Lindsay fled.
“That’s a lie and you know it!”
“Why, if it isn’t Lady Jennifer. You’ve stooped to eavesdropping now?”
“There’s no reason to make Lindsay feel rotten,” Jennifer said, coming into the room. “She’s a good girl, sweet-natured, and yet you persist in putting her down. And you just started doing it. When you saw her father doing it, right? You can’t act for yourself, can you, Sydney? You have to do what your damned father does, no matter the consequences, no matter who gets hurt. You always assume he’s right. Well, in this case he isn’t, he’s just being vicious and mean and you’re copying him just like a little Xerox machine.”
Sydney shrugged. “Actually, I don’t give a damn about the kid, not a bit more than Father does. She’s pitiful, and Alessandro thinks so too. As Father says, she’s a weed in his garden, big, gawky and ugly. It hurts him to have to see her here. He plans to send her away, you know.”
Jennifer wanted to slap her. She was lying about Lindsay. Royce wouldn’t do that to her, he’d never send her away, never. His mother would stop him. She was trembling, her hands fisted at her sides.
“Come down. Cut the bloody cake and then get the hell out of here. The thought of you living eight thousand miles from me is the only one getting me through the day.”
“The thought of coming eight thousand miles to visit me in Milan is the only thought getting Father through the day.”
2
Exile
“No, this can’t be true. Sydney told me you were going to send Lindsay away, but I didn’t believe her. I never believed her, not for a minute, that’s why I didn’t say anything to you, but now—” Jennifer Foxe waved a thick envelope in front of her husband. “Tell me it isn’t true, Royce. Tell me this is a mistake.”
“On the contrary, Jennifer, it’s completely true. I’m finally sending your daughter away from here. Are those her registration papers? Finally? Good, I was getting concerned that I would have to call that Mrs. Anglethorpe woman who runs the school to see if they’d somehow lost her.”
“Her has a name, damn you, Royce! Your daughter’s name is Lindsay Gates Foxe. For God’s sake, when will you stop comparing her to your precious Sydney? So what if she won’t be a lawyer or, heaven forbid, another federal judge like her sweet kind daddy? What if she won’t marry an Italian prince? What the fuck does it matter?”
“The gutter language doesn’t fit a woman of your years and figure, Jennifer. Though, come to think of it, perhaps it does suit a woman who drinks like the proverbial fish. Incidentally, I think Saddam nuking the world is more likely than your daughter becoming anything at all useful. That damned ugly weed will be around my neck until I die. Now, if Sydney told you, why haven’t you asked about it before now?”
“Because I assumed she was lying, I told you. She did it just to torment me. Tormenting has always come easy to Sydney, but you’ve always known that.”
Royce Foxe merely shrugged. “She wasn’t lying. Sydney never lies. Now, as to where I’m sending her—” Royce took the envelope from her hand. Jennifer turned quickly away and walked to the large bow window that looked over San Francisco Bay. It was foggy this morning but it would burn off by noon. That was what usually happened during the summer, she thought vaguely, trying to control her fury. She was shaking. She hated it. She hated the helplessness, the damned vulnerability. He always got the better of her, always. She had to get hold of herself.
She was turning back to face him when she heard her mother-in-law, Gates Foxe, say in her clear imperious voice from the library doorway, “Lindsay will be traveling to Connecticut to a girls’ school that I have personally selected, Jennifer. You needn’t worry. I told Royce this would be the school for her. It’s the Stamford Academy and it’s very highly regarded. The weed should do well there.”
Jennifer stared. Royce actually flushed and tried to salvage things. Good God, he was still afraid of her. It was the money, Jennifer knew, it was the money, nothing else. “Mother, I didn’t mean—”
“I know exactly what you meant, Royce. Now, enough, from both of you. You might also consider that the girl has two healthy ears and a fully inquisitive nature. I could hear the two of you myself from the foyer.”
Jennifer raised her chin. “Her name is Lindsay.”
“Yes, dear, I know that.”
Jennifer’s chin and voice rose together a bit higher. “Her middle name is Gates. After you, Mother.”
“I’ve always wondered why you named the girl after me,” Gates said. “Royce did admit to me that it was your idea. You never particularly liked me, Jennifer, you’ve hated living in this house, hated having to defer to me, an impossible old artifact. For the life of me I can’t figure out why you’ve put up with it. But I suppose it’s the status of this house and all that lovely money, not that you don’t have enough of your own for several lifetimes, Jennifer. I do wonder sometimes what Cleveland would have thought about all this—our son still here in this house. He always said that a boy should be out on his own, not living off his parents. Or just his mother, in this instance.”
Royce looked suddenly as austere as the federal judge he was. Jennifer had always marveled how quickly he could adapt to any situation. He said now, “I assumed that since you are no longer as spry and young as you once were, Mother, you would want someone here taking care of you, someone who cared what happened to you.”
“That would be nice, certainly,” Gates Foxe agreed.
Jennifer said abruptly, “All of this is nonsense. I don’t want my daughter going back east. She’s too young, she’d be miserable, she’d—”
“Actually,” Royce said calmly, “she is quite thrilled about it.”
Jennifer stopped cold. “I don’t believe you. You’re lying.”
“Why the hell should I lie? For one awful moment there I even thought she was going to throw her skinny arms around my neck.”
“No, no. It isn’t true. She wouldn’t want to leave me. I’m going to find Lindsay. She’ll tell me the truth, that she doesn’t want to be exiled.”
“I wouldn’t assume that to be true, dear,” Gates said, her voice suddenly gentle. “There’s no reason for Royce to lie about that. It’s too easily verified, you see. And as for you, Royce, despite what you think, the girl isn’t stupid. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that she was well aware of your plans for her long before you said anything to her, Royce. She hears things, intuits things. She reads people quite well. What Royce said is true, Jennifer. She really is quite excited about going back east to school. She’s said nothing as yet because she’s afraid of hurting you, Jennifer. But she does want to leave this house. No, Royce, she isn’t stupid. She may be homely and too tall and somewhat clumsy and boorish in her silences, but she isn’t stupid. I see a great deal of you in her, Jennifer. Unlike you, Royce, I can also see what she just might become in a few years.”
“I’m leaving,” Jennifer said.
“Don’t forget that the Moffitt Hospital committee is meeting here at four this afternoon, dear. You are expected to attend, since you are the secretary/treasurer. As for you, Royce, you will leave before any of the ladies arrive.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Gates Foxe waved both of them away. The two of them were exhausting. She walked slowly to her favorite chair that was set with its back to the magnificent windows, facing a wall on which hung an oil painting, a fairly good likeness of her long-dead husband, Cleveland, painted by Malone Gregory in 1965. He’d already gotten old, she thought, looking at the slack jaw, the loose flesh beneath his eyes. Ah, but that look in his eyes was still a flame, even though he was nearing sixty, and she wondered if perhaps when it was painted, he was thinking about that silly girl of twenty he’d been sleeping with until his heart attack. Sydney had the look of him in his younger days, that dashing sparkle that ignited people and made them fall into line trying to please her. Now Sydney was married and an Italian princess. Gates wondered if she would give up her law practice and be a wife in the traditional way. She couldn’t quite imagine it, but one never knew.