The Edge of Doom (5 page)

“That was Reed’s guess,” Kate said.

“When I met your mother, she was almost twenty years older than I. That doesn’t seem much to me now, but it was that difference that made her so appealing to me. She seemed a finished woman, a complete woman, and a desirable one, the sort of woman I had never known. There was an immediate, powerful attraction between us. The truth is that at first she would have—what is the phrase?—thrown her hat over the windmill. She wanted to be outrageous, to risk being caught, to take awful chances. I was the sober one. Yet, in the end, it was she who made the sober decision. I guess I’ve always been a little bitter about it, though less so as the years went on.”

“And meeting me has allowed for a measure of revenge.” Kate smiled, but they both knew there was truth in her words.

“I hope it allows for much more than that,” Jay said.

“Time will tell,” Kate said. “Reed and I will invite you to dinner—in a restaurant, we don’t cook or entertain much—and we’ll go on from there. One never knows what tomorrow will hold. As you can see, I conclude with clichés; it seems the soundest way to part this first time. I’ve just forgotten to ask one thing, which was how you met?”

“At a wedding, properly enough. I was the best man of the groom; we’d been at college together. There was dancing, of course. We danced. I saw her across the crowded room, just as the song says.”

“As I said, we must part now in the midst of clichés.”

And so, with plans to meet soon again, they went their separate ways.

CHAPTER FIVE

The wide and universal theatre
Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play in.

A few days later, Kate and Reed had dinner with Jay. As though by mutual agreement, although Kate and Reed had made no plans about their dinner conversation, they spoke of general matters—politics, food, architecture, the academic life, the law. The whole encounter went very pleasantly. Kate enjoyed leaving most of the conversation to the two men; it suited her, upon occasion, to play the quiet, unassertive woman, pleased to be in the company of two such intelligent and attractive men. She glanced from one to the other, smiling and nodding as, in courtesy, they turned to her. Toward the end of the meal, as they lingered over coffee, Kate was surprised by the fleeting impression that Reed was asking more, probing for more than the answers to the subjects under discussion. She knew him well enough to sense this, but then dismissed it as a fancy; it was certainly far from obvious. After all, one did not expect to meet one’s father for the first time in one’s fifties; it was only natural that everything should appear slightly askew. As they prepared to go their separate ways, they agreed to meet again shortly, and their parting was gracious, with Reed quite his usual self, courteous as ever. Kate decided she had been imagining things.

The next evening, however, she was forced to revert to her original impression. She and Reed were in their living room, having their usual predinner drink, when Reed, at a pause in the conversation about the the events of the day in politics and in their own lives, suddenly said:

“I love you, Kate.”

The statement seemed unconnected with anything that had preceded it, and odd besides; Reed was not given to declarations of devotion. Kate stared at him.

“What?” she said.

“I love you. I just thought I would mention it.”

“Reed, are you having an affair?”

“It’s a great world we live in,” Reed said, “where if a man tells his wife he loves her, she immediately assumes he’s having an affair.”

“He usually is. Though more usually, he tells her that on the telephone on his way to visit the other woman.”

“I never knew you were so cheaply cynical, Kate.”

“I never knew you went in for sudden assurances of marital love. One does rather take these things for granted, which is perhaps regrettable, but I can’t help feeling there was a purpose in those words. All three of them.”

“Clever you. There was a purpose, but you mistake its origins. I meant to speak of your father, and I wanted you to know I did so out of my love for you. I’m sure I could have put it better.”

“What about my father? Since we now know him, might we call him Jay? It seems more suitable.”

“Jay then.”

“What about him?”

“You do realize, dear Kate, that we know nothing whatever about him, except that DNA has proved him to be your father. We were so intrigued with the demonstration of that fact, that we neglected to ask any other questions.”

“I asked quite a few during our walk in the park, and very pointed ones at that.”

“Yes, I know. But they were, were they not, questions about your mother, how they met, why they parted, that sort of thing? I don’t doubt that he loved your mother, or at least fathered a child with her. What else do we know for certain?”

“He’s an architect; he plans the restoration of old buildings; he’s been married and has two adopted sons. He hasn’t a lot of money though he claimed to have, to persuade Laurence that money wasn’t his motive in wanting to meet me. I’m sure there’s more, but that’s quite a lot, isn’t it?”

“What was his motive in wanting to meet you?”

“You don’t consider finding a long-lost daughter sufficient motive?”

“It may be sufficient, or it may not. Why wait all this time?”

“He’s past seventy. People do look back and try to tie up loose ends at that age, surely. Why does anyone do what they do when they do it and not at another time? What are you getting at, Reed?”

“That I’d like your permission to investigate him further. You may be right about him; he may be exactly who he says he is. But I’d like to have a look, all the same. I don’t want to do it unless you agree it’s sensible, and understand that love for you is my chief motive.”

Kate laughed. “I think you’re jealous of a man who’s turned up as my father, and whatever you doubt you don’t doubt that. Reed, I’m really moved to know that you feel that way. I used to have no relation in the world but you; I can hardly count the Fansler brothers, as you know. Now I have a father as well as a husband, and you seem to mind.”

“Perhaps I do. Perhaps this is all the most errant nonsense, and cover for my nose being out of joint. But will you humor me all the same?”

“It does seem a bit like going behind his back, sneaking—not quite above board or honest.”

“True, but I shall be discreet. And if he gets word of my inquiries, I’ll simply say that as your husband I felt the need to protect you. Of course, I wouldn’t say or do any of this if you object.”

“My impulse is not to object, but to insist that I know nothing about it.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

“Oh, dear. Being discovered by one’s father seems exciting at first, but perhaps it’s more burdensome than I realized. All right; but don’t go too far. If your first investigations pan out, just let it go, will you?”

“Let’s put it this way. I’ll let you know whatever I discover, and we can decide what I do next.”

“Or what we do next.”

“You’re the detective, Kate, deny it as you will. By now I think you can claim the title, even if you’re never paid for your work. You may want to take over at any moment.”

“Or not.”

“Or not.”

And they dropped that subject; Reed fixed them another drink before they moved to the kitchen and the preparations for dinner. But Kate had great difficulty getting Reed’s suspicions out of her mind; she had to admit, in honesty, that she rather wished he hadn’t had them. On the other hand, would they not, in time, have occurred to her?

Still brooding on this, she finally decided, later that night, to return to the subject of possible detective work about Jay, his past and, if it came to that, his present. She walked from her study to Reed’s and stood in the doorway, waiting for him to look up.

“Come in,” he said. “Don’t lurk there as though you were plotting a quick escape.”

Kate walked into the room and plopped down in Reed’s large leather chair. He swirled toward her from his desk.

“I
was
plotting a quick escape,” Kate said. “I just wanted to offer a suggestion.”

“Suggest away.”

“About Jay, you know.”

“I had guessed.”

“Yes. Well, instead of donning your detective cloak and galloping off down various investigative trails, why don’t you just have lunch with him?”

Reed smiled. “Tell me about your life, I’ll say. Start at the beginning and go on till you get to the end—which is this very moment. Is that what you had in mind?”

“More or less. Either he’ll give you the truth, or most of it, or he’ll refuse, or what he gives you won’t be the truth. It seems to me that puts you further ahead in your search than you might be without the lunch.”

“Right you are,” Reed said. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Meaning you had thought of it, I suppose.”

“Only just, I admit. And I wasn’t sure you’d like me playing the detective at lunch on your behalf. So I’m glad you mentioned it.”

“I rather like the reversal,” Kate said. “The husband asking the father what his intentions are.”

“I was worried you might look at it in that light. Why don’t you have the lunch?”

“I’d rather you would, Reed. Don’t ask me why; I seem to want you to get some facts about the man in order before I continue the relationship. Besides, you’re a lawyer, an ex-D.A., you’re used to asking sharp questions. I dislike personal questions, at least direct ones. Oh, hell, I’m just putting it off on to you. Should I be the one?”

“No; I’ll be glad to cross-examine the guy. Perhaps I’ll feel better about this whole thing.”

“I didn’t know it bothered you.”

“I didn’t either. When it began to bother me, I told you about it right away.”

“That’s settled then,” Kate said. “Give the man a call and set up a leisurely lunch.”

Reed and Jay met the next day in the Oak Room of the Plaza for lunch. Reed was following Kate’s rather joking proposal that they meet in the Oak Room since that was where she had wanted to meet Jay in the first place. She had, on that occasion, been denied the Oak Room, given Laurence’s insistence that they meet at his club. Reed now saw no reason not to follow Kate’s suggestion, and therefore found himself in the Oak Room, across from Jay, studying the menu, with less idea of what he was going to say than of what he wanted to eat.

“Whatever you have on draft,” he said. “Or, if you have nothing on draft, anything at all.”

Reed had, of course, undertaken many conversations with lawyers, criminals, and students, and had no difficulty with opening remarks or with asking for what he wanted. Still, these skirmishes—one could hardly call them conversations; there were occasionally altercations—had not taken place in such elegant surroundings nor on a subject concerning his wife. Jay guessed at the reasons for Reed’s hesitation, his head buried in the menu.

“I know what I want to eat,” Jay said, “and I suspect I know what you want to talk about: my intentions toward your wife. Am I right?”

“Not exactly,” Reed said, deciding on his meal. The waiter appeared to take their orders and reclaim their menus. Jay broke open a roll and buttered it. Then he put it down and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. He handed the folded paper to Reed.

“That’s my résumé,” he said. “From 1950 on, all my jobs more or less, though I haven’t gone into details. In fact, I can’t remember all the names exactly. Also, there are a few lacunae when I was in between jobs or between temporary ones, but on the whole it’s a pretty complete picture. That’s what you wanted to know, isn’t it?”

Reed unfolded the sheet of paper and examined it. “Fortunately you’re not a lawyer,” he said. “When one is admitted to the bar, it is necessary to list every job one has ever had, including summer and temporary ones.”

“It’s different with architecture. Either you’re working at it, or at something else until you can work at it again.”

“I gather it’s a rather volatile profession.”

“Exactly like the stock market, which is a good barometer of architecture’s fortunes. When times are good, people build or, in my case, restore. When there’s a recession, building and restoration are among the first things to be postponed.”

As their drinks arrived, followed by their food, Reed continued to glance at the paper. “Do you mind if I ask a few questions as I read along?” he asked.

“Not at all.” Jay began on his salad and then chuckled. Reed looked up. “I was thinking of my wife,” Jay said. “She used to ask me what men talked about when they were alone. She seemed to think we spent our time together telling male jokes and slandering women. I was hard put to convince her that the men I knew usually had something particular to discuss and simply got on with it.”

“No doubt there are other kinds of male conversations.”

“Of course. But my wife seemed to think there was only one kind, portrayed on television by men in bars. I need hardly add that she was nothing like Kate.”

“Or Kate’s mother?”

“The resemblance was closer there, but not very close. My wife didn’t have a profession nor want one.”

Reed nodded and went on with his reading. “When did you leave Kate’s mother?” he asked, putting the paper temporarily aside.

“Not long after Kate was born; a few months later. I urged her to come away with me, bringing our baby, but she refused. Fansler had indicated no doubts about Kate’s paternity. She wanted to stay with him.”

“So you went west,” Reed said, glancing at the résumé, now at the side of his plate.

“Yes. I was avoiding the temptation to return to her, to visit. Three thousand miles seemed a sensible distance at the time; anyway, it was the farthest away I could get.”

“Did you help to decide on the baby’s, on Kate’s name?”

“Oh, yes. It was Shakespeare’s favorite woman’s name. Rosalind was, and is, my favorite woman character in Shakespeare, but Louise would not agree on Rosalind, so Kate it was. Louise wanted Katherine, but I stood my ground.”

“Fansler had nothing to say on the matter?”

“No. He had named the sons; he considered the daughter’s name her mother’s choice.”

“An old-fashioned, conventional family.”

“Surely,” Jay smiled, “ ‘There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave to tell us this.’ To tell you, that is.”

“Kate shares your passion for Shakespeare.”

“But it’s not what she teaches.”

“Not since her first teaching days.” Reed refused to let the conversation revert to Kate. “Did you know you would work as an architect when you went west? That seems to have come later.”

“I was studying architecture when I met Louise. I returned to it some years later.”

“So I see; you studied architecture at Yale.”

“Yes. But I eventually met up with a chap from Columbia, and we started our firm.”

“But not in New York.”

“No. I never returned to New York to work, except for the occasional project. By the time the west woke up to the fact that they ought to preserve a few of their older buildings—and by this time the bulldozers had knocked most of them down—there was a good bit of work for us out there.”

“You came back to New Haven, but you never visited the Fanslers or Louise or Kate.”

“No. I had promised not to; I kept my promise until a few weeks ago. Everyone who might have given a damn was dead.”

“What about your adopted sons?”

“We don’t meet often. I may tell them one of these days. I suspect they’ll be glad to hear I was such a randy fellow in my youth.”

“I never knew Kate’s parents,” Reed said. “They were dead before I met her; they both died on the young side.”