Authors: Mary Higgins Clark
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Anthologies (Multiple Authors)
Stillwatch (19 page)
that!
Tell you what: onyour way back, drive an extra mile and pass Hillcrest. That’s theJennings estate. And imagine how strongly a woman must have feltnot to leave it—or one red cent—to her own daughter-in-law.”Fifteen minutes later, Pat was looking through high iron gates atthe lovely mansion set on the crest of the snow-covered grounds. AsWillard’s widow, Abigail had had every right to think she might inheritthis estate as well as his seat in Congress. As his divorced wife, onthe other hand, she would have been the outcast once again. IfCatherine Graney was to be believed, the tragedy Abigail spoke somovingly about had, in fact, been the stroke of fortune that twenty-five years ago saved her from oblivion.
her,
“Abigail had been sick with nervousness.“I’m the better candidate,” she’d said a dozen times. “Claire isfrom his own region. That’s not good. If only we weren’t involvedwith the damn program.”“It might help you,” he said soothingly, though secretly he was asworried as she.“Toby, it might help if I were running for elective office in a bigfield of candidates. But I don’t think the President is going to see thedamn thing and jump up and say
‘She’s
for me.’ But he just might waitto see if there’s negative reaction to it before he announces his decision.”He knew she was right. “Don’t worry. Anyway, you can’t pull out.The program’s already in the listings.”She’d carefully selected the guests for the Christmas buffet supper.Among them she had two Senators, three Congressmen, a SupremeCourt Justice and Luther Pelham. “I only wish Sam Kingsley weren’tin California,” she said.By six o’clock, everything had been arranged. Abby had a goosecooking in the oven. She would serve it cold at the supper the next
The National Mirror,
” she demanded.“The
Mirror
?”“You heard me—go out and get it. Philip just phoned. Miss AppleJunction and her elegant mother are on the front page. Who dug outthat picture? Who?”Toby gripped the phone. Pat Traymore had been in the newspaperoffice at Apple Junction. Jeremy Saunders had phoned Pat Traymore.“Senator, if someone is trying to put the screws on you, I’ll makemincemeat of them.”
Don’t
be busy. The Ambassador is having people infor his usual Christmas Eve supper and I phoned and told him I’d like tobring you. After all, you are one of his neighbors now. He’d be delighted.”The octogenarian retired Ambassador was perhaps the mostdistinguished elder statesmen of the District. Few world leadersvisiting Washington failed to stop at the Ambassador ’s home.“I’d love to go,” Pat said warmly. ‘Thank you for thinking of me.”When she hung up, Pat went up to the bedroom. The guests at theAmbassador’s home would be a dressy crowd. She decided to wear ablack velvet suit with sable-banded cuffs.She still had time to soak in a hot tub for fifteen minutes and thento take a nap.As she lay back in the tub, Pat noticed that a corner of the blandbeige wallpaper was peeling. A swatch of Wedgwood blue could beseen underneath. Reaching up, she peeled back a large piece of thetop layer of paper.That was what she remembered—that lovely violet and Wedgwoodblue.
And the bed had an ivoy satin quilted spread,
she thought,
andwe had a blue carpet on the floor.
Mechanically she dried herself and pulled on a terry-cloth caftan.The bedroom was cool and already filled with late-afternoon shadows.As a precaution, she set the alarm for four-thirty before driftingoff to sleep.
The angry voices . . . the blankets pulled over her head . . . the loudnoise . . . another loud noise . . . her bare feet silent on the stairs . . .
The insistent pealing of the alarm woke her. She rubbed her foreheadtrying to recall the shadowy dream. Had the wallpaper triggeredsomething in her head? Oh, God, if only she hadn’t set the alarm.But it’s coming closer, she thought. The truth comes closer each time. . . .
do
know it’s necessary.”“How much do you remember?”“Bits. Pieces. Nothing that hangs together.”“I used to call the hospital to inquire about you. You wereunconscious for months. When you were moved, we were given tounderstand that if you did pull through, you’d be permanentlydamaged. And then the death notice appeared.”“Veronica . . . my mother ’s sister and her husband adopted me.My grandmother didn’t want the scandal following me . . . or them.”“And that’s why they changed your first name as well?”“My name is Patricia Kerry. I gather the Kerry was my father ’sidea. Patricia was my grandmother ’s name. They decided that as longas they were changing my last name they might as well start usingmy real first name too.”“So Kerry Adams became Patricia Traymore. What are you hopingto find here?” Lila took a sip of sherry and set down the glass.
know
that.”“Yes. Veronica has told me about her. You see, at first I only wantedto understand what happened here. Then I realized that ever since Ican remember I’ve hated my father; hated him for hurting me so, forrobbing me of my mother. I think I hoped to find some indication thathe was sick, falling apart—I don’t know what. But now, as I begin toremember little things, I realize it’s more than that. I’m not the sameperson I would have become if . . .”She gestured at the area where the bodies had been found. “ . . . ifall this hadn’t happened. I need to link the child I was with the personI am. I’ve lost some part of myself back there. I have so manypreconceived ideas—my mother was an angel, my father a devil.Veronica hinted that my father destroyed my mother ’s musical careerand then her life. But what about him? She married a politician andthen refused to share his life. Was that fair? How much was I a catalystof the trouble between them? Veronica told me once that this housewas
too small.
When my mother tried to practice, I’d wake up andstart crying.”“Catalyst,” Lila said. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid you are, Pat.You’re setting things in motion that are best left alone.” She studiedher. “You seem to have recovered very well from your injuries.”“It took a long time. When I finally regained consciousness, I had tobe taught everything all over again. I didn’t understand words. I didn’tknow how to use a fork. I wore the brace on my leg till I was seven.”Lila realized she was very warm. Only a moment before she’d feltcool. She didn’t want to examine the reason for the change. She knewonly that this room had not yet completed its scenario of tragedy. Shestood up. “We’d better not keep the Ambassador waiting,” she said briskly.She could see in Pat’s face the cheekbones and sensitive mouth ofRenée, the wide-spaced eyes and auburn hair of Dean.
Tell you what: onyour way back, drive an extra mile and pass Hillcrest. That’s theJennings estate. And imagine how strongly a woman must have feltnot to leave it—or one red cent—to her own daughter-in-law.”Fifteen minutes later, Pat was looking through high iron gates atthe lovely mansion set on the crest of the snow-covered grounds. AsWillard’s widow, Abigail had had every right to think she might inheritthis estate as well as his seat in Congress. As his divorced wife, onthe other hand, she would have been the outcast once again. IfCatherine Graney was to be believed, the tragedy Abigail spoke somovingly about had, in fact, been the stroke of fortune that twenty-five years ago saved her from oblivion.
her,
“Abigail had been sick with nervousness.“I’m the better candidate,” she’d said a dozen times. “Claire isfrom his own region. That’s not good. If only we weren’t involvedwith the damn program.”“It might help you,” he said soothingly, though secretly he was asworried as she.“Toby, it might help if I were running for elective office in a bigfield of candidates. But I don’t think the President is going to see thedamn thing and jump up and say
‘She’s
for me.’ But he just might waitto see if there’s negative reaction to it before he announces his decision.”He knew she was right. “Don’t worry. Anyway, you can’t pull out.The program’s already in the listings.”She’d carefully selected the guests for the Christmas buffet supper.Among them she had two Senators, three Congressmen, a SupremeCourt Justice and Luther Pelham. “I only wish Sam Kingsley weren’tin California,” she said.By six o’clock, everything had been arranged. Abby had a goosecooking in the oven. She would serve it cold at the supper the next
The National Mirror,
” she demanded.“The
Mirror
?”“You heard me—go out and get it. Philip just phoned. Miss AppleJunction and her elegant mother are on the front page. Who dug outthat picture? Who?”Toby gripped the phone. Pat Traymore had been in the newspaperoffice at Apple Junction. Jeremy Saunders had phoned Pat Traymore.“Senator, if someone is trying to put the screws on you, I’ll makemincemeat of them.”
Don’t
be busy. The Ambassador is having people infor his usual Christmas Eve supper and I phoned and told him I’d like tobring you. After all, you are one of his neighbors now. He’d be delighted.”The octogenarian retired Ambassador was perhaps the mostdistinguished elder statesmen of the District. Few world leadersvisiting Washington failed to stop at the Ambassador ’s home.“I’d love to go,” Pat said warmly. ‘Thank you for thinking of me.”When she hung up, Pat went up to the bedroom. The guests at theAmbassador’s home would be a dressy crowd. She decided to wear ablack velvet suit with sable-banded cuffs.She still had time to soak in a hot tub for fifteen minutes and thento take a nap.As she lay back in the tub, Pat noticed that a corner of the blandbeige wallpaper was peeling. A swatch of Wedgwood blue could beseen underneath. Reaching up, she peeled back a large piece of thetop layer of paper.That was what she remembered—that lovely violet and Wedgwoodblue.
And the bed had an ivoy satin quilted spread,
she thought,
andwe had a blue carpet on the floor.
Mechanically she dried herself and pulled on a terry-cloth caftan.The bedroom was cool and already filled with late-afternoon shadows.As a precaution, she set the alarm for four-thirty before driftingoff to sleep.
The angry voices . . . the blankets pulled over her head . . . the loudnoise . . . another loud noise . . . her bare feet silent on the stairs . . .
The insistent pealing of the alarm woke her. She rubbed her foreheadtrying to recall the shadowy dream. Had the wallpaper triggeredsomething in her head? Oh, God, if only she hadn’t set the alarm.But it’s coming closer, she thought. The truth comes closer each time. . . .
do
know it’s necessary.”“How much do you remember?”“Bits. Pieces. Nothing that hangs together.”“I used to call the hospital to inquire about you. You wereunconscious for months. When you were moved, we were given tounderstand that if you did pull through, you’d be permanentlydamaged. And then the death notice appeared.”“Veronica . . . my mother ’s sister and her husband adopted me.My grandmother didn’t want the scandal following me . . . or them.”“And that’s why they changed your first name as well?”“My name is Patricia Kerry. I gather the Kerry was my father ’sidea. Patricia was my grandmother ’s name. They decided that as longas they were changing my last name they might as well start usingmy real first name too.”“So Kerry Adams became Patricia Traymore. What are you hopingto find here?” Lila took a sip of sherry and set down the glass.
know
that.”“Yes. Veronica has told me about her. You see, at first I only wantedto understand what happened here. Then I realized that ever since Ican remember I’ve hated my father; hated him for hurting me so, forrobbing me of my mother. I think I hoped to find some indication thathe was sick, falling apart—I don’t know what. But now, as I begin toremember little things, I realize it’s more than that. I’m not the sameperson I would have become if . . .”She gestured at the area where the bodies had been found. “ . . . ifall this hadn’t happened. I need to link the child I was with the personI am. I’ve lost some part of myself back there. I have so manypreconceived ideas—my mother was an angel, my father a devil.Veronica hinted that my father destroyed my mother ’s musical careerand then her life. But what about him? She married a politician andthen refused to share his life. Was that fair? How much was I a catalystof the trouble between them? Veronica told me once that this housewas
too small.
When my mother tried to practice, I’d wake up andstart crying.”“Catalyst,” Lila said. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid you are, Pat.You’re setting things in motion that are best left alone.” She studiedher. “You seem to have recovered very well from your injuries.”“It took a long time. When I finally regained consciousness, I had tobe taught everything all over again. I didn’t understand words. I didn’tknow how to use a fork. I wore the brace on my leg till I was seven.”Lila realized she was very warm. Only a moment before she’d feltcool. She didn’t want to examine the reason for the change. She knewonly that this room had not yet completed its scenario of tragedy. Shestood up. “We’d better not keep the Ambassador waiting,” she said briskly.She could see in Pat’s face the cheekbones and sensitive mouth ofRenée, the wide-spaced eyes and auburn hair of Dean.
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