Overseas (29 page)

That was when I’d slammed the book shut and started e-mailing Julian.

Beloved.
I could still see the word on the BlackBerry screen when I closed my eyes, and I knew he meant it. He belonged wholly to me now. Florence Hamilton had died long ago; even in his own disjointed lifetime, he hadn’t seen her in twelve years. So why did it kill me to see them together in that old photograph, that vanished sepia world of theirs? Because she was of his time? His class? The subject of his famous poem? The woman he should have married, if by some miracle he’d survived the war?

I looked at the book again, and then I looked at my watch. Noon. Plenty of time.

I grabbed my bag and the keys to the Range Rover and headed out the door.

T
HE DRIVE TO
N
EWPORT
took less than an hour, past the reedy green Connecticut shoreline and right up along the coast of Rhode Island, where Long Island Sound opened up into the broad Atlantic Ocean. A beautiful day: the midday sun glittered brilliantly on the fidgety water, and a chaste blue sky set off the extraordinary whites of the sails plying the harbor. I found myself wishing Julian were here with me, that we were coming up for some romantic weekend at one of the old hotels in town.

I felt my mood lifting as I followed the GPS instructions, weaving my way down the narrow streets with something like euphoria at the prospect
of doing something more productive than shopping or twiddling my thumbs in Julian’s library all day.

The surge of exhilaration carried me right along the main commercial street in town. I found a parking space readily—it was only a Thursday, and Newport was nothing if not a weekend town—and walked the half-block or so to the shop in a quick swinging stride. T
HE
P
EARL
F
ISHER
, read the oval wooden signboard, in carved faux-antique letters painted with gold, and underneath it, B
OOKS
B
OUGHT AND
S
OLD
. It wavered uncertainly in the salty breeze gusting from the water, making a seaman-like creak. I paused to dig in my bag for the book and heard my phone ring.

“Hi, there,” I said. “You’ll never guess where I am.”

A brief silence. “Tell me.”

“Newport. It’s so pretty here. You’re right, we should really come up together some weekend.”

“You’re in
Newport
? Why the devil?”

“The bookstore, the one that sent the biography. I thought I’d make myself useful. I’m standing outside right now. Can I pick you up anything?”

“Good God. The
bookshop
? You’re joking. By yourself?”

“
Yes
, by myself. What do you mean? I’m a big girl.”

“What a bloody reckless
idiotic
thing to do! Why didn’t you wait for me? What if the chap’s a regular there? He’ll follow you back.”

“Oh
please
.”

“Do you think I’m
joking
? Couldn’t you at least have
told
me first?”

“What, I have to ask your
permission
?”

“You’re not taking this at all seriously, are you? I’m trying to
protect
you, Kate. As I’ve told you before. In fact, I thought I was quite clear about the danger you’re…”

“Are you
mad
at me?” I demanded. “Because if you are, well, tough, okay? You encouraged me to go out, remember?”

“Not to bloody
Newport
, Kate!”

“So shopping and getting my nails done is okay, but doing something useful is bad and dangerous? I’m not allowed to cross state lines or something? Or is it about taking your car and…”

“The
car
is not the bloody point. Good God. The car’s yours. It’s your life I’m more concerned with.”

“My
life
? Are you
nuts
? No one’s going to off me in a bookstore in Newport, Rhode Island, okay?”

He paused, a good long space of silence. “Look,” he said finally, his voice wound tight as new rope, “I’ve got rather a lot on my plate here, at the moment. I wish you’d told me, that’s all. Can you let me know when you’re finished?”

“I’ll send an e-mail,” I told him. “Don’t want to bother you.”

“Now
you’re
angry.”

“Of course I’m angry. You’re taking this way too far.”

“I’m not, actually. So let me know you’re all right, please?”

“I will.” I bit my lip. “Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, darling. I…”

He was probably going to say
I love you
, but I cut him off, too annoyed to hear it at the moment. What was
that
all about? I could just understand his reluctance to let me go into Manhattan, if this whole business with the Harvard professor and the office ransacker was really something to worry about, but getting all worked up over a quick trip into Newport? To a
bookstore
? Did he think I needed a freaking
chaperone
?

I thrust energetically through the door of the bookstore and pasted on a blank cheerful expression. The shop was empty, other than the rows and stacks of books and a single clerk at the raised wooden counter, reading a copy of
The Kite Runner
. He looked up at the sound of the tinkling entry bell. A young guy, I thought. Twenty-one, twenty-two. Goatee. An ironic goatee, or was he playing it straight?

“Hi.” I forced away my irritated thoughts and tried to focus on the mission at hand.
Be cheerful. Make him want to help you
. “I, um, received
this book as a present a few days ago. A biography.” I held it up helpfully. “It was mailed from your shop here. But I didn’t see a card with it or anything, so I was wondering if you could tell me who sent it?”

He frowned. “Someone sent it from
here
?” he asked, as though the idea of an actual paying customer beggared belief.

“That’s what the return label said. It was sent to Katherine Wilson, on Seventy-ninth Street in New York City. Maybe you have it on the computer.”

“Can I see the book?”

I handed it to him.

“Used, right?” He flipped through it. “Don’t recognize it. I guess I can look it up.”

He sat down and turned to the computer, punched in a few words. I tapped my finger on the counter and felt a knot of anticipation tighten in my center. “Oh, it was a
telephone
order,” the clerk said, as though that explained everything.

“A telephone order. Can you give me the name?”

“No name. Paid by credit card, but we don’t save that information. Security.”

“You seriously don’t have any information on the sender?”

“Yeah, that is kind of weird.” He peered at the screen. “Just the telephone number. Must have forgotten to enter the rest. Gina’s kind of absentminded sometimes.” He rolled his eyes, just to let me know that he, himself, was sharp as a tack.

“Can I have the phone number, then?”

“Sorry. I’m not allowed give out personal details.” He looked back down at me and smiled apologetically.

I paused for just an instant. “Really? Oh, that’s so disappointing. I really wanted to be able to thank him.” I leaned into the counter, letting the tops of my breasts plump out against the wooden surface, and smiled up winsomely. “Are you sure I can’t just peek? Just to see if I can recognize the number?”

“Well,” he told my cleavage, slowly, “I guess that’s okay. If you don’t write it down.”

“Oh my God. Of course not. I just want to see if it’s someone I know.” I gripped my handbag under the counter, thinking of the BlackBerry inside, as though Julian could somehow channel himself through it and witness the scene.

The clerk turned the screen in my direction and pointed. “Right there.”

9175553232. I imprinted it on my brain.

“Thank you so much,” I said. My mind was already racing. 917 was the Manhattan cell phone prefix.

“My pleasure. Really.”

I straightened and held my hand out. “Um, my book?”

“Oh, yeah.” He shoved it back at me. “Sorry.”

I took hold of the book, but he didn’t let go. “Anything else I can do for you?” he asked, rubbing the bottom of his goatee with his hand.

“Oh, no thanks. You’ve been great.” I started to turn.

“Um,” he went on, “are you in town for a while? Maybe we can grab a coffee or something?”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, dimming my smile several notches, “but I’m here with my boyfriend.”

“Maybe next time.”

“Yeah, maybe. Thanks again.”

I hurried out of the store, letting the door close behind me with a wild jingling of bells, and started up the street. When I got to the corner I took my phone out and punched the number in.

It went immediately to voice mail. The standard greeting, a woman’s neutral automated voice.
The number you have called 9-1-7-5-5-5-3-2-3-2 is not available at this time. Please leave a message at the tone, or remain on the line for more options.

I opened my mouth to leave some provocative message, but hung up instead at the last second. It might be better if the guy didn’t know I was onto him yet.

When I got back to the Range Rover, I sat silently for a moment in the hot stale air, chewing my lip, before beginning my message to Julian.
In and out. It’s a Manhattan cell phone. They didn’t have a name. Do you recognize? 917-555-3232. Sorry I snapped. I’m a little touchy about my independence. A modern woman thing. You’ll have to get used to it.
My fingers hovered over the keypad.
You can still cuddle me after nightmares, though. See you tonight.
A bit cheesy, but that wouldn’t bother Julian a bit.

I sent the message and started the engine. I hadn’t turned the radio off, and it startled me, bursting out the climactic frenzy of a baroque horn concerto. A growl leapt from my stomach in response; it was nearly lunchtime, after all. Maybe I should look around for a café before leaving town. On the other hand, I didn’t want to run into the bookstore clerk on his lunch break, which was just the kind of awkward coincidence to which I was regularly prone.

My BlackBerry buzzed. Julian must have been waiting for the message.

But it wasn’t Julian. It was an e-mail from Charlie, startlingly brief:
Do you have a phone number yet? C
. I replied immediately with my new cell number, and it rang a moment later.

“Dude, where are you?” he demanded.

“Um, in Connecticut,” I said cagily.

“Where in Connecticut? With Laurence, right?”

“Um, yeah,” I said, “but don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure how much longer you can keep
that
secret. Have you heard?”

“About what?”

“Southfield just filed a complaint with the SEC about Sterling Bates.”

“What?”
I nearly dropped the phone into the steering wheel.

“Oh yeah! It’s all over the wires, dude. I hear it names
names
.”

“Oh my God! He
promised
!”

“Promised what?”

“Not to go all legal on me!”

“Yeah, well, he must be out for serious revenge, ’cause I hear it’s bad.”

“Can you e-mail me the details?”

“I’ll try, dude.”

“I’ve got to go. Thanks, buddy.” I slammed the phone down on the console just as it buzzed again.

Don’t recognize the number. Will try to curb autocratic tendencies in future. Arms always ready to ease your nightmares. XX

I put the car into gear, tossed the BlackBerry into the passenger seat, and whipped out of the parking lot with a squeal of the Range Rover’s high-performance tires.

J
ULIAN CALLED ME AT SIX O’CLOCK
, from the road. “I’ve got a lot to tell you, darling,” he said grimly, “and I couldn’t really speak about it until I left.”

“You’re not driving, are you?”

“Yes, exit eleven. Ridiculous traffic.”

“Pull over first. Do you know how dangerous it is, driving on the phone? It’s worse than driving drunk.”

“I’ve got the Bluetooth in,” he protested. “Both hands on the wheel.”

“That doesn’t actually help. Call me back from the next rest stop.” I hung up the phone.

It rang again a few minutes later. “You’re bossy, did you know that?”

“Where are you?”

“The rest stop before exit thirteen.”

“What’s the price for a gallon of regular?”

“Three dollars and ninety-six cents. You insult me.”

“Julian,” I said, “do you have
any
idea what it would do to me if something happened to you?”

He hesitated. “All right. Fair enough. No more driving on the phone.”

“Thank you. Now that’s out of the way, what the
hell
do you think you’re doing?”

“I take it you’ve heard the news?”

“You could have at least told me.”

“It’s not about you,” he said. “Geoff did some digging overnight and uncovered a massive problem: This Boxer woman of yours, this vengeful little
she-wolf
, could have brought down
my firm
.” I heard a thump, like he was pounding the steering wheel. “You were right; Daniel was right. It was one of my traders.”

His outrage was so palpable, my own began to fizzle. “Well, I’m sorry about that,” I said brusquely, “but couldn’t you at least have
told
me? I heard it from
Charlie
!”

“I’ve been closeted with Geoff and Daniel since noon. And don’t be sorry, for God’s sake. It’s what I deserve, for being so arrogant as to think I was invulnerable.”

“Charlie said you named names,” I said. “Mine, I suppose?”

“No,” he said, “the trader admitted he knew it wasn’t you. So we only named Alicia.”

“But my name will get dragged into it.”

A pause. “It might.”

“I can’t believe this.”

“Could you just try to look at it from my perspective? We had to act; it’s complicated, but the damage she’s done…”

“Fine. Okay. I get it. Just let me know next time, okay? It’s very annoying to hear about your latest exploits from third parties.”

“I’m sorry. I had the devil of a time getting out of the city. I’ll have to go back in tomorrow.”