Time After Time (58 page)

Barbara Eastman stood up
to shake Liz's hand. She was an attractive woman with a firm
handshake who looked her age, neither more nor less, and didn't
seem overly bothered by the fact that she was holed up in the
kitchen with an old servant rather than gliding up the grand
staircase to her rooms, like the mistress of the manor she so
clearly was.

"Netta has told me some —
probably not a fraction of — the news," she explained with a wry
look that reminded Liz of Jack.

It was obvious that she
knew of Liz's status. Just as clearly, she seemed to be sizing up
the idea of having a daughter-in-law after all these years. Liz
felt her cheeks betray a certain amount of insecurity, and she was
suddenly glad that she was dressed to kill.

"It's been a busy summer,"
said Liz with her usual understatement.

"Even for Newport," her
future mother-in-law agreed. She added, "I'm sure we have lots to
talk about," and then turned to Netta. "Jack will be surprised that
I'm here. I really should see him before—"

Here some of the superb
self-confidence seemed to drain away, because it was clear to all
of them that after Barbara Eastman talked to her son, she didn't
know what she'd do. Liz felt a surge of sympathy for the woman:
during her absence, an army of invaders had overrun all that she
thought was hers — even her bed.

"Well, if you'll excuse
me," said Liz quickly. "I'm pleased to have met you," she
added.

Barbara Eastman smiled in
noncommittal agreement and said softly, "I must find
Jack."

Liz went out to the tent
and found that the costume parade and contest were already in
progress; Katherine, the executive director of Anne's Place, had
stepped into the breach and kept things — literally — marching
along. Liz, not daring to return to the house, was able to preside
over the whole thing and watch with a certain amount of pleasure as
Katherine awarded the grand prize to the obvious choice and
everyone's favorite, the millennium man. He plugged himself in for
the occasion and stayed plugged in, despite the heat, for almost
ten minutes.

After that, the guests
began drifting off in small clusters until there was no one left
besides Liz and the help; and then they, too, finally packed up and
left. Liz hadn't seen Jack since they'd sat together on the landing
stair, which was hardly surprising. Alone under the empty tent, she
sat down on a chair near the fake-marble fountain and closed her
eyes, listening to the sound of the trickling water, letting
herself be comforted by it.

She should go home. Her
parents must be wondering. She should at least turn off the little
white lights. But she felt suddenly alone without Jack, and afraid
of the dark.

Is this what it will be
like, now that we've committed to each other?
She decided that it would, and that it wasn't all
bad.

"Can anyone make a
wish?"

Liz opened her eyes and
saw Jack's mother standing next to the fountain. Her carry-on bag
was at her side.

"Sure," Liz said with a
steady look. "Wish away."

Barbara Eastman took a
change purse from her Coach bag, then took out a silver coin from
it. She tossed it in with what had to be the saddest smile that Liz
ever saw. Then she turned to Liz.

"Good night," she said.
"It looks like you did a wonderful job."

"Thank you. Good
night."

Liz watched as Jack's
mother picked up the bag and, with her head held high, walked in
the direction of the carriage house.

Jack came out almost
immediately afterward. He'd gotten rid of his tuxedo jacket, his
waistcoat, and his tie. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to the
elbow. His hair looked more uncombed than ever. But the smile on
his face when he saw Liz was worth all the white lights in the
world.

He took her in his arms,
as if he'd been away at sea, and they kissed long and
deep.

"Ben sent out for
something for Tori," he said. "She's sleeping soundly now. He'll
stay with her, of course."

"And your
mother?"

Jack glanced in the
direction of the carriage house and sighed. "She feels a debt. I
don't know if she feels love."

Liz fingered the small pin
that lay over her heart. "I wish she did," she said quietly,
pressing her cheek to Jack's chest. She wanted to reassure herself
that his own heart was still beating. "I wish she felt what I
do."

"Some things are meant to
be," Jack murmured in a faraway voice. "And some things ...
aren't."

"And we—?"

"—are fated. It's so clear
to me now."

Susy Eastman! Will you
explain to me why you're inside watching television on a beautiful
day like this?"

Susy looked up at her
mother and said, "It's
Sesame
Street,
Mommy," as if that explained
everything.

"Makes no difference," Liz
said, heading for the remote control. "I don't want you turning
into a couch potato."

Without taking her eyes
from the tube, Susy said, "I'm not a couch potato. I'm a
sofa
potato. Caroline
says rich people say 'sofa.'

"Well, Caroline is wrong,
and we're not rich." Liz picked up the remote and shot Big Bird out
of the TV sky. "Now git."

Susy groaned at the
injustice of it all, then scampered out of the Great Room to join
Bradley and Caroline. Liz, carrying her cup of decaf, went over to
poke the dying fire back to life, then sat on one arm of the
leather easy chair where Jack sat hovering over the sports section
of the Saturday paper.

"Did you hear that?" she
asked her husband.

"Hmmm," he said without
looking up. "Something about vegetables."

"Hey. Coach." She folded
his paper over itself. "Remember me?"

Jack looked up with a
quiet smile. "Of course. You're my life's blood, the cream in my
coffee, the object of my adoration — but. You haven't pitched three
straight shutouts for the Red Sox."

She rolled her eyes and
said, "How can I possibly compete?"

Jack reached over and
rubbed her swollen belly with his hand. "Keep this up, I'll have my
own franchise soon."

"I
don't
think so," she said,
smiling.

"Seriously, Liz: how do
you feel?"

Liz shrugged and said,
"Great. Better than with Susy. I think I've convinced myself that
this is a miraculous pregnancy."

Jack's look turned sly.
"Want me to run through how it happened one more time?"

As near as they could
figure, Liz had gotten pregnant on the night of the fund-raiser,
between dinner and the bunny hop. The night had been filled with
miracles; this was just the biggest one. Liz kissed the top of
Jack's head and said, "Enjoy your paper while you can."

The doorbell rang and Liz
sang out, "Never mind, Netta; I'll get it.''

She walked down the long
marble floor of the entry hall, covered with skid marks from the
bicycle race that Netta and Liz's parents had engineered on the
night before, and swung open one of the massive double doors that
faced onto the circular graveled path outside.

The caller was Detective
Gilbert, whom she hadn't seen since the day she sat at the station,
reading through the dozen stolen letters, looking in vain for clues
to Eddy Wragg's motives.

Her first reaction was
panic — surely Wragg had escaped — but the bemused smile under the
big mustache on the detective's handsome, fine-boned face reassured
her.

He suspended a folded,
crumpled, dirty letter from two fingers in front of her. "Guess
what the janitor at the shelter found when he changed a light bulb
in one of the ceiling fixtures?"

"No way!" she said,
mimicking Caroline's favorite phrase. "Come in, come
in,"
she cried, grabbing
the detective by the arm and dragging him over the
threshold.

Liz pelted him with
questions that had no answers as she hurried him into the Great
Room where Jack still clung, without hope now, to his
paper.

Detective Gilbert said,
"The handwriting's clear enough, and so's the motive. This Victoria
St. Onge character seems to've had another one of her fits of
kleptomania, and — well, read it yourself."

He handed Liz the soiled
sheet of paper. Nestling on the rolled arm of Jack's leather chair,
she unfolded the last known letter of Victoria St. Onge, dated the
month before the sand-pail dinner party.

'My dear Mercy,' Liz read
aloud,

I believe I have finally
succeeded in storming the gate—East Gate, that is. I truly believe
it would be a simpler matter to climb over the wall to Mrs. Astor's
Beechwood than it is to gain entry into the inner circle of John
and Lavinia Eastman. However, by insinuating myself aboard their
yacht as the guest of a guest, I did manage to make some
headway.

John Eastman has no use at
all for me — I am forced to that conclusion, since he scarcely said
a word to me, but kept in the company of two or three close friends
who shared his love of sporting pursuits.

Liz glanced up at Jack
with a wry look and then resumed.

Lavinia Eastman, however,
appeared to find me amusing, and it is on her that I pin my hopes.
I should add that it may all come to nothing, since, alas, I have
been naughty again.

Jack snapped to attention
as Liz read on:

One of the ladies came
aboard wearing an extraordinarily long rope of black Tahitian
pearls, bound by a diamond clasp the size of a pie-cherry. Fearing
she might lose it overboard, the guest removed her necklace and
left it atop a bureau in one of the staterooms.

It did not remain there
long.

I suppose it was owing to
her extreme vanity — in any case, I took it upon myself to relieve
her of the jewelry and tucked it out of sight until such time as I
could retrieve it. As you know, I have a head for such
things.

At the end of the cruise
the necklace was discovered missing. The crew and servants,
naturally, were questioned closely. One of them, a steward, was
taken into custody, as he had a previous experience of petty theft.
(Mrs. Eastman is too soft-hearted by half.) Perhaps an examination
of the yacht will turn up the jewels. But — perhaps not. We shall
see.

Detective Gilbert
interrupted at that point and said, "The rest of the letter is a
description of fabric."

Liz glanced over the
remainder of the letter. "So it is. She looked up and said to Jack,
"Have you ever heard anything of this incident?"

He shook his head. "I can
call my dad — although it's a little early for him, California
time."

"It's not too early for
Palm Beach. You could call your mother."

"Yeah, okay." He turned to
Gilbert. "Do you mind waiting?"

"Not at all. I was
thinking — if no one has any information, would you object to a
search of your yacht? I understand it's been in the family since
the time of this letter?"

"Can do. Just give me a
minute to make the call first."

He went out to call
Barbara Eastman. Detective Gilbert, who'd never been at East Gate
before, looked around and said, "Lotsa room for a growing
family."

Liz smiled. "That end —
with the toys and bulletproof slipcovers — has been handed over to
the kids. It's tough when you don't have a rumpus room in the
basement."

The two shared a
working-class laugh together and chatted about kids, and then Jack
came back.

"No luck there," he said.
"She's never heard anything about it. When did you want to search
the boat?"

"Now!" said Liz. "Can
we?"

In five minutes they were
on the road, Detective Gilbert in his car, Jack and Liz in
theirs.

"If Susy finds out about
this, we're dead," said Liz. "But I think she bought the bit about
seeing the lawyer."

"Y'know, I used to be a
pretty honest guy before I had kids," Jack said thoughtfully. "Now
I lie all the time."

Liz sighed and said, "It's
easier than arguing with them. Life's too short. How's your
mother?" Liz added, her train of thought ending up with Barbara
Eastman.

"Doing well. She misses
him, of course. But at least she got him up and running again. It
leaves her free to go ahead with the divorce without
guilt."

Automatically she and Jack
reached for each other's hands. It was amazing, Liz realized, how
in tune they were about everything to do with love. About
everything, really. Her one great lapse was baseball; his, parties
for grown-ups.

After a thoughtful
silence, she said, "Do you think I should have an all-women,
personal shower for Tori, or should we have an appliance shower,
with couples, for Ben and her?"