Amanda's Blue Marine (19 page)

"He isn't here, Karen. He's hardly by my side at all the time.”

"Oh really? That's not the impression I got. So when am I going to meet him? He looks as good as your description from his candid shots and the clips I’ve seen on TV.”

“He’s been on TV?”

“You both have been featured prominently in the news. Haven’t you turned this thing on yet?” She indicated the bedside television attached to a cable mounted on the wall.

Mandy shook her head. “I don’t want to see any footage of Cameron.”

“Oh, right. I should say that you and the cop are both very photogenic. You’re being described as the fiancé of a prominent Congressman and Kelly is the detective who saved the day. It’s all very exciting.”

"Then I guess he hasn't seen this," Karen said, pulling the top newspaper from the stack and dropping it onto the bedstand. Mandy could see a large photo of Kelly carrying her dominating the front page.

The headline read: Hero Cop Rescues Heiress. The photo showed Kelly gazing past the camera alertly in response to some distant summons, his lips parted, his light blue eyes very pale in the black and white shot. His face was smeared with soot and his hair was wild. He was carrying Mandy is his arms, her hands clutching his coat. Her face was concealed as it was buried against his shoulder.

The picture looked like a still from an action movie.

“The thing speaks for itself," Karen added.

“Heiress,” Mandy said disgustedly. “Don’t you love the way the media exaggerates? My grandfather will never be dead. Telling the truth doesn’t sell newspapers, does it?”

“You’re a lot closer to that title than I am, sweetie,” Karen said dryly. “And what about the hero? Look at the way he's holding you, with his hand covering your head," Karen said. "And he's hunched over you like a running back heading for the goalposts.”

Mandy did not think this was the appropriate time to mention Kelly’s football past, which had been discussed in her hearing several times at the precinct, but never by Kelly himself.

“He's putting as much of his body between you and harm as he possibly can,” Karen added. She folded her arms. "Any new developments in that story, girlfriend?"

"Yes, you do," Karen said crisply. "You just don't want to admit it. You're going to drop the most eligible bachelor in Pennsylvania like a lead weight for this... jock."

"He's a detective," Mandy said.

"He's a jock," Karen repeated, picking up the paper and indicating the picture with a slim finger. "Just look at him. Look at this picture. He’s carrying the football across the goal line in the Orange Bowl. And you’re the football.”

Mandy closed her eyes.

“The jocks have an initiation ceremony when they're thirteen,” Mandy went on. “The coach recites, ‘Thou art a jock forever.’ You know, like ‘thou art a priest forever?’” She giggled at her own witticism. Physical exercise was anathema to Karen, who remained slim by dint of starvation and thought that anyone who ran when not being chased was an alien.

"Karen, please don't needle me now," Mandy said. "I can’t sort this out while my brain is fogged with pills. I just had a near death experience."

"So you did. What am I thinking? No more jock jokes, I promise. On a lighter subject, I brought you a little something. Chicken Piccata from Pirro's. I was sure you'd be sick of the jell-o by now."

"Karen, I've been here two days," Mandy said, laughing. "I'm not at the point of famine yet."

“Just eat it and take a nap. Isn’t that what people do in hospitals? Gobble the takeout food smuggled in to them by friends and then sleep? I didn’t want you to feel left out or anything.”

Mandy was still smiling. Karen was possibly not the most tolerant person on the planet but she was a good friend.

“I must fly, my shift starts in half an hour,” Karen added, handing Mandy the white Styrofoam box from Pirro’s and pulling her keys from her pocket. She worked at Mercy Hospital and Mandy had landed at Bucks Medical Center on the other side of town.

“Thanks for coming,” Mandy said.

Karen paused dramatically in the doorway and said in a heavy German accent, “I’ll be back.”

Mandy grinned and waved as Karen took off down the hall. Mandy opened the box Karen had brought and was examining its contents when Margaret Redfield entered the room.

Margaret was wearing a pink doubleknit suit with a cream silk blouse and her usual lustrous pearls. Her makeup was perfect, her rose lipstick unfeathered and her pale blond hair styled appropriately for her age and station. The color in her hair had faded with age but the skin she powdered carefully had been tended so well that no one would guess that she was almost seventy.

“I know you’re better, Amanda, I have spoken with your doctors. Please don’t change the subject and please respond to my observation.”

Margaret was fired up and she wasn't going to be sidetracked on this subject. Mandy groaned inwardly. "Obvious relationship?" she said, stalling.

Mandy's mother blinked rapidly, as she often did when she was annoyed. "Yes, dear. Please don't try to convince me that you're just a crime victim Detective Kelly was saving from a bad guy."

“I wouldn't do that, Mother, even though it's the truth.”

“And I’ll thank you to drop the attitude,” Margaret said crisply. “I'm not mentally slow, dear. A picture is worth a thousand words and this one speaks volumes,” she said, pointing a manicured fingertip at the folded newspaper on the table.

Mandy sighed elaborately and closed her eyes. She thought about playing the “I’ve just been through an ordeal” card again but holding off this conversation with her mother was not going to make the issue disappear. She might as well face it now.

Margaret moved one of the hospital chairs next to the bed and sat down in it. She reached for her daughter's hand, deciding to change tactics.

“I am not dead, Amanda, that's how I know. I am however 68 years old and so to me, you and this policeman are both ineffably young. You and Detective Kelly are like two kiddies playing in the sandbox about to eat the shiny plastic toys and wind up in emergency surgery.”

“Please give me a little more credit than that, Mom,” Mandy said dryly.

“I don't know if you deserve much more. Have you thought about what this is doing to Tom, to his career and reputation, having you cavorting for all to see with this..." she stopped.

“Cavorting?” Mandy said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“Mother, I was sure I was going to die in that building. I thought Cameron would kill me or that I would burn to death. The most welcome sound I have ever heard was Kelly’s voice calling for me in the middle of that nightmare. You cannot imagine what it was like. Kelly killed Cameron with his hands. And feet. Does that sound like ‘cavorting’ to you?”

Margaret shuddered with distaste. “I’d rather not think about it.”

“You should think about it. If not for Brendan Kelly your daughter would be dead.”

Margaret said nothing. It was clear that she was struggling with that very idea. She owed her child’s life to someone she was trying to dismiss as unsuitable for that same child.

Mandy took a breath and strove for calm.

“Kelly is not Tom, Mother. Kelly’s values and aspirations are different, but in his own way he's very capable. And very successful at a difficult and dangerous job."

“Is that what attracts you, Amanda? You think he's tough?” Margaret demanded, in a tone which suggested that coming to that conclusion was childish and shallow.

Mandy had thought about it. What would it be like to have Kelly's relentless drive, his unreachable conviction and maddening implacability, working against her rather than for her?

Her mother saw an opening in Mandy's silence and added, "This is a physical infatuation, Amanda. I understand that this policeman is attractive, even seductive, especially to someone like you who's been very sheltered. But he's not a companion for the long term."

“Why? Because he's not one of us, like Tom is? Tom started out with nothing, Mother, remember that. He’s not one of your social elite either.”

Margaret’s thin lips became thinner. “Oh, now you want to talk about Tom? You are treating him abominably, Amanda. How do you imagine he feels, seeing these pictures and having everyone else see them too?”

“Bullshit,” Margaret replied crisply, and Mandy almost laughed. She had always found her delicate mother’s penchant for profanity when she was really upset very amusing.

“The pictures are revelatory, which is why we’re having this productive conversation,” Margaret added sarcastically. “You know it, I know it, the world knows it, and Tom knows it too. You'd better think about what you're going to say to him.”

“Oh, have I diverted his attention from trips to Outer Mongolia?” Mandy said sarcastically. “Finally, now that the crisis is past?”

“He has a business, Amanda, a business which does not involve killing people with his bare hands. That should be a welcome change from the company you’ve been keeping lately.”

Amanda pressed her lips together, trying to maintain control.

“I don't know what you expect me to do, Mother, apologize to Tom for allowing an unsuitable person to save me from a murderer? I didn't debate Kelly's ancestry or his credentials or his earning potential when he arrived in a burning building to kill the thug who wanted to kill me. I just threw my arms around his neck in gratitude and prayed we could both make it back outside safely. And I’m sorry that the press took pictures of it that embarrass you."

Her mother patted her hair, a gesture which indicated that she was switching lanes again. “Fine. You're both safe and that episode is over, thank God. What are you going to do now?"

Mandy looked down at her hands. "I know I'm supposed to say that I'll resume my life with Tom and get married in three months."

Her mother nodded.

“Should I invite Brendan Kelly to the wedding?" Mandy asked, tearing up and starting to laugh at the same time. The laughter quickly acquired a tinge of hysteria that brought Margaret to her feet.

"I can't talk to you when you're like this," Margaret said stiffly, "but I advise you to think hard about what you're doing, Amanda. Tom's patience and understanding won’t last forever. Right now he sees you as the victim of unfortunate circumstances, but that attitude won't endure in the face of your...dalliance with this detective.”

“Dalliance?” Amanda whispered, wiping her eyes. “Mother, you really need a dialogue coach.”

Margaret sniffed. “I would not be as tolerant as Tom’s been so far,” she went on, ignoring her daughter. “Just you think about that. Now I know you've been through a terrible experience and you need some time to...what's the word? Decompress. I'm going to leave you alone so you can rest."

Thank God, Amanda thought, trying not to make her relief obvious.

“You know your father and I only have your best interest at heart,” Margaret concluded, bending to kiss Amanda’s cheek in farewell.

Mandy nodded silently and watched her mother walk out of the room, then put her head back against the hospital pillows. The plastic covers under the pillowcases crackled in response.

Mandy knew that she would never be able to get through to her mother. There was a gulf between them which was impossible to bridge. Mandy was silenced by the impossibility of explaining the power of Kelly's allure to Margaret, who measured all people in terms of their pedigrees and stock portfolios. Margaret acknowledged Kelly’s attractiveness but she dismissed it as irrelevant since she didn’t really understand it. It was a long time since staggering sex appeal, the emotional pull of the simply irresistible opposite, had been a factor in Margaret Redfield's life. If it ever had.