It was in this mood that he faced the committee, knowing that he, like Farr before him, had become indispensable. Looking at Ray Carrick, Darrow informed them that—were he to remain here—he intended to demolish the Spire. “There’s been too much idolatry,” he said. “This school was never about a stone tower, any more than it was about its provost. The heart of Caldwell’s campus should look to the future, not the past.”
Darrow glanced at each trustee, five men and a woman. No one—including Carrick—challenged him. “Good,” Darrow said. “I think we can also agree that we need more women on the board. But that’s for the fall meeting. The immediate problem is to find a new provost. I have one.”
Surprised, Carrick asked, “Who?”
“Clark Durbin.”
“Durbin?” Carrick repeated with astonishment.
“Yes. Once we get used to the idea that he’s not a crook, Clark makes perfect sense. He knows the school, the faculty always liked him, and he’s a good fund-raiser. From my perspective, another advantage is that he lacks Lionel’s belief that a provost should run the school.” Darrow looked at Carrick, adding, in a sardonic tone, “Besides, it’ll keep Clark from suing us for firing him without just cause. If I were Clark, I would.”
“Would he even take it?”
Darrow smiled. “He says he would. I could certainly use his help. Are we agreed?”
Carrick hesitated. At the other end of the conference table, Joe Betts leaned forward to speak. “We all owe you a lot, Mark. A mistake is a mistake, and we made a big one. I, for one, don’t want to lose you. You’re the guy who saved our ass.”
Without destroying your reputation, Darrow thought, or your marriage. “Thank you,” Darrow said simply. “But there’s still a lot ahead of us. At least for the next three years, I’ll do my best.”
Carrick looked from Darrow to Betts, once a reliable ally. The balance of power was shifting; if Carrick did not like it, Darrow thought, he damn well could pretend.
“Three years?” Carrie Goode inquired.
Darrow nodded. “That’s the most I can promise. Three years is enough time to launch a capital campaign, get the school in order, and find the long-term leader Caldwell needs. After that, I hope to have a different life.”
A day later, Taylor called him.
THEY MET IN Boston.
Over dinner and long into the night, they merely talked, describing as best they could what each had gone through, without speaking of the future. To Darrow, Taylor’s intentions were opaque. Though they slept beside each other, sometimes touching, they did not make love.
In the morning, they sat on the brick patio of Darrow’s town house. Once Darrow and Lee had enjoyed this, heedless of what awaited them. Now Darrow was acutely aware of not knowing if what he wanted could still exist.
“I haven’t wanted to ask about Caldwell,” Taylor said. “How is that now?”
“All right.” Darrow hesitated. “Next week they’re tearing down the Spire.”
For a moment, her eyes were haunted and deeply sad. “That’s the easy part,” she answered.
She said nothing more. In their silence, Darrow felt Taylor studying him. There was a new clarity in her eyes, as though she had awakened to find him sitting there. “What are you thinking, Mark?”
He smiled a little. “I was thinking about you. That happens fairly often.”
“I know. And I’m sorry.”
Darrow felt a stab of dismay. “Sorry?”
“I know how I’ve been,” she said quietly. “At least you know my excuse.”
“I do know.” Darrow hesitated. “This hasn’t been easy for me, either. But the fact that Lionel wasn’t my father lends me a certain clarity.”
“About what?”
“You.” Darrow felt his caution overcome by emotions he could no longer defer. “I don’t want to lose you, Taylor.”
Silent, she watched him, her expression wary yet not closed. Darrow’s words came swiftly: “I’m not a mystic, so I don’t know how to explain this. But I think we were meant to be together from the beginning. Even when I was in college and what’s happened between us now was unimaginable.
“I think you feel it, too. To let Lionel destroy us gives him too much power. Maybe looking at me forces you to remember him. If so, at least that’s better than nightmares and repression.” He forced himself to speak more gently. “Together, you and I can face whatever happened. Who else could understand each other as well as you and I do?”
Doubt surfaced in Taylor’s eyes. “I really mean that much to you?”
“More than I can express.” Darrow drew a breath, deciding to take his time. “I’m in love with you, Taylor. When we’re in the same space, no matter what you’re doing, I feel at peace. I’ve never had that before. Without you, I don’t think I ever will. And I don’t think losing me would be any good for you, either.
“You want kids. I want our kids. Together we can give them what we never had. We can do that because of all we’ve learned. And because we can tell each other and our children the truth as best we know it.” Darrow took her hand. “I’ve got three years at Caldwell, and then I’m done. We don’t have to wait. America still makes airplanes, and I still have a home in Boston. Our life can be what we choose; you’ll have the career you want. All I know is that the life we can have together will be much richer than the lives we’d lead apart.”
Taylor tilted her head, the slightest smile at the corner of her lips. “That’s more than I’ve heard you say at one time since I was seven. Are you quite sure you’re done?”
Darrow watched her, caught between a feeling of release and a deep fear of losing her. “Only for the moment.”
Head bowed, Taylor touched her eyes. “I’m not sure how to answer.”
“You can start by looking at me.”
“Another willful man,” she murmured, and then raised her gaze to his. “This is hard, Mark. It will be hard, at least for a while.”
“I know that,” Darrow answered. “All we can do is try.”
To his surprise, Taylor kissed him. “Then let’s go inside,” she said.
AFTERWORD AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
One of the deepest pleasures of writing The Spire was returning, after over a decade away, to writing a psychological suspense novel intensely focused on characters, story, and setting. So I’m grateful to all those who helped me along the way.
Among them were old and new friends affiliated with my undergraduate school, Ohio Wesleyan University, and the small town in which it is located, Delaware—both of which supplied considerable atmosphere without the dire history. Interim President David Robbins helped me grasp Darrow’s challenges and Lionel Farr’s duties, while Dr. Carl Pinkele lent a faculty perspective. Dr. Erin Flynn gave me advice on Farr’s philosophy class, while Dr. Carol Neuman de Vegvar lent Taylor Farr a background in art history. Two college friends who became prominent lawyers in Delaware, Dan Bennington and Tony Heald, conspired with me to bring the Tillman case to life, and Delaware County Prosecutor Dave Yost cordially shared a prosecutor’s perspective. I’m also very grateful to Chief of Police Russ Martin and Officer Sean Sneed, who helped me imagine the investigation, as well as the challenges facing Chief George Garrison. Finally, thanks to all the members of the wonderful Ohio Wesleyan community—students, alumni, faculty, administrators, and board members—with whom I so enjoyed working during my tenure as a trustee.
Others helped me create the world of The Spire. My friend Derek Bok, former president of Harvard, was generous with his advice, as was Bob Edgar, president of Common Cause. Invaluable insight into the Tillman case came from prosecutor Al Giannini, defense lawyer Jim Collins, homicide inspector Joe Toomey, and forensic pathologist Terri Haddix. My son, Brooke, and daughter, Katie, shared some anecdotes from college and prep school that I was happy to learn after the fact. Retired General Hugh Shelton was kind enough to impart some needed military background. Dale Walker explained to a computer illiterate how Darrow and
Taylor might get into Farr’s PC. Researcher Cristin Williams helped reconstruct the cultural background of Darrow’s college years. And, as always, my friend Bob Tyrer helped me investigate varied areas of ignorance.
Psychiatry and forensic accounting are worlds unto themselves. Dr. Rodney Shapiro gave me a fascinating insight into the psychological possibilities presented by Lionel Farr. Several members of the splendid firm of Deloitte & Touche helped me create the accounting scenario: Pat Brady, Karen Kennard, Richard Miller, and Rick Potocek. Similarly generous were Jeff Raymon and Elliot Rosenfield of the firm that bears their names, as well as Ted Bunn and Bryan St. Germain, who otherwise spend some of their time protecting me from the vagaries of the stock market.
As always, I owe a great debt to my figurative board of directors: my assistant, Alison Porter Thomas; my agent, Fred Hill; my editor, John Sterling; my splendid copy editor, Bonnie Thompson; and my wife and discerning reader, Dr. Nancy Clair.
Finally, there are my cherished friends—and one of our favorite couples—Justin Feldman and Linda Fairstein. For several years now, the four of us have enjoyed long and wonderful evenings together. Justin has been a constant source of friendship, warmth, humor, and advice—as well as some of the best legal and political anecdotes ever told. As for Linda, it is not enough that she, as a lawyer, helped establish the Manhattan DA’s Sex Crimes Unit, or that she has since written numerous engrossing and best-selling novels. Linda also wrote the vows for our wedding this summer, which—thanks to her and Justin’s generosity—took place on the grounds of their beautiful home on Martha’s Vineyard. For all of that, and more, Nancy and I dedicate this book to them.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
RICHARD NORTH PATTERSON is the author of Eclipse, Exile, and fourteen other bestselling and critically acclaimed novels. Formerly a trial lawyer, he was the SEC’s liaison to the Watergate special prosecutor and has served on the boards of several Washington advocacy groups. He lives in San Francisco and on Martha’s Vineyard with his wife, Dr. Nancy Clair.
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