I patted his arm. It was difficult, having
Sebring blood in our veins.
* * * *
David Brendan Cooper was a charming guest,
and my brothers thought so as well. There was something about him
that nagged at me, but I couldn’t pin it down and so wrote it off
as DB having one of those faces that reminded you of someone.
We had a lovely Christmas dinner, and
afterward opened the gifts that had been placed under the Douglas
fir Jefferson had seen was sent to Great Falls.
I picked up a rectangular box that was
wrapped in paper of holly and ivy. “This is for you,
sweetheart.”
“Thank you.” Quinton tore off the paper and
opened the box. “Oh, Mother! What an amazing DVD player! But…” He
grinned at me through the hair that fell into his eyes. “I only
have VHS tapes.”
“Not anymore, Quinn.” Gregor handed him his
gift, classic DVDs:
Casablanca
,
12 Angry Men
, and
Citizen Kane
; fun DVDs:
The Mummy
,
Planet of the
Apes
, and
Lara Croft: Tomb Raider
; and because he
enjoyed that period in art,
Impressionists: The Other French
Revolution
. “These are all the latest releases.”
“No
Aliens
?” DB asked. “You don’t
know what you’re missing! Hey, you’ll let me borrow
Lara
Croft
, won’t you? That Angelina Jolie is a babe!” He cleared
his throat. “Mrs. Mann, I wasn’t sure what to get you. I hope this
is suitable.” DB had made a donation to Widows and Survivors of the
Korean War in my name, which touched me deeply.
My eyes misted, and I cleared my throat.
“Very, very suitable. And I hope you’ll enjoy your gift.”
“Oh yeah! I don’t know if Quinn’s mentioned
how much I like this one movie, and every time I watch it, I make
popcorn and throw it at the screen whenever the bad guy comes
on.”
We all chuckled over that.
DB’s gift to Gregor was a GPS. “I know
you’re Mrs. Mann’s chauffeur, among other things. It’s top CIA
technology, guaranteed to keep you from getting lost.”
“Thank you, DB.” Gregor held out his hand,
but when DB took it, he pulled him into an embrace, pounding his
back. “I don’t know that I appreciate you thinking I constantly get
Portia lost, but thank you!”
Quinton gave DB a framed and autographed
poster of the movie
Aliens.
“Quinn! Ah, Quinn! Man,
thank you
!”
DB ran his fingertips over the various signatures. “Sigourney
Weaver, Michael Biehn. Oh my God,
James Cameron
! This is the
best
…” He leaned the poster against the loveseat and
enveloped Quinton in a hug.
“I’m glad you like it, DB.” Quinton patted
his back.
“Like it? I love it!” DB blushed as he
realized we were all watching him. He coughed lightly and gave
Quinton an envelope. “For you. It’s hard to know what to get for
the man who has everything—well, a woman wouldn’t fit under your
Christmas tree, and besides, you already have one. Anyway, there’s
a new restaurant in D.C., Raphael’s. I’ve heard nothing but good
things about it, so I thought you might enjoy a dinner there.”
“I’ve heard of it myself. Thank you, DB.” He
cocked his head. “Would you care to join me?”
“Nah. I think you should take your
lady.”
Quinton closed his eyes and shook his head.
“Please don’t say anything about this to Susan. I’ll be going on
assignment next week and—”
“You want to surprise her. Got it.” DB was
so busy studying the poster that he didn’t notice my son’s
expression.
Well, it was only gentlemanly that Quinton
inform Susan first that they were no longer a couple.
Gregor’s gift to me was a small, exquisite
bottle of Solo Tu, the perfume Nigel had had created for me. It had
been many years since I’d been given this as a gift.
“I…uh…I hope I haven’t overstepped…I thought
you might…I know you usually buy it your—Is it okay?”
He blushed scarlet when I kissed his cheek.
“You haven’t, I do, I did, and it’s a delightful gift, Gregor.” I
frowned at my brothers, who found his discomfort uproarious. “Thank
you.” I stroked the bottle’s curves, opened the stopper and inhaled
the spicy fragrance, and then set it aside. “Since we’re all
finished, suppose we have dessert?” He’d prepared something new,
almond butter-stuffed pears, and I knew he was anxious to see our
reaction.
“Hold on a second!” Gregor bounced up and
put on another CD from a boxed set of music of the Big Band era, my
gift to him. Nigel and I had played the records so frequently in
our home that Gregor had come to appreciate them as well. “Okay,
now I’ll get the coffee and the stuffed pears!”
* * * *
The New Year began with an unexpected phone
call. Harriman Patterson, a classmate of Quinton’s from Phillips
Exeter, contacted me to do an interview about my son for the
commemorative issue of the school’s alumni magazine.
“Twenty years,” he told me.
“You’re doing this more than a year in
advance?”
“Yes. We want to do it properly.”
“And you said your name was Harriman
Patterson?”
“Yes, Mrs. Mann. Although everyone back at
Exeter knew me as Skip.”
“May I call you back?”
“Sure thing, ma’am.” And he rattled off his
phone number.
Quinton was still out of town, so I couldn’t
clear this with him. However, Mr. Patterson’s credentials withstood
Gregor’s scrutiny, as well as mine, and I called him back later
that afternoon.
“Harriman Patterson.”
“Mr. Patterson, it’s Portia Mann.”
“Mrs. Mann. I didn’t expect to…that is, it’s
good to hear from you so soon.”
“Thank you. I’ve cleared my schedule.” There
was no need to let him know that I’d looked into his background.
“I’ll see you on the fifteenth, at, shall we say, 3:00 P.M.?”
“That’ll be fine, ma’am. I’ll be in D.C.
that week, at the William Henry Harrison Hotel.”
“Excellent.” I gave him the address and
directions from the Capitol.
“Thanks very much for agreeing to see
me.”
“You’re welcome.”
We said good-bye and hung up.
* * * *
“Do you mind if I hang around, Portia?”
Gregor asked.
“Would you prefer I cancel?” Even though
Harriman seemed innocuous enough, I trusted Gregor’s instincts.
He tugged on his lower lip. “No, you don’t
need to…I’m just being …I don’t like the idea of you alone in the
house with someone we don’t really know.”
“Certainly, stay. Why don’t you prepare some
refreshments? And try not to look like you’re more than my chef cum
butler.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned broadly. “We’ll
keep that as a little surprise. If it’s necessary.”
“Are we being paranoid, Gregor?”
“I’d rather be overly cautious than have to
explain to Quinn why something happened to you on my watch.”
I rested my hand on his shoulder, startled
when he blushed. But then the doorbell chimed, and I glanced at the
clock. It was three on the dot.
Gregor tugged at his suit jacket sleeves,
making sure their lines were smooth. “I’ll get it.”
“Bring him to the sitting room.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He was getting into his role
as nothing more than my butler.
Within a matter of minutes, Gregor was back,
a tall man in his thirties at his side. “Mrs. Mann, Quinton’s
friend, Harriman Patterson.”
“Thank you for agreeing to see me, ma’am.”
His soft voice held a hint of New England in it, and he held out
his hand. In his other hand was a camera.
“I’m sorry, I don’t permit pictures of my
home.”
“I’ll need to examine the camera. Sorry, but
that’s Mr. Mann’s policy.” Gregor looked annoyed. Had he missed it?
How
had he missed it?
“Sure. No problem at all.” He smiled easily
and gave the camera to Gregor. “That’s a pretty scarf you’re
wearing, Mrs. Mann.”
“Thank you. It was a Christmas gift.”
“Are the flowers violets?”
“Yes, they are.”
“They bring out the blue in your eyes. Are
you done with the camera yet, Mr. Novotny?”
“Almost.” While Gregor studied it, Patterson
glanced casually around the room.
“Nice room.” His gaze seemed to linger on
the portrait of Nigel and me, which had been done for our fifteenth
anniversary and which hung above the fireplace.
“Thank you,” I said. “I thought we would use
this room, since I keep the photo albums here. You said when you
phoned that you were interested in learning about Quinton as a boy.
I must say it surprises me that you’d want to hear about his
childhood years.”
“Every alumnus article focuses on the man
the student has become. I thought I’d pitch the idea of the road he
took to become that man.”
“Interesting premise,” Gregor remarked.
“Thanks.” Patterson gave a slight smile. “I
try not to do the expected.”
Gregor returned Patterson’s camera to him.
“It’s okay,” he said to me. “So you’re going to write about the
time you and he went skinny-dipping?”
“Uh…” The poor man looked disconcerted. “I
hadn’t planned on it, Mr. Novotny.” He smiled ruefully as he put
the camera into the pocket of his suit jacket. “I mean, we were
just kids at the time.”
“I’m quite aware of that incident,” I said
to put him at ease. “Of course I would never tell my son that.”
He had a very charming smile, and I wondered
if he’d ever favored Quinton with it. And if he had, what had
Quinton thought of it?
“I’ll get the refreshments started.” Gregor
left the room, and I gestured toward the loveseat.
“If you’ll have a seat, Mr. Patterson?”
“Please, call me Harriman.”
“Harriman. Now tell me, how far back did you
want to go?”
“How far back do you have photos?”
“Oh, you should know better than to ask that
of a mother.” For a second he looked confused, and I patted his
arm. “We took pictures from the day he was born,” I explained as I
opened an album. “Our first photo as a family. My brother Bryan
took this picture.” It was in my hospital room. I held our son, and
Nigel held both of us. Was there ever a baby as welcomed as our
son? I smiled and turned the page. “And this was taken the day we
brought Quinton home from the hospital.”
I continued turning pages, pointing out
pictures of his christening, his first step, his first taste of
solid food, his first haircut.
“He doesn’t look happy.”
“No. It was a few years before he could
accept the barber shears. And I have to admit, it broke my heart to
cut that beautiful hair, but it was time.”
“You kept a lock of it.” There was a curl
tied with a blue satin ribbon.
“Yes. He was getting too old for ringlets.
And of course, as he grew older, his hair darkened.”
“That’s really nice.” He seemed
uncomfortable though. “I…uh…I understand Quinn rides.”
“Oh, yes. He was going to be part of the
equestrian team for the Summer Olympics in 1980. Let me get that
album.” I took it from its place beside the others in a bookcase
and showed him photos of Quinton at the various competitions. “Ah.
This was taken in August of ’81, at the Hampton Classic. Jack Be
Nimble.”
“Excuse me?”
“The roan gelding he’s riding. Quinton named him
Jack Be Nimble. Surely he mentioned Jack? He’s always been very
fond of that horse.”
“Teenage boys aren’t likely to talk about
horses, Mrs. Mann.” The corner of his mouth curled into a grin.
“Not to each other.”
I couldn’t help chuckling. “Yes, I imagine
you’re right, Harriman. It was a perfect ride.”
“I’m not surprised. I…uh…I won’t ask if I
can borrow that picture for my article, but would you mind if I
took a snapshot of it?”
“Not at all.”
His interest in my son would have been
flattering even if it was simply for the magazine, but I noticed
how he regarded that particular picture. It was of Quinton crouched
atop Jack as they took a water jump.
“That horse looks like he’s about to sprout
wings!”
“Jack Be Nimble was a wonderful jumper.” I
watched Harriman from under my lashes. “Perhaps Quinton will take
you out to Shadow Brook some time to see him.”
“That’d be nice. Is…uh…Jack Be Nimble still
alive?”
“Yes, very much so. Jack is thirty-five and
white around the muzzle, but he gets around quite well.”
“Does Quinn still ride him?”
“No. Jack’s earned his retirement. Quinton
has another horse he keeps at the country club’s stable, and we go
riding every Sunday, as long as he’s available.” As an assistant to
an undersecretary of State, Quinton wouldn’t leave the country as
frequently as a CIA officer would. “And when he’s not, I’ll
exercise Testament.” He stared at me, something in his expression
indicating how perplexed he was. I couldn’t understand why. “What
is it?”
“You’re a good mom.”
“If you bring a new life into this world,
it’s your responsibility to care for it to the best of your
abilities.”
“Yeah.” He turned back to the album I was
holding. “This is interesting.” He tapped a photo in which Quinton
emerged from the pond at Shadow Brook. He was dripping wet and
grinning through the hair that hung in his eyes. The photo was
snapped just as the golden retriever that belonged to our chauffeur
leaped up and caught the waistband of his swimsuit, almost dragging
it off his hips.
“Quinton was seventeen that year. We spent
quite some time that summer at Shadow Brook.” Of course I wouldn’t
mention that even more time was spent with his uncles at the CIA
and NSA.
“Looks like you almost got a free show.”
Once again, the corner of his mouth curled up in a surprisingly
attractive grin.
“Almost.” Although I couldn’t help laughing,
I was surprised he’d mention that. And then I recalled that
skinny-dipping episode, and I wondered how close he and Quinton had
been at Exeter.