Malice

by Danielle Steel

  “No, really, I'm fine,” she said, getting up. “I don't know what happened. I just got light-headed.” She had skipped breakfast that day, but she'd been feeling fine.

  “You really should go to a doctor, ma'am. We'll be happy to take you to New York Hospital. It's straight down the street here,” he said kindly.

  “Really. I'm fine. I live right here.” She pointed at the town house only a few feet away from them. She had almost made it. And she thanked the old man and apologized for almost knocking him down. He patted her hand and told her to have a nap and eat a good lunch, and then the policemen escorted her into her house, and looked around at the attractive surroundings.

  “Do you want us to call anyone? Your husband? A friend? A neighbor?”

  “No … I …” The phone interrupted them, and she picked it up as they stood in the hallway. It was Charles.

  “What did he say?”

  “I'm fine,” she said sheepishly, except for the fact that she had just keeled over on the sidewalk.

  “Do you want us to stay for a few minutes?” the policeman in charge asked and she shook her head.

  “Who was that? Is someone there?” She was afraid to tell him what had happened.

  “It's nothing, I just … the doctor said I'm in great shape. And …”

  “Who was that talking to you?” He had a sixth sense about her, and he knew something was wrong as he listened.

  “It's a policeman, Charles,” she sighed, feeling foolish, but also feeling sick again, and the policeman watched her turn green and then swoon again as he caught her with one arm. She had no idea what was happening, but she felt awful. She actually felt too sick to talk to him, as she set down the phone, and sat down on the floor and put her head down between her knees. One of the policemen went to get a glass of water for her, and the other picked up the phone where she'd left it on the floor beside her.

  “Hello? Hello? What's going on there?” Charles was frantic.

  “This is Officer Mason. Who is this?” he said calmly, as Grace looked up at him in helpless mortification.

  “My name is Charles Mackenzie and that's my wife there with you. What's wrong?”

  “She's fine, sir. She had a little problem … she passed out just outside your house. We brought her inside, and I think she's feeling a little woozy again. Probably stomach flu, there's a lot of it going around.”

  “Is she all right?” Charles looked ghastly, as he stood up and grabbed his coat while he was still talking to the officer at his house.

  “I think she's fine. She didn't want to go to the hospital. We asked her.”

  “Never mind that. Can you take her to Lenox Hill?”

  “We'd be glad to.”

  “I'll meet you there in ten minutes.”

  The policeman looked down at her with a smile after he hung up. “Your husband wants us to take you to Lenox Hill, Mrs. Mackenzie.”

  “I don't want to go.” She sounded like a child and he smiled at her.

  “He was pretty definite about it. He's going to meet you there.”

  “I'm okay. Really.”

  “I'm sure you are. But it doesn't hurt to get it checked out. There's a lot of nasty bugs around. A woman passed out at Bloomingdale's yesterday with that Hong Kong flu. You been sick long?” he asked while he helped her toward the door as they chatted, and his partner joined them.

  “Really, I'm fine,” she said, as the police locked her door and put her in the squad car. And then suddenly she realized what it must have looked like, as though she were being arrested. It would have seemed funny to her except that suddenly it reminded her of the night she had killed her father, and by the time they got to Lenox Hill, she was having an asthma attack, the first she'd had in two years. And she wasn't even carrying her inhaler. She had gotten so confident, she left it home most of the time now.

  They took her inside, and she explained to the nurse in the emergency room about her asthma, and they were quick to bring her an inhaler. But by the time Charles arrived, she was still deathly pale from the asthma and the medication, and her hands were shaking.

  “What, happened?” He looked horrified, and she spoke in an undertone.

  “The police car made me nervous.”

  “That's why you fainted?” He looked confused by what was happening, and she shook her head.

  “That's why I have asthma.”

  “But why did you faint?” ‘I don't know that.’

  The policemen left them then, and it was another hour before they could be seen by one of the emergency room doctors. And she was much better by then, her breathing was almost normal, and she was no longer dizzy. He had brought her some chicken soup from a machine, and some candy and a sandwich. Her appetite was good, she explained to the doctor who examined her.

  “Excellent,” Charles confirmed.

  The doctor checked her over carefully, and then asked a pointed question. He said it was probably the flu, but he had one other idea. “Gould you be pregnant?”

  “I don't think so.” She hadn't used birth control since Abby was born, and she was going to be six in July. And Grace had never gotten pregnant again. “I doubt it”

  “Are you on the pill?” She shook her head. “Then why not? Any reason?” He glanced at Charles.

  “I just don't think so,” Grace said firmly. She would have loved another child, but she just didn't think she could get pregnant. After six years, why would she?

  “I think you are,” Charles smiled slowly at her. He'd never even thought of it, but she had all the symptoms. “Could you check?” he asked the resident.

  “You can buy a kit at the drugstore on the corner. My bet is you're right, and she isn't.” He smiled at Grace. “I think maybe you have denial. You've got pretty much all the symptoms. Nausea, dizziness, increased appetite, fatigue, sleepiness, you feel bloated, and you missed your last period, which you think was from nerves. Professionally speaking, I don't. My guess is you're having a baby. I can call our o.b./gyn to check it out if you want, but it's just as easy to buy the kit and call your own doctor.”

  “Thank you,” she said, looking stunned. She hadn't even thought of it. She had hoped for another baby for so long, and then finally given it up, and convinced herself it would never happen.

  They went to the corner and bought the kit, and took a cab home, and Charles held her close to him, grateful that nothing terrible had happened. When the policeman had answered his phone, he had panicked, and feared the worst.

  She did all the steps in the kit, and they waited precisely five minutes, using Charles's stopwatch, and she was smiling as they waited for it. They were both convinced now that she was pregnant, and she was.

  “When do you suppose it happened?” she asked, looking stunned. She still couldn't believe it.

  “I’ ll bet right after we had dinner at the White House,” Charles laughed, and kissed her.

  And he was right. She went to her obstetrician the next day, and the baby was due in late September. Charles made a few noises about being an old man when it was born. He would be fifty-one, but Grace wouldn't listen to his complaints about being “old.”

  “You're just a kid,” she grinned. They were both excited and happy. And when the baby came, he was a beautiful little boy who looked like both of them, except he had pale blond hair, which they insisted was nowhere in their families. He was an exquisite child, and he looked almost Swedish. They named him Matthew, and the children fell in love with him the moment they saw him. Abby walked around holding him all the time and called him “her baby.”

  But with three children, their town house on Sixty-ninth began to burst at the seams, and that winter they sold it and bought a house in Greenwich. It was a pretty white house with a picket fence, and a huge backyard. And Charles bought a big chocolate Labrador for the children. It was the perfect life.

  “Help Kids!” continued to thrive, and Grace went into town twice a week to check on things, but she had hired someone else to run the o
ffice, and she opened a smaller office in Connecticut, where she spent her mornings. Most of the time she took the baby with her in his stroller.

  It was a comfortable life for them in Connecticut. The kids loved their new school. Abigail and Andrew were in first and second grades. And it was the following summer when Charles heard from Roger Marshall, his old partner who was now in Congress.

  Roger wanted Charles to think about getting into politics, there was a very interesting seat in Connecticut coming up the following year, when a senior congressman finally retired. Charles couldn't imagine pursuing it, he was so busy at the firm, and he enjoyed his work. Running for Congress, if he won, would mean moving to Washington, at least some of the time, and that would be hard on Grace and the children. And political campaigns were costly and exhausting. They had lunch and talked about it, and Charles turned him down. But when the junior congressman from his district had a heart attack and died later that year, Roger called again, and this time Grace surprised Charles by pressing him to think about it.

  “You're not serious,” Charles looked at her cautiously, “you don't want that life, do you?” He had been in the public eye once, when he was married to his first wife, and he didn't really enjoy it. But he had to admit that government had always been something that intrigued him, particularly Washington.

  In the end, he told Roger he'd think about it. And he did. He decided against it finally, but Grace argued with him about what a difference he could make, and how much he might enjoy it. She thought it would mean a great deal to him and, more than once recently, he had admitted to her that he wasn't feeling as challenged at the law firm. He was feeling old in the face of his fifty-third birthday. The only things that really mattered to him anymore were the children and her.

  “You need something new in your life, Charles,” she said quietly. “Something that excites you.”

  “I have you,” he smiled, “that's exciting enough for any man. A young wife and three children ought to keep me busy for the next fifty years. Besides, you don't really want all that craziness in our life, do you? It'll be hard on you and the children. It's like living in a fishbowl.”

  “If it's what you want, we'll manage it. Washington's not on the moon. It's not that far. We can keep this house, and spend time here. You can even commute part of the week when Congress is in session.”

  He laughed at all the plans she was making. “I'm not sure we'll need to worry about it. There's a good possibility I won't win. I'm a dark horse, and no one knows me.”

  “You're a respected man in this community, with good ideas, a lot of integrity, and a real interest in your country.”

  “Do I get your vote?” he asked as he kissed her.

  “Always.”

  He told Roger he would run, and he began gathering people to help him campaign. They started in earnest in June, and Grace did everything she could from licking stamps to shaking hands to going from door to door handing out leaflets. They ran a real “common man's” campaign, and although they never made any secret of the fact that Charles was wellborn and well-heeled, it was equally obvious that he was also caring and sincere and well-meaning. He was an honest man with the country's well-being at heart. The public trusted him, and much to Charles's own surprise, the media loved him. They covered everything he did, and reported fairly.

  “Why shouldn't they?” Grace was surprised that Charles was so amazed by his good press, but he knew them better than she did.

  “Because they're not always that fair. Wait. They'll get me sooner or later.”

  “Don't be such a cynic.”

  She stayed pretty much out of the campaign, except to stand by him when he needed her with him, and to do as much legwork as she could, even if she had to take the children with her. But she had no desire to push herself forward. Charles was the candidate and what he stood for was important. She never lost sight of that.

  She hardly had time for her own projects anymore, and “Help Kids!” had to struggle without her most of the time during the campaign. She still took shifts on the hot line whenever she could, but she worked for Charles more than she did anything else, and she could see that he loved what he was doing. He was excited about it, and they went to picnics and barbecues and state fairs, he spoke to political groups and farmers and businessmen. And it was obvious that he really wanted to help them. They believed him, and they liked everything he stood for. They liked Grace too. Her work with “Help Kids!” was well known, yet it was clear that her husband and children were her first priorities, and they liked that about her.

  In November he won by a landslide. He put his partnership in the firm in trust, and they gave a huge party for him at the Pierre before he left. And then he and Grace and the children went to Washington to find a house. They were going to be moving there after Christmas. The children were going to change schools, and they were scared, but excited. It was a big change for them. And they found an adorable house in Georgetown, on R Street.

  Grace enrolled the children in Sitwell Friends. And in January, Abigail and Andrew entered third and fourth grades, and Grace found a play group to join with Matthew. He was just two then.

  They went back to Connecticut on holidays and for vacations, and whenever Congress wasn't in session and the children were out of school. Charles stayed close to his constituents and in touch with old friends, and he enjoyed every moment in Congress. He helped pass new legislation whenever he could, and found the endless committees he was on fascinating and fruitful. And during their second year there, Grace started an inner city “Help Kids!” in Washington modeled on the two in Connecticut and New York. She manned the phones a lot of the time, and made several appearances on television and radio shows. As the wife of a congressman she had more influence than she'd had before, and she enjoyed using it for worthwhile causes.

  They also entertained a great deal, and went to political events. They were invited to the White House regularly. For them, the quiet years were over. And yet they were still able to lead a quiet life in Connecticut. And although he was an elected official, their life remained remarkably private. They weren't showy people. He was a hardworking congressman who stayed in close touch with his roots at home, and Grace was discreet and hardworking in her own arena, and with her children.

  They had been in Washington for nearly three terms, five years, when Charles was approached again, and this time with an offer that interested him greatly. Being congressman had meant a lot to him and it had been a valuable experience, but he had also come to understand that there was more power and more influence on the country's destiny in other quarters. The Senate held a great lure to him, and he had many friends there. And this time he was approached by sources close to the President, anxious to know if he was willing to run for the Senate.

  He told Grace about it immediately, and they talked about it endlessly. He wanted it, but he was also afraid to pursue it. There was more pressure, greater demands, tougher responsibilities, and far greater exposure. As a congressman, he had been well liked, and in many ways, one of the people. As a senator he could be viewed as a source of envy and a threat to many. All those anxious for the presidency would be looking at him, and anxious to throw him out of his traces.

  “It can be a vicious job,” he explained candidly, and he worried about her too. They had left her alone so far. She was known for her good works, her solid marriage, and her sense of family, but she was rarely in the public eye. As the wife of a senator, she would be much more in the spotlight, and who knew what that would bring. “I don't ever want to do anything to hurt you,” Charles said, looking worried. She, and their family, were always his first concern, and she loved him all the more for it.

  “Don't be ridiculous. I'm not afraid. I don't have anything to hide,” she said, without thinking, and he smiled, and then she understood. “All right, I do. But no one's said anything yet. No one's ever come forward to talk about my past. And I paid my dues. What could they say now?”

  It w
as all so long ago. She was thirty-eight years old. Her troubles were all so far behind her … twenty-one years … it was all over, and in many ways, to Grace, it seemed like a distant dream.

  “A lot of people probably don't realize who you are, you have a different name, you've grown up. But as the wife of a senator, they could start delving into your past, Grace. Do you really want that?”

  “No, but are you going to let it stop you? Is this what you want?” she asked him, as they sat in their bedroom talking late into the night, and slowly he nodded. “Then don't let anything stop you. You have a right to this. You're good at what you do. Don't let fear take over our lives,” she said powerfully. “We have nothing to be afraid of.”

  They believed it too, and two weeks later he announced that in November he would be running for the Senate.

  It was a tight race, and he would be fighting a tough incumbent. But the man had been in the Senate for a long time, and people thought it was time for a change. And Charles Mackenzie was very appealing. He had a great track record, a clean reputation, and a lot of friends. He was also very good-looking, and had a family people liked, which never hurt in an election.

  The campaign began with a press conference, and right from the beginning, Grace saw the difference. They asked him questions about his history, his law firm, his personal worth, his income, his taxes, his employees, his children. And then they asked about Grace, and her involvement in “Help Kids!” and St. Andrew's before that. Mysteriously, they knew about the donations she'd made. But in spite of their probing, they seemed inclined to like her. Magazines called her up to do interviews, and photograph her, and at first she refused them. She didn't want to be in the forefront of the campaign. She wanted to do what she had done for him before, work hard, and stand just behind him. But that wasn't what they wanted. They had a fifty-eight-year-old candidate for senator with movie star good looks, and a pretty wife who was twenty years younger. And by spring they wanted to know everything about her, and the children.

  “But I don't want to do interviews,” she complained to him one morning over breakfast. “You're the candidate, I'm not. What do they want with me for heaven's sake?” she said, pouring him a second cup of coffee. They had a housekeeper who came in halfway through the day, but Grace still liked being alone with Charles and the children and cooking breakfast for them herself every morning.