I had never thought of such a thing. If Ross had needed cash, I was sure that Jarrett could have raised it for him in a moment. Millions. We had never been short while we traveled, though now that I thought about it, most of the time we’d managed on lavish credit. One thing I knew. Not for a moment must I openly accept such an idea from Myra Ritter. I owed it to Ross not to give her fertile imagination anything to build on. Besides, even if it could possibly be true, it had all been brought to a halt now. It didn’t matter. The paintings had been found.
I shook my head emphatically. “Mr. Logan would never have touched his netsuke collection, or his precious paintings. So I’m afraid that idea is out. Anyway, thank you for the coffee, Myra.”
I left her and started up the stairs that led to the wing where Allegra had her rooms, but I couldn’t put her words from my mind. Certainly Ross’s anger over the first two missing netsuke had seemed real. And he had seemed convinced that his mother might have taken them. Yet I knew too that he would have been perfectly capable of putting up a smoke screen to serve his own ends. Perhaps there were funds he didn’t want to touch. Or he might not have wanted to ask Jarrett when so many vast interests were involved. The rich were different, as Scott Fitzgerald said.
The netsuke, no, but about the paintings I was less sure. Ross hadn’t collected those himself, even though he had enjoyed owning them. In any case, I was too close to all of this to judge what Ross might or might not have done. Myra, the outsider, might well have cut through to an unpleasant truth.
Jarrett would know. Increasingly, this was becoming my refrain. Tonight at dinner I would be able to talk to Jarrett. But now I could at least set Allegra’s mind at rest about the Lautrecs, and if she was awake, I would tell her now. I must also let Gretchen know—and soon.
Allegra was no longer in bed when I reached her rooms. She had installed herself at the desk in her parlor and was making notes with a pencil. I hoped she wasn’t back in the past planning another ball.
Coxie sat knitting in a chair by a window, and both of them looked up when I appeared at the door.
“Good,” Allegra said. “I wanted to talk to you. I want you to tell Coxie to throw out all those pills and things she keeps pushing at me.”
“The doctor—” Coxie began.
“Let me know the next time he comes,” I said. “Mrs. Karl and I would like to speak with him.”
“Then there’s the matter of those missing paintings,” she went on, making a check beside an item on her list.
“That’s what I came to tell you about, Mrs. Logan,” I said quickly. “Both the Lautrecs have been found. Ross had put them away in his office for some reason.”
“In his office?” Her look sharpened. “I wonder what he was planning? Anyway, I’m glad you found them.”
When I’d made sure there was nothing else she wanted at the moment, I left her and followed the corridor, looking for rooms I might move into. If I chose this wing, I would be close to Allegra and her nurse as well, and not off in lonely, isolated grandeur. I would also be at the opposite end of the house from Gretchen and Vasily, which would suit me very well.
I selected a room that opened toward the lake and would make a pleasant sitting room. Next door would serve as my bedroom, and the changes in furniture would be simple enough for my temporary purposes. I would have a phone connected, and move in here tomorrow. Mrs. Broderick could manage all this, I was sure.
I found the housekeeper supervising the cleaning of a suite in Gretchen’s wing. She explained with barely concealed satisfaction that these rooms were to be for Miss Inness, who was moving into them later this afternoon.
So Gretchen had paid no attention to my request. Or else Brett had overruled her. This was not something I could settle with Mrs. Broderick. I explained about the change I wanted to make in my own living quarters.
“I’ll wait until tomorrow to move,” I said. “That should give you time to make a few changes. I’ll show you the rooms I’ve chosen whenever you’re free.”
Mrs. Broderick inclined her head. “As you wish, Mrs. Logan,” she said, and I knew that she guessed the reasons for my moving and was scornful of such weakness. Since Ross’s death, she had become even more of a fortress of authority, as though the uncertainty of all our lives at the moment must not be allowed to touch the running of Poinciana.
I made a small effort to placate her. “We must have a talk before long. I know very well that you are the one who keeps the house running smoothly.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Logan,” she said, but I knew I was still the stranger, of whom she disapproved.
The rest of the afternoon I spent in the Japanese room checking through the remainder of the netsuke. No more seemed to be missing, and when I’d examined them, briefly, I was able to give my attention to the ivory carvings, the cloisonné and Satsuma that I’d wanted to learn about ever since I’d come to the house. My old excitement over such treasures had weakened, however, and I knew I was only waiting for the hour when I could go to Jarrett’s cottage.
In the late afternoon, I showered and dressed carefully. The coming visit might not be altogether easy and enjoyable. There was too much that was unpleasant that I had to tell Jarrett—even to the question Myra Ritter had raised about Ross and the paintings. Thus my dressing was, in a sense, like putting on armor for the evening.
I wore my lime green silk from Hong Kong, and added no jewelry, except for the rings Ross had given me. In a sense, my rings were the symbol of my right to be in this house. I was still Mrs. Ross Logan, whether I liked it or not, and their presence on my hand prevented me from tossing everything over and running for my life. Which was what Vasily had suggested that I ought to do, and which was what I really wanted to do. Yet I must stay. For a while.
Somewhere in all those frantic years with Ysobel and Ian, a sense of duty to others had somehow been inculcated in me. Perhaps a stodgy, old-fashioned principle, but it was still there, operating in me, and I had to obey its edicts. Once Ian had told me that I was the one responsible member of the family, and I recalled that I’d laughed at his words.
An unexpected flash of memory swept through me. There had been a night in San Francisco … I had been waiting when Ysobel returned to her dressing room. Something had shaken her confidence during her performance, and she, who was determined to remain forever young, had felt suddenly old. Ian had been out front checking on the house, and we were alone.
“I’m losing it,” she said bleakly. “Something’s slipping away, and I can’t stop its going. They weren’t responding out there tonight. And if they don’t respond, I’m not anything.”
I couldn’t bear to see her in such a mood, and I had given myself to reassuring her. Just before she went on again she came to put her arms about me, and her cheek against mine. I could still remember the scent of her stage makeup, and her special perfume.
“Thank you for being my friend,” she said, and went out to where the applause that greeted her sounded as enthusiastic as ever.
I had sat down before her dressing table and looked at myself in the mirror in astonishment. I touched the cheek hers had touched, and felt a comfort I’d never known before. Her friend, she had said. And if she had lived, perhaps that was what we might have been eventually—friends.
Now, looking into another mirror in another time, something seemed to melt the coldness inside me. In the past I had allowed harsh words, perhaps carelessly spoken, to freeze me, so that I could never see Ysobel as vulnerable and human too. I’d been absorbed in my own self-pity.
The poignancy of loss was intense at that moment, and yet there was a healing too, a beginning of true comfort for me. I went downstairs with a new courage lifting my steps.
The grounds were empty as I followed the shell path to Jarrett’s cottage. Keith saw me coming and ran to open the screen door, with Brewster at his heels.
“Dad’s in the kitchen,” he told me, smiling and excited. “He’s making lasagne, and he makes it better th
an anybody. Mrs. Simmons had to go home to see a sick daughter, so we’re on our own tonight. I’m fixing the salad.”
He ran off, with the dog after him, and while I hesitated, Jarrett called from the kitchen. “Sit down, Sharon, and I’ll be with you in a moment.”
I sat down and looked around. The cottage had been charmingly furnished with old, well-worn pieces that suited its character. A few throw rugs were scattered across polished floors, and the sofa wore cheerful chintz. Part of the wide room had been separated into a dining area, from which steps led up to an outside deck. A plain oak table was set with woven place mats and old silver.
Jarrett came out of the kitchen with a spatula in hand. “Hello, Sharon.” His red hair was in his eyes, and from beneath it his look approved of me. “We’re nearly ready. So come and bring things in.”
I began to relax as I carried salad bowls and a basket of bread sticks to the table. From where Jarrett seated me I could look out toward the fiery poinciana tree and see beyond it the belvedere that rose above the roofs of the big house. I wished I need never go back under that roof again.
The lasagne was perfection, as Keith had promised, and for dessert there were sweet Florida melons. No long silences troubled us while we ate, though the talk was of the inconsequential. Brewster had had his own dinner, and he lay watching us with bright doggy interest. I could almost believe that life was normal, and that the threats of Poinciana had ceased to exist. Tonight I was seeing a Jarrett that I’d never glimpsed before. An easier, more contented, simpler man. Which only meant that I’d not even begun to understand his complexity.
When we’d eaten, I helped to put dishes in the washer, and it seemed pleasant to be doing those small domestic chores that had never been a part of my nomad’s life.
When Keith had taken his bicycle and Brewster and gone off to visit a friend, Jarrett led me up inside stairs to the raised deck he had built along one side of the cottage. We stretched out in long teak chairs to watch the sun go down over the lake, and I hadn’t felt so peaceful in months.
“Is this the way you always live?” I asked him.
“When I’m in Florida. Pam and I had a home in Maryland, but I’ve let that go. I’m not sure where we’ll live when you close Poinciana—or do whatever you decide to do with it. Perhaps Gretchen and Vasily will stay, if you leave it to them. But my work is up North. If I’m to continue, that is.”
Again the certainty of Jarrett’s leaving was a fact, and I closed my eyes, not wanting to think about it. For this little while there had been no antagonism between us, and he had treated me with a solicitousness that seemed almost tender.
But the sense of peace, the deceptive atmosphere of normal living could not last.
“You’d better tell me,” he said. “I could see the strain in your face when you came in. Has it been a bad day?”
Slowly, groping for words at first, I told him everything. About the missing netsuke and the uncomfortable meeting with Gretchen. About our lunching together, and my surprise glimpse of Vasily and Brett in the tunnel. About Vasily’s words to me afterwards, and especially of his coming to the tower and retrieving Ross’s manuscript. I spoke too of the missing Lautrecs, and of how they were discovered in Ross’s office. Finally I told him what his son had said about Brett Inness turning on the alarm. This last didn’t surprise him.
“Yes, I know. Keith told me the next day. He was up late that night and he’s always loved to roam the grounds after dark. He was near the house, down at the art gallery, and when the alarm went off and he saw Brett come running out of the house, he was sure she’d turned it on. But what was happening scared him, and he came straight to the cottage and sneaked back to bed. Of course, he wasn’t supposed to be out in the first place.”
“What do you make of this?”
“Nothing—yet.”
“But you didn’t bring it up with the police?”
He smiled at me ruefully. “There’s an old Logan rule dating back to Allegra’s time. We protect the family. I’ll talk to Brett when I have a chance.”
Once more, I disliked the concealment that always seemed part of the very atmosphere of Poinciana.
“I don’t believe she left that ‘Gretchen’ note for Ross, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said. “Brett would take stronger action than that.”
I was considering this when Jarrett surprised me by reaching out to take my hand. The gesture seemed to happen quite simply, and the touch of his fingers quieted me, easing my turbulent thoughts so that a sense of contentment filled me. His touch asked for nothing and offered nothing. Only friendship. Yet something in me knew that if I wanted it, this might very well be a beginning. If only I could trust again as easily as I had done with Ross. Instead, I thought of women who built those imaginary heroes they fell in love with, and I was wary. After a moment I slipped my hand away. It was myself I distrusted, more than Jarrett.
I went on to tell him what Myra Ritter had said about the possibility of a rich man stealing from himself. Jarrett seemed neither surprised nor outraged, as I’d half hoped he might be.
“I don’t know that this is what happened,” he said. “But it’s not impossible. Ross enjoyed the little games he sometimes played. Power games, meant to fool those around him and subject them to his will. There’s no telling now what he might have been up to. I’m glad the Lautrecs have been found. Perhaps the netsuke will also turn up.”
“Why did you work for him?” I asked. “Why did you go on working for him?”
“I suppose the trap closes. One gets caught. Getting out becomes hopelessly complicated. If I’d left, a number of projects that I believe are important would have been abandoned. Ross was never a philanthropist at heart. It was my job to make it seem that he was one. But I’ve already told you this.”
“You must have hated him.”
“Not always. Not entirely. There were times when I was sorry for him.”
“Sorry for Ross Logan?”
“He wasn’t a happy man. He was caught in the trap too. A trap set up in the beginning by Charles and Allegra, and baited with all the things they expected of him.”
At that moment there was no compassion in me for Ross. “But how could you not hate him, when—?” I broke off because the thought of his wife could not be spoken.
“Sometimes I suppose I did,” he agreed.
A voice spoke out of the darkness that had gathered around the deck. “And when you did, you could have killed him. Is that not so?”
The voice was Vasily’s, and there was both mockery and challenge in the words.
Jarrett left his chair to move to the rail, and I sensed a barely controlled violence in him. “You have some reason for a remark like that?”
“Not I,” Vasily said cheerfully. “Gretchen. It’s her latest theory. Will you permit me to come up and join you? I thought it might be well for you to know what she is saying, and what she plans.”
He didn’t wait for Jarrett to answer, but came up the outside steps and leaned against the rail beside him. “Good evening, Sharon. Have you been thinking over the things we discussed this afternoon?”
“Sit down,” Jarrett said. “You’d better tell us what’s on your mind.” He had already suppressed his first instinct to anger.
Instead of taking a chair, Vasily perched on the broad rail, swinging his legs. “My wife has, I believe at Brett’s prompting, decided that you and Sharon caused the shock that resulted in her father’s death. She has been claiming that all along, as you know. But now she means to give an interview to this effect. I’ve tried to dissuade her. Give me credit for that, at least. But when Gretchen goes on an emotional binge, I know of no way to stop her.”
Jarrett swore softly under his breath. “Nor does anyone else. I’ll try to talk to her, but that might be only a red flag. Thanks for coming to tell me. Incidentally, why did you?”
In the reflection of light from the windows behind me, I could see Vasily’s face, see that for once he lo
oked a little anxious.
“Let’s call it self-preservation,” he said. “I lack the talent for destruction that Gretchen has. What she cannot win, she destroys. That she herself may be ruined in the process never seems to stop her.”
I broke in. “But she can’t have any possible basis for claiming such a thing. Oh, I know she’s thrown out wild accusations, but I didn’t think she took them seriously herself. I had lunch with her today, and she seemed almost friendly. Why should she do this now?”
Vasily moved his hands in an eloquent gesture that was thoroughly European. “She has been brooding. You were both there immediately after her father’s death. Perhaps you were even there before he died?”
I knew that I had not been, but for the first time I wondered if Jarrett could have reached the office while Ross was still alive. By his own admission, he too was capable of subterfuge. I hated my own mistrust, and I had to answer Vasily.
“That’s nonsense! Anyway, why would Gretchen do this? I’ve already told her she can have Poinciana. What more does she want?”
“Brett has convinced her that you will never give it up. Tomorrow she will act. She’s planning to call a press conference in the early afternoon. I myself think this is unwise, and I would like to see her stopped. Among other things, she will claim that there have been thefts at Poinciana, and that one of you may be filching valuable items to sell outside. Items that ought to belong to her.”
“She’s absolutely mad!” I cried.
“She may very well be,” Jarrett agreed. “I’d better go talk to her now, and see if I can coax her back to reason. I’m sorry to end the evening this way, Sharon. Would you like to come back to the house with me? Do you want to talk to Gretchen?”
“I’ll go back,” I said. “But I’ve had enough of talking to Gretchen for one day.” What I didn’t want was to be left alone with Vasily, who was making me increasingly uneasy.
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