The Brontë Plot (9 page)
“The frames. The paintings. They're from so many periods. They don't even blend, but they work.” Lucy heard her thoughts drift aloud.
Helen laughed lightly. “There's something I find exciting
about the incongruence.” Her eyes swept the wall. “I chose them all and I've never regretted it, even that blood-red frame high on your left.”
“Is that a Picasso?”
“My husband, Charles, gave me that to celebrate our thirtieth wedding anniversary. It's a favorite of mine. Would you like to see them with the shades raised?”
“Please.”
Helen pushed a button and light amber shades drew up simultaneously. Sunlight flooded the room, electrifying the impressionist paintings, deepening the modernist, and warming the metal statuary. She gestured to the sofa. “Please sit.”
“Sid told me this was a trip to London.”
“It is.” Helen tilted her head. “And I thought you'd be more excited about it. Your father is British, and then there are also your reading interests.”
“All that is true.” Lucy spoke the words slowly as she laid a few of Sid's antiques and silver books on the coffee table. “But I can't imagine James will find this comfortable and Iâ”
“It's a buying trip, Lucy, if that clarifies things, which is why I didn't mention it yesterday. It was proper to talk to Sid first. He assures me you are amply capable and qualified to assist me.”
“I see.” Lucy let the words drift up, begging for the rest of the story.
Helen complied with a quick smile. “While all that is true, there's more . . .” Her eyes lit with secret excitement. “I don't have many, if any, adventures left within me and I want this one. It feels right, and you need to be there.” She sat back on the
small sofa and crossed her ankles. “Meeting you has stirred up so many memories, some wonderful, some I'd rather have left buried, but they're out now and they need to be dealt with. They've reminded me of someone I once was and I'd like to meet her again before I die. She's worth finding again, Lucy, and I can't do that here and I can't do that with my family, not yet.”
“I don't understand.”
Helen pulled a gold pocket watch from the side table and held it out to Lucy. “Let's start with this.”
Lucy reached across and took the watch. She was surprised by its weight. The watch filled her entire palm and dropped her hand. Its outside case was scrolled with delicate filigree, the name
Parrish
laced in the lattice lines across the case. She opened it. The catch was firm and solid. Inside there was a clean face, a minute repeater dial, and the initials
AGP
,
EDP,
and
TMP
engraved on the case's interior.
“This is a Patek Philippe. Probably early 1900s. Sid had me do some research on these for a client's study last year . . . This must be worth a fortune.”
“It's from the 1880s, and it is. But it's not mine and it's time I returned it.” Helen nodded to the watch. “I found out a few days ago that it belongs to the Parrish family in London. I have the address and they are expecting me a week from Saturday.”
“When were you planning to fly over?”
“
We
are flying over a week from Friday. Can you make all the arrangements so quickly?”
Lucy opened her mouth to ask another question but stopped at the sound of soft footsteps.
It took only a moment before they became louder across the parquet floor and Helen noticed them as well. She whispered to Lucy, “Hold that in your lap, dear.”
Lucy folded the watch in her dress's skirt, clasping her hands above it, as James's father entered the room. She slid the watch onto the love seat, covering it with her handbag as she stood.
“Lucy?” James's father, Charlie, was a man of medium height, medium build, and medium gray. Lucy found his stable sameness very comforting. He was also kind. Though at that moment, he stared at his mother with a single brow raised in annoyance.
“I didn't know you were coming by today.” Helen's voice drifted up in question as she turned her cheek for a kiss.
“I wasn't planning to, but you mentioned 'a trip' to Leslie last night. And Lucy's here?” He flickered her a glance, cooler than usual, but considering all James had told him, not as icy as Lucy anticipated. “Are you well?”
“I'm fine. Thank you.” Lucy sat again.
“I've hired Lucy for some silver and antiques consulting. We're headed to London next week.” Helen pointed to Sid's books, stacked in proof.
“London? That's a long way to shop. What can't Lucy procure from here?” Charlie flicked his head back and forth between them.
“The experience.”
“Mother.”
“I need this.” Helen dipped her hand to the chair next to her. Charlie sat on its edge as if eager to leave or argue. “And
I'm very excited about it. I thought I might get your girls each silver flatware for wedding gifts.”
“They aren't engaged.”
“They will be and we both know I won't be around,” Helen countered.
“Mother.”
Lucy stifled a laugh. James had sounded just like his father when he said “Grams.” Each time the intonation had changedâone word embodying reprimand, love, fear, exasperation, and adoration.
“Then be comforted that I'm crossing the ocean by plane and not by funeral pyre.” Helen's voice shot out staccato.
“That's not remotely humorous.” Charlie shifted in the deep-purple velvet chair. “Has Dr. Klein said you're well enough? You still have your cough and your count isn't high enough. You're vulnerable to infections and you'll be back in treatment soon.”
Charlie leaned forward and continued. “I get the distinct impression you're keeping something from me.” He studied his mother's inscrutable expression. “No?” He turned to Lucy, who, with one hand resting atop her handbag, minutely widened her eyes. “You're in the dark too?” he asked before turning back to Helen. “Mother?”
“I need this, Charlie. Please. Dr. Klein has assured me there is nothing I can do to harm myself.”
“But why so hasty? Get stronger. Leslie and I can take you this summer.”
“I can't wait.”
“You can't . . .” Charlie let the words linger. Helen sat mute
so he addressed Lucy. “This may not be as simple as she's perhaps implied, Lucy. Has she briefed you on her medications? Do you have medical experience should something happen? Do you understand how vulnerable she is?”
Lucy felt her eyes widen farther.
“That's not fair. Lucy isn't responsible for any of that.” Helen's voice arched high. “You're overreacting.”
Charlie rested his hands on his knees, palms up. “I don't think I am. If you're traveling with her, she's responsible. What do you want me to do? You're acting strangely, you make cryptic statements, and you're tired, worn-out tired. You're sick and we both know it. Something else is driving this.”
“Charles.” Helen's tone dropped and darkened.
Charlie flipped his hands from palms up to palms down and slapped his knees. “This is getting us nowhere. I'll stop pushing. For now.”
“Thank you.” Helen reached out and laid her hand on top of one of his. “We'll leave next Thursday and be gone only two weeks. Then I'll go back to being just what I always was.”
“Hmm . . .” Charlie swung his head as if debating whether to engage further or give up. He gave his mother's hand a squeeze and stood to face Lucy. “Be sure to forward me the itinerary. This one won't think of it.”
Helen grabbed at his hand and Lucy caught a flash of raw vulnerability cloud her eyes. “We'll talk as soon as I get back.”
Charlie held both her hands. “I'd like that.” He turned back to Lucy. “If I don't see you again, Lucy, good-bye.”
Completely flustered, Lucy managed a nod.
Charlie leaned down and kissed his mother's cheek. “Call
if you're coming to brunch on Sunday.” He straightened and walked to the door. “Good-bye, Mother.”
“Tell Leslie I'll be there,” Helen called after him. At the front door's click, she huffed. “He's going to press at brunch.” Her attempt at a sharp tone faltered within a tremulous smile.
“Is everything okay?”
“No . . . It's not.” Helen shimmied her shoulders as if redirecting her course. “We have planning to do. Lucy?”
Lucy's mind spun within the currents. She grabbed for the most stable ground she could find. “We are leaving next Thursday and returning this.” Lucy held up the watch, swinging it on its thin gold chain.
“Ah . . . To a Mr. Edward Parrish. On Peel Street. What else shall we see?”
Lucy peeked at the watch, quickly wondering if she could or should ask more questions. She laid it down. There would be time. “Let's start with flights and where you'd like to stay. Then, I guess, what you hope to purchase. Silver for Molly and Sophie?”
“You arrange the flights. Dukes Hotel. And yes, two sets of flatware are now on our shopping list. What do you suggest?”
Lucy tapped the books. “I did some research last night and think the best place will be the London Silver Vaults.”
“I also remember stores at the top of Portobello Road. Are those any good? I'd love to see Portobello Market on a Saturday again.”
“I'll mark it down.” Lucy pulled out her laptop and started tapping out notes.
“We'll need to find a few more gifts too. I want Sid pleased
with his commission, so look into some of the antiques dealers in Notting Hill. I seem to remember a few I enjoyed there.”
“I will, but don't feel any pressure to buy on Sid's account. He's not like that.”
“True, but he's a businessman and he's giving you, and me, this time. I want to make it worth his while.” Helen nestled back in the love seat. “Lucy, I was serious about what I said to Charlie; I want us to have an experience. Capital
E
. This is your trip too; let's have some fun. What do you want to see?”
“Anything you select will be fine . . . Why me, if this isn't exclusively for shopping?”
“We'll get to that.” Helen drew out the words as if savoring her secret. “Let's simply plan right now. We have our purchases covered; the rocks are in place. Let's fill the rest of our jar with the gems.”
Lucy decided to join in the fun. “I vote Charing Cross Road and anything that involves Dickens.”
“And Bloomsbury.”
“A literary tour?” Lucy laughed. “Is the British Library too touristy and mundane for you?”
“Seeing the largest library in the world is never mundane and the original
Jane Eyre
is there, with her notes. I saw it once and it's special. You'll enjoy that.”
Lucy's fingers flew across the keys. “Here's a Dickens Museum that could be fun, and the George Inn. It says here that Dickens and Shakespeare frequented it, though I'm guessing not together . . . But, again, all this may be too basic for what you're thinking.”
“This trip is for both of us. Nothing is too basic.”
Lucy worked the keys for the next few moments. “There's a museum and tour for Sherlock Holmes, and a real 221b Baker Street. Well, not true, it says the museum is located between 237 and 241 Baker Street. But still . . .”
“I don't know how many walking tours I'll manage, but you may walk them all if you wish.”
Lucy's hands stilled. “I'm sorry. This is your trip.”
“Our trip. And I want to go to Haworth for a few days too.”
“Now you're just playing with me.”
Helen laughed. “No, I want to go to Haworth. Charles and I spent some wonderful vacations in the countryside, Bath, the Cotswolds . . . I've never been to Haworth and after enjoying
Jane Eyre
so much, I'd like that. It isn't too far.”
Lucy felt her heart leap and then, just as rapidly, it constricted. James's father was right. Something felt amiss and Lucy needed answers. “Helen?”
Helen's eyes found hers and they seemed to sharpen from sky to steel.
Lucy pressed forward. “I need to know why. I'm sorry to press, but you have James and two granddaughters, a son, and probably lots more family. And James did break up with me. He's hurt. And this trip . . .”
“It has to be you, Lucy, for many reasons.” Helen pointed to the pocket watch. “For starters, you're now the only other person in almost sixty-five years to see that watch, and I can't yet explain it to anybody else.”
“But you can to me?”
“Yes. And I suppose I should begin . . .”
H
elen reached for the watch, holding it tightly in her hands. “This watch and the time it signifies have been buried for so long . . . I stole it from a young man I desperately loved.” Helen lifted her shoulders, dropped them again. “I wanted to force his hand and make him chase after me, but he didn't. Now it's time to let go. Of all of it.”
Lucy opened her mouth to ask a question. Then closed it.
“He wasn't my husband. This was before I met Charles, and I should say that I dearly loved Charles. That's not what this is about. I didn't make a wrong choice.”
“Of course.”
“It doesn't feel that clear . . . I can't say I was so sure myself until I met you.” Helen's gaze trailed across the paintings. “I'm not doing this well.” Lucy watched her thread the chain through her fingers as the seconds ticked by. She finally turned back to Lucy with a blue steel focus. “I stole this from Oliver Alling.”
“That's . . . That was my grandfather.”
“I met your grandfather the summer after I graduated college right here on Michigan Avenue.”
“How? He . . . He lived in London. With my grandmother.”
Helen nodded. “I'm sure that's true, but I met him in '51. You said he moved to London in '57, and met and married your grandmother then.”