Dangerous to Know

“Who knows. But he wants to come. The old coot. Grandfather.” Jack made a face. “To the funeral of a son who loathed him. Can you beat that?”

“I knew he’d wish to be present.”

“Merde,” Jack muttered half to himself.

“It’ll be all right, we’ll manage well enough,” I reassured him. “And it is only natural he wants to attend his son’s burial.”

“Only natural! Don’t be so stupid! There’s nothing natural about Cyrus Locke. Just as there wasn’t anything natural about Sebastian. He had no feelings. Neither does Cyrus. Faulty genes, I suspect. And the old coot’s a monster like his son was. Better he remain in Bar Harbor. With his secretary-housekeeper-mistress-jailer. Or whatever the hell she is. I—” Jack stopped and grinned in that awful, ghoulish way of his, and added, “We won’t be able to keep him away. Cyrus wants to be sure.”

“Sure of what?”

“That Sebastian’s really dead. That he’s three feet under. Kicking up daisies.”

“Oh, Jack.”

“Don’t oh Jack me in that pathetic way. Not this morning. You did it yesterday. All day. No tears either. I’ve had enough. You’re just a sentimentalist, kid.”

“And you’re the most unpleasant person it’s ever been my great misfortune to know. You disgust me, Jack Locke. Sebastian’s dead and you act as if it’s of no consequence, as if you don’t care.”

“I don’t.”

“Talk about Cyrus being unnatural. You certainly are.”

“Chip off the old block, eh?” He laughed hollowly.

“You make me sick. Sebastian was a wonderful father to you.”

“Go and tell that to the Marines! You should know better. He was never a father to me. Never cared about me.”

“He did.”

“I’ve told you before. I’m repeating myself. He couldn’t love anyone.”

“He loved me,” I announced and sat back, glaring at him.

Jack laughed harshly, and there was a disdainful expression on his face when he exclaimed, “Here we go again! He was crazy to get you into the sack. That I’ll readily concede. He had the hots for you. Even when you were just a kid. He couldn’t wait to get into your panties.”

“That’s not true.”

“Sure it is. We used to call it the Gradual Seduction of Vivienne. You know, like the title of a play.”

“Who?”

“Luciana and I.”

“What do you mean? Why?”

“Because for years we watched him watching you. Fascinating. The fat cat waiting to pounce. On the little mouse. Waiting for you to get a bit older. Smarming all over you. Catering to you. Flattering you. Showering you with gifts. Softening you up. Getting you ready for him. He couldn’t wait to seduce you, Viv. We knew that. Luce and I. He did it as soon as he dared. As soon as it was safe. When you were finally twenty-one. The night of your twenty-first birthday party. Jesus, he couldn’t even wait until the next day. The big seduction scene had to be that night.”

“Jack, listen to me, it wasn’t like that, honestly it wasn’t. Sebastian did not seduce me.”

Jack threw back his head and guffawed. “Trust you to always defend him. No matter what.”

“But it’s the truth,” I protested.

Shaking inside, filled with a fulminating rage, I vacated the kitchen. I left Jack sitting at the table drinking his third cup of coffee and smoking a cigarette. Seemingly he had started that bad habit again.

I went into the library and, seating myself at the desk, I began to read my piece for the London Sunday Times Magazine section, trying to calm myself as I did.

And then automatically I picked up a pencil and began to edit, doing the kind of fine tuning that was important to me in my work as a journalist. I was so furious with Jack my adrenaline was pumping overtime. But my anger gave me the extra steam I needed, enabled me to push my sadness to one side, at least for the time being. Within two hours I had finished the editing job. I sat back relieved, not to mention pleased with myself.

When Belinda pushed open the door a few minutes later I was taken by surprise. She was not due for another hour and I gave her a puzzled look as I greeted her.

“I’m early because I thought you might need me for something,” she explained, walking over to my desk, sitting down in the chair next to it. “I brought all the newspapers, but I guess you’ve seen them already.”

I nodded. “Jack arrived with them three hours ago. By the way, is he still occupying my kitchen?”

“No, he’s set up camp in my office, where he’s talking on the phone, making the arrangements for the funeral and the memorial service.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I had the dreadful feeling he was going to start acting like the flake he can be at times. That he’d goof off, leave everything to me.”

“He’s speaking with the pastor of the church in Cornwall right now,” Belinda explained. “Talking about Friday for the funeral.”

“We agreed on that last night. And he wants to have the memorial next week. On Wednesday, to be exact.”

Belinda looked at me askance. “I wonder if that gives us enough time? I mean, to inform everybody.”

“Honestly, Belinda!” I shook my head, smiling faintly. “The days of the carrier pigeon and the tribal drum are long gone. They’re extinct. All we have to do is give the announcement to the television networks and newspapers. Or rather, have the Locke Foundation do it, and the whole world will know within twenty minutes, I can guarantee it.”

She had the good grace to laugh. “You’re right. I sound like an imbecile, don’t I?”

Paying no attention to this remark, I went on quickly, “There is one thing you can do for me, Belinda, and that’s field any calls from newspapers for me today. I really don’t feel like speaking to the press. I need a little quiet time by myself.” I glanced at my watch. “Lila’s supposed to come to clean today, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she is. But not until one. She had a dental appointment at eleven. She called me yesterday to say she might be a bit later than usual.”

“No problem.”

“About the press, Vivienne, don’t worry, I’ll deal with them. If they insist on talking to you though, at some point, shall I have them call back tomorrow?”

“Yes. No, wait a minute, I have a much better idea! If Jack’s still here, pass the press over to him. And if he’s gone back to Laurel Creek Farm, give them the phone number there. He’s as capable of dealing with them as I am.”

With these words I escaped.

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_fc1e0943-720f-5b53-855d-7d44f1d7f3c1)

Upstairs in my bedroom it was calm, tranquil, with sunlight filtering in through the many windows.

Opening the French doors I went outside onto the wide balcony, marveling at the mildness of the morning, wondering if this extraordinary Indian summer was nature’s gift to us before we were beset by the violent winter weather typical of these parts. The Litchfield hills can be harsh, storm-swept and snow-laden from December through the spring; in fact there was frequently snow on the ground as late as April.