by Hannah Ross
"Enough! I want my whole family by my side in the newsroom and out in public, waving at the camera and smiling. My wife and both my daughters. Do you understand, Pearson?"
Pearson swallowed through the lump in his throat. "Yes, Mr. President."
"And I don't want any more reporters snooping around. It's obvious we must give them something, so you will compose a nice, plausible message for these vultures. Something that can raise no objections."
"Yes, Mr. President. I had the very thing in mind." He removed a sheet of paper from a folder and read, "President and Mrs. Dahl have always protected the privacy of their family affairs, and chose to shelter their daughters from excessive exposure to the spotlight. Currently Miss Priscilla is seeking peace and quiet to study for her high school examinations, and—"
"Fine. That will do. Now, to the other matter." Dahl flipped through a report he fished from under a pile of documents on his desk. "How are things going in Mexico?"
"Everything is looking good," Pearson said, clearly relieved to be able to give satisfactory news. "Our local supervisor reports the work is progressing at a good pace, and we should receive some experimental materials soon."
"Good." Dahl looked satisfied. "If we're fortunate, we will be able to resume the progress that old fool Keller attempted to throw off."
"I'm certain of it, Mr. President."
"And make sure the Mexican enterprises do not lack for funds. Do you hear me, Pearson? Next to the elections, it is our top priority. Increase their budget by five… no, by ten percent for the next quarter."
"Of course," Pearson said, scribbling on a pocket-sized pad. This was an order he would promptly execute. The Mexican budget was as manna from heaven to him and other, lower-ranking officials, who didn't scruple to line their pockets with a share of the money meant to pay for laboratory equipment, travel expenses, and salaries for humble, hard-working Mexicans. Pearson, as a prudent man, made sure it was always little enough not to invoke any suspicion.
As the door closed behind Pearson, Dahl decided some quiet work in his home office might be more profitable than staying on at the White Tower through half the night. Silver Oaks was much more private and better sheltered from reporters, and at the moment he was sick of reporters.
Minutes later, he ordered the driver to take him home and tried to peruse some documents as the car moved smoothly and almost soundlessly along the newly-repaved road, but it was no good. His thoughts were with Priscilla, and anger – hot, bitter and hard to suppress – bubbled below the surface. I don't understand. How could she do this to me? And precisely at this moment? If she had to run off because of some stupid teenage crisis, couldn't she have waited until after the elections?
Georgiana, one of the new maids, met him in the foyer to take his jacket. Eleanor recently added two maids to the household staff at Silver Oaks, but kept bitterly complaining that both of them together weren't enough to compensate for the loss of Tilly. Georgiana, an experienced household worker of around forty, was plump and smiled rather too much for Dahl's taste. The other maid, no older than twenty, was a plain, mousy little thing who skittered rather than walked and was so quiet her voice could barely be heard. Dahl kept forgetting her name.
"Tea, Mr. Dahl?"
"Coffee," he said in a clipped voice. "Black and strong, no sugar. You can bring it up to the office."
He was looking forward to some hard-earned peace and quiet and a chance to collect his thoughts, but almost as soon as he settled in his office chair with a cup of steaming coffee at his elbow, he heard his wife speak to the maid in the corridor, followed by a quiet but determined knock on the door.
"Alexander? May I come in?"
He suppressed the urge to grind his teeth and shout, No, you may not. How on earth is a man supposed to concentrate if he never has a moment of rest?, but he couldn't throw all manners to hell. Eleanor was important, and so were her family, the Van Wullens. Much of the success of his campaign depended on them. Certain courtesies had to be observed, therefore, no matter what.
"Of course, dear."
As always, she looked impeccable in her pearly white silk blouse and tailored knee-length skirt. Her hair and makeup were immaculately done, but her face was thin and haggard, with dark shadows under her eyes and faint lines around her mouth that weren't there a week ago.
"Is there any news?"
Dahl released a weary sigh. "You mean about Priscilla, dear? If there were, you'd be the first to know."
"Have you released a message to the press?"
"Pearson is working on it. We will say that Priscilla is a teenager, that she has no obligation whatsoever to make public appearances, that this is a time of her life when it is critical for her to concentrate on her education—"
"I didn't mean a message of that sort, Alexander," Eleanor said with cool disappointment. "When are you going to come clean and confess the truth – that Priscilla is gone and we have no idea where to look for her?"
"You know we can't do that, Eleanor. Not now, anyway."
Something dangerous flashed in Eleanor's eyes. "When, then?"
"Once the elections are behind us. There are only weeks to go. According to every survey—"
Eleanor exploded. "I don't care about the damn surveys! This is our daughter we're talking about, Alexander! Are you even listening to yourself? Only weeks? Have you thought about all the things that might happen in one week, much less more? Because I have. I'm driving myself mad thinking about it all day and all night. Prissy could be injured, she could be frightened, she might be kept somewhere by force. She could be… could be…" Eleanor stopped and buried her face in her hands, unable to say the horrible words aloud.
Dahl surveyed his wife with some alarm. Losing composure was so unlike Eleanor. She was the epitome of class and good breeding, and now it felt as though everything familiar and secure was stripped away. It was disconcerting, not to mention extremely inconvenient.
He got up from his chair, walked over to his wife, and took her hand. "You need some rest, dear. Why don't you go and lie down? Ring for a cup of tea and take a nap until dinner. It will do you good."
"The only thing that will do me good right now is to know Priscilla is alive and well."
"I'm sure she is," Alexander said with remarkable composure. "Consider who she is, Eleanor! Nobody in their right mind, not even the most raving lunatic, would lay a finger on Priscilla. She is far more valuable alive and whole. If she has been kidnapped, we will hear from her captors eventually. But the police officers say that with every day that passes, this possibility becomes less and less likely."
"Even if she did run away, that doesn't mean she is out of danger. She's out there alone, with nobody to protect her. If we alert the public, we increase our chances of finding her sooner. Someone is bound to have seen her."
"If we release this statement now, it will be a disaster. It will undermine everything we have been working for. Even now Ted Connor—"
"I don't give a damn about Ted Connor!" she shouted, then took a breath to compose herself. "Don't you see, Alexander? This is all beside the point. Finding Priscilla is the only thing that matters right now."
"Keep your voice down," Alexander said, straining to keep his tone civil. "The elections—"
"The elections again! With you, it's always about that. Career." Eleanor's distaste was writ large on her face. "Don't you see there are some things more important than that?"
"That's easy for you to say," Dahl countered with a hint of irritation. "You're a Van Wullen. Everything was always served to you on a gilded platter. I had to work my way up, climbing rung after rung, and now that I'm at the top I'm not going to meekly turn around and leave the White Tower to some vulgar upstart!"
Eleanor took a step away from him. "Is that all you have to say?"
"We will find her," Dahl said in his most authoritative manner. "We don't need to plaster Priscilla's face over every subway station for that. We are working with the best detectives,
activating the most extensive networks."
She started toward the door. "I understand," she said, leaning against the polished redwood doorframe. She looked at Dahl, as if sizing him up for the first time. "I pray to God you don't live to regret this, Alexander."
She walked briskly down the length of the corridor, keen to put as much distance as possible between herself and her husband's office. Her chest was heaving with anger and helplessness. He doesn't care. Surveys, percentages, votes, trends, public opinion… the elections. It all matters to him more than his own daughter. No, stop. It isn't like that. Alexander has always been… focused. Driven. That was what allowed him to become the man he is. And it was just that unending energy, the vigorous determination that captured my heart all those years ago.
She stopped outside Stephanie's room. She could hear some trendy pop music playing in the background. There wasn't really a reason for her to knock, but she felt an irrepressible urge to unburden, to share her thoughts with someone who understands. Stephanie is nearly an adult now. I can talk to her woman to woman.
Her eldest daughter wasn't quick to open the door, and something told Eleanor she wasn't really up to a heart-to-heart talk. As soon as she showed her mother into the room, she resumed her seat in front of the large mirror, where she appeared utterly engrossed in fixing her mascara. "What's up, Mom?"
Eleanor noticed the cream-colored high-heeled shoes and matching handbag that were casually thrown on Stephanie's bed. "Are you going out?"
"Oh, yes. I have the interview with City Girl, remember? I promised them an exclusive when the election campaign just kicked in, and I can't very well back out now."
"Be careful as to what you say, though."
"I know." She sounded sulky. "It's like nobody can breathe freely anymore. We're all part of a great big play. All thanks to Prissy." She sounded bitter.
Shock surged through her mother's body. "Are you blaming your sister?"
"No, of course not!" Stephanie’s voice dripped acid. "I'm totally fine with how Pris skittered off and left us in the lurch. Can't imagine a better time for having a little tantrum and running off."
"So you think it was that? A tantrum and a bout of rebellion?"
For a moment, anxiety flickered in Stephanie's eyes, but she brushed it off. "I've told you this before, Mom. For the past year, maybe two, Prissy was living a life apart. Something was driving her, but I have no idea what. But thinking back, perhaps we shouldn't be so surprised."
"Is that what your friends say? Did anyone ask anything about Priscilla?"
Stephanie threw her a look that was almost pitying. "People say a lot of things, Mom. And I suppose they believe a lot of things. But not what Dad is trying to sell. Everybody knows something is going on, and sooner or later it will all leak out."
"Your father claims we only need to keep this at bay until the elections are over."
Stephanie shrugged. "I suppose so," she said, in a voice as indifferent as if she had said, 'whatever', which made Eleanor want to slap her.
Don't do anything rash. She's young. Just breathe. "Will this interview take long?"
"I don't think so. We settled on fifteen minutes, maybe twenty."
"Good." Eleanor brightened some. "That means you can make it back in time for dinner."
Stephanie gave her a blank look. "What dinner?"
"Have you forgotten? Your uncle and aunt are coming over. We talked about it last week."
Stephanie nodded. "Oh, that. Yes. Well, tell Uncle Andrew and Aunt Glenda I'm terribly sorry, but I won't be able to make it. Ned is picking me up after the interview and we're going to the Waterfront. It's this new club his dad owns. Absolutely gorgeous. Set up on stilts in the middle of an artificial lake."
"Why don't you and Ned come for dinner first? Everyone will be happy to see him. You can go to the club later."
Stephanie seemed horror-struck. "A family dinner? I can't do that to Ned! He'll never set foot here again!"
Eleanor was beginning to lose her patience. "I'm not sure why you say that. Ned is a nice young man. And besides, we all know him already. Haven't the Thorntons been here dozens of times?"
"Yes," Stephanie said with a maddeningly patient air. "But that's different. Ned has asked me out. On a date. It's not like us all being at a brunch or a cocktail party together. I thought you'd be happy for me, Mom."
"Of course, dear. I'm thrilled that you're going out with someone suitable. But still, family has to come first."
"Really?" Stephanie seemed unimpressed. "Why don't you tell that to Priscilla, who appears to have run off on a whim? Or, since she isn't around, you might tell it to Dad, who cares more about what some petty reporter writes than about what happened to his own daughter."
"Now, Steph, you know this isn't fair. Family occasions are—"
"Oh, come on, Mom. It's only Uncle Andrew. We can catch up with him anytime." Stephanie glanced at her watch and rose to her feet. "Sorry, but I really must dash. The car will be here to pick me up any minute."
As her daughter swept by in a sweetish cloud of perfume, Eleanor was left standing on her own, feeling an almost irresistible urge to lean against the wall. I feel so lonely and I'm much too tired. But there's no time to rest. I still need to supervise dinner. The new maids were respectful, hard-working, and capable, but could not be compared to Tilly, who over the years practically became one with the house and knew all its little habits and motions. Anger and frustration surged in Eleanor's breast again. I suppose Tilly was within her right to resign. But why did she have to leave so quickly? She should have given us more time to prepare, to find an adequate replacement. Especially at a moment like this. It was so inconsiderate.
Suddenly, her eyes widened as she was struck by a thought. It isn't like Tilly to be inconsiderate. She would have stayed at least to see us through this until the elections were over. Until Priscilla was back. Unless she knows Priscilla isn't coming back.
Suddenly the resignation, its hastiness, its timing, everything about it, seemed more suspicious than ever. Eleanor hurried to her room, where a glossy, stylish little phone book was waiting on her bedside table. She started flipping the pages. Tilly's staying with her daughter for a few weeks. Where is that number? Ah!
"Hello? Is this Louisa?"
"Yes. Who is this?"
"Eleanor Dahl speaking."
Louisa Barnes was clearly overwhelmed. She only had brief glimpses of Silver Oaks a few times in her life, during summer vacations when Tilly was graciously allowed to bring her child to work for lack of a better arrangement, and until now, she never had the honor of actually speaking to Eleanor.
"Mrs. President. I mean, Mrs. Dahl. This is really… I wasn't expecting… how can I help you?"
"Oh, it's nothing significant, Louisa, but I'd like to speak to your mother, if possible."
"I'm sorry, but Mamma isn't here at the moment. Do you want to leave a message?"
"No, I just meant to ask her… We've misplaced something. Never mind, Louisa. It can wait."
"As soon as Mamma comes in, I'll tell her you called, Mrs. Dahl. She'll get back to you at once."
I don't want to alarm Tilly, or be interrupted during dinner. And I still need to supervise the preparations.
"No, no, there's no need to. I mean, it doesn't have to be today. It isn't anything urgent. Tell her I'll call again tomorrow."
She went down to the kitchen, where Georgiana was checking on the contents of an oven and Betty was arranging a display of canapés on a large tray.
"The pies are nearly ready, Mrs. Dahl," Georgiana said in her efficient manner, wiping her hands on her apron. Betty merely squeaked something incomprehensible. Eleanor gave her an approving nod. She's such a timid girl. Nobody can replace Tilly, but they're doing their best.
"What about the desserts? Is the cherry soufflé in order?"
Georgiana looked uncomfortable. "There were no cherries in the delivery, Mrs. Dahl, so I had to make do with strawberries."
&n
bsp; Eleanor gave a little sigh. Strawberry soufflé was served at brunch last week, and she did like some variety on her table, but she supposed it was too late to get all huffy with the household staff.
"It came out really well, Mrs. Dahl," Georgiana added, clearly anxious to please. "And the eclairs, too. I made the glazing only ten minutes ago, to keep it nice and fresh."
Eleanor smiled and nodded. "Very well, Georgiana. Carry on, Betty, the canapés look nice." The timid girl's sigh of relief was almost audible.
She left the kitchen and hurried upstairs to her room. Andrew and Glenda would be here soon, and she hardly had any time left to dress.
She chose a simple sleeveless knee-length black dress that flattered her figure, a neat sleek pair of pointed-heeled designer shoes, and sparkling little diamond earrings with a matching pendant. She touched up her makeup and gave her reflection a swift, critical glance. She saw a rich woman who dressed very expensively but was too well-bred to flaunt it. But oh, these lines around my eyes. I swear they weren't there last week. This disappearance of Prissy's is going to cost me ten years of my life. I just know it.
Eleanor heard voices down in the hall and hastened downstairs to meet her brother and his wife. To her surprise, she realized that Andrew and Glenda did not come alone. The loud voice of her aunt Daphne carried up. "Here, girl, take my coat. You can hang it up over there."
"Betty knows where we hang up the coats, Aunt Daphne," Eleanor said, coming down the stairs with a smile. She kissed her aunt on the cheek.
"Hmm. Well, if you hired her I'm sure she's a capable girl, Eleanor, but it certainly feels strange to walk into this house without Tilly welcoming me at the door."
Eleanor did her best to project cheerfulness. "This is a pleasant surprise, Aunt. I didn't know we could expect to see you tonight." She meant it. She was always glad to see her aunt, but was apprehensive of Alexander's reaction. Glenda's company was enough of a challenge to him, but combined with Aunt Daphne, it could become too much.