Love Me Tonight (11 page)

“Good luck, buddy. If you need me, I'm only forty-five minutes away.”

“That is, if you're breaking the speed limit. I'll be fine. I'll call you.”

He hung up, bit into the ham-and-egg sandwich,
decided that it wasn't too bad and finished it. Considering that he probably wouldn't find working men at home midday, he explored Frederick, a major crossroads during the Civil War when armies from both North and South marched through its territory, and its citizens split their loyalty.

He remembered to call his aunt Cissy. Staring at the number he'd punched in on his cell phone, he wondered when he had accepted that Beverly Moten was his birth mother and that Cissy Henry was therefore his great-aunt. He could be wrong, but he didn't think so. He remembered how his mother hadn't wanted him out of her sight. He'd thought it normal, albeit annoying, but now he suspected that she'd had a guilty feeling about having left him with relatives for the first three years of his life.

He had been unruly at times, but he wouldn't have been if he hadn't had to fight so hard for his independence, his right to grow up as a boy, taking the tumbles and scrapes as they came. He'd had to fight to get a skateboard, tricycle and bicycle long after every boy his age had had them. And money had not been the problem. His parents had lavished everything on him except what he wanted.

He amended that. They hadn't hesitated to give him the books and music that he had wanted. He'd studied piano and violin for fourteen years, from his fourth birthday until he had left home to go to college. From that time on, he hadn't studied music and had rarely touched a piano or a violin, although a Steinway grand, a Julian Britain violin and a Chet Atkins guitar occupied
permanent places in his living room. They had loved him deeply.

“Hello. This is Cissy.”

“How are you, Aunt Cissy? This is Judson. I'm in Frederick, and I'm sure I'm on the right track.” He told her what he had learned that morning.

“Well, son. If his nephews buried him, that means he didn't have a wife and children. Looks like he never married. What a pity! We shouldn't mess in other people's lives. We think we know best, but…well, I don't know. You going there now? Eagle Park. That's a place I never heard of. Well, you be careful. If you need me for anything, I'm here. If you have to go to court, you do that. I'll testify for ya.” He thanked her and hung up.

At five-fifteen that afternoon, he parked his Buick behind a BMW in the semicircle at 10 John Brown Drive in Eagle Park and looked up at the elegant mansion. He hadn't expected that, but, if necessary, he could deal with it. The house bespoke more than elegance. It was old. It had class, and it represented wealth. He strode up to the front door, lifted the heavy brass knocker, let it fall and heard Debussy's magical “Clair de Lune.”

T
he door opened. He looked down and saw a beautiful little girl of about seven or eight who looked up at him and smiled. “Hello,” she said. “That was me playing “Clair de Lune” when you knocked. Did you like it?”

Shock didn't quite cover his reaction, but he was more than surprised. “I certainly did,” he said, completely enchanted. “That was beautiful, and one of my favorite piano pieces. Is your father at home?”

“No, but Mr. Henry is here. My mommy is upstairs with my little brother.”

“Who is it, Tara?” came a voice from behind her.

“I don't know, Mr. Henry. He wants to see my dad.”

Judson glanced at the note Rawls had given him and read: “Telford Harrington, head of the Harrington clan.
10 John Brown Drive, Eagle Park. First exit off Route 340 will take you straight there.”

The slim, older man approached and gazed up at him with a curious expression on his face.

“Good afternoon, sir. I'm Judson Philips, and I want to see Telford Harrington.”

The man seemed even more perplexed. “You've come to the right place. Is he expecting you?”

“No, he isn't. If that's a problem, I'll wait outside in my car.”

“Mr. Henry, doesn't Mr. Philips look like Uncle Drake?” asked Tara.

“Yep. I was thinking the same,” Henry said. “Go upstairs and ask your mother to come down. Come in, Mr. Philips. Tel will be home any minute.”

After a few minutes, the little girl came back downstairs. “Would you like to sit down in here?” she asked, pointing to a room off the hallway.

He looked from Henry to the girl. “Come on,” she said. “My mommy said you should have a seat in the family room. It's very hot. Would you like some water or some lemonade?”

He didn't know what to make of the girl. He'd never seen a child that age who seemed so completely at ease with an adult she didn't know. “I'd love a glass of lemonade, Tara, if you'll join me in having one.”

“Okay. I'll be right back.”

She returned in a few minutes with a pitcher of lemonade, two glasses and a plate of oatmeal raisin cookies. “Mr. Henry and I made the cookies this afternoon. They're still hot.” She poured lemonade in
each of the glasses and passed the plate of cookies to him. “These are my favorites,” she said, “and they're good, too.”

He bit into one. “They are indeed good. How old are you, Tara?”

“I'll be eight October the tenth. My dad and I have the same birthday. Oh, I hear my mommy coming down the stairs.”

A tall, beautiful woman glided into the room with her hand already outstretched. “Welcome, Mr. Philips. I hope my daughter made you comfortable. I'm Alexis Harrington, Telford Harrington's wife. Please have a seat.”

“I'm delighted to meet you, Mrs. Harrington. Your daughter has indeed looked after me as well as any adult could. I confess that I am enchanted with her.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Philips,” Tara said and left the room.

“Tara is very comfortable with adults, and especially if they're male,” Alexis said with a twinkle in her eyes. “At one time, there were four men living here, and she twisted all of them around her finger.”

“Those relationships didn't hurt her,” he said, “although I'd be a bit nervous if she opened the door to a strange man and began a conversation with him.”

“Thank you. I'll have a talk with her about that.” She paused. “You bear a striking resemblance to one of my husband's brothers.”

“You're the fourth person to tell me that today. The editor of the paper in Frederick, your daughter and Mr. Henry remarked on it. I'm looking forward
to judging that for myself. My reason for being here, Mrs. Harrington, is in some ways connected with it. I'm trying to find out as much as I can about Fentriss Sparkman. My long search has led me here.” He could see that his remarks revved up her adrenaline when she sat forward, alert and ready, no longer laid-back and at ease.

“Is there a problem?”

“Oh, no. Nothing unpleasant. I'm only seeking information for my personal edification.”

“Mommy, Mommy. Daddy is here,” Tara called from the hall.

Alexis stood. “Please excuse me for a minute.”

He watched as the man's wife and daughter greeted Telford Harrington as if he were king of their world. Harrington walked into the family room with his wife holding one hand and his daughter holding the other one.

“Greetings, Mr. Philips. I'm Telford Harrington. I'm sorry I wasn't present when you arrived. Welcome. If you'll let me freshen up a bit, I'll be with you in ten minutes.”

“Thank you. I'm very happy to meet you, Mr. Harrington.” He sat down. Flabbergasted at his resemblance to Telford Harrington in looks, height and build. He could hardly contain himself. A glance at his watch told him that it was six o'clock and possibly close to the Harrington family's dinner hour. Perhaps he should offer to come back another time. But his excitement at seeing his physical resemblance to a Harrington was
such that he could hardly wait to begin unraveling the mystery.

“I sense that something is bothering you, Mr. Philips,” Alexis said as her husband left to change, “but if we can help you with it, we certainly will. Where do you live?”

He liked her immensely. She knew that his business was with her husband, so she didn't ask him why he was there. Instead, she attempted to put him at ease. “In Baltimore. And yes, something has bothered me—a question that I've lived with since I was about seven, and the fact that I may soon know the answer is almost more than I can handle.”

Telford appeared dressed more casually in an open-collared shirt but with a jacket. “What would you like to drink, Mr. Philips? I have the makings of just about anything you'd like.”

“Thank you. I'm driving, so I'll settle for a glass of white wine or a vodka Collins with a lot of ice, whichever is easiest for you.”

“Vodka Collins it is. What would you like, sweetheart?”

“Ginger ale, thanks.” She looked at Judson. “Alcohol isn't good for the baby, and I'm still nursing.”

“Tara said you were with her little brother. How old is your son?”

“He's six months old and a real busybody.”

“I hope you have the success with him that you have had with your daughter. What a delightful little girl.”

“Thank you,” the couple said in unison. Telford brought the drinks. “Excuse me while I find some
snacks,” Alexis said, giving him the opportunity to speak with her husband alone.

Telford raised his glass. “Cheers. Mind if we use first names? I suspect we'll be doing that for some time to come. Is it an accident that you resemble my brother Drake? And me, too, for that matter?” Telford said. “My curiosity is about to get the better of me.”

“I didn't know about the resemblance until Jack Rawls, editor of the
Frederick News-Post
, mentioned it. It was he who told me to look you up. I was adopted when I was three years old.”

Telford put his glass on the table with a loud thud. “Go on.”

He relayed his story.

“The only thing I want from you, Telford, is any evidence you can give me that he was my father. I've only heard good things about him. If it's true, I'll be a proud man. You and your brothers didn't bury a stranger. What was Fentriss Sparkman to you?”

“I can give you some evidence one way or the other. Fentriss Sparkman was my father's half-brother. My grandfather did not marry Fentriss's mother, because he was a social climber. Fentriss never forgave him or my father.”

“You're telling me that he was your uncle?”

“He was, and he was a brilliant man. That's why you look so much like Drake, and to a slightly lesser extent, like Russ and me. I know that's not proof, and that's what you're looking for. But it's too close to ignore. We'll do everything possible to help you, Judson. My
brothers live not too far. I'll see if they can come over after dinner. Can you stay for dinner?”

Telford had stood to refill his drink, but he sat back down. “Tell me a little about yourself.”

It was a reasonable request, and he was pleased to comply. “I'm a lawyer with a J.D. from Harvard.” Telford's eyebrows shot up. “I am founder and senior partner of Philips, Marshall & Higgins, Attorneys at Law in Washington, D.C. I live in Baltimore. My business is mostly corporate law, but I'll take damage suits for individuals only if they have particular merit. I'm single, but I'm in a committed relationship. I don't have any children. I've traveled abroad. I love music and play a couple of instruments. As far as I know, I'm in good health.”

“Thanks. That's a commendable résumé,” he said, clearly impressed. “By the way, what instruments do you play?”

“Piano and violin rather well, guitar in my fashion.”

“Interesting. I play the piano and violin rather well. Guitar in my fashion.

“My brothers and I own Harrington, Inc., Architects, Engineers and Builders.” He said as introduction. “I'm the builder. Russ is the architect and Drake is the architectural engineer. We work together, and you'll find any number of our buildings in this region and as far away as Barbados and Accra, Ghana. From here up to Wells Road and to the other side of the river is Harrington property. We inherited the land and this
house from our father and grandfather, but Russ and Drake built their own houses as you'll see.”

“So this is the ancestral home?”

“Yes. I'm the eldest. I married first, and my brothers lived here until a few months before they married. My father died when Drake, the youngest, was sixteen. My mother died a year later. She was never much of a mother, and our father, worked all the time. Henry raised us. I put Drake and Russ through school. It wasn't easy, but we did it.”

“What a story! I'm anxious to meet your brothers. Is Henry a relative?”

“My mother hired Henry and his wife as cook and housekeeper. His wife's been dead so long I hardly remember her. Henry's like a father to us, and we treat him that way. He refuses to retire, because he'd be lonely doing nothing. We built him a house between here and the river, but he only sleeps there sometimes. He does as he pleases, and that's fine with us.”

The two enjoyed a hearty laugh. “I see the two of you are getting on well,” Alexis said, walking into the room and placing a tray of hot hors d'oeuvres on the glass coffee table.

“Indeed, we are,” Telford said. He summarized what Judson had told him about his search for the identity of his birth parents. “I strongly suspect that Judson is our first cousin. All evidence points that way, and we're going to work at getting the proof. Can you and Henry feed another person at dinner? I'd like Judson to join us.”

“I thought something like that. Of course he can join us for dinner. Henry cooked a big pork roast.”

“Good. I'll phone Russ and Drake and see if they can come over after dinner.”

He had not known what to expect when he knocked on Telford Harrington's door. Certainly not the generous welcome he had received and the ready acceptance that Fentriss Sparkman could have been his father. Plus Telford's declaration that he and his family would assist Judson in proving whether Fentriss Sparkman was his father astonished him.

Alexis looked at Judson. “You will have dinner with us, won't you? We're happy to have you. I imagine this issue has been a private kind of hell for you, and I hope it will soon be over.”

“Thank you. You know, I've had some wonderful experiences in my life, but the graciousness with which you and your family have received me makes this a special moment for me. I am very grateful.”

“It's nice of you to say that, Judson. May I call you Judson? I'm Alexis.”

“Of course. Telford and I have already settled on that.”

“If you'll come with me, you can wash up. We eat at seven.” She showed him to a lavatory near a wide staircase, and he could see that the house was as elegant inside as its facade suggested. He washed up, brushed his teeth and shaved with the electric shaver that he always carried in his briefcase. He looked at his watch. Three minutes to seven, and he suspected that when she said seven she meant exactly that.

He tried to place a call to Heather at the United States Embassy in Colombia, but couldn't get through. Frustrated, he leaned against the wall and looked toward the ceiling. Judson wasn't very religious, but with his need for her bearing heavily on him, he said a word of prayer for her safety.

He stepped out of the bathroom, closed the door and saw Tara coming toward him. “My mommy said you're having dinner with us. She doesn't like it when you're late.” She took his hand. “You can come with me to the dining room so you won't get lost.”

“Thank you, Tara. I like to be punctual. What grade are you in school?”

“I'm in the third grade, but I have advanced classes in reading, geography and arithmetic.”

“You also play the piano. You're a very busy little girl.”

“I like school,” she said, “because I make very good grades.”

“I'm sure you do.”

They sat down to a beautifully set table, and he bowed his head when the others did. “I say the grace, Mr. Philips,” Tara explained, “except when Uncle Russ is here. He can't stand my grace, because it's too long. I'll make it short for you tonight.”

He wanted to laugh, but he wasn't sure whether it would be appreciated. “Thanks. I can't tell you how much I appreciate that.” Much to his relief, everyone at the table laughed, including Tara.

Henry brought a tureen of soup to the table, sat down
and said, “Soup doesn't taste worth a thing when it's cold, Tara.” She giggled and said the grace.

“I made it short for Mr. Philips.”

Telford raised his wineglass. “Welcome to our table, Judson. Henry Wooten, this is Judson Philips. Judson may be my first cousin. We'll find out for sure.”