Dying for Mercy with Bonus Material (4 page)

T
here you go, sir,” said Bill O’Shaughnessy as he put a glass of vodka down on the bar. “Good health to you.”

The guest lifted the drink and walked away without saying a word to the bartender. With no one else waiting to be served, Bill sliced another lime. Wiping his hands, he looked up and saw Innis Wheelock walking in from the garden with that woman from morning television.

This was some party. The Wheelocks had invited lots of people from inside the park along with many city people who had come out from Manhattan. He didn’t really understand the reason for the celebration; nobody he knew ever threw a party for a saint. But the wealthy were a different breed as far as Bill was concerned. Over the years he’d witnessed rich people trying to outdo one another in coming up with new themes for their parties. He had to give the Wheelocks credit for originality with this one.

Bill bent down behind the bar to open another bag of ice. When he straightened, Valentina Wheelock was waiting for him. As he looked at her, Bill knew she must be in her sixties now, but he thought she was still ravishing. He suspected he would always think so. For Bill, some wrinkles and lines didn’t diminish her great beauty.

“How are we doing?” she asked. “Everyone enjoying themselves?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered.

“We have enough of everything?”

Bill nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I think we’re in good shape.”

“Good,” said Valentina. She turned partially and looked out at the room. “Nice party, isn’t it, Bill?”

“Very nice, Mrs. Wheelock.”

“Do you think St. Francis would approve?”

Bill felt he should be cautious with his answer. You never knew how they were going to react. It wasn’t a good idea to joke, because too many of the people he worked for didn’t have much in the way of a sense of humor. Bill knew they didn’t think of him as being on their social level and that a joke or a criticism or a display of any sort of familiarity would not go over well. He was the hired help, and his job was to be respectful and pour the drinks.

“I couldn’t say, Mrs. Wheelock,” Bill answered. He could feel his face flush.

“Oh, yes, you could, Bill,” Valentina urged. “You won’t hurt my feelings. This was Innis’s idea, and I just went along to keep him happy. Go ahead, go out on a limb and tell me what you think.”

Bill wished she wouldn’t do that, push him, tease him, encourage him. She had done that from the very beginning. He remembered the first time he saw her when she walked into the Black Tie Club on another October night almost thirty years before.

The Fall Ball was always held on the third Saturday of October. One legend had it that at the first Fall Ball back in 1886 the grandson of Pierre Lorillard, along with some of his friends, showed up at the party in cutoff tailcoats, and the tuxedo was born. The presentation of debutantes at the Fall Ball was the start of the New York social season for over eight decades.

Bill was new to working at the club back then. His father, who earned his living as a gardener there, had gotten Bill the job. He could recall how nervous he’d been. He hadn’t felt comfortable, didn’t feel like he belonged. And he didn’t. He could only observe the people in Tuxedo Park and marvel at their world.

But it wasn’t the young ladies his age, in their frothy white gowns, making their debuts, who had intrigued Bill that evening. It was a woman fifteen years older than he who caught his attention. When Valentina walked in on Innis Wheelock’s arm, Bill and every other man in the room had eyed her with admiration and Innis with envy. When she took to the dance floor in her blue gown, her blond hair long and loose, it had seemed to Bill, stealing glances as he served food and cleared dinner plates, that Valentina moved as if she and the music were one. She mingled with the other guests, confident and regal.

Bill, exceedingly
un
confident, had wanted to disappear under one of the damask-covered tables when his shaking hand spilled a few drops of wine on the sleeve of Valentina’s dress. She noticed it immediately, though no one else at the table had. Instead of commenting, she just looked up him, winked, and covered the spot with her napkin. At that moment, as his face flushed bright red, he fell in love.

Later she had pulled him aside. “Don’t worry about the dress,” she said. “Accidents happen.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I’m so sorry, really sorry. Maybe I could have it cleaned for you?”

Valentina smiled. “That won’t be necessary.”

“I really appreciate that you didn’t make a big thing about it at the table or mention it to my boss.”

She looked over at her table. “They wouldn’t have taken it very well, would they?”

Bill shook his head. “No, and I need this job.”

“Are you doing this while you go to school?” she asked.

“No,” said Bill, blushing again.

Valentina instantly understood. “Maybe you should think about that. College can make a big difference in somebody’s life.”

Bill had watched her walk off across the room, and in that instant he stood taller. For a week or two, he had actually considered Valentina’s suggestion, but before he could broach the idea of college with his parents, his father suffered a severe heart attack. That was the end of Bill’s brief flirtation with higher education, but his fascination with Valentina lived on.

Valentina had charm. Though she had never made a mortgage payment, never worried about paying her property taxes or electricity bills, she had the knack for making people feel that she understood their lives, felt their pain, and dreamed their dreams. Bill knew that the president of the United States himself had been enthralled with Valentina Wheelock.

“Bill?” Valentina’s blue eyes were staring directly at his.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You haven’t answered my question. Do you think St. Francis would approve of this party?”

Pushed, Bill answered, “I didn’t know the man, but I remember from religion class that he was a guy who believed in living very simply.” He shrugged. “I wonder if champagne, caviar, and filet mignon were a part of his diet.”

Valentina laughed. “That’s what I’ve always liked about you, Bill. In that careful way of yours, you get to the point—in this case, that this is a pretty inappropriate excuse for a party. But Innis really wanted to have this shindig, and he’s been so serious and dour since we’ve come back from Italy that I was glad just to see that he wanted to have people in for a celebration, even if it is for a man who’s been dead for almost eight hundred years.”

A
s they took their place on the buffet line, a man of medium height with longish salt-and-pepper hair stood in front of Eliza and Innis.

“Eliza, I’d like you to meet Zachary Underwood,” said Innis. “Zack is the architect who worked wonders with this old place.”

“The house had good bones to begin with,” said Zack, smiling at Eliza. “And Innis had some very intriguing ideas about the renovation. He did a lot of the thinking for me.”

“You’re being too modest, Zack,” said Innis. “You were presented with a real challenge, and you rose to meet it with flying colors.” He excused himself and turned to speak to the guests behind him on the buffet line.

Eliza took a plate from the end of the table. “If I ever need an architect, I’ll know who to call,” she said. “Everything is fabulous—the house, the grounds. You feel like you’re in another world in this place.”

“That’s what the people in the park want,” he said. “Those who’ve lived here forever don’t want the world to come in and change it, and most of the new people want to have a place to escape the intense life outside the gates. Everyone has a vested interest in keeping the park pretty much the way it’s always been. They feel safe here.”

Eliza sensed that he was about to say more, and she steeled herself for the possibility that Zack would bring up the kidnapping that had fascinated the country for the interminable five days while Janie was missing and then for the weeks since she was safely home. When he didn’t broach the subject, Eliza felt herself relax.

“This ravioli looks and smells wonderful,” Zack said as he took a large silver spoon. “Can I serve you some?”

“Thank you, yes.” Eliza held out her plate. “What was the most interesting thing you discovered while you worked on this place?” she asked as they moved along the line.

Zack shook his head. “It’s hard to pick just one thing. There were so many. I’ve worked on several renovations here in the park, and each of the houses has its own intriguing structural details, not to mention fascinating stories about previous residents. But Pentimento is special to me because it’s not just about the past glories of the building and the people who lived here. It’s the future of the house that could actually turn out to be the far more interesting and important phase.”

“How so?” asked Eliza as she gathered up a fork and napkin at the end of the buffet table.

“Innis has big plans for this house, though even I don’t know all the details. He’s kept me in the dark about the reason for some of the things he asked me to design. He also had me sign a confidentiality agreement. I can’t talk to anyone about the plans and designs for Pentimento.” Zack motioned to the double parlor, and Eliza followed him to a love seat in the corner.

“Isn’t that unusual?” asked Eliza as she sat down and spread her napkin on her lap. “Are architects usually asked to do that?”

“Not usually, but it does happen. People build their dream houses, and they can be very proprietary about them. They want their homes to be unique, and at the very least they don’t want their architect doing the same design for the family down the block.”

“I can understand that,” Eliza said. “Yet if you don’t know the details of what Innis is planning for the house, you wouldn’t be breaking a confidentiality agreement by doing a little speculating, would you?” She smiled.

“You’re not going to get anything out of me,” Zack answered, smiling back. “Innis told me he has a big surprise planned for later tonight, and I don’t want to take the chance of spoiling it.”

C
lose to one hundred well-dressed and well-connected guests gathered in the vaulted gallery to listen to their host.

“I’d like to thank Valentina for putting up with me all these years and for agreeing to have this party, because she knew it was important to me. And I want to thank each and every one of you for being here tonight to celebrate with us and our son, Russell.”

Heads turned to look at the tall, powerfully built young man standing against the wall. He smiled and nodded at his father.

Innis stood under a massive Venetian-glass chandelier and held up his drink while the guests raised theirs.

“All of you have meant something special to us. Valentina and I have known some of you most of our lives. Others we’ve met over the years through Valentina’s time in government, and some are relatively new friends that we’ve gained since we returned from Italy.”

There were beads of perspiration on Innis’s brow as he continued speaking. “Valentina,
carissima,
come over here.”

He kissed his wife on the forehead and put his arm around her.

“I want to take a moment to talk about the reason we are here tonight. St. Francis of Assisi.”

“Ah, Innis,” Valentina pleaded. “Do we have to ruin the evening with religion?”

The assemblage laughed. Innis smiled weakly.

“I promise I won’t go on too long, dear,” he said, as he took his arm away. “I know that most of you are aware I’ve become devoted to St. Francis, and I guess some of you might find that strange.”

The room was quiet as everyone listened.

“All of us have done things which we’d do differently if given a chance. But that’s not the way it works. You don’t get a do-over. All you can do is repent, try to make up for it, and do what you can to ensure that the future is safeguarded. Yet sometimes there are things that, no matter how sorry you are, can’t be rectified.”

Innis looked down at his shoes and stood wordless for a moment.

“Anyway,” he said as he lifted his face again, “what I’m trying to say is, I’m so grateful that I’ve been given this opportunity to redirect my life, that this humble Italian saint has shown me what I need to do going forward. As St. Francis said, ‘Our actions are our own; their consequences belong to heaven.’”

There was an awkward silence in the room as Innis looked out with glistening eyes at his audience.

“Here’s to St. Francis,” someone called out, breaking the tension. The guests raised their glasses to their lips and drank with enthusiasm and relief.

“Has Innis totally lost it?” Eliza heard one of the guests ask another.

“He’s always been an eccentric, but this is really strange. He must be driving Valentina out of her mind.”

“I’m sure. Valentina has never been much of a churchgoer, except when she was running for office.”

Both of the guests laughed.

H
e was fairly certain that he had slipped out of the house unnoticed. On his way to the greenhouse, Innis looked back over his shoulder. Pentimento glowed as golden light drifted out from the many large windows. He could see his guests talking and laughing inside. Oblivious.

Under a full moon, he walked across the property and behind the high shrubs that hid the greenhouse from view. Light came through the glass-paned walls of the building, but Innis knew the way without it.

The hunting knife was in the drawer of the intricately carved Italian worktable, just where he’d put it after he’d had it cleaned and sharpened. A dull blade would have difficulty piercing the skin.