Hide Yourself Away (11 page)

The banquet table was laden with steam trays of lobster, cod, clams, mussels, corn on the cob, sausage, onions, red bliss potatoes, and hot brown bread. Grace waited in the buffet line until it was her turn to fill her plate. Then she searched for an empty spot at the tables in the middle of the yard.

There were some open seats where a cluster of
KTA
staffers was sitting, and Grace headed in that direction. On her way, she heard someone call her name. Turning, Grace recognized Madeleine Sloane.

“Grace, hi. Come over here.”

Grace was aware of her still-drying tattoo and suddenly felt self-conscious. She hoped Madeleine wouldn’t notice the henna ivy leaf and think that Grace was copying or cheapening her idea. But it was fairly dark now, the tables lit with votive candles, and Madeleine didn’t look down as Grace approached.

“Hi, Madeleine. I didn’t think I’d be seeing you here tonight.”

Madeleine shrugged. “I didn’t see the point in sitting at home. I tried to get my father to come, too, but that was useless.”

Madeleine introduced Grace to the woman sitting at her side.

“Elsa, this is Grace Callahan, the news intern from KEY I was telling you about. Grace, this is my godmother, Elsa Gravell.”

Balancing her plate in her left palm, Grace bent forward to shake the woman’s hand. In the candlelight, Grace could see the tropical birds that Rusty had raved about on Elsa’s blouse.

“Madeleine was very impressed with you today, Grace,” Elsa said, shaking Grace’s hand but with little firmness to the grip. “She said you were very polite and sensitive.”

“Not like those other sharks that have been circling our waters for years,” Madeleine piped up.

Grace smiled. “Give me time. I’m new at this.”

“I hope you never get like them,” Madeleine said. “But television is the happening place, isn’t it? Look at our Professor Cox here.” Madeleine gestured toward the man who sat across the table from her. “Even my esteemed history professor wants to get on TV.”

Grace looked at the man. From what she could tell in this light, his was a handsome face, with a strong nose and dark eyes. In a strange way, silver hair made him look a bit younger, but he was probably somewhere in his fifties.

“Professor
Gordon
Cox?” asked Grace.

“Yes. I am he.” The man began to rise from his seat.

“Please. Don’t get up,” said Grace. “It’s just that I recognize your name. I faxed you some material yesterday from New York.”

“Oh, yes. I got it. Thank you very much.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“Professor Cox is the best teacher at Salve Regina,” Madeleine declared. “Even though he’s already nagging me about getting my aunt Agatha to let the work start up again on the tunnel at Shepherd’s Point.”

“Thank you, dear, but I wouldn’t go that far about the ‘best teacher’ part,” said the professor, clearly pleased.

“Well, I would. He really makes history come alive, not like those other teachers who drone on and on until you want to scream. You’re lucky to have him consulting on the show for the week, Grace.”

“I’m sure we are,” said Grace.

There was a seat open on the other side of Madeleine, but no one had actually invited her to sit down. So Grace excused herself and went to join the KEY News group.

The lobster was delicious, and the corn on the cob was fresh and sweet, but Grace didn’t appreciate it as much as she normally would.

Could Joss be flirting any more openly with B.J.?

Grace tried to look like she was not paying any attention, but it was hard to miss the batting eyelashes, the hanging on every word, and the manicured hands that periodically touched B.J.’s arm. Grace was a bit disappointed in B.J. He appeared to be lapping it up.

She was wiping her hands with the hot moist towelette supplied to everyone at the table when Linus Nazareth approached the group. “Everyone having a good time?” he asked.

There was a chorus of affirmatives.

“I think we should all give our hostess, Joss, a round of applause, don’t you?”

The staffers obliged with cheering and clapping made more intense by all the alcohol consumed.

“It’s my and my family’s pleasure, Mr. Nazareth.” Joss beamed, rising from her chair and impulsively giving Linus a
kiss on the cheek. Every other female at the table watched in revulsion as he put his arm around the intern and squeezed her closer to him. The executive producer was legendary for his philandering, but no one wanted, even for a moment, to contemplate the image of this portly male well into his fifties involved with a kid more than thirty years his junior.

Grace glanced over at Beth Terry, the unit manager. She looked especially stricken. Grace had heard office gossip about Beth’s devotion to her boss. It was sad, really, to see the hurt look on Beth’s round face, and Grace resolved to make sure no such hangdog expression appeared on her own if she were to observe Joss and B.J. falling all over each other again.

She would act as if it didn’t bother her. Even if it killed her.

Grace excused herself, stopped to compliment the bakemaster on the sumptuous feast, and headed toward the house. She waited her turn to use the powder room. The henna was dry now, and Grace patted at the top of her foot with some tissue. Rusty had done a nice job with the ivy leaf. When she came out of the bathroom, Grace bumped into Madeleine in the hallway.

“We meet again. Are you following me or something?”

Grace could smell the alcohol on Madeleine’s breath.

“I doubt it, since I was here first,” said Grace.

Madeleine chuckled. “Oh yeah, you’re right.” She cast her
eyes downward, spying the ivy leaf on Grace’s foot. “You got a tattoo.” There was no accusation in her voice, only observation.

“Kinda. It’s only henna. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Why would I mind?”

Grace grimaced in discomfort. “I thought you might think I was copying you or something. I was, I guess.”

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” Madeleine shot back, unperturbed. “Wait while I use the bathroom and you can tell me all about it.”

When they went back outside again, the band was blaring and the portable dance floor was crowded with guests gyrating to one of the Rolling Stones’ biggest hits. Grace and Madeleine watched in amazement as Sam Watkins grabbed the microphone from the lead singer and began to belt out his own rendition of “Brown Sugar.” He might have been slurring the words, but there was no denying he was a Stones fan through and through. The musicians didn’t skip a beat as their new soloist did his best Mick Jagger imitation:

Gold coast slave ship bound for cotton fields,

Sold in a market down in New Orleans.

Scarred old slaver knows he’s doin’ alright.

Hear him whip the women just around midnight.

“Wow. Is he loaded!” Grace observed as she looked around and noticed Zoe wincing at the lyrics.

“That makes two of us,” said Madeleine, running her tapering fingers through her short hair, attempting to clear her mind. “Let’s try to find a quiet place.”

“Nowhere out here,” said Grace, looking around the yard. “Should we go back inside the house?”

“Sure.”

There was no one in the living room. They sat down on the plush sofa, and Grace stuck out her foot.

“What do you think?”

“I think it looks good,” said Madeleine as she inspected the tattoo. “Why the ivy leaf?”

“My mother’s name was Ivy.”

“Cool.” Madeleine sat on the sofa, resting her blond head on its back cushion, and stared up at the ceiling. “Sister, I’ve had way too much to drink.”

“That’s understandable,” Grace offered. “With the day you’ve just had.”

“Days, weeks, months, years, actually. They’ve all been pretty sad.” Madeleine exhaled deeply. “But maybe they’ll get better now. One can hope anyway.”

“It takes a long time to get over losing your mother. I don’t know if you ever fully do.” There was a wistfulness in Grace’s voice.

Madeleine lifted her head and looked at Grace. “Do you still think about yours?”

“All the time.”

“How long has she been gone? I think you told me before, but I’ve forgotten.”

“Six years. But I was lucky, I had her while I was growing up. When I look at my own daughter, I can’t imagine her not having a mother.”

Madeleine nodded, understanding that Grace was acknowledging the loss that had permeated Madeleine’s childhood. “My father has done the best he could all these years, raising me with love and tenderness while all the gossips in this town sniped about him. And my aunt Agatha has showered me with all the affection she could, considering her fragile state. I love them both so much for what they’ve endured.

“But I’ve dreamt about my mother all these years, you know.”

“Happy dreams?” Grace asked.

“Sometimes happy, mostly troubled.” Madeleine hiccuped.

Grace didn’t want to push. She waited for Madeleine to continue if she chose.

“There’s one that I have over and over. It’s always the same. And I don’t know which part is real and which part is the dream. It’s about the last night I was with her, the night Aunt Agatha was babysitting for me while my parents were at the party. I know that part of it is real, because I remember waking up at Shepherd’s Point that night and seeing my mother writing in her diary. I watched her take off her wedding ring and rub her favorite lotion on her hands. In the dream it’s the same. I go in and find my mother writing at the desk in her old room at Aunt Agatha’s. She looks like a fairy princess, with her hair all piled up on the top of her head and
wearing a beautiful golden gown. When she sees me, she stops writing and brings me back to bed and tucks me in. I look up at her face and notice one of her earrings is missing, and I tell her so. She takes the other earring off and slips it in the pocket of her gown. Then the phone rings and she goes to answer it.”

“Who is on the phone?”

“I don’t know. But I get up out of bed and follow her back to her room. She sees me and puts her finger up to her lips, wordlessly instructing me to keep quiet. And I hear her say into the phone, ‘I’ll meet you at the gate.’ Then she hangs up the telephone and tells me to get back into bed.”

“And do you?”

“In the dream, I always have. And that’s what I told the police at the time. That my mother must have driven off with whoever she met at the gate. But since the bones were found in the tunnel, the dreams I’ve been having are different. Last night’s dream was so vivid, I woke up in a cold sweat.”

“Because?” Grace couldn’t help but prod now.

“Because I dreamt that I followed my mother down to the gate.”

“And?”

“And, I don’t know.” Madeleine shook her head, trying to recall. “There were headlights in the dream, and my mother stood in front of them and waited for someone to get out of the car.”

“Who was it? Could you tell who got out of the car?”

“No. That’s when I woke up.”

They sat quietly for a few moments until Grace broke the silence.
“I don’t know all that much about it, but you were a very little girl when your mother disappeared. Maybe things that you saw back then have been buried deep inside all this time. Maybe your subconscious is ready to let them come out.”