And just as no one remembered what I’d done
during the Cold War, within a number of years, Folana Fournaise
would be forgotten as well.
I took a sip of tea, sat down on the
loveseat, and picked up the book.
* * * *
Spring passed with my usual activities, and
summer passed with more of the same. Now, autumn was just around
the corner.
I came down to the kitchen in my dressing
gown. “Good morning, Alyona.”
“Good morning, Missus.”
“It looks like it’s going to be very mild
for this autumn.”
“Is true.” She put a plate of toast before
me, along with a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee, and
then sat across from me with her own coffee. “What is planned for
today?”
“I think I’ll redecorate my office.”
She nodded. “I go food shopping. Mr. Anthony
is coming for dinner tomorrow. We make something to impress
him.”
“You mean
you’ll
make something to
impress him. He knows I can’t cook.” The phone rang. “I’ll get it.”
I picked up the received. “Mann residence.”
“Portia, thank God I’ve reached you!”
“Father? What’s wrong?”
“I need you at Shadow Brook. We’ve just
received word that Lady Portia has passed away, and your mother
isn’t taking it well.”
“I’m so sorry to hear this, Father.”
Although I wasn’t really surprised. My godmother was in her early
nineties, and last winter had been a bad one for her. She’d
contracted pneumonia, and it had taken months before she’d shaken
it. Truthfully, I hadn’t expected her to survive it. “I’ll get
dressed and drive home.”
“Thank you. I’ve called Dr. Parton.”
“Why?”
“I believe I said your mother didn’t take
the news well.”
“Why would she need a doctor?”
He sighed. “Just please get here. She wants
you.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I hung up
the phone. “Alyona, my godmother has passed away, and Mother’s not
well. I have to—”
“I hear. You go.”
I ran up the stairs to my bedroom and
changed into a rust silk blouse, a skirt suit of bronze plaid, and
bronze pumps, before gathering up my handbag and returning to the
first floor.
“I have car out for you.”
“Thank you. I don’t know how long Mother
will need me.”
“No worry. I hold down fort.”
“Thank you!” I kissed her cheek and crossed
to the driveway, where the car waited with the top down. I inserted
the key and reversed out of the drive.
A few years earlier, Ludovic had declared I
needed a new car and had accompanied me to the Ferrari showroom.
He’d been very proud when I selected a sleek, black Mondial
cabriolet. Jefferson, on the other hand, exploded when we drove up
to their place in Adams Morgan. Ludovic and I leaned against the
convertible and listened to him rant, and eventually he stormed
back up to their apartment to call in reinforcements. Within half
an hour, Tony and Bryan arrived.
“She’s a beauty!” Bryan declared. “May I
take her for a spin?”
“You’re not helping, Bryan!” Tony
huffed.
Bryan just gave him a grin and caught the
key I tossed to him. “Coming?”
Tony turned so red I thought the top of his
head was going to explode. “No, I am not!” he snapped.
Bryan slid behind the wheel, waved, and took
off with a squeal of the tires.
“Young fool,” Tony growled.
“He’s fifty-three, Tony.”
“That’s younger than I am.”
“Well, that’s the truth,” Jefferson teased,
but Tony’s expression remained stark.
“He’s going to get himself killed!”
I sighed. “He’s a very competent driver,
Tony. He taught me, you know.”
“That’s hardly inclined to make me feel
better about this whole thing.”
“You worry too much, big brother.” I patted
his cheek. “Jefferson, why don’t you invite us up for some
refreshments while Bryan is enjoying my car?”
He gestured for us to follow him.
Bryan returned after fifteen minutes and
placed the key in my palm. “She drives like a honey, Portia. If I
wasn’t a responsible married man…”
“Yes, well, you are,” Tony snapped. “Please
to remember that!”
“Certainly.” The pleasure left Bryan’s face.
“Since there’s no emergency here, I’d better go.”
He walked out, closing the door quietly
behind him, and Ludovic murmured, “You’re a ray of sunshine,
Anthony.”
“If he gets himself killed…”
“He’s one of the best drivers I know. Are
you aware Hazelton has him teaching the younger officers how to
handle a car in desperate situations?”
“I’m not CIA, if you’ll remember, Jefferson.
I have no idea what Hazelton has in mind. I’ve got to go.” And Tony
stalked out.
“I’m sorry.” Ludovic appeared crestfallen.
“I didn’t mean to cause a to-do.”
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. You
should know by now Tony and Bryan are like oil and water. Which is
sad, because when they were younger…” Jefferson shook his head.
It
was
sad that two of my brothers no
longer got along. I’d just started at Tidewater, and when I
returned home for my first Christmas, it was to find them
estranged. Whenever Bryan entered a room, Tony would leave. Over
the years, it never got any better.
Jefferson held up the kettle. “Tea,
Portia?
* * * *
I recalled that day as I inserted the key,
reversed out of the drive, and then shifted into first and started
the drive to Shadow Brook. This time I was the one who made the
tires squeal.
* * * *
In spite of the powerful engine under the
hood, it still took more than three hours to reach Shadow Brook. A
car I didn’t recognize was parked off to the side, but I
disregarded it. I left my convertible in front of the house and ran
in.
“Father?”
Olive Plum came into the foyer. “Oh, Miss
Portia.” Her cheeks were colorless.
“How’s Mother?”
“Dr. Parton’s still with her.” That must
have been his car parked outside. “He gave her something for her
heart.”
“Mother never had a heart problem.”
“It seems she does now.” Father came down
the stairs and looked me over. “Tidy your hair. If your mother sees
you looking like that, she’s going to think things are worse than
they are.”
I went into the powder room off the wet bar
and would have sworn if I wasn’t in my parents’ house. My hair was
down around my shoulders, all the pins blown out. I should have
worn a scarf, but I’d been in such a rush, I hadn’t even thought of
it. I finger combed my hair and plaited it into a French braid. It
would stay in place until I could borrow some of Mother’s
hairpins.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
“All right, may I see Mother now?”
Father nodded toward the stairs, and I
climbed them in a most decorous manner.
Mother was lying in the big bed in the room
that adjoined Father’s.
“Portia.” She frowned at my father, who
stood behind me. “Really, Anthony, there was no need—”
“You’re not going to London.”
“Father told me of Lady Portia’s passing.” I
sat beside her on the bed and took her hand. “I’m so sorry,
Mother.”
She sighed. “I knew it was just a matter of
time. Portia wouldn’t want to continue once John was gone.”
Viscount Creighton had died during an
insurrection near his African property just the year before. His
body had been returned to England, and Mother, Father, and I had
flown over to attend the service.
“Obviously, your mother isn’t well enough to
make the trip. We’re depending on you to represent the family.”
“Really, Anthony.” Mother’s voice was faint,
but she still managed to sound annoyed.
“Dr. Parton?”
The doctor had been standing to the side. He
closed his black bag with a snap and came forward. “I’m sorry, Mrs.
Sebring, but I’ll have to agree with your husband this time. A
transatlantic flight will stress your heart.”
“Quack,” she muttered.
“Yes, dear lady, call me all the names you
wish. I still won’t give you permission to fly to London.”
“I’m sorry, Portia.” Mother’s fingers
tightened around mine. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to go.”
I patted her hand. “She was my godmother, so
of course I’ll go.” I met my father’s gaze. “This isn’t another
attempt to throw me and Jack together, I hope.”
“No, of course not,” Father assured me. He
couldn’t have arranged Mother’s illness, but that didn’t mean he
wouldn’t take advantage of it.
At Lord John’s funeral, Jack had squeezed my
shoulder. “Thank you for coming, Portia.”
“
You’re welcome, Jack. Of course I’d be
here.” I turned casually so he had to drop his hand. That was when
he must have remembered I preferred not to be touched, because his
smile became rueful. The only people I permitted within my personal
space were my son, my brothers, Alyona, and Gregor.
Father took me aside. “Abberley’s always
been fond of you. If you married him—”
“
I’m not interested in getting
remarried.”
“
That damned Sebring curse,” he muttered
under his breath. “Well, give it some consideration. He’s got
excellent connections.” I folded my hands and regarded him
thoughtfully, and he huffed out a breath, much as Tony was wont to
do. “Keep in mind the Abberleys are a good family, an influential
one with whom it would pay to be aligned.”
“
Father, what didn’t you understand about
the words I’m not interested in getting remarried?”
He ground his teeth but dropped the
subject.
“I’ve booked your flight out of Dulles for
tomorrow evening. You’ll arrive in London at approximately
six-thirty the following morning.”
“Very well. I’ll return to Great Falls
tomorrow afternoon and pack. Will you be flying with me,
Father?”
“No. I…er…need to remain here at Shadow
Brook.”
Was Mother that seriously ill? He didn’t
usually exhibit his concern. “Will Jefferson be available to drive
me to the airport?” Since the incident in 1980 when Chechen rebels
had mistaken him for a simple businessman, Jefferson rarely went
into the field.
“Tony will.”
“Isn’t the NSA rather busy?”
“That’s immaterial. He’ll drive you to the
airport as he’s always done.” And of course once at the airport,
I’d be joined by one of his men or one of Father’s, who would keep
discreetly in the background the entire time, until I was home
again.
“Yes, Father.”
* * * *
Unlike Lord John’s casket, Lady Portia’s
coffin wasn’t closed. Whoever had done the embalming had done an
exquisite job. She looked thirty years younger, and happy.
In spite of the solemnity of the occasion, I
enjoyed the time I spent with Jack. We had tea at Claridge’s and
rode daily in Hyde Park. Eventually he asked if I’d help him clear
out some of his mother’s letters.
“Wouldn’t that be an invasion of her
privacy?”
“I hardly think it matters now. And these
letters are from your mother. I think she might want them
back.”
“Oh?” But he wouldn’t satisfy my curiosity
until we arrived back at the house in Hampstead.
“Here.” The thick packet of letters was
fastened with a faded, pink satin ribbon. “I stopped reading when I
realized who they were from. The servants are off today. I’ll make
us a pot of tea while you read them.”
“Thank you,” I said absently. The first
letter was to Miss Portia Fitzgibbons of Baltimore, and the return
address was from Mary Blackburn, of the same city.
Dear Gibsy,
You’re getting married! I
knew
your John would come back for you! And he’s a viscount! You’re
going to be a viscountess! Mother is livid that John never looked
twice at me, but why should he when she ordered me to avoid him
when she thought he was just an orphan with no connections at all?
I’m relieved! You’ve loved him forever! And frankly, Gibsy, he’s
old enough to be my…well…older brother! (I hope that made you
laugh, as I’ve some unfortunate news to impart.)
Mother claims we can no longer be friends!
Can you imagine? We’ve been friends since Miss Haversham’s Seminary
for Young Ladies! You were so kind to me when first I arrived
there, when all the other girls treated me like a babe because I
cried. Truly I couldn’t help it! I was eight, and it was the first
time away from home, while you, at thirteen years, were very
familiar with the ways of Miss Haversham’s and stuck up for me!
I’ll have to sneak out to mail this. Well,
fiddlesticks, say I!
Remember your best friend when it’s time to
choose your maid of honor!
Love,
Mistress Mary
I smiled at all the exclamations. Who knew
Mother had been such a lively young lady? Or that she’d been as
contrary as her nickname implied. And then I was saddened. Life
seemed to have wrung all the joy from her.
As for Grandmother Blackburn, I remembered
her only too well. She could be a horror.
The next letters talked about “Gibsy’s”
wedding gown and the clothes she would take on her honeymoon, where
she would be married, her presentation to the queen, and how
excited “Mistress Mary” was to learn that she, too, would have a
season and be presented.
That healed the breach between the two
families, and until the day she died, Grandmother talked
incessantly of Mother making her curtsy to Queen Mary.
In a letter dated late in 1913, Mother wrote
of meeting her English cousin Albert Victor Blackburn, who’d been
in the States on a diplomatic mission.
Oh heavens, Gibsy, he’s the most charming
man! His hair is russet and his eyes are green. And best of all,
Mother likes him! He treated us to an ice cream while he was in
Baltimore!
Gibsy, he’s the man I’m going to marry! I
know it! Of course not just yet, and Father won’t hear of it. He
says I’m too young, but you met your John when you were even
younger! Mother says Father wouldn’t permit me to marry before I
turn sixteen at the least. But I’m certain I’ll still feel this way
about Albert, and of course that he’ll feel the same toward me.