by Carolyn Hart
…and her favorite singer was Mariah Carey. Vic loved the ocean.
She is survived by her father Frank and stepmother Sophia, her brothers Alex and Kent, her sister Rosalie, her twin sister Valerie, and her aunt Evelyn. A funeral mass will be…
I wondered if Vic had been ill or if her death was accidental. No matter the reason, Vic’s death would mark her twin forever. No wonder Val was withdrawn and defensive, her gaze remote. She’d been hurt to her core.
The PA system sounded again. I wanted to reach the reception area before the Riordans. I needed to hurry, but I found a small address book in my purse, thumbed through it to an old friend’s name. Margaret Brown had been a star reporter for the Long Beach Press-Telegram for many years. If information was available in California, she would find it. I found her e-mail address. As the final call came over the PA, I typed a quick message, sent it off.
It was only as I logged off that I noted the date. August 16. Vic Riordan died thirteen years ago on August 17.
7
When I reached the reception area, passengers were moving through the security system and disembarking for the waiting buses. I didn’t see Jimmy or any of the Riordan family. It was, of course, an orderly and mannerly group, so I couldn’t edge ahead of the long line. Each passenger’s electronic key was scanned, logging in the departure time, and identity checked with the photo made upon embarkation. A cheery tour assistant reminded passengers to carry their passports and electronic keys because both would be needed to return to the ship.
The day was lovely and a small band on the quay played Dixieland jazz to welcome the visitors. I realized Sophia’s entourage had likely already cleared customs and departed on an earlier bus.
The long drive to Gdańsk from the shipyards at Gdynia where we disembarked passed drab, undistinguished buildings that looked like relics of the Cold War, a reminder of Poland’s long domination by Russia. Graffiti was everywhere, an indication of poverty and anger. Gdańsk itself, the heart of the old Hanseatic League, was light and lively and beautiful, full of bustle and cheer. It reminded me of Williamsburg since it was a restoration of long-ago glory.
Most of the old city had been destroyed in bombing raids during World War II. Now tourists thronged everywhere. Perhaps the restored old town in its way was more true to the past than extant buildings. The re-created structures shone in bright colors and gilt, much as they might have appeared five hundred or seven hundred years ago. Our group entered through the Green Gate. We walked to St. Mary’s Church, which was built between 1343 and 1502 and is reputed to be the largest brick church in the world and can accommodate more than twenty thousand worshipers. It suffered some war damage but in the main the church is as it has been for hundreds of years. The altar is a re-creation of a triptych of The Coronation of the Virgin, but the fifteenth-century astronomical clock is original to the structure.
I scanned the tour groups for a familiar face but saw none. I relaxed and devoted my attention to our guide, following her outdoors and down a narrow cobbled street into the main walkway of Dlugi Targ and the old town square with the restored sixteenth-century merchant houses. The guide explained that taxes were paid on the basis of the width of each townhouse. Three windows wide, the tax was so much. Four windows, and it was more.
I broke away from the group to pause at the famous Neptune Fountain, a tribute to the maritime glory of Gdańsk. I’ve tossed coins in fountains from Rome to Mexico City to Singapore. I scrounged in my purse for a fifty-cent piece. I believe in paying a substantial tribute to the fountain gods, thereby lifting my incantation ahead of the penny petitioners. My coin pinged on Neptune’s trident and splashed into the water. And my wish? Neptune, see our voyagers safely—
“Henrie O.” The light high voice was full of cheer and warmth.
Startled, I swung about.
Sophia Montgomery walked toward me, a hand uplifted in greeting, her smile dazzling.
I called out a friendly hello and wondered what accounted for her transformation from dismissal to welcome. Jimmy was a few feet behind her. He looked cheerful and relieved.
Sophia reached me, held out her hand. “How lovely to see you this morning. Please come and lunch with us. You and Jimmy have so much catching up to do.” Her tone was eager. “I want you to meet Evelyn, my second husband’s sister. Evelyn makes home sunny for Jimmy and me.”
Evelyn and I murmured hellos as we crossed the cobblestones to an outdoor café. Pigeons fluttered near the tables, alert for crumbs. Red and blue umbrellas offered shade from the noon sun. After we were seated and awaiting our orders, Sophia prompted Jimmy and me to recall old times. I determinedly kept our recollections to the days when Richard and I and Jimmy and Margaret had been young and happy in Mexico City.
When the food arrived, Sophia poured spicy paprika sauce over a potato pancake. Evelyn murmured happily as she nibbled at a raspberry kolaczki, the flaky crust open at both ends to show the succulent filling. Jimmy cut a large slice of babka in half, offered a piece to Sophia. I splashed thick yellow cream into coffee black as asphalt.
Sophia shook her head. “I have quite enough. Henrie O, you need more than coffee. Jimmy, give half your cake to Henrie O.” She gestured to a waiter, spoke crisply in Polish, and in a moment a plate was before me.
Although I dislike having food thrust upon me, I was willing to nibble at the cake, a delicious vanilla lemon, in light of Sophia’s amazing turnabout from our meeting in the bar last night. She chattered with good humor, expressing regret that the rest of the family wasn’t with us. “…But they’re young and would rather sun on the pool deck than look at a church. Now they’ve missed seeing these townhouses as a burgher would have seen them five hundred years ago. Don’t you think our cities would be brighter if we had buildings in red and gold with gilt trimming?” She didn’t pause for a reply. “But you’ll have a chance to meet everyone tomorrow night. We want you to join us for dinner.”
There was no hint of the strain so apparent at her breakfast with Alex. Both she and Jimmy were in high spirits. Evelyn too appeared cheerful and relaxed.
I didn’t know why Sophia was ladling out charm, but I looked forward to catching Jimmy alone for a moment and discovering the reason for her sea change.
I savored the delicate flavor of the cake. “So you speak Polish.” It was an inconsequential comment.
Sophia grinned. “Not really. I know a few phrases. I can ask for a plate, order a meal. Otherwise my Polish runs to tak and nie and prosze and dziekuje. I picked up a little bit of the language when I was here to do my documentary on Lech Walesa.”
Why was I not surprised? One of the great stories of bravery in modern times was Lech Walesa and his shipyard union defying the might of Russian rule. In fact, I recalled a dramatic prize-winning film made perhaps ten years after that historic confrontation. It was in black and white, a stark reminder of the contrast between freedom and oppression. That very likely had been Sophia’s film. Her blue eyes, glinting now with eagerness and enthusiasm, reflected a penetrating intelligence.
She was suddenly frozen in thought, a fork midway to her mouth. “I wish I’d bought those postcards of the Solidarity Monument. I want to send them to the crew on that film. Jimmy”—her smile was beguiling—“please go back to St. Mary’s for me. There’s a postcard kiosk right by the main doorway. Get me a half dozen of those cards.”
Evelyn chimed in. “Jimmy, would you get one for me? I want to send it to our neighbor.” She turned toward me, eyes glowing. “Mamie Thompson—her maiden name was Kowalski—was so excited when she was able to come back to Poland and visit Gdynia. Her daddy worked in the shipyards.”
Jimmy took a last bite of cake. “Be glad to.” He flashed a cheerful smile and pushed back his chair.
I lifted my mug of coffee and drank. I was thoughtful as I watched his tall figure stride away. Jimmy might think Sophia wanted postcards. I had my doubts. Moreover, there were a dozen stalls not twenty feet away here on the square and that p
articular card would surely be available.
Sophia continued her bright, animated chatter. “Coming back to Gdańsk was one of the reasons I wanted to take this trip. It’s been more than a dozen years since I’ve been here. The transformation is remarkable.” She bathed a piece of pancake in the sauce, looked at me intently. Her tight golden curls glinted in the sunlight. Her blue eyes were searching. She was a remarkably well-preserved woman, especially for a blonde, but her face looked lined and tense. “Henrie O, what brought you on this particular cruise?”
The sting in the scorpion’s tail. The gaff. The zinger.
I don’t like to lie. Our stop in Copenhagen had brought my father near to me. He loved to quote Shakespeare in a rich baritone, and I had a sudden clear memory of his laughter on a long-ago day when I told him indignantly that Sister Marie Celeste had made me sit in a corner for an hour because I’d told her, when asked, that I hadn’t eaten lunch because the soup tasted like old socks. He’d quoted: “‘While you live, tell truth and shame the devil!’” He’d taken me to a little tea shop and bought me two French pastries. As a nine-year-old, the moral lesson for me had been a bit muddled. The truth got me in trouble, but it also earned a sweet reward. Since then, I’ve followed Mark Twain’s wry self-description: “He told the truth, mainly.”
However, I could not tell the whole truth without Jimmy’s consent. I gave no hint—at least I hope I gave no hint—of the thoughts tumbling through my mind. My smile was casual. “My particular interest is the Hermitage. It seemed a lovely way to see the Impressionist paintings.” This was true, if not all the truth.
“When did you decide to come?” She put down her fork, made no pretense of eating.
I added a spoonful of sugar to the coffee, still strong despite the thick cream. “I don’t live on a schedule. It was a last-minute decision.”
A sleek sable eyebrow made a perfect, skeptical arch. “That’s rather extravagant. Booking early saves almost half the cost. I sail on the Clio at least twice a year and always book six months in advance. Of course, there are even more discounts for return travelers.”
Now I was revealed as a financial nitwit as well as impulsive.
Evelyn shot me an embarrassed glance. “Oh, but it can be so exciting to do things on impulse.”
“There are always wonderful last-minute bargains. Cruises will give a deep discount to fill those empty cabins.” This was quite true. I made no claim that I had done so. I gave Sophia an admiring smile. “I would think there might be even greater discounts for such a large party. Let me see, you and Jimmy and your children—”
“Stepchildren.” Her face creased in uncertainty. “Sometimes I feel that I don’t understand them.” Abruptly, she was wry. “Sometimes! Make that most of the time. Frank was such a strong man. The children don’t seem much like him.”
My gaze was admiring. “It’s wonderful that you are close enough to them to take a family cruise. You read so much these days about dysfunctional families, and here you are with your stepchildren on a grand cruise. I think you—” I stopped, looked past her, feigned shock and surprise. “I can’t believe it! That looks like an old friend.” I was pushing back my chair, scrambling in my purse for some bills. I dropped them on the table, smiled at Sophia and Evelyn. “Please excuse me. Tell Jimmy I’ll see him later. If I hurry, I can catch up with her…”
I was on my feet and rushing across the square. I walked fast though there was nothing Sophia could have done to stop me. But this was simply a respite. I had to talk to Jimmy.
I skirted clumps of tourists and was likely out of Sophia’s sight. I took no chances. At the river’s edge, I hurried up to a matronly woman with a cruise-ship tag on her handbag, calling out, “Louise! Is that you?”
A good-humored face turned toward me. “Not unless you’re Thelma.”
We laughed. I introduced myself, exclaiming over her resemblance to a friend. We strolled across the bridge toward the tour buses, and I wished I had nothing more on my mind than rhapsodizing about the colorful restoration of old Gdańsk.
I relaxed on my balcony as the Clio pulled away from the dock, en route to Tallinn, Estonia. We would be at sea tonight, tomorrow, and tomorrow night, arriving in Tallinn Wednesday morning. I’d brewed a cup of green tea. I savored the light fresh taste and the vivid red of the sun dipping to the west. I held the note from Jimmy that I’d found slipped beneath my door upon my return.
7:15 A.M. Monday
I’d hoped to catch you before breakfast. Sophia began her interviews with the Riordans today. She set up the schedule at dinner last night. That’s why she put off having you join us. In fact, she—
I took a sip of tea. No, Jimmy. That’s not why, but that’s what she wants you to believe. I could imagine her surprise when Jimmy accused her of rudeness and her artful disclaimer. “…Sorry if I seemed unfriendly. I wanted to speak with the children. It would have been awkward with anyone else present. We’ll definitely include Henrie O…” Sophia was clever.
Or, I forced myself to consider honestly, was I the one who saw an affront where none was meant? Sophia had a specific goal for this journey. It could easily have dominated her thoughts.
—wants you to be part of her birthday dinner tomorrow night in the Julia Child restaurant. I’ve made the reservations and you’ll receive a formal invitation from the restaurant. I’m feeling more positive. Sophia doesn’t seem as hell-bent on grilling the heirs—
Jimmy had not been at breakfast with Sophia and Alex. Alex had looked strained and defensive.
—with an eye to Frank’s standards, standards which anybody would have trouble meeting. She started this morning with Alex and Madge. She’s doing Kent tomorrow, Rosie Wednesday, Val Thursday. However, she’s almost perfunctory about it. That’s good. Now she seems more interested in the trip. Of course, she has a long history with Gdánsk and is excited about the tour today. I’m going to do my best to keep her distracted. She’s really apologetic about last night, hopes you will understand. I said you were unflappable. She wanted to know all about you.
Oh, Jimmy, what did you tell her?
I told her you and Richard and Margaret and I hung out together in Mexico City and that our kids had a great time together. Remember how we used to go to Chapultepec on Sundays? Sophia said she remembered Richard. Everything seems to be settling down, although—
Sophia had asked questions when she already knew the answers. Clearly Sophia was playing a private game of her own. Instinct told me that she was suspicious of my presence on the ship. I felt sure she would continue to pursue information about my travel plans. Jimmy would likely dismiss my concerns, insist that I had misread her inquiring gaze last night. He would point to her friendliness in Gdańsk and the invitation to her birthday celebration as proof she held no animus toward me.
…tell truth and shame the devil!
All right. Jimmy might not agree, but I owed him the facts as I saw them. I was convinced that he and I needed to explain my presence, tell Sophia that I was here because he was worried about her safety.
—the Riordan kids aren’t exhibiting any enthusiasm for the itinerary. They turned down the tour to Gdańsk. Sophia blew it off, which surprised me. You’d think they’d have a little appreciation for the trip. Sophia’s paying the bill. Val’s been doing room service in her cabin, claims she’s working on a script. She didn’t say a word at dinner last night. Alex is a jerk. He likes to poke if somebody can’t poke back. He kept leaning on the young waiter last night, made him so nervous he knocked over a glass of wine. It got all over Madge and you’d have thought she was drowning in carbolic acid. Rosie talks a mile a minute, trying to cover up Val and Kent’s silence. Kent’s the one who worries me. He won’t look at Sophia. There’s something about him that makes me think about a time bomb, ticking, ticking, ticking. Evelyn beams at everyone. She’d been drooping around like Lady Macbeth and now she’s her usual fluttery, genial self.
If this keeps up, it’s going to be a long tr
ip. You don’t know how it peps me up to catch a glimpse of you. Have I ever told you you’re a rock? That’s a compliment, by the way.
We’re at sea all day tomorrow. Let’s meet on the promenade during breakfast. Say seven-fifteen.
Sophia breakfasted with Alex and Madge around seven. I suspected that’s when she would meet with Kent in the morning. Jimmy was allowing himself plenty of time to reach the promenade while Sophia was occupied with Kent. He didn’t say so but I connected the dots. Perhaps Jimmy sensed that Sophia was fencing him in. Or he was simply exercising caution.
Maybe between now and then you’ll bump into some of the Riordans, waggle your antenna, pick up on the danger signals.
Yours—Jimmy
I was afraid Jimmy saw me as a human dowsing rod, tipping not to water but to evil. I had no such confidence in my abilities.
8
I glimpsed my reflection in the mirrors outside the formal dining room. I felt elegant in a white silk blouse with a dramatic black floral print and black georgette slacks. The print was repeated on my silk slippers. Earrings and a necklace of oversize glass pearls added glitter.
All of the passengers drifting toward dinner were perfectly coiffed and groomed, some in bright colors, others in dependable black. Similar scenes had unfolded for more than a hundred and fifty years on luxury steamships. At this moment somewhere in the world, children died of starvation, bombs exploded to maim and kill the innocent, hurricanes destroyed everything in their path, but the loveliness of this moment was as real as wars and plagues and heartbreak. Pleasure and beauty are as valid as pain and ugliness, and when I am fortunate enough to enjoy the former, I do so.