Ivy Secrets (47 page)

“More urgent than a missing daughter?”

Charlie stared at the phone. She tried to come up with words that were plausible. It had made some kind of sense to her when Peter hadn’t come with her. The way Joe said it, it
sounded cold, hard-hearted, uncaring. She snapped around to Joe. “My husband runs a multinational corporation. When Tess called we thought Jenny had simply run off to stay with a friend. I said I could take care of it.”

“I thought you said Jenny had no friends here.”

Charlie felt the muscles in her entire body tighten. She resisted the urge to smack him in the face with the phone. “We weren’t sure. She’s been here all summer.”

Joe nodded, but Charlie sensed that he didn’t believe her.

“What kind of business is your husband in?”

Her patience was wearing thin. “Textiles. Now if you’ll excuse me …” She began to punch in the numbers to Peter’s private line.

“And how is business these days?”

“Fine.”

“Really? Even in this tough economy?”

Charlie felt heat rise in her face. “And just what are you implying?”

“It seems to me your friend, Marina, must be pretty well off. I doubt she’d let your daughter—”

Charlie shook her finger at him. “Look, Chief Lyons, why don’t you do your job and stop looking at innocent people? Now, while I call my husband, I suggest you get busy and find my daughter.”

She continued dialing. Behind her, she heard Joe leave the hallway.

The connection went through, but all Charlie heard was, “This is Peter Hobart. Sorry I can’t take your call, but please leave a message—”

“Call me, dammit!” Charlie screamed into the phone. “Jenny’s been kidnapped.” She slammed the receiver in the cradle and tried to calm her thumping heart.

    Tess lay on her back on the bed, her arm pressed over her eyes. It seemed days, not minutes, ago that she had heard Joe banging on the back door. In the surreal gray light of dawn, she had lain there, listening to the conversation, listening to the shock, listening to the anger.

She knew if she didn’t act quickly, she could spend the rest of her life in jail.

Jail. Would it be any different from the way she’d spent most of her life?

She wondered if they’d let her blow glass in jail. She could probably raise a lot of money for prisoner programs.

It would be safe in jail. It would be warm in the winter and there would be people. Lots of people to talk to in case she felt lonely. Not like now, not like here, where there was only Dell to talk to, Dell to hold. Then she remembered it had been years since Dell—or anyone—had held her.

She wondered if the inmates would ever feel like a family.

She rolled onto her side and thought of something else. In jail there would be no bills to worry about, no commissions to pray for, no orders to fill. She would be given clothes to wear and three meals a day.

Meals. Food. Tears came to her eyes as she thought about Grover. If she went to jail, who would feed Grover? Who would take care of him?

If Charlie couldn’t raise the money, Marina knew she would have to.

She had wandered out to Tess’s studio, wanting some time alone, needing to think this through. Charlie had looked differently this morning—her sleepless skin was etched with tiny lines that seemed to have appeared overnight at the edges of her eyes, the corners of her mouth. The worry was clearly beginning to show on the woman who had harbored Marina’s secret, raised Marina’s child, and who still remained loyal, not telling the police Jenny’s true identity, not even hinting that Marina was anything more than a friend.

Moving her gaze across the room to the samples of glass ornaments that lined the shelves, Marina thought about loyalty. She thought about how loyal Tess, too, had been, so long ago. As much as Marina protested, as much as she hadn’t trusted Dell, Tess had insisted that Dell was the one person who could make things work out. In all these years, Tess had never betrayed that loyalty to Marina, had never told about Jenny, even though she certainly could have used the information as blackmail—blackmail against Marina for money Tess so clearly needed. But Tess had never betrayed her. And, with an uncomfortable feeling, Marina realized that, most likely, neither had Dell.

In all these years, none of them had betrayed her. How is it, she wondered, that the bonds of friends can remain throughout the years? Years of differences, years of avoidances, years of disinterest. She smiled then, as she realized that the bonds between them were greater than those with
Alexis, who would never think to put her twin’s wishes or feelings first, and who, most certainly, would do anything to cover her own ass, even if it meant Marina’s downfall—especially if it meant Marina’s downfall.

But not Charlie. Not Tess. Not even Dell. And surprisingly, Dell had not told her nephew. Perhaps Tess had seen to that. Poor Tess. Whose loyalty was now rewarding her with accusations.

As she sat in the small studio now, Marina realized she was feeling sorry for Tess Richards, this nearly middle-aged woman who, whether through lack of love or because of loss alone, had never been able to make her mark on the world, who seemingly no longer had the strength to try. Now, Tess was being falsely accused of a horrid deed, one that Marina was certain she did not commit. More than ever, Marina was convinced Viktor was behind this. Viktor, or Edward James.

Marina stood and walked to the shelves. She studied the glass ornaments, wondering which ones Jenny had crafted, wondering where a child of hers had developed a flair for creativity. She lightly touched an ornament. “Edward,” she whispered. “It must have come from Edward.”

Once again, Marina felt an unsettled stirring inside her, to think there might be a connection between Jenny’s disappearance and Edward James. For as wonderful as he had made her feel for one night of love, Marina hadn’t known Edward at all. She had no idea what kind of person he really was. For all she knew, he could be as coldhearted as Viktor Coe. And far more dangerous than pathetic little Willie Benson.

She wrapped her arms around herself and paced the floor.

Yes, Marina thought, if Charlie couldn’t raise the ransom, Marina would. Either way, the king had to be told. No matter who paid the money, the incident would no doubt be made public, and Jenny’s real mother would be revealed to the world.

Her father did not deserve to learn about his granddaughter in the media. Marina would have to risk his wrath, witness his pain, and suffer the humiliation of her shame; but she would finally face up to her past and tell her father the truth.

First, however, there was somewhere she had to go.

She had no idea if he still lived there. She had no idea if he still taught at Smith. But Marina knew she had to try; she couldn’t ask anyone, she had to find out for herself. She had to find out for sure.

She crossed Elm Street and headed down Paradise Lane. To her right was the Quad, quiet now in the middle of summer; to her left were the faculty houses. In the white saltbox house with the dark green shutters, crisp, ruffled curtains hung at the windows.

Marina stopped, took a deep breath, then moved ahead before she could change her mind. She walked up the brick walk to the stoop, rang the bell, and waited, staring at the green door, staring off into the neatly trimmed shrubbery that bordered the front of the house.

She heard the latch turn. The door opened. A woman stood there.

“Yes?” the woman asked. She was long past middle age, with a thick middle and spindly legs. Her gray hair was short and the lenses of her eyeglasses thick. Marina wondered if this was Edward’s wife.

“I do not know if you can help me,” Marina said smoothly. “I am looking for someone who lived here a long time ago.”

The woman scrutinized Marina.

“A professor here at the school. In government. His name was Edward James.”

“It still is,” the woman said. “He lives here.”

Marina was certain her heart missed a beat. “He does? Is—is he here by any chance?”

“Yes. He’s reading.”

Reading
, she thought.
Edward is here and he is reading. Edward. Jenny’s father.
She gazed at the woman, unsure of what to say next. She cleared her throat. “I hate to disturb him, but it is rather important.”

“Who shall I say is calling?”

Marina hesitated. Would he remember her? And if he did, would he even acknowledge her? Then Marina thought of Jenny. Her child.
Their
child. The child he may have kidnapped.

“Tell him … tell him it is the princess.”

The woman looked at her through magnified eyes. “I’ll
see if he’s available.” She half closed the door and disappeared.

Marina stood still—her mind, her body, frozen—except for the thumping in her chest.

The door swung open again. This time, it was Edward. The white that had once flecked his temples now frosted his hair like the snow in Vermont; his mustache had grown into a neatly trimmed beard that skirted his ruddy-skinned face … his once handsome face, now softened by the gentle slip of age. He wore a white cotton shirt over his chest that was no longer as broad, and khaki pants that perhaps were a size more generous in the waist. In his hand, Edward held a book. Slowly, his smile widened.

“Marina?” he asked, but she knew that he knew. She knew that he recognized her by the light in his eyes, the way that it danced, the way that it swept her face with the arc of a beacon and lit up her waiting soul.

“Hello, Professor James,” she said. “It’s been a long time.”

“Yes, yes,” he said. “Come in, won’t you?”

Marina paused. Her instincts told her that Edward had nothing to do with Jenny’s kidnapping. All her instincts told her that this was a fine, good man, who perhaps had a lapse when he’d been with her, but who was a good man, nonetheless. A warm glow filled her, a glow of pleasure that this man was Jenny’s father. She wondered which qualities of his Jenny had inherited.

Then she remembered the ransom note, and the reason that she was here.

“I think it would be better if you came outside,” she said quietly, so that his wife could not overhear. “There is something I would like to speak with you about.”

    They walked along the path by the pond. He no longer seemed much taller than Marina, and his gait was, perhaps, a bit slower. They walked close, but not touching; they were thoughtful, but did not speak, the silence lingering safely, the way it does only between the truest friends, the most bonded spirits.
Soulmates
, Marina now knew.

“You look wonderful, Marina,” Edward finally said.

She brushed back her hair and smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “So do you.”

He laughed. “I’m afraid the years haven’t been as kind to me as they have been to you. But then, I’ll be fifty-five this year. Imagine. Me. Fifty-five.”

He hadn’t yet asked why she was in Northampton; he hadn’t yet asked why she had come to see him.

“I’ve read about you over the years,” he continued.

“Why, Professor,” Marina said teasingly, “I didn’t think you kept up with the jet set.”

“The tabloids are hard to miss at the checkout counter.”

She looked off toward the pond. “It is not wise to believe everything you read.”

“No?”

“Some of it was true. But I have changed.” She felt suddenly uncomfortable, wondering why she felt a need to defend herself. Then Marina remembered the way Edward had of seeing into her heart, and sensing her true self.

“I hope you haven’t lost your spontaneity. I hope you haven’t lost your warmth.”

Marina was startled. “Spontaneous? Did you think I was that?”

Edward grinned. “Oh, my, yes. Spontaneous. Electric. Yet so compassionate.” He scowled a little. “I’m not sure you realized you had great compassion. I think you may have been afraid of that.”

They walked silently again, then Marina spoke. “I was afraid of many things, Edwards.”

“And now?”

“Now? I am trying to do good things. I am trying to help save my country.” As she spoke the words, Marina realized that—for the first time—she believed them.

Edward nodded. “You’re well equipped to do that, Princess. No matter what the tabloids have said, I always believed you’d make a terrible jet-setter.”