have kept a lovely home, kept aloof from all the Broadway and Hollywood mischief most stars' wives seemed to get into, and it was bluntly said that despite extensive research on the subject, the prosecution had been unable to find anyone who was able to say they thought Solange had ever cheated on her husband. She was thought to have been entirely faithful to him, in fact everyone spoken to said that Solange Walker had adored her husband. The prosecution also pointed out that he had absolutely no reason whatsoever to kill her. There was no “crime passionel,” there was no justification she had given him for becoming crazed, or temporarily insane, he had simply wantonly, carelessly, wickedly killed her. They even tried to ask for a charge of murder in the first degree, suggesting that it was premeditated, and that he wanted to be free of her to pursue all his floozies. While Arthur, on the other hand, tried to maneuver a manslaughter charge, indicating that it had all been an unfortunate accident. But in the end, after less than a day's deliberation, and more than three weeks of trial, the jury convicted him of murder. Arthur felt as though a stone wall had fallen on his head, and Sam was led from the courtroom looking glassy-eyed and vague. It was obvious that he was in shock, and his depression had worsened considerably during the trial. It had been difficult to get any real feeling from him when he was on the stand, or to believe that he had actually loved his wife. But he was so far gone in his own guilt and depression that he could no longer depict any semblance of real emotion, and Arthur had feared that would hurt him terribly with the jury.
Arthur asked to see his client in the holding cell immediately after the verdict, but Sam had refused to see him, and a request from Arthur to see him in his cell had been denied. Arthur left in total despair and frustration, feeling that he had failed Sam terribly. But he had warned him, and begged him to get a criminal attorney. Arthur flailed himself all the way back to his apartment for having allowed Sam to force him into defending him. He had two stiff drinks, thought about going to see the girls, and then decided that he couldn't face it. Marjorie had left a message that she wouldn't be home for dinner. As he sat at his desk in the dark he decided it was just as well. She had never been fond of Sam anyway, and what Arthur really needed was the warm touch and unconditional love of Solange. It was what they all needed and what Sam had robbed them of. For a long moment, Arthur found himself wondering if the jury had been right, and as he shuddered at his own thoughts, the phone rang. It was the sergeant at the jail, and he said he had news for him about his client. Maybe Sam was ready to see him after all, Arthur thought as he squinted at his watch in the summer twilight. It was eight-fifteen, and he was exhausted and more than a little drunk, but for Sam, he'd go there.
“Your client committed suicide in his cell an hour ago, Mr. Patterson. We just found him.”
Arthur felt his heart stop, and the bile rise. He was going to throw up, or faint, or maybe just die. “What?” It was barely a whisper. The sergeant repeated the same words as Arthur sank into a chair with a shudder, his entire body trembling. “My God, why didn't you watch him?” He'd been depressed for months, they should have thought of that. In fact, one of the psychiatrists had warned them. But no one had really thought … and now they were both gone. It was almost more than Arthur could bear … his only friend … and the only woman he had ever truly loved … and now he had the girls to think about. What in God's name was he going to do about them? He was going to have to discuss it seriously with Marjorie when she got home. They had no one else now. Sam and Solange were both gone, and their daughters were now truly orphans.
Chapter 6
“Are you out of your mind, Arthur?” Marjorie was staring at him in complete disbelief. She looked as though he had just taken all his clothes off in public. He had been waiting up for her when she got home. And she barely reacted when he told her about Sam's suicide. What stunned her was Arthur's suggestion that they take in Hilary, Alexandra, and Megan. It was the only possible solution he could think of. They had no money and no family, and with a bigger apartment and a live-in maid, he and Marjorie could manage easily—if she would let him do it. “Are you crazy? What in God's name would we do with three small children? We've never even wanted children of our own, why would we turn our lives upside down for the children of strangers?”
He gulped, trying to clear his head, and wishing he had waited till morning. He had had too much to drink by the time she came home, and he was afraid that his arguments wouldn't be convincing. “Sam Walker was my best friend. He saved my life during the war … those children are not strangers to us, Marjorie, even if you'd like to think so.”
“But do you have any idea of the responsibility involved in having one child, let alone three?”
“Hilary is like a mother to them. She'd make everything easy for you, Marjorie. Truly.” He felt as though he were sixteen again, begging his mother for a car, and not winning the battle either. “And I've always wanted children. You were the one who decided you couldn't handle kids and a career …” He tried to look at her reproachfully but she seemed not to care. She had no guilt, only righteous indignation.
“I will not take on three children. We don't have the space, the time, the life-style. You're as busy as I am. And besides, raising three girls would cost a fortune. No! Just forget it, Arthur. Put them in an institution.” And the tragedy, as Arthur listened to her get ready for bed, was that she meant it.
He tried again, the next morning over breakfast, but to no avail. Her mind was made up, and he didn't have the strength, or the ingenuity, to change it.
“I don't want children of my own, why would I want someone else's? And theirs! My God, Arthur, I always knew you were blind but I never thought you were stupid. The man is a murderer, not to mention everything else, can you imagine what traits those children will inherit? And their mother …” Arthur looked ominous as she got started again, but she was too involved in her own speech to notice. “She always looked like a French whore to me. God only knows what she did over there during the war before she caught Sam Walker.”
“That's enough, Marjorie. You don't know what you're talking about. I w
as there when Sam met her.”
“In a bordello?” she asked viciously and he suddenly wanted to slap her. But there was no point. She had won. He was not going to be able to take in Sam's children.
“I won't discuss brothels with you, Marjorie, and I can tell you for certain that Solange Walker was never in one. I'm just sorry you're not willing to be more compassionate about this, Marjorie. It disappoints me greatly.” But she didn't give a damn. She left for work without saying another word to Arthur.
As far as she was concerned, it was his problem. And it was. Their parents were his closest friends. He was Hilary's godfather. Those children weren't strangers to him, no matter what Marjorie wished. They were flesh and blood, and he loved them.
And Sam and Solange had loved them too. It was desperately important to Arthur that they not lose a sense of that, or feel that they were being abandoned. The idea of putting them up for adoption sounded barbaric to him, but he just didn't know what else to do with them. And things got even more complicated the following week when both the maid and the nurse announced that they were leaving. They had stayed long enough in terrible conditions. They both seemed outraged by the scandal that had been foisted on them and had remarkably little compassion for the children. And for Arthur, it meant finding new people to care for them, which seemed even more complicated now. Finally, by week's end, he took out the name Sam had given him, of his sister. Eileen Jones. He wondered if he would even find her in Boston. But he thought that if he did, perhaps he could induce her to take care of them for a while. Then he could let the apartment on Sutton Place go, and it would save them a great deal of money. They were almost out of funds anyway. But having them stay with their aunt would give Arthur some time to make other arrangements, or convince Marjorie that they had to take them. Either way, he needed time, and having them stay with Sam's sister would give him the breather he needed. More than anything he wanted to convince Marjorie that what he wanted was right, and not crazy, as she kept insisting. It required some adjustments, to be sure, but they were three little human beings, and well worth adjusting for, even if she didn't think so. But then what? And if they didn't take them in, who on earth would? That was what worried Arthur.
But first he had to find their aunt, and see if she would take them, even if only for the summer. She couldn't be as bad as Sam said. She was his sister after all, and blood was thicker than water. He had his secretary call Boston information, and they finally turned up a Jack and Eileen Jones in Charlestown, a suburb which boasted a naval yard, and which his secretary told him was right on the water. It sounded perfect for a little summer holiday, and Arthur called her up without preamble. She sounded stunned to hear from Arthur, and she said she had read about the trial, and her brother's subsequent suicide in the papers. She didn't sound particularly emotional about his death, and she asked Arthur bluntly if Sam had left any money.
“Not a great deal, I'm afraid, which is why I'm calling.” He decided to get right to the point and see if she would help him. He had nowhere else to turn now. “As you may know, Sam and Solange had three little girls, Hilary, Alexandra and Megan, and for the moment, there is literally no one to take them. I want to speak to you about the possibility of … to see if you might be interested in giving them a home, temporarily or permanently, whichever suits you.”
There was a stunned silence at the other end. And then her sharp voice that had none of the polish of her brother's. “Holy shit. Are you kidding, mister? Three kids? I don't even have kids of my own. Why would I want Sam's three brats?”
“Because they need you. If you just kept them for the summer, it would give me time to find another suitable home for them. But for the moment, they have nowhere to go.” He tried to appeal to her sympathies, but another thought had occurred to Eileen Jones.
“Will you pay me to take them in?”
Arthur paused, but only for a beat. “I can certainly give you enough money to pay for their needs while they're with you.”
“That isn't what I meant, but I'll take that too.”
“I see.” Arthur could see why Sam wasn't fond of her, but there was no one else for him to turn to. “Would three hundred dollars do as a fee for you, Mrs. Jones? A hundred for each child?”
“For how long?” She sounded suspicious of him. Suspicious and greedy.
“Until I find a home for them … a few weeks, a month, perhaps the summer.”
“No more than that. I'm not runnin' an orphanage up here, you know. And my husband won't like it.” But she knew he'd like the three hundred dollars, and she was hoping they could squeeze some more out of Arthur.
“Do you have room for them, Mrs. Jones?”
“I got a spare room. Two of them can sleep in one bed, and we'll figure something out for the other one.”
“That would be Megan. She'll need a crib. She's just over a year old.” He wanted to ask her if she knew how to take care of a baby. He wanted to ask a lot of things, but he didn't dare. He had no choice. He just had to trust that she'd do the best she could, for Sam's sake. And the children were so adorable, he was sure she'd fall in love with them the minute she saw them.
But it was something less than love at first sight when Arthur drove the three girls to Charlestown. He had explained to Hilary the day before that they were going to stay with their aunt Eileen for the summer. He told the maid to pack all their things, and explained quietly that she and the nurse would be free to leave after the girls left in the morning. He suggested that Hilary and Alexandra take their favorite toys. And he did not tell anyone that he would be closing the apartment and selling everything as soon as the children had left it. They would be better off with whatever meager amount he could eke from the sale of the furniture, and not having their funds depleted by paying rent for a duplex on Sutton Place. Sam's debts were still astronomical, and there just was no money coming in from anywhere for them. He was glad to be getting rid of the apartment and the two servants.
Hilary had eyed him suspiciously when he told them about the trip to Boston. Much of her affection for him seemed to have cooled since her mother's death, but it was difficult to tell if that was just her way of expressing pain, or due to some other reason.
“Why are you sending us away?”
“Because it'll be nicer for you there than it is here. Your aunt lives near the water in Boston. It'll be cooler, if nothing else, and you can't just sit here in New York all summer, Hilary.”
“But we're coming back, right?”
“Of course you are.” He felt a wave of guilt and terror wash over him. What if she could see that he was lying?
“Then why did you tell Millie to pack all our things?”
“Because I thought you might need them. Now, don't be unreasonable, Hilary. It'll be nice for all of you to get to know your father's sister.”
Hilary was standing very quietly in the center of the room, in a yellow organdy dress with white piqué trim, her shining black hair like Sam's perfectly combed into two smooth braids, her big green eyes as wise as Solange's had been, her little white anklets immaculate, and her patent leather Mary Janes shined to perfection. And she studied him, as though she knew he were hiding something from her. In a way, she frightened him, she was so knowing and so cool, and so fiercely protective of her sisters. She had taken the news of her father's suicide stoically. She had barely cried, and she had comforted Alexandra, and explained that Daddy had gone to heaven to be with Mommy. It all seemed terribly hard for Alexandra to understand, she was only five after all, but Hilary made everything easier for her, as she did for all of them. It was as though Solange had left her there to care for all of them in her absence.
“Why didn't we ever meet Aunt Eileen before? Didn't my Daddy like her?” She was perceptive just as Solange had been, and she didn't take any nonsense. The way her eyes flashed over him reminded him so much of her mother.
“I don't think they were close, Hilary, but that doesn't mean she's not a nice person.”
The house was a small frame house on a dark street, with shutters that had fallen off in the bitter winds of the previous winters. The paint was peeling everywhere, the yard was overgrown with weeds, and two of the front steps were broken. It was a less than auspicious welcome, as Hilary walked up the steps, holding Alexandra's hand, and Arthur carried the baby. The nurse had come with them, for the trip, but she was returning to New York with Arthur.
He rang the doorbell ineffectively, and finally realized that it, too, was broken. And then he knocked hard on the window. He could feel Hilary's eyes on him and her silent question, asking him why they had come here. He didn't dare look at her now, he couldn't have borne to see Solange's eyes looking up at him, filled with silent reproach and unspent fury.
“Yeah?” The door opened finally, and a woman with blond stringy hair yanked the door open wearing a frayed dirty bathrobe. “What do you want?” She stared at the crew on the front steps with obvious annoyance, a cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth, her eye squinting shut to defend itself from the smoke wafting up, and then she realized who they were. She smiled uncomfortably then, and for a fraction of an instant, she looked like Sam, but barely. One had to be looking for the resemblance.
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