She clicked through to the pictures from the Prado. They were all Velázquez, all the time. The pictures from the Thyssen-Bornemisza were more of a mixed bag, and there were more of them. She decided to see if, as she hoped, the BMFA folder was for the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. It was shocking but Hope had only been there twice since she had moved to Boston, and both times for special exhibitions. She hadn’t explored the permanent collection since she was in college and their history of art teacher made them go as an assignment. Most of what she remembered about that day was the bus ride with her friends.
She expected more Spanish portraits in the Boston collection, but instead Florence had dwelt on four or five Rembrandt canvases. Well, why not, who doesn’t love Rembrandt. Then, inevitably, another Philip IV. When had the man had time to rule? He must have spent every day being fitted for clothes and then painted in them. She was more struck by another Velázquez portrait of a man in a high white soft collar, not the starched disk of the royals, with a long skinny head and a fierce expression who looked very much like Hope’s gynecologist. Then, a bounce forward in time, to a great big picture she was pretty sure was John Singer Sargent. She loved Sargent. Hope’s husband had once had a famous portrait guy try to do Hope as Madame X, but he couldn’t pull it off, which proved that what Sargent did was way harder than it looked. Her husband had refused to pay for the commission; that was embarrassing. Hope paid the man secretly in installments with money she siphoned out of her household cash allowance, and it took two years.
This was a picture of young girls of different ages, sisters they must be, in a big room with a complicated Oriental carpet, and huge blue-and-white vases. Florence had taken a lot of pictures of this painting, moving around it, trying to get details that were otherwise obscured by other art lovers’ heads. Hope wondered if this was for a class Florence was preparing. Hope clicked through them, wishing for her phone so she could biggify the parts that were too small here. She whizzed past one wide shot, felt something snag her attention almost below the level of consciousness, and she clicked back. There they were, a couple sharing a passionate kiss at the edge of the frame. Strange museum behavior. Then the next shot. In which the girl was in profile, looking moony-eyed at the man, who had turned and was looking directly at the camera.
Steph found Lily in the gymnastics room at the gym. Lily had her earbuds in and was on the balance beam, standing on one leg with her eyes closed.
“Lily,” Steph called quite loudly. Lily opened her eyes and looked annoyed. When she was upset it helped to disappear into her body, submerging feeling beneath the effort of forcing her physical self to ever greater mastery of strength, balance, precision.
Steph said, “Lily, don’t be a dick. Get down.”
Lily immediately had to put her foot down to keep from falling. She pulled the earbuds out of her ears and sat down on the bar, saying fiercely, “What is your problem?”
“You should see your face. And you shouldn’t be doing that in those clothes, it isn’t safe.”
“Oh, safe,” said Lily nastily.
“Jesus Christ! What’d I do to you?”
Lily said, “God, nothing! But you need to mind your own business!”
“I would, but you’ve been a total freak for like, weeks now!”
“No, I—”
“Yes, Lily. You have. And I just wanted to tell you I’m so sorry about the fire. It’s—”
“Do you know how it feels to have your father be a total fucking liar?”
Steph still had her mouth open. “What?”
Lily was now on the edge of tears, a state Steph knew she hated more than most people. Her lips were pressed together in a clench that looked painful.
“Your . . . what?”
“Nothing. Forget it. Just leave me alone.”
“No. Tell me what you’re talking about.”
Lily suddenly dropped from the balance beam to the floor and came at Steph so aggressively that it felt like an attack. She stood eye to eye with her friend as if she could convey with mental telepathy how angry she was.
Steph stood her ground. She was actually quite startled at what she’d unleashed, but having started, she meant to finish.
Lily said, “The day we found Mrs. Meagher, Daddy came to get me. He wanted to take me into the city, but I really wanted to go to Hatfield, so we went, but he was weird the whole time.”
“Weird how?”
“He seemed mad at me, at least until Mummy came. And the whole time we were there, his studio was locked.”
“What? I mean . . . why?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. But I went out there to look for something I’d lost, and I couldn’t get in. When I asked him why he did this.” Lily stepped closer to Steph, practically nose to nose, and stared into her eyes, her unblinking gaze an unveiled threat.
Steph tried to sustain the look, but stepped back.
“Jesus,” she said. She tried to imagine her own cheerful father, an allergist, doing anything remotely like that, and couldn’t. “But I don’t understand.”
“So don’t.”
“Did you tell your mother?”
“You are not getting it. He’s a total fucking liar and she pretends not to know it. I just need to get out of there.”
What Steph was getting was that her friend was upset out of all proportion to what she understood of the situation. What she should do about it, if anything, she had no idea.
Caroline was just saying good-bye to her yoga instructor when Hope arrived at the apartment. She was still in her tights and T-shirt, but she’d put on a big cardigan and a pair of loafers. She urged the yoga teacher to give Hope her number, so Hope could make an appointment when she was settled back in the city. This was better than the reception Hope had feared. And after the door closed behind the yogini, as Hope said, “I’m so sorry to come on such short notice . . .” Caroline was saying “I’m so glad you’re here, something terrible has happened.”
Then they looked at each other. “Let’s go into the den,” Caroline said, and they did, closing the door.
“Tell me,” Hope said.
“Just tell me first, are you in a tearing hurry?”
“I’m heading out this afternoon, but I’m driving, so my own schedule. What’s happened?”
“Hugo’s studio, in the country. Where he kept all his business records, and inventory. His holy of holies. It blew up in the middle of last night.”
Hope stared at her. “Blew up?”
“Burned down. Blew up then burned down. He’s such a mess I couldn’t get a clear story. He says he heard a tremendous boom in the night, and when he got to the window there was this fireball streaming into the sky from the roof of his studio. It’s lucky he was there or it might have spread to the house. The studio’s a total loss. Tremendously hot fire, devoured everything.”
Hope’s mind was going at a rapid tilt. How does a man’s business studio just blow up? In a fire so hot it destroys all traces?
“I’m shocked,” Hope said.
“Yes. It makes you feel completely . . . naked. Unprotected. Which we all are, really, aren’t we?”
“Did you have anything of your own in the building?”
“No, it was Hugo’s domain. He needs that, a kingdom of his own. He’s a proud man.” Tears started in Caroline’s eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever known him to cry before, he just seems shattered.”
“Were you insured?”
“Oh yes. But most of it is irreplaceable. His inventory. The car.”
“Wait—the car? Was this a garage apartment?”
Caroline smiled briefly at the thought of Hugo running his kingdom from a garage apartment. “No, a custom building, everything he ever wanted. Art storage, his office and library, and a little palace for his Maserati. He worshipped that car. It meant something mystical to him. His Rosebud.”
Hope had questions, but they could wait. If Hugo owned an expensive Maserati, couldn’t he have sold it to pay his de
bts? Only if it was in his name . . . well, now was not the time. Angus could find out if it was important. Feelings were more important than things, at the moment, and she had something to do that was not going to be easy.
“Is Hugo still in the country?” she asked instead.
“Yes, he wasn’t feeling well to begin with, and then he got no sleep, and also he thought he ought to stay there to see what they can learn about the fire. The insurance people are coming this afternoon. I know how you feel about him, but honestly, Hope, this breaks my heart for him.”
Hope could not think of a single thing to say that wouldn’t be false, so she said nothing for a long stretch. When Caroline stopped twisting her fingers and imagining Hugo’s distress and turned to look at her, Hope said, “I’m afraid what I feel for Hugo has gotten more complicated.”
Caroline said, “Oh.” She seemed to shift gears visibly as she remembered that Hope had asked to see her; she hadn’t merely appeared as an angel of sympathy. More bad news was coming her way. She composed herself and turned an expression toward Hope that in another era might have been called haughty.
“I’m truly sorry, Caroline,” said Hope.
“I doubt you, but do what you’ve got to do.”
The atmosphere was suddenly like the noise of chalk on a blackboard between them as Hope got out her laptop and fired it up. When it had sung its little welcome song, she plugged in the thumb drive, opened the BMFA directory, and scrolled through to the picture of the Sargent with the amorous couple at the edge of the frame. She turned the screen toward Caroline, who looked at it steadily. She showed no emotion at all; Hope couldn’t even tell for sure if she’d seen what she was being shown.
Hope opened the next image, in which Hugo has turned and is looking at the photographer. Again she couldn’t tell if Caroline was seeing what was before her, she sat so still. Finally Hope said, “This is not a good man, Caroline.”
Caroline said flatly, “This is cruel, Hope.”
Hope hung her head. Maybe it was. She hated moral murk.
“You should go,” Caroline added.
Hope went. Caroline’s demeanor as she stood watching her retreat was so coldly angry that as Hope pulled the door shut behind her, she thought she might well never see her friend again.
Chapter 24
Friday, May 22
Lily had been working on a dive from the three-meter board with a degree of difficulty rarely seen in competition in her age group. The diving coach from Fordham, an old friend of Greta’s from her days in competition, had made a special trip to see her workout. Lily and Greta had worked on the dive list for the visit all spring. Steph had been watching the two of them closely, hoping for some sign that Lily had talked to Coach about what was going on with her, but Lily had totally closed her out.
Bobby Chiang arrived on Friday night in time for dinner. Greta had all her best swimmers and divers at the table. She sat at the head, with Chiang on her left and Lily on her right. The young athletes listened in avid silence as the two Olympians talked about old times, laughing nervously if Chiang turned his attention to any of them. They found his accent difficult to penetrate, though Greta apparently did not. The meal was chicken pot pie, Lily’s favorite, but Steph noticed she put almost none of it into her mouth. Instead she concentrated on cutting a chunk of carrot into smaller and smaller pieces with the side of her fork. Lily seemed manic to Steph, talking too much and using her hands a lot, which wasn’t like her. Only once did she seem to focus—when Chiang began to describe to Greta the trip he was leading to Shanghai in the summer. Promising young divers would get to see the Chinese national competition and then train in the center used by the Shanghai team. Beautiful facilities with springboards and platforms at the pool and gymnastics practice rooms. There would be trips to see the sights as well, the Jade Buddha Temple, the Yu Garden—
Lily interrupted. “Is it too late to sign up?”
Chiang was surprised but recovered himself. The trip had been filled for some months now, but next year—
Lily interrupted again and asked with some urgency, “Is there a waiting list? If anyone drops out, can you let me know?”
Chiang looked at Greta, who smiled mildly, looking puzzled. Lily’s manners were usually better than this.
Chiang said, “I have your information, I think?” He turned to Greta again.
In the morning, when Greta arrived at the pool house, Lily was already there, in her sweats with her gym bag, waiting on the bench outside the door nearest to Greta’s office. She had a pinched look around her nose, and mauve shadows under her eyes.
“You’re up early,” Greta said. She herself was a little late because she and Honey had sat up with Chiang in the bar at his hotel, telling war stories.
“Couldn’t sleep,” said Lily.
“Did you have any breakfast?”
Greta could tell from her hesitation that she had not. “Well come in and get warmed up. I’ll make some coffee and I’ve got some cheese and biscuits. You have to eat something.”
By the time Chiang arrived with Honey, a cheering section had drifted in to sit in the bleachers. Everyone hoped that Lily was going to be an Olympian. Or least a star on the national level. It was thrilling to think of one of their own being great, becoming famous.
Chiang sat with Honey, and Greta stood with Lily at the deep end of the pool. Ms. Liggett came in with Mrs. Detweiler. Everyone in the hot moist pool room wanted to be uplifted, to see something that would white out the taint of what had happened here. Steph, sitting high in the bleachers, kept wondering if Lily’s parents would appear. Normally they showed up for everything, at least her father did. If they weren’t here, it was because Lily hadn’t told them about it.
Lily, wearing a black tank suit, took her position on the three-meter board. Greta announced the first dive. Lily started with a relatively easy dive for her, and did it impeccably. Smooth upward spring to impressive height, a tidy perfectly calibrated forward twist, and an entry to the water so clean that she barely made a splash. Steph saw Chiang exchange a look with Greta. He sat waiting for the next dive with a little smile on his face.
The second dive, an inward straight dive, had a higher degree of difficulty but happened to be one that was easier for Lily than most. Greta announced it as Lily stood on the tip of the three-meter board, back to the water. She looked solemn as she went into her lift, turned her extended body upside down, and entered the water again in perfect form, toes pointed, with hardly a splash.
The third dive, a reverse tuck, was the one most in Lily’s wheelhouse, the one she hadn’t missed in years, chosen so the visceral experience of perfection would carry her into the big challenge, number four. Oddly, something went slightly wrong in her liftoff, and she wasn’t quite in position when she hit the water. There was some splash and her feet were not touching when they disappeared below the surface.
Maggie clapped enthusiastically until she realized that Christina had recognized something less than perfection. Diving was not a sport Maggie had ever followed and it had looked dazzling to her, but Maggie’s hands were folded in her lap as Lily’s head broke the surface of the water, and she stayed for a moment treading water, looking blankly toward Greta, before she began to swim to the ladder.
Lily fussed with her suit, drank some water, fussed with her suit again before Greta whispered something to her and gave her a gentle pat on the rump, and she climbed back up the three-meter.
“Back one and a half somersault, one and a half twist,” Greta announced, and immediately Lily called, “Back one and a half pike.” She looked at Greta with something pleading in her expression. Greta looked dumbfounded.
“Did Greta make a mistake?” Maggie asked Christina in a whisper.
“No, Lily is trying to change the dive. It’s really not done; a dive list is decided well in advance.”
She broke off as Greta firmly announced the original dive.
Lily was now looking straight ahead. She took severa
l deep breaths. She shook her arms. She rolled her feet so as to loosen her ankles, first one, then the other.
Then she began to move. She flung herself straight upward, revolving rapidly, then spun as she hurtled downward and was late by much too much to extend her arms to break the water before she hit it with her head and shoulder.
There was a ripple in the audience of fear for her. You could hit the water as if it were pavement if you didn’t break it right.
Lily surfaced and swam for the ladder, climbed out without pausing to clear her eyes or answer Greta’s whispered question, and climbed the ladder. Before she had quite taken her position she called, “Redive.”
Greta, looking shocked, firmly announced the last dive, but Lily said, “Someone made a noise. I need a redive.”
If there had been an unusual noise no one else had heard it. This would never be allowed in competition, but then, this wasn’t competition. Lily stood, looking straight ahead, gathering herself as Greta looked to Chiang, who shrugged.
Lily took her place at the tip of the board and without stopping to gather herself, bounced upward. As she finished her somersault and plunged downward, spinning, and hit the water even worse than before, her timing completely wrong, and there were gasps throughout the small audience in fear that she could have really broken something. Like her neck.
She surfaced. She swam to the ladder and called, before she was fully out, “Redive!”
Greta called, “Lily, that’s enough! Go get dressed!”
Chiang was putting away his clipboard, looking at no one. Greta and Lily faced each other. Greta’s back was to the bleachers but her posture registered her anger and disappointment. She was relentless on the subject of sportsmanship and Lily had mortified her. Lily, meanwhile, was looking back with a ferocity that was almost feral. She looked like a cornered animal.