Possessions (7 page)

Her eagerness was in her face when Ross met them at the airport. By the time they reached Victoria's building, it was in Jennifer's and Todd's, too, though they clung to Katherine's hands in the elevator, and hung back as Ross led them into an apartment where a cluster of people waited. “Craig's family,” Ross said quietly.

A circle of piercing, measuring eyes surrounded Katherine.
Craig's family.
Impossible. But no one contradicted Ross when he said it.
My husband's family. And I never knew they existed.

“Victoria Hayward,” Ross said into the brief silence. “Craig's grandmother. Katherine Fraser.” The two women faced each other. Eighty years old, Victoria was as tall as Katherine and as slender. With skin like finely webbed parchment, and short, pure white curls about her head, she had a regal beauty that made Katherine nervous. Beneath that calm gaze, she felt young, and inexperienced.

Their hands met, Victoria's cool and dry, unexpectedly firm.
“Welcome, my dear,” she said with a faint smile. “You come as a surprise.”

“And Todd and Jennifer Fraser,” Ross said, bringing the children forward. Victoria glanced at them and her body went very still. Behind her, a woman gasped. Touching Todd's blond hair, Victoria said, “Your son. And you named your daughter Jennifer.”

“Daddy chose it,” said Jennifer. “It was his favorite name, he said.”

“Yes,” Victoria murmured.

Todd looked at her challengingly. “Are you our grandmother?”

“Incredible,” Victoria said. “Even the voice—”

“I am.” A small woman, her shoulders hunched, came forward, holding out her hands to Todd and Jennifer. “Your grandmother.” She smiled tremulously at Katherine. “I'm Ann Hayward. Craig's mother. And Jason—” She gestured toward a tall man with a dark, weathered face. “His father.” It was Ann who had gasped when she saw Todd and now she put her arm around him, her face radiant. “It is incredible, isn't it? Jason? The resemblance—?”

Todd squirmed in embarrassment but Katherine was watching Jason, who had not moved. His face was blank. “Yes,” he said. “Craig looked like that once.”

Ross continued his calm introductions. “Tobias Wheatley, Victoria's brother; my wife Melanie; our children Jon and Carrie; Claude Fleming, a friend of the family. And my brother. Derek Hayward.”

Derek nodded to Katherine. She recognized him from the photograph; the handsome aloof stranger in the cockpit of the sailboat. He was still aloof, taking no part in the talk that was starting and stopping, like a reluctant motor, in the small group of people.

“There's a bunch of Atari games in the library,” Jon Hayward said to Todd. He was a year older, with blond hair and his father's deep-set, dark eyes. “Do you want to play? You too,” he added magnanimously to Jennifer and Carrie.

“We can beat them,” Carrie whispered loudly to Jennifer. Small, blond, lively, just ten years old, she bounced on her toes. “Jon always gets impatient and plays like a gorilla.”

“Mom?” Todd asked. “Can we?”

Katherine hesitated, not wanting to be left alone, and Jennifer, watching her, said, “I'd rather stay here.”

Katherine shook her head. This seemed planned, as if Ross had instructed his children to clear the youngsters from the room. “Of course you should go,” she said. “Have a good time.”

She watched the four of them run off and followed the family into the drawing room. A few steps in, she stopped, overwhelmed by brilliant colors and textures: silk-colored apricot walls, pale yellow velvet furniture and muted Persian rugs. With the red-gold sunset flooding in through high windows, the room seemed lit from within and Katherine drew a breath of pure pleasure. “It's the most beautiful room I've ever seen,” she said softly.

“Yes,” said Victoria, pleased. She sat in a wing chair beside open French doors that led to a balcony, while the others stood nearby, pouring drinks, filling small plates with hors d'oeuvres from a table beside the piano, and asking questions of Katherine. Only Derek stood apart. Katherine kept glancing at him, puzzled by his aloofness, vaguely aware of the power of his separateness: he was the kind of man others would want to impress, to make a dent in his still, smooth surface.

“—Craig look like?” Ann was asking eagerly. “I couldn't tell from the newspaper picture; they're so fuzzy . . .”

“I brought photographs,” Katherine said, taking a packet from her purse and handing it to Ann. Immediately, Ann gave it to Victoria. Katherine flushed. Everything begins with Victoria, she thought. Ross told me; I should have remembered.

Victoria went through the pack slowly, handing each picture to Ann as she finished with it. She was very pale, and her lips quivered, but she finished the pile in silence and then stared fixedly through the French doors.

“Did Craig still hike in the mountains?” Ann asked, looking at the photograph of all of them in the Grouse Mountain cable car. “Did he have a staff working for him?” she asked when she came to the picture of Craig and Carl Doerner at their desks. “I have his trophies for long-distance running,” she said, holding a picture of Craig on a bicycle. “I can send them to you, if you'd like.” Tobias, too, was looking at the photographs, commenting and passing them on to others, who made their own remarks. From the tangled voices, Tobias said, clearly
and sadly, “. . . and wondering all the while, what stranger would come back to me.”

A silence fell. “Not to me,” Katherine faltered. “He's not a stranger to me.”

“Oh, dear, oh, dear,” Tobias lamented. “I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to upset you. I was quoting a poet. Wilfrid Gibson. I have a habit of doing that: popping up with quotations, which, alas, my family usually ignores. When I taught at the university, my students had no choice but to listen. I do miss that. You mustn't take it personally. Though Craig is a stranger to us, you know.”

Jason walked past Tobias to Katherine. Tall and thin, he had the tough gnarled hands of a man who worked outdoors, and his gaze was restless, searching the room. “Ross said your husband is in the construction business. His own company?”

“He has a partner.”

“How much does he own?”

“One-fourth.”

“One-fourth?”

“He was going to buy more,” Katherine said defensively. “In fact, Carl planned to have Craig take over when he retired.”

“How much did he make?”

“I don't know.” She was defensive again. “It depended on how many jobs they had each year and Craig didn't like to talk about money. We always had enough.”

“Well,” Jason said. Katherine held her breath, waiting for someone to say,
Enough of stolen money. He embezzled from his company.
But no one did. They won't talk about it, Katherine thought. In fact, she suddenly realized, they were asking questions, but no one was really talking about Craig at all.

And she and Jason had talked in the past tense. As if he were dead.

She looked about the room. Derek was watching her, his narrow face and deep eyes so absorbed it was as if he had erased everything else, holding only Katherine in the path of his vision. Flustered, she looked away, at Claude Fleming, who had not yet spoken, at Ross, who was more distant than he had been in Vancouver, and beyond them, through the French doors.

The kaleidoscope of San Francisco stretched from Victoria's
balcony at the crest of Pacific Heights far down to the misty water of the bay. The view blended with the mirrors and tapestries on the apricot silk walls so there seemed to be no barrier between the rooms and the sky and the city below. They were suspended above the earth on the golden light of early evening. A magic place, Katherine thought, and wondered if Craig had felt the same way when he was here.

When he was here. He had spent his growing-up years in these rooms, with these people. It was impossible to understand.
Where are you?
Katherine cried silently. This is your family; I shouldn't be here without you, we should be here together . . .

“Katherine.” Victoria motioned to her to sit beside her. “Tell me about your family.” Briefly, Katherine described her father and mother, their small grocery store, and the apartment above it, where they lived together until she was three, when her parents died within a few months of each other and her aunt came to live with her.

“In Vancouver?”

“No. In San Francisco.”

“San Francisco! Ross! Did you know that?”

“No.” He looked at Katherine. “You never mentioned it.”

“You only wanted to know about Craig.”

“You should have told him,” Victoria declared. “And where did you go to college?”

It's a test, Katherine decided. And I've probably failed because I grew up over a grocery store. “I went to San Francisco State College for two years; then I had to go to work.”

Beneath Victoria's scrutiny, Katherine thought—She's comparing me to the women the Hayward men usually choose. Richer, smarter, more beautiful.

Ross brought her a glass of wine and Claude Fleming asked, “Where did you work?”

“I was a clerk in a jewelry store. I wanted to learn to design and make jewelry.”

“And did you learn?”

“I've made a few pieces.”

“That you sold?”

“No; I gave them as gifts.”
I know what it is. I'm like the bride-to-be, under inspection by the groom's family. But there isn't any groom.
Dimly, Craig hovered nearby and suddenly
her longing for him burst within her. It engulfed her and tears stung her eyes.
Where are you?
she cried again.
And who are you?
She wanted Craig, the Craig she knew; she wanted to be home; she wanted the four of them to be together, where they belonged.

“Mrs. Fraser.” Claude Fleming stood beside Victoria's chair. “Does your husband have any distinguishing features? A scar, for example? Or a limp?”

Hope flared in Katherine. They weren't really sure it was the same man. Maybe Todd had been right: it was all a mistake. And she'd been right, too: she
knew
Craig—he would not have kept such an enormous secret from her.

Ross had been gazing across the room at Melanie and Derek, their heads close together as Tobias came up behind them. He turned. “Claude, you can't dismiss the photograph Katherine found.”

“Or the son,” said Victoria shortly. “I know you're trying to be helpful, Claude, but the boy is the image of Craig. And the girl is named Jennifer. We've all accepted it.”

“A lawyer looks for proof,” Claude said. “Not emotion.”

“Lawyer?” Katherine asked.

“Family lawyer as well as friend. Did your husband have any distinguishing features?”

“A scar,” she answered, thinking how curious that the Haywards should ask their lawyer to help them meet her. “Next to his right eyebrow.”

“And so did Craig,” sighed Victoria. “From one of Derek's acrobatic horseshoe pitches.”

“It's not conclusive,” said Claude. “But let it go for now. Mrs. Fraser, what did your husband tell you about the Haywards?”

“Tell me—? Nothing. I told you I never heard of the Haywards until Ross came to Vancouver.”

“For fifteen years,” Claude said sarcastically, “a man does not tell his wife about his family. Parents. Grandparents. A sister. Two cousins. A little hard to believe, wouldn't you say?”

Katherine flushed. “I don't know what you would say—”

Ross put a steadying hand on hers. “I think he kept us a secret, Claude,” he said quietly.

“Then what the hell
did
he tell you?” Claude demanded.

“That he was an orphan. It was one of the things we—I
thought we shared. He was brought up by foster parents in Vancouver—he said—and always wanted a family . . .” Her voice trailed away.

“Insane,” Claude muttered. “Ridiculous.”

And it was then that Melanie crossed the room, pushing between Ross and Katherine, saying, “We've hardly met,” and making Katherine feel drab and out of place next to the flare of her high color and blue silk dress.

“Ah,” said Victoria, relief in her voice, as she saw the butler in the dining room arch. “Dinner. Ross, will you help me? Derek, you've been avoiding us; please take Katherine in. Claude, you and Melanie. Jason and Ann, I suppose. Tobias dear, we have no one for you.”

“Only the butler,” said Tobias cheerfully and, leading the way, took the chair at the foot of the table, opposite Victoria at the head.

Derek sat at Victoria's right, Katherine at her left, but it was not the intimate family dinner she had imagined. Nine people, at formal place settings on hand-embroidered linen place mats, were spaced about a gleaming mahogany table where eighteen would have been comfortable.

No places for the children, Katherine realized, just as Victoria said, “The children are being served in the library. In my experience, they're happier with each other than with adults. But if you prefer having your children with you, the arrangement can be changed.”

“No.” Once again, Katherine felt tears sting her eyes. “I'm sure they'll be happier there.” Feeling alone and troubled, she watched the butler fill wine glasses as the maid served pale green soup in fragile bowls. Except for Derek, everyone was friendly, and no one had said a word against Craig. But something was wrong, and she tried to identify it as she ate her soup and listened to the others talk about an office tower the Hayward Corporation was building in the financial district and a highway overpass they were bidding on near San Jose.

Across the table, Ross lifted his wine glass. “We should drink a toast to the newest member of our family.”

“Yes,” said Victoria. “Welcome, Katherine. We hope—”

She paused and there was a silence. What? Katherine wondered a little wildly. We hope Craig isn't dead or injured and
lying somewhere undiscovered? That if he's alive he isn't guilty of embezzlement? That he'll come back to his wife and children and settle his financial problems? That he'll choose to come back to his first family after fifteen years of living a lie? That he'll tell his wife the truth for the first time in their marriage? That Katherine figures out what she's going to do?