“You disowned him.”
“No. We threatened to. We never did. He’ll still inherit everything. But we didn’t give him support when he needed us.”
“We managed fine.” Two hours ago my tone would have been more defensive. Now it sought to reassure. “I never felt deprived.”
“You’re very sweet.” She studied me. “I wish I’d met your brother, too. He sounded like a nice young man.”
“He was.”
“He phoned here once, and left a message saying that your father was in surgery. He thought I’d want to know. It was a shock, you understand. I should have called him back immediately, but I thought I’d take a few days, pull myself together. Only . . .”
“Only Niels,” I finished for her, “didn’t have a few days left to wait. Is that why you weren’t at the funeral?”
“Who would have wanted me there?” she asked. “Nobody. I would have been a distraction. Besides, I felt so dreadfully ashamed. He was my only grandson, and I’d never even taken time to stop and say hello. I knew what people would be saying. What they’d have a right to say.”
“You came to see me at the luncheon, though.” Now I knew why. But I still wondered, “Why did you leave?”
“Because while I was waiting to speak to you, two women at the next table were talking, as women will do, about how your face looked when I came in the room, and one commented I was most likely the last person you would have wanted to see.”
I wasn’t sure I understood. “You left because you didn’t want them gossiping?”
“I left because I realized they were right.”
There was the sadness, pushed down deep behind her elegant facade. I didn’t see her, at that moment, as a woman of authority and influence. I saw her as a lonely woman, sitting in a big house, on her own. And while I never liked to lie, I reasoned this was in a good cause.
“They were wrong,” I said. “I’d actually been hoping you would come that day, so we could meet.”
The sadness vanished briefly as she smiled. “You know, your father, when he said something that wasn’t true, would do that same exact thing.”
“What thing?”
She smiled, but didn’t answer. Her tea must have grown as cold as mine had, but she sipped it. “As I said, you’re very sweet.” Setting her cup down, my grandmother settled back into her chair, looking thoughtful. “Sam tells me you’re thinking of having a dance.”
? ? ?
The last time there had been a ball at Bridlemere, my father was in high school, Elvis Presley was a newlywed, and NASA had just publicly announced the crew of the first manned Apollo mission. So when we started planning one for the first Saturday in June, it caused a stir in Millbank. Before we’d even posted an announcement, word of mouth took over. People started calling the museum, and within a few days every ticket had been sold.
“You’ll need a dress,” said Lara. She’d just added a new section in a corner of her boutique, selling vintage clothing, and she had the perfect piece in mind. “It’s from the 1960s,” she said, smoothing down the layers of pale yellow silk that floated from a bodice set with delicate pearl beads and tiny rhinestones. When my grandmother had seen it, she’d produced a rhinestone necklace that lay lightly on my collarbone, and small earrings to match.
“When I was your age,” she told me, “everyone wore rhinestones. I had diamonds, but I liked these better. There. Now, if you do your hair just simply, put it up like this,” she said, and showed me. In the mirror I could see the happy concentration on her face as she combed back my hair, and it reminded me of what she’d missed—what we’d both missed—for all these years. The lost time we were making up for. With an expert twist she slipped a final hairpin in to hold the updo. “There. Just like Grace Kelly.” She was smiling when her eyes met mine in our reflection. “Perfect for the ballroom. You’ll look right at home.”
The long ballroom at Bridlemere, impressive in the daylight, became dazzling after dark. It had a grand, palatial feel—white marble floors, a soaring ceiling, chandeliers with sparkling strings of crystals. There were mirrored walls, and tall French doors in pairs that had been opened to the evening air, allowing guests to move outside and stroll along the terrace and the gardens, and the whole effect—the white and gold and glittering of guests and light—was beautiful.
Frank had expressed his doubts about it being a black tie affair. “I’ll have to shave,” had been his main complaint. But he looked right at home himself in a tuxedo. “It’s a great invention,” he admitted. “You rent it, you wear it, you take it back. And if I don’t spill a beer on it, they give me ten percent off.” He looked around the crowded room. “Besides, it’s a great leveller. You put a group of guys in penguin suits, it’s hard to tell the farmers from the millionaires.”
He had a point. Men stood straighter when they were in formal wear, and it wasn’t always easy telling who was who.
Except the man now coming in, more than an hour late, from the main entry hall. Even through the swirl of people I knew him immediately from the way he walked. A short way in, he stopped to talk to Darryl and Malaika, and Frank said, “I see Sam finally made it,” and excused himself and made his way across the busy floor to join them.
I would have followed if a big man hadn’t stepped in front of me and started chatting as though we’d already met and he felt very certain I’d remember him. I didn’t, not until he looked towards the silent auction table while he was explaining something, and I glimpsed the dark edge of his neck tattoo, and then I recognized him as the man who’d come up after our first ghost hunt in the woods at Halloween, to thank me. “So I made you something for the auction,” he concluded. “Want to come and see?”
He’d built a wooden model of the Bellewether, to scale, complete with rigging, sails, and miniature cannon. It had already attracted several bids.
I said, “It’s gorgeous.”
“Thanks.” He was showing me some of the smaller, meticulous details—the hatches that opened on hinges, and the real glass windows in the captain’s cabin—when he glanced past my shoulder. “Hey, Sam.”
“What’s up, Tiny?” He greeted me, too, before leaning in to look more closely at the model ship. “Very cool. How many hours did that take you?”
The two men were discussing the materials, mechanics, and tools needed to build such a faithful model when my grandmother came by, a little flushed and sipping ice water but looking otherwise unruffled for a woman in her eighties who’d just spent the best part of the past hour on the dance floor. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” she said, of the Bellewether model. “I was admiring it earlier. He used to make beautiful yachts, too—real ones—before his father sold the shipyard. I suppose he has to put all that creativity somewhere.”
I put my local knowledge to the test. “Before his father sold the shipyard? At Cross Harbor? So then he’s a—”
“Fisher, yes,” she said. “He’s Isaac’s nephew.”
“Everybody really is related here, aren’t they?”
“Oh, yes. You have to be careful what you say to whom, in Millbank.” She’d been watching the couples whirl by us, but now she sent a pointed look towards a short, round woman standing near the mirrored wall. “And be especially careful, my dear, what you say to her.”
“Who is she?”
“Carol Speck.” I’d heard the name before, but couldn’t place it until she continued, “She’s one of our Sisters of Liberty. This year’s vice-president.” Then I remembered Sam saying he thought the reason we hadn’t got funding was because of Carol Speck. He’d told me she was friends with Sharon.