“Oh, yes. Don’t you think having lots of nice children is a good use of wealth?”
Jack said, “I’ve seen worse uses.”
Politely, conversationally, Amy then asked Jack personal questions, where he had been born, brought up, schooled. He answered as well as he could.
She said, “You’re old enough to be married. You never were?”
“No.”
“I expect you have a fairly hopeless view of marriage.”
“Except to have children, maybe …”
“Don’t you want children?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sure,” she said. “It’s the only reason to get married. Just to keep the paperwork straight.”
Jack said, “Shedding yourself of three husbands must have cost more than a little.”
“Oh, that,” she said. “I have a way of handling my father.”
“How’s that?” he asked.
“If he doesn’t do what I want I’ll tell the world he sexually abused me as a child.”
“Is it true?”
“Of course not. But he manipulates, tries to control everybody. One has to have a way of manipulating him, don’t you agree? His reputation, that he’s Mister Perfect himself, perfect husband, father of a perfect family, is his soft spot. It’s the only weapon I have, you see.”
“It’s not very nice.”
“It works.”
“Would you actually use it? Say such a thing?”
“Of course. And he knows it.”
The oldest boy, about nine years old, was standing between Jack’s knees. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Jack.”
“Jack, will you come play with us?”
Jack wasn’t sure he wanted to play with the children in the pool.
He was sure he wanted no more of the conversation with Amy MacDowell.
Suddenly the beautiful day, the beautiful flowers, the beautiful pool, the beautiful children seemed to have become splattered by something foul.
“Go ahead,” Amy said.
Jack stood up. “If I touch your naked children in the swimming pool will I be accused of sexual child abuse?” His voice sounded stronger to him than he had intended.
“Of course not.” Amy chuckled. “What would be the point?”
Jack enjoyed himself more than he thought.
Cupping his hands under water, one by one the children stepped into his hands so he could lift them out of the water and fling them backward. They landed on their backs, laughing, making lovely splashes.
The children then began a game of King of the Mountain with him, each trying to climb him, sit on his shoulders, throw the others off. His hair got pulled and his ears tugged.
The children wriggled around with the energy and humor of monkeys.
The games continued longer than he expected.
“Jack?” Amy called him from the side of the pool. “You’d better come out of the water, now. Your back is bleeding.”
Jack put his own hand on his back and saw it was so.
“Besides,” Amy said. “The sun will scar your cut.”
While Jack was putting on his socks and sneakers, Amy said to him, “Don’t tell anybody what I told you. I’d hate to have Alixis use it against my father, too. You know what I mean?”
17
“You make sweet sounds come out of that stringed box.”
Jack was sitting in the woods, his back against a tree, strumming his guitar. His bike was propped against another tree.
First a boxer dog had bounded into the little clearing in the woods; then a tall, lean older man wearing walking shorts and horned-rimmed glasses came along the path. The man had a long, very straight back.
“Don’t get up,” Doctor Radliegh said. “And don’t stop playing. I like it. May I sit down, Jack?”
Jack resettled his back against the tree. “They’re your woods, Doctor Radliegh.”
“God’s woods. God’s world. We’re just the caretakers.” Radliegh sat cross-legged on a tuft of grass. He chuckled. “If I were God, I’d fire us. Wouldn’t you?”
“If you were God, would you fire you?” Jack asked.
“I’ve tried to keep my patch neat.” Radliegh looked around at the planted forest. “Make the most of it. How does one play a guitar?”
“I’ve been doing it so long …” Jack did a short riff. “Just let your fingers play, I guess.”
After a lunch of sandwiches and milk in his cottage, Jack had strapped the guitar on his back and gone for a bike ride around Vindemia.
There were only a few cars outside the business offices on Saturday afternoon. Beauville’s BMW was one.
There were more than a dozen small airplanes, both jets and propeller driven, parked neatly on the airstrip. As Jack watched, an ancient yellow two-seater wobbled down the sky and made a perfect landing. There seemed to be only one person, the pilot, a man, in it.
Again, there were only a few cars outside the country club. The tennis courts, pool area, and greens were devoid of people.
While heading toward the airstrip, a gray Infiniti sedan with tinted windows passed Jack. Another passed him from behind before he went on the road around the country club.
Jack presumed guests were arriving in the airplanes and then being ferried to the main house for the party that night.
Beyond the clubhouse, Jack found a timber road heading off to the right. Intersecting with it were walking- riding trails. He jounced his bike along one until he came to a clearing where he thought he’d be alone.
He had been playing his guitar for only about twenty minutes.
Another plane went overhead, low.
Doctor Chester Radliegh looked up through the trees from where he sat cross-legged on the ground. “Lots of guests arriving.” He smiled at Jack. “Good time to take a walk.”
“You know my name,” Jack said.
Radliegh nodded. “Jack Faoni.”
The dog climbed onto Radliegh’s crossed legs and lay down on them. His settled his chin on Radliegh’s knee.
Radliegh said, “This guy’s name is Arky. He thinks I belong to him.”
“Arky?”
“Archimedes.”
“Of course.”
“Wanted to name a son that, but Mrs. Radliegh would have none of it.”
“Name a son after a screw?” Jack smiled.
“Never mind.” Conversationally, Radliegh said, “A few days ago my elder son, Chet, surprised me. He met me at the stables at dawn. He had saddled two horses. We had a great ride together.”
Jack waited for the point of this comment.
Radliegh said no more.
Jack asked, “Where was Peppy that morning?”
“I don’t know.”
