Palindrome (31 page)

"If you saw him, could you treat him?" Liz asked.

"I doubt it; not everyone is treatable psychiatrically, you know, just as physical illness is sometimes untreatable. From what you've told me, he is successfully conducting two different, but reasonably stable existences, and only if the tissue separating those two lives is torn is he likely to show symptoms of mental illness. If that happened, and if he survived the experience, then he might be treatable, but I doubt very much if he could survive."

"How long is this likely to last?" Germaine asked.

"Until his own death frees him," Hamilton said.

"Thank you, Ham," Liz said. "We won't take any more of your time."

"Liz," Hamilton said, "I gather that you are in love with this man."

"I am," Liz replied.

"Then I had better warn you of something. I think Drummond has found a way to live with himself, and that he can go on functioning that way. But you know something he doesn't, and knowing it is likely to make life with him difficult, perhaps impossible for you.

You're never going to have more than half of him, or, at best, all of him for some of the time. And you're never going to be able to sublimate his secret, as he has; you'll have to live with it every minute. Before you decide to continue with this relationship, you'd better think hard about whether you can live with that."

"Thank you, Ham. Can I call you again sometime?"

"Any time, Liz."

She hung up the phone and turned to Germaine. "Well, Jesus," Germaine said, "this is going to be tough enough on me, but what the hell are you going to do?"

"I guess I'm going to have to find out if I can live with it," Liz said.

CHAPTER 47

Liz got herself ready on the drive back to Stafford Beach Cottage, but when she arrived, Keir was not there. She curled up on the couch, exhausted, and her eye fell on something familiar on the coffee table: Angus Drummond's handwriting; her name. It was the envelope he had given her at dinner, the gift he had asked her to accept. She had left it in a pigeonhole of her desk. Keir must have put it where she would see it. Carefully, she opened the envelope and read the single sheet of paper inside. It was dated the same day as his will. LEASE. As the sole trustee of the Cumberland Island Trust, I do hereby grant a lease on that property known as Stafford Beach Cottage and five surrounding acres marked on a map in my safe, to Miss Elizabeth Barwick, for the term of her life, the lives of her spouse and/or any of her direct descendants. Should she or the last of her descendants die without issue, this lease shall revert to the Cumberland Island Trust. I do hereby direct that the Trust shall pay all of the expense of the upkeep of the exterior of said cottage and the surrounding property, upon request of the leaseholder. Further, I direct that the leaseholder be entitled to keep vehicles on the island, and be entitled to the use of the island's roads, docks, waterways and airstrip, without charge.

It was the second time that day that she had wept. Liz didn't see Keir until the following day. He arrived at the cottage late in the afternoon and looked for a drink in the kitchen. He filled a glass with ice, then filled it with bourbon. She was ready for him; she thought he looked different. "You've heard about your grandfather?"

"Yes," he said, "Germaine told me, and I wasn't ready for it. I suddenly realized that I always thought he would outlive me."

"Oddly enough," she said, "I felt the same way, he was such a vital man. Somehow, I thought of him as much younger."

"I don't think he ever got any older than about twenty-two."

"He was that young again for a few minutes before he died," Liz said, and she told him about it.

Keir chuckled. "He was pretty wild in his youth, you know."

"I didn't, but it doesn't surprise me. He did tell me that he had traveled in Europe for some years.

"Traveled isn't a strong enough word. The story in the family is that he cut a swath from London to Stockholm to Cannes to Rome to Madrid to Paris and back, with a diva on one arm and a prima ballerina on the other. Germaine told me she once found a list Grandpapa had kept of his lovers, and there were more than a hundred of them."

"Good God!"

"It makes me think I've led a sheltered life."

"Haven't we all, compared to him!"

"Did you open the envelope?"

"Yes."

"He gave you the cottage, didn't he?"

"A lifetime lease, the dear. I guess you'll have me as a neighbor." He kissed her lightly.

"That's okay with me."

"Did Germaine tell you about the will?"

"Yes," he said, and quickly changed the subject. "By the way, she asked us to the inn for dinner tonight."

Liz looked at him, amazed. "And you want to go?"

"Sure, why not?" He had shunned the inn since she had known him.

"Why not, indeed? I'd better get into something a little less informal." She looked at the cutoffs he was wearing. "How about you? You going like that, or do you think you should wear the loincloth?"

"Oh, I think the loincloth," he said. "The shorts are so dressy, and the inn is such an informal place."

An hour later they arrived at the inn. Liz snuck another look at Keir. He was wearing baggy linen trousers and an old silk shirt. "You look rather elegant," she said. "Do you know, it's the first time I've ever seen you in trousers?"

"Shhh, what will the guests think?" They climbed the front steps. "Actually, these were my father's clothes. I could manage white tie and tails, if I had to."

At the top of the steps, Liz stopped and looked up at the darkening sky. "Looks like rain," she said.

"A lot of rain, I should think," Keir replied.

There were two couples in the bar, and Germaine was pouring drinks. She looked tired, but chipper. "Evening, you two." She grinned. "What's your pleasure?"

"Bourbon all around, I think,"

Keir said. "Busy night?"

"You bet. On top of everything else, it's the first time in weeks we've been completely full. I've even got somebody in that horrible little single—a man, no less!"

"Careful, Germaine," Keir said, leaning close. "No screwing the guests."

"That's my rule, so I don't have to keep it," Germaine said slyly.

She handed Keir the drinks. "Both the Atlanta and Jacksonville papers will run an obituary tomorrow. I've made the arrangements for Monday."

"Please let me know if there's anything I can do to help," Liz said.

"Where I'm going to need you is when we clean out Dungeness. I need a good eye to help me decide what to keep and what to throw away."

"I'd be glad to help." Germaine turned to help other guests who were entering.

Liz and Keir found a sofa and flopped onto it. "So, what's it like being a social animal again?" Liz asked.

"I'd forgotten," Keir said. "I haven't been in a room with this many people for weeks."

"You should try it more often."

Dr. Blaylock entered with a woman about his own age. "Good evening, Dr. Blaylock," Liz said.

"Ah, Miss Barwick, may I present my wife?"

"How do you do," Liz said. "And this is Keir Drummond." She held her breath. She wondered what his reaction would be.

"Mister Drummond, I've heard about you," Blaylock said smoothly. "I'm very sorry about your grandfather's death. He was my good friend, and I'll miss him."

"Thank you," Keir said.

"I hear you know this island as well as Buck Moses."

"Nobody knows this island as well as Buck." Keir laughed.

"Old Buck does seem to know things no one else knows," Blaylock said.

"Well," Keir said, "Buck lives in a different world from the rest of us. His father was a slave, brought to this island in the middle of the last century. There's still a lot of Africa in Buck, I think."

"No doubt," Blaylock said.

"How much more work have you to do?" Keir asked.

"We're done. We moved the last two coffins yesterday. We should have all the stones in place in time for the funeral on Monday."

Germaine's voice rang out. "Dinner is served." The group finished their drinks and began moving toward the downstairs dining room.

There was a rumble of thunder from outside, and rain began to fall. "That will be Hurricane Lago, I expect," Dr. Blaylock said.

"A hurricane?" Liz asked, alarmed. "Is it going to hit here?"

"Not likely, according to the National Weather Service. They're predicting landfall somewhere on the North Carolina or Virginia coast," Blaylock said. "Charleston is pretty worried, though; they're not back on their feet after Hugo."

"I'm glad Lago is heading north," Keir said. "We haven't had the full force of a hurricane here for a good fifteen years, and we were a long time clearing up after that one."

They reached the dining room, and Germaine steered Keir, Liz, and the Blaylocks to a table. "I'll join you in a moment," she said. "I just want to check the kitchen before I sit down."

Keir held a chair for Liz, and she sat down and unfolded her napkin; she took a sip of water and glanced around the room. Her gaze stopped on a familiar back at another table, and a shudder ran through her. "Is something wrong?" Keir asked.

Liz tried to speak, but couldn't. Keir leaned close. "Liz, you're as white as marble, and you're shaking. What's wrong?" The back rose high and wide, and at the top of it a closely cropped blond head sat on an impossibly thick neck.

The head turned, and she saw the familiar chiseled profile; the eyes swept the room, falling on, then passing her.

"Get me out," Liz managed to say. "Quick."

"Please excuse us for a moment," Keir said to the Blaylocks. He got an arm around Liz's waist and helped her to her feet and into the kitchen.

Germaine got a glimpse of her and hurried over. " What on earth is wrong, sugar?"

"She's not feeling well," Keir said. "I'll take care of her; you go on and see to your guests. He led her into the staff dining room and got her into a chair, then grabbed a pitcher and poured some water.

"No, I don't need that," Liz panted.

"What's wrong? Do you think you need a doctor?"

"No. My ex-husband is in the dining room."

"What? The guy who.."

"Yes, the very one."

"But Germaine wouldn't have let him in here."

"Germaine doesn't even know his name. He's probably not using his own name anyway."

"I'd like to meet the guy," Keir said, straightening up.

"No!" she nearly shouted. "Don't you go anywhere near him!"

"All right, if you say so," Keir muttered, but he didn't look happy about it.

"We've got to call the sheriff."

Keir took her by the shoulders. "Now, Liz, be sensible. What would we tell the sheriff? The guy hasn't done anything. Also, nobody's crossing Cumberland Sound tonight, not in this weather."

"Just get me back to the cottage, will you?"

"Of course I will." He helped her up the stairs and out the front door. Lightning flashed, and they hurried down the steps in the rain, which was heavier now. The huge live oaks on the inn's lawn swayed and groaned in the night.

"I've got to get off the island right away," she said, as they drove away from the inn. Keir put an arm around her and pulled her close.

"Liz, that's impossible," he said. "Just look at this weather. Anyway, I think you're overreacting. Why should he want to hurt you? The marriage is over."

"That's just the point. It's over. Baker always hated to lose, and after he got on drugs, he became absolutely paranoid about it. I think he looks at the divorce as a kind of public humiliation, and it pushed him right over the edge. It was when I told him I wanted the divorce that he nearly killed me. Now he wants to finish the job. I'm not safe here anymore."

"Did he see you?"

"He looked at me, but I don't think he recognized me. My hair used to be very long, and I'm a lot thinner than when he last saw me."

"Then maybe he doesn't know you're here. Maybe it's just a coincidence that he's at the inn. It's possible; lots of people come to the inn."

"It's no coincidence," Liz said. "He's come here for me." Her hand went to her mouth. "Oh, Jesus, we've got to tell Germaine about him."

"There's no point in alarming her. Even if you're right, and he's here for you, he's no danger to her or anybody else at the inn. Look, why don't you just get some sleep? I'll be with you, and if you still want to go in the morning when the storm has blown over, I'll get Grandpapa's boat and take you myself." They reached the cottage and ran inside, through heavy rain and rising wind. Liz flung herself on the bed and tried not to cry. "You stay right here," Keir said. He left the bedroom and came back with a very large bourbon. "Now, get outside this; it'll relax you." Liz took a swig from the glass.

"God knows, I need it." She turned and looked at him. "You won't leave me tonight?"

"Of course not." He smiled. "I can't think of anyplace else I'd rather sleep."

She handed him her glass. "Hold this for a minute." She left and returned with a twelve-inch chef's knife from the kitchen. "I hope you don't mind my sleeping with this, too."

"Not as long as it's on your side of the bed," Keir said, eyeing the wicked-looking blade.

"Keir, tomorrow I want you to do something for me."

"Anything."

"I want you to find me a pistol. I mean it."

"All right. Grandfather has some handguns in his study. I'll find you something menacing."

She took another swig of the bourbon and rested her head on his shoulder. "If I can just get through tonight, I think I'll be okay."

Just after midnight, when she thought all her guests had retired, Germaine was washing glasses in the bar. A man walked into the room. "Well, Mr. Sutherland, you're still up?" she said, giving him a dazzling smile.

"Call me Bob," he said. "Everybody does."

"Call me Germaine. Can I buy you a nightcap, Bob?"

"You certainly can. Cognac would be nice." Germaine poured a stiff one for both of them and set his glass on the bar. He picked it up, sniffed it, tasted it, never taking his eyes from her. Germaine leaned on the bar, allowing him a glimpse of her handsome breasts through the v of her blouse. She never wore a bra.