The Crasher (32 page)

Why did she feel so uneasy? What had the robbery got to do with her? Except Luisa had been so kind showing her the Balenciagas,
while Alex and she had chatted in the bedroom… or had it been the bathroom?

Ginny lay down, but couldn’t sleep. She got up to make some chamomile tea, and wandered about trying to think how she could
get in touch with Alex sooner than later. She finally slept, dreaming of flying to a faraway place, but cold, not hot like
Indonesia. She was still sleeping when a phone call from her mother woke her up.

“I’m sorry, Ginny. I know it’s early, not quite seven. Your father’s gone for his morning constitutional. You must tell me
why you want to know where Alex is. Has he got you into some kind of trouble, too?”

Ginny was startled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her mother started to apologize. “I’m sorry, darling, but I know what an influence he’s always been on you. I get worried
now he’s spending so much more time in New York.”

“Why, Mother? There’s something you’re not telling me, I can sense it. What’s up?”

“Well, I know you’re so headstrong. If I say black, you’ll say white. And I know you won’t hear a word about Alex.”

“What is it?” Ginny almost screamed into the phone.

The facts then came quickly. “He’s been in trouble in Europe, Ginny, accused of being a fence or something. He got off, but
I don’t think he’s heard the end of it. Now you’ve got to promise me, not a word of this to your Aunt Lil.”

“Oh, Mother, of course not. Why didn’t you tell me before? How do you know?”

“A horrible coincidence. One of your father’s students
coming back from London—he’s luckily giving more private lessons now—”

“Yes, yes, yes… what happened?”

“He brought your father a Christmas present—a copy of Milton’s
Paradise Lost
that he found in a London market called Portobello, like the mushroom. It was wrapped in newspaper and there was Alex’s picture
on the front page with the story.” Her mother sighed. “He wasn’t using his real name, called himself Angus O’Keeffe or something
like that, but I recognized Alex, even with a mustache, staring out of the page as large as life.”

Ginny swallowed hard. Angus. The name of the man who’d delivered the bracelet, which for some reason Alex hadn’t wanted her
to wear at the Villeneva party. She tried to laugh. “Perhaps he has an identical twin.”

“Don’t be silly, Ginny. This isn’t anything to laugh about.”

“Mama, you don’t know it was Alex at all. A man named Angus, with a mustache! I’m surprised at you, jumping to conclusions
about your own nephew.”

“He’s not my nephew; he’s your father’s.”

“Mother, really!”

“I know it was Alex.” There was a stubborn note in her mother’s voice that Ginny knew meant there was nothing she could do
to change her mind.

“Well, he was proved innocent, you said? That’s enough for me.

“There were other charges pending,” her mother said firmly. “The story said he’d skipped the country.”

Angus O’Keeffe. Angus and Georgia O’Keeffe. It was the sort of name Alex might dream up. It was Alex who’d introduced her
years ago to the great artist’s work.

When her mother hung up, with another admonition not to tell Aunt Lil, Ginny was unable to go back to sleep, unable to go
to work. Lee had asked her to help style a fashion shoot later that day, but Ginny knew she’d be all fingers and thumbs. She
called Lee, pleading a migraine headache.

When the phone rang later that morning, she picked it up
but no one was there, although she cried, “Is that you, Alex? Don’t worry. Please answer, Alex, if you’re there.”

Just before lunch Lee called and begged her to come over to the studio in the afternoon. “I really need you. Can’t you take
a Tylenol Plus or something?”

It was a dreary day. Perhaps it would take her mind off things if she flung herself into the crazy world of fashion photography
for a few hours. “Okay, I’ll come,” she said, although her head was now really beginning to pound.

As if to make her life more miserable, the old-fashioned toilet in the loft was making a nonstop trickling sound that was
driving her mad. It had happened before.

With effort Ginny lifted off the heavy top of the toilet, intending to tinker inside. Thank goodness she carefully put the
top down on the bathroom floor before peering inside or she most certainly would have dropped it to smash on the tiles. “Oh,
my God.” She reeled back.

Like some extraordinary piece of abstract art, a large black pearl necklace dangled from the ball cock, while at the bottom
of the tank gleamed the magnificent sapphire and diamond earrings, the sapphire and diamond brooch and the large diamond ring
she had last seen adorning Madame Perez de Villeneva at 834 Fifth.

The February morning was forcing its way into the bedroom through a broken slat in the shutters. Virginia Walker squeezed
her eyes tightly together to try to block out the blinding light, but it was impossible.

Graham was always pontificating, “Every year millions of people flock to Florida to retire, as much for the joy of waking
up every day to the brightest light in the nation, as for the warmth it represents.” There was no joy in it for her.

Since their move to the wrong end of South Beach, Miami, for the first time in her life Virginia had begun to suffer from
migraine headaches, the only ailment which had ever prevented her from turning up at work. Despite Graham ridiculing her reasoning,
she was sure the brilliant, low-latitude light was responsible, for she never got migraines on sunless days. Luckily for the
family budget, they happened quite frequently, despite the propaganda put out by Florida’s tourist board.

Reluctantly Virginia opened her eyes. There was a tightness behind her right ear and the suspicion that if she moved too quickly
nausea might develop, familiar migraine symptoms.
Graham maintained she brought them on by thinking about her headaches too much. If only that were true.

Eight-ten
A.M.
Oh, no, she was late! The moment of panic was quickly followed by the grateful realization that it was Sunday.

She didn’t need to turn to know that Graham was no longer in the other twin bed; and because the house was so silent, with
no blaring of a religious service on television, she also knew with a sense of relief that he was no longer in the house.
He would already be in church.

Early churchgoing was a new Graham habit, not only on Sundays, either, and as she showered, she wondered how many more “pupils”
he might boast of having signed up on his return home.

For the first time it seemed Graham had landed in the right place at the right time to open a branch of the Walker School.
There were a lot of retirees around with nothing much to do, and recently there had been a healthy response to his Socrates
ad, offering one-on-one lessons on Western civilization for seventy dollars an hour.

Neither of them had known before their arrival that Florida was so much part of the country’s Bible Belt. Although Graham
denied it, Virginia was sure he hadn’t had any idea how much that kind of environment would suit him. So much so that in his
latest courses, Quentin Peet had been dumped as a source of knowledge and wisdom to be replaced by the Bible. It was typical
of Graham that he’d written Peet one more “final” letter telling him so.

Propped up by the coffeepot was yesterday’s
Miami Herald
with the Ann Landers column heavily circled with a marker pen. What was Graham about to commandeer for his own use now?

“Dear Ann Landers,” she read, “When a woman wrote to ask how many times a wife should forgive a husband who cheats, you quoted
the Bible—Matthew 18:21-22. Peter asks Jesus, ‘How often should I forgive a brother who sins against me? Seven times?’ Jesus
replies, ‘No. Seventy times seven.’

“Does that mean I should forgive this rat 490 times? If so, I’ve got to live through 470 more affairs. I don’t think I’ll
make it. Any advice? signed, No Martyr.”

Virginia stared out of the window at the solitary stunted palm tree marking the end of the scrubby patch which passed for
their garden. The sky was cloudless, a perfect tropical blue. It already looked hot. She hoped Graham would be invited to
take a glass of lemonade with the minister and his wife. She hoped he would be home late, very late, so she could enjoy a
long call to Ginny without his frowning, disapproving presence as the expensive minutes ticked by.

She poured herself a cup of lukewarm coffee and resumed reading. “Dear N.M., You took me too literally. Every woman whose
husband cheats should ask herself this question: ‘Would my life be better or worse without him?’ ”

Virginia shook her head. That wasn’t a very good answer, Ms. Landers. She was sure the only kind of cheating Graham didn’t
do was with another woman, but dealing with his other petty con games over the years, she’d asked herself “Would my life be
better or worse without him” so many times, she knew it didn’t resolve a thing. There were too many “ifs” and “buts” to take
into account.

The tightness behind her ear was getting worse, but if she took a pill now she’d be a zombie for the rest of the day. She
picked up the paper again, trying to figure out why Graham had marked it. “Dear Ann Landers, I’m the wife of a clergyman and—”
Virginia screamed as a hand touched her shoulder.

She spun round in terror. “Sorry, Aunt V. The door was open…” Virginia stared in disbelief. There was her bad egg of a nephew
Alex, who despite his rueful smile and placating outstretched hand, was standing before her as debonair and self-assured as
ever.

“Alex, where… where on earth have you sprung from? This is a surprise. Really, you… you should have given me… us some warning.”
Not sure she’d even buttoned all the
buttons on her housecoat, Virginia nervously turned away to check.

“I know I should. I meant to, but frankly I’ve just come in from the Far East, from Asia, and I’m a little discombobulated.”
Alex laughed in the easy way she knew so well. “My watch tells me the time, but I have no idea whether it’s
A.M.
or
P.M.
Well, I do, but…” He touched her arm placatingly again. “I’m dying for a cup of your Cuban coffee, Aunt V. Where’s the man
of the house?”

“At church.” She hadn’t meant to tell him. She was seething with anger and stewing with anxiety at the same time.

Alex raised an incredulous eyebrow. From anyone else it would have seemed insulting, but then with a quick smile and a wink,
he somehow conveyed his understanding of something which didn’t need to be further explained. Not for the first time Virginia
realized why Ginny was so under her cousin’s influence. It was infuriating, but even she had to admit, there was something
about Alex that was mesmerizing.

“I’ll make some more coffee.” She bustled around, now really praying Graham would stop over for that lemonade, not sure how
to deal with Alex herself, but dreading the confrontation she knew would occur if Graham saw him.

“Have you heard from Ginny?” Alex didn’t quite manage to hide the anxiety in his voice.

Virginia felt her heart pounding. All the fears Ginny’s call of last week had triggered flooded back. There was something
going on between them. According to the British press, Alex was a wanted man. It would be typical of Ginny to want to hide
him. Who knew what trouble she might put herself in to protect her beloved Alex?

The tightness in her head was building, but she had to fight it to find out the truth, if Alex was capable of telling the
truth.

Virginia faced him with a cup of steaming coffee in her hands. “Yes, I spoke to Ginny a few days ago. She’s been looking for
you urgently all over. Frankly, Alex, I want to know what’s going on.”

“Easy, Auntie, you look as if you want to scald me to death with that coffee.” The easy banter was back as Alex took the cup
from her. “I don’t know what you mean—’something’s going on.’ I don’t see Ginny anything like as much as I’d like to… I travel
too much. I just wanted to know how she is, in case I miss her on the phone.” He stopped, seeing Virginia’s pursed lips. “What’s
biting you, Aunt V.? What did Ginny say when she called?”

“I told you. She’s been looking for you urgently. I don’t know why and I’ll tell you right now, I wish she never gave you
any thought, I wish you were right out of her life. She called the number you gave her in London and no one had heard of you
there…”

When Alex shrugged as if it was nothing to do with him, Virginia lost her temper, blurting out, “Even your own mother doesn’t
know exactly where you live. When did you last speak to her? Do you realize how sick she’s been?”

Alex stared at her coldly. “Sick?” he repeated. “Not yesterday when she’d just come back from her bridge game and not ten
days ago when I called to see what color she wanted for the new car I’m buying her. Sick with what?”