Eyes of a Child (85 page)

The picture changed. A grim McKinley Brooks appeared hurrying from the federal building, flanked by his own lawyers. For once, Brooks did not speak to the press; over the film, the anchorwoman went on.

‘The case against Brooks centers on the testimony of political operative George Norton, who allegedly spoke to Brooks on behalf of gubernatorial aspirant James Colt. According to sources close to the grand jury, Norton claims he funneled campaign moneys to Ricardo Arias, the estranged husband of one of Mr Paget's associates, Teresa Peralta, to make sensational charges against Mr Paget and his son in Arias's divorce case. After Arias's mysterious death by gunshot, Mr Norton – supposedly at the instance of an aide to James Colt – again contacted District Attorney Brooks, to ensure that the police did not discover the ties between Ricardo Arias and the Colt campaign.

‘At his home in Bel Air, James Colt denied all charges. . . .'

On the screen, Colt appeared, standing beneath a palm tree, tense but composed. He was surrounded by cameras.

‘He looks a little peaked,' Moore remarked. ‘Rather like an albino, in fact. It seems the attention doesn't agree with him.'

Paget nodded. ‘I wondered where my entourage had gone. I've missed them.'

Colt began speaking. ‘These charges,' he said in tones of anger, ‘are the work of those who oppose my efforts to bring a better quality of life to all Californians, rich or poor. We expect total vindication and are confident that it will come quite soon. . . .'

‘Two to one Mac sells him out,' Paget murmured.

‘Two cases of Perrier water against a bottle of Tanqueray. Are you serious?'

‘Sure.'

On the screen, Colt's lips were moving soundlessly. ‘However,' the anchorwoman narrated, ‘there were reports this evening that McKinley Brooks is negotiating for reduced charges, in exchange for testimony regarding his conversations with James Colt. While the outcome of these negotiations is uncertain, the damage to Colt's candidacy may be immediate and severe.'

‘Colt is toast,' Moore said. ‘Whether Mac deals him or not.'

‘What about the bet, Johnny? Any takers?'

‘No, thanks. Winning something should be fun. And Mac
will
deal him. It's just a matter of establishing the market rate.'

The anchorwoman reappeared. ‘Today's indictment seemingly assures the election of insurgent candidate Victor Salinas as district attorney. Asked for comment, Salinas said, quote, “The Ricardo Arias matter was a travesty. This indictment reaffirms the principle that justice should not be sold, no matter how rich and powerful the bidder.”'

Moore, Paget saw, was grinning at his mineral water.

‘As for Mr Paget, who has been silent throughout, his only comment was, quote, “I'm sure they'll treat Mr Colt more fairly than he treated my teenage son. Of course, he'll need that.”'

Moore looked sharply over at Paget. ‘Nasty,' he said, ‘to stick Colt with Richie's dirt.'

Paget shrugged. ‘It had a certain elegance, I thought.' He raised his glass. ‘In any event, we've made the world safe for Caroline.'

Moore touched Paget's glass. ‘Very selfless of you, that. Although I couldn't help but notice that you've also redeemed Carlo's reputation. And, to some extent, your own.'

Paget smiled. ‘We do have to live here, after all. Terri too.'

‘True enough.' Pausing, Moore gave him an appraising sideways look. ‘
So
,' he said softly, ‘who
did
kill Ricardo Arias?'

Paget smiled again. ‘James Colt, of course. Didn't he do everything?'

Teresa Peralta lay beside Chris in the quiet of his bedroom.

It was just past Christmas; Elena, happy with her toys, was spending the night with Rosa. Fourteen months after Richie's death, Elena showed no sign of knowing the truth; for Elena, the security of Rosa's love, and of her life with Terri, seemed more and more to define her world. Sensing this, Terri was content. The subject of Richie, so potentially explosive, might be dormant for a time: Terri felt Elena, with a child's instinct for self-protection, establishing the touchstones of her new life before she could face the past. For once, what the absence of a father meant was safety.

The last thought, as it always did, made Terri sad. She turned to Chris again.

He slept lightly, his face calm and dreamless. A while ago they had made love, sweetly and unhurriedly, until the moment Terri lost herself and then lay back on the pillow, grining at Chris out of sheer surprise and pleasure at the way this always happened. Making love was so much better, Terri thought, when it was not just an escape but a destination. Except that, until some moments afterward, she had not been sure where they were going.

‘Remember the first time we made love?' she had asked.

Chris had smiled. ‘Tonight, you mean? Of course.'

‘I meant
the
first time.'

Slowly, he nodded. ‘You'd lost Elena. But tonight was about
us.
It's not the same.'

She looked into his face, serious now. ‘But are
we
the same?'

He slid away from her, turning on his elbow to watch her. ‘We'll never be the
same
,' he said. ‘We've been through too much.'

The elliptical phrase made Terri as sad as the memory of sadness she read in his eyes. ‘Such as,' she answered, ‘the fact that I thought you'd murdered Richie.'

He regarded her without anger. ‘It's there. I guess it will always be there. However much I may have deserved it.'

‘You didn't deserve it, Chris.' She shook her head. ‘What hurts is that I came out loving you that much more, and you came out loving me a little less.'

‘Is that what you think?'

‘Yes.' Terri's sudden tears surprised her. ‘Damn it, I love you so much it hurts. Ever since we found out what happened, you've been endlessly kind, all right? And it's helped me a lot. But every day, the better
I
get, the more I feel how much I may have lost. I've gotten rid of the nightmares, I'm coming to terms with my father – somehow I can even live with what my mother did, then and now, and how she came to it. I can
stand
all that. What I can't stand is the idea of losing you.'

‘You haven't lost me, Terri.'

‘I haven't
got
you, either.' She felt her voice rise. ‘God, I didn't want our life to be about Richie. But it still
is,
isn't it? Because you'll never forget what happened.'

‘No, I won't.' His expression was not unkind; Terri thought it was the gaze of a man too honest to lie without good reason. ‘So what do you want for us?'

You,
Terri thought, the way you were before. She felt more vulnerable than she could remember ever feeling. Quietly, she said, ‘I want all the things you said
you
wanted in Portofino. I want our child, and for you to love me. And Elena. Just as I answered you then.'

He studied her, ‘Do you think we can do that? Make a family?'

‘
I
can. The question is whether
you
can. Or Carlo.'

His eyes softened. ‘You've already won Carlo over,' he answered. ‘Did you think I don't know who helped bring him back to
me
again? It's hard for me to ask things for myself, or even to arouse much sympathy. It's not the way people see me – even Carlo.'

She touched his face. ‘
I
see you, Chris. Except for those four months, I always did.'

‘I know.'

‘Don't sound so accepting, okay? Do you think that's easy work?'

He smiled a little. ‘I just said it wasn't.'

She shook her head again. ‘It's like there's part of you, now, that's out of reach. I can't quite seem to touch it.'

‘Then keep trying.' His smile faded. ‘Because if you ever stopped, I don't think I could stand it.'

Terri looked at him, confused. ‘There's been damage,' he said softly. ‘And hurt. But we've come through things that few people ever face.' He kissed her forehead. ‘I believe in you, Terri. I always have. If
you
believe that we still can make a family, then we can. Because I still love you far too much not to try.'

There it was, Terri thought, after months of wondering. She could not understand the tears in her eyes.

Christopher Paget held her close. ‘So are you going to marry me?' he said. ‘Or do I have to ask you?'

Terri found that she was smiling against his shoulder: anyone who could feel all these things at once, she thought, must surely be crazy. ‘No,' she managed, ‘I'll marry you. But what about Carlo?'

‘Carlo? Oh, I did ask
him,
a few days ago.' His voice softened. ‘It's okay by Carlo. But he said to tell you no babysitting.'

Now, as Chris slept, Terri smiled at his face.

She would love him, she knew, more than he had ever been loved. And so, in time, would Elena. For whatever else life brought to her, Elena's image of her father would not, in the end, remain Ricardo Arias. For this, and for herself, Teresa Peralta felt deeply grateful.

For the first time, Paget entered the church in Montalcino.

Carlo and Elena stood at the altar. But an almost equal wonder was that Terri had persuaded a priest to marry her to Paget, the non-Catholic. He could only hope that it did not involve some terrible deceit.

As they approached the altar, he turned to Terri, whispering, ‘You didn't lie about me, did you?'

She smiled up at him. ‘Of course not,' she said innocently. ‘Your fingerprints were on the rosary, weren't they?'

‘God,' he murmured. ‘I hope this is legal.'

She gave him an ambiguous smile. ‘Believe me, so do I.' And then they stood in front of the priest, a stocky man with a peasant's face and warm brown eyes, their children beside them.

The church, Paget acknowledged, was simple and lovely. Even if, as he deeply suspected, no one really lived here. And then he looked at Teresa Peralta, and the thought did not matter.

She gazed gravely at the altar, and at the priest, her face beautiful in the light and shadow. The mysteries of the human heart were deep, Paget thought; as much of her childhood as she cared to leave behind, this much was part of her. Paget was happy to share it.

The vows began.

The priest spoke in broken English, for Paget's sake; with her Spanish, Terri could follow Italian well enough. But she wanted Paget to know, she had said that morning, the moment that they were married.

When the moment came, Paget smiled to himself, and felt the pressure of Terri's hand. He kissed her then: from the side, Elena Arias looked up at him solemnly, as if he were a new discovery.

Carlo was the second to kiss Terri. ‘Nice going,' he told her. ‘You guys are even starting to look like a couple.'

Terri smiled. ‘It's a miracle.'

Beside them, Elena began tugging on Terri's yellow silk dress. ‘Can we go outside now?' she asked.

The priest smiled down at her. ‘Go ahead,' he told Chris and Terri. ‘I'll give the papers to your son.'

This was better, Paget thought. He nodded to Carlo; in his pocket, Carlo carried Paget's check for ten thousand dollars in lire, for the preservation of the church. Paget did not require thanks in person: in some sublime balance, it seemed right that Paget, the nonbeliever, should honor this place for opening itself to them. And so Paget and Terri thanked the priest and followed Elena into the sunlight.

Outside, on the bench where they had sat during their first visit, was a bottle of cold champagne and a dish of fresh strawberries. But before they could retrieve them, Elena asked, ‘Mommy, can we go get some ice cream? Yesterday I saw a place in the town.'

Terri smiled. ‘Not now, Elena. We just got married, remember? We have toasts to drink.'

Elena pondered that and then turned to Carlo as he emerged from the church. ‘Maybe
you
can take me, Carlo. You're my step-brother now.'

Carlo gave a droll look. ‘Does that mean I have to take you places, Munchkin?'

The old nickname made Elena's eyes crinkle. ‘Yes,' she announced firmly. ‘You have to now.'

‘Oh, all right. But
after
I drink some champagne.'

‘Are you old enough?'

Carlo smiled at her. ‘For champagne? Sure, Munchkin. We're in Italy, remember?'

Quietly, Terri took Paget's hand and walked away a little, to the bench.

They sat there for a time, watching Elena reattach herself to Carlo; it was probably good, Paget thought wryly, that Carlo was traveling to Rome tomorrow, to meet his brother.

‘Do you think,' Terri asked, ‘that Carlo and Elena would mind if we drank one toast alone? Now that we're married, I have something to tell you.'

As soon as he looked at her face, smiling yet watchful, he knew what it was: roughly two months before, when Terri and Elena had moved in, Terri had thrown out her diaphragm. Paget was forty-seven, after all, and there seemed no point in waiting.

‘A baby?' he asked.

Saying it aloud seemed strange. Terri grinned at him. ‘Uh-huh. What do you think?'

Paget sat back, taking this in as he looked out at the lush green hills of Tuscany, then at his family. First at Carlo and Elena, still talking to each other. And then at his wife, Teresa Paget, the mother of the child who would become part of them all.

He
was
forty-seven, Paget reflected. He would never be a senator, or do all that he might have wished to do. But he would be this woman's partner, their time together still ahead, filled with joys and sorrows and surprises and, most of all, people whom he cared for, their lives interwoven with the fabric of his own.