After the Fire (44 page)

“Cashed in all his securities and emptied his bank accounts to the last penny, but he didn't touch our corporate account, which of course he could have done. And
now he's vanished, God knows where to. How's it going to end, do you think?”

“I have no idea,” she said sadly.

“Oh, they'll get him eventually. They always do. Always did. But now, with the World Wide Web and
Voice of America's Crime Alert
, it's even easier. Another thing”—and Gerald's face took on an expression of wise judgment—“a man like him who likes to show off his wealth, a flamboyant type, you know, won't be able to stay inconspicuous. You should see what he's done with this office downtown. Arnie's always been a big spender. He makes it and spends it.”

Hyacinth was thinking, You don't do too badly, either. She was looking past Gerald's shoulder through the hall and the rooms beyond. They had changed since the single visit she had made here before. New influences had left their mark everywhere in hideous artificial flowers, heavy gilt, and thick, dark satins, all expensive and unsuited to the climate. There was a time when he would have rejected such a gaudy display.

Gerald was telling her, “He left me a note. Came yesterday, postmarked here, probably just before he left for wherever he went. It's an apology to me, and some stuff about you:
‘Don't blame Hy. She had absolutely nothing to do with the fire in any way. Nothing at all.'
He underlined it.”

For a moment, overwhelmed yet again by the sadness of everything, she was silent. Arnie. How to explain him? Was there ever any real explanation when decent people transgressed?

“I have a note, too,” she said. It was none of Gerald's
business, and yet for some reason she wanted him to hear it.
“ ‘Forgive me, Hy, for all the terrible hurt I caused you. I've tried to make it up to you. Please try to remember that I really loved you, and still do.’ ”

At the last words, when her voice cracked, Gerald exclaimed with heated indignation, “I can imagine how you'd like to shoot him through the heart. I know I would if I were you. I'd want to destroy him.”

“No,” she said. “He's a tragedy. All the goodness in him gone to waste.”

“What? You're not enraged? You're an unusual woman, Hyacinth. Amazing.”

“Oh, I'm angry at him, very much so. But far, far more so at you.”

It was Gerald's turn to be silent, and she saw that her words had struck home.

As he turned away from her, she took the opportunity to examine him. There it was, the face with the slightly tilted, teasing gold-brown eyes, the face that women loved, not a day older than it had been on the afternoon when she had rescued him from the rain storm, she, the delayed adolescent, ignorant and infatuated. Even now that face still spoke of humor, pleasure, and passion. Even now it promised nothing. It had never really given anything, nor had it ever loved.

Well, yes, she corrected herself. He had loved the children; after all, they were extensions of himself.

“I really thought you did it, Hyacinth,” he said now. “I really thought you were jealous enough to have done it. That's God's truth.”

“Then you never knew me. If you had loved me
enough, you would have known me better. You would have known that I was no arsonist. If you had loved me, you would not have taken my children away.”

Gerald threw up his hands. “God Almighty, I'm sorry. The whole thing's been an awful mistake, a mess. And I was terribly wrong. But I still don't see how you can be more angry at me than at Arnie.”

“Arnie had a heart, you see. The only people he hurt were the insurance people, which is certainly a terrible crime, but he also paid off the fireman's mortgage for the widow and gave her four years of college for each of her children. That's to say nothing about all his other kindnesses and especially his goodness to Jerry and Emma and me. He's a sick man, I think. He must be. And so I'm terribly sorry for him.”

“Well,” Gerald conceded, “you do have a point. He was a gambler, and from there, I suppose, it's not too big a step to worse things when you happen to be in need of cash. Yes, it's pitiable, the way you put it. It's an addiction, like alcohol.”

“Or women. By the way, how is Sherree? Or was it Cheryl? The one after Buddy, I mean.”

Gerald's smile was followed by a flush that rose to the roots of his hair. “That's all nonsense. With a little serious willpower, addictions can be overcome.”

He was admiring her. Suddenly she was conscious of her dress, which was the color of ripe apricots, of her shining black sandals and the ribbon band that she had worn to keep her hair from blowing in the wind. Never before in this man's presence had she felt such confidence, or even such superiority. A picture flickered for an
instant before her eyes and then flickered away: Jim, at the little dining table in Texas, had just talked about giving them the big house when Gerald was finished with his training, and Gerald was almost visibly discarding any thought of abortion. With hindsight now, it was all too clear.

“I've been reading and hearing so much about your success,” he said. “I've wanted to congratulate you, but since you wouldn't even talk to me—”

“There was no point in talking to you.”

She was restless. The conversation had gone on too long, and Will was waiting outside in the rented car. She had not wanted him to come in. And moving now to depart, she was stopped by Gerald's quick yet somehow tentative question.

“Now that we have talked, I was thinking that—well, that possibly you might give some thought to maybe trying again.”

Two suitcases dropped from Hyacinth's hands and thumped onto the floor.

“Trying again? You can't mean what I think you mean?”

“Well, yes I do. You and I—after all, we were—I thought, seeing you, and with so much cleared up in our minds—”

“You can't be serious, Gerald. You can't be. Why, I'd as soon adopt a cobra.”

He withdrew as if he were expecting her to strike him. “All right, all right. Forget I said it. The only thing is, I don't like to see you go away with so much hatred toward me, Hyacinth.”

“The fact is, I'm not going away with all that much hatred toward you. I've just realized that, actually, I don't have it. Well, maybe I still do somewhat, because what you did to me was unspeakable. But at least I'm not going to waste too much time and energy over it. I'm far too happy.” Pausing, she looked straight into his eyes. “Now if you'll ask Tessie, please, to help me with this stuff, I'll appreciate it. My mother is waiting with Emma and Jerry at the hotel. We're flying home tonight, right after an early supper.”

With sudden force, Hyacinth was affected by Gerald's relative lack of emotion now that his children were departing from his house. Yes, as he had said, he would miss them, he hoped they would like their new school, he would keep in regular touch with them; but with all of that, he seemed to feel nothing that compared with her agony when the situation was reversed. But had Arnie not remarked that they were no fun for Gerald anymore? Yes, that's it, she thought. He has grown vaguely tired of being constantly with them, just as he grew tired of me. The very model of a man, he is.

“One more thing,” she said briskly, for at the other door, Tessie had come partially into view, wide-eyed, dying of curiosity and suddenly very respectful of “that crazy woman.” “One more thing. I want you to know that I do not intend to poison the children's minds against you in any way. I have never done it, and that's because of their welfare, their mental health, not yours. Also, I want you to know that you may see them whenever it is convenient for me, assuming that it is also their wish, and I'm sure it will be because they love you, and
should love you. Oh, and the last thing! Good Lord, I almost forgot the dog. Will one of you please get Charlie for me?”

“One second, Hyacinth. First let me take these things to the car.”

“Thank you, but no. Tessie and I can manage them. It will be less awkward that way, given the circumstances. My husband is out there in the car, you see.”

“How was it?” Will asked.

“Not as bad as I thought it would be. It was really more pathetic than anything else.”

“Francine thinks you had a lot of spunk to go by yourself, or to see him at all. We were talking about it last night. She was afraid he'd be nasty and that there'd be a bad scene.”

“It was just the opposite, not that I would have minded either way. He even suggested that maybe he and I could get together again. Can you believe it?”

“After the story of your friend Arnie, I guess I could believe anything.”

“The tragedy of Arnie, you mean.”

“A tragedy and a mystery. Nobody's ever explained and probably never will explain what makes a Gerald, an Arnie, or—or any of us.”

“Francine can't get over how wrong she was about Arnie, even hoping I would marry him. She isn't used to making such a huge mistake, having been so right about Gerald.”

“Francine's a character.” Will chuckled. “She told me she's given up the fortune-teller business.”

“Did she tell you she's leaving on a cruise to South America with her new man? I haven't said anything yet, but I'm surprising her with all the clothes for it, a Libretti wardrobe.”

Will corrected her. “The Hyacinth line. Yes, she told me about the cruise. She also had the nerve to tell me that she hopes you'll be pregnant by the time she gets home.”

“She still has a good sense of humor, I see.”

“No, no, she was serious. She was in earnest. And I am, too, in case I haven't already mentioned it.”

Deep, endless blue lay between the beach and the horizon, on which three sails were moving westward toward the afternoon sun. And there, running on the wet sand with their backs to the sun, were the children, Hyacinth's own.

“Look, darling,” Will said. “They've been waiting for us.”

She was filled with the most wonderful lightness, so that she had to cry out.

“I feel as if I could fly!”

He looked down at her. His eyes, those humorous, kind, honest eyes that missed nothing, understood her completely. They smiled, and his arm went around her.

“We'll both fly,” he said.