Claudine (24 page)

“Is there any chance he’ll be granted bail?”

Trainor cleared his throat. “I can’t make any predictions about bail. He has a good attorney, but I doubt it. He has history of abusing young prostitutes. The prosecutor thinks that will be enough to keep him inside.” He paused and mumbled to someone in the room with him. “Gotta run. Just wanted you to know.”

She thanked him and ended the call. She let the red shoe she still held in her hand fall to the floor and threw her arms around Lillian. “Thank God! If our luck holds they’ll shut Hock away for the rest of his life.”

Lillian looked at her badly scarred hand. “In the Philippines, we’d kill him.”

“Word will have traveled pretty fast around Jewel’s condo building. She’s got to be freaking out right now.” Lillian clapped a hand over her mouth. “Your mom. I forgot to tell you. Jewel’s been trying to reach you. She sounded desperate. She gave me three numbers you can call her at.”

Jewel answered as soon as Maria rang. “Marie, good to hear from you. Thanks for getting back to me.”

Thanks? Good to hear from you?
Maria gripped her cell in disbelief. “What do you want?”

“When you were here the other day, you mentioned something about a death. Of some massage parlor whor—girl. That it had a connection to a stalker you were having a little trouble with?”

“I wouldn’t call it a little trouble, Jewel. More like one of the most wretched experiences you can imagine.”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

“Strange how things turn out, isn’t it? I understand the man they’ve arrested is a close friend of yours.”

“Where did you hear that? Did Milne say something?”

“I’ve had a few inquiries from the press asking for confirmation.”

“Oh no.” Jewel let out a loud sigh.

“One of them was from a big social networking site. I forget the name. Has two hundred thousand followers. Tweets compulsively.”

“What did you tell them?”

She held back a snicker. “Well, my maid took the calls.” Maria winked at Lillian. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to them yet.”

Jewel exhaled in relief. “I had no idea, Marie, I swear. Milne and I ran into Charles Hock from time to time. Of course we couldn’t help that; he lived right next door. How the board ever approved him I can’t imagine. I’ve ordered a meeting for tonight, to tighten up our rules.”

Maria could just imagine what Jewel looked like now, white-faced, jiggling her leg compulsively the way she did when her nerves got the better of her. “I’m glad to hear that. I was on the point of calling one of the reporters back. Lucky I talked to you first.”

“Why would you talk to the press? They’re just digging for
dirt. They’ll take the faintest whiff of rumor and turn it into a full-blown scandal. Surely you’d want to avoid any publicity.”

The implication was obvious. Not only did Jewel wish to hide her friendship with Hock, she was afraid the spotlight would also be trained on her daughter’s profession, making her doubly shamed.

“Well. I don’t
have
to speak to them. I would appreciate knowing, though, what you said about me to Hock. About my origins. Like I asked before.”

Jewel hesitated before she spoke. “He invited us over for cocktails once. As Milne was unwell, I went—just to be sociable. We got to talking about our children. Would you believe a man like that has progeny? Of course, he divorced years ago. Very acrimonious, apparently. I don’t wonder. I did mention your adoption. You know how it is. When someone pours their heart out to you, you can hardly sit there and say nothing about your own experience. How was I to know what a monster he’d turn out to be?”

“What did you say? I want to know
exactly
, Jewel.”

“Your name. The fact that your parents were killed in Romania.”

“The name of the orphanage? Lani?”

“Who? Yes. I told him about that disgraceful place. How I rescued you from it.”

“Anything else?”

Jewel said nothing.

“What else, Jewel?”

“I told him that you’re a . . . what you do for a living. How much it hurt me when I found out.”

“Not the kind of thing you’d impart to a casual acquaintance—is it?”

Another pause. “Please don’t talk to the media, Marie. I didn’t say anything the other day, but Milne’s not in the best of health. A lot of negative publicity could affect him very badly.”

She suddenly became aware she was hearing the croak of an old woman in Jewel’s pleading and wheedling voice, afraid of her good name being dragged through the dirt. A surge of pity washed over Maria, followed by the sharp realization that the battle between them was finished. It had, in fact, been long over, yet she’d been blind to it, storing up the litany of Jewel’s insults and small betrayals like a collection of malign family heirlooms.

She assured Jewel she wouldn’t talk to the media, said good-bye and hung up.

CHAPTER
27

NEWPORT, RHODE ISLAND

All her European performances went well. Often during the trip Maria caught herself thinking about Andrei. In her mind’s eye, she pictured him at some palm-fringed resort, swimming up to the pool bar, his chest bronzed by the sun, sleek with water, the Russian woman running her hands over his body. She imagined a sudden tropical cloudburst, the kind that came and went in minutes. The two of them laughing, running hand in hand back to their beach house, hot for each other. Hardly able to make it to their door before he shed his trunks, pulled off the woman’s wet thong, lifted her in his lean hands and pinned her with his hard cock, her legs open to receive him.

Thankfully, those painful thoughts were fleeting and half-formed—vestiges of an immature jealousy like the empty hurts she’d stored up over Jewel. Reed monopolized her feelings now. After their argument at the theater, she’d regretted her cutting
words. She shook her head when she thought of it. She’d been so self-righteous and indignant. A complete overreaction. Since then, he’d called often to say he didn’t want things to end between them. He even showed up once on the spur of the moment, demanding to see her and bearing a long, heartfelt letter to say he wanted her back. She ignored his pleas, playing hard to get. Then Reed went silent. She worried her coldness had pushed him too far, that she might have overplayed her hand and lost him for good. Reed was not used to being turned down. She risked making him look like a fool.

She was on the verge of picking up the phone to call him when a text came through:

Claudine. I wish to hire you for a unique performance for one night at my Newport estate.
No special preparation will be needed. I’m prepared to pay double your normal fee.

The client stated his name was Lawrence Carson. He wanted to book her for Friday, June 21st, less than a week away, and on the summer solstice—doubly romantic. Maria read the message twice and smiled, remembering that Reed owned a country house on the coast northeast of New York. After the standard check on the client was carried out, the message traced back to a Yale University source. So Reed, Maria thought happily, was making the grand gesture after all. Perhaps he’d accepted who she was and, despite his recent silence, was unable to forget her. Typical of his theatrical nature, he’d conceived an over-the-top way to show it. She answered back with an enthusiastic yes.

• • •

T
he legendary Newport estates strung along the Rhode Island coast had originally been erected as mammoth summer homes. They echoed an age of excess. In the Vanderbilt’s Marble House, sacred altarpieces from European churches had been disassembled and shipped across the Atlantic for decoration. The Newport mansions were once the locus of champagne-drenched parties, loose girls, golden boys, illegal whiskey flowing like water. Maria remembered the first time she’d ever set eyes on them when she was still a child. The garden sheds were bigger than her house. Convinced they were palaces, she’d pestered her nanny repeatedly to explain how there could be so many kings and queens.

She wondered idly whether her nanny still lived in Providence. Perhaps before she returned to New York she would try to look her up.

As before, Reed had sent a driver to collect her, a generous gesture typical of him, so she gave her new guard the night off. The limousine purred along the coast road. They passed Hammersmith Farm, the old Auchincloss estate where Jackie O spent much of her youth. As they drove by the estates, her heart lifted. She felt a lightness, new to her, and excitement over the prospect of seeing Reed again. The car slowed as it passed a white colonial fronted by a fancy pillared gate with two marble lions. Reed’s home, beside the colonial, was hidden from view by two small hills and several acres of trees. A stream, glimmering like a long silver rope, wound across a meadow and slipped through a cleft between the hills. As they rounded a wide arc in the drive
up to the house and climbed the rise, the estate appeared as if by magic. It was a giant house like its sisters on this section of the coast: turreted, built of warm fieldstone. The ocean rolled, blue, in the distance.

Staff greeted her when the car pulled up in front of the house. A redheaded man, big as a tank, introduced himself as Victor. Beside him stood a pale blonde named Alicia. Both were dressed in formal staff uniforms. “Welcome to Downton Abbey,” Maria said under her breath.

Reed hadn’t asked for any role-playing, so without the need for elaborate costumes, she brought only a suitcase. She stopped for a second to view the rotunda when they entered the house. A huge Italianate chandelier dangled from the ceiling with porcelain arms and glass bulbs fashioned to look like candle flames. She stepped onto the charcoal slate floors of the rotunda and admired its walls paneled in cherrywood. Each panel contained a niche holding a marble statuette of Grecian nymphs or satyrs, some quite sexually provocative. An interesting touch in a rich man’s house.

Alicia led her up the grand staircase with Victor puffing behind her, carrying her bag. The sun flooded in through the upstairs gallery, which was clad in the same cherrywood, warming the cedar-scented wax. Their feet made little noise on the plush indigo runner offset with a design of ivory lilies.

“When is my host expected?” she asked, assuming the staff had been instructed to play along with Reed’s game.

Alicia took out a key ring to unlock a door about midway down the hall, pushed it open and stood aside so Maria could enter. “Mr. Carson’s been detained by business in the city. He sends his apologies. I’m afraid he won’t reach here till after
dinner. This is your room if you wish to change. Feel free to wander the house if you like, or the gardens. The walk by the ocean is particularly pleasant in late afternoon. Everything is at your disposal. There’ll be a light supper around six
P.M
.” The maid delivered all this in a polite but clipped tone while Victor set her bag down near the large dresser. Together they left.

The room’s appointments were spotless and of good quality, yet they looked as though they’d been there since the roaring twenties. Except for the bedcoverings. Maria ran her hand over the silky sheets, soft as down and smelling of the clean powdery scent that came from being freshly laundered. Was this where Reed intended to make love to her?

In her mind’s eye she saw him stretched out on the bed, nude and ready for her. Her, kneeling astride his face, taking him in her mouth, bringing all her talents to bear on pleasuring him. Her anticipation to see him again grew stronger. She changed into a simple print dress and comfortable shoes, put on lipstick and pulled her hair off her face with a clip. Nothing fancy for now. She’d eat quickly, come up and change again before he arrived.

A maze of rooms and hallways made up the second and third stories. It must have been designed to host massive weekend parties: it was equipped to accommodate legions. She wondered whether Reed had sole use of the home or if others in his family had a claim on it too. It was cool upstairs and, unlike the gallery, dark, since there were few windows. She shivered and found when she clicked on her cell, she couldn’t get a signal. The remoteness of the house made her feel cut off from the world. Her phone went everywhere with her. Not being able to use it added to her sense of isolation.

Downstairs, where she expected to hear Victor and Alicia bustling about, was eerily silent. Wouldn’t many staff be needed to keep a place of this size running smoothly? A huge salon occupied the west wing. Here, the updated furniture had been carefully chosen to blend in with the antiquated cornices and wall ornamentation. A massive fireplace at one end was enclosed by a carved marble mantel. Life-sized sculptures stood in each corner.

The one thing missing in this grand home was a personal touch. No family photos, books half-read lying on tables, hats tossed on chairs, umbrellas stacked in a stand. The entire place had a corporate feel. More hotel than home. Maria wondered if Reed rented it out for events as a way to defray costs. The house almost seemed to carry a pathos with it. It needed the life of a family: a Persian cat purring in a chair or a Saint Bernard stretched in front of the fireplace, tail wagging in welcome. The thought of dogs recalled Andrei’s friendly mutt. She shut that memory down as quickly as it came.

Maria daydreamed about how she’d transform the place if she were ever to become its mistress. She could host amazing parties here. She imagined the guests arriving on a Friday night from New York, she and Reed greeting them arm in arm, the visitors impressed with its elegance, some casting an envious eye on what was hers. Who knew? If things went well with Reed, perhaps one day that vision would come true.

She peeked in the kitchen, found it empty too, a huge, sprawling affair modernized with black granite countertops and new cabinets. A formal dining room lay off it. Two libraries occupied the east wing; the first was a smaller, more intimate room walled by bookcases that stretched to the ceiling, with a
cheerful little green tiled fireplace and antique iron mantel. Its windows looked onto a sea of grass that swept to the walk along the water’s edge. If she lived here, this would be her favorite room. She imagined crystal clear morning sun flooding into it.