The Beaufort Sisters Page 18

  ‘Do you think those sort of accidents happen?’

  ‘I have to believe they do. What else have I got to believe in?’

  ‘Are you still in love with Tim?’ Margaret managed to keep her voice steady as she asked the question she still often asked herself.

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose so. I wouldn’t know till I met him – ’ She looked at Martha, who sat serene and happy in the middle of the living-room floor. ‘It’s Michael I miss. Sometimes – ’ But she did not break down and weep as Margaret expected her to do. ‘You’re fortunate.’

  ‘Yes.’ Margaret had no difficulty in not sounding smug. She watched as Nina sat down on the floor, played with Martha. She said carefully, ‘Do you think she looks like me?’

  ‘Of course. You have to look twice to see anything of Frank in her. But then you have to look twice at Emma to see anything of you in her. I sometimes wonder when I meet Michael again, if I’ll recognize anything of me in him.’

  Margaret remarked that she had said when, not if. She suddenly felt a wave of sympathy and affection for her sister and sat down on the floor beside her and took her hand. ‘Oh Nin – ’ It was years since she had used the childhood name. ‘We must get him back for you! Why don’t you advertise, offer a reward? Anything that will – ’

  Nina shook her head, smiled automatically as Martha grabbed at the gold bracelet her aunt wore. ‘I thought of that. I even talked it over with Daddy before I went away.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  Nina took off her bracelet, gave it to Martha who promptly assayed it by sucking on it. ‘You’d better teach your daughter that gold shouldn’t be worn in the mouth … Daddy left it up to me. He wasn’t much help at all. Sometimes at first I thought he was more shattered by their disappearance than I was. In the end I decided I couldn’t advertise, not tell the world what had happened. I think I have too much of Mother in me – I make too much pretence of being well bred, as she calls it. But I don’t think advertising would have helped anyway – that’s what I tell myself. Tim is smart. He has disappeared without trace once already. If someone did get on to him, he could do it again.’

  ‘I still think you should do it. To hell with what people will think.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like you.’

  Margaret took the bracelet from Martha, who was trying to swallow it. ‘All I care about is you, Nin. You can’t go on eating your heart out for the rest of your life – ’

  ‘I’ll think about it. The trouble is, I keep hoping Tim will come back of his own accord. I don’t think I could face it if somehow they tracked him down and he still walked away from me.’

  ‘But you might still get Michael back.’

  ‘Yes. But …’

  ‘You still love Tim.’

  Nina sighed, took the bracelet, wiped it on a lace handkerchief, put it back on her wrist. ‘That’s the worst part.’

  Indeed it is.

  ‘How do you and Frank get on?’

  ‘Fine.’ She busied herself again wiping Martha’s dribbling mouth. ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing. Except – well, he seems different. He’s not so – outgoing, I guess. Does he still get on well with Daddy?’

  She decided she had better be truthful on that fact: ‘Not as well as he used to.’

  ‘Is Daddy trying to run him the way he did Tim? You shouldn’t let it happen.’

  ‘You tried to stop it happening with Tim, but it didn’t get you anywhere – I’m sorry, Nin! God, I didn’t mean to say that!’

  ‘It’s true. Don’t be upset, Meg – please. I don’t think any of us will ever beat him. He’s not an ogre – ’ She kissed her finger, put the tip of it on Martha’s nose. ‘Don’t let him spoil your life, darling, when you grow up.’

  Nina stayed for a month, over Christmas. Lucas appeared to give her all of his attention and once again Margaret felt the old jealousy. But she knew she could not blame Nina, who did not go out of her way to canvass her father’s favouritism. Lucas sounded broken-hearted when Nina announced she was going back to Europe to live.

  ‘But what’s the matter with here?’ he wanted to know. ‘Even if you’re bored with Kansas City and us, why not New York or San Francisco? There are dozens of places in this country – ’

  ‘I know, Daddy. I’m not bored with Kansas City or you or even America. I just want to live in Europe, that’s all. I’ll come back when …’

  She didn’t finish. Margaret saw her father close his eyes and remain quite still in his chair, as if he had given up hope and was saying goodbye to Nina for the last time. She looked quickly at her mother.

  ‘I think it’s time we went home, sweetheart,’ said Edith.

  Margaret and Frank had had her parents and Nina to dinner and they were in the living-room, coffee and liqueurs finished and the evening dying away as they all realized there would be no more dinners like it for perhaps another year. Frank had sat outside the conversation, being no more than a polite host; at times Margaret had the feeling he was bored by the subject of Nina’s return to Europe. Now he stood up, as if silently agreeing with Edith that it was time the evening ended.

  Lucas opened his eyes, blinked as if he had dozed off. Or been deep in thoughts that went far beyond this room. ‘What? Yes, I suppose so. There’s a board meeting tomorrow, Frank.’

  ‘I won’t be able to make it, Lucas. I have some business up in Platte County.’

  ‘What have we got going up there?’

  ‘Nothing. This is personal.’

  Lucas pursed his lips, but said nothing. He abruptly said goodnight and, stiffly gentlemanly, took Edith by the arm and led her to the door. Then he looked back. ‘Aren’t you coming, Nina?’

  ‘I’ll have a nightcap with Meg. I’ll be over in a while.’

  Lucas looked disappointed, jealous of every moment his favourite gave to others, even her own sister. But he just nodded and took Edith home to the big house. It would be a long time before he would drop off to sleep, but he would refuse to tell Edith what was keeping him awake. She, worried for him, hurt at being shut out of his confidence, would also take a long time to fall asleep.

  When her parents had gone Nina looked at Margaret and Frank. ‘I wanted to talk to you about this house. Do you want it?’

  ‘Well, we’ve been thinking of building our own – ’

  ‘Do you want to sell it to us?’ Frank said.

  ‘Don’t be crazy, Frank. It didn’t cost me and Tim a cent, except for the furnishings – Daddy gave it to us. We don’t have to make a business deal between us … You’re getting to be worse than Daddy.’

  She smiled when she said it, but Frank didn’t smile in return. ‘We’ll take it. We’ll have to sign a lease – ’

  ‘Frank,’ said Margaret quietly but coldly, ‘I have a say in this. What if I want our own house?’

  ‘We’ll have our own house – when I can buy it for you. And it won’t be here on the estate.’ He sipped his nightcap, a double whisky; Margaret noticed that lately he had been increasing the size of his drinks. ‘How long will you be staying away, Nina?’

  Nina looked from one to the other, aware that, unwittingly, she had sparked off some friction between them. ‘I don’t know. A year, maybe two, three – I don’t know. But without Tim and Michael I don’t want to come back to this – ’ She gestured at the house from inside it. Then she looked up at the Hamill painting above the fireplace. ‘I’d like to take that with me, that’s all.’

  Margaret had never liked the painting of the woman and the two small girls: the artist, intentionally or otherwise, had filled it with sadness as well as love, death as well as life. She knew all those things were complementary, but in her present state of mind she did not want to think about them. ‘Take it and the others.’

  Later, when Nina had gone across to the main house, Margaret said to Frank, ‘You might have told me you were planning to buy our own house. I hope it’s not up in Platte County.’

  ‘I’m not planning
to buy anything for us just yet – you know I don’t have that sort of money. Not to buy or build a house that would satisfy your father and mother.’

  ‘Are we still pleasing them?’

  She got undressed, put on her night-gown. When they had first married he had liked her to come to bed naked and she had done it to please him; but gradually she had taken to wearing a nightgown, anything to keep even part of her body separated from his hairiness. She no longer enjoyed having sex with him but she knew in her heart that it was not his body that put her off but the fact that she was not in love with him. He still expected to make love three and four times a week and she was finding it more and more difficult even to pretend to like it.

  ‘No. I just want to build a house where I can turn around and thumb my nose at your old man.’

  ‘If you have no money, that may take years. He won’t care about any nose-thumbing if he’s in his grave.’

  ‘I’ll have the money, believe me. You Beauforts aren’t the only ones who can make it.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ She was surprised at the petty malice in his voice; then heard herself say with the same pettiness, ‘Put some pyjamas on. Stop parading around like an ape!’

  He was about to get into bed. Abruptly he swung round, picked up his robe and went out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. They never went to bed together again.

  5

  Nina had brought George Biff home with her from Europe, but when she returned to France he declined to go. ‘Ain’t that I don’t like being with you, Miz Nina. Just that I prefers K.C. to Paris and them places on the Riviera. I still got my job here, Mr Lucas?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Lucas.

  Nina was obviously disappointed that George would not be going with her. ‘I thought you liked Paris, George. Some of the men you admire are there. Sidney Bechet, men like that.’

  ‘Ain’t the same music there as back here. Same goes for London. All the time I was over there, my ear was listening back home. And I never took to them Frenchmen, somehow.’

  ‘Understandable,’ said Lucas, xenophobia showing through like a rash.

  So Nina kissed everyone goodbye, vowed she wasn’t deserting Kansas City forever and left for Europe again. Sally travelled with her, going back to Vassar. Edith, Margaret and Prue went to the airport to see them off.

  ‘I hope you find Tim and Michael,’ said Prue. ‘I still miss them.’

  ‘I keep praying,’ said Nina soberly.

  ‘I’m giving up prayers,’ said Prue, ‘for Lent.’

  ‘What on earth is she reading now?’ Nina asked.

  ‘The New Yorker,’ said Edith. ‘Some writer called De Freeze or something.’

  ‘I hate to think what she’ll be reading when she’s twenty-one.’

  ‘The Kama Sutra,’ said Prue, reading-list prepared well ahead.

  Everybody laughed and the farewell was made easier, tears held back. Sally asked her mother, ‘When I come home at Easter, may I bring a friend? You’ll like her.’

  ‘Of course, darling. Just so long as she’s not too radical. For your father’s sake.’

  Driving back to Beaufort Park, George Biff once more back at his old job as chauffeur and therefore privy to the family affairs, Edith said, ‘Did Miss Nina ever get really close to finding Mr Tim and Michael, George?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not after the first month in England. We tried everywhere, but we got nowheres. She’s chasing clouds, Miz Beaufort.’

  Edith nodded absently. ‘I think so.’ And looked at her other two daughters with her, so safe in the proper environment she had provided for them.

  She knew nothing of the new sleeping arrangements of Margaret and Frank, though the servants in both houses knew. The Minetts kept up a plausible façade of married harmony in front of their respective parents; in private they did not bicker all the time, though once or twice Frank blew up in anger. He was drinking more, though he never got drunk. Margaret, for her part, kept her composure, though she could feel the private situation and the continual deception in public weighing on her. She knew the problem would have to be solved sooner or later, but she had no idea how.

  Then one morning, after Frank had gone to his office downtown, the phone rang. Ellen, the maid, came into the small sitting-room where Margaret was writing a letter to Nina. ‘A gentleman on the phone, Mrs Minett.’

  ‘Did he give his name?’

  ‘No, ma’am. He said he wanted to surprise you.’

  Tim! His name rang in her mind like a gong. She looked down at the letter on her writing table, saw Darling Nin; she quickly turned it over, as if the letter might have eyes or ears. ‘I’ll take it in here, Ellen. Close the door as you go out, please.’

  The maid went out, wondering if her mistress was going to take up with some old boy-friend, to get a bit of what she wasn’t getting any more from her husband.

  But it was neither Tim nor an old boy-friend. ‘This is Dave Pedemont, Mrs Minett … No, relax. I’m not gonna put the bite on you again. I’m still honest, believe it or not … Well, I thought you might like some information.’

  ‘What about, Mr Pedemont?’

  ‘About your husband. I can give you names and places. All I’d want is my regular fee. Say a hundred bucks, two days’ work. Prices have gone up since I saw you last.’

  ‘Why have you been following my husband?’ She turned the letter over again, guilt gone, read the lies she had written: Frank is still the same old Frank. ‘Just for practice? Or more blackmail?’

  He said nothing for a moment; she could hear the sound of traffic in the background. ‘There’s no need to be nasty, Mrs Minett. I’m doing you a favour, just like I did last time. It’s your father who’s had me following your husband. He seems to make a habit of that with his son-in-laws.’

  An early spring rain began to spatter the windows. She looked through the distorted glass and, beyond it, through the still-bare maples at her father’s house. He had not gone to his office today, was at home with a chill. She was tempted to slam down the phone and hurry across through the rain to confront him; then she thought better of it. Though she raged inside at her father’s interference, she saw a dim light at the end of the dark tunnel that was her marriage.

  ‘You still there, Mrs Minett? Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think your father thought your husband was cheating on you. He had me tailing him for other reasons. Political ones. I got nothing to report there – he hasn’t met a politician, not even a hack, in the month I been tailing him.’

  ‘Are you going to tell him about this woman my husband’s been meeting?’

  ‘Women, Mrs Minett, not woman. I don’t think it’s your father’s business, do you? But it’s yours. If you want it, that is. A hundred bucks.’

  ‘I’ll send you the hundred dollars, Mr Pedemont. In cash – to your office. I don’t want to meet you. You send me the names and places. Don’t keep a copy – unless you’re planning to blackmail my husband, too?’

  ‘Easy, Mrs Minett. That’s slander.’

  She smiled, though on the phone it had no effect. ‘Are you planning to take me to court? All right, I’ll take your word that there’ll be no more blackmail. The money will be in the mail to you today.’

  She hung up, gazed at the letter in front of her. Abruptly she put it away unfinished in the drawer of her writing table. She went upstairs, took a hundred dollars from the cash she kept on hand in her dressing-table, and put it in an envelope addressed to Pedemont. She then put on a heavy sweater, a raincoat and rain-hat, left the house and headed down towards the front gates. The security guard came out of the gatehouse.

  ‘You going walking, Mrs Minett? On a day like this?’

  ‘A breath of fresh air, Tom.’ How she needed it; and a lot more besides. ‘I’ll just be walking along the Parkway.’

  You think I better come with you?’

  Everyone was so protective towards her, even if this man was paid to be so. ‘I’ll be all right.’


  She posted her letter, almost firing it into the mail-box. Then she walked for an hour under the dripping sky, oblivious of the rain and the traffic swishing by. When she returned home she had decided to ask Frank for a divorce. She was going to make a new start to her life. Somehow.

  She spent the rest of the day with Martha and Emma, playing with them, feeding them, watching them as they slept, loving them. She had to protect them against what had happened to her and to Nina; but she knew their future was no more secure and predictable than her own. Emotion built up in her, so that by the time Frank arrived home she could feel the tension making her neck and head ache. He, too, was quiet and edgy, but they had finished dinner before she noticed it. All at once she knew that Pedemont had double-crossed her, had got in touch with Frank.

  ‘There’s nobody coming by tonight?’ Frank said. ‘I want to talk to you.’

  ‘Wait a while. I’ve given the staff the night off.’

  For the first time he became aware that she was tense, so strung-up that she looked pale and ill. He frowned, as if puzzled, but said nothing. At last they were alone in the house but for the sleeping children upstairs. They sat in the living-room, beneath the painting Margaret had bought to replace the Hamill. It was a Grant Wood landscape, calm, soothing, unprovocative.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Is it Mr Pedemont you want to talk to me about?’

  Again he frowned in puzzlement. ‘Pedemont. Who the hell’s he?’

  She faltered, feeling she had lost an advantage. ‘I thought – never mind. You said you wanted to talk to me about something.’

  He leaned forward, bulky shoulders hunched, a fist clasped in the other hand. She recognized the symptoms: when Frank was unsure of himself he got aggressive. ‘Look, I don’t know how to put this – No, forget that! Christ, if I can’t talk to my wife, who can I talk to?’

  She let him argue with himself, just sat quietly, trying to control her own tension.

  ‘I need money, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’ He got up, stood in front of the fireplace. He had lost weight lately and his suit hung limply on him. ‘I need a million and a quarter.’