A Tangled Web (51 page)

“They know who they are! That's dumb!”

“No, like, they don't know what they can be, you know, how they'll feel about things when they grow up. Really grow up, you know, because there's all those things waiting for us—love and adventures and stuff—and we don't know what we'll really want later on, so we should wait. You know, be really grown up before we do grown-up things. So I guess I'll wait.”

Sabrina sighed.
Maybe that's the best thing I've ever done.
She tilted back her head and met Garth's eyes, and they kissed, as lovers and parents, and Sabrina felt a rush of thankfulness for everything that was so good.

“Anyway,” Penny finished, putting forward her last argument, “if my mother ever found out, she'd ground me for a year.”

“A year! That's awful! That's not fair!”

“I know. She thinks it is, though. She says it's important for my growing up. And I guess I . . . sort of . . . believe her.”

“You do?”

“Well, you know, when she's talking she makes everything sound like she's right.”

“That's just because she's your mother.”

There was a pause. “Maybe it's because she's really right.”

Garth chuckled. “I like the way Penny thinks.”

“Well,” Barbara said, drawing it out. “Well, I guess . . .”

“What?”

“I guess I won't do it if you won't. Like, if we did it together we could, you know, talk about it. But I don't want to do it without you.”

“Any of it?”

“I guess. But then they'll start laughing at me again.”

“Oh, well. We could talk Chinese at them.”

“Chinese? How? We don't know any.”

“I know a little bit. Lu Zhen taught me; he's really nice. When he comes for dinner again, I'll ask him for more words and then I'll teach you.”

“It's a lot harder than French, isn't it?”

Their voices changed; now they were relaxed, with no residue of their earlier tension that had seemed to Sabrina to be close to hysteria. They talked about their French teacher for the school year beginning in just a few weeks, and the sixth grade play, and some sweaters that Barbara wanted to buy because all the girls were buying them. A few minutes more and they were on their feet, talking about food. “Mrs. Thirkell always has something; she's wonderful,” said Penny. “My dad says she's like the sun and the British Empire, that she never sets. I guess that means she never sits down, or she's always there, something like that.”

“You're so lucky,” Barbara said. “I mean, having her is like being rich, isn't it? Or a princess or something.”

Their voices moved down the hall to the stairs and faded away. Sabrina was laughing softly. “You didn't tell me about Mrs. Thirkell never setting.”

“I'd forgotten I said it. How nice that Penny understood it. I hope she understands how much she owes you.”

“She understands that she got help when she needed it. And she isn't afraid to acknowledge it. I'm so proud of her.”

“So am I. But mostly of her mother.” They sat quietly, gazing through the turret's curved windows at the front yard below, shimmering in the heat. A neighbor, looking wilted, walked a wilted Dalmatian on a long leash; another neighbor gazed at a lawn mower in his front yard, gazed at the sky, then shrugged and put the lawn mower away. “It's better inside,” Garth said. “It's amazing how many reasons I find to say that. Which reminds me: Claudia and I will be going to Washington week after next, just for the day.”

“Yes, she called me. We had a long talk. It was very strange; she asked me how I'd handle them.”

“Leglind?”

“And his sidekick. I can't believe that she really needs help with them.”

“What did she say?”

“That she was looking for something that would lead to a public retraction, and she had some ideas but she wondered how I'd handle it.”

“She didn't say why?”

Sabrina gestured slightly with her hand. “It seems that Lloyd Strauss told her I'd had something to do with solving a sex-for-grades scandal last year.”

“A little more than something, my love. You did it all. Of course Claudia would have heard about that. And she likes you; she told me she values your friendship. Well, did you give her any suggestions?”

“We talked through a few of them, and there was only one that we thought might work, though we weren't happy about it. And of course everything could change when you're there.”

“What was it?”

“Well, it was very simple, if you can ever call blackmail simple. I thought she might tell Leglind about the publicity you're working on for the institute: the donors and so on, and the opening ceremonies with guest speakers and politicians, and that you'd like him to be part of it, but if he's on record calling for an investigation of the institute as a waste of money, and then the university publicly applauds him for his support, it would sound like a bribe, even though everyone knows how interested he is in science . . . well, you get the idea.”

“I do. As blackmail it's very good.”

“You don't like it.”

“Not any more than you do; it's a depressing way to get things done. It doesn't even matter that people use blackmail all their lives, mild forms of it—well, maybe not quite so mild—and find prettier names for it than blackmail or bribery or whatever it comes down to.”

“But what you mostly don't like is that it probably will work.”

“That's the most depressing part. In spite of all the good people who find their way to Congress, the ones who usually leave the biggest impression are the corrupt and craven ones. I know it's not only Congress, it's everywhere, and my friends in the social sciences say it's naive to expect anything else, but still it's depressing. And Claudia thought it was a good idea?”

“She thought it sounded more practical than appealing to Leglind's better instincts.”

“Since he has none. She's right. Well, we have an appointment a week from Monday; we'll know then.”

“Are you dividing up what you're going to say?”

“She wants to do most of the talking. I'm looking forward to it; I've never even heard her raise her voice, much less lecture a congressman.”

As it happened, Claudia did not raise her voice in Oliver Leglind's office; she spoke so softly that the congressman had to strain to hear her. “We appreciate your seeing us on such short notice,” she said, and watched with quiet amusement as Leglind and Stroud exchanged a quick glance of surprise at the gentle voice issuing from a woman six feet tall with slicked-back gray hair and oversize glasses. “It was, of course, gratifying to hear from Mr. Stroud that we had been exonerated, but it was quite dismaying as well.”

The congressman frowned. He was a small man oddly out of proportion, his arms too long for his torso, his legs too short, his eyes peering narrowly from beneath heavy brows. He had thick hair so carefully waved it was clear it was his pride and joy. Garth knew he could be mesmerizing in front of a crowd, working it to a frenzied pitch with dark tales of government waste so dire it threatened the very core of the American way of life. But he was not swaying a crowd now; he was looking puzzled and a little impatient. “I thought you'd be pleased. I was told that
you weren't happy with us, that you'd told Professor Andersen not to testify—”

“No one told me any such thing,” Garth said. “I was prepared to testify; Mr. Stroud and I discussed that.”

“Right. I heard about that discussion, Professor. You seem to think I'm not a curious person. You said
if
I gave a damn about science. You made some comments about my making up plots.”

“I did, and I apologize. Those were ill-considered remarks that I regret making. I'm ashamed of them.”

Leglind was silent. Garth was amused, as he always was at how disarming an apology is. Few people, poised for battle, can charge forward after those simple words:
I'm sorry. I'm ashamed.

“Well, now, that's generous,” Roy Stroud said. “Not too many people are manly enough to admit their mistakes. But I think the congressman hasn't been told why you're not happy with our decision. And why you're here.”

“Because you've left us hanging,” Claudia said. “We're in limbo out there where accusations float around but never quite come to earth.”

“What? I'm sorry, I don't quite get that.”

“She means we didn't say we were wrong about their university,” said Leglind flatly. “But nobody can say that, because there hasn't been any testimony, and there isn't going to be any because that's the way you want it. At least that's what we were told. So if that's why you came, you've made the trip for nothing.”

“Oh, I don't think so. We came because we want to discuss with you the opening ceremonies for the Institute for Genetic Engineering.” Garth saw the twist of distaste in the corners of her mouth as she spoke the lines she and Sabrina had discussed, painting in glowing terms a picture of national and international attention, of wealthy donors including Billy Koner, of guest speakers who included Nobel Prize winners and political leaders from around the world. She held out a list of names. “They're confidential
for now, but we brought them for you, because of course you belong among them.”

She paused, then reminded them of Leglind's call for an investigation of the institute as a waste of money. “So how can we include you in this group of supporters whom we are publicly applauding? Others would say we were trying to bribe you. Everyone knows of your deep concern for science, and of course the institute is on the cutting edge of research and teaching, but still, we can't ignore your public statements. Of course,” she added, “a retraction now, almost ten months before the May dedication and opening ceremonies, would stand on its own. But that is not in our hands. We came all this way, Congressman, in the hope that you could help us resolve this dilemma.”

Delicately, almost reverently, Leglind took the list of names and held it at arm's length. Stroud handed him his reading glasses. He read it several times, top to bottom. “Roy,” he said at last, “you didn't offer coffee to our guests.”

*  *  *

The
Chicago Tribune
for August 20 lay on Sabrina's attic worktable as she worked on the final set of specifications for the Koner Building. It had been ten days since the paper appeared with Oliver Leglind's statement printed on the front page, and Sabrina still glanced at it now and then as she worked.

It is the duty of all of us who are dedicated to democracy to study and investigate the information that comes to us. When, in our diligent and relentless search for truth, some information turns out to be false, to protect the reputation and integrity of all those involved, we must be swift to admit our error. Such was the case recently with Midwestern University and its Institute for Genetic Engineering. This institute, on the cutting edge of research and teaching, when opened next year will be a beacon to science
and the world. The House Committee on Science, Space and Technology received information questioning the financial underpinnings of the institute and the university's handling of government grants. The committee would have been derelict in its duty had it not investigated those allegations. Having done so, committee staff found the institute, under Professor Garth Andersen, to be a model for other institutions; it found Midwestern University's use of government grants to be fully documented. There is much that is wrong in this great country of ours, and it is our duty to find it and root it out, but we must also applaud all that is magnificent, and make sure . . .

All those high-flown words, all that dancing around, to hide the fact that he cares only about his own power, his own publicity, his own agenda. And that he's for sale.

Sabrina turned back to the long table in front of her, covered with samples of carpeting and drapery fabrics, tiles, wood flooring, faucets, textured plaster for walls, and cut sheets of lighting fixtures. The specification books that she had first shown to Vernon Stern and Billy Koner had grown to twice their original thickness as the design of each room of each apartment was described, with samples of materials pasted in, and the names of the manufacturers and dealers who sold them. She had just inserted into the book the latest changes, and now she was packing the samples in boxes to be sent to the contractor for ordering. It was the biggest job she had ever done, and as she taped shut the last box, she felt content and a little sad that it was over. On the floors below, her empty house drowsed in the dense August heat, and Sabrina felt as if she were protecting it, like a bird nurturing the eggs in her nest. Everything was silent and still, Mrs. Thirkell on her day off, Penny and Cliff visiting friends, Garth in Chicago on a mysterious errand, which Penny had predicted at breakfast was probably to buy Mommy a birthday present. “Because
it's only two weeks,” she said, “and Cliff and I already did ours.”

Two weeks, and it will be one full year that I've lived here, one year that I've been Stephanie Andersen, one year since I began to love this family and feel that it was mine.

But a year ago she had had two lives, two homes, two businesses. Soon she would have only one, when she signed the papers transferring ownership of Ambassadors to Alexandra. The house in Cadogan Square was still Sabrina's, but Alexandra's friends had agreed to buy it and would take possession in December. And then I will have one place, Sabrina thought: one home, one family, one business, one center to my life.

Shafts of late afternoon sunlight dancing with dust motes lay like white ribbons across the worktable, empty now except for the boxes she had just packed. Finished, she thought; so many things are being finished. But so many are being started. That's the fun of a family: never knowing what will be around the next corner.