Francine, making her weekly telephone call, was evidently frustrated by Hyacinth's unwillingness to take her advice, because she had obviously decided to let the subject drop. And Hyacinth, when their rather timid conversations ended, was saddened, for the mother, the good mother, had only been planning—mistakenly, as it happened—for the daughter's benefit.
At last, on the second Monday, there was a message: “I now have a full report and can see you at my office tomorrow afternoon, or I can bring it to your house this evening, whichever you prefer. Will Miller.”
Will Miller, instead of Will. As if, without the full name, I would not know who he was! A little thing like that speaks volumes. Expect nothing, it means; I am merely doing you a decent favor. Suddenly, she did not want to see him again, especially in that forbidding office. Let him come here then, to her own territory.
When she opened the door to him that evening, she felt the very air of his last departure there: the sound of the door's soft closing, and the silence afterward. She wondered what, or even whether, he too might be having any remembrance of that moment.
But he gave no sign of anything except businesslike efficiency. With his slight frown and his refusal of coffee, he made it clear that he was in a hurry.
“In this computer age,” he said, as he withdrew a notepad from his pocket, “you would expect to learn something in hours, but this business, as it turns out, became somewhat complicated. These are my personal notes. I definitely did not want to own anything in writing.”
With her hands clutched together in her lap and her nervous heart already racing, Hyacinth fastened her eyes on the paper from which Will read.
“I'm going to start in the middle,” he said, “beginning with the death of the horse. It happens that its death was already under investigation before you came to me. Insurance companies are very suspicious when a valuable horse dies. There used to be too many cases like that. In fact, the moment you told me about the death, I thought of a case that happened in my home town where a prominent society leader—a very fine lady but not too fine to murder an animal for the insurance—well, no matter. But in recent years there have been very few such cases because people are afraid now. Some daring souls still try it, and sometimes it's successful. But then sometimes, other things happen. A righteous person finds out or suspects and goes to the authorities. At the same time, the partners in the conspiracy have a falling out, probably about splitting the money. And there you are. And then, then—”
She could not help but interrupt. “You can't mean Arnie?”
Will nodded. “Yes. I consulted a private investigator whom we employ, and I do mean Arnie. The clues were mainly the conflicting causes, one a broken leg and the other an internal rupture. The truth is that the horse was simply shot to death. The excuse that was officially given was the broken leg. But apparently there was a falling out, and somebody talked.”
Hyacinth gasped. “I can't believe Arnie would do anything like that! There was no cruelty in him, not at all. How could he—”
“Well, at least there was no pain, except for the insurance company,” Will said wryly. “Many a respected business finds it very convenient from time to time to have a fire sale. It's nothing new.”
“I can't believe it's Arnie,” she repeated. “It doesn't fit him.”
Will grimaced. “You can't always judge people by their outsides, can you? Are you feeling all right? You look faint.”
“Not faint. Just sick.”
“Are you sure you want to hear the rest? It's not a pretty story.”
“Go on,” she whispered.
“They have a lot of evidence; Arnie's signature on a falsified certificate, the man in Florida, probably the one who talked to your mother that day, and somebody else who went back twenty-five years to when Arnie Ritter was Jack Sloan.”
“They're both his name. Jack Arnold Ritter-Sloan was his name, but he hated it. He always said, ‘Hell, I'm no hoity-toity aristocrat who needs a double name.’ ”
“It seems to have come in handy for a while, though. He had a fire when he was a medical student in Texas, insured under the name of Sloan. It was a big fire, his whole apartment went up in flames, and he lost all of his valuables, rare books, very costly, or so he claimed. It looked suspicious at the time, but they could never prove it, so nothing happened.”
“Twenty-five years ago,” Hyacinth repeated in horror. Had they not said he left Texas in a hurry?
“Yes, and but for this horse affair, nothing would be happening. Now it's all come to life.”
Neither spoke. Will seemed to be studying her now, and his scrutiny was so unbearable that she had to look away, down at her own feet.
“It's a terribly painful thing to be disillusioned when you thought you knew a person,” he remarked.
No doubt he meant that for her, but she let it pass, saying only that she wanted to thank him.
“I'm very, very grateful to you, more than I can say.”
He inclined his head in a formal acknowledgment. “I'm glad I was able to help. But it's all about to come out in the news pretty soon anyway.”
“What are we waiting for? The kids don't have to finish the last few weeks of school. Let's go now.”
“Arnie,” she said again. “I still don't understand. He was so kind, so loving to us all.”
“Tell that to the insurance company.” Will's tone was grim. “That man who died in the fire—”
“What!” cried Hyacinth. “What fire?”
“The medical building, Arnie's own building.”
“He burned it down? Arnie did it?”
“Indeed he did,” Will said, still grimly. “He's had to confess. I learned it this morning. Of course he didn't have a leg to stand on, what with the Texas affair and now the horse.”
As after long darkness a person's eyes are struck by a shaft of brilliant light, so now Hyacinth was pierced by pain. Her life, the life of these past years, went whirling, and seated there in her own room the very walls went whirling.
“My children!” she cried. “They took them away from me, and now—and now—I'll have them back—”
“What is all this? What are you talking about?”
She was unable to speak. She was too stunned to find words, and yet her thoughts were flashing.
Such relief! Such unspeakable relief! Emma and Jerry… And I'm not responsible, not even through the carelessness of a dropped cigarette… not responsible for anything…. I can explain it all to everybody, and most of all to Francine—poor Francine—she suffered—
Will was staring at her. And all at once, she saw that his cool, formal courtesy was nothing more than a defense. She saw his painful effort to contain his pain within himself. And bowing her head into her hands she broke into sobs.
The next instant brought Will to his knees before her. “What is it? For God's sake, tell me,” he cried, forcing her face up toward his own.
“You see—you see,” she stammered, “they thought I did it. That I burned down the office because I was in a rage about a woman, and Gerald found my things on the lawn, and it was a murder, you see, because the man, the poor fireman, died, and that's arson murder, a felony-murder, and I—I—”
“They thought it was you?”
“Yes, yes, they thought it was, and Gerald, he said—”
Will got up and took her into his arms, while she, with her head on his shoulder, cried out her story.
“Take your time, take your time,” he whispered, kissing her head, stroking and holding her. “Who dared to accuse you? Who dared?”
“Well, Gerald. I told you—”
“He ought to be drawn and quartered. Or is he insane?”
“No, no. He really believes that I did it.”
“Oh God in heaven, why didn't you tell me all this before?” Will's cry was agonized. “Didn't you trust me? Why?”
“I was too afraid. I was terrified. They would say I had a motive, and I did have one. So I had no defense, did I
? You don't know what fear like that can do to you. Every hour of every day, I thought of my children. And all the fear was locked up inside me, sealed like a vault in a bank. Sealed. I felt that if I talked about it, it would come true. You see how things do come out after twenty-five years, don't you?”
“But me! Me. You knew I loved you. I would have done anything—”
“I wanted to live with you, Will. But you wanted a wife. How could I do that to you? If all of a sudden I should be accused and very likely convicted—how could I do that to you?” she repeated. “You were, you are, a man rising in the world. To put you at risk to share my trouble—how could I?”
“Who gives a damn about rising? Do you really think that would have stopped me?”
“Are you saying you wouldn't have cared? Will, be truthful with me.”
“I have always been truthful with you, even about those half-baked pictures you used to paint. Yes, I would have been very worried, very worried for your sake. But that would never have kept me from taking you as my wife. You were, you are, for me as close to perfection as one can ever hope to find in this world.”
Perfection. And quite still, Hyacinth felt his heart as it touched her own, the thumping beat upon the beat of her own.
“Did you ever think about me?” she murmured.
“Yes, the way one thinks sadly, while trying not to, of someone who has gone away or died.”
“I never went away, but there were plenty of times when I wished I would die.”
“But you came to me when you needed help.”
“I knew that if anything should be revealed about me, you wouldn't hurt me.”
“I didn't like Arnie, you know. I told you so. The only time I was with him, riding away from your house in the cab, I felt something concealed behind the friendly grin. It wasn't because I was jealous, although I admit I was. I simply didn't like him.”
“You don't know him, Will. He was—is—the kindest soul on earth, and I can't make any sense out of what he's done.”
“Contradictions. We all have them. Only his were extreme.”
“I pity him…. Of course I also despise him for letting me suffer as I have. I suppose that's my contradiction.”
After a long minute, Will spoke again. His voice was very soft and breaking. “I'm remembering the hammock and the crashing waves. Those nights keep coming back and back again.”
“Do you remember that day in the park when all of a sudden we looked at each other and both of us knew and neither of us said it?”
“And before that there was the day you dropped the bag of books on the sidewalk.”
“And I'm remembering—”
Will raised his hand. “Enough. Enough of remembering. We have lost time to make up for.” He was kissing her and now, at the same time, laughing a little. “Get up, so I can carry you inside.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Yes,” Gerald said, “you could have knocked me over with a feather. I'm still in shock.” Hyacinth had been bringing the last of the children's belongings down the stairs, when Gerald appeared. Having hoped to avoid him but caught now at the foot of the stairs, she stood there surrounded by boxes and bags.
“How a man as smart as Arnie is can mess up his life like this is beyond me. Who ever could have imagined the things he's done?”
And who could imagine that Gerald would be talking to her as naturally as if they were in the habit of holding daily conversations? Here in his tennis whites, cradling his racket and shaking his head in astonished disbelief, he continued his narration.
“Cashed in all his securities and emptied his bank accounts to the last penny, but he didn't touch our corporate account, which of course he could have done. And now he's vanished, God knows where to. How's it going to end, do you think?”
“I have no idea,” she said sadly.
“Oh, they'll get him eventually. They always do. Always did. But now, with the World Wide Web and Voice of America's Crime Alert, it's even easier. Another thing”—and Gerald's face took on an expression of wise judgment—“a man like him who likes to show off his wealth, a flamboyant type, you know, won't be able to stay inconspicuous. You should see what he's done with this office downtown. Arnie's always been a big spender. He makes it and spends it.”
Hyacinth was thinking, You don't do too badly, either. She was looking past Gerald's shoulder through the hall and the rooms beyond. They had changed since the single visit she had made here before. New influences had left their mark everywhere in hideous artificial flowers, heavy gilt, and thick, dark satins, all expensive and unsuited to the climate. There was a time when he would have rejected such a gaudy display.
Gerald was telling her, “He left me a note. Came yesterday, postmarked here, probably just before he left for wherever he went. It's an apology to me, and some stuff about you: ‘Don't blame Hy. She had absolutely nothing to do with the fire in any way. Nothing at all.' He underlined it.”
For a moment, overwhelmed yet again by the sadness of everything, she was silent. Arnie. How to explain him? Was there ever any real explanation when decent people transgressed?
“I have a note, too,” she said. It was none of Gerald's business, and yet for some reason she wanted him to hear it. “ ‘Forgive me, Hy, for all the terrible hurt I caused you. I've tried to make it up to you. Please try to remember that I really loved you, and still do.’ ”
At the last words, when her voice cracked, Gerald exclaimed with heated indignation, “I can imagine how you'd like to shoot him through the heart. I know I would if I were you. I'd want to destroy him.”
“No,” she said. “He's a tragedy. All the goodness in him gone to waste.”
“What? You're not enraged? You're an unusual woman, Hyacinth. Amazing.”
“Oh, I'm angry at him, very much so. But far, far more so at you.”
It was Gerald's turn to be silent, and she saw that her words had struck home.
As he turned away from her, she took the opportunity to examine him. There it was, the face with the slightly tilted, teasing gold-brown eyes, the face that women loved, not a day older than it had been on the afternoon when she had rescued him from the rain storm, she, the delayed adolescent, ignorant and infatuated. Even now that face still spoke of humor, pleasure, and passion. Even now it promised nothing. It had never really given anything, nor had it ever loved.
Well, yes, she corrected herself. He had loved the children; after all, they were extensions of himself.
“I really thought you did it, Hyacinth,” he said now. “I really thought you were jealous enough to have done it. That's God's truth.”
“Then you never knew me. If you had loved me enough, you would have known me better. You would have known that I was no arsonist. If you had loved me, you would not have taken my children away.”
Gerald threw up his hands. “God Almighty, I'm sorry. The whole thing's been an awful mistake, a mess. And I was terribly wrong. But I still don't see how you can be more angry at me than at Arnie.”
“Arnie had a heart, you see. The only people he hurt were the insurance people, which is certainly a terrible crime, but he also paid off the fireman's mortgage for the widow and gave her four years of college for each of her children. That's to say nothing about all his other kindnesses and especially his goodness to Jerry and Emma and me. He's a sick man, I think. He must be. And so I'm terribly sorry for him.”
“Well,” Gerald conceded, “you do have a point. He was a gambler, and from there, I suppose, it's not too big a step to worse things when you happen to be in need of cash. Yes, it's pitiable, the way you put it. It's an addiction, like alcohol.”
“Or women. By the way, how is Sherree? Or was it Cheryl? The one after Buddy, I mean.”
Gerald's smile was followed by a flush that rose to the roots of his hair. “That's all nonsense. With a little serious willpower, addictions can be overcome.”
He was admiring her. Suddenly she was conscious of her dress, which was the color of rip
e apricots, of her shining black sandals and the ribbon band that she had worn to keep her hair from blowing in the wind. Never before in this man's presence had she felt such confidence, or even such superiority. A picture flickered for an instant before her eyes and then flickered away: Jim, at the little dining table in Texas, had just talked about giving them the big house when Gerald was finished with his training, and Gerald was almost visibly discarding any thought of abortion. With hindsight now, it was all too clear.
“I've been reading and hearing so much about your success,” he said. “I've wanted to congratulate you, but since you wouldn't even talk to me—”
“There was no point in talking to you.”
She was restless. The conversation had gone on too long, and Will was waiting outside in the rented car. She had not wanted him to come in. And moving now to depart, she was stopped by Gerald's quick yet somehow tentative question.
“Now that we have talked, I was thinking that—well, that possibly you might give some thought to maybe trying again.”
Two suitcases dropped from Hyacinth's hands and thumped onto the floor.
“Trying again? You can't mean what I think you mean?”
“Well, yes I do. You and I—after all, we were—I thought, seeing you, and with so much cleared up in our minds—”
“You can't be serious, Gerald. You can't be. Why, I'd as soon adopt a cobra.”
He withdrew as if he were expecting her to strike him. “All right, all right. Forget I said it. The only thing is, I don't like to see you go away with so much hatred toward me, Hyacinth.”
“The fact is, I'm not going away with all that much hatred toward you. I've just realized that, actually, I don't have it. Well, maybe I still do somewhat, because what you did to me was unspeakable. But at least I'm not going to waste too much time and energy over it. I'm far too happy.” Pausing, she looked straight into his eyes. “Now if you'll ask Tessie, please, to help me with this stuff, I'll appreciate it. My mother is waiting with Emma and Jerry at the hotel. We're flying home tonight, right after an early supper.”