Girl of Rage (18 page)

“Julia!” she shouted, even as the little girl’s legs started to pump again.

In another moment, she had everything calmed down and her daughter stationary. The grocery bag and her coffee, however, were lost causes.

“We’ll bring up the … surviving groceries … Mrs. Thompson.”

“Thank you, Harold,” she said.

The concierge said, “By the way, a courier delivered a letter for you earlier. From the British Embassy.”

Her chest tightened suddenly, almost painfully. “Oh … I’ll take that,” she said.

He handed over the letter. “I presume it’s related to Mr. Thompson’s birthday? The courier was very clear to deliver only to you.”

Stunned, Adelina said, “Yes … of course.” She held a finger to her lips. “Our secret, please. We wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

The only thing she wanted to give Richard for his birthday was a knife between the ribs. But that wasn’t a realistic option. In a sharp voice she said, “Stay still!” to Julia, then tore open the envelope.

An invitation on heavy cream-colored card stock with gold engraving, handwritten in delicate calligraphy:
You are cordially invited to lunch with His Grace Prince George-Phillip Windsor, the Duke of Kent, Wednesday, February 22, 1984 at Her Majesty’s Embassy in Washington, The District of Columbia.

She rolled her eyes. The invitation was intentionally vague, she supposed, in case Richard had taken delivery of it.
That
would be an ugly situation.

She wasn’t having lunch with anyone.

She wasn’t.

Especially not at the British Embassy. It was bad enough the Post had mentioned her lunch with George-Phillip at Matisse. Richard hadn’t mentioned it yet. Would he? Would he know? Richard was no fool, and the diplomatic community itself was tiny. She couldn’t imagine he hadn’t heard. Richard was biding his time. Sometime, this afternoon or tonight or next week or next year, he would do something unspeakably cruel. That’s how these things worked.

“Come, Julia!” she called, marching away.

The two-year-old ran after her, and grabbed Adelina’s hand as they reached the elevator. She took her daughter’s hand in hers and rode upstairs in silence. Adelina didn’t notice that her other hand was clenched into a fist until she glanced down and saw the invitation was crumpled.

Adelina. May 2.

Adelina sat slouched in the driver’s seat of the minivan. The day was beautiful, the sky free of clouds, and the view to the horizon unusually clear. A strong wind blew off the ocean and up into the hills, occasionally shaking the minivan.

Jessica still sat on the wall. Arms wrapped around her legs, face resting on her knees. She wasn’t crying. Her shoulders didn’t shake, though Adelina had no idea how her daughter sat out there without even shivering.

You weren’t a mother to us.

It was true, and she knew it. Her oldest daughter was thirty-two years old, her youngest sixteen. Six daughters, and they all hated her. The worst part was, she knew she deserved it. Jessica sat there on the wall, refusing to talk to her, and she hadn’t even been through the worst of it. She knew that it was Julia and Carrie who had borne the brunt of her unmanageable anxiety and fear, her panic attacks, her rage.

She’d have done anything to fix it.
Anything.

For now, all she could do was help this one daughter. She slid out of the seat again and said, “You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to. But don’t you think we should go get something to eat?”

Jessica’s shoulders slumped. She nodded her head, and said, “I’m sorry. I don’t understand you, but I don’t hate you. I really don’t.”

Adelina sighed. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did, you know.”

Jessica grunted lightly and gave a tight shake of her head.

“Anyway, let’s get moving.”

“Where are we going from here?” Jessica asked.

“Well … I’m concerned about being out on the road in the minivan, especially now that we know they’re looking for us. It’s a matter of time before we get caught. So I thought we’d stop at the next town and get a bus.”

Jessica stared at her, her eyes unmoving, unblinking. Then she said, “To where?”

“Canada.”

Stunned, Jessica said, “Why?”

Adelina said, “Haven’t you been listening to the news? They’re searching for us.”

“Well, yeah. But … Canada?”

“Yes. We need to get somewhere
safe
,” Adelina said,

Jessica sighed. “I don’t know how I can possibly trust you.”

Adelina reached out and touched her daughter’s hand. “I know. But nevertheless, we have to go.”

“All right,” Jessica whispered.

Adelina. February 25, 1984.

In the week after Adelina’s lunch with George-Phillip, she avoided Richard and avoided time alone with equal intensity. The daytimes were easy enough to keep busy, as she went about interviewing possible full-time nannies, and took Julia around to meet with several different instructors for piano.

Richard had voiced some choice words about both topics. But Adelina had persuaded him, reminding him that most cultured children played an instrument. Julia was young, but Suzuki method training typically began between the ages of three and five.

I insist on her learning an instrument,
she had said.

You should teach her on your violin,
he had snarled back.

Of course he was aware of what she’d done to her violin. Richard missed little, but in order to drive it home she’d taken the shattered instrument and left it on his bed.

Richard responded by throwing the violin in the garbage and having a deadbolt installed on his door.

And so things continued. If Richard knew about her lunch with George-Phillip, he didn’t say anything. But she was sure he knew. Of course he knew, thanks to that bitch Maria Clawson. There it was, the bottom paragraph in her column.
The Duke of Kent and current junior
attaché
at the British Embassy,
Prince
George-Phillip, was seen lunching with Adelina Thompson, the wife of a junior State Department official, at the
exclusive
eatery Matisse on Monday.
Neither of them was available for comment, but this columnist wonders at opportunities for closer U.S. - British relations.

There was no way Richard didn’t know. Maybe he was saving the knowledge for just the right moment. It would be like him, to sit on something for days and make her squirm in fear.

But the days went on with no mention of it, and no further contact from George-Phillip for nearly ten days.

When it came, it was like a bomb. The phone rang at 2:30 in the afternoon. Julia had been difficult that day—extremely difficult. When the new nanny arrived, Adelina made herself a drink and fled to the balcony. She was on her second drink when the phone rang.

She ignored it, choosing to enjoy the unusually warm weather instead.

The glass door slid open. “Mrs. Thompson?”

Jenny Sullivan, the new nanny, held out the phone. “It’s Mr. Thompson.”

Adelina closed her eyes. She didn’t want to talk to Richard.

She had no choice. She reached for the cordless phone.

“Yes, Richard.”

“Go get a new dress to wear. Something fancy. We’re having dinner with the British Ambassador and guests tonight. It’s a black tie affair, very formal.”

“The British Ambassador?”

“Yes, and that boy you snuck off and had lunch with. Prince George-Phillip.”

Adelina sucked in a breath, but didn’t say a word.

“You didn’t think I knew about that, did you, Adelina? You should know better by now.”

Adelina’s words were casual, but she couldn’t stop her voice from shaking. “Don’t be silly, Richard, it was just lunch. I even had Julia along.”

“Of course it was just lunch. Even I know a British royal isn’t going to be interested in some peasant slut from Spain. But I don’t like being made a fool of in the papers, Adelina. This better be the
last
time Maria Clawson ever mentions my name in her column.”

Adelina stiffened in rage. For nearly fifteen seconds she stood there, her teeth clenched, the phone gripped in her hand, unable to say a word.

“What? Cat got your tongue, Adelina?”

“I’ll find a dress,” she growled.

Then with a swift, smooth motion she slapped the cordless phone against the cast iron table. She hit the phone against the table three, four, then five more times, until the casing finally cracked with a snap and plastic bits went flying everywhere.

Then she burst into tears. She
hated
him.
Hate.

She closed her eyes and slumped into her chair. Then she whispered a prayer, the words sweeping over her in a torrent. She had to get control of herself and her temper. Sometimes the rage seemed to wash over everything, to black out everything. This was new. As a child or a teen she’d never been prone to fits of anger.

She opened her eyes. Jenny was in the living room with Julia. Both of them stared at her.

Adelina stood and brushed her hands down the front of her shirt. Her temper terrified her sometimes. And embarrassed her. She slid the door open and said to the astonished nanny, “I’m going out.”

“Why Mummy break phone?” Julia asked.

Neither Adelina nor Jenny answered the question. Adelina carefully buttoned her coat and walked out of the condo.

Hours later, she rode silently in the car with Richard to the British Embassy. It was dark out, traffic was heavy, and it was stifling hot inside Richard’s Mercedes 500SE. She stared out the window, unaffected by the leather seats and polished wood dashboard. Her father had not owned a car for most of her life, and she’d have sooner lived with her daughter in a shack on a rock than in the shifting, often terrifying luxury Richard took for granted.

“You’re quiet,” he said.

Adelina shrugged. “I’m saving my energy for the dinner.”

“Charm them, Adelina.”

She rolled her eyes. “Anyone in particular?”

“Eugene Jackson.”

“Who?”

Richard huffed in impatience. “I expect you to know these things, Adelina. We’ve reestablished diplomatic relations with the Vatican. Jackson is Reagan’s envoy to the Vatican, and he’s been nominated as the first Ambassador.”

“Right,” she said, holding a hand up. “His confirmation hearings are next week?”

“Exactly.”

“Why didn’t we have diplomatic relations in the first place?”

“Congress cut funding for the diplomatic mission in 1867, because the Pope banned Protestant services in the city.”

“1867? Are you serious? And it took them more than a hundred years to fix it?”

Richard shrugged. “I don’t know all the history. The Vatican was invaded and became part of the Kingdom of Italy or some such. Anyway, the British reestablished relations last year, and now we have.”

“Okay. And why do you want me to charm Ambassador Jackson?”

His eyes narrowed and his fists tightened on the steering wheel as his face flushed red—dangerous signals for Richard. For a moment she thought he was going to say it was none of her business.

After a second, he relaxed, slightly, and said, “Along with being the new Ambassador, Eugene Jackson and his wife are close personal friends of the Reagans. A good word from him to the President could do a lot for my career.”

Adelina nodded. “I see. What do we know about him?”

“He’s seventy or so. Prominent businessman in California, he helped bankroll the President’s campaign, and he was part of the Kitchen Cabinet.” The Kitchen Cabinet was an informal group of conservative advisors to the President—political opponents had accused them of helping to select Reagan’s actual Cabinet members.

Richard continued. “He goes
riding
with the President, and he and his wife hosted the Reagans for Nancy’s birthday.”

Adelina nodded. “Okay. So, charm him. What’s his wife’s name? Will she be there?”

“Elizabeth. They met at Stanford. And yes, she’ll be there.”

“Okay. Make nice. Charm him. Consider it done.”

In a sharp tone, Richard said, “Don’t be fresh with me.”

“You’re a sociopath and a complete bastard, Richard. Would I be stupid enough to antagonize you?”

Without a pause he reached over and pinched her thigh, hard, through her dress, twisting his fingers. She slid away from him, then grabbed his hand and tried to pull it off as the pain sharpened.

“
I
hate you,”
she whispered.

“That’s fine,” he replied. “As long as you do what you’re told.”

She didn’t respond, choosing instead to shut out the pain, staring out the window into the darkness. She reached a hand into her purse and clutched her rosary, tracing the beads with her fingers. She knew well that saying the prayers out loud would evoke an immediate violent response from Richard. So she prayed in her heart, tracing the beads, starting with the Lord’s Prayer. Sometimes she got stuck there, praying for protection from evil over and over again.