Newport: A Novel Read online

  “You do? I should think Liriodendron would hold fond memories for you.”

  Her tone was positively withering. “Memories of what, Mr. Reid? Father didn’t even begin building this place until 1897. I’d already been married off by then. And it’s not as if Newport society was willing to embrace the Chapman family, anyway.”

  “Really?” Jim leaned slightly to his left in order to get a better view of Bennett and Catharine. They were too far away for him to hear their conversation, but even at this distance, he recognized indifference in the slump of Catharine’s shoulders.

  “New money,” Chloe said flatly, following his gaze across the lawn. “Apparently it smells different from the old stuff, although I’m sure that distinction means nothing to our Miss Walsh there. Money is money, after all, and it all spends the same. Christ, Father looks wonderful, doesn’t he? He’s barely using his cane.”

  “Perhaps Miss Walsh is a tonic for him.” Jim squinted. There wasn’t a touch of the coquette in Catharine Walsh. Strange. A woman on the eve of her marriage ought to sparkle at least a little, whether or not her love for the bridegroom was lukewarm. Even the most jaded gold digger had the sense to keep her catch captivated through sheer flattery and appeal. Catharine looked about as lively as a human sacrifice.

  “Perhaps she is,” Chloe murmured. “And whatever I think of her, Mother must have her reasons for thinking Father should marry her. Who am I to go against my mother’s wishes?”

  Jim turned toward her, startled. “Does that mean you won’t fight the new will?”

  “It’s hard to fight the dearly departed, isn’t it? No, I’ll leave the battling to my brother. He’s got more at stake than I do, anyway.”

  Jim watched as Bennett planted an awkward kiss on Catharine’s cheek. She accepted it with resignation. “Now that’s something I have yet to understand, Lady Dinwoodie,” he said. “I grew up in a family where making ends meet each week was a genuine challenge. Every day that ended with everyone gathered around a hearty supper was cause to celebrate. So, from my point of view, you and your brother have more resources than most folks could ever use in a lifetime. Why does it matter so much if your father changes his will and you have less? It seems a small exchange for his happiness. Unless, of course, you honestly believe that Miss Walsh will make him unhappy?”

  “Oh, I’d worry more for Miss Walsh than for Father. She’ll find out soon enough that he’s an unprincipled old coot.” Chloe’s sigh blended with the soft swish of the surf. “No, you’re right, Mr. Reid. My husband has enough personal income to keep me well. Nicky’s another story. He’s nearly flat broke. He’s a gambler, you see, and he owes some dangerous people an obscene amount of money.”

  “How do you know this? It doesn’t sound like the sort of conversation that comes up at the dinner table.”

  “Of course not. I found his cooked books in a drawer last year when I was looking for something to drink in the Boston house. He’s been playing shady with his funds for years, trying to stay afloat until Pop dies and he can get his inheritance.”

  “Hmm. Unusually stupid to leave incriminating evidence lying about for your sister to find.”

  “Oh, he doesn’t anymore. He keeps his paperwork in a safe here at Liriodendron now. The key never leaves his body. I think he even sleeps with it, which is just as well since he never sleeps with anything else.”

  Jim took a moment to digest the information. So Nicholas Chapman, with his superior airs and expertly tailored suits, was up to his ears in debt. “That certainly explains your brother’s tenacity.”

  Chloe followed his gaze to Catharine Walsh. “He’s going to need it. Catharine hates him, can you tell? She bristles every time he comes into a room.”

  “Yes, I’d noticed. Of course, he returns the favor. Lady Dinwoodie—”

  She cut him off with a weary hand. “Just call me Chloe. It’s clear I’m not your cup of tea, but there’s no need to make me feel as if I’m moldering away in an English family crypt. I’m not that much older than you . . . am I?”

  Jim calculated the decades between them and decided to sidestep the entire issue. “Chloe, why did you come to Newport if your father’s will ultimately doesn’t matter all that much to you?”

  She flushed. “Mr. Reid, I take it your family is close?”

  “Closer than I’d like, sometimes.”

  “Consider yourself fortunate. My father was a tyrant while we were growing up. Both Nicholas and I counted the hours until we could leave his home and strike out on our own. My brother may be difficult, but he is the only blood relation left who matters to me. I must make the most of it, despite the fact that I can no longer support his cause here.”

  “I understand.”

  Chloe stood, tugging her dress down across her hips as she did so. “As for me, I just want to leave. But I would like to speak to Mother again, learn how I can talk to my Margaret once I’m away from here for good.”

  “Your mother might be coming to the wedding.”

  “Oh!” Chloe stopped in mid-stoop, arm extended toward her flask. “Amy has agreed?”

  “I haven’t asked her yet. I suppose she could still say no.”

  “She could, but it’s not likely if the request comes from you. She likes you, Mr. Reid.”

  His face grew hot. “Applesauce.”

  “No, really. A woman can tell.” Her eyes strayed back to the couple down the lawn. “I’d say that Miss Amy Walsh carries a torch for you almost as high as the one Catharine Walsh carries for Adrian de la Noye.”

  Jim quickly wiped the surprised expression from his face. “Mr. de la Noye is happily married.”

  “As Catharine Walsh soon will be, we assume. What does that matter? Marriage has never been an impediment to true love, has it? You go find your Amy, Mr. Reid. I’ll be in the dining room, refilling my flask from Father’s stash.”

  He nodded an acknowledgment of her departure, but his eyes were fixed on Catharine Walsh.

  So, now he could add Chloe Dinwoodie to the growing list of those who’d noted the connection between the bride-to-be and Adrian de la Noye. It didn’t take a vivid imagination to recognize the unpleasantness that would arise should Nicholas catch on as well.

  Deep in thought, Jim watched as Catharine Walsh planted a dutiful kiss on her fiancé’s cheek and walked woodenly toward the house.

  CHAPTER

  31

  Adrian brushed a speck of dust from Liriodendron’s library desk blotter before setting his Corona 3 on top of it. Just unfolding the portable typewriter inspired hope. The Corona’s presence meant that Bennett Chapman’s Last Will and Testament would be typed in short order. Once typed, it was only a short step to the will’s execution tomorrow evening, after which the town car could be called from the garage and pointed toward home. The Corona 3, inanimate though it was, held the golden promise that life might soon return to normal.

  Fingers grasped his forearm. He swung to face his adversary, every muscle tensed.

  “At ease,” Catharine Walsh said. “It’s only me.”

  He steadied his breathing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  Her hand brushed his sleeve before dropping to her side. “Good grief, Adrian. Are you always this jumpy these days?”

  “No. But you must admit, these circumstances encourage one to remain on edge at all times.”

  She cracked a small smile. “I know what you mean. Chloe’s blotto state of mind seems downright appealing.”

  He thought she looked pale. In general, she appeared more fragile than he remembered, but that might have been due to the library backdrop of massive wood furniture and rich colors. “Would you care to sit?” he asked, gesturing toward the chair behind the desk.

  Catharine shook her head. “No. I’ll be brief. Bennett is determined that you handle my legal affairs as well as his. I don’t care what he tells you—I don’t want our assets merged in any way. Do you understand?”

  “Assets?” Adrian leane
d against the edge of the desk.

  “I have a few.” Her finger traced the first bank of the Corona’s keys. “I own my home in Sacramento, and there are some small bank accounts in my name.”

  “How have you managed all these years? How did you support both yourself and a child?”

  A slight shrug made her gauzy dress shimmer in the sunlight that streamed through the window. “I’ve always been practical. You know that.”

  “What I know is that you’ve always mistaken scruples for jetsam and have never seen anything wrong in tossing them overboard whenever you deem it necessary.”

  Her hand froze above the typewriter keys. “I suppose you’re entitled to that comment, Adrian. I may even deserve it. Say whatever you wish; just promise me that my current will can remain intact.”

  He tempered his tone. Surely the time for rancor had passed long ago. “I couldn’t change anything without your consent anyway. You’d need to sign any final document I drafted.”

  “Give me your word all the same. I want everything I own to go to Amy. Nothing to Bennett.”

  The flush on her cheeks deepened as he studied her. “My word still matters to you?” he asked. “All right, then. I promise. But you shouldn’t let it concern you so much. Bennett Chapman is nearly eighty years old. Chances are good you’ll outlive him by decades.”

  “You never know. Life is full of unexpected surprises.”

  He didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. The fact that those words had fallen from her lips crossed so far into the realm of irony as to border on the ridiculous. Her gaze dropped to the carpet as the meaning of the sentiment sank in. He watched the motion of her throat as she swallowed, but it was hard to tell which emotions fueled her current silence.

  When she finally looked up, her gaze was clear. “I’ve missed you, Adrian. How have you been?”

  He caught the wistful note in her voice. She stood close enough that he could see the fine crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes, the delicate lines framing her mouth. Occasional strands of silver threaded through her dark hair. As he’d noted before, they’d both grown older. But in the depth of her eyes, in that gentle curve of her jaw, she was still Cassie Walsh.

  “I’ve been well, Cassie,” he said, and this time, she did not flinch at his use of the diminutive. “But I won’t lie to you: it took a very long time.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her words trailed away. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “Well then, what did you mean to do? What happened? Where did you go?”

  She reached for his hand. “Does it even matter anymore? For what it’s worth, I did come back to try and find you.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. I traveled to Poughkeepsie in early May after I . . . after we . . . parted. Rosie—the upstairs maid—was a friend of mine, and I tried to send you a message through her.”

  Adrian flinched as if struck. “I wasn’t there.”

  “I know.” Catharine squeezed his hand. “You’d gone to war. Rosie had to tell me at least three times before I understood the words. I couldn’t believe it. Oh, Adrian, I wanted to see you so badly.”

  She might as well have kicked him in the stomach. If he’d only known that she needed him. So many of his decisions might have been different. “I . . . had no idea.”

  “No, of course you didn’t. How could you? After the war, I couldn’t find you. Now I know why. Rosie never said that you’d changed your name.”

  “Rosie didn’t know. I first used de la Noye when I enlisted.”

  “Why?”

  Her brittle shell had vanished. She stood before him so honestly vulnerable that there seemed no reason to keep his own defenses raised. The walls of the library slipped away as her hand nested in his.

  He covered her fingers with his own. “I had to discover who I was without the patina of the Delano name. I needed to be taken at face value instead of sought after for my connections and wealth. And after our little escapade, you must admit that I owed my family a clean slate.”

  She stiffened. “Adrian, you do know that I never used you for your name.”

  “Now, how could I know that? I only knew that I’d apparently served your purpose and was no longer necessary.”

  “That isn’t so!” she said fiercely. “It was never so. I knew very well what I was losing when I left you behind. Why do you think I tried to find you again? I never wanted to leave you!”

  “Then why did you, Cassie?”

  She stared at him, unable to speak. He recognized at once that any explanation would take much longer than the few minutes they’d allotted each other now. He thought of the thorny path she must have walked these past decades, all alone with a child to raise, and regret threatened to overwhelm him. If only he’d known. He could have made her way so much easier.

  “Cassie, please. Tell me about Amy.”

  “There’s so much I want to tell you,” Catharine murmured.

  A loud crash sounded from outside. Caught off guard, Adrian stood paralyzed for a moment before dropping Catharine’s hand to rush toward the open window.

  “What’s happened?” Catharine appeared at his side.

  “I’m not certain, but I have my suspicions.” He leaned across the sill, scanning the landscape with a slow, practiced eye. A chair lay overturned on the grass below them. Farther down the lawn, a familiar figure darted in the direction of the garage.

  Same jacket and knickers, same cap—spotting this character was becoming a habit that had to be broken.

  “Please excuse me, Cassie,” Adrian said as he hoisted himself through the window and dropped to the grass below. “We’ll have to continue this conversation later.”

  CHAPTER

  32

  Jim emerged from the garage, stepping straight into the path of a rocket in tweed. His eyes widened as the tie pin he’d just fetched from the Pierce-Arrow slipped from his fingers. No doubt about it, this was the kid from the ferry—or, more precisely, the kid who’d been lurking around Liriodendron ever since their arrival, listening to conversations he wasn’t meant to hear.

  Hardly thinking, Jim took a step back from the boy’s trajectory and stuck out his foot. The small figure tripped over it, stumbling into Jim’s waiting arms with enough momentum to knock them both back against the garage wall.

  “Caught!” Jim spun the boy around by the wrist, twisting his arm behind his back in a viselike grip. The kid struggled for a moment, then slumped in defeat. Triumphant, Jim yanked the concealing cap from his head.

  Long blond curls tumbled down from beneath it.

  “You’re kidding,” Jim groaned as Amy peered over her shoulder.

  “Save me,” she whispered, her face the color of paper.

  He pushed her into the garage, then ducked in behind her. They pressed themselves flat against the inside wall as footsteps pounded past the door.

  “Who’s after you?” Jim whispered.

  “I think it’s Mr. de la Noye,” she whispered back.

  He stifled another groan. Just when he’d thought things couldn’t get worse. “Ah, no, Amy, find another chump. I won’t double-cross Adrian. He’s not only my boss, he’s my friend.”

  “It’s not a double cross! Will you at least hear me out before you turn me in?”

  He could barely make out her features in the dim light of the garage, but he sure could feel her shiver. Her slender fingers threaded through his.

  He could see the face of his tombstone now—pudgy little cherubs hovering around one big fat word: Sucker!

  Resigned, he dragged Amy toward the Pierce-Arrow, opened a rear door, and propelled her into the back seat. He closed the door behind them both with a quiet click. Together they slid down against the back of the seat.

  “So, I was right before,” he said beneath his breath. “This is how you do it. You listen in on private conversations and gather pertinent information to feed ‘Mrs. Chapman.’ Darn it, Amy, every time I accept the fact that she’s real, you give me a reason
to think otherwise.”

  “She is real.” Amy’s fists clenched into tight little balls. “I haven’t lied to you, Jim Reid. Not once!”

  “Oh, is that so? Then I suppose it’s merely part of your daily routine to dress in disguise and tail people? You were on the ferry the night Adrian and I crossed from the mainland, weren’t you.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And just yesterday Adrian caught you listening in on one of his telephone calls to his wife. Oh, yes. He noticed. I can only imagine how many other times we haven’t caught you.”

  “It’s not what you think!”

  “What interests you so much, Amy Walsh? What information are you hoping to unearth by shadowing us?”

  “I’m not interested in you at all!” Amy’s voice rose.

  Jim covered her mouth with his hand. “Shhh!”

  She shoved his hand away. “You’ve got quite an ego, Mr. Reid. Did it ever occur to you that my reasons for sneaking around have nothing to do with you? I’m not tailing you and Mr. de la Noye. I’m tailing them . . . Nicholas Chapman and Lady Dinwoodie.”

  Jim blinked. “You are?”

  “Yes! Catharine and I have been on the lookout for information ever since Bennett told us that his children were coming to Liriodendron to battle us over the will. I was on the ferry because I knew the chauffeur had orders to fetch Lady Dinwoodie when the boat docked. The reason Mr. de la Noye caught me outside the library is because that’s my usual haunt. That’s where the most private telephone in the house is located, so I can usually count on getting my best information there.”

  He felt as if a surprise witness had just undermined his case. “If you’re not following us, then why did you listen in on Adrian’s conversation with his wife?”

  “Constance?” she asked brightly. “She seems quite nice.”

  Jim glowered at her.

  “Oh, don’t be a stick-in-the-mud. I listened because I was there. I listen to just about everything that goes on in that room. You wouldn’t believe the things I know.”