Possessions (6 page)

“Eight.” Katherine walked to the arch that led to the entrance hall. Through the open front door she saw Todd and Jennifer sitting cross-legged on the grass, not talking, not moving. Waiting. For their father, for news of their father, for something to happen. She shivered. Something was happening. She turned back to Ross, thinking that she liked his face, its strong lines, the steady, absorbed way he looked at her, his smile when he talked about his grandmother. Briefly she wished they could like each other, because she had no one to talk to. No one had called, no one had come by, not even Sarah Murphy, since the newspaper story about the embezzlement had appeared two days ago. But there was no way Ross could be their friend.

“I want you to leave,” she said again. He was silhouetted against the wall of windows and she could not see his face; when he did not answer she went on. “You've told me your story, this crazy story that you're determined to believe, no matter what I think. Well, I'll tell you what I think. I'm sure there was a Craig Hayward who resembles my son, but it's just a coincidence and that's your problem, not mine. I married Craig Fraser, I've lived with him for ten years and
I know him.
You can't walk in here and tell me I don't know my own husband, that he's kept a lifetime of secrets from me about San Francisco and a grandmother and an entire family I never heard of. Do you think I'm a child? I'm sorry you're disappointed, but not one word you've said is the truth . . . well, I suppose you do have a cousin named Craig, or you did, but nothing else is true, nothing else,
nothing else
 . . .”

Her words fell away in the silent room. Ross walked toward
her and she saw his dark eyes, oddly gentle in his stern face. His voice, when he spoke, was so quiet it took her a minute to feel the impact of his words. “My cousin, Craig Hayward, his sister Jennifer, my brother Derek and I grew up in San Francisco, in a neighborhood called Sea Cliff, and spent our weekends swimming or sailing or hiking in the mountains. Craig always said that someday he would build a house high up, with a curved wall of windows overlooking mountains—or water.”

Instinctively, Katherine looked past him, through the curved windows, at the sunlit bay at the base of their hill.

“He read a lot,” Ross went on. “Mostly spy stories and histories. He was good with his hands and liked to make wood carvings, especially figures of people. But his favorite carvings were the soapstone ones made by Eskimos. Like this one.” He picked up an eight-inch black whale that Craig had bought a year ago from Hank Aylmer, a friend who bought carvings in Eskimo villages to sell in the United States.

Katherine closed her eyes, wishing Ross Hayward gone. He waited, and in the dense silence, she felt the force of Craig's absence. She had been too bewildered, too busy making telephone calls and talking to the police and trying to deal with Jennifer and Todd to feel the reality of it, but in that moment the full impact struck her. She stood in her house and Craig was nowhere in it. She felt him everywhere but he was nowhere. It was not the same as saying: Craig isn't in the living room or the dining room or even in Vancouver. It was as if she had to say,
Craig is not.

Didn't this man understand that that was what she had to think about? Why did he force this relentless outpouring of information on her when she had to think about a house without Craig? She opened her eyes to tell him, but as soon as she did, he began talking again.

“And my cousin liked the construction business. We were in it together: our grandfather, Hugh, who died in 1964; his sons Jason and Curt; and the three of us—Craig was Jason's son; Derek and I are Curt's sons. Every summer we worked in our family's company; we'd done it since we were kids, sweeping out offices, doing errands, tagging along on site inspections, later helping with blueprints. Craig loved it; he couldn't wait to finish college and work full time. He was on
a job with my father the summer Jennifer was killed and he disappeared. Are there any photographs in the desk in that room?”

Trembling, Katherine folded her arms rigidly to keep her body still. She didn't have to tell him anything. Without her help, he would have to leave; she would never see him again; she could forget he'd ever been here.

But she knew it was too late for that. Because he was right: she did want to know the truth. Walking around him, she went into the study and took from the top drawer of Craig's desk the picture she had found. Wordlessly, she handed it to him and together they looked at the lovely girl laughing in the sunlight.

Ross let out a long breath. “Dear God.” Once again he opened his briefcase and handed Katherine another picture, this one of four people on a sailboat: Ross on deck, hoisting the sail; the young Craig of the first picture at the wheel; a stranger, handsome and aloof, in the cockpit, and beside him the lovely girl, shading her eyes as she watched the sail rise up the mast.

“Jennifer,” Ross said simply. “Craig's sister.”

D
EREK
Hayward refilled his glass with the special Scotch his grandmother kept on hand for his visits and looked thoughtfully across the room at the woman his brother had foisted on the family: a Canadian housewife as out of place in Victoria's elegant home as a field mouse among orchids. Katherine Fraser. Wife of Craig Fraser. Who, if Ross had it straight, was in fact their cousin Craig Hayward. Long gone, long forgotten. They'd thought.

Why the hell had Ross been in such a hurry to bring her here? Without giving them a chance to talk about her, even to get used to the idea of her, he decided
on his own
to invite her and her offspring to meet them. And without a whimper Victoria went along. So here they were—a family dinner. Even Jason and Ann, coming out of hiding in Maine to meet Katherine Fraser and hear about their son, their golden boy. Who, after all, hadn't drowned fifteen years ago. Who had only run away. And now, it seemed, had done it again.

Derek smiled thinly. Trust Craig, he thought, to act like Craig. Absently swirling his Scotch, he watched Katherine as she talked to the rest of the family, and wondered what she was like beneath that drab facade. There had to be more, he
thought; Craig had always liked good-looking women. But this one had no poise or sophistication, no glamour, no beauty . . . well, maybe. Good bone structure in her face, unusual eyes—might be interesting if she fixed herself up and stood straight instead of dragging down every line of her face and body. He shrugged. What difference did it make? If she really was Cousin Craig's wife—and the photograph she'd shown Ross seemed to prove it—the only thing that mattered was that she was here, a stand-in for her husband, and they'd have to find out what she wanted from them, and what she really knew about Craig.

The others were clustered about her at one end of the vast drawing room of Victoria's penthouse. Almost fifteen years since they were all together, but still they were more interested in Craig's wife than in each other. Even absent, the son of a bitch managed to make himself the center of attention. Something else he'd always done.

Derek looked away, giving the room a cursory inspection as he did on every visit, to make sure Victoria was keeping the place up. It was worth a fortune; far more than the fortune that had been spent on it since his grandfather bought the top two floors of the building and remodeled them twenty-five years ago. The old man had been a genius, Derek reflected. Long before restoration became chic, he made the Hayward name famous for the kind of expensive custom work that rebuilt without destroying the best of the old. And everything he knew went into his own home, from the smallest carved moldings to the huge marble fireplaces and the ceiling-high Tiffany window. Superb workmanship. It had been at the heart of every lesson Hugh Hayward's grandsons learned under his direction and still remembered and used, even if it was in the modern glass and steel towers that Derek preferred. At least, Derek amended, I remember, and I suppose Ross does. Who knows what Craig remembers?

Craig again. Always there. Intruding. Across the room, that Canadian housewife stood between Ross and Victoria, reminding everyone that he was alive and could turn up any day. Possibly in Vancouver but, now that Ross had brought her here, just as likely in San Francisco, back to their big happy family and the construction company that Derek had been running for years without interference.

“A fearsome, ferocious frown,” Melanie commented lightly, coining up beside him. “Who's the latest target?” She followed his gaze. “Oh. Ross's new toy.”

He took a moment to approve her sleek good looks and the curve of her silk dress, then asked casually, “And what do you make of her?”

She pursed her lips. “A good wife never comments on her husband's toys.”

“My dear Melanie, you know better than to suggest that my brother collects other women. Or plays with them.” Shifting his glass, his hand brushed her bare arm. “If you're looking for reasons to divorce him, you'll have to look elsewhere.”

“And if I find some?”

“It would amaze us all.” He watched Ross bring Katherine a glass of wine.

“Amaze you! Haven't I told you, over and over—?”

“Over and over.” He smiled at her. “Proving how easy it is to complain about a husband without giving up his bank account.”

“Derek, Melanie,” said Tobias, behind them. “Deep in a sinister plot?”

“Exchanging recipes,” Derek said smoothly. “How are you, Tobias? Still well? Still writing your book on—what was it? Cannibalism?”

“Love,” Tobias corrected cheerfully. “I think you have them confused, Derek.” His blue eyes were wide and innocent above the neat white beard that quivered as he spoke. “And then of course, the family history, as you also know. Perhaps I should interview you for both books. With your unique viewpoint—”

“I think Victoria wants you,” Derek cut in, seeing his grandmother look around the room. “Aren't you being her good brother and helping host this festive affair?”

Tobias shot him a quick glance, his eyes briefly penetrating, then wandering and amiable again. “Claude is helping, which he enjoys, so I can tiptoe about, listening, which
I
enjoy. How did you and Melanie resist discussing our newest family member?”

“Excuse me,” said Melanie abruptly, and walked across the room, casually inserting herself between Katherine and Ross.
“We've hardly met,” she said to Katherine. “Everybody's monopolizing you, but after all it was my husband who found you so I should get a chance, don't you think?”

Katherine felt as if a light had flared beside her, exposing everything about her that was wrong. Next to Melanie's blue silk dress her linen suit was wrinkled and plain; her hair was dull compared to Melanie's gleaming ebony; her pale skin washed out beside Melanie's golden tan. And she knew, as she pulled her shoulders back, trying to stand straight, that Melanie's gliding walk across the room came from a confidence and wealth she did not even know how to imitate. In the luxury of Victoria's apartment, among these wealthy people, Katherine felt as strange and uncomfortable as a foreigner.

Still, she was the center of attention. Ross had told her she would be, when he invited her to meet them. “It's your family too; you should know them and let them get to know you, let them get used to the idea of you and the children. After all—” He had looked bemused for a moment, realizing anew the enormity of what had happened. “After fifteen years, to discover someone you loved is not dead but alive, and married, with children—”

“He may . . . not be alive,” Katherine had said.

“I'm assuming he is. But even if he isn't, you have a family in San Francisco and everyone has a lot of catching up to do.”

He had made it seem so simple. And in the two days before they flew there, as they tried to imagine that unknown family, Katherine became excited about the Haywards and Jennifer and Todd overcame their confusion enough to be intrigued by the idea of suddenly having grandparents, as well as the prospect of their first airplane trip. “But I still don't see,” Jennifer said on Sunday, when they were high above the earth and she could tear herself from the window, “why Daddy never told us he had a family.” “That's the nine millionth time you've said that,” Todd grumbled, frustrated because he had lost the coin toss and would not get the window seat until the trip home. “Well,
I
want to know why he didn't tell us, even if you don't,” Jennifer retorted. “He probably didn't like them,” Todd said. “You don't
have
to like people just because they're your family. We probably won't like them either. I bet they aren't even Daddy's family; I bet it's all a stupid mistake. I wish we weren't
going.” “Me too,” Jennifer confessed. “It's scary. Daddy would have told us if we had grandparents. Why did they invite us? We should have stayed home.” “Maybe they're going to kidnap us,” said Todd. “And hold us for ransom.” “Who'd pay?” Jennifer demanded. “Daddy, of course,” said Todd. “Only he's not here,” he remembered. “So nobody will and they'll never let us go and we'll be prisoners for ever and ever.”

“Oh, enough,” Katherine said between weariness and amusement. “It seems pretty clear that the Haywards are Daddy's family, which means they're our family, and I'm sure they're not scary. Ross said they want to meet us, and maybe all of us together can figure out why Daddy never told us about them. Or we won't know until he comes back and tells us himself. But no more guessing, all right? Just think instead how nice it will be to have an instant family to help us.”

An instant family. Waiting for them. In a way, Jennifer was right: it was scary. But, sitting on the aisle of the huge airplane, watching her children inspect their wrapped silverware and small dishes of food, Katherine recaptured her eagerness. The Haywards would be a place to belong, an anchor to cling to when everything else seemed to be collapsing. And someone to talk to about Craig. There was no one else; Katherine had tried to call Leslie, but she was out of town. With the Haywards, she wouldn't be alone anymore.