A ruling passion : a novel (64 page)

'Who is he?"

"The president of the Foundation. His office is in that house." Lily gestured, and Sophie looked at the neat white house with its broad front porch. "The golf course will be beyond it," Lily said. "A miniature golf course too, and a huge lake, for boating and swimming and

water slides. Horseshoes there, next to the picnic area; stables there; and, on the other side of the golf course, all along it, will be town houses for people to buy."

"Ambitious," Sophie said. "I'm really impressed. How many town houses?"

"I don't know yet. I don't think it's been decided."

"How many rooms in the hotel?"

"I don't know."

"Five hundred," said Sybille.

"God, it's a real town," Sophie said. "What does something like this cost?"

Lily shook her head. "I don't know. It depends on what people are willing to send us. We can't build if we don't have the money. Sybille knows about the plans."

Sophie turned to Sybille, her eyebrows raised.

"Two hundred fifty million for the initial phase," Sybille replied. 'Tve told you that, Lily; you just don't like to think about money."

"That's true: I'd rather think about people."

Sophie's lips were shaping "two hundred fifty million." "You don't get that kind of money in church collections."

"Oh, yes, you'd be surprised," Lily said. "I always am. But mostly it comes from people who write to me. There's so much goodness in people's hearts. I always knew it was there, but still, to see the evidence of it every day... it makes me feel strange. Glad, but a little scared sometimes." She saw Sybille's warning look—she was being too personal about herself—and fell silent.

"I gave money today," Sophie said abruptly, a litde embarrassed. "After your sermon, when you talked about your dreams for Graceville... I never give, you know. I mean, I'm basically immune to pitches for money."

Lily smiled. "It was the right time for you to give, and the right cause. Thank you." She and Sophie walked down Main Street, talking together. Valerie and Sybille hung back, keeping distance between them.

'Tou wanted to talk to me?" Sybille asked.

*Tes, about something you said a few months ago, after Carl was killed. You told me you'd seen him in New York with some men who looked shady; not the kind you'd expect to see him with. I'd like to find them; I was hoping you could tell me more about them."

"I don't remember saying that."

Valerie stopped walking. "You don't remember?"

'1 did run into Carl a couple of times in New York, but... shady characters? Really, Valerie, it sounds as if you've been reading cheap thrillers."

"Or you've been writing them," Valerie said evenly.

Sybille's head snapped around. "What does that mean?"

"That you make up stories as you go along. Either you made up the first one or you're making it up now. You did tell me—"

"Don't call me a liar! You've done that before, and Pre told you — ^^ Sybille turned on her heel, as if to walk away, but then turned back. "I never talked to you about seeing Carl with any characters, shady or not, in New York or anywhere. Why did you come here today?"

Surprised, Valerie said. "I came with Sophie. She wanted to meet Lily"

Sybille shook her head. "I don't believe it. You came because you had something in mind."

"Sybille, not everyone plots the way you do. I came because my friend invited me." 7 didn't want to come at all, but I won't talk about that. In fact, she had dreaded coming; she had not wanted to return to the forests and fenced fields she loved, and know she was only visiting. And it was not any easier being there than she had thought it would be. Everything reminded her of what she had lost: the space and serenity of the rolling countryside, large houses blurred and dreamlike in the misty air, horses grazing on farms whose names and owners she knew well, the sharp fresh scent of rain-soaked grass, the roads disappearing into the distance, reminding her of privacy and comfort: a world she had lost. I didn't want to come and now I don't want to leave, but I won't talk about that.

"And I do have something in mind," she said, a litde mischievously, since Sybille was obviously concerned about something. "I've been wanting to talk to you ever since—for a couple of months."

"Since—what? Whafs happened?" Sybille looked at her. "Tell me; you know I'm interested."

They were walking again, drawing near Lily and Sophie, who had reached the end of the street and were standing before the hotel. "Since the NTSB brought me their report," Valerie said. She didn't really want to talk about it now, but, having begun, she thought she might as well finish it and then get Sophie away from Lily and leave. "There was water in the plane's gas tanks, and Carl didn't do his full preflight check. That was all they found. I'm trying to find more."

"That was all they found? Nothing more?" When Valerie nodded, Sybille said, "Then why are you playing detective?"

"Because I don't believe their explanations; there are still too many questions. That's why I wanted to talk to you."

"I can't believe you're doing this. Why not drop it? You have an explanation; why isn't it good enough?"

"Because Carl thought someone tampered with the plane."

''^Tampered? How could... How do you know?"

"He told me before he died."

'Tou mean he thought someone put water in the tanks to make him crash? Did die NTSB know he said that?"

"I told them. They didn't seem to take it seriously."

"If they didn't, you shouldn't, either."

"That's my decision, Sybille. And I've decided to take it seriously."

'T can't imagine why. You have so many other things to think about, don't you, now that you're working under Nick?"

Venom had crept into her voice. Forget it, Valerie thought. I can't talk to her. She looked past Sybille, at the raw, bulldozed earth and uprooted trees piled to the side, ready to be hauled away. "What a shame you had to tear up so many trees."

Sybille shot her a look of fury. How dared she criticize? She took a long breath and when she spoke her voice was very smooth. "I suppose you miss the trees, living in Fairfax, and everything about the country; it's such a common suburb, where you live. Why don't you come out to Morgen Farms sometime; I'd be glad to let you borrow a horse. I'm sure we can find one you like, and you could ride as long as you—"

She stopped at the sight of Valerie's blazing eyes.

"Whatever Fairfax is, it's not as common as your mind," Valerie said contemptuously, "and it leaves a much better taste in my mouth." She strode off, leaving Sybille standing in the middle of the road.

"Valerie, I'm telling Sophie about the hotel," said Lily as she came up to them. "Ifs going to be fabulous; there's even going to be a ballroom—"

"And four conference rooms," said Sybille, joining them. She smiled at Valerie, triumphant at having struck a nerve. "And fifty cottages behind the main building, with two bedrooms each."

"I hadn't gotten to the cottages," Lily said. "And we'll have gardens and another small lake, and lots of new trees. It's so sad that they took out so many trees, but the new ones will grow; it will just take a while. I like the way the hotel and the cathedral face each other, don't you? Reverend Bassington says we'll give our guests a comfortable mattress

at one end of Main Street and a comfortable religion at the other."

Sophie laughed, but then she saw that Lily was very serious. She glanced at Valerie, looking again more closely when she saw her face. "Do you want to go?"

'Tes," Valerie replied. "If you've seen enough."

"But we could have lunch!" Lily cried. "I could make something in my house. I have a wonderful new house in Culpeper," she said eagerly. "Sybille wanted me to stay with her—she's incredibly generous about sharing her home—but I said I really should be on my own, and when she knew how serious I was, she helped me buy it. Please come for lunch. I want you to see it; I'd love to have you there."

"Not today," Sybille said. "You're speaking to two groups this week; you need to prepare."

"Oh, Sybille, just this once..."

"I'm afraid not. You know how hard you work on each talk."

"Yes." Lily's voice was low.

"We'll do it another time," said Valerie with an effort; she was so anxious to be gone she could barely stand still. 'We'll call you and make a date for lunch."

"Oh, yes, please," Lily replied, her face brightening. "I've had such a lovely time. I don't talk to many people except Sybille; I'm so busy, you know..."

They had all turned to walk back the way they came, up Main Street. Valerie had gone on ahead; Sybille lagged behind. "No friends?" Sophie asked Lily. "No dates?"

"Well... of course I have friends. Everyone has friends. But I don't go out on dates."

"Don't? Not at aU?"

"No. I can't. Rudy told me—a man I worked with once, another minister—he told me I had to be a virgin, to set an example of purity and perfection. And to preach with a kind of spirituality I couldn't have if I were"—her voice dropped—"... sexual. He told me if I was a virgin people couldn't ever think of me as a rival, they would just love me. And you know, one time I was chosen by God to survive, when I could have been killed, and it's all the same, don't you think? God's hand saved me, and God's hand is the only one that should touch me."

Sophie listened to the rhythmic chant that had crept into Lily's voice as she's talked, and she shivered slighdy. "Probably," she murmured, thinking she should say something, and then they walked in silence to the church, where they separated.

Sophie shook her head as she and Valerie walked toward die parking lot. "That is the strangest thing." She looked at Valerie. "You okay?"

'Tes. Did I look angry?"

Sophie snorted. "Wrong word. Ready to crush somebody underfoot. Sybille, I suppose. What happened?"

"She invited me to come riding, to borrow one of her horses."

"At your own farm?"

"It isn't mine."

"I know, but it was, and it hasn't been that long... How could she—"

"Lefs not talk about her, Sophie. What is it you were starting to say? Whafs the strangest thing?"

"Oh. Well, Lily. When she's in her church, up there on that marble mausoleum they call an altar, she makes me feel like I'm needy and troubled—which God knows sometimes I am—and she can help me because she seems to understand a lot and she has good ideas. And then a minute later she'll say something that makes me feel she^s needy and I'm the mother, or at least the big sister, who ought to be taking care of her because she's so young and sort of ethereal. And then it's like she's lost, or in some kind of trance. She doesn't have friends or family, so she's talked herself into this whole thing because it's all she's got. She seems so innocent. Vulnerable. Whatever. Do you know what I mean?"

'Tes," Valerie said. "I think that may be why she's got such a big following. I used to think the most successful preachers were men, because they were like a stand-in for Jesus, and that's what people were looking for. But Lily somehow makes people want to help her at the same time they believe she^s helping them. It's very personal; it's al-mosf—her eyes widened as a new idea came to her— "it's like a marriage. A two-way relationship; nobody being passive; everyone giving and taking at the same time. That's incredibly powerfiil. I wonder if she really understands that. It's a shame she's so dependent on Sybille. Did you get what you wanted?"

"I got a little. You'd need to dig into the finances to know whafs really going on. Sybille's a witch, isn't she?"

Valerie nodded thoughtfully. "Probably."

"She sure wanted to know what I was after. I wonder what she would have done if I'd told her I was researching a special on tv ministers."

"Grabbed Lily and vanished, I imagine. She doesn't like questions

about anything she does. Do you think Les really wants to do that special?"

"Who knows? We research forty for every one they decide to do. Why? You want to work on it?"

"I might. But I'd like to write it and report it after we research it together. Don't you think we'd make a good team?"

"Sensational. Has Les invited you to step up to writer and reporter?"

"Not yet."

"Lots of luck," Sophie said as they got into her car. She pulled out of the parking lot. "I didn't know we needed another writer and reporter."

"Neither does Les."

Sophie laughed. "But you'll let him know. Well, good for you. Let me know what I can do to help."

"Ifs a little too soon to talk to him," Valerie replied. "After the first of the year, when I've been there six months, then I might do it. And maybe ask for your help."

She was learning to be patient. She was learning a lot of things, but that was the first: to think about her next step and to lay the groundwork for it, instead of drifting, as she once did, into whatever new diversions attracted her attention. In fact, she was beginning to get interested in the new life she was building for herself Sophie's friendship helped, and so did the coach house, which had begun to seem charming and cozy instead of tiny and cramped, but what helped more than anything else was her job. And that was because of the most wondrous discovery of all: the excitement of using her mind.

By now she was using research tools and the research library as easily and skillfully as she had once arranged the flowers she cut in her own greenhouse. Most of the time she worked at a computer with a modem, which allowed her to call up on her screen entries from encyclopedias, newspapers, magazines and hundreds of reference books without ever leaving her desk. She gathered material and wrote reports that went far beyond the summaries she had been told to write. When she thought a subject would not work on "Blow-Up," her report was brief and dismissive. But when she found one that interested her, she wrote a report that was a complete outline of the program she thought should be produced, with lists of people to be interviewed, locales that should be visited, which E8cN news bureaus should be used, and what was the central issue in the story.