connection had been made, Hobart would see his number on the bill. “Hi,” he said as casually as he could. “It’s me. Can you talk?”
“It’s not a good idea to call me.”
“I know, but I wanted to know if it’s done. Is it? Do I need to get you the rest of the money?”
“No. I’ll tell you when it’s done.”
“All right. I just didn’t want to keep you waiting if it was.” It was such a blatant, childish lie that he began to sweat. He could hear Hobart breathing, but Hobart didn’t deign to respond.
After a few seconds, Hobart said, “There’s nothing about this that needs your attention. No more calls unless you have something urgent and important to tell me. It’s an unnecessary risk.”
“Since I’ve already called, can you tell me anything?”
“I’ve found her. I’ve seen her. I looked around the office, and I could tell she’s trying to keep the agency open. That means she’s got people around her most of the time, so it will take longer. I’m working on it. Satisfied?”
“You’re taking care of it, though? I don’t have to worry?”
“Not as long as you don’t draw attention to yourself.”
“Okay, then. I’ll just wait until I hear from you.”
“Do that.”
The telephone went dead. Forrest looked at his watch, holding it close to his face so he could decipher the glowing radium dots and lines. It was nine thirty. As he walked back toward the house, he heard distant applause. When it subsided, he heard the high, clear tone of a violin.
He went in through the kitchen to the dining room. The waiters had closed the big oak doors on the far side so they could clear dishes without fear of making noise. Ted Forrest made his way past them toward the door to the foyer, slipped through and quickly closed the door behind him. He walked to the high portal that led to the immense formal living room, stepped in, and stopped with his back to the wall.
The only other person standing was Maria Chun, who was playing a strikingly complicated passage with lots of rapid fingering and the bow bouncing up and down the strings. Her eyes passed across him, but he could tell that they were not seeing him. They were looking inward at some memory of the music she was playing.
Caroline’s eyes found him. She was sitting in her usual chair near the back of the room, where she could oversee the proceedings. She had given the seat beside her-his seat-to a woman from the chamber-series patrons’ group. He could tell Caroline’s eyes had been on the door, waiting for him. They narrowed and she turned away, staring at Maria Chun.
Ted Forrest backed out of the room, and in a moment he was through the foyer and in the library. He went out the French doors to the rose garden. He could see that even the circular part of the drive at the front of the house had cars parked along the edge of it. There were a couple of chauffeurs down near the end of the driveway standing between their big dark-colored cars smoking cigarettes.
Forrest walked up the two-hundred-foot paved path that led to the garage. He decided he liked the sound of Maria Chun’s violin wailing and chirping in the distance. Maybe next year he would try to make it to a concert or two. That, of course, would depend to some extent on the state of his truce with Caroline. He wasn’t going to want to sit next to her for hours if she was in the avenging-bitch mode she was in tonight.
He kept walking, beginning to enjoy the night air. The garage was far from the house because it had originally been the stable and carriage house, and the Forrests of the time had not wanted odors and horseflies too close. He went in through the side door and the motion detector switched on the light. The high ceiling and painted rough- hewn rafters were all that remained from the carriage-house days, but the garage felt like a link with his family because Caroline had not brought decorators and architects in to embellish or disguise it. He got into his BMW, pressed the remote control to open the garage door, and started the engine. He went out slowly, the engine just above an idle so the sound of it didn’t interfere with Maria Chun’s recital, and then coasted, letting the natural slope of the driveway build his momentum.
As he passed the two chauffeurs, he gave a friendly wave. He didn’t know who either of them worked for, but he approved of servants who knew what they were doing. They had let off their passengers at the front entrance, then parked far down the drive to leave the most desirable spaces for people who had driven themselves. Now they were on their feet watching the house for signs of their employers, and not smoking inside their cars.
He reached the open gate and pulled onto the road, giving his car some gas. The sensation of speed raised his spirits, and he found himself thinking of Powers’s wife Jan. At the time of their fling twenty years ago, he had anticipated that he would feel remorse. Powers had been his friend since early childhood, and Janice was practically still a bride at the time. She had barely turned twenty. It was true that he did occasionally feel he owed Powers some guilt. But the surprise was that the strongest and most sincere feeling he had was joy at having Powers’s wife. It was a victory over Powers, better than any other kind of victory there was, and he still felt it strongly every time he saw them together.
He had also anticipated the probability that there would be awkwardness between him and Jan after they had been in bed together. Since he and Powers would be friends forever, the awkwardness might be a problem. It didn’t turn out to be the sort of problem he had expected. He had been younger then, and not known himself very well yet. The awkwardness was real and it had lasted for two decades so far, but it wasn’t exactly unpleasant. Jan had trouble meeting his eyes, and if he touched her hands they would sweat, and she always tried to avoid being alone with him, even for a minute. He found her discomfort interesting, even flattering.
The part he didn’t anticipate showed how little imagination he’d had when he was young. It had never occurred to him that being close friends with her husband meant that through the years he would be forced to watch her age. Already she wasn’t the beautiful, tempting young bride he had seduced. She was forty and beginning to show a broadening of the hips, a few wrinkles ruining her forehead and upper lip, and a slackening of the skin of her neck.
The girl he remembered was better. Powers had been in New York on some kind of business. Ted Forrest recalled that there was some meeting connected with property that Powers had inherited, some legal papers to sign. In the morning, Forrest watched Caroline drive off toward San Francisco to shop, then made a telephone call to Powers’s hotel in New York. Powers was out doing whatever he was there for, but the hotel clerk made it clear he was still registered. Then Forrest drove to Powers’s house for a surprise visit to the little woman.
He had a new Corvette. When he pulled up to the house he stopped directly in front of the door so when she opened it she saw the car, a waxed and shining image of speed and freedom. He told her that her husband had asked him to be sure Janice got out of the house while he was away and had some fun. Forrest talked about Powers as he drove her to a restaurant above the ocean at Half Moon Bay. They had a bottle of wine with lunch, and he kept filling her glass as he told funny stories. By then none of the stories included a mention of Powers.
They drove a few miles to another spot he knew that had the best view of the ocean. When they arrived, he extravagantly rented a room on an upper floor with a balcony, so she could see it. And the view really was spectacular. The horizon line of the deep blue Pacific seemed so high it appeared to be over their heads. As they were on the balcony sipping drinks he had made from the minibar, he put his arm around her waist. She gave a slight jump with an almost-silent intake of breath and stiffened a bit. He kept his hand there and waited. He could tell she was thinking, trying to decide what to do, what to say. He gave her ten seconds, then kissed her.
As he thought about that day, the rest of it came back to him. He remembered her saying no a couple of times, feebly. And he remembered rolling over in bed and reaching into the pocket of the pants he’d left on the floor to get the condom, then seeing the shocked, almost-angry expression on her face. “You brought that?” she said. “You knew?”
He said, “I hoped.”
After that, she was different-better, really, because she’d had to stop pretending she didn’t know that this wasn’t an accident. The sex was certainly better-spiteful, selfish, greedy. They stayed as late as they dared. On the ride home she told him that she hated him, and that she would do everything possible to be sure she and her husband never saw him again. But it was a long, long ride home, and by the time he turned to go up the driveway to her house, they were agreeing when they should meet again. It lasted a couple of years, and then it ended, by another agreement, when she was pregnant with her first child.
Ted looked at his watch. He could be sure that Caroline’s ordeal would last at least another couple of hours, and probably three. He took out his cell phone and dialed. This time it rang only once.
“Hi,” he said. “I escaped.”
