The Spire (14 page)

'Explain, please.'

Darrow summarized the meeting. 'So what bothers you'' Riley asked. 'That a gentleman and scholar can open up a Swiss account' Or steal that much money without any sensible exit strategy''

'Maybe both'I'm not quite sure yet. It's more a feeling I have.'

'You've had them before,' Riley answered. 'Now and then you were even right. Problem is, I'm a little busy. Can't this wait two, three weeks''

'Sure. The money's gone.'

Riley laughed. 'Okay, then. I've always wanted to visit Wayne, Ohio.'

Hanging up, Darrow glanced at his schedule. Thanks to Lionel Farr, for the rest of the day there was barely time to breathe, let alone think. Ruefully, he recalled that the Reverend Caldwell had believed in total immersion baptism.

WHEN D ARROW EMERGED from his office, his watch read seven o'clock, and he was running late for dinner with Taylor Farr. The evening was still light, the air muggy. Darrow put his top down, smiling at this gesture to his Porsche-less youth.

The main drag of Wayne, Scioto Street, bisected the town's commercial area. Downtown seemed much as it had been when Darrow left: two-story buildings that housed a hardware store, a haberdashery, a barbershop, and offices for real estate agents, accountants, lawyers, and insurance salesmen. Except for an outdoor caf', a novelty, haute-bourgeois chic still seemed alien to Wayne. But the parking meters, Darrow noticed when he stopped, remained a bargain'four quarters bought two hours, ample time for dinner at the Carriage House.

The restaurant was at the end of the block. Two cars away, a slender black man with thinning hair stood by a silver Mercedes, sticking quarters into the meter. Turning, he examined Darrow with cool but ostentatious interest. 'Well,' he said in a silken voice, 'Mark Darrow himself. And still the hero, seems like.'

It took Darrow a moment to be certain. He glanced at the quarter between the man's fingers. 'And you're still dealing in cash, seems like.'

Carl Hall emitted a short laugh. Nodding toward Darrow's Porsche, he said, 'Nice ride.'

'Yours, too. So what are you up to, Carl''

Hall gave him a complacent smile. 'This and that. You know how it is.'

'I certainly remember.' Darrow waited for a moment. 'I remember a lot of things, in fact. Yesterday I went to see Steve Tillman.'

Hall's smile turned canine, more a show of teeth. 'As they say, that's mighty white of you.'

Casually, Darrow propped his arm on a parking meter. 'He still insists he didn't kill her, Carl. That Angela told him she had to leave.'

'Sure, at two in the morning. Must have had an appointment to get those white teeth cleaned.'

Darrow repressed his visceral dislike. He waited for an elderly couple to pass them on the sidewalk, then asked in a tone of mild curiosity, 'Did your sister have a relationship''

Hall scrutinized Darrow more closely. 'A secret boyfriend, you mean''

'If you do.'

'How would I know' The princess and I weren't that close.'

Scumbag
, Darrow thought. 'Funny,' he told Hall. 'You had enough brotherly feeling to warn me off her at the party.'

'That was about
you
,' Hall shot back. 'I never minded taking money from white college boys. But I didn't like you people fucking my black sisters, related or not.'

Darrow stared at him. 'Fucking's not killing.'

'Your buddy,' Hall said flatly, 'was a racist. Ask any black kid who went to high school with him. Surprised
you
missed it, actually. Assuming you did.' He shook his head in weary scorn. 'Stupid white men have been abusing black women since time began'that's how Angela's skin became that tawny shade you boys prefer. Tillman just took things one step further. So live with it, Mr. President.'

Abruptly, Hall turned and walked away.

W

ALKING INTO THE C ARRIAGE H OUSE, D ARROW ENTERED A time warp, a place unchanged since he was in college. The commodious bar had three shelves filled with wine, liquor bottles, and painted signs touting extinct beers; the two rows of wooden booths still featured Tiffany lampshades overhead and sports memorabilia decorating the walls'jerseys, pennants, pictures, and framed articles capturing athletic triumphs. The place was packed with couples, old and young, and families across the generations; one long table included a pregnant woman, her husband, three restless kids, and a weary but patient grandmother. A man Darrow did not know waved in recognition, as though he had watched Darrow play football a week before. Friendly and unpretentious, the atmosphere suggested ordinary people going about their lives, uninterested in the concerns of Darrow's friends in Boston, who were so often focused on politics, travel, the arts, or vacation homes. Searching for Taylor, Darrow spotted Dave Farragher sitting with his wife and decided not to approach him.

Taylor occupied a booth near the back of the room. She wore blue jeans and a red silk blouse, which, Darrow thought, suited her color well. Approaching, he saw that she sat beneath a picture of the young Mark Darrow, thrusting the ceremonial bronze axe from the steeple of the Spire. He sat across from Taylor, glancing at his own image. 'I can't seem to escape myself.'

Taylor considered the photograph. 'I remember that moment exactly'my parents and I were so excited for you. Looking at this picture now, I wish that were all I remembered.'

'So do I.'

She faced him, her expression pensive. 'The owner meant well, seating us here. But you and I have a unique relationship to the Spire. For you, it's Angela; for me, my mother. I wouldn't mind crossing the campus someday and seeing that thing gone.'

'No chance of that. There'd be an alumni revolt.' He resolved to lighten her mood. 'Nice blouse, by the way.'

Taylor smiled. 'If you see me again, you'll see
it
again. Part-time college instructors lack extensive wardrobes'the rewards of academic life are purer than that.' She raised her eyebrows. 'How was
your
first day in academia''

'Terrific,' he answered dryly. 'The faculty's nervous; the alumni restive; and my predecessor'so it appears'was a criminal. A less optimistic man would say Caldwell's in trouble.'

'So my father says. What will you do about it''

'What I'd like is to start an endowment drive. But I can't just say to alumni, 'The last guy stole your money, so give me some more.' So I'm hitting the road, hoping to change the conversation from 'How the hell did this happen'' to 'How can I invest in Caldwell and its dynamic new leader'' ' Darrow glanced at a waitress, drawing her attention. 'In the meanwhile,' he concluded, 'I've hired a consultant to help me assess the priorities of the school. Before I try to raise a hundred million dollars, I need a fresh vision of what Caldwell can be.'

The waitress, a wiry middle-aged blonde with a nice smile but tired eyes, took their drink orders. It gave Darrow time to absorb once more how attractive Taylor was. When the waitress left, Taylor said, 'It sounds like a lot of work. Does Caldwell really mean that much to you''

Darrow considered his answer. Abruptly he decided to give this woman the truth as best he knew it. 'When I left here,' he acknowledged, 'I meant to leave this place behind. Not just Caldwell, but the town. My family life was miserable; I'd grown up wanting to escape but never believing that I would.' He paused, parsing his complex thoughts. 'It's strange. I walked in here tonight and remembered all that's good about this town: that most people are friendly and straightforward; that they're bonded by clubs or civic groups or church; that they connect with one another in a way lost to e-commuters and the residents of gated communities; that despite their blind spots'race being one'they tend to be generous to anyone they actually know. And yet I also had this spasm of fear: that somehow I'd reverted, and was coming back for good.

'But the reason I left is the reason I returned. Caldwell'and your father'changed my life. If I'd turned him down, it would be like denying the central fact of my existence: the act of generosity that made me whoever I am now.'

Abruptly, Darrow felt as though he had said too much. But Taylor regarded him with a look of sympathy and reflection. 'Was it hard to leave Boston'' she asked.

Their drinks arrived. Darrow sipped his whiskey, pondering how much more to say to a woman he barely knew but for whom, given their shared history, he felt an affinity. At length he said, 'Like Caldwell, Boston has its ghosts. Suddenly what remained felt empty.'

Taylor regarded the table, as though considering what to say. Then she looked up at him again. 'When I read that your wife had died, I thought about writing you. But it seemed gratuitous, a condolence note from someone who remembered you more clearly than I'm certain you remembered me. I imagined my note being more puzzling than consoling. So I didn't.'

'I wouldn't have minded, actually. Now and then I've wondered about what became of you. How is it for
you
, being back''

Taylor tasted her gimlet. 'Funny,' she answered. 'Dad's still a stranger, although I feel him trying. And for some odd reason I don't sleep well in that house. But then I haven't had much practice since I was fourteen.'

'Fourteen''

Taylor nodded. 'I went away to the Trumble School, in Connecticut. My grandfather Taylor went there'my uncle, too. So my grandparents offered to pay my way.' Taylor paused, her eyes pensive. 'They seemed to sense that my dad and I were both adrift. He didn't know what to do with me; worse, I think I resented him'terrible as this is to say'for being the parent who survived. Looking back, my grandparents were giving us both some breathing space. But when I left, I left for good.'

When the waitress returned, they paused to order dinner. Picking up the conversation, Darrow thought of Joe Betts. 'What was Trumble like'' he asked. 'I always imagined prep school as a gilded prison.'

Taylor laughed. 'Oh, there's a little of that. Sometimes I think parents pay schools like Trumble a ridiculous amount of money to warehouse the puberty-maddened, imposing rules that Mom and Dad would never dream of trying. Imagine your mom conducting room inspections.'

'I can't.'

Registering his sardonic tone, Taylor smiled faintly. 'No, I guess not. But add to that hall monitors who called you out for wearing headphones, sign-in sheets for breakfast, and a schedule where every hour from seven A.M. to nine at night was planned.' She laughed softly at herself. 'I make it sound like Alcatraz. The fact is, Trumble was good for me, and mostly I adored it. Suddenly I had friends from everywhere'my three closest girlfriends were from Ghana, Hong Kong, and Spanish Harlem. Our classmates called us the 'four corners of the world,' which we wore as a badge of pride.' Taylor's expression grew reflective. 'I missed my mom, of course. There were so many times I wanted to talk with her about friends or boys or social pressures or dreams about the future, and I couldn't. But no one had a mom on-site. Instead, my friends became like a second family.'

Thinking of Steve Tillman, Darrow nodded. 'As a teenager I remember feeling like we were a secret society, conspiring against clueless adults.'

Taylor smiled in recognition. 'The four of us certainly had our secrets. When Lupe, from Harlem, was the first to sleep with a guy, the rest of us knew within hours. But no one else did, ever'except for all the people
his
friends told, of course.'

Darrow cocked his head. 'I'm curious about the logistics. Where did Lupe go to pull this off''

Taylor grinned. 'Sedgwick Chapel'the holiest of holies on the Trumble campus, laden with history: graduations, memorial services, addresses by storied alumni. No student was supposed to have a key, but someone always did. I've often thought the richest part of chapel lore was its unofficial history. Which no one ever acknowledged.'

Darrow glanced at the photograph. 'Sounds something like the Spire.'

'I suppose so. But nothing died in Sedgwick except virtue, and most of us were dying to be rid of it.' Taylor's expression grew serious. 'Trumble was where I learned to cope with whatever happened to me. I left there as an adult, more or less.'

It struck Darrow that Taylor, weaned from family, in some ways had become even more of a loner than the girl he remembered. 'After prep school,' he asked, 'how were things with Lionel''

'Much the same. Even at Trumble, I spent summers as a camp counselor, or with my grandparents on Martha's Vineyard. Same thing when I went on to Williams. During my junior year, my grandfather Taylor died, then Grandmother six months later. So I decided to leave the country altogether.'

Their steaks arrived, pronged with small plastic signs that said, CERTIFIED ANGUS BEEF and promised that both were cooked medium rare. Darrow smiled at this. 'The Carriage House,' he told her, 'has the virtue of being utterly resistant to fashion. It's been open for half a century now. In London or San Francisco, restaurants open and close in a year.'

Taylor cut a decorous sliver of steak. 'Have you spent much time in London''

'A little.' He hesitated. 'That and Paris were Lee's favorite cities. We split our honeymoon between them.'

Taylor took this in. 'I lived in London for almost three years, taking a crash course in art dealering at Sotheby's, then getting my master's at the Courtauld Institute. It's probably the city I know best.'

'Did you like it''

'Quite a bit,' she answered. 'In fact, I thought about staying. But the best doctorate program anywhere is at NYU. So I went there, and learned to love the West Village. Now I need time off to finish my dissertation. So here I am, in Wayne.'

'So here we both are'you living with your dad, me in what I still think of as Clark Durbin's house.'

'The President's House,' Taylor amended. 'What's that like''

'Not exactly to my taste. It feels a little like one of those furnished apartments that serve as a halfway house for husbands whose wives have thrown them out.' He sipped his drink. 'Perhaps it's my state of mind. In my former life we had a town house near the Common, filled with things we'd chosen over time. To me home is something organic. This is a place to sleep.'