Time After Time (27 page)

Well, well, well. Here was
an interesting turn. Now, why would a woman like her reject the
likes of a man like him?
Netta — having
raised Jack as she did — would be the first to admit that she might
be biased in his favor, but it didn't take an Einstein to know that
whether or not the shipyard made a go of it, Jack would still be a
wonderful catch. True, he was forty-some and still a bachelor. But
so what? Women seemed to dismiss bachelorhood as a temporary
affliction— like flu season, or a heavy fog. Was Liz one of the
exceptions?

Perhaps, Netta surmised,
Liz Coppersmith simply lacked the confidence to take him
on.

The doorbell rang, and
Netta had to abandon her speculations to answer it. She was
expecting their first guests, but what she got was someone — she
supposed, a male — dressed in white shirt, white pants, white
shoes, white face. He or she was smiling a simpleminded
smile.

"Oh! You must be the, uh,
whatchecallit, the mime," Netta said, startled. "Come
in."

The mime did a little hop
in place, then made as if to cross the threshold but seemed to run
smack into a wall that wasn't there. Looking surprised, he began
groping the imaginary plane with his white-gloved hands, then stood
back, scratched his head, made a dash over the threshold, and
crashed into the wall that wasn't there again.

He was about to not go
through for the third time when Netta, thoroughly fed up with
waiting, snapped, "Go straight around back, then. You can hang out
with the fellow with the ukulele — mandolin," she said, correcting
herself. "Can't you talk?"

The simple smile got
simpler.

"Oh, never mind. Just go."
Netta sent him off and closed the door on him, muttering dark
things about sticking Renaissance themes where they didn't belong,
in New England picnics. She was about to jump back into the kitchen
fray when she heard, from the top of the carved mahogany staircase,
a scandalized giggle from the new nanny, a pretty young Irish girl
named Deirdre.

Netta knew that Jack's
father was upstairs, supposedly catching a nap before the big
event; he'd asked specifically not to be disturbed.

"We'll see about that,"
Netta said under her breath, and began stomping heavily up the
stairs in her Naturalizers. As far as she was concerned, the nanny,
sweet and charming as she was, had exactly two choices: mind her
p's and q's, or take a job waitressing at one of Newport's thirty
thousand restaurants. Bedding down with the old man was
not
an option, not with
all the other complications at East Gate this summer.

She saw a flash of amber
dress head quickly toward the nursery and heard the quiet click of
a heavy door fall back into place down the hall from Caroline's
room.

First, the nanny. Netta,
still breathing heavily from her not-so-agile ascent, marched
directly into the newly converted nursery, a sunny guest room
papered over with roses and with casement windows opening onto the
tree-lined street. Pretty black-haired Deirdre, still flustered,
was making an artificial fuss over Caroline's new doll, which the
child — fearing doll abduction or worse — was clutching
possessively to her breast.

Netta's intention was to
warn Deirdre through Caroline. She said, more sharply than was
necessary, "Caroline! I want you to be on your best behavior today.
It's a very important day for young Mr. Eastman, who would be very
upset if anything were to go wrong. All of us
— all
of us — must be on our best
behavior today."

In a bored voice and
without looking up, Caroline said, "Only today?"

"And every day," Netta
said grimly. She gave Deirdre a pointed look which she hoped was
enough to put the fear of God in her. Cornelius Eastman may have
hired the girl, but it was Netta who could make or break her in a
thousand different small ways, beginning with not bringing her
tea.

Caroline tossed her blond
curls back and said, "Is that Susy girl here yet?"

"Not yet."

"She can't play on my
swing unless I say so," said the imperious child. "I hope someone
told her that."

Poor Susy; there wasn't
room in her own yard to swing a cat, much less to swing a swing.
Frowning, Netta said, "I expect you to be nice to Susy and to all
the other children, too."

Caroline surprised her by
saying, "I know. Dada says that I'm the lady of the house
now."

Mrs. Cornelius Eastman
might have another opinion about that, but since she was holed up
in Capri, she was hardly likely to argue the point. Acting as Mrs.
Eastman's proxy, Netta said, "It's early days for that, young
lady," and left Caroline in her nanny's care, such as it was, while
she went on to Jack's father's room.

She knocked and entered
and found Cornelius Eastman changing his lisle shirt for a silk
one. He had a cool, innocent look under that silver brow that she
knew well: tuck a piece of butter in that mouth, and it would still
be a hard little patty one week later.

"Sir, I wanted to ask you
if you've been in touch with Mrs. Eastman this week?"

"Is it
important?"

"I would have to say yes,"
she said, returning his calm smile. "Mrs. Eastman had wanted her
room done over by September, but so far as I know, she hasn't
picked out the wallpaper from among the samples we sent her. It's a
special order, and then, too, the decorators are working her in as
a favor, seeing as she won't have anyone else than them,
and—"

"You honestly expect her
in September?" he asked bluntly.

"I do."

"Yes, all right; I'll call
her," he said, not bothering to conceal his irritation. He
perfectly understood Netta's little reminder that there was indeed
a Mrs. Eastman alive and well somewhere, and that East Gate was
still her home.

"I would do it, sir, but
you know how awkward it is not speaking Italian. If she isn't in,
that is, and I had to relay the message to one of the help. But if
you'd rather I gave it a shot—"

"I said I'd take care of
it, Netta!"

"All right, sir," she
said, satisfied that she had ruined his amorous mood, at least for
today. She left him to complete his toilette.

Still, there was no sense
in thinking he would change. Cornelius Eastman had always had a
weakness for pretty women, both upstairs and down. When he was
younger, that kind of thing was distressing to see; now it was
mostly sad.

How long had it been since
that time he'd groped her in the nursery? Thirty-six, thirty-seven
years? Netta had pushed him vigorously away without thinking; and
give the man his due, he'd accepted that and had never tried any
funny business with her again.

She caught her passing
reflection in a hall mirror: old, fat, and gray. She grimaced
automatically, then sighed resignedly. Cornelius Eastman was old
and gray, too. But did he care? No. To the endless succession of
Deirdres that were forever passing through Newport, he was not only
charming but distinguished. Netta sighed and clucked softly under
her breath: Mrs. Eastman would do well to come back home and mind
her garden.

Downstairs, guests had
begun arriving in force. A path leading from the portico directly
to the grounds had been charmingly staked out with buckets of pink
geraniums and, for later, bamboo-staked citronella torches; but
some people naturally were bound to ignore the suggested route and
head straight for the front door. It might have been awkward, but
the to-ing and fro-ing of guests was being managed very deftly,
thanks to Liz and Victoria.

And Jack! He was greeting
the arrivals as if they were long-lost family. How pleased he was
to greet the men and to see their wives and children again. Netta
knew that Jack cared fiercely about the shipyard, but seeing him
now put his devotion in a whole new light. Suddenly she understood:
shipyards weren't about ships; they were about the people who
worked on and sailed those vessels.

She was glad, very glad,
to be part of the celebration.

****

Liz was aglow. Her
Renaissance fair — despite Jack's and Netta's initial reservations
— was a hit.

The juggler, a social
sciences major dressed in a Harlequin outfit, had all the younger
kids tossing oranges and potatoes up and down while he himself did
amazing things with un-cooked eggs. For teenagers, there was a
marionette show featuring hip, anti-authority skits that kept the
kids laughing and begging for more, and a smelly-feely guessing
game that had them all screaming in delighted terror.

Every female there over
the age of twelve had fallen head over heels in love with the
minstrel who wandered among them singing romantic ballads in an
achingly sweet tenor. As for the males: they were happy enough
being offered hearty snacks and ice-cold ale by a couple of
lusty-looking serving wenches. There was also a winsome maiden,
dressed in a white gown edged in gold, whose only function was to
give the troubador someone to sing to. The mime did what all mimes
are supposed to do and did it very well: irritate.

It was everything a
Renaissance fair should be, and probably nothing like a Renaissance
fair at all. But even Jack had been forced to admit that the price
was absolutely right. (The juggler owed Liz a favor, the maiden was
his girlfriend, the barmaids were two of Liz's cousins, the
puppeteers were dirt cheap, the minstrel — a member of an Irish
band — was engaged to Netta's niece, and the mime? He came along
for the food.)

Yes,
Liz decided, jubilant with the results so far. The day was
turning out very nearly perfect. Cornelius Eastman had made a point
of telling her, twice, that the picnic was the most delightful
event he'd ever attended, indoors or out. Would he make that up?
Twice? If nothing else, she now had a solid reference in the
father.
This
time
she deserved a gold star.

She looked around for Susy
and saw her tossing two small potatoes—at the same time—high over
her head and then cringing as she waited for them to come back
down. A juggler she wasn't; but somehow she'd cajoled Caroline's
little brother Bradley into bringing back the potatoes for her, a
trick that was a lot more useful in life than juggling.

Susy wouldn't be there if
Jack hadn't asked specifically for her to come. Liz couldn't begin
to guess his motive — she hoped the gesture was more generous than
calculating — but in any case, Susy was the icing on Liz's picnic
cake. Her daughter was having a ball. All the kids were.

Except, of course,
Caroline. She seemed to have taken up permanent residence under the
chestnut tree — either to make herself available should the kids
beg for her company, or to guard her swing; Liz couldn't be sure
which.

Liz was on her way across
the grounds to ask Jack whether she should give the signal to throw
on the steaks and drop in the lobsters. She was halfway to him, her
heart trip-hammering as it always did at the sight of him, when she
was intercepted by Victoria. The redhead had a look of panic under
her white straw hat.

I knew it,
Liz thought. Too confident, too soon.

"What?" she said. "What's
happened?"

"The door to Jack's
bedroom! It's locked!" whispered Victoria.

"So what if the—? Oh,
surely not the pin thing, Tori. Just
give
it to him. Show him the
portrait of Christopher's mother Lavinia, and give it to him.
What's the big deal? Do you want me to do it?"

Victoria's chin came up.
"I do it my way or not at all. Don't you understand that? It's
very, very important. How many times do I — do you think Netta has
keys?"

"Are you
crazy?"
Liz knew exactly
what Victoria was thinking of: the board of keys hanging in the
pantry. "You can't go fiddling around with rings of
keys,"
she said in a
hiss. "You could get caught! You could get arrested!"

"If I'm caught," Victoria
said with an infuriating shrug, "it's because I was meant to be.
I'm not afraid of my karma."

She turned and was about
to march off to her karma when Liz grabbed her by the arm. "No,
Tori! Not today!"

"Problem?"

Liz swung around. Jack was
standing there, smiling and curious; but there was something about
the set of his jaw that made Liz think the gold star wasn't — quite
— hers for the taking yet. The memory of Caroline's birthday party
was all too fresh, apparently.

"Hi-i-i," she said in an
overly spontaneous way. "We were just trying to decide
whether—"

"—we could fit everyone in
a group shot," Victoria blurted.

Jack looked at Liz. "And
why 'not today'?"

"Because ... I don't have
my wide-angle lens," Liz explained. She turned to Victoria.
"So
never mind,
Tori."

Victoria smiled prettily
and said, "Whatever you say," which of course was a lie, and then
began to saunter off toward the house to pick Jack's
lock.