Newport: A Novel (26 page)

J
im drained his fourth cup of coffee, staring out at the sea from Liriodendron’s terrace as the morning sun arched its way across the sky toward noon. There’d been little for him to do since Bennett’s sudden death last night. Adrian and Judge Bourne had accepted the sad tasks involved in making the necessary arrangements, and while Jim had politely offered his assistance to Chloe and even to Nicholas, he hadn’t been surprised when both declined. Neither seemed particularly distressed by their father’s passing. In fact, after the initial shock had dissipated, Chloe had taken herself to bed, transparently relieved that she might soon leave both Liriodendron and Newport behind. She’d left her flask behind as well, propping it beside Bennett’s walking stick in the parlor and exiting the room without a single parting glance.

Nicholas, too, had secluded himself, but not before a hurried conference with Catharine Walsh Chapman and her attorney, Adrian
de la Noye. Catharine had kept that conversation brief, for Amy had been waiting her turn, finally ready to talk. Jim had sent her to her mother’s room later that evening with a kiss for luck.

“Jim.”

Jim’s thoughts returned to the present as Adrian crossed the terrace. Adrian had spent most of last night on the telephone, but only the faintest shadowing beneath his eyes hinted at his lack of sleep. He was clean-shaven, every dark hair on his head expertly in place. His suit looked freshly pressed. Best of all, he carried the folded Corona 3, an indication that perhaps the car had been called around, and they might actually leave Aquidneck some time soon.

“How is everyone?” Jim asked.

“No hearts are breaking.” Adrian set down the typewriter and reached into his coat pocket for his cigarette case. “Lady Dinwoodie and her brother have agreed to accompany their father’s body to Boston. The funeral will be there. After that . . . well, they are aware of the contents of his will, and that’s all they really care about. Our firm will handle that, of course.”

“Does Nicholas plan any further challenge?”

Adrian opened the cigarette case. “No. Certain bygones—however egregious—will remain bygones as long as he agrees to leave Catharine alone.”

“That’s all?”

“It’s not my decision to make.”

Jim watched as Adrian slid a cigarette from the case, closed the lid, and returned the case to his pocket. He wondered what thoughts raced behind that smooth exterior. Surely the emotions of the past few days had pounded his friend hard, yet there he stood, calmly
cupping his cigarette with one hand as if lighting it efficiently were the most important thing on his mind.

“By the way,” Adrian said after a long, slow exhale, “Bennett Chapman’s official cause of death was heart failure.”

“Ah. I see. Understandable.”

“More understandable than the truth, which I suggest we keep to ourselves. How much time do you need before you’re ready to leave?”

“Hope has been springing eternal for days. I can leave any time you say.”

“Good. I still have business to finish here, but one of us should drive back to the office. Could you manage our affairs there?”

Jim eyed the typewriter. “Sure. If you think I’m up to the task.”

“Oh, you are more than up to the task,” Adrian said dryly. “I trust you to keep the home fires burning until I return. I’ll only be a day or two behind you. I plan to take the train no later than—”

Pounding footsteps cut him short.

“Jim!” Amy flew through the French doors, so out of breath that he knew she must have run from upstairs. He opened his arms just in time for her to catapult into them, but the impact knocked the wind from him. “She’s gone!”

Adrian’s cigarette stopped halfway to his mouth. “Catharine?” he asked.

Amy nodded. “We were up so late talking last night that I thought she’d decided to sleep in this morning. But I’ve just been by her room and . . . she’s gone, suitcases and all! She left a note for me on the bed.”

For the first time, Jim noticed the envelope in her hand. The way
she carefully smoothed it against her body told him that she would keep it someplace special for quite some time.

“She promises she’ll be back,” Amy said. “She’s decided to travel a bit, that’s all, and will call me as soon as she has more definite plans. She said your law office was authorized to handle the matter of the will in her absence, and that you’ll administer her assets until she returns. She said you could help me should I need any money from the estate.”

Adrian absorbed the information with no apparent emotion. “Some things never change, do they?” he said.

Amy turned toward him. “She’s left you a note as well, Mr. de la Noye. Here.” She teased a sealed envelope from behind her own.

Adrian stubbed his cigarette against the side of the retaining wall before taking the letter from her trembling hand. He turned toward the sea to unseal it, slowly withdrawing a single sheet of stationery from within. Something else came with it: Jim caught a glint of gold in the bright sun, thought he glimpsed a purple flash of amethyst as a ring fell into Adrian’s waiting palm. Adrian paused for a moment, as lost in his own world as a man could be, while the gulls screeched overhead and the waves smashed against the rocks. Then he read.

Amy waited until he looked up before clearing her throat. “Mr. de la Noye, my mother would do anything for you.”

Except stay,
Jim thought, and despite the placid expression on Adrian’s face, he suspected that the same words splashed through his mind as well.

“Thank you, Amy,” Adrian said. “And we, of course, are at your service.”

Amy rested her head against Jim’s chest. “That’s good to know because I’ve a favor to ask. Might I travel with you back to Boston?
I’ve nearly finished packing. I’ve no desire to stay here at Liriodendron with Chloe and Nicholas, that’s for sure.”

“And after Boston?” Adrian asked.

“I’m not sure yet. I could always return to Sacramento, of course, but it seems so terribly far away now.” Jim caught the glance she sent him from beneath lowered lashes.

Adrian absently traced the outline of the envelope in his hand. “I’m afraid Nicholas Chapman took possession of the family house in Boston years ago, but you’ve other houses at your disposal. The town homes in New York and London belong to your mother now, along with Liriodendron itself.”

“It will take a while to get used to that. In the meantime, I thought I’d perhaps find a hotel in Boston until I can think clearly.”

Jim’s cheeks burned as Adrian studied him. He tightened his arms around Amy and met the scrutiny with a nonchalant shrug. “That makes perfect sense,” he said.

“Amy, my dear,” Adrian began, “Mrs. de la Noye would turn me out on the streets if I let you stay anywhere but with us. And Jim will be pleased to have your company this afternoon, since he was making the drive back to Boston alone. Finish packing; Jim will be up shortly for your bags.”

“Thanks awfully, Mr. de la Noye.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss Jim’s still-warm cheek, then dashed into the house.

“I echo that notion,” Jim said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Thanks.”

Adrian nodded. “I take it that young Miss Walsh’s detective skills were instrumental in revealing my past to you?”

“You might say that. We started working on it together yesterday morning.”

“She works fast.”

“She has her ways, and it looks like I’ll get the chance to discover what, exactly, they are. I suspect I should be afraid.”

Adrian shook his head, turning his gaze back to the ocean. “No, don’t be afraid. Take the chance. A little bravery in matters of the heart is exactly what you need.”

“Oh, is that so?” Jim folded his arms against his chest. “Maybe I’m not the only one.”

Adrian’s stare whipped toward him, then dropped to the envelope in his hand. “You are definitely not the only one,” he murmured. He fumbled for his watch. “Jim. You’ll excuse me . . . I’ve one more errand to run, and I’m already years late. I’ll have the car back within the hour.” He jammed Catharine’s letter into his jacket pocket and turned away.

“But . . .” Jim lifted a finger to punctuate his question, but his words died on the air as Adrian broke into a full run across the lawn.

T
he outside of the train depot looked shabbier than it had when he’d last seen it through snowfall twenty-three years ago, but Adrian paid little attention to that now. He reached the tracks just as a train slowed to a stop. A stream of passengers jostled him in eager pursuit of the beach. He stood his ground against their tide, craning his neck in an attempt to see through the crowd. It was impossible. But as quickly as it had come, the swarm was gone, leaving him alone to search the passenger platform as the train chugged away toward its next destination.

She sat alone on a bench at the end of the platform. The wide brim of her hat obscured her face, but he would know her anywhere. The graceful arc of her neck as she dipped her head over the book in her hand, the pleasing curves of her body, the way she tucked one slender ankle behind the other . . . his pulse raced as he walked
slowly toward her. He’d tried for years to protect his heart from the emotions she stirred in him. What a waste of time that had been!

He paused above her. “May I?” he asked, gesturing toward the empty space beside her.

She calmly turned a page, not bothering to look up. “If you’d like,” she said.

“I’d like nothing better.” He sat beside her. Her perfume teased his nostrils; he drank it in as he reached for her hand. Raising it to his lips, he planted a gentle kiss against the inside of her wrist. “Put down the book, my dear, and greet your husband properly.”

Constance turned toward him, lips curved into an impish smile. Her familiar prettiness made his throat catch, yet it seemed he saw her fully for the first time. “Really, Adrian,” she said, placing the book facedown on the bench. “What took you so long to send for me? I’d been expecting last night’s midnight call hours earlier. With all due respect to Jim, you know I’ve always been your best partner when there’s work to be done.”

The hat toppled from her curls as Adrian gathered her into his arms and kissed her long and hard. Her inadvertent gasp as they parted told him that he’d managed to surprise the one person on earth who knew him better than anyone else did.

“I’m an idiot,” he murmured into her delicate ear. “That’s the only explanation I have for my actions. But believe me, Constance, I will never be so stupid again.”

“Goodness!” Constance pulled in a startled breath, then nestled against him. “First you replace the chauffeur and come to fetch me from the station yourself, then you indulge in a public display of affection . . . whatever have you done with my oh-so-proper husband? I should alert the authorities, let them know he’s missing.”

Adrian stroked her hair, then cupped her chin in his hand. “You do that,” he said, gently kissing her eyelids. “Tell them that he seems to have vanished, and that he’s not likely to return.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Although, my darling, perhaps you’d like to wait a bit, just to see if you really want him back at all.” His lips found hers, searching as if they had all the time in the world.

“Perhaps I should,” Constance gulped when he finally let her up for air.

Cradling her hand in his, Adrian raised his wife to her feet, lifted her suitcase, and guided them both out into the bright Newport sun.

T
HE BUSTLE OF
Fifth Avenue fell away as Catharine stepped into Cartier. A middle-aged jeweler closed the front of a showcase and discreetly turned the key. His practiced gaze took her in from the top of her demi-veiled hat, past her jade silk day dress, to the tips of her French-heeled shoes.

“May I offer madame assistance?” he asked, and she could tell from the tone of his voice that the assistance he thought she might need was a polite suggestion that she’d perhaps wandered into the wrong store.

“Yes,” she replied, studying the jewelry displayed before her. Diamonds and precious gems winked at her, their sparkling facets changing with each tilt of her head.

The jeweler remained in his spot, smile pasted to his face. Catharine casually tucked the envelope she held alongside the purse beneath her right elbow and, very deliberately, worked her glove over the fingers of her left hand. Set free, the diamonds of her wedding band glittered along with the rest of the jewelry in the room, serving as a calling card few could ignore. She noted the quick appraisal
the jeweler gave her ring and knew that he’d immediately recognized its unique design as one of Cartier’s own.

“Mrs. Chapman,” he said. “Please accept my condolences on the loss of your husband. Naturally, we were shocked to read of Mr. Chapman’s passing so soon after his happy purchase of your ring. He was very specific about its design. On behalf of all of us here at Cartier—”

“Yes,” Catharine said absently, turning away. “These past few weeks have been difficult.”

The showcase she wanted was mounted on the opposite wall. Reaching up to curl the net veil of her hat around its brim, she crossed the room. The jeweler followed close behind.

“You’re interested in pearls today, madame?” he asked.

She peered at the elegant strands displayed. “I have a very specific necklace in mind . . . a triple-strand choker, cream-colored natural pearls. It came from your Paris store about twenty-five years ago, but I don’t see it here.”

“That style was very popular a generation ago. But wouldn’t madame prefer something a bit more chic?”

“This isn’t for me.”

The jeweler nodded. “Come with me,” he said, leading her from one hushed room into another. “I have two possibilities in this floor case here.”

She saw what she wanted at once. The necklace blurred before her eyes as a familiar pang knotted her stomach.

She blinked, and the pearls snapped back into focus. “This one,” she said, pointing. “I’d like it delivered to Edith Delano White in Buffalo.” She laid her envelope down on the showcase just long
enough to open her purse and withdraw a business card. “The address is on the back of this card.”

“Do you wish to include a message of some sort?”

“I wish to remain anonymous, thank you.” She flipped the business card over and laid it on the case, running a well-manicured finger across the embossed
LAW OFFICES OF ADRIAN DE LA NOYE
. “You may bill my attorney’s office. I sail for England tomorrow.”

The jeweler glanced at the card before tucking it into his breast pocket. “Very good, madame,” he said, raising the glass lid. He reached beneath the showcase for a narrow box, popping open its top with a smooth flick of his thumb.

Catharine watched as he lifted the necklace from the case and lowered it carefully into the padded box. His expert fingers quickly pinned the pearls into place so that they would not jostle during their journey.

“Mrs. White will have her pearls by the end of the week,” he said, hiding the necklace from sight with the close of the lid. “And should I say
au revoir
or
adieu
to you?”

“Pardon?”

“Your trip.
Au revoir
means you’ll return.
Adieu
means farewell forever.”

“I see.” Catharine traced the edge of her envelope, lost in thought.

“I’d be happy to post that letter for you,” the jeweler said, following the motion of her fingers.

Snapped from her reverie, Catharine lifted the envelope, truly seeing the address for the first time since she’d carefully written it earlier that morning: Mr. Frank J. Wilson, U.S. Treasury Department Intelligence Unit. A slow smile crossed her face as she pressed
the padded outline of the key she’d plucked from Nicholas Chapman’s vest pocket during their last altercation. Mr. Wilson would know just what to do with the doctored books and documents he’d find in that safe at Liriodendron.

“Thank you,” she said, “but I’ll mail this one myself.” Nicholas would look absolutely smashing in prison garb.

“As you wish, madame. At your service.”

Layers of the past peeled away like cumbersome winter clothes at the start of a warm, fresh spring. Catharine let out a long-held breath. “It’s
au revoir,
” she said, tapping the envelope one final time against the case. “I’ll be back.”

The jeweler looked up in time to see the last glint of Catharine’s wedding ring as she passed through the doorway on her way to rejoin the flurry of the outside world.