Stillwatch (21 page)

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Authors: Mary Higgins Clark

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Anthologies (Multiple Authors)

BOOK: Stillwatch
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Sam sipped a light beer as he stared aimlessly across the crowd at thePalm Springs Racquet Club. Turning his head, he glanced at hisdaughter and smiled. Karen had inherited her mother ’s coloring; herdeep tan only made her blond hair seem that much lighter. Her handrested on her husband’s arm. Thomas Walton Snow, Jr., was a verynice fellow, Sam thought. A good husband; a successful businessman.His family was too boringly social for Sam’s taste, but he was happythat his daughter had married well.Since his arrival, Sam had been introduced to several extremelyattractive women in their early forties—widows, grass widows, careertypes, each ready to select a man for the rest of her life. All of thisonly caused Sam to feel a cumulative restlessness, an inability tosettle down, an aching, pervasive sense of not belonging.Where in the merry hell
did
he belong?In Washington. That was where. It was good to be with Karen, buthe simply didn’t give a damn about the rest of the people she foundso intensely satisfying.My child is twenty-four years old, he thought. She’s happilymarried. She’s expecting a baby. I don’t want to be introduced to allthe eligible forty-plus women in Palm Springs.“Daddy, will you please stop scowling?”Karen leaned across the table, kissed him and then settled backwith Tom’s arm around her. He surveyed the bright, expectant facesof Tom’s family. In another day or so they’d start to get fed up. He’dbecome a difficult guest.“Sweetheart,” he said to Karen, making his voice confidential.“You asked me if you thought the President would appoint SenatorJennings Vice President, and I said I didn’t know. I should be morehonest. I think she’ll get it.”

 

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All eyes were suddenly focused on him.“Tomorrow night the Senator is having a Christmas supper partyat her home; you’ll see some of it on the television program. She’dlike me to be there. If you don’t mind, I think I should attend.”Everyone understood. Karen ’s father-in-law sent out for atimetable. If Sam left L.A. the next morning on the 8 A.M. flight,he’d be at National Airport by four-thirty East Coast time. Howinteresting to be a guest at the televised dinner party. Everyone waslooking forward to the program.Only Karen was quiet. Then, laughing, she said, “Daddy, cut thebaloney. I’ve heard the rumors that Senator Jennings has her eye on you!”

 

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At nine-fifteen, Pat and Lila walked silently together from theAmbassador’s party. It was only when they were within reach of theirown houses that Lila said quietly, “Pat, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”“How much of what that woman said was true and how much wasexaggeration? I must know.” Phrases kept running through her mind:neurotic . . . long, bony fingers . . . womanizer . . . We think she hitthat poor kid . . .”I really need to know how much is true,” she repeated.“Pat, she’s a vicious gossip. She knew perfectly well what shewas doing when she started to talk about the background of the housewith that woman from
The Washington Tribune.
”“She was mistaken, of course,” Pat said tonelessly.“Mistaken?”They were at Lila’s gate. Pat looked across the street at her ownhouse. Even though she’d left several lights burning downstairs, itstill seemed remote and shadowy. “You see, there’s one thing thatI’m quite sure I remember. When I ran through the foyer into theliving room that night I tripped over my mother ’s body.” She turnedto Lila. “So you see what that gets me: a neurotic mother whoapparently found me a nuisance and a father who went berserk andtried to kill me. Quite a heritage, isn’t it?”Lila didn’t answer. The sense of foreboding that had been naggingat her was becoming acute. “Oh, Kerry, I want to help you.”Pat pressed her hand. “You are helping me, Lila,” she said. “Good night.”

 

In the library, the red button on the answering machine wasflashing. Pat rewound the tape. There was a single call on the unit.

 

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“This is Luther Pelham. It is now seven-twenty. We have a crisis. Nomatter what time you get in, call me at Senator Jennings’ home, 703/555-0143. It is imperative that we meet there tonight.”Her mouth suddenly dry, Pat phoned the number. It was busy. Ittook three more attempts before she got through. Toby answered.“This is Pat Traymore, Toby. What’s wrong?”“Plenty. Where are you?”“At home.”“All right. Mr. Pelham has a car standing by to pick you up. Itshould be there in ten minutes.”“Toby, what’s wrong?”“Miss Traymore, maybe that’s something you’re going to have toexplain to the Senator.”He hung up.A half-hour later the network staff car that Luther had sent pulled upin front of Senator Jennings’ home in McLean. On the drive over, Pathad worried herself with endless suppositions, but all her thoughts led tothe same chilling conclusion: something had happened to further upsetor embarrass the Senator, and whatever it was, she was being blamed.A grim-faced Toby opened the door and led her into the library. Silentshapes were seated around the table in a council of war, the atmosphereoddly at variance with the poinsettia plants flanking the fireplace.Senator Jennings, icy calm, her sphinxlike expression cast inmarble, stared through Pat. Philip was to the Senator ’s right, his long,thin strands of colorless hair no longer combed carefully over hisoval skull.Luther Pelham’s cheekbones were mottled purple. He appeared tobe on the verge of a stroke.This isn’t a trial, Pat thought. It’s an inquisition. My guilt hasalready been decided. But for what? Without offering her a seat, Tobydropped his heavy bulk into the last chair at the table.“Senator,” Pat said, “something is terribly wrong and it’s quiteevident it has to do with me. Will someone please tell me what’sgoing on?”There was a newspaper in the middle of the table. With one gesture,

 

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Philip flipped it over and pushed it at Pat. “Where did they get thatpicture?” he asked coldly.Pat stared down at the cover of
The National Mirror
. The headlineread: “WILL MISS APPLE JUNCTION BE THE FIRST WOMANVEEP?” The picture, which took up the entire cover, was of Abigailin her Miss Apple Junction crown standing with her mother.Enlarged, the picture revealed even more cruelly the massivedimensions of Francey Foster. Bulging flesh strained against the splotchyprint of her badly cut dress. The arm around Abigail was dimpled withfat; the proud smile only emphasized the double-chinned face.“You’ve seen this picture before,” Philip snapped.“Yes.” How horrible for the Senator, she thought. She rememberedAbigail’s stern observation that she had spent more than thirty yearstrying to put Apple Junction behind her. Ignoring the others, Pataddressed the Senator directly. “Surely you can’t believe I had anythingto do with the
Mirror
getting this picture?”“Listen, Miss Traymore,” Toby answered, “don’t bother lying. Ifound out that you were snooping around Apple Junction, includingdigging up back issues of the newspaper. I was at your place the daySaunders called.” There was nothing deferential about Toby now.“I have told the Senator you went to Apple Junction against myexplicit orders,” Luther thundered.Pat understood the warning. She was not to let Abigail Jenningsknow that Luther had acceded to her trip to Abigail’s birthplace. Butthat didn’t matter now. What mattered was Abigail. “Senator,” shebegan, “I understand how you must feel . . .”The effect of her words was explosive. Abigail jumped to her feet.“Do you indeed? I thought I’d been plain enough, but let me startagain. I hated every minute of my life in that stinking town. Lutherand Toby have finally gotten around to letting me in on your activitiesup there, so I know you saw Jeremy Saunders. What did that uselessleech tell you? That I had to use the back door and that my motherwas the cook? I’ll
bet
he did.“I believe you released that picture, Pat Traymore. And I knowwhy. You’re bound and determined you’re going to profile me
your
way. You
like
Cinderella stories. In your letters to me you insinuated

 

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as much. And when I was bloody fool enough to let myself get talkedinto this program, you decided that it had to be done
your
way soeveryone could talk about that poignant, moving Patricia Traymoretouch. Never mind that it could cost me everything I’ve been workingfor all my life.”“You believe I would send out that picture to somehow further myown career?” Pat looked from one to the other. “Luther, has the Senatorseen the storyboard yet?”“Yes, she has.”“How about the alternative storyboard?”“Forget that one.”“What alternative storyboard?” Philip demanded.“The one I’ve been begging Luther to use—and I assure you it hasno mention of the first beauty contest or picture from it. Senator, in away you’re right. I do want to see this production done my way. Butfor the best possible reason. I have admired you tremendously. WhenI wrote to you, I didn’t know there was any chance that you mightsoon be appointed Vice President. I was looking ahead and hopingyou would be a serious contender for the Presidential nominationnext year.”Pat paused for breath, then rushed on. “I wish you’d dig out thatfirst letter I sent you. I meant what I said. The one problem you have isthat the American public considers you cold and remote. That pictureis a good example. Obviously you’re ashamed of it. But look at theexpression on your mother’s face. She’s so
proud
of you! She’s fat—isthat what bothers you? Millions of people are overweight, and in yourmother ’s generation a lot more older people were. So if I were you,when you get inquiries, I’d tell whoever asked me that that was thefirst beauty contest and you entered because you knew how happy itwould make your mother if you won. There isn’t a mother in the worldwho won’t like you for that. Luther can show you the rest of mysuggestions for the show. But I can tell you this. If you’re not appointedVice President, it won’t be because of this picture; it will be because ofyour reaction to it and your being ashamed of your background.“I’ll ask the driver to take me home,” she said. Then, eyes blazing,she turned to Luther. “You can call me in the morning and let meknow if you still want me on this program. Good night, Senator.”

 

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She turned to go. Luther ’s voice stopped her. “Toby, get your assout of that chair and make some coffee. Pat, sit down and let’s startfixing this mess.”

 

It was one-thirty when Pat got home. She changed into a nightgownand robe, made tea, brought it into the living room and curled up onthe couch.Staring at the Christmas tree, she reflected on the day. If sheaccepted what Catherine Graney said, all the talk about the great lovebetween Abigail and Willard Jennings was a lie. If she believed whatshe had heard at the Ambassador ’s party, her mother had been aneurotic. If she believed Senator Jennings, everything JeremySaunders had told her was a twisted complaint.It was he who must have sent the picture of Abigail to the
Mirror.
It was just the sort of mean-spirited thing he would do.She swallowed the last sip of tea and got up. There was no usetrying to think about it anymore. Walking over to the Christmas tree,she reached for the switch to turn off the lights, then paused. Whenshe and Lila were having sherry, she thought she’d noticed that oneof the ornaments had slipped from its branch and was lying on thefloor. My mistake, she thought.She shrugged and went to bed.

 

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