Taylor was watching her face then, and wondering something. “Why do you think they don't like you?” It wasn't that he disagreed with her, he had seen the hatred in Patrick's eyes, and the look on Edith's face when she talked about her dresses.
“I think they're jealous. Most of them have been here since before we were married. I was an intruder, as far as they were concerned. They had their arrangements with my husband, and suddenly there I was, and they didn't want to be bothered. Everyone has an angle in a house like this, something they're doing, something they want, something they shouldn't have done, but did, and they don't want to get found out. I'm a headache for them, and they don't like it.” Something about what she'd just said reminded him about her headaches. It was an odd thing that had stuck in his mind, and he couldn't help wondering, in light of everything else the driver had said, if she and Malcolm were happily married.
“Maybe you're right.” The investigator from the FBI was noncommittal. “What about what I asked you before I left the room?”
“I can't think of anything else.” She was still struggling with her conscience and her terrors, and her unwillingness to believe that Charles would take Teddy, no matter what he had said. He couldn't have meant it.
“You're sure?” Two uniformed policemen wandered by, and Taylor gave them a high sign and asked for a cup of tea for her, and coffee for himself, if they could find it. It was three o'clock in the morning by then, and just watching her shiver made him feel cold and tired.
“Do they have any news at all?” She had to fight back tears as she asked, and he shook his head. She still couldn't let herself believe that if she went upstairs, she wouldn't find Teddy. He had to be there…but in her heart, she knew he wasn't.
“Mrs. Patterson,” he said slowly, after the tea had arrived and the policeman who'd brought it had left again, leaving the library door ajar. Taylor stood up and strode over and closed it. “I want to tell you something your driver said. I want to discuss this with you myself. Because if the press get hold of this, it's going to make a hell of a story.” She knew before he said anything what the story was going to be, and maybe in some ways it would be a relief to tell him. “Mr. Reilly says you have a 'boyfriend.' “ His face was without expression as he said the word, and Marielle smiled. It was so absurd that she had to smile, but she also knew how vicious Patrick was, and she could imagine the story.
“That's an interesting term.”
“Is it accurate?” She could feel him pressuring her. He wanted to know everything about her, for the sake of her child's life. And if he had to, no matter how pretty he thought she was, he would be ruthless.
She sighed, and looked at him. “No, it's not accurate.” It was almost funny to even think of Charles as her “boyfriend.” “He's my ex-husband, and I hadn't seen him in almost seven years until two days ago. We ran into each other at Saint Patrick's Cathedral.”
“Was the meeting prearranged?”
She shook her head solemnly, and the way she looked at him, he believed her. Her eyes were full of grief, and he sensed that behind the new sorrow was old grief.
“It was totally coincidental that we met. He's been living in Spain…fighting against Franco.”
“Oh Christ, one of those.” Taylor took a long sip of coffee. It had already been a long night, but he needed to be alert as the night grew longer. He wanted to talk to her himself, and to hear her story before her husband came home. “Is he a Commie?”
She smiled again. That was another funny word to apply to Charles, although nothing was funny now. Now that Teddy was gone, nothing would ever be funny again… or happy… or nice… or even worth staying alive for…but he would return. It would be different this time. It had to be. The story would have a happy ending. “I don't think he's actually political. He just spends his life tilting at windmills. He's an idealist and a dreamer and writer. He's gone to Pamplona to run with the bulls. He's close to Hemingway. I think he just saw a fight in Spain, and he went to fight it. I don't know. I haven't seen him in years. I haven't spent any real time with him since 1929… I haven't seen him at all since 1932 when I came back to the States, and married Malcolm.”
“And why now? Why is he suddenly here? To see you?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Family obligations. His father is very old, and probably dying, or close to it.”
“Did he call you when he arrived, or write to you?” She shook her head. “Do you think he followed you? Is he angry at your remarriage?”
She sighed and looked at the inspector long and hard. ?? don't know if he has followed me, I don't think so. He hasn't called…and yes… I think he is angry at my remarriage…and about Teddy… he didn't know. I told him on Friday that I'd remarried, but I didn't…say anything…about Teddy. And then yesterday, he saw him.”
“Yesterday?” John Taylor looked intrigued as she continued.
“In Central Park. We went to the boat pond, but it was frozen.” Taylor nodded and wondered about the second meeting.
“Did you agree to meet him there?”
“It was coincidence again. His home is just outside the park, at the level of the boat pond.”
“Did you want to meet him there?”
“I never thought about it.” She looked straight at him, and she was still trembling.
“Did you think about him?”
She nodded, her eyes boring holes in his. She had thought about nothing but since she'd seen him at Saint Patrick's.
“Don't you think that two coincidental meetings is a bit much to believe after seven years? You don't see him in seven years, and suddenly there he is twice in two days. Don't you think he was looking for you on purpose?”
“Perhaps.” It was possible. She had asked herself the same questions.
“Did he want anything from you?” Taylor's eyes searched everything about her.
She hesitated, and then nodded. “Yes… he wanted to see me.”
“Why?”
“I'm not sure… to talk… to talk about things that no longer matter. It's all over now…it's gone… it was a long time ago. I've been married to Malcolm…my husband… for six years…” Her words drifted off as she looked sorrowfully at John Taylor. He had come into her life at a terrible time, and she barely saw him. She saw his face and heard his voice but she didn't know who he was, she didn't know anything. She felt numb, and desperately frightened every time she thought of Teddy.
“When were you married to him?” His voice droned on, gentle but ever probing.
“In 1926…when I was eighteen…” She looked at him very hard then, and decided that she had to tell him. “My husband doesn't know about this, Inspector. He believes that I 'misbehaved' in Europe when I was eighteen. I think my father implied to all his friends that I had a 'serious flirtation with an inappropriate suitor.' Nothing more. My father was a dreamer. The truth was, as my father well knew, that I was married for five years, and we lived in Europe. I tried to tell Malcolm that when he asked me to marry him, but he didn't want to hear it. He said we each had a past, and it was better left untouched and undisclosed. What he had heard was the story my father had circulated to save himself embarrassment, I don't think he ever admitted to any of his friends that Charles and I were married. We lived in France…” There was a faraway look in her eyes…”And we were very happy.” She looked even more beautiful as she said it.
“And what changed that?” His voice was deep and husky as he asked, trying not to be distracted by her.
“A number of things.” She was evading him and he immediately sensed it. Only one thing had happened to shatter their dream. One thing. One hideous afternoon, from which neither of them had
