“Don’t worry,” she heard Lucy say. “They’re gone.”
Jane looked into the office off the hallway and saw Lucy sitting at the computer. “Who’s gone?” she asked.
“Ant and Shelby,” said Lucy. “They were here looking for you about twenty minutes ago.”
“How did you get rid of them?” Jane inquired.
Lucy’s fingers tapped on the keyboard. “I told them you were meeting with your parole officer,” she answered. “I thought it would add some color to their profile of you.”
“How very kind of you,” Jane said. “May I borrow your car?”
Lucy looked up. “My car? Why? What’s wrong with yours?”
“I had a small—very minor, nothing to even speak of—encounter with another vehicle,” Jane explained. “Also, they won’t be on the lookout for yours.”
Lucy opened the desk drawer and removed a set of keys. “I don’t even want to know,” she said. “Go. I haven’t seen you all day. I don’t know where you are or when you’ll be back.”
“Thank you,” said Jane, taking the keys. “I promise to bring it back in one piece.”
“Put gas in it,” Lucy called after Jane as she left. “And not the cheap stuff!”
Lucy’s car—actually a fire-engine-red 1963 Ford F-100 pickup truck—was parked near Jane’s old Volvo. As she got in, Jane wondered if perhaps she should also disguise herself, perhaps with a wig. Then she spied a baseball cap lying on the seat next to her. It bore the logo of the Boston Red Sox, the team to which Lucy was devoted. Jane picked it up and placed it on her head. Looking at herself in the truck’s side mirror, she adjusted the brim, pulling it lower over her eyes.
Imagine if we’d had these for cricket teams, she thought. I can just see Henry and the others wearing Steventon Sledgers hats. The image was amusing, but thinking of her brothers made her a little sad. She wondered what they would make of the world in which she now lived. She wished they were there to tell her.
She started the car and left the parking lot, keeping her eyes peeled (a loathsome expression, she thought) for Ant. Perhaps one of these days she could get Shelby alone and have a nice chat with her. Until then, however, Jane wanted to avoid running into the pair.
She drove without incident to the Carlyle House and parked in front of it. Walter’s car was already there, and before Jane was even halfway up the stairs to the front porch the door opened and Walter stepped outside.
“Right on time,” he said. “Are you ready for the grand tour?”
“Absolutely,” said Jane, taking his arm. “I’ve been dying of curiosity.”
Walter escorted her into a foyer paneled in mahogany. A blown-glass chandelier in the shape of an open poppy hung from the ceiling. Seeing Jane looking at it, Walter said, “It’s meant to be a lamp. I turned it upside down. What do you think?”
“I think it’s beautiful,” Jane told him.
“Do you?” Miriam emerged from another room. Lilith followed alongside, using her single front leg much as a human might use a crutch.
Sensing an opportunity to win points with Miriam, Jane ignored the question and bent down so that she was closer to the dog. “Hi, Lilith,” she said, holding out her hand.
Lilith bared her teeth and lunged at Jane’s hand. Jane retracted her hand and stared at the dog, shaking, as Lilith continued to bark at her.
“She doesn’t care for strange people,” Miriam said. “Walter, I’d like to see the rest of the house.”
She turned and walked away, Lilith once again at her heels. Jane looked at Walter. “I seem to be a hit with both of them,” she said.
“You’re doing fine,” said Walter. He took Jane’s hand. “Come on. I think you’ll like this.”
For the next hour Jane admired the William Morris wallpapers and painstakingly restored wood floors. She appreciated the kitchen that was at once functional and of a period, and the bathroom with its claw-foot tub and black-and-white-tiled floor. When Walter brought them into one of the house’s five bedrooms and showed them a series of framed prints that Miriam attributed to Albert Joseph Moore, she refrained from pointing out that they were actually by John William Godward. Nor did she point out that the woman in the painting bore a remarkable resemblance to herself, or that they were wearing the same necklace. (She did, however, wonder if Walter saw the similarities, and if he had chosen the print with her in mind.)
Miriam, Jane was pleased to see, appeared to be impressed by her son’s handiwork. Despite the occasional comment about a color she did not care for or a piece of furniture she found not quite right, she was very complimentary. She particularly seemed to appreciate the sheer amount of work that had gone into the restoration, especially after Walter showed them a photo album containing before and after shots of each room.
“You’ve done a remarkable job,” Jane told him. “The house is extraordinary.”
“Do you really think so?” he asked.
“I do,” said Jane. “I think anyone would be happy living in such a beautiful place.”
“I’m pleased to hear you say that,” Walter said. “Because I’m going to be moving in.”
“Are you?” Jane exclaimed. “That’s wonderful!”
Walter smiled. “I’m hoping you’ll live here as well,” he said. “You know, after we’re mar—” He stopped and blushed.
Jane and Miriam both looked at Walter with surprised expressions.
Walter, clearing his throat, said, “Oh, dear. That just slipped out.” He took Jane’s hand. “I didn’t plan on asking you this way,” he said. “But now that it’s out, I—”
“Walter,” Miriam said sharply.
Jane’s heart raced as she processed what was happening. Had Walter just asked her to marry him? That was impossible. Not impossible, she told herself. Unexpected.
“Walter,” Jane heard Miriam say again. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit hasty?”
“I know you haven’t known Jane very long,” Walter said. “But I have, and I know that I love her.” He squeezed Jane’s hand. “And I believe she loves me.”
Miriam turned her gaze to Jane. “Is that true?” she asked, her voice cold.
Jane looked into Miriam’s dark eyes and was surprised by the hatred she saw there. Then she recalled Miriam’s words of the other night. I know what you are. She still didn’t know what Miriam had meant by that, but thinking about it angered her. No, she thought while staring back at Miriam. You don’t know what I am. You don’t know anything about me.
“Yes,” Jane said. “It’s true. I do love him.”
She dreaded what she had to say next. Steeling herself, she looked at Walter’s smiling face. “I do love you,” she said. “But I can’t marry you.”
Chapter 10
“But I thought you wanted to marry him.”
Jane wiped her eyes and looked at Ben Cohen, into whose office she had been surprised to find herself walking ten minutes earlier. After the awkward moment with Walter she had quickly excused herself and fled the Carlyle House, leaving a smirking Miriam Ellenberg and a shocked Walter to watch her retreat. She had first driven to her own home, only to find it overrun by yet another of Beverly Shrop’s tour groups. Next she had gone to the bookstore, but the presence of Ant’s van had forced her to turn around.
That’s when she’d found herself driving in the direction of Sukkat Shalom. She hadn’t even realized she was going there until she pulled into the parking lot. She’d almost turned right around again. After all, she had met Rabbi Ben Cohen only once. She really knew nothing about him, or he about her. And yet she’d gotten out of Lucy’s truck and entered the synagogue as if some other force were controlling her actions.
Now she was seated once more in the chair across from the couch, staring at the Pollock hanging on the wall behind the rabbi. Ben Cohen, dressed in jeans and a shirt the color of cornflowers, waited patiently for her to speak.