Ivy Secrets (50 page)

“I don’t know where Willie is.”

“Bullshit. That ‘poor, unfortunate little man’ has been hiding behind your liberal skirts forever. God knows what he does under there. Even after what he did to Charlie—”

“Stop it right now, Marina.” Dell’s usually pale face now flamed pink. She raised an index finger and shook it fiercely. “You wouldn’t know what it’s like to be unwanted. What it’s like to be kicked around by society. Don’t you think I didn’t feel guilty about what happened to Charlie? Don’t you think for one minute I didn’t have many sleepless nights over the fact that if it hadn’t been for me, for my allowing Willie to hang around at the shop, that Willie never would have known Charlie? Well, let me tell you one thing,
Miss Your Highness, I came to terms with that long ago. What happened was
not
my fault. It was
society’s
fault, for letting him—and so many others like him—free to roam the streets when they are incapable of—”

Marina held up her hand. “Spare me the histrionics, Dell. Unless, of course, you’re going to tell me that the reason you know Viktor didn’t kidnap Jenny is because you know that Willie did.”

Dell closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s utter nonsense for anyone to think that Willie Benson has the wherewithal to kidnap anyone. And as far as me ‘harboring him,’ I’m afraid the only person in this world I’ve ever ‘harbored’ is you, Marina.”

Marina folded her arms across her waist and walked to the window. She gazed out onto the street, the narrow, winding street, and wondered how it was that it could look so peaceful. Then her mind flashed back to that night she saw Dell emerge from Viktor’s apartment. The old anger twisted within her. She remembered the night Jenny was born. Dell had shouted something at her—something about threatening to tell Viktor what a spoiled brat she was … something about keeping Viktor’s secrets. She recoiled from the woman now, trying to pull the pieces together. Dell and Viktor had stayed in touch all these years. Dell was claiming Viktor wasn’t involved. In order to know that, Dell must be involved. They
must
have done this together. Their ultimate revenge on the spoiled brat princess. She could not let her get away with this. No matter how guilty Dell was trying to make her feel now, she could not let them win.

Marina straightened and decided to play Dell’s game. She turned around again. “How do you know Viktor didn’t kidnap Jenny?” she asked quietly.

Dell shrugged “I’m only telling you he’s not involved.”

“And just how can you be so sure?”

Dell smoothed the front of her long cotton skirt, her peasant skirt, Marina remembered they were once called. Peasant. How appropriate.

“Viktor and I kept in touch after he left Smith,” Dell said. “I’d promised never to tell you this, but I guess it no longer matters.”

“Tell me what?”

“I helped get Viktor the socialist newspapers. It is true,
he wanted to end the monarchy in Novokia, even then. But he didn’t want it for the reasons you think. He wanted it because he wanted you to be free from your responsibilities as the future queen.”

Marina stared at Dell.

“You are such a fool, Marina,” Dell continued. “Viktor Coe was so in love with you he couldn’t see straight. After he made love to you, he had to leave here. He knew that the two of you could never be together again unless Novokia—and you—were free from the monarchy.”

Marina scowled. She didn’t understand. Yet something deep inside her said Dell was telling the truth.

“But why …” Marina asked, “why didn’t he tell me? And why, after all these years, has he never done anything but hide out in the mountains and offer only threats to my father, threats to my country? And now, why has he kidnapped Jenny?”

Dell shook her head. “You’re not listening. I told you he has nothing to do with Jenny’s kidnapping. I told you Viktor loved you.”

Marina pressed her fingers to her temples again, trying to understand.

“I said
loved
, Marina,” Dell continued. “
Loved
in the past tense.”

“Over the years he changed his mind.”

“He never had a chance to,” Dell said, “though many times I told him he should.”

“What the hell are you saying?”

“I’m saying that Viktor never even knew about Jenny. Because thirteen years ago—a year after Jenny was born—I had a note from one of Viktor’s friends telling me of their attempt to bomb the palace, your father’s home. The bomb detonated before Viktor and his small army of rebels reached the palace. When the bomb exploded, Viktor Coe was killed instantly.”

Charlie and Peter sat in the dark restaurant behind the hotel. On the plate in front of Charlie was a chicken Caesar salad; she pushed her fork around it without interest.

“I’ve made so many mistakes.” Peter stared into his untouched glass of chardonnay. “I haven’t been a very good father, Charlie.”

“Nor I a very good mother.”

“That’s not true. You’ve been a wonderful mother.”

“No, Peter. I spent too much time trying to get your mother to like me. Not enough time with Jenny. Not nearly enough time.”

Quiet filled the low-ceilinged room. Charlie let her gaze drift around the thick wooden beams, the small wooden booths with the intimate pewter lamps. This tavern had been here for over a century. Charlie wondered how many other people, in over a hundred years, had sat at this same booth, mulling over their problems. She wondered if any of them had ever had their daughter kidnapped.

“We can change things,” Peter said. “When Jenny comes back, we can change things.”

Charlie looked down at her lap. On her left was the large paper bag that held the knapsack they’d bought on their way from Tess’s to the hotel. The large, brown canvas knapsack—the one that would enable Jenny’s safe return.

Or not.

“Can we really come up with that much cash, Peter?”

He raised the glass to his lips, then set it down without tasting the wine. “There’s a Chinese entrepreneur named
Tong Bo. He’s been trying to buy the Singapore operation for the last decade. I’ve got a call in to him.”

“Singapore? But Peter, you’ve worked so hard to keep that going since, well, since Tess’s father died.”

Peter nodded. “And look what it’s gotten me. Look where it’s gotten us. I’m out of the country half the time. I have a family I hardly see.” He shut his eyes. Ribbons of fine lines stretched across his forehead. When he opened his eyes, Charlie saw tears. “Maybe this is all for the best.”

“But Singapore must be worth more than three million dollars.”

“It is. But we need cash, Charlie. I’ll take the three million in cash and call it even.”

“How will the board of directors act?”

“Fuck the board of directors. If they don’t like it, they can fire me.”

Charlie tried not to think what would have happened if Elizabeth Hobart hadn’t died. Elizabeth never would have allowed him to sell Singapore: she wouldn’t have felt Jenny was worth it. Charlie tore off a small piece of roll and silently counted her blessings.

“If they fire you,” she said as she put the piece in her mouth, “I can always get a job.”

Peter smiled faintly. “Doing what?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Hobart, but I did have plans before I married you. I was going to open my own designer shops, remember?”

“Do you know how much money it would take to start that kind of business?”

Charlie tried to swallow the roll and wished she’d never attempted to eat it. She discreetly picked up her napkin and pushed the bread from her mouth. “I would like to do something productive, Peter,” she said. “I think that’s been part of my problem. I don’t feel as though I’ve had much purpose. If I felt better about myself I’d be a better mother. Not to mention a better role model. What kind of example have I been setting for Jenny … drifting through life wasting time on bridge parties and luncheons?”

“Spoken like a true Smithie.”

A waiter refilled her water glass. Charlie gave up on her salad and let the waiter remove it. She turned back to Peter.

“And here we are, wasting time again,” she said. “Wasting time talking about stupid things when Jenny is … my God, Peter, where do you think she is? Do you think she’s hurt? Do you think they’ve hurt her?” A muscle constricted around her heart.

Peter reached across and touched her cheek. “They’ll find her honey. It won’t be long now. They’ll find her.” He slid off the bench. “Come on. I want you to get upstairs. You need some rest.”

Charlie numbly followed Peter through the hall that led to the hotel. As they started up a short flight of stairs, her eye was caught by a small, elegant woman making her way across the lobby. “That woman,” she whispered to Peter, putting her hand on his arm.

“Who?”

“There. By the elevator.”

The woman wore sunglasses. A silk scarf was tied loosely around her head.

Charlie scowled, trying to remember. “I think I know her from somewhere. She looks familiar.” As the woman disappeared behind the elevator doors, so did Charlie’s sense of recognition. She closed her eyes for a moment. “Take me upstairs, Peter. I have to get some sleep before I lose my mind.”

    The following morning the papers were faxed to the hotel from Singapore. Peter sat at the small round table in their room; Charlie stood over his shoulder as he carefully reviewed, then quickly signed each one. He was going to send them by return fax, then forward the originals by overnight express. If all went well, a courier would deliver the cash tomorrow: three million dollars in one-hundred-dollar bills. Peter explained to Charlie that Tong Bo had arranged to obtain the money in the United States: getting that much cash out of China could have been a problem, could have caused a delay. Charlie prayed that tomorrow wouldn’t be too late.

“Did you hear that?” Peter asked as he addressed the return fax cover sheet and put the original documents in an overnight express envelope.

“Hear what?”

“The sound of my mother,” he said, “turning over in her grave.”

Charlie bent down and hugged him. “I love you.”

    At eleven o’clock they left the hotel and walked to Round Hill Road. Charlie had hoped the exercise would ease the hollow pit in her stomach, the pit that seemed to grow larger each minute, each hour, that Jenny was missing; the pit that seemed to have been filled with even greater sorrow now that Tess had … what? Fallen apart?

She felt the comfort of Peter’s arm around her as they wound their way through the quiet back streets and wondered how it would end, when it would end.

Grover bounded toward them when they reached the backyard, his long hair flapping, his eager tail wagging. Charlie bent to pet his head. His rough pink tongue curled up and washed a warm hello.

“Hey, fella,” Charlie said, “has anyone fed you?”

The dog looked up at her with huge brown eyes. He panted.

“I wonder if he realizes that something’s wrong,” Peter said.

“First Jenny is gone, now Tess. This poor dog must be confused.” Charlie scratched behind his ear then stood. “Come on, Grover. Let’s find you some food.”

    Marina sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee.

“Good morning,” Charlie said. “Has anything happened?”

Marina shook her head. “The boys are set up in the living room. Did you get some sleep?”

Charlie rummaged through the cabinets, looking for dog food. “A little.” She spotted a large bag of dry nuggets. She shook the dog food into an empty bowl on the floor, then poured fresh water into a mixing bowl. She glanced up at the large clock over the refrigerator, at the second hand that moved slowly—too slowly—around its dusty face. Then she sat beside Marina and watched Peter pace. The only sounds in the room were his gummed soles as they squidged across the old linoleum, and Grover’s crunching and lapping.

At twelve o’clock the phone rang. Charlie drew in a deep breath, then let it out. In the hallway she steadied herself, waiting for the signal from the FBI man. He gave a short nod. She sucked in her breath again, then picked up the receiver, aware of all eyes upon her: Peter’s, Marina’s, the FBI men’s, and Joe Lyons’s.

“Hello?”