Spindrift

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  Bruce found me there. I looked up with sudden pleasure to see him in the doorway. Perhaps the attractive setting wasn’t going to be wasted after all.

  He closed the door after him and crossed the room to stand before me.

  “I was looking for you. Fiona said you were in here. She’s upset about something again. Has anything happened?”

  “In a way,” I said. “Sit down and I’ll tell you.”

  He sat beside me on the sofa, not touching me, but close, so that I could note the way his dark hair grew back from his forehead and the way his fierce eyebrows drew together as I talked. I told him all that had happened, all that I’d heard, and he listened to the end without questioning me.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “None of it matters because after this idiotic ball is over, you are going to be away from Spindrift.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but he put out his hand and turned my head toward him, kissed me almost angrily, silencing my words of protest.

  “Now listen,” he said, “and don’t imitate your stubborn father. When I went to New York a few days ago it wasn’t only to look up old news stories that will do us no good at this late date or to run errands for Theo. It was for another purpose. I went apartment hunting.”

  I stared at him, knowing what was coming.

  “I found a small, pleasantly furnished apartment in a good neighborhood that I can lease in your name,” he told me. “As soon as this ball is over I’m going to drive you to New York and see you safely into that apartment. Be sure your things are packed so that I can take them to the car. When you’re gone, I’m going to tackle Joel and Theo. I know you haven’t been willing to do this so far, so I’ll do it for you. I think I can wring an arrangement out of them. I don’t think they’ll stand up to me.”

  I thought of Fiona’s words. “Because you know too much? Because Theo might be afraid to cross you?”

  He flashed his bright smile, but it was not one of amusement. “You’ll have to leave that to me.”

  I moved myself away from his protective arm, his nearness, and went to sit on the opposite sofa where I could think more clearly than when I was close to him.

  “No,” I said. “Stay where you are, please, Bruce. I can’t go along with any of this. If it was done your way I’d have to give up Peter. I won’t do that, and I must try it my own way. I can’t just walk out on Joel and go into hiding without talking to him first. He deserves better than that of me.”

  He challenged me. “Can you do anything else?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But I’m going to try. I won’t put you in a position of risk. That’s where you’ll be if you use any threats against Theo.”

  “So you’ll put yourself in just that position by staying here?”

  “Part of this is still my problem alone,” I said. “Because of Adam. I still can’t run away from that.”

  His eyes were warm on my face and some of the fierce determination, the smothered anger went out of him. It had never been against me—that anger—but now he quenched it altogether.

  “I suppose I love you because you are the way you are, Christy. I suppose I admire stubborn determination and unswerving courage.”

  “Courage?” I said. “I have very little of that.”

  “Those who have it don’t always recognize it, Christy. Just the same, I’m going to hang onto the idea of that apartment.”

  “I won’t go away now,” I said.

  “All right. I’ll bow to that for the present. And tomorrow night we’ll dance at the ball.”

  I felt a tiny thrill run through me—as if I were a young girl going to her first dance and in love for the first time. No man had ever affected me the way Bruce did, so perhaps this was the first time.

  He left me sitting there beside the dying fire and I made no effort to replenish it. A new determination was rising in me. There was no need to wait about talking to Joel. Even when I told him what I planned, I needn’t leave Spindrift right away, unless Theo chose to banish me. I could still stay and pursue my questions about Adam. After all, Joel and I were not living together. All that had been over before we ever came here. So I would go to him now and tell him what I meant to do. I needn’t say anything about Bruce yet, but only tell him that I wanted my freedom. It was foolish of me to feel timorous about taking this step. I didn’t think Joel would oppose me in any way. And there was no reason to try to take Peter away from me, since I was well again. He would go to Theo with this news, of course, but what did that matter? It was Joel I must talk to first.

  I picked up Jon Pemberton’s book from the table and walked resolutely out of the room in search of Joel. A passing maid told me she had seen Mr. Moreland going into the ballroom, and I crossed the Marble Hall and opened one of the tall double doors at the end. Rain beat against the windows of the room, as it had done the last time I was here on that dreadful night when I’d thought I was following Adam. But now there was gray daylight at the windows, instead of black glass.

  Joel was not there, but the portrait of Zenia Patton-Stuyvesant had been hung in the place of honor, along with the other true Sargents which Theo had acquired, and standing before it, studying the picture was a man I had never seen before.

  Not finding Joel, I was about to go back through the door, when the man before the portrait turned and looked at me. He was a big man with a thick crest of blond hair, intensely blue eyes, and a full blond beard. He looked vaguely familiar, but I didn’t know why. Certainly I had never met him before.

  Since I had been observed, I spoke to him. “I’m Christy Moreland. You’re one of Theo’s guests?”

  His bright blue eyes seemed to spark with unexpected interest. “So you’re Christy? I’ve heard about you. I understand you’re going to wear a dress like that tomorrow night?” He nodded at Zenia’s portrait. “I’m glad John Singer Sargent is part of the story. He deserves more attention than we give him these days—especially as the recorder of a society long gone.”

  I didn’t know why he was so interested in the portrait, or Sargent, or me, or why he had been told what I would wear tomorrow night. Apparently my bewilderment cut through his enthusiasm.

  “Oh—sorry! I might have introduced myself. I’m Jon Pemberton. I see you’ve got hold of one of my books.”

  I turned the book I carried over and looked questioningly at the photograph.

  Jon Pemberton laughed. “That’s an old picture. I’ve grown this shrubbery since.”

  He came toward me with his hand outstretched and enveloped mine in his bear paw of a grasp. He was rather overpowering, and I felt more than a little confused.

  When he released my hand he stepped back and studied me as a painter might study his subject. “I’m anxious to see you in that costume. You’ll help to bring her alive for me.”

  “Bring her alive?” I echoed, completely lost.

  “Yes. Zenia, I mean. Your husband is going to be my editor. But of course you know that.”

  I nodded. “Yes, I know.” I couldn’t say that I was glad.

  “And you don’t approve.” His grin was boyish. “Can’t say I blame you. And ordinarily I’d run from Joel’s sort of editor. I’m an entertainer, not a literary type. But I respect my job, and for this book he’s exactly right.”

  “May I ask why?” I inquired thinly.

  He waved his hand at the portrait. “Because of her. Zenia Patton-Stuyvesant. Because hers is the story I’m going to write. Joel knows her history and he has entrée to this house. His mother knew her when she was young. Bruce Parry is related to her. So Joel and I understand each other. We should get along well. So long as he doesn’t interfere too much—and I don’t think he will.”

  I could only gape in astonishment at all this lusty exuberance and the information he was giving me. For the first time I could see the reason behind Joel’s acceptance of Jon Pemberton as one of his authors, and I could almost forgive him. But why hadn’t he told me the reason?

  “Have you s
een Joel just now?” I asked. “I believe he was down here?”

  “He brought me to the ballroom to commune with the portrait and the room. But I think he’s gone back to finish some work with his mother.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll go find him.”

  “Right. I’ll see you at the ball. I’ll probably get carried away and fall in love with Zenia as she must have been. I always fall in love with my heroines.”

  He was quite absurd and outrageous, but somehow I had begun to like him. “I’ll look forward to seeing you again,” I said, and went off in search of Joel.

  When I reached the Green Sitting Room I found them together—Joel at Fiona’s desk, and Theo marching resolutely about the room, electric in a long gown of scarlet watered-silk taffeta, apparently dictating a list of plans for the coming days.

  They both looked around as I paused in the doorway and I braced myself against whatever was to happen.

  “Joe, may I speak with you?” I said.

  “Come in, come in,” Theo ordered. “And don’t take too much of his time. He’s helping me, instead of Fiona, who seems to be of very little use to me when I need her.”

  “I’d like to speak with you alone, Joel,” I said.

  Theo stared at me. Perhaps she saw determination in my face, because she shrugged. “Very well. I have plenty to do in the rest of the house. You can talk to him here, if you like.”

  She swept past me with a swish of taffeta and I went to sit in a striped green chair near Fiona’s desk. Joel set aside the list he was working on and waited, not helping me at all.

  I made the plunge almost breathlessly. “Nothing has worked out for us lately. I don’t think we’ll ever come together again, Joel. I’d like a divorce.”

  He regarded me quietly, his eyes gray ice, remote, as though I had been a stranger making some request in which he was scarcely involved. As always, he was on guard lest he reveal his own feelings.

  “Are you planning to marry Bruce?” he asked after a long moment.

  “Bruce is something for the future,” I said. “I don’t know what I’ll do then. But I can’t go on as we’ve been.”

  “You’re right,” he agreed slowly. “You came out of the hospital a different woman. There’s no point to our going on.”

  Even though he’d hesitated, the capitulation was swifter than I’d expected. I felt both relieved and empty. No matter how thoroughly a marriage has crashed, it isn’t an easy thing to end it.

  “I’m sorry, Joel,” I said.

  “You needn’t be. I suppose it was inevitable from the beginning.”

  “Inevitable?”

  “You’ve only loved one man in your life, Christy. Your father. You married me when you were angry with him, rebelling.”

  He had touched me on the quick. “I did love you, Joel. I loved you a great deal. But we’ve both changed. I don’t know what happened to me after Adam died. It seems as though I’ve been numb ever since.”

  “Because you lost Adam,” he said. “And you can’t love anyone else. No matter what he did, you’re tied to him forever.”

  “That’s not true,” I protested. “And what do you mean about what he did?”

  “Since you found his log I’ve been talking to Mother, Christy. I’ve been able to get a few things out of her. A beginning. Adam knew what Hal was doing, all right. He wasn’t blind. He saw men being destroyed and he didn’t always try to stop it. Because he knew if he did, he was finished with the Morelands. So he went along and kept still.”

  “No!” I cried. “That isn’t true!”

  “I didn’t expect you to believe me. But I felt you should know the truth, whether you’re able to face it or not. When do you plan to leave?”

  I tried to recover the cool and purposeful self who had come to this room.

  “I haven’t finished what I came for. I’d like to stay a little longer.”

  “I think it’s better if you don’t. Because of Theo.”

  “Why because of Theo?”

  “She’s going to fight this.”

  How foolish and blind could he be? I wondered. Theo would never fight my leaving her son. She had never wanted Adam’s daughter for him in the first place.

  “There’s nothing she can do,” I said. “I’ll take Peter and go away as soon as I can. Of course you’ll be able to see him any time you want, Joel. I’ll never stand between you.”

  But he was shaking his head, answering me with a deadly calm. “No, Christy. That’s what Theo will fight for. You still aren’t yourself, you know. Peter is safer with me, and he’ll stay here.”

  I hadn’t expected this sudden dark force in Joel. There was too much about him of which I’d been unaware. I seemed to have been blind for half my life.

  “Of course he will go with me. I’m his mother.” I sounded a little shrill to my own ears. “There isn’t anything Theo and you can do to take him away from me.”

  “I think there is, Christy. Do you want to fight this in the courts? Do you want that humiliation and eventual defeat?”

  “I’ll fight it anywhere,” I said. “Peter belongs with me.”

  “Are you rich enough, Christy, to stand against Theodora Moreland? And against me—her son?”

  He was beginning to frighten me.

  “I’ll get the money,” I told him. “I have friends who will help me. Fiona will help me.”

  “Fiona owns nothing but her husband’s debts,” Joel said, and there seemed a new callousness in his voice. “She’s not going to stand against Mother, who calls the tunes for her to dance to anyway. And where Peter’s concerned, you have me to contend with. I’ll fight.”

  “We’ll see,” I said. “We’ll see.”

  I had to get out of the room. I had to get away from this firm new Joel Moreland, who looked at me so straight and hard. My legs were unsteady as I walked to the door, and he did not move to open it for me. I went into the corridor and followed it to the stairs. When I reached my room I stood in the red center of the carpet, with the room glowing about me and I found I was shivering again, as I used to shiver in the hospital. Was it all going to come back? How could I bear it if it did?

  Someone had been there in my room—the closet door stood open, and hanging on a rack inside was the costume I would wear to the ball tomorrow night. How was I to put that dress on now? How was I to go down there and dance to music when my world was crashing about me? If I couldn’t have Peter, I could’t leave Joel. If I couldn’t leave Joel, I couldn’t go to Bruce. And without Bruce? I didn’t know. Now I was truly alone.

  16

  The rest of that day seemed endless. There was a dinner party for Theo’s guests that night, but I avoided it. I walked outside in the rain and I walked again the next day, when the rain had cleared and we had another lovely touch of Indian summer. I didn’t dare to visit with Peter, lest he be disturbed by my mood of desperation. I saw Joel only in passing, and I avoided Bruce. I was not yet ready to tell him what Joel had said.

  There was, however, no escaping the ball that night. When the time came and I was dressed, I stood looking at myself in the mirror in my room. The gown was a rich midnight blue, with a V-neck and short cap sleeves—a style that had been particularly flattering in its day, with its princess cut that hugged waist and hips, and a front overdrape like a ruffled apron, caught up into a slight bustle at the back. The skirt below hung full and straight to the floor.

  Slowly I turned from side to side, studying myself in the long mirror. I had dressed with care, as though dressing for Theo’s ball was all important in my life. At least it was a distraction. I could not yet accept or absorb the things Joel had said to me, and I tried to put them away from me for the evening. Tonight I suddenly wanted to be beautiful again, a woman again. I wanted to forget. I even wanted to dance, with Bruce admiring me, and I was unable to think my way past that simple goal.

  I had been letting my hair grow and while it was still short, I had been able to brush it upward in a vague
ly pompadour style, catching it in place with a rhinestone comb that had belonged to a grandmother I had never known. My face and throat and bare arms looked white in contrast to the dark, brilliant blue—last summer was one in which I’d acquired no tan. Someone had sent a small pot of pink geraniums to my room, remembering Sargent’s portrait of Zenia, and I broke off a thick green stem with a cluster of blossoms on the end, catching the pungent geranium odor as I did so. This was the same scent that must have haunted Zenia while she was posing for her portrait. An odd choice of flowers on Sargent’s part, but perhaps he had taken what was at hand. I wondered what Zenia had been thinking about while she posed. Perhaps of some lover? As I would think of Bruce? I felt close to Zenia that night. She no longer seemed far away in the past, and I found myself wondering what she had been like when she was young.

  When a tap sounded at my door I turned from the mirror. It was Peter, in pajamas and woolly robe, hobbling on crutches, his leg still in a cast. His eyes were dancing with excitement.

  “I wanted to see you!” he cried. “Bruce told me you’d look like the painting—and you do. You look just like Zenia. Beautiful.”

  “I’m not sure of that,” I said. “But thank you just the same.”

  I moved about the room, gesturing with the geranium, basking in my son’s approval.

  “I’ve seen Fiona,” he informed me. “She really looks like Lady Macbeth in that picture she showed me. But she isn’t happy about the ball. I think she’s scared about something. Come with me, Mother, and let’s go find Grandma Theo. I guess she’ll make everybody’s eyes pop.”

  “Shell be down in the ballroom by this time,” I said. “Shall we go and look at everything from the balcony where you’re going to watch?”

  Tonight he was not holding me off, and he was pleased with the idea. We went along corridors that were no longer empty, Peter using his crutches with surprising skill. Overnight guests were coming out of their rooms, and the lady who walked ahead of us wore a white dress with blue coin dots, and a velvet bow tied about one bare arm. I remembered the Sargent portrait.