She found an empty office and perched on the edge of the desk. "Hi," she said when Claire answered. "I've been thinking about what we talked about and it seems like a very good idea, better than ever, in fact, for me to take Emma home with me tonight. You, too, if you want to come."
"Gina, she isn't here."
"She must be—she was asleep when I left and that was only a couple of hours ago."
"I don't know how long she was asleep." Claire's voice was strained. "I went upstairs to see how she was, and she was gone. She left a note saying that she had to go to New York for a last-minute photo shoot, and she'd stay overnight and be back tomorrow."
We're doing an extra photo shoot. Hale couldn't ^ait, and fve got to be good, Vve al^'ays got to be good . . .
I didn't pay enough attention, Gina thought.
"And she's going with Brix," Claire said.
Gina swore. Her hands felt cold as she pictured Len standing
beside Brix. But the photo shoot was scheduled before the party. This had nothing to do with Len. This was just what it seemed to be: a photo shoot scheduled three days before Christmas, which was odd but not unheard of. Still. "Listen," she said, trying to sound casual. "I think we ought to bring her home. I think that might be a good thing to do."
"What's wrong.^" Claire demanded. "What happened.^"
"Nothing. Well, I just found out Brix lied to Emma about putting off the release date, and he may have an inkling that people are talking about it and he might blame that on Emma. If he thinks she might be a threat to him, he might be . . . unpleasant. And why should Emma have to go through that.^ Where does she stay in New York, Claire.^ We could be there pretty fast."
"I don't know." Claire's voice was almost inaudible. "She's stayed in a couple of hotels, that I know of . . ."
"Which ones.''"
"The Plaza and the Fairchild."
"Why don't you call and see if she's registered.^ Or if Brix is."
"And if they're not.?"
"I don't know. I think I'll come up to Wilton. I'll be there in twenty minutes. Claire, everything is probably fine. I'm probably acting like a hysterical aunt."
"Yes," Claire murmured, but there was a catch in her voice.
"Wait for me. I'm on my way." And Gina grabbed her coat and ran from the building, to her car.
SEVENTEEN
c
L A I R E was standing at the desk in the Hbrary, lool^ing for a telephone number, when Alex arrived. "I'm early; I couldn't wait. If it's not a good time, I'll—" He stopped. "Claire, what is it.^ What's happened.'"'
"Nothing. I don't know." She was so glad to see him it drove everything else from her thoughts. She moved into his arms blindly, as children do when they are afraid, as Emma had done through the years, coming home from school to find comfort from the cruelty of another child or the pain of a romance gone astray. Claire's eyes were closed; she felt the soft wool of his jacket beneath her palms and the silk of his tie beneath her cheek; she heard the faint shudder of her breathing in the silent house. She felt none of the arousal of the night before; what she felt now was the comfort of closeness and Alex's strength.
Finally he stirred, caressing her hair and holding her head protectively against his heart. "Whatever it is, we'll deal with it," he said. "Together. From now on, my love. Together. Tell me what's happening."
"Emma," she said, her voice strained. "Gina thinks she's in danger." She began to shiver.
"Wait; come in here." Alex tightened his arm around her shoulder and led her into the librar-. They sat on the couch and he took her in his arms again and cradled her. "Where is she.''"
"New York. I don't know where. She left a note saying she was going in for a photo session and she'd be back tomorrow."
"She went alone?"
"She went with Brix. Or met him there; I'm not sure. I called his secretary, but she didn't have his itinerary." She told Alex everything Gina had told her. "She's probably fine; I don't know why I'm so scared. Gina said that, that she's probably fine, and I don't really have any reason to think she isn't, but when I put everything together, I can imagine ..." She took a long breath, trying to stop shivering.
"Parents are afflicted with hyperactive imaginations; it goes with the job. What can we do.'"'
"Oh." Claire sprang up. "I was calling Hale when you came."
"Hale.?"
"Hale Yaeger. His agency does the advertising for Eiger; he sets up the photo sessions." She was at the desk again, leafing through her leather datebook. "It's not six o'clock yet; he ought to be there . . . Hale," she said in a minute, "it's Claire God-dard."
"Claire, what a pleasant surprise." His voice was not pleasant and not surprised. But why should it be.'' Claire thought. Whatever he felt about me in the past few months was because of Quentin, and now that that's over he has no reason to feel friendly toward me; in fact, he has good reason to be hostile, since I'm Roz and Gina's friend. "What can I do for you.?" he asked.
"I'm looking for Emma. I know you usually take care of her hotels in New York, and if you could tell me where she is—"
"That's tomorrow."
"What.?"
"The photo session is tomorrow afternoon, and I told her she ought to plan to stay over tomorrow night because we'll probably run late."
"But she went in this afternoon."
"I don't know anything about that. I just arrange the photo sessions, Claire; I don't play mother."
Claire gripped the telephone. "Hale, I'm worried about her; please help me."
"Why.? What's to worry.? Isn't she with Brix.? He usually comes along on the New York shoots."
"Please, Hale, I've got to find her. If you'd just tell me which hotels you usually put her in . . ."
There was a pause. "The Plaza or the Fairchild, unless they stay in an apartment he borrows from a friend. I booked a room at the Fairchild for her for tomorrow night; that's all I know."
"Do you know the name of the friend.'"'
"With the apartment.'' No. And I don't know his phone number, either. Quentin might, but I never get involved in these things; young folks' screwing is their busi—"
"Thank you." She hung up and called the Fairchild. "We've stayed there," she murmured. "Emma loves it. Emma Goddard, please," she said aloud when the operator answered.
"I'm sorry," the operator said after a moment, "we have no one by the name of Goddard."
"Then Brix Eiger," Claire said swiftly, before he could hang up. "If you'll ring his room . . ."
"I'm sorry, madam, we have no one registered by that name, either."
Claire called the Plaza and again was told that Emma was not registered, and neither was Brix. Without pausing, she called Quentin, at work. "He's just left, Mrs. Goddard," said his secretary. "He did say he was going home, but I think he's going out later." Her voice went up slightly on the last word; she thought Claire would know more about Quentin's plans than she would.
"Thank you," said Claire again, and called Quentin's car phone. But it was busy, and it remained busy for the next few minutes. Finally she slammed down the telephone and looked at Alex. "Brix uses a friend's apartment sometimes. Quentin might know where it is, but I can't reach him."
"Where is he.^"
"On his way home. He lives in Darien."
"Then we'll go there, too." Alex moved quickly to the foyer and opened the closet and took out a long mink coat. "Is this all right.^"
Claire looked at it absently. It stood for everything that had happened to her and Emma in the previous seven months, and she had always luxuriated in wearing it, but now she barely saw it. "Fine," she said, and Alex put it on her and she took her purse from the shelf and they went out the door, into the cold air. A few skittering snowflakes danced around them, but the clouds were breaking up and some stars and a crescent moon pecked through, and Claire had glanced up at it just as Gina arrived. "I forgot,"
Claire murmured. "How could I forget? Gina, this is Alex Jarrell. Gina Sawyer. I told you about
her—"
"The friend who thinks Emma is in danger," Alex said as they shook hands. "Something you saw.^ Or heard.^"
"I think I saw Brix getting the word that somebody's talking about new tests on PK-20 because the first test results weren't good. If I'm right, Brix would know that the only person who had that story is Emma. And he'd know she'd passed it on to someone, even though she told him she hadn't."
"That's worth worrying about," Alex said. He put his arm around Claire as he opened the car door. "We're going to Darien, Gina; sometimes Brix uses a friend's apartment in the city, and we thought Quentin might have the address."
"Good idea; it's a hell of a lot better than sitting around worrying. I'm coming, too, is that okay.^" She saw that Claire was not focused on her. "Alex.^"
"Of course. Quentin probably knows which hotels Brix likes, too," he added as he backed out of the driveway.
"He may," Claire said. "They don't seem to confide in each other very much."
Alex took her hand and held it as they drove. They were silent; none of them wanted to talk. "It's early," Alex said as they approached Darien. "They'll be at dinner in New York. We can be there before they finish. We'll find her, Claire. We'll bring her home."
His hand held hers firmly. But he's never met Brix, Claire thought. He's never met Quentin. He doesn't know what they're like: the single-mindedness, the determination. And he doesn't know that Emma is afraid to break away. She may be afraid of Brix by now, but she may be even more afraid of losing him.
But she did not say that to Alex. He was comforting her; he was at her side and he would stay there through whatever they found. From now on, my love. Together.
My love. My love. She could barely fathom it. Something so wonderful should be savored, its endless possibilities imagined and treasured. Instead, she felt only a swift moment of delight, her own love welling up, but then, just as swiftly, it was overwhelmed by the thought of Emma, and something so terrible . . . but she was not sure of that. Gina could be wrong; she could be
imagining, exaggerating. We might find Emma and Brix quietly at dinner. We might. We might.
He was removing a screen from his window and he leaned out too far and fell.
A long shudder tore through Claire. She closed her eyes and saw Emma falling. No! she cried silently. No, no, no . . . She forced the image away. Then, in a minute, she saw Emma, graduating on a sunny May day, wearing a yellow dress her mother had made for her, laughing and teasing with her friends after the ceremony, her eyes wide with worry when Toby disappeared. Everything s changing.
Please, Claire thought, unable to put anything more into words. Please, please, please.
Brix and Emma sat at a small table along the mirrored wall of the restaurant. It was early and the room was not crowded, and sitting on a velvet banquette, Emma looked only at Brix and pretended they were alone. Around them was the hum of other conversations and the clatter of china and silver, but their table felt to her like a beautiful, private place where waiters approached silently and spoke in hushed tones, where she and Brix faced each other across a crisp white cloth set with delicate French china and crystal, a small candelabra with three white candles, and a perfect rose in a small cut-glass vase. French Christmas carols played softly in the background, and now and then Emma caught a phrase from a song she had learned in school, and then she would have the strange sensation of being two people at once: Emma in the high school chorus, excited about singing in French, and Emma in a restaurant in New York, excited about Brix.
"To the most beautiful woman in New York," he said, and took her hand as he raised his glass. "And to us."
Emma, flushed and trembling with a happiness she could barely contain, touched her glass to his. "I love you," she said.
The waiter brought their desserts and Brix let go of Emma's hand. "Maybe we'll go skiing," he said, taking a neat spoonful of his creme brulee. "Would you like that.-* You'd learn in no time; we'll go to Aspen and you'll take a couple of lessons and then you'll be flying down the slopes, no stopping you."
Emma's eyes were shining. "I'd love it. I used to have a friend
who told me what it was like, and sometimes I'd lie in bed at night, pretending I was skiing, and I could almost believe it, and then Toby would jump on me and that would be the end of that."
"Toby?"
"My dog. Didn't I ever tell you about Toby.^ I found him in an alley one day; he was filthy and so thin you could feel every one of his bones, and his ears were torn, but he had the most beautiful eyes, so I brought him home. Mother couldn't believe it, our apartment was so tiny, but he only took up a few inches, and he slept in my bed—"
"Lucky dog. Smart, too."
Emma flushed. "Anyway, he followed me around and we played games—"
"I like the way you play games."
Emma's flush deepened. She hated it when Brix made comments like that.
"What was he.^" Brix asked after a moment.
"You mean what kind.^ I don't know, sort of a terrier, maybe; I don't know anything about dogs. All I cared about was, he loved me and followed me around, and understood almost everything I said, and sometimes we'd have conversations."
Brix cocked an eyebrow. "You talked to a dog.^"
Emma gave a small giggle. "I know it sounds silly, but he always looked like he was listening so seriously, and when I wanted to think about something important, I told him about it." She giggled again. "I knew he'd keep it to himself, so I could tell him anything. I mean, how many people do you know that you're absolutely sure won't tell your secrets to somebody else.'' And it was good to talk because things sound different when you hear them out loud; not so dire. At least sometimes they don't." Her voice dropped. "I've really missed Toby the past few months."
Brix finished his dessert. "What happened to him.^"
"He ran away. The day I graduated. That was the day Mother won the lottery, too; everything happened that day."
"Well, why didn't you get another one.'"'
"Oh, I don't know. We were doing so many things with all the money, and we took that trip to Alaska, and then I started modeling ... I don't know; I just never did." She paused. "I found him, vou know."
"Who?"
"Toby. One day I drove to Danbury, to our old neighborhood, just to look around, and I saw him."
"So.^" Brix asked when she stopped. "Why didn't you take him home.^"
"Because he was happy. He was in the backyard of a big house, with a lot of little kids, and they were throwing a ball for him and his tail was wagging so fast you could hardly see it, and he was making those little barks, you know, sort of yipping sounds that are like a person laughing. And I thought, the worst thing you can do in the whole world is take somebody who's happy and . . . ruin it."
"Well, you can always get another one." Brix motioned to the waiter, who refilled their glasses. "Drink up, sweetheart, this is a very special Yquem in honor of a very special lady, who had the good sense to come to New York without going through the motions of asking her mother's permission. Which reminds me, what's with her and my dad.'' I haven't seen her at the office lately."
"They're not together anymore." Emma took a sip of wine, trying to see what was so special about it. It was the third bottle of wine they had had, and she could no longer tell them apart, even though the first one had been white and the next was red and this one was a half-size bottle and the wine was a deep gold. She thought it tasted a little like varnish. She did not want any more wine, but Brix got upset when she turned down anything he chose, so she took a sip, then put it down and touched her fork to her pear Tatin, which he had also chosen, even though she hadn't wanted dessert. "They haven't been, for a while."
"Right; that's the old man," Brix said. "He goes along for a few months, hot and heavy, and then finds somebody else. Women are always trying to pin him down, but they don't get anywhere."
Emma heard a note of admiration and looked at him, frowning slightly. "Are you like that, too.''"
<
br /> "Hey, what kind of a question is that? This is Brix, remember? Faithful, loyal, brave, helpful, reverent, friendly and reliable, that's me. Didn't I rescue you from that terrifying wilderness in Alaska? With wolves and lions at our heels? And carr you like a princess to that hotel that was like the end of the world?"
Emma was laughing softly. "There weren't any wolves and lions."
"That's what you think. I saw them back there, hundreds of them, thousands, maybe, hiding behind trees, waiting to come and grab you—they're into princesses these days. But I kept them away. Whenever they made the first move, I gave them my wild-animal look and it struck terror into their hearts. Did you think I'd let anybody but me get close to you.^ Nobody decides my Emma's fate but me."
What an odd thing to say, Emma thought vaguely, but the thought slipped away; she felt so wonderful, so warm and loving and wanting Brix that there was no room for it. "What would you have done if there really were wild animals.''" she asked curiously.
"Killed them, of course." He grinned. "I couldn't be sure just looking at them would work."
"No, I didn't mean if they were attacking; I meant, just if they were there, and we could see them."
"I'd probably kill them anyway. You don't want to give somebody a chance to get you first."
"Somebody.?"
"Something. Animals. Whatever it is, you have to get there first, before they get you in a place where you can't get out. Anyway, nothing happened, nothing with the animals, anyway. A lot of other things happened; it was the best night of the cruise. It's a good thing you never looked at your watch. You almost did; I actually had to distract you a couple of times. You were a challenge, you know."
"Distract me.? When.? At dinner.? You mean you knew . . . you knew we'd be late getting back to the boat.?"
"If I had anything to do with it. Come on, you don't really think I'd do something like that by accident, do you.? I don't miss boats, my little Emma. I don't miss anything."
"You planned that whole evening.? Everything.?"
"Hey, don't talk to me like that; I'm hardly a criminal, you know. We both wanted it so I made it happen."
Pot of gold : a novel Page 42