The following morning Lindsay didn’t go downstairs until it was time to leave for the church.
She didn’t own a black dress and decided in any case that her grandmother would have hated black. Unfortunately, she had no idea what her mother would have preferred. She wore pure white. She wore three-inch heels.
For once Sydney didn’t say anything.
The service was elegant, discreet, and St. Mary’s was crowded. Lindsay’s father did, however, point out the young man who had been her mother’s latest lover. “At least he put in an appearance. Shows respect. I trust the little bastard won’t try for any of her money.”
A society columnist from the
She said without preamble, “Your grandmother was a wonderful woman, Miss Foxe. I wanted to tell you that. She also believed you had what it took to succeed in anything you chose to do, and you have succeeded. She was very proud of you. And of your half-sister too, of course. As I recall, she said, ‘Sydney, La Principessa, will always land where her mink will soften her fall. Lindsay will abide. She’s good at that.’ Last year she consented to an interview with me and that’s what she said. I wanted to tell you that.”
Lindsay was stunned and pleased. Abide. Yes, that’s what she seemed to be good at. She suddenly pictured her grandmother, very clearly, saying that. To her chagrin, she began to cry. Paula Kettering patted her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Miss Foxe, just to tell you—”
Lindsay got hold of herself and thanked the woman. Finally, aeons later, the family arrived back at the mansion. The only addition to their party was Mr. Grayson Delmartin, Gates Foxe’s lawyer since 1959 when a drunk had run into the beautiful rhododendron bushes in front of the mansion and then sued her. Grayson Delmartin had proved to be a crackerjack, Gates said, forcing the drunk man to pay restitution for the destroyed plants.
Lindsay was on the point of going upstairs to pack her few things when Mr. Delmartin called after her, “Just a moment, Lindsay. I know you wish to be alone, my dear, but there’s the reading of the will. All family members are required to be present. Please come into the library.”
Who cared? But she went and seated herself behind her father and Holly and Sydney.
There were bequests to Mrs. Dreyfus, to Dorrey, and to Lansford, the retired butler. There were bequests to the organizations Gates Foxe had belonged to and helped run over the years. There were charitable foundations, environmental gifts. When the list had finally ended, Mr. Delmartin raised his thin face and removed his glasses. He looked at each of them in turn. He spoke slowly, as if measuring each word, as he probably was, Lindsay thought. “I don’t know if even you, Judge Foxe, know the extent of your mother’s holdings. They were, in a word, vast. She has always had the knack of choosing good financial advisers over the years and has prospered, adding to the fortune left her by her late husband.”
Royce said in his best unctuous voice, “She was a bright old woman. She was also renowned for her luck. Get to the point, Grayson.”
Mr. Delmartin didn’t look at all affronted. He put his glasses back on, picked up the thick sheaf of bound papers, and read:
“‘I leave one million dollars to my son, Royce Chandliss Foxe. I leave one million dollars to my ex-daughter- in-law, Jennifer Foxe. I leave one million dollars to my current daughter-in-law, Holly Foxe. I leave one million dollars to my eldest granddaughter, Sydney Foxe di Contini. I leave five million dollars to my great-granddaughter, Melissa di Contini. Finally, I leave my home, located at 358 Bayberry Street, to my granddaughter, Lindsay Foxe. Also I leave to her, free and clear, the remainder of my holdings, both financial and real, to do with as she pleases. She has kindness, and perhaps in the years to come she will gain wisdom and perspective and understanding of those around her. I hope that her inheritance will aid her in achieving happiness and the security she deserves.”
There was utter silence, impenetrable and disbelieving. Incredulous silence, silence that was like the eye of a storm. Dark feelings swirled and the silence was thickening, becoming acid and ugly. Then it seemed that everyone spoke at once.
Holly shot up from her chair, nearly knocking it over, her heavy face mottled with angry color. “But that’s absurd! Giving Lindsay this mansion! That’s impossible, I want to redecorate it!”
Royce grabbed her arm, pulling her back down. “My wife is perhaps unwise in her choice of words, Delmartin, but nonetheless, what she says is true. Leaving Lindsay anything is absurd. Leaving me, her only son, her heir, a paltry million dollars? Explain, now.”
Grayson Delmartin went through his ritual of removing his glasses, giving himself time to think before he spoke. “I was Mrs. Foxe’s lawyer, Judge Foxe, not her financial adviser or her family confessor—”
“Bullshit! You advised her all the bloody time. Are you responsible for this travesty?” He stared a moment toward Lindsay. His eyes darkened—her eyes—the blue deep now, turbulent with anger. “What’s your problem, Delmartin? Do you have a thing for girls who are over six feet tall and naive and stunted?”
Lindsay rocked back in her chair. She stared at her father, knowing she shouldn’t be surprised at anything he said, but this ruthlessness, this cruelty—
“Judge Foxe,” Grayson Delmartin said, “I beg you moderate your language and your opinions. Miss Lindsay Foxe is your daughter, not some sort of interloper who had no claim on the family. She is also Gates Foxe’s granddaughter. She is now very wealthy because she is also the sole inheritor of her mother, Jennifer Foxe. Since she is the sole beneficiary, I will cover it with her in private when we have finished with this.”
“Lunacy!” Holly shrieked. “Sheer wickedness! I won’t have it! That damned old lady, I’ll kill her!”
“We won’t ever be finished with this,” Royce said. He turned to Sydney. “Well, what do you think? You haven’t said a word. One million, Sydney, just one fucking million dollars. Jesus, and five million to your daughter. I’ll just bet the old bitch tied up that money so you’ll never see a dime of it. Probably Melissa won’t either until she’s twenty-five. What the hell are you going to do?”
Sydney just smiled gently at her father. She looked like the princess she was—cool, aloof, dignified, well-bred to her Gucci-shod toes. She turned toward her half-sister, her posture, her voice composed, gracious, soft. “Congratulations, Lindsay. It appears that you have quite shown all of us, haven’t you? Grandmother used to speak of waters running deep in some people. I never really understood what she meant until now. In any case, I do commend you for your outstanding manipulations and congratulate you.”
“I didn’t do anything. I have no deep-running waters, that’s nonsense and you know it, Sydney. There were no manipulations. My God, this is more a surprise to me than to any of you.”
“Ah, at last some truth out of you, Lindsay,” Royce said. “Excellent.” He rose with swift grace and strode over to stand over her. “Prove your honesty, your sincerity. Sign over your inheritance to me—to your father—to whom it should have gone in the first place. It isn’t right that you take my place in line. You will correct it now.”
Grayson Delmartin jumped to his feet. “Now, just a moment, Judge Foxe. I highly disapprove of this. You mustn’t try to coerce your daughter, particularly at a time like this. Such intimidation tactics are highly inappropriate and—”
“Stuff a sock in it!” Holly yelled at him. “Just shut up, damn you, you worthless old sod. Is Lindsay paying you a percentage for this? Did you doctor up this supposed will in her favor?”
Mr. Delmartin pursed his mouth closed. He gathered the papers together, taking his time, straightening each sheet perfectly, calming himself. He was trembling, which was strange to him, because he’d been in the eye of family will-reading storms before, some much worse in acrimony than this one. But the Foxes were supposed to be different. Money, he thought, money was the very devil. It blackened and tarnished and corrupted. It inflicted wounds that would never heal. He finished his straightening. He turned to Lindsay Foxe, who was sitting like a statue in a straight-backed chair. “Will you please come with me now, Lindsay?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m coming.”
Royce didn’t step back. His hands were fisted at his sides. His face was pale, his eyes hard and ugly. “You damned little slut, you no-account little bitch! Little, ha! You just stay where you are. I knew you were a hypocrite, a fraud, nothing more than a mealymouthed little thief. Jesus, I can’t believe you’d steal from your own father, steal
