Possessions (19 page)

And he seemed untouched by people as well. Men and women came up to him and spoke respectfully, often deferentially, some trying to curry favor, others sharing information. But Derek was the same to all of them. Self-contained, remote, caustic, with power coiled behind his polished social presence, he appeared impressive and inaccessible, unlike anyone Katherine had ever known. “Now,” he said, dismissing the rest of the table by turning to her. “It's your turn. I want to know about your jewelry. You're taking classes?”

She answered briefly, reluctant to talk about her work. But he pressed her until she described some of her sketches.

“I'd like to see them,” he said.

She shook her head. “I haven't found a style of my own yet.”

“What do you think of that one?” He gestured casually at a woman across the room whose neck was encased in diamonds that flashed when she moved her head.

Katherine contemplated her. “She looks like a lighthouse, warning everyone away.”

Derek's idle gaze swung to her as it had on their picnic. “You can be quite astonishing,” he said. “And you aren't even aware of it.”

She flushed and was silent, afraid to say something that was not astonishing. After a moment, he asked a question about Heath's and they talked easily for the rest of the evening. But Katherine was aware of his eyes on her, as intimate and absorbed as if they were alone. He had turned a dinner for three hundred people into a private evening.

She realized, as he drove her home, that he had not mentioned her clothes; he had not even seemed to notice them. Yet he dressed impeccably and fastidiously. So he must have noticed. I'll have to do something about that, she thought, if I see him again.

“I'll call you,” Derek said as she unlocked the door of her building. Holding her hand, he kissed her forehead. “Thank you for coming. I enjoyed the Incas far more than I thought possible.”

She smiled, watching him go back to his car, and was still smiling when she let herself into the apartment. Annie was waiting for her, a finger to her lips. Katherine's smile faded. “What is it? What's wrong?”

“Nothing, maybe,” Annie whispered. “But I thought maybe you'd want to see this alone.” She held out an envelope. “A letter from Canada.”

Katherine's heart lurched. There was no return address and the postmark was blurred. No it wasn't; her eyes had filled with tears. She blinked them away and read the name of a town she'd never heard of, in Saskatchewan. What was Craig doing in—

Annie had gone to her own apartment; the living room was quiet.
Craig, Craig, Craig.
It was like a heartbeat as she tore open the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper. But there was nothing on it. Not a word of writing. Only, as she unfolded it, something that fluttered to the floor. She bent down to pick it up: five hundred dollars in crisp one-hundred-dollar bills.

A
TREMOR ran through Victoria's hand as she poured their tea. “And what will you do now?” she asked.

The money lay on the table between them, beside the silver tea service. Katherine's glance slid past it as she took the cup Victoria handed her. For three days the sheaf of bills had been the center of attention on her worktable. She had tried to explain to the children what it meant—that Craig was all right and knew where they were; that for some reason he couldn't come back to them yet, but he wanted to help them and so he sent the money. It wasn't very satisfactory but it was the best she could do. Then, Friday morning, while they were at breakfast, Victoria called, surprising her with an invitation to tea that afternoon, and on impulse she put the money in her purse. As soon as they sat down, she pulled it out and told Victoria what it was.

In the silence of the sunroom, Victoria sighed deeply, turning the five bills over and over, as if looking for a message.
Katherine watched her. She sat erect, as serene and unapproachable as an empress in a knit suit of the finest burgundy wool, her white hair cut like a cap of small curls. Now and then she raised a thin manicured hand to the antique pendant she wore on a gold chain; except for that, her body was still. Even more than the women at the Peruvian exhibit, she made Katherine feel clumsy and poorly put together.

But Victoria's face was drawn and a vein in her neck was taut as she inspected the money. Katherine looked away, admiring the room where they sat. In the sunlit air, the white wicker furniture shone against dark green ficus trees, wisteria vines, and bushy, flowering plants. Everywhere were wondrous mementoes of Victoria's trips around the world—Mexican papier mâché birds, a bronze horse from Ceylon, Japanese ladies in jade, ebony masks from Africa. It was a lovely room, as beautiful and finely made as Victoria, but it had the hush of a place waiting for someone to bring it to life.

Victoria sighed again. “It could be from a friend.”

“No.” Katherine watched her place the money carefully on the table. “It's from Craig. We don't know anyone in that town, or”—she gave a small smile—“anyone anywhere who would send five hundred dollars anonymously. You don't seem surprised,” she added. “Or pleased.”

Victoria picked up the silver teapot and refilled their cups. “And what will you do now?” she asked, as if Katherine had not spoken.

“Wait,” Katherine answered dispiritedly. No answers here, she thought. No help, either. “I've called the Vancouver police and they're working with police in Saskatchewan—”

“I'm talking about
you,”
Victoria said. “Now that you know you're not a widow.”

“I never believed I was a widow,” Katherine shot back.

“Please,” Victoria said coolly. “You need not shout.”

Instinctively, Katherine replied, “I'm sorry.” She was edgy. She had vowed never to come here again, but here she sat, as intimidated as the first time, and making things worse by snapping at Victoria. “I'm sorry,” she repeated and said quietly, “I'll wait. For Craig to come back.”

Victoria's hand went to her pendant. “Now that we know he is alive, you might say
we
are waiting too. After all this
time. But Craig clearly has no intention of coming back to us. He has wiped us out of his life.”

Katherine winced.
As he has wiped us out.
She looked at the table for reassurance.
No he hasn't. He sent us money.

Victoria moved slightly in her chair. “I asked you here so we could get acquainted. I seem to be the last in my family to do so.”

“You were angry, because of my rudeness. I'm sorry for the way I spoke that night.”

“As you should be. You tend to jump at people, Katherine. And away from them. Quite erratic. You must learn to control yourself. And if you learned to sit straight, you would look like a woman who values herself, rather than a muskrat cowering in a storm.”

Katherine smiled, but there was no answering smile on Victoria's face. Self-consciously, she straightened her spine, and pulled back her shoulders. Her head came up and her eyes met Victoria's.

“Much better. If you always learn so quickly, you will do very well. Now, then. It seems everyone else has had lunch with you, or afternoon cocktails, or—and we find this most odd—a picnic. What do you think of us?”

“I think you all want something from me,” Katherine replied. “Different things.”

“And what else?”

“You don't act much like a family.”

Victoria poured more tea. “Have some cake, my dear; you look quite thin. In what way do we not act like a family?”

“You don't like one another very much.”

Victoria laughed shortly. “That describes many families, Katherine. But some of us do like each other. Very much.” Looking over her cup, she followed the silver gleam of an airplane crossing the city. “And of course you may be exaggerating. Perhaps you think we dislike one another because you dislike us.”

“No—!” Why do they make every conversation a contest? she wondered, and switched to a neutral subject. “I saw the Peruvian exhibit at the Museum of Art; it was wonderful.”

At last Victoria smiled. “Yes, isn't it? I couldn't be at the opening, but I heard about your appearance with Derek.”

There are no neutral subjects with this family.
“Derek told you?”

“Derek tells me nothing about himself. My friends told me about his companion. I could hardly fail to identify you.”

“Did they wonder why he was with me?”

Victoria smiled again. “There was some curiosity—yes, Polk?”

“Mr. Derek Hayward, ma'am,” said the butler. “On the telephone.”

“He heard us talking about him. We should have said something libelous.” Picking up the telephone, she grinned like a girl, surprising Katherine into laughter. “Yes,” Victoria said into the receiver, gesturing to Katherine to eat some cake.

Katherine ate a small piece, then another, discovering how hungry she was. Soon Jennifer and Todd would be eating dinner with Annie. Then they would do their homework while Annie did hers across the hall, with her door open. Everything was all right; there was no need to rush home. Except that she was famished. Victoria could have asked her to dinner instead of late afternoon tea. Unless she didn't want Katherine Fraser at her table again until she had a chance to look her over and set some ground rules.
Sit up straight. Don't jump at people. Or away from them.

“I didn't think so,” Victoria was saying. “But you may be right.”

Her voice changed when she spoke to Derek: it was cautious, even deferential. It should be the other way around, Katherine thought. But Derek was the head of the family, Claude had said. By default.

“Yes, she has,” Victoria said. “But perhaps she would rather tell you herself. She's here now . . . certainly you may.” She held the telephone across the table.

Katherine barely greeted him before he said, “You've heard from Craig?”

“He sent me some money.”

“And what did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“In the letter.”

“There was no letter. There was nothing. Just the money.”

“No letter. A money order?”

“No. Five one-hundred-dollar bills.”

“Christ.” Derek was silent. “Where was it mailed?”

“A small town in Saskatchewan. I've never heard of it.”

“I suppose you've talked to the police there.”

“I talked to the Vancouver police. They don't think they can trace cash, but they're sending Craig's picture to the Saskatchewan police to see if anyone saw him.”

“How did he know where you are?”

“I don't know. I wish I did.”

Again he was silent. “Not much. But it's a beginning.” As if rousing himself, he added, “I was going to call you tonight. I'm spending tomorrow afternoon at some vineyards in Napa. Would you enjoy a private tour?”

“Vineyards?”

“I'm a partner in a few small ones. The harvest is over, but you can still see how the wine is made. Or is that something you've already done?”

“No, we haven't. I'd like very much to go. Could we bring Jennifer and Todd? They've never seen a field of grapevines.”

There was a pause. “If you really think they'd enjoy it. I'd thought of dinner afterward, and it would be a late evening for them.”

“Oh.” Stupid, she thought. He's not the kind for family outings. “I'll have to let you know. Is that all right?”

“I'll call tonight,” he said carelessly. “About eleven. Unless that's too late.”

“No, that's fine.” After she said goodbye, she looked up to meet Victoria's quizzical gaze.

“I gather Derek was not enthusiastic about entertaining your children.”

“I should have refused. Weekends are the only time the three of us have together.”

“But Derek is very attractive.”

“Oh, no.” Katherine felt herself tense. “I mean, of course he's attractive, but—I'm married; I'm not looking . . . I'm only looking for friends.”

“Craig let you down.”
Victoria's voice was fierce in the softly fading light. “He let all of us down. I remember”—the words became a reverie—“a long time ago, I used to count my family to make sure all was well. Especially when a storm
came up at night, I would go through the names, and where each one was. Of course I seldom knew where they all were, but when I did, and when I knew they were all right, or at least safely inside somewhere, I was content.”

Surprised, Katherine said, “That's what I always did when Craig was traveling or the children were spending the night with friends.”

“Indeed. So Craig found another woman to worry about his safety in storms. Perhaps that made it easier for him to forget us. He knew how I counted my family to know if all was well. But he let us think he was dead, he let us mourn,
and he did not care.”

As if Craig sat in the wicker chair across the room, Katherine saw him, very still, staring into space, an open newspaper on his lap. She had seen him that way often, especially in the evenings when she finished the dinner dishes and came into the living room to find him staring out the window at something she could not see. Now she knew he had been staring at the family he left behind. “He did care,” she said to Victoria. “He wasn't very happy.”

“Happy enough to stay where he was,” Victoria scorned. “Happy enough to avoid the telephone, the telegraph, the mail . . . a plane to San Francisco.”

“But not happy enough to talk to me.” The words came slowly, but Katherine felt the pressure in them, tumbling out after years of being denied. “He never talked about his feelings. There were such silences . . . such
spaces
between us. Once I told him he looked as if he were haunted and after that he closed up more than ever. Now I know why, but all those years I didn't; I only knew that I loved him and he wouldn't talk to me, he turned away, keeping all his secrets—”