Cold Comfort (28 page)

Caroline named you Claire. I think it meant something to her. Her last words were for you. When Dr. Clary came, he tried to save her, but she was too badly hurt. She loved and wanted you. We planned to say you were mine and Daniel's, but only to protect your identity and to protect you from any stigma. After all that happened, Dr. Clary registered you as mine so there would be no records, no problem with my keeping you. We both felt, under the circumstances, it was the right thing to do. And you
were
mine, all I had left. We buried Caroline in McClellanville, and I found the job in Williamsburg. For a time, I was afraid to let you out of my sight, but nothing happened, and gradually I began to feel safe, as long as no one knew our secret.

I wish I could tell you more. I never knew your father's name, only that she loved him. Her letters may help you understand. Forgive me, darling girl.

My love will always be with you,

Mother

Riley put a cup of coffee on the desk beside her and handed her a fresh handkerchief.

"Thanks. I can't seem to stop crying." She stood, sniffing, and wrapped her arms around him, leaning into the solid comfort of his body. How would she feel if she'd been in Blanche's place? She stepped back and faced him. "Wouldn't you have told your child, at least when she reached her teens, or was grown?"

"I don't know the circumstances, and being a single mother must have its own difficulties. Caroline's letters may tell you more." He dragged the big chair over to the desk. "Sit here. It's more comfortable."

She picked up Caroline's letters and sat down, the coffee within easy reach. Riley returned to the computer and switched it on.

"Here goes. Letters from my mother." She heard the trace of bitterness in her voice and was ashamed. What did she know of Caroline's life? She began reading.

Dear Blanche,

Our apartment, the second floor of an old house, is darling. Sandra, my roommate, is fun and knows everything, so she's showing me around. Work is sooo interesting! The people here are fascinating, and so are the internal politics!

My congressman is on the House Select Committee on Crime. I get to go with him to the hearings—it's very exciting to see these mobsters come in to testify. They're going to subpoena a famous entertainer soon. There's so much going on here, it's hard to keep up—and worse, I can't talk about it.

Love,

Caroline

Claire put it back without comment, sipped the coffee, and opened the next one. There were several in the same vein, telling of her life in Washington. Then the tone changed.

Dear Blanche,

I've met someone. He works on the Committee, too. I know that under other circumstances, you would love him. He's different from so many of the people here—he's honest and says what he thinks, even if it's not the popular thing to do. I think he could even be President one day. I don't want to mention his name in a letter. Washington gossips can be vicious, and I refuse to provide them with any ammunition. There's a problem. It's hard to explain. I don't know what to do. I'll tell you when I see you again.

"He worked on the Committee
—
at least he's not one of the mobsters," Claire said, feeling a weight lift from her heart. She put the letter down on the desk and hurriedly took out the next one. Riley replaced the first one, then opened another to have ready for her.

Dear Blanche,
she read again.

This will be all over the news, so it's all right to tell at least part of it. I met the entertainer today. All the Committee members received telephone calls, some from the Vice President, about dropping the previous subpoena, and they agreed to ask about only one of the issues. He testified before the Committee—on his terms, but he still made his displeasure known. He was rude and gave smart answers. My friend pressed him on several things, and he didn't like it one bit. Some of the members were almost apologetic and seemed to congratulate him when the session ended. Either star struck or fundraising beneficiaries, I suppose.

Against your advice, I am still seeing my friend. He is torn by our affair and feels constant guilt. So do I, but I am not able to give him up. Last night Sandra went out, so we shared a quiet dinner and watched Hawaii Five-O. Sometimes we listen to music and read, like an old married couple. Once in a while I'd love to go out, but he's too well known and someone would recognize him. He loves me, Blanche. I think he would give up everything, but it would destroy us in the end. There must be a way.

Claire put the letter down and faced Riley, who'd been typing on his computer while he listened. "If he loved her, why wouldn't he want to be with her?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure the reasons made sense at the time." He squeezed her arm. "Don't judge them yet."

She skimmed a few more letters, most touching on the highlights of the committee hearings over the next few years.

She'd almost reached the end of the letters and learned nothing. She took a deep breath and picked up the next one.

Please don't be disappointed in me, Blanche. As you might have predicted, I'm in trouble. I think I'm pregnant. I haven't told him.

Claire turned to Riley again. "Surely she told him sometime."

"Keep reading." He wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Maybe she explains."

There's nothing he can do—under the circumstances, he can't possibly leave his wife. It would ruin him, and I'm afraid it would eventually drive us apart. I don't want anyone to know. I'm going to see a doctor in Maryland tomorrow, then I'll know for sure. I love you.

"I wish we had Blanche's letters. I wonder what she thought of all this." Claire sat back for minute, closing her eyes. "It's like reading a soap opera script, but it's my life they're talking about."

"Caroline and Blanche both did what they thought was best. It's clear you were uppermost in their minds."

"I know, you're right. I see this as being about me, but it must have been terribly hard for Caroline back then."

The next note was scribbled across a single sheet. "This is dated the July before I was born."

No, Blanche, I'm not going to tell him. I can't do it to him, although he'd give up everything for me and his child if he knew—I know he would. I have about two more months to decide what to do. By then I'll be showing and have to leave.

Claire could imagine Blanche pushing Caroline to tell the father. Why was Caroline so adamant about not telling him? She held up the brief note. "The ink changes color. I think this must have been continued at a different time. There are no dates on it that I can read," Claire said, holding the envelope up to the light.

I was sick this morning and barely made it to the hearing. I wish now I hadn't gone. A mobster, accused of all sorts of horrible things, was testifying. I can't tell you his name. At first he was very cool and pled the Fifth Amendment to most of the questions. But as always, my friend pushed him hard—I wish I could tell everyone how proud of him I am, especially under the circumstances. The witness turned purple with anger.

Anyway, later in the afternoon, I was talking with my friend in a hallway, and the mobster came in with two of his henchmen and saw us. He stared at us for several seconds and then said, "If I find out there's anything going on here, you'll both regret it." He turned to the two thugs with him and said, "Remember her."

"Look, Riley, she's crossed out the next words so heavily I can't read them. I think it must have been a name because she starts over with 'My friend.'" She held the letter for Riley to see.

"I can't make it out either, but I know someone who might. Put it aside when you're finished, and I'll check into it."

My friend told him I was just a secretary who had nothing to do with anything. He seemed angry and frightened at the same time, trying to protect me by denying he really knew me. It was scary. I don't know what it was about, but the mobster called him by name. I think they knew each other.

My skirts are getting tight in the waist. I can't stay much longer. I find myself daydreaming—pipe dreams, of course. I'm tempted to tell him and let him give it all up for me and the baby, but I have to face it—there isn't going to be a fairytale ending.

"The last paragraph is in different ink again. It must have been a few days later. She doesn't mention the mobster or the scene in the hallway again."

"I've been searching for the Committee's activities in the early years," Riley said, scrolling down the screen. "A number of mobsters and people suspected of having ties to them testified. Without specific dates, it will be hard to pin everyone down, but we can find out the committee members."

Claire, already into the next letter, interrupted him. "Listen to this. It's scribbled, as if she was in a rush. I can hardly read it."

Blanche, something's happened. I'm scared. I have to leave Washington tonight. I'm taking the bus—I'll call you from Richmond. Do you remember the hotel we stayed at with Mother and Daddy? Can you meet me there? Don't tell ANYONE! Packing. Must go.

I love you.

C

"It's the last letter," she said. "What could have happened?"

Riley's arms tightened around her.

Chapter 19

"I'm going to the library. I want to know the members on the Select Committee on Crime back then." Claire wiped a circle of condensation off Riley's front window and stared out at the bleak winter landscape. The gray sea reflected the low, pale sky. Snow would come soon. Her stomach quivered with the cold knot lodged there. She took a deep breath. "One of those men is my father."

"I know." He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. "Let me help you. I can get the list. Going that far back may take awhile at the library, if they even have it."

"All right
—
thanks." It would be so easy to leave it all to him. She wanted to do her part, but reminded herself he knew how better than she did, and she should take advantage while she could. She refused to think how long it might be.

Riley turned to the computer and began typing. "I'm asking a friend in Washington to get it for me. It's the quickest way."

Over his shoulder, she saw the name: Will Porter. She'd seen the name before on a notepad by his phone. "Is he someone you work with?"

"Yes. There are several of us who do some consulting for various clients on occasion." He clicked Send and turned back to Claire. "I'll make some coffee while we wait."

"No, please
—
let me." She whirled away and into the kitchen, arched an eyebrow at him. "I've never fancied hair on my chest."

Riley, backing away, held up his hands in mock surrender. "You win
—
that's a powerful argument."

The coffee, still in its bag, was in the refrigerator, pretty much by itself. A stick of butter and the two beers kept it company. At least they had a few canned goods now. How did he live? She measured a reasonable amount and put the pot on the stove. While it perked in the background, Claire wandered over to an upright box containing several loosely rolled blueprints. "What're these? Do you draw houses, too?"

"Not me. My brother." He pulled one from the box and spread it on the counter. "He's an architect. A few years ago, he designed a house for me. He came down to visit and didn't care for the accommodations."

Brother?
Oh, how lucky he was. A family. She pushed the envious little thought away and studied the blueprints. The rendering of a rustic contemporary house took her breath. "Oh my, this is gorgeous. Why haven't you built it? Don't you like it?"

"I like it, just don't need it. It would be wasted." He gestured at his house. "This one's fine and no trouble to keep up." He wandered into the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee, handed her one.

She took a sip and watched him over the rim of the cup. "I can see why this one suits you." It held his paintings and his canned stew
—
what else did he need? Smiling, she turned back to the plans and pointed to the elevation view of the front. "Most of this wall is glass. It faces the water, doesn't it?" A smaller elevation on the same sheet showed a side view with more glass. "And is this your studio? This is the most northerly direction."

"Yes. At the spot where I'd build, the coastline runs east by southeast, and the plan calls for the house to be oriented to give the maximum view of the water."