Dying for Mercy with Bonus Material (3 page)

A
fter Innis finished his task, he found his wife standing at the bottom of the grand staircase. She appeared relieved when she saw him.

“Where have you been?” asked Valentina. “I’ve been looking for you, Innis. Our guests will be here in a few minutes.”

“I had one last detail to take care of,” said Innis. “Everything is going to be perfect tonight. It’s all going to go according to plan.”

Valentina reached out to straighten her husband’s tie. “You sound like you’re talking about a campaign, not a party,” she said.

He stared at her, studied her, trying to press every detail of her face forever in his memory.

“What is it, Innis? Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have lipstick on my teeth or something?”

“No, my dear one, nothing is wrong. You look absolutely beautiful, elegant in your black velvet. I was just thinking about the long journey we’ve taken together and how lucky I was to be married to a woman like you.”

“It hasn’t all been a bed of roses,” said Valentina. “We certainly haven’t agreed on everything.”

“I know we haven’t.”

Valentina turned her back toward Innis. “Zip me up the rest of the way, will you?”

As he caught sight of the soft white skin on her neck, he swallowed. He was going to be leaving her exposed and vulnerable. But he had to be resolute.

“I’ve tried to shield you from things, Valentina,” he whispered. “But there are some things that must be faced, sooner or later.”

She spun around to face him. “I thought we agreed not to talk about it anymore.”

“Not talk of what?” asked Innis. “Which
one
of the things don’t you want to talk about? There have been so many. And others you don’t even know about.”

“Look, this isn’t the time,” said Valentina, reaching up to smooth her blond hair. “We’ve got almost a hundred people coming tonight. Let’s not start the evening with another fight.”

E
liza sat back and looked out the window at the darkening woods that rimmed the winding road. She marveled at the thought of the roadway’s having been forged up the mountain and through the thick virgin forest without the aid of electricity or giant earthmoving equipment. No computer animations had been used to plot the route, no giant trucks had transported building materials.

Hundreds of acres of forbidding terrain with huge granite boulders and rocky soil had been transformed by the great vision and willpower of tobacco heir Pierre Lorillard. What began as a fishing and hunting reserve just forty miles northwest of New York City was transformed into an exclusive year-round enclave for America’s elite at the end of the nineteenth century.

The most renowned architects of the time designed massive “cottages,” carriage houses, boathouses, and gardens situated to take advantage of the splendid mountains and glorious views of three lakes. Tuxedo Park was listed on the National Register of Historic Places, and as the old mansions set back from the road began to come into view, Eliza was glad. The houses were masterpieces and should be preserved. They represented a unique time in American history, a time when vast fortunes were amassed as the country galloped into the industrial revolution. The imposing structures were built with the cheap labor provided by the immigrant population streaming into the United States from Europe and maintained by that same cheap labor as well—with money not yet subject to the drain of income taxes.

For a while, if you were one of the fortunate, life was just about perfect. Then the government began taxing income. Next came the Roaring Twenties, followed by a decade of economic depression. Residents who had suffered business reversals could no longer afford to live in the park, but it was hard to find buyers for the big houses, even at bargain prices during the Depression and World War II. With workingmen and-women serving in the armed forces and employed in factories, there simply weren’t enough servants for the upkeep and the mansions became uninhabitable. The decline of the park lasted for several decades. Some houses were deserted, some burned to the ground, some barely survived as heirs took to living in just a few rooms while they struggled to live on dwindling trust funds. Finally, at the end of the twentieth century, with a booming economy and stupendous fortunes made in industry and technology, sports and entertainment, the big houses became desirable again.

Tuxedo Park was still a privileged and protected world where residents didn’t lock their doors or take the keys out of their car ignitions. Guarded by the enclave’s own police department, Tuxedo Park’s children ran free, their parents feeling safe. There were no leash laws for dogs. And, until recently, the houses had no numbers. Residences were referred to by the family’s surname or by the name the house had been given by its original owners.

Before the first interview Eliza had done with Valentina, she learned that it was here in Tuxedo Park that Valentina Abbate and Innis Wheelock had grown up and gone to school together. It was here that they had married at the Abbates’ Italianate villa perched on the hillside above Tuxedo Lake. It was to here that they had returned after their stints in the governor’s mansion in Albany and the United States ambassador’s residence in Rome.

In the twilight a deer darted out in front of the car, forcing the driver to slam on the brakes and Eliza to snap out of her reverie. She caught her breath as she watched the big doe leap across the road before disappearing into the woods.

“Thank God you didn’t hit that beautiful creature, Charlie,” said Eliza. “That would have been such a horrible way to start the night.”

T
he party guests were arriving, and Valentina and Innis Wheelock were gracious and welcoming. So influential and accomplished were they that no one knew it was a sham. They had a secret. An explosive secret.

Yes, they loved each other; yes, they were devoted to each other. But their marriage was far from perfect. They hid things. They hadn’t been fully honest with the public or with those they purported to care about.

You had to give credit where credit was due, though. Innis had insisted on that one-on-one conversation in his study, a chance to air any anger and resentment with no one else around to hear. He hadn’t seemed shocked when he heard the feelings that gushed out. It was as if Innis had known exactly what would be said and didn’t care. In fact, Innis had seemed pleased to listen as the ugly explanations for what had been done came spewing forth.

Innis responded with a diatribe of his own, promises to go public with everything and to ensure that justice would be done in the end.

And
were
they even promises—or threats? What did he mean when he said that the world was going to know?

Upon leaving the office, another potential threat appeared.

Eunice was standing outside the door. By the expression on her face and her flustered behavior, it was obvious that the maid had been eavesdropping.

Not that it wasn’t understandable that Eunice would do such a thing. Anytime there was a chance to listen in on someone’s conversation, it was an opportunity not to be wasted.

Eavesdroppers at Pentimento heard very valuable information.

T
he car inched along the crushed-stone driveway, behind the other vehicles waiting for the chance to drop off their passengers. Spotlights were trained on the big house, illuminating the stucco façade and the colorful etched-glass windows with decorative crowns, while Corinthian columns stood guard across the full expanse of the entranceway. Red-clay tiles covered the extensive roof. A European garden was plotted at the side of the house. A copy of Bernini’s famous turtle fountain in Rome stood in the center.

Valentina and Innis Wheelock were greeting their guests in the spacious entrance hall.

“Eliza!” Valentina’s still incredibly beautiful face broke into a broad smile. Her blond hair was perfectly coiffed, swept up in an elegant French twist. Her makeup was expertly applied, making her skin appear smooth and creamy, her eyes a clear, brilliant blue. Sapphire earrings dangled from her lobes. She wore a simple but beautiful black cocktail dress and carried a martini glass in her left hand. Valentina extended her right one to Eliza, drawing her close, kissing her on the cheeks, and then putting her arm around Eliza’s shoulder.

“I’m so glad to see you, darling,” Valentina announced. “You look absolutely wonderful.”

Valentina was known for her tact, diplomacy, and keen sense of what was appropriate and what wasn’t. Those qualities, her years as chief executive of the Empire State, along with sizable donations and fund-raising parties given for the winning presidential candidate, had earned her the ambassadorship to Italy, the first woman to hold the post since Clare Boothe Luce did so during the Eisenhower administration.

“Look who’s here, Innis,” said Valentina, steering Eliza by the arm toward her husband. “Our new neighbor.”

“Soon,” said Eliza. “We get the place starting next weekend.”

Eliza was taken aback as she looked into Innis Wheelock’s face. His skin was sallow, his eyes bloodshot. He looked so much older and thinner than the last time she’d seen him. He was gaunt, really. When Eliza gripped his hand, she could feel a slight tremor.

“So good to see you, my dear,” he said as he leaned forward and kissed Eliza on the cheek. “I’m so glad you’ve come.”

“I’m happy to be invited,” responded Eliza, smiling. “I’ve never been to a party for a saint before.”

Innis smiled weakly. “To tell you the truth, neither have I,” he said. “But I thought there was no better time to gather the people who have meant something to me over the years to honor someone who has changed my life.”

“You’ll have to tell me all about it, Innis,” said Eliza.

“Yes, I would like that, Eliza,” said Innis solemnly. “I want you to understand.” He glanced over at the doorway and saw there were guests still arriving. “Excuse me now, dear,” he said. “I’ll catch up with you a bit later.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” said Eliza.

As she began walking away, Valentina called after her. “And thanks so very much again, Eliza, for agreeing to be part of our Special Olympics event next Sunday. People are terribly excited about your being there.”

“It’s my pleasure,” said Eliza. “You know how I feel about supporting such a good cause.”

Proceeding into the central room where the party was being held, Eliza wondered if Innis was ill. What else would account for the weight loss, the poor coloring, and his trembling?

She went to the bar and asked for a glass of white wine. While she waited, she surveyed the cavernous space, milling with people. Antique furniture was carefully placed throughout the room, creating different seating areas. The oil paintings on the walls were lit to their best advantage. Candles glimmered from crystal and silver candlesticks arranged on glistening wooden tabletops, while fresh flowers burst from porcelain vases and bowls. The rear wall was made up of floor-to-ceiling windows that revealed a spectacular view of Tuxedo Lake below.

“Thank you,” she said as the bartender slid the glass of pinot grigio across the bar.

“You’re welcome, ma’am,” he said.

Eliza took a sip as she observed the guests socializing in the lush surroundings. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she murmured.

“Yes, it is.”

“I guess you go to many of these things,” said Eliza.

“If you call working at them ‘going to them,’” answered the bartender with a melancholy smile, revealing a gap between his front teeth. “I’ve been working parties here in the park for many years.”

“What are you doing, Bill?” asked a man dressed in a dark suit who walked up to the bar. “You know you shouldn’t be bending this lovely lady’s ear.”

Eliza felt immediately uncomfortable, and she could tell from the flush rising in the bartender’s fair-skinned cheeks that he was embarrassed.

“I was bending
his
ear, not the other way around.”

“Well, I’m Peter Nordstrut,” said the man as he held out his hand. His grip was strong. His face was a bit puffy, and he wore horn-rimmed glasses. The deep lines at the corners of his eyes and across his brow suggested he spent a lot of time in the sun, though any tan he had picked up over the summer had already faded. His hair was blond with gray running through it. Eliza judged him to be in his mid-fifties.

“Eliza Blake,” she said, returning his handshake.

“Yes, I know. I’d say everyone in this room knows who you are.”

Eliza smiled politely. “How do you know the Wheelocks?” she asked.

“From the club,” answered Peter. “I’ve been trying to teach Innis to play court tennis, but I’m afraid it’s a lost cause.”

“Isn’t court tennis the kind hardly anyone plays?” asked Eliza.

“Well, it isn’t the number of people who play, it’s the quality of the people who play that counts.”

He said it with a smile, but Eliza sensed he was an unmitigated snob.

“Real tennis, royal tennis, court tennis—whatever you want to call it—it’s not for the masses,” he continued. “Lots of complicated rules. In fact, there are only about thirty-five existing courts for real tennis in the entire world.”

“And Tuxedo Park has one of them?” asked Eliza, trying to sound interested.

Peter nodded. “I’d be happy to show it to you. Even better, come over to the tennis house sometime, and I’ll teach you how to play.”

Eliza laughed. “If Innis can’t learn, I’m sure I couldn’t either.” She glanced across the room. “Speak of the devil,” she said, hoping her relief didn’t show, “here comes Innis now.”

After a few minutes of small talk among the three of them, Innis took Eliza’s arm. “Will you excuse us, Peter?” he asked. “I want to introduce Eliza to some of our other guests.”

Innis led her off.

“Couldn’t wait to get you away from that guy,” he said as he guided her through the crowd. “Peter Nordstrut is a pompous know-it-all, and God help me, I’ve had way too much to do with him over the years. He’s a crackerjack political operative, but not a very nice human being. Now, if you don’t mind, I want to talk with you alone before I share you with anyone else.”

Eliza followed Innis out through the French doors that led to the side garden.

“Only you, Innis, would have a reproduction of Bernini’s fountain,” said Eliza as she admired the small bronze tortoises and reached out to rub one of their shells.

“It was one of my favorite places in Rome,” said Innis. “I could gaze at it for hours. Though I was disappointed to discover that Bernini may not have designed the fountain, only the turtles.”

The night air had grown cooler, and Innis offered Eliza his jacket.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Eliza said. Innis didn’t look as if he could afford to be chilled. He seemed so frail that a heavy cold could lead to something fatal.

“Are you really fine, Eliza?” Innis asked with genuine concern. “I remember when we received kidnapping threats about Russell when Valentina was governor. She could barely function.”

“I’m just trying to put it behind us now, Innis,” said Eliza. “That’s why I’ve rented the carriage house on Clubhouse Road. Janie and I can get up here easily on the weekends. It feels so protected and serene, as though nothing bad could ever happen here.” Eliza shook her head. “You know, we still have people driving by our house in Ho-Ho-Kus and gawking at us. You’d think we’d be old news by now.”

“It was a horrible thing, Eliza. They say time heals all wounds, don’t they?” he asked pensively. “But there are some things one never gets over.”

Eliza gave him time to continue.

“It’s no secret that I changed while we were in Italy, Eliza,” said Innis as they walked slowly around the fountain. “While Valentina was conducting embassy business in Rome, I filled much of my time walking the streets of the Eternal City and, later, traveling throughout Italy. I spent hours and hours at the Vatican, drinking in the magnificence of the Sistine Chapel and those incredible frescoes of Michelangelo.” Innis shook his head in wonderment. “The majesty of them was beyond description, Eliza. Have you ever seen them?”

“Yes. But not since they’ve been cleaned. I hear they are so brilliant and vivid now. I have to get back to Rome and see them again.”

“You must, you must,” said Innis. “They’ll take your breath away. There are so many glorious, unbelievable things to see in Italy. Not to mention some of the most delicious food in the world. Don’t get me started on the food.”

Eliza smiled. “Few would disagree with you there, Innis,” she said.

“There will be some wonderful ravioli alla norcina and gnocchi with black-truffle cream on the buffet tonight, Eliza. Make sure you try some of both.”

“I will,” she said. She was waiting for Innis to get to the point.

He gestured at a bench, and they sat down. Gazing at the spouting water, Innis continued. “After the Sistine Chapel, I discovered other churches in Rome. The Basilica of St. Mary Major, where the Bethlehem manger is kept, and St. Paul Outside the Walls, where the apostle was buried—even Sant’Andrea della Valle, where the first act of Puccini’s
Tosca
takes place. Then I went on to Florence and fell in love with the Baptistry, and Orvieto’s striped Duomo. In the process I became fascinated with the ceremony and history of the Roman Catholic Church. But it was when I went to Assisi that I was moved on a deeply personal level. Studying the frescoes of the life of St. Francis in the basilica, I became so ashamed of myself.”

Innis grew quiet and looked down at his hands.

“Ashamed of what, Innis?” Eliza asked gently.

“Of the life I’ve led,” he answered, his head still bowed. “St. Francis was a man from a wealthy background, a guy who was set to inherit the family business and live out his days in a lavish lifestyle, a guy a lot like me. But unlike me, he gave everything up and lived his life without creature comforts, helping his fellow human beings. Then he established a religious order that has helped even more people.”

“Somehow I don’t see you in a homespun robe, walking barefoot down the road, Innis,” said Eliza, trying to get him to lighten up. “Or in some sunless, airless monastery sleeping on the floor.”

Innis smiled slightly. “No, I don’t see that either. And I’ve never been overly fond of animals, and St. Francis was crazy for them. There’s no way I’d have been able to talk that wolf out of eating those villagers.”

“I’d forgotten all about that story,” said Eliza, smiling. “Think it was true?”

Innis shrugged. “Who knows? But the essential story of his life is valid. This was a man who did things that truly mattered, and now, at the end of my life, I want to unite myself with him in the most vivid way possible, and to do my part in putting the past to bed and saving the future.”

Eliza wasn’t sure what he meant. “You certainly have done things that mattered, Innis,” she said.

He looked at her incredulously. “How can you say that? Be honest, Eliza, what about my life is there to admire?” He didn’t wait for her to respond. “No real accomplishments of my own, no good works to speak of—”

Eliza interrupted. “That’s not true. You’ve donated generously to many charities.”

“Anyone at my stage of the game can write a check, Eliza. But what have I done to make a difference in somebody’s life? The truth is, I’ve hurt many people, damaged them, ruined them along the way. Politics is a dirty business. And I’ve finally admitted to myself that some of the things I told myself were necessary to get Valentina elected governor were done out of pure ambition. And now it’s too late to take those things back.”

“Innis, why are you telling me all this?” asked Eliza.

“Because I know how my world works, Eliza. Ugly things happen, cruel things, and they never see the light of day. And people get away with things that should never be gotten away with. That isn’t right. You know it isn’t right. You care about right and wrong. I know you do.” His voice cracked.

“What are you talking about, Innis?”

“You’ll see, Eliza. You’ll see,” he said, rising from the bench. “And I know you’ll do what needs to be done. You’re shivering now, dear. Let’s go back inside and join the party.”