Stillwatch (4 page)

Authors: Mary Higgins Clark

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Anthologies (Multiple Authors)

BOOK: Stillwatch

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At five minutes to three she stepped out of a cab in front of theRussell Senate Office Building. The temperature had dropped sharplyin the last several hours and she was glad to enter the heated foyer.The security guards passed her through the metal detector and directedher to the elevator. A few minutes later she was giving her name toAbigail Jennings’ receptionist.“Senator Jennings is running a little behind,” the young womanexplained. “She has several constituents who stopped in to see her. Itwon’t be long.”“I don’t mind waiting.” Pat selected a straight-backed chair andlooked around. Abigail Jennings clearly had one of the most desirableof the senatorial offices. It was a corner unit and had a feeling ofairiness and space that she knew was in short supply in theovercrowded building. A low railing separated the waiting area fromthe receptionist’s desk. A corridor to the right led to a row of privateoffices. The walls were covered with framed news photos of theSenator. The small table by the leather couch held pamphletsexplaining Senator Jennings’ positions on pending legislation.She heard the familiar voice, softly modulated by the faintest touchof a Southern accent, easing visitors out of an inner office. “I’mdelighted you were able to stop by. I only wish we had more time. . .. The visitors were a well-dressed sixtyish couple, effusive in theirthanks. “Well, at the fund-raiser you did say to stop in anytime, and Isaid, ‘Violet, we’re in Washington, let’s just do it.’”“You’re sure you’re not free for dinner?” the woman visitorinterjected anxiously.“I only wish I were.”

Pat watched as the Senator steered her guests to the outer door,opened it and slowly closed it, forcing them out. Well done, shethought. She felt her adrenaline rise.Abigail turned and paused, giving Pat an opportunity to study herclosely. Pat had forgotten how tall the Senator was—about five feetnine, with a graceful, erect carriage. Her gray tweed suit followed thelines of her body; broad shoulders accentuated a taut waistline; angularhips ended in slender legs. Her ash blond hair was cut short aroundthe thin face dominated by extraordinary china-blue eyes. Her nosewas shiny, her lips pale and undefined. She seemed to use absolutelyno makeup, as though trying deliberately to understate her remarkablebeauty. Except for the fine lines around her eyes and mouth, she lookedthe same as she had six years earlier.Pat watched as the Senator ’s glance came to rest on her.“Hello,” the Senator said, moving quickly toward her. With areproachful glance at the receptionist she said, “Cindy, you shouldhave told me that Miss Traymore was here.” Her chiding expressionturned rueful. “Well, no harm done. Come inside, please, MissTraymore. May I call you Pat? Luther has recommended you so highlyI feel I know you. And I’ve seen some of the specials you’ve done inBoston. Luther ran them for me. They’re splendid. And as youmentioned in your letter, we did meet some years ago. It was when Ispoke at Wellesley, wasn’t it?”“Yes, it was.” Pat followed the Senator into the inner office andlooked around. “How lovely!” she exclaimed.A long walnut console desk held a delicately painted Japaneselamp, an obviously valuable figurine of an Egyptian cat, a gold penin a holder. The crimson leather chair, wide and comfortable witharched arms and intricate nailheads, was probably seventeenth-centuryEnglish. An Oriental carpet had predominant tones of crimson andblue. The flags of the United States and the Commonwealth of Virginiawere on the wall behind the desk. Blue silk tieback draperies softenedthe bleakness of the cloudy winter day beyond the windows. Onewall was covered with mahogany bookshelves. Pat chose a chairnearest the Senator ’s desk.The Senator seemed pleased at Pat’s reaction to the office. “Someof my colleagues feel that the shabbier and more cluttered their offices

appear, the busier and more down-to-earth their constituents will thinkthey are. I simply can’t work in confusion. Harmony is very importantto me. I get a lot more accomplished in this atmosphere.”She paused. “There’s a vote coming up on the floor within thehour, so I guess we’d better get down to business. Has Luther toldyou that I really
hate
the idea of this special?”Pat felt on safe ground. Many people resisted programs aboutthemselves. “Yes, he has,” she said, “but I honestly believe you’ll bepleased with the result.”“That’s the only way I’d even consider this. I’ll be perfectly honest:I prefer to work with Luther and you rather than have another networkdecide to produce an unauthorized story. But even so, I wish the goodold days were here when a politician could simply say ‘I stand on myrecord.’”“They’re gone. At least, they are for the people who count.”Abigail reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a cigarettecase. “I never smoke in public anymore,” she observed. “Just once—
once,
mind you—a paper printed a picture of me with a cigarette inmy hand. I was in the House then, and I got dozens of irate lettersfrom parents in my district saying I was setting a bad example.” Shereached across the desk. “Do you . . .?”Pat shook her head. “No, thanks. My father asked me not to smoketill I was eighteen, and by then I’d lost interest.”“And you kept your word? No puffing away behind the garage orwhatever?”“No.”The Senator smiled. “I find that reassuring. Sam Kingsley and Ishare a great distrust of the media. You know him, don’t you? WhenI told him about this program, he assured me you were different.”“That was kind of him,” Pat said, trying to sound casual. “Senator,I suspect the shortest way to go about this is for you to tell me exactlywhy the idea of the program is so abhorrent to you. If I know inadvance what you find objectionable we’re bound to save a lot oftime.”She watched as the Senator ’s face became thoughtful. “It’sinfuriating that no one is satisfied with my personal life. I’ve been awidow since I was thirty-one years old. Taking my husband’s place

in Congress after his death, then being elected myself and going onto the Senate—all of it has always made me feel I’m still partnerswith him. I love my job and I’m married to it. But of course I can’tvery well tearfully describe little Johnny’s first day at school becauseI never had a child. Unlike Claire Lawrence, I can’t be photographedwith an army of grandchildren. And I warn you, Pat, I will not allowa picture of me in a bathing suit, high heels and a rhinestone crown tobe used in this program.”“But you
were
Miss New York State. You can’t ignore that.”“Can’t I?” The incredible eyes flashed. “Do you know that shortlyafter Willard’s death, some rag printed that picture of me beingcrowned Miss New York State with the caption “
And your real prizeis to go to Congress for the South?
” The Governor almost changedhis mind about appointing me to complete Willard’s term. It tookJack Kennedy to persuade him that I’d been working side by sidewith my husband from the day he was elected. If Jack hadn’t been sopowerful, I might not be here now. No, thank you, Pat Traymore. Nobeauty-queen pictures. Start your special when I was a senior at theUniversity of Richmond, just married to Willard and helping himcampaign for the first seat in Congress. That’s when my life began.”You can’t pretend the first twenty years of your life don’t exist,Pat thought. And why? Aloud she suggested, “I came across onepicture of you as a child in front of your family home in AppleJunction. That’s the kind of early background I plan to use.”“Pat, I never said that was
my
family home. I said I had
lived
there. In point of fact, my mother was the housekeeper for the Saundersfamily and she and I had a small apartment in the back. Please don’tforget I’m the senior Senator from Virginia. The Jennings family hasbeen prominent in Tidewater Virginia since Jamestown. My mother-in-law always called me Willard’s Yankee wife. I’ve gone to greateffort to be considered a Jennings from Virginia and to forget AbigailFoster from Upstate New York. Let’s leave it that way, shall we?”There was a knock at the door. A serious-looking, oval-faced manin his early thirties entered, wearing a gray suit with a faint pin stripethat accentuated the leanness of his body. Thinning blond hair carefullycombed across his pate failed to conceal his bald spot. Rimless glassesadded to the middle-aged effect. “Senator,” he said, “they’re about totake the vote. The fifteen-minute bell just went off.”

The Senator stood up abruptly. “Pat, I’m sorry. Incidentally, this isPhilip Buckley, my administrative assistant. He and Toby have puttogether some material for you—all sorts of stuff: press clippings,letters, photo albums, even some home movies. Why don’t you lookthem over, and then let’s talk again in the next few days?”Pat could do nothing except agree. She would talk to LutherPelham. Between them, they must convince the Senator that she couldnot sabotage the program. She realized Philip Buckley was studyingher carefully. Did she detect a certain hostility in his manner?“Toby will drive you home,” the Senator continued hurriedly.“Where
is
he, Phil?”“Right here, Senator. Keep your shirt on.”The cheerful voice came from a barrel-chested man whoimmediately gave Pat the impression of being an overage prize-fighter.His big face was beefy, with the flesh beginning to puff under small,deep-set eyes. Fading sandy hair was abundantly mixed with gray.He was wearing a dark blue suit and holding a cap in his hands.His hands—she found herself staring at them. They were the largestshe had ever seen. A ring with an onyx an inch square accentuatedthe thickness of his fingers.
Keep your shirt on.
Had he really said that? Aghast, she looked atthe Senator. But Abigail Jennings was laughing.“Pat, this is Toby Gorgone. He can tell you what his job is as hedrives you home. I’ve never been able to figure it out and he’s beenwith me for twenty-five years. He’s from Apple Junction too, andbesides me, he’s the best thing that ever came out of it. And now I’moff. Come on, Phil.”They were gone. This special is going to be sheer hell to make,Pat thought. She had three solid pages of points she’d wanted todiscuss with the Senator and had gotten to bring up exactly one. Tobyhad known Abigail Jennings since childhood. That she put up withhis insolence was incredible. Maybe he’d answer some questions onthe drive home.She had just reached the reception area when the door was flungopen and Senator Jennings rushed back in, followed by Philip. Therelaxed manner was gone. “Toby, thank God I caught you,” shesnapped. “Where did you get the idea I’m not due at the Embassyuntil seven?”

“That’s what you told me, Senator.”“That’s what I
may
have told you, but you’re supposed to double-check my appointments, aren’t you?”“Yes, Senator,” Toby said genially.“I’m due at
six.
Be downstairs at quarter to.” The words were spatout.“Senator, you’ll be late for the vote,” Toby said. “You’d better geta move on.”“I’d be late for everything if I didn’t have eyes in the back of myhead to double-check on you.” This time the door slammed behindher.Toby laughed. “We’d better get started, Miss Traymore.”Wordlessly, Pat nodded. She could not imagine one of the servantsat home addressing either Veronica or Charles with such a familiarityor being so unconcerned about a reprimand. What circumstances hadcreated such a bizarre relationship between Senator Jennings and heroxlike chauffeur?She decided to find out.

Toby steered the sleek gray Cadillac Sedan de Ville through the rapidlygathering traffic. For the hundredth time he brooded on the fact thatWashington in the late afternoon was a driver ’s nightmare. All thetourists in their rented cars who didn’t realize that some of the streetsbecame one-way on the dot of four created havoc for the people whoworked here.He glanced into the rearview mirror and liked what he saw. PatriciaTraymore was all right. It had taken all three of them—himself, Philand Pelham—to talk Abby into agreeing to this documentary. So Tobyfelt even more than usually responsible to see that it worked out.Still, you couldn’t blame Abby for being nervous. She was withinan eyelash of everything she’d ever wanted. His eyes met Pat’s in themirror. What a smile that girl had! He’d heard Sam Kingsley tellAbigail that Pat Traymore ha d a way of making you tell things younever thought you’d share with another human being.Pat had been considering what approach to take with Toby andhad decided the straightforward one was the best. As the car stoppedfor a light on Constitution Avenue, she leaned forward. There was achuckle in her voice as she said, “Toby, I have to confess I thought Iwasn’t hearing straight when you told the Senator to keep her shirton.”He turned his head to look at her directly. “Oh, I shouldn’t a saidthat first time you met me. I don’t usually do that. It’s just I knewAbby was uptight about this program business and on her way in forthe vote, and a bunch of reporters were going to be all over her aboutwhy she wasn’t going along with the rest of the party—so I figured ifI got her to let down for a minute it’d do her good. But don’tmisunderstand. I respect the lady. And don’t worry about her blowingup at me. She’ll forget it in five minutes.”“You grew up together?” Pat prodded gently.The light turned green. Smoothly the car moved forward; Toby

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