Willow (13 page)

"Twenty-seven," Asher interrupted.
"What?"
"Winston Montgomery was twenty-seven years older than Jackie Lee Houston." Asher corrected.
"Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, what's the difference? He died five or six years into their marriage, and she took up with Kirby, who seduced Grace, who was a dark, depressing girl to begin with. She actually ended up in a mental clinic for years. vou know"
"Leaving Jackie Lee Houston Montgomery Scott to bring up Linden as if he were her own child and not her grandchild, by the way." Asher added. "Kirby ran her money out and deserted her and his child." Asher followed this with a very big and long yawn. "Got to get to bed. We have the Alzheimer Ball tonight, remember?"
He laughed. "Get it? Remember?"
"I got it, I got it," Bunny said, sitting up again.
"Then this Grace Montgomery and her son live in the beach house on this property?" I asked.
"Yes. Linden can be found down at the beach most of the time. painting. He fancies himself something of an artist, but you'd have to be in a deep depression to want to buy one of his pictures. They all look like nightmares, the ones you get after eating too much spicy food," Bunny said.
'So let me understand this." Asher said. "You're here to study Palm Beach society the same way a sociologist might study some primitive tribe or something?"
"Something like that," I said. smiling,
"Interesting."
"Yes, very," we heard, and all turned toward the entryway, where stood the arrogant but handsome man I had told off back at the Breakers.
I
couldn't imagine what he was doing here. Had he followed me?
^-
Thatcher, you're just in time to rescue us from being put under a sociological microscope," Asher Eaton said.
"Really? Well, rescuing people is my business." he said, still holding his smile on me like a flashlight.
All I could do was stare back.
"Good," Asher said. 'Let me introduce you, then. Isabel, this is our son. Thatcher Eaton."
"We've met," Thatcher Eaton said before
I
could. "Sort of, that is."
"Really? How?" Bunny Eaton asked, now perking up again. "You must have been visiting the courthouse first, then. He practically lives there." she said.
"Mother. really."
"A more dedicated, determined workaholic you won't find anywhere, even in New York." she continued,
"Mother," he warned,
"I have been after him for years now to slow dawn, relax, and have some fun. One would think he came from one of those puritanical families, an entirely different world with different values and religious principles. He'll have to marry a librarian, and one who works in the law library at that." she continued. She looked very serious and very angry about it.
Thatcher sighed deeply and shook his head. "Look at the two of you. Did you just come home?" he asked. "I stopped by expressly to see if you two behaved, and, as I feared, you haven't. Again," he added, his eyes wide.
Asher stood up. "It's your mother. She doesn't know when to say 'uncle.' "
"Right, go on and blame it all on me. I have the wide shoulders.
I
can bear it," she said with great drama. Then she yawned so wide and long
I
thought it would last a full minute. "Let's go to bed. Asher. Miss... I'm sorry. What was your name?"
"Isabel Arnou."
"Amou. Amou? What is that?"
"Portuguese," I said.
She raised her eyebrows. "Do we know anyone in Palm Beach who is Portuguese. Asher?"
"Only the Brazilian ambassador. Bunny." "Oh, is he Portuguese?"
"That's what they speak, and that's where his family hails from. Portugal."
"Well, how am
I
supposed to remember that? If you're from Brazil. it seems to me you should speak Brazilian. Why else do they call it the Brazilian Court Hotel, for instance? Why don't they call it the Portuguese Court Hotel?"
Asher stared at her a moment, "I'm tired," he said. "Bunny."
"Good night, Thatcher," she said, and stopped to kiss him on the cheek. Then she turned back to me. "I do hope I'll see you when I'm more awake. Isabel." she said.
"Me, too." Asher said. "Come back tomorrow, say about brunch time, all right?"
"I'm not sure." I said.
Of course you will," Thatcher volunteered for me. "I'll see to it. Dad."
"We'll have lobster. grilled," Asher promised. And we can talk all about the social ills of Palm Beach society. I'll try to invite some criminals."
Bunny Eaton laughed and put her arm through his, leaning her head against his shoulder.
I watched the two of them leave. Thatcher and I confronted each other for a moment, and then he smiled.
"Look," he began. "if we weren't fated to meet like this, we wouldn't have met. I'm sorry I was showing off for my associate this morning,"
"What did you do, bet that you could pick me up?"
"Something like that."
"Sorry to disappoint you and cause you to lose," I said.
"Oh, but I haven't. At least, not yet." he said, stepping closer. "That's what you think," I said, and started out.
"Wait. Don't leave yet. Tell me more about your work. Really. Maybe I can help you.
I
know a lot about the people here. I represent many of them.
I
heard some of what Dad told you.
I
even represent our landlord. Mrs. Montgomery," he added.
That gave me enough pause to give him encouragement.
"Come on, sit for a while. You want something more sensible to drink, a soft drink, ice water?"
"Ice water would be nice."
I
said.
"Me, too. Jennings." he called, and the house servant who had come out to fetch me appeared as if he had been waiting in the wings. "Would you be so kind as to bring us both tumblers of ice water?"
"Very good. sir," Jennings said.
Thatcher sat where his father had been sifting, and I took my place on the settee again.
"So what is it you're up to. exactly?" Thatcher asked.
I
hesitated. Somehow,
I
sensed that it would be far more difficult to fool him than it was to fool Dr. Anderson or Mr. and Mrs, Eaton. He seemed skeptical before he had heard even a word.
"I'm doing a research project for my sociology class, a study of different segments of our society.
I
decided to concentrate on the Palm Beach world because, from what I have read, it seems very different from the rest of America."
He laughed. "That, my dear Isabel, is the biggest understatement I have ever heard. Seems very different?"
I felt myself turn crimson. "I just meant it as a figure of speech." I said sharply.
"No, no, you're right. You just don't know how right you are. This is... more than another world. It's another planet. I concluded a lawsuit last week in which I represented a Palm Beach hotel that was being sued by a guest who had to keep her shar-pei in a recreational vehicle in the hotel parking lot. She ran the engine all night to keep up the air conditioner, and the engine stalled. The dog suffered in the heat for a few hours, and she brought it to a vet who said it was dehydrated. So she sued the hotel."
"And?"
"What do you think?" he asked. "The hotel offered to pay the vet bill and some ridiculous number to compensate her for her anxiety. Before that, I had to take the deposition of the vet, the parking lot attendants, and an expert on the recreational vehicle's engine and air conditioner.'
He laughed. "It wasn't exactly what I envisioned
I
would be doing when
I
passed the bar exam."
"Then why did you do it?" I shot back.
Jennings brought us our tumblers of ice water. and I thanked him. He nodded and started to remove the champagne buckets and the tray of caviar. Thatcher sipped his water and waited until Jennings left.
"Money, I guess," he finally replied. "You're a gun for hire?"
He laughed again, "Don't tell me you're one of those people who believes the responsibility for most of our social ills lies at the feet of the country's lawyers," he said.
I
sipped my water. "Maybe not most. Only seventy to eighty percent."
That brought a loud, deep laugh. "How old are you?" he followed.
"Why?"
"You seem a little too self-assured for a co-ed. What year of college did you say you were in?"
"I didn't say."
"Well?"
"I'm in graduate studies," I said, trying to pull the words back into my mouth almost as soon as they left my lips. How many lies would my big lie beget?
"Graduate studies?" He shook his head, "The sort of project you're doing sounds like graduate level, all right. What are you aiming to become?'
"Psychologist," I said.
"Then you have come to the right place." he said. His eves twinkled a bit, and then he put down his tumbler of water and stood up. "Would you like to see the grounds?"
I
hesitated.
"You could ask me questions about Palm Beach society, and I'll give you truthful and full responses. Tape me, if you like," he said. "You do have a tape recorder, don't you?"
"No."
"I don't see a notebook, either. Committing everything to memory?"
"It was supposed to be an introductory meeting," I said quickly.
"Good idea," he said. "Establish rapport first. That's very smart. Miss Amou. Amou? Has to do with love, doesn't it? What an unusual name, or is it a name that fits your personality?"
"Maybe I shouldn't take up any more of your time."
"No, it's fine. I'm between things, and
I
need a break after the tiring case I just described." he said. smiling, "Come on. We'll go out through the loggia at the rear of the house."
I
rose and walked with him.
"Most of the estate homes here were built in Mediterranean Revival, British Colonial, Georgian. Monterey. and Bermudan styles. As you can see from this home-- mansion. I should say-- they're all designed to take advantage of the weather, catching the breezes and the sunlight. That's why you usually have so many windows. This house with its rambling effect, the wings with varied roof heights, seems more like a small village, doesn't it?" he asked.
"Yes. You seem to know a great deal about Palm Beach."
"Born and bred, along with my older sister. Whitney. She's married to Hans Shugar, a trust baby who inherited the Shugar detergent fortune. It's a German company, but the products are said
throughout Europe and the Far East. They live on El Vedado, one of the Three Ells, three streets that run parallel from South Ocean Boulevard to Lake Worth... the neighborhood for the bluest of the blue bloods. Hans bought a mansion for four million and ripped it down to build their Georgian estate," he said with a bit of a smirk.
"You sound disapproving."
"My sister is beyond spoiled. She's in a class by herself. She wanted to live there, but there was no house she liked. You will soon discover that people here have a different view of money. It's almost an annoyance to have to go through a bank or exchange to get what you want. You get the feeling they believe they should be able to wave their hands, much less a wand, at whatever they want, and it should just come to them."
"I take it back. You're not disapproving. You're bitter, Why?"
He looked as if he were going to tell me something dreadful for a moment and then quickly smiled.
"No, not really. I'm amused. Well, there it is," he said, holding up his arm and sweeping it about as we stood on the patio.
The ocean. We have nearly two hundred feet of private beach, but the beach to the right is rarely used by anyone, so it's as good as having a thousand or more."
I
gazed at the water and then looked over at the pool which had its own loggia that included a sitting area and a dining table. There were probably kings and queens in the world who didn't have as much as this or a home as beautiful.
I
thought.
As if he could read my thoughts. Thatcher added. "Before the Montgomery family came to own this, it was owned by a French count who modeled it after a home of his on the Cate d'Azur. Winston Montgomery added to the house and built that oversized beach house as a residence for servants."
I
looked to my left at the building in which my real mother now resided with her son. Anywhere else in America, it would be a fine-looking home, but in the shadow of this exquisite and magnificent estate, it looked almost drab.
"What does she do?"
"Who?"
"Grace Montgomery,"
I
said.
"Keeps house for her son and herself is all. I guess. She's a nice lady, quiet, keeps to herself. She's had a hard life."
"You said you represented the family. What did you do for them?"
"Oh, it had to do with the estate, other relatives who tried to get control of it, claiming she wasn't capable of making decisions... typical wealthy family infighting. I kept the wolves at bay," he concluded with some pride.
"I'd like to meet her," I said almost under my breath.
"That's not going to be easy. She's too shy a person to be the subject of any sort of study.
I
do have a number of people I could recommend. however.
I
think they would be perfect subjects for you, the type who are so eager to talk about themselves they'll reveal what would otherwise be the most
embarrassing details of one's life and family."
I stared at the beach house.
He followed my gaze. "She rarely wanders off the property. Linden does their shopping."
"She sounds perfect for what I want."
I
said.
He pulled his head back and curled his lips. "What exactly is the title of your study?"
"The Psychological and Moral Implications of Extreme Wealth,"
I
said.
"She doesn't fit the description anymore. She's what we call land rich, and it's heavily mortgaged at that. She doesn't attend the galas. She's been dropped from the A-list and doesn't get invited to any parties, except the ones my parents have here. She doesn't summer in Europe, and she doesn't feed off Worth Avenue boutiques and restaurants. She's not really a Palm Beach person anymore. She's actually a hermit," he declared. "Our sort of bag lady. She doesn't own any expensive jewelry. Her wardrobe, if she still has any, is practically antique. She walks around here in a housecoat and sandals whenever
I
do see her out during the day, which is a pity because she was once a very attractive lady. To the residents of high society, she's as good as dead-- and that's not just because she was once in a mental clinic. Many people here are into one form of therapy or another. It's almost essential. She's persona non grata because she's poor now."
"You're making her sound more and more perfect to me," I told him.