The Body in the Boudoir (11 page)

The girl's face reddened. The room was warm and the margarita was having an effect, but it was clear she was embarrassed.

“I thought Josie probably noticed those postcards.”

Faith waited. Francesca broke the silence almost immediately.

“I have to find him, and if I can't I didn't want anyone to be disappointed, so I let them think I was going to London to take some courses there instead of here. A friend mails the postcards every once in a while. I didn't want my mother or grandmother to worry.”

“Finding him is very important?”

The food arrived. Francesca did not look at it, but looked at Faith instead.

“More than anything in the world to me.”

Francesca would tell her why eventually, Faith thought, but first things first.

“Then that's what we'll have to do; now eat up before it gets cold.”

F
aith's grandmother was used to delegating, citing the prerogatives of old age, but Faith knew it had been an established pattern many years earlier. She loved Nana dearly, but she muttered to herself, “I don't have time for this,” as she headed for the Queens Midtown Tunnel and a lightning visit to The Cliff. Mrs. Lennox's bridal gown had been right where she thought it was, carefully stored in her apartment's cedar closet, but the extra lace was out in Long Island, she remembered after searching through her other closets and drawers. Faith's protests of work, and what she called “The Francesca Project” to herself and wasn't about to mention to Nana, fell on deaf ears—not that Mrs. Lennox was hard of hearing.

“You simply cannot expect Bergdorf's to rush on something like this. Imagine how you'll feel if it's not ready in time!”

Faith had protested that the wedding was still months away and that she was coming out with her mother for a tasting with the caterer in a week. She could pick up the lace then.

“Not months. A little over two months—nine weeks, to be precise. No time at all.”

Picturing the worst-case scenario—walking down the aisle in sweats—Faith agreed to borrow her parents' car and drive out to Long Island. Nine weeks! That was what, sixty-three days! No time at all was right.

Of course Nana was too busy to accompany Faith, but gave her instructions as to the probable location, one of the wardrobes in the attic. So Faith had called Uncle Sky, who was delighted, but would have to leave soon after her arrival.

“You might see Tam if you stick around. I've been batching it while she's being covered in Tibetan mud or some other expensive stuff out at Canyon Ranch, and she's due back.”

“I'm sure Mrs. Danforth has been taking very good care of you,” Faith had said. It was well known that the housekeeper, who, legend had it, accompanied Sky to Harvard and took an apartment nearby so she could be on hand to keep him in comfort, had seen that he wanted for nothing, wife away or in residence.

The morning rush hour was over and traffic was light. Driving up along one arm of Long Island Sound, Faith felt herself relax. This bride business was definitely something she only wanted to do once. It was, of course, because she adored Tom and would never want to be married to anyone else, but in addition, who knew getting married would be so much work? As was fast becoming a new habit, she went over a mental wedding checklist. Dress—check, well, once she located the family lace. Check also beside invitations. Her mother had taken that on and they were ready to go out at the end of next week. Caterer booked and only the tasting to be done. No problem finding someone to perform the ceremony. Tom was coming on Monday, ID in hand, and they'd go down to the Manhattan Marriage Bureau on Worth Street to get the license. She'd thought it would be romantic to take the ferry and go to the bureau on Staten Island, but Tom could only stay until the following morning, and they had to pick out china and silver. Both Faith's grandmother and mother had been adamant about this, saying that it was a great nuisance when you were giving a wedding gift and didn't have any idea what the couple liked. Besides, if you didn't register you might end up with twelve fondue pots. Faith thought they'd register at Tiffany, Crate and Barrel, and Bridge Kitchenware. She liked the thought of furnishing a nest. Tom had suggested giving the stores a quick once-over together, then she could return later at her leisure. He had other plans for their limited time.

Faith pulled into the long drive that led to the house. The Cliff would have been at home in Newport, Bar Harbor, or any of the other watering places popularized in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The exterior combined fieldstone and shingle, both weathered to a soft gray. The house had a commanding presence—it was a grande dame, a dowager of a dwelling—and she loved it. She turned the wheel. The drive curved sharply at the foot, and leaving The Cliff, you'd plunge straight into the ocean if you didn't curve as well. She parked behind the house, went in the back door and down the hall. Her uncle said he'd leave it open for her in case he had to leave. She didn't see his car, but it could be in the garage. He rarely trusted his 1971 Rolls Corniche convertible to even the mildest elements.

“Uncle Sky,” she called. “Mrs. Danforth, it's Faith.”

She heard a door open and her uncle came out of the library to meet her.

“A treat for sore eyes, my darling. Let me get you something. Too early for drinkies?”

He gave her a hug.

“I think I'd better keep my head clear to tackle the attic, but I'd love something cold.”

They went back into the library and Schuyler rang for the housekeeper.

“Danny, we're thirsty,” he said when she arrived. “I'll have some Perrier with a twist and, Faith, what about you? I believe we have all the customary soft beverages.”

“Perrier sounds fine, thank you.”

Mrs. Danforth soon reappeared with the drinks and a plate of homemade shortbread. It was still warm.

“You do spoil me, Danny. Now leave us alone. Faith and I have much to discuss.” Mrs. Danforth gave him a slight smile, the expression vanishing as she nodded to Faith and left.

“I want to hear all about the arrangements you've made so far. It
is
my house, you know.” He laughed heartily to take away any possible sting his words might have left. Faith had occasionally wondered whether he minded the way the entire family used The Cliff. She had no idea whether his sisters contributed to its upkeep—and it must be an extremely expensive proposition. But there seemed to be plenty of money. Sky loved parties and gave a major one each year on his birthday, which was in early September. Last year Faith and Hope had gone together, getting to the house toward the end of the evening. A band was playing Gershwin tunes in the ballroom. People were dancing. People were also in the pool, happily splashing in the moonlit water. Hope had turned to Faith and said, “I feel as if we've wandered into one of Gatsby's parties and that if I walk down to the shore I'll see the green light.” There was plenty of foie gras, caviar, and the like, but Sky had also hired one of the city's preeminent sushi chefs. Faith had never tasted any better before or since. Her uncle always had his finger on the pulse of a new trend.

She settled in to tell him what had been planned so far, and he suggested they walk outside to consider where the tent should be placed before he had to leave. Faith said she would be going back to the city soon, too—it shouldn't take long to find the lace given Nana's detailed instructions. They walked out the front door and around to the back of the house.

It was a beautiful day and Faith crossed her fingers, wishing that the weather would be the same, only a bit warmer, on June 9. She was sure that the saying “Lucky is the bride upon whom the rain doth fall” was invented by a medieval party planner to soothe a client with a large fiefdom, and Faith would not be happy if this was the form her luck took come the big day.

Sky tucked Faith's arm through his.

“You're my favorite niece, you know. Oh, the others are quite charming, but you're like me. We're two of a kind. We know what we want and we go for it. I fully expect you to name your firstborn for me, girl or boy.”

“I will,” Faith promised, hoping it would be a boy: otherwise there would be the Sydney-type problem. “I promise.”

“Good. Now, we want to be away from the big oak. How about here.” He walked to a spot in the middle of the spacious lawn.

“The beds don't look like much now, but we'll take care of that.”

He pointed to the broad swaths on either side that the gardeners had been tending, clearing away the detritus of winter. Schuyler Walfort had been a handsome man in his youth and was handsome still. He was tall and slender, and kept his thick white hair just a bit long—a streak of rebellion or to show that he had it. He'd been a college athlete, rowing crew and wrestling. Despite the passage of time, he continued to move like one and kept fit with tennis and squash. There was an indoor court at The Cliff. Today he was dressed for town. Savile Row pin-striped suit and a Sulka tie. Sky loved Sulka ties. Faith had seen them hanging in his closet, an aviary of bright silk plumage.

He walked back toward her, pulled her into his arms, and spun her around. “We'll need a big dance floor. I do like to dance.”

Faith laughed. He was in his element. He always was.

An hour later Faith was ready to leave. The lace, which was exquisite and plenty for a Juliet cap as well, had been exactly where her grandmother had said it would be, but Faith had lingered in the attic. It was the size of most people's houses, with windows that overlooked the grounds and, from the front, the sea. There was a chair next to one of those windows and Faith sat down wondering who had pulled it into the spot—Sky, Tammy, perhaps Mrs. Danforth? Or had it been here for years and she hadn't noticed? What thoughts had run through the sitter's mind? Happy, sad, confused? She was happy, very happy, but she couldn't ignore the tremor accompanying it all. The one produced by the thought of leaving New York, her family, her friends, her business. Tom. Tom was coming soon. It would all be all right then. She'd take him to the Russian Tea Room, the roof of the Metropolitan Museum of Art overlooking Central Park, and the other museums—MoMA, the Guggenheim, the Whitney. Blintzes at Grand Dairy in the Lower East Side. She always had the same ancient waiter, and she was pretty sure he was wearing the same ancient, somewhat streaked apron that he'd had on every previous visit. She stood up, aware suddenly that she wasn't introducing Tom to the city as much as she was saying farewell to it.

She went back into the library, where she had left her jacket and purse. A whiff of Uncle Sky's aftershave, Penhaligon's Blenheim Bouquet, lingered. He was a complete Anglophile. She smiled to herself, thinking of him no doubt on his way to his club, the Century, and then on to dinner at the Palm or one of his other beloved steak houses. He served exquisite and exotic food, but often proclaimed he was a meat-and-potatoes man. Faith knew that meant prime and au gratin, specialties of these venerable restaurants where he was well known. Maybe she would take Tom to one of them instead of the Russian Tea Room. Like Gallagher's. The restaurant had started out as a speakeasy in the 1920s, complete with a secret password. It had endured, serving Broadway and sports stars over the years. He'd like the history—and the steak.

No sign of Mrs. Danforth. Faith made a mental note to thank her next time. Truth to be told, she was a bit intimidated by the woman. As children, she and her cousins had been flat out afraid of her. Something about the fact that she rarely spoke, just fixed you with a look. A look that pinned you to the wall.

She opened the back door and glanced straight up at the sky. No clouds, but to her horror a huge chunk of brickwork was falling straight toward her. She ducked and it shattered on the walk. For a moment she wasn't sure what had happened. She felt her legs tremble and sat down on the stoop, not sure they'd support her. For an instant she realized that she had never felt so physically afraid before as she had when she saw the brickwork coming straight at her. It must have come from one of the house's many chimneys. Impossible to tell now. She looked over at the debris. There was some rope attached that a workman must have left.

She stood up. The moment had passed. The sky wasn't falling.

But she ought to leave a note of some sort. They'd wonder what the brickwork was doing here. Better to call. But what to say? I was almost killed? While she was deciding what to do, a cab pulled up in front of her and Great-aunt Tammy got out.

“Faith, honey, Sky said you might come out today. I'm so glad I didn't miss you. But is something wrong? You look like you just saw a ghost!”

Tammy walked the few steps to Faith's side. The cabdriver was getting the bags.

“What on earth . . . ?” she said, looking at the ground. She put an arm around Faith. “I swear this place is going to tumble down around our heads. You come in and sit down. I'll get you a drink. I'm parched myself. Nothing but carrot juice for days. No toxins.”

Faith allowed Tammy to lead her back into the house. Mrs. Danforth was standing in the hallway watching them.

“I did not know that Miss Sibley had returned,” she said.

Faith started to tell her that she hadn't left, had stayed longer than intended in the attic. The housekeeper somehow made you feel as if you should continually be apologizing. Tammy cut Faith off.

“Get someone to clean up that mess outside. Faith here was almost murdered to death by our chimney. And we'll have drinks on the sunporch. Bourbon and branch for me. Faith?”

She shook her head. “I really have to get back.”

“Don't worry. I know just how you feel. I almost got hit by lightning on the way back from Mardi Gras when I was sixteen. Momma said it was God's punishment since I went without telling them and was gone for two days, but she knew where I was, all right. Just wanted to yank my chain a little. Anyway, after it missed me by inches all I wanted was to get home and crawl under the covers. So, you go on. You're coming out for a tasting soon, right? I'll see you then.
And
I'll make sure there are no more accidents.”