“One of my gowns?” Babe said.
“One of your company’s gowns. Billi has kept all your designs up to date. Mercedes Somoza was wearing one too.”
“I don’t know who Mercedes Somoza is.”
Lucia’s fingers tiptoed across her single strand of pearls. “Mercedes is the wife of the new Costa Rican ambassador to the U.N. She’s quite the fashion arbiter. Billi’s awfully good at getting the right people to wear Babethings designs. That’s half the secret of your company’s success.”
Babe returned Lucia’s gaze with calm blue eyes. “As I recollect, the company was fairly successful when I was president.”
“No one’s denying that, but it’s stayed a success, and that’s an accomplishment nowadays. Billi’s done a great deal in your absence, I hope you’re aware of it. And I don’t mean just the company. He’s taken loving care of Cordelia—and you know and I know he’s not at all a family man. But for Cordelia he’s always made an exception.”
“Cordelia did look well,” Babe said.
“And she looked heavenly dancing with your papa and Count Leopold. You remember the count?”
Babe smiled. “A lot of military decorations and thinning hair?”
“He’s bald now. But Countess Victoria has more hair than ever. It’s interesting how your friends have changed. I wish you could have seen them.”
Babe drew herself up to her full sitting height. “Did anyone ask about me?”
Lucia hesitated. “We haven’t told people. Not just yet.
“Why not?”
There was a silence while Lucia and Babe stared into each other’s eyes.
“Until your doctor feels you’re fit, your father and I don’t think publicity’s a good idea.”
“Publicity’s not going to harm me.”
Lucia’s lips shaped a sad little smile. “Times have changed. The press are demons nowadays. They’re capable of dressing up a reporter as a nurse and sending her in to change your bedpan.”
“There’s no danger of that. I’m not using a bedpan.”
“I’m glad you still have a sense of humor,” Lucia said. “You and your ready wit would have been quite the stars at Ash’s soiree. Ah well, you’ll have other chances. All in due course.”
Another silence went by.
“How did Dunk look?” Babe asked suddenly.
“I didn’t see Dunk.”
“Ash said she and Dunk are splitting up again.”
“Did she? Well, I suppose Ash would know.”
“Is Ash in some kind of therapy?”
“That’s a strange question.”
“She was taking pills and I wondered if a psychiatrist prescribed them.”
“Some very fine people are being helped by psychiatrists. There’s nothing shameful about it. The church is no use, so where else can a person turn if they get depressed or land in a divorce or—someone dies.”
“You talk as though you’ve been to one yourself.”
“I wouldn’t hesitate if I needed treatment. But of course I’m the preneurotic generation.”
“Was Doria Forbes-Steinman at the party?”
In absolute motionlessness Lucia sat looking at Babe. When she spoke again her words were measured and precise. “Ash wouldn’t have that woman in her house, and if she did, I would not be her guest, nor would Billi, nor would—many other people. Why do you ask about Mrs. Forbes-Steinman?”
“Ash said Scottie’s living with her.”
“How kind of Ash to bring you up to date.”
“There was nothing unkind about it. In fact I had to pry the information out of her. She wasn’t at all eager to tell me about Scottie.”
A silence flowed by. Lucia shrugged. “Scottie served his sentence. Now he plays the piano somewhere or other.”
“Where?”
“Why do you insist on discussing him? It’s only going to depress you.”
Babe met her mother’s cool gaze, knowing that Lucia would never be ill-bred enough to tell a lie, but knowing too that she was a woman capable of withholding large scraps of truth.
Lucia sighed. “Scottie’s playing at one of the East Side hotels. I honestly can’t remember which one. It’s not the Carlyle.”
“I want to talk to him.”
“I fail to see what purpose would be served by that.”
“I want to know the truth.”
“You know it.”
“I know a few half-truths that you and the police saw fit to spoonfeed me and a truth or two that Ash let slip.”
There was a beat of hesitation. Lucia looked down at her hands as they traced the gold lettering on Babe’s datebook. “I honestly feel you know enough for the time being.”
“All right, I’ll get out of here and find Scottie myself.”
Lucia slammed down the datebook and walked to the window. She stood for a moment with her back to the room. She was trembling on the brink of something but then she pulled back.
“Dear heart, you’re making such splendid progress. Why risk an emotional shock that will only set you back?”
“Don’t you think I’ve had emotional shocks?”
“Yes, dear heart, indeed I do. That’s why I’m concerned.” Lucia came back to the bedside and repossessed her chair. “You’ve had enough suffering. Now you have to concentrate on recovery.”
“I’m going to concentrate on finding out what’s happened to my life.”
“In the old days, when you were born, the only way a woman could get a proper rest was to go into the hospital and have a baby. You’re having a rest without any of that. Why don’t you just relax, away from all stress and strain, and Dr. Corey will tell you when you’re fit?”
“He’d better certify me fit today, because I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“That is not an option.” Lucia’s voice was flat and somehow dangerous. “Your father and I cannot permit you to leave this hospital.”
“I don’t see that it matters what you do or don’t permit.”
“Then you apparently don’t realize that the court has made you your father’s and my ward.”
“I was in coma when the court decided that.”
“You’re not well yet.”
“Maybe I’m physically weak, but I’m conscious and mentally sound.”
“Why don’t we leave that diagnosis to your doctor?”
“I know my state of mind better than any doctor.”
“I wouldn’t insist.”
“I do insist.”
Her mother gave her a sudden sideways stare, hard and disapproving. “Then the court will have to rule.”
Babe had to fight a moment’s refusal to believe what she’d heard, and then she marveled at her mother’s ability to serve up a threat so offhandedly, without even changing her tone of voice.
Lucia paused. If the threat was a bluff, she had now committed herself to it. “I’m sorry, Beatrice. I didn’t write the law. It requires three doctors to examine you and to agree in their findings.”
“Then have them examine me today.”
“It’s up to Dr. Corey when they examine you. And Dr. Corey feels you need a stay here.”
Babe studied her mother with her elegantly coiffed gray hair, her strong facial bones, and dark eyes. A sick premonition hummed inside her.
“Beatrice, dear heart, why must we argue? All any of us wants is for you to be well and happy and strong.”
“Has Dr. Corey told you how long he prescribes protecting me?”
“He’s mentioned three months. I should suppose that’s give or take a month.”
Babe’s voice rose. “You don’t mean give or take a year?”
Her mother gave her a tsk-tsk’ing look. “Don’t be a goose. Look at you. You’re flushed. You’ve got yourself all tired.” Lucia carefully adjusted the fold of Babe’s top sheet. “Now why don’t you be a good girl and lie back and try to nap.”
When Cardozo got back to the station house at ten that evening, there was a message waiting on his desk: PLEASE CONTACT AS SOON AS POSSIBLE, BABE V. DEVENS.
He saw by the sergeant’s scrawl that the phone call had come at 1:30 that afternoon. He phoned the hospital and asked for her room. “I’m sorry,” the operator said, “no calls are allowed after ten P.M.”