Intrusion: A Novel (12 page)

TWELVE

I
n the late afternoon of the following day, Scott’s voice on the phone sounded both exhausted and irritable.

“That damn car,” he said. “It was supposed to be fixed. I’m leaving it in the shop. Have to get James to drop me. You better go ahead and eat.”

“Again?” Kat said. “Well, of course. I love eating alone. In fact, I can’t even remember when we last—”

“It’s not my goddamn fault if the car—”

“No. Nothing is your fault, Scott—” She paused, biting at her lip. It
wasn’t
his fault. Jesus. She was turning into a harridan. A cartoon wife.

“Do you want me to pick you up?” she asked in a small voice, praying he would say no. The idea of driving downtown frightened her: the kaleidoscopic clamor of the freeways; the huge, speeding trucks, too close. She waited while he considered this.

“No. Don’t worry,” he said, at last. “I’ll get a ride.”

She replaced the phone, walked into the kitchen. The house felt cold, echoing, and so quiet she could hear the clicking of the fridge.
I need to focus on something else,
she told herself. The job on the weekly paper would begin in a few weeks. She shivered. She didn’t want the job. She didn’t think she could do it. The only job she really wanted right now, she admitted, was to take care of a child. A baby. A growing child. That tiny curl of desire was becoming impossible to ignore.

Two hours later, when Kat was beginning to worry that Scott was unable to get a ride home and she would have to pick him up after all, Sarah’s green Jaguar pulled up to the curb. Scott stepped out and, seeing her at the window, waved. Kat hesitated and then moved to open the front door.

“James was tied up, so Sarah kindly offered to drop me,” Scott called. He turned to Sarah. “Sure you don’t want coffee?”

“No time,” Sarah said, leaning out the window of the Jaguar and waving to Kat.

“It’s a long drive to Ojai,” Scott said. “Coffee might be a good idea.”

Sarah looked over to Kat. The green eyes appeared bright in the fading light.

“Would it be a bother, Kat? I hate to interrupt your evening.”

“Of course not. Come in.”

As Kat made coffee, she listened to Sarah’s and Scott’s voices from the living room. They talked of contracts to be signed, documents to be filed with the court. She heard the name of Jeremy Woodruff, Scott’s colleague, and then laughter. They seemed to have found common ground in their dislike of the pompous lawyer.

She carried in the coffee as Scott continued to explain about language that was essential, could not be excluded if they were to avoid problems later. It was Sarah who interrupted him, turning to Kat with a warm smile.

“Scott, enough of this shoptalk. I should get moving and leave you two to your evening.”

“You’re spending a few days in Ojai?” Kat asked.

“Just a quick visit. I have to meet the builder very early in the morning.”

“You’re extending the house?”

“I’m building an orangery. Remember the one at Lansdowne?”

“Oh yes. Of course. Victorian. It was beautiful.”

“I want one exactly like it. The architect is having trouble with my phone descriptions. And I don’t have a picture.” She laughed. “They’re not common in California. I’ll have to walk the perimeter and try to make a sketch.”

Sarah rested her head on the back of the armchair, musing. “Remember when you first saw Lansdowne? When I first took you there? You were so excited, you ran from room to room, even down to the basement, even up to the attic. You loved that house. Almost as much as I did.”

“I was a council-house kid, remember,” Kat said. “I’d never seen so much space. The bedroom you and I had, at the back of the house overlooking the garden? That was bigger than my entire home.”

Sarah laughed.

“The house was falling apart and just so horribly tatty, and still you loved it,” she said.

“Didn’t look tatty to me.”

Sarah stood then, gulped down her coffee, and was gone in a few minutes. She waved from the window of the Jaguar, gunning the engine as she headed up the street.

Scott followed Kat into the kitchen.

“She likes to replicate those old rooms, doesn’t she?” he said, sounding puzzled. “That old bathroom in Ojai. This new project. And one of the rooms in Malibu is an exact copy of some room in a seaside cottage in Sussex.”

“I remember the cottage in Sussex,” Kat said. “Little gatehouse. Lovely place.”

“Think she’s trying to recapture her lost youth?”

“I doubt it,” Kat said. “She had a miserable childhood. I can’t imagine she’d want to recapture that. She was sent away to boarding school and moved from school to school. Always getting expelled. And her parents—well, I heard so many rumors. Her mother had a number of breakdowns. Her father lived in France. She won’t talk about them.”

“She must have been fond of this Helen. The one with the big house.”

“She was. In a strange way. They were offhand with each other, never hugged much. But they had some kind of bond. I remember when Helen had a fall, Sarah was terrified she would die.”

Sarah had been at Kat’s house when the call came from Sister Agnes. A car was on the way to St. Theresa’s to pick up Sarah to take her to the hospital in Sussex where her aunt was being treated; Sarah must return to the school immediately. Sarah had turned so pale, her eyes wide and bright with a fear Kat had never seen before. Kat’s mother took one look at Sarah’s face and then turned to her husband.

“My dad drove her back to school,” Kat told Scott. “That was amazing in itself. He never drove anywhere except to work. That little car was kept ready for the next shift. Maggie and I
always
had to take the bus. Anyway, he said he’d drive Sarah back to meet up with the limo and I went with them, and Sarah curled up into a tight ball in the backseat, asking over and over where she would go, what would happen to her. She was terrified that Helen would die.

“I remember when we got to school, this big black car was waiting, and Sister Agnes was there and Mrs. Evans, the nasty housekeeper who hated me—”

“Hated you?” Scott interrupted. “Why did she hate you?”

“Wrong class. Lacked breeding. No right to be mixing with the likes of Sarah. She always treated me as if I were about to steal the silver. Anyway, Sarah just ran to the black car, didn’t speak to Sister Agnes or pick up anything from her dorm. The car took off with her and Mrs. Evans in the backseat. I remember my dad watching her and saying—
Poor wee lassie.
”

“Nothing poor about the wee lassie these days,” Scott said.

After dinner, Kat spent another hour researching on her laptop, then she stood at the bedroom window, chewing at her thumbnail. She liked the view from their hillside home: the twin boulevards of Tampa and Reseda pulsing yellow and red as traffic merged into shimmering neon trails. But on this evening, she was blind to the changing lights and shadows. There was a churning excitement building slowly in her gut. Maybe giving birth to another child was not a possibility. Maybe Scott would never agree to it. He would not go for tests; she was certain of that. And, yes, it would be difficult for her to conceive at her age. But there was another option. It was not ridiculous. It was not insane. But she needed more information on it. And she knew who could help her find it.

She checked her watch. Sarah would have arrived in Ojai by now; she would no longer be driving. Kat found the card with the gold lettering that Sarah had given to her and dialed the number on it fast, before she had a chance to change her mind. And then she said the words that, before this night, she would never have believed she would one day say to Sarah Cherrington:

“Sarah,” she said, “I need your help.”

THIRTEEN

K
at waited at the window a full thirty minutes before Sarah’s car was due to arrive.

“Meet me for lunch in Beverly Hills tomorrow,” Sarah had said when Kat called her in Ojai. Kat had murmured about hating to drive over the hill, about maybe meeting in a restaurant closer to home, but Sarah had interrupted, dismissing all this.

“No problem. I’ll send a car for you,” she said. “He’ll pick you up at twelve thirty.”

Kat had applied makeup carefully, had spent a long time arranging her hair, and at noon, wearing a simple blue linen dress, the most expensive thing in her closet, she paced from window to mirror to check her appearance. The mirror reflected a woman with tidy hair and a pale and anxious face.

Kat had no idea where she was going; Sarah had not mentioned the name of the restaurant. She assumed it was in Beverly Hills.

When a silver Mercedes pulled up to the curb, Kat hurried outside and saw a young man in a gray suit already standing beside it. He moved fast to open the back door of the car for her.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” he said in a friendly way.

As the luxury car pulled out and made its way to the freeway, Kat, settling back into the soft leather of the seat, tugged at her dress so that it would not crease so much around the waist and hips, wishing now she had chosen something cotton, cool and crisp. She looked out the window as the Mercedes made its way over the hill, and she saw that, yes, Beverly Hills seemed to be the destination. The young man drove fast and smoothly, eventually pulled up outside a long, low building with a smoked-glass door, and Kat recognized the name of a restaurant she had only ever seen mentioned in the society pages.

She thanked the young driver and then, shaky, took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and walked inside the place fast, before she lost her nerve. Kat had an impression of frosted glass, of huge flower arrangements, soft lighting, white tablecloths, crystal, and silver. The maître d’ approached her, greeted her with a silky “Good afternoon,” and inclined his head, waiting for her to speak. Kat gave Sarah’s name and he bowed slightly, turned at once, and led her through the busy restaurant to a table in the corner where Sarah waited, her phone in one hand, a netbook open on the table.

As they approached, Kat studied her. Sarah looked quite at home in these surroundings. She wore a gray silk suit, diamond studs in her ears, her hair swept to one side, as she had often worn it years ago. In profile, the two sides of her face could look quite different: one side so bare, the delicate bone structure clear and unobstructed, the other side hidden by a cascade of rich brown hair.
A Janus face,
Maggie had said once.
How appropriate.

She clicked off the phone and stood as Kat reached the table.

“Aha!” she said, hugging her briefly. “You see, Caitlin darling, there is a world over the hill and beyond the Valley. Now, would you like a cocktail?”

“White wine would be lovely.”

“White wine it is.”

Sarah summoned a waiter, ordered a bottle of Chardonnay, and then turned her attention back to Kat. The green eyes sparkled. It was clear to Kat that Sarah enjoyed being in control, here in her own environment. She appeared to be well known to the other expensively dressed patrons who passed the table and nodded their recognition. Sarah acknowledged them coolly, her attention on Kat. Only once did she look up, her smile bright and immediate, to lift her hand in a brief hello. Kat turned to see a successful young actor, once hugely popular in a television series, now making movies, smiling at Sarah as he crossed the room.

“Oh—is that—?”

“It is,” Sarah murmured, looking back at Kat. “And isn’t he just delicious?”

“Yes,” Kat said, surprised that the real-life actor was actually as attractive as the on-screen image. “He’s just as handsome as I imagined. A bit shorter, though.”

“They’re all shorter,” Sarah said. “He’s nice, too. That’s very disconcerting.”

“You’re disconcerted by nice?” Kat asked.

Sarah laughed.

“So tell me, Caitlin. What is it you need?”

Kat took a breath.

“Just some information, really. Just curious.”

“About?”

“Your adoption charity. How does it work?”

Sarah looked at her levelly, her expression unreadable.

“It’s matchmaking, basically,” she said. “Matching unwanted babies with prospective parents.”

“Ah. I thought so. Yes.”

“Why do you ask?”

Kat, feeling foolish, hesitated. She shouldn’t be here. This was a mistake. Sarah would talk to Scott, and Scott would be angry that she was pursuing something so clearly irrational.

“It’s probably not possible—” she began.

“Everything’s possible, Kat.”

“I just wondered if Scott and I would qualify. If—”

“You’re thinking of adopting a child?” Sarah asked. Her voice was gentle. She did not seem to think the idea insane.

“We haven’t really talked about it yet. I’m just—oh, exploring it. As a possibility.”

Sarah nodded slowly.

“It’s a serious matter, Kat. You need to be very sure—”

“I know. I know.”

“And, honestly, it wouldn’t be easy. I believe grieving parents are generally treated with extreme caution. I would have to check.” Sarah paused, thinking. “Did you choose to have just one child?” she asked. “Out of principle or something?”

“Principle? Oh no. No,” Kat said. “Not at all. We wanted more. It just never happened. I never got pregnant again. We tried to find out why at one point. I had a preliminary examination; nothing was found. We were both going to have more tests, and Scott was meant to be tested, but—oh, I don’t know. He just didn’t. He was a senior associate then, trying to make partner, and he was so busy and we had Chris. We always encouraged Chris’s friends to stay over, so the house was always full of children, and then—it just went onto the back burner.”

“And you haven’t discussed this with Scott yet?”

“Not properly. I thought I’d get some information first.”

“He’ll have to agree, I’m afraid. You must both want it.”

“I know.”

“And what does Maggie say about this?”

“I haven’t told her yet. I’ve only just—”

“You haven’t discussed it with anyone?”

“Only Brooke. My neighbor. Friend. Across the street.”

Sarah frowned.

“The home-baking blonde?”

“Blonde, yes,” Kat said, prickling. “And smart. And kind.”

“Well, that’s good,” Sarah said. “And is she supportive?”

“She’s not sure it’s a good idea.”

“Ah, I see,” Sarah said, pausing as the waiter appeared with the wine. Sarah tasted it, smiled at the waiter. She had a way of looking directly into people’s eyes, Kat noted, for a little too long. She did this with the young wine waiter, not flirting exactly, but—with a way of showing her absolute attention. She took control over ordering the meal. She consulted the menu, ordered for both of them, requested some special bread she liked, and olives, ascertained that the tiny lemon tarts she loved were on the dessert menu, then sat back and regarded Kat.

“Well, I can see why you want to do it. I should think you’re a wonderful mother. But. It’s a big decision,” she said.

“Yes,” Kat said. “I know.”

“Also,” Sarah continued, “a number of checks are made. Financial, employment, things like that. A home visit. And honestly, because of your situation, I don’t think it would be easy.

“But,” she added quickly, as if reading something in Kat’s face, “it wouldn’t be impossible. Listen, I don’t usually get involved in the actual adoptions, but in this case, I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you!”

Sarah smiled. “This is exciting for you,” she said.

Kat felt a small surge of hope.

“Yes. It is. But I’m just exploring it right now. I really just want to get information.”

“Well, I can certainly give you all that. I’ll have the details delivered to your house this afternoon. The material is very comprehensive.”

“Do the adopting parents have to be Catholics?” Kat asked.

“There’s some flexibility. But, Kat, you
are
Catholic.”

“Not anymore. I haven’t been to Mass in years.”

“Well, I think it’s like becoming a godmother. You have to agree to raise the child as Catholic.”

“Not sure how Scott would feel about that. It’s all—oh, speculation at this point.”

“Is it?” Sarah asked, eyes narrowing.

When the food arrived, salad with an assortment of berries and nuts, Sarah concentrated on tasting and enjoying it, just as she had at school. She urged Kat to try this or that, wanting her to like everything. The meal was delicious, Kat found, though the portions were small. Scott would complain if he were here. She looked up to find Sarah smiling at her.

“So odd to see you here,” Sarah said. “I never imagined—” She shook her head. “Tell me. Your parents? Are they well?”

Kat, surprised at the question, put down her fork.

“Mum died four years ago. Of cancer. And my dad—he died nine months later. A heart attack.”

“No. Dear God, how sad. And so soon after your—”

“He’d been drinking too much for months,” Kat said. “And not eating at all. He simply stopped taking care of himself when Mum died. He was alone in the house when the chest pains struck. He didn’t call for an ambulance.”

“If he hadn’t died this way, he would have starved to death,” Maggie had said. “There’s nothing to eat in the house. He must have just stopped buying food. Bottles everywhere. And nothing in the fridge.”

“I think he pretty much gave up,” Kat said now to Sarah. “He couldn’t function without Mum. Didn’t want to.”

“I’m sorry,” Sarah said, reaching across the table to squeeze Kat’s hand. “So sorry. They were very kind to me.”

She paused, biting her lip, thinking back.

“I remember your mother helping me on with my coat. She lifted all my hair from under my collar and then tucked my scarf around my neck and tied it. It was so—” Sarah hesitated, struggled for the right word. “So
gentle
, the way she did that.”

Kat nodded, surprised that Sarah could recall, with such clarity, the kindness of a friend’s mother, the gentle tucking in of a scarf, over twenty years later.

“It was a couple of weeks after that clinic visit,” Sarah said, her eyes on Kat. “She didn’t know, did she? Your mother? You never told her?”

“No. I never told anyone.”

“She must have intuited it, then. Something. It felt like she knew. Her kindness.”

“It’s possible,” Kat said. “I think she sensed when someone was feeling fragile. And she was a compulsive scarf arranger and tie straightener. And collars. She never met a collar she didn’t want to smooth out. She was a very cuddly mum.”

Kat reached for her drink, aware of a sharp pang of grief for the woman whose fussing had so irritated her and Maggie throughout their teenage years—and whom they both deeply missed.

“You were lucky,” Sarah said.

“Yes. I know that now.”

“Lucky to have a family like that. And lucky that you got to leave that soul-destroying school at the end of the day,” Sarah said.

“I never thought being a day girl was lucky,” Kat said. “I always felt I was missing something. Something exciting and fun in the evening.”

Sarah laughed.

“Exciting and fun? The studious girls studied. The shallow ones painted their toenails. You didn’t miss a thing, darling.”

“It wasn’t a bad school,” Kat said. “At least we got an education.”

“A
what
?” Sarah said, leaning back on her chair, frowning. “We got no such thing. English, yes. Latin, yes. Some history. Distorted. But hardly any advanced math, limited physics. Shameful. And all that religion. Dear God. Remember Sister Agnes? The Gargoyle?”

Kat thought for a moment. Sarah had her own pet names for all the nuns: the Gargoyle, the Vulture, Jabba.

“Vaguely,” Kat said.

“Of course you remember her. She had breath like a badger’s bum. Listen—”

Sarah, leaning forward now, spoke in a hoarse whisper:
And therefore, gells, one achieves a state of grace—

Sarah, always an excellent mimic, had conjured the nun’s voice exactly. Kat shivered.

“Oh, stop it,” Kat said. “Please. You sound just like her.”

“And all those insane school rules?” Sarah said, not to be deterred, eyes bright. “Remember all the rules about that ugly uniform?”

Kat remembered Sarah wearing her school beret slanted over her eyes like she was a French model, the mandatory pleated skirt tugged up inches above her knees.

“You pretty much disregarded all that.”

“Of course I did. It was ridiculous.”

“I remember being baffled by the basic house rules,” Kat admitted. “I never could see the sense in those. All the things that were considered
vulgar
. Vulgar to open a window wide? Why?”

“Oh, my aunts would agree with that,” Sarah said. “Class thing.”

“And no coughing. No eating while walking in public.”

“No smoking in public, either,” said Sarah.

“But no eating? Why?”

“I believe an ice cream at the beach was acceptable.”

“Remember when they tried to enforce the thing that if you fainted during Mass you would be left on the floor until after the Consecration? When there was a kind of fainting epidemic?”

“Well, they had to do something. Girls were falling like trees. Power of suggestion. It stopped it. Remember? It actually worked.”

“You fainted once, though, remember? Almost fainted.”

“God, don’t remind me. That girl with the nosebleed. Blood gushing all over the place,” Sarah said, shuddering.

Sarah’s hemophobia was well known to the pupils and nuns at St. Theresa’s. A bloody knee during a hockey game, even on a player for the opposing team, would have Sarah retching into the bushes that lined the pitch.

On that school day, Kat had tried to catch Sarah when she became dizzy, and so both of them had gone down, landing on their knees. “I fell down with you, remember?” Kat said.

“Yes! Both of us on our knees like repentant sinners.”

They laughed at the memory.