“Give me a rain check,” Marsha said. “I’ve got to meet some people at the apartment.”
After finishing work and giving a report, Kim left the hospital. She climbed into her car and drove out of town. There was a little traffic, but it moved quickly, particularly after she passed over the Tobin Bridge. Her first stop was her childhood home on Marblehead Neck.
“Anybody here?” Kim called out as she entered the foyer of the French château-style home. It was beautifully sited directly on the ocean. There were some superficial similarities between it and the castle, although it was far smaller and more tasteful.
“I’m in the sunroom, dear,” Joyce answered from afar.
Skirting the main stairs, Kim walked down the long central corridor and out into the room in which her mother spent most of her time. It was indeed a sunroom with glass on three sides. It faced south overlooking the terraced lawn, but to the east it had a breathtaking vista over the ocean.
“You’re still in your uniform,” Joyce said. Her tone was deprecatory, as only a daughter could sense.
“I came directly from work,” Kim said. “I wanted to avoid the traffic.”
“Well, I hope you haven’t brought any hospital germs with you,” Joyce said. “That’s all I need right now is to get sick again.”
“I don’t work in infectious disease,” Kim said. “Where I work in the unit there’s probably less bacteria than here.”
“Don’t say that,” Joyce snapped.
The two women didn’t look anything alike. Kim favored her father in terms of facial structure and hair. Joyce’s face was narrow, her eyes deeply set, and her nose slightly aquiline. Her hair had once been brunette but was now mostly gray. She’d never colored it. Her skin was as pale as white marble despite the fact that it was almost midsummer.
“I notice you are still in your dressing gown,” Kim said. She sat on a couch across from her mother’s chaise.
“There was no reason for me to dress,” Joyce said. “Besides, I haven’t been feeling well.”
“I suppose that means that Dad is not here,” Kim said. Over the years she’d learned the pattern.
“Your father left last evening on a short business trip to London,” Joyce said.
“I’m sorry,” Kim said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Joyce said. “When he’s here, he ignores me anyway. Did you want to see him?”
“I’d hoped to,” Kim said.
“He’ll be back Thursday,” Joyce said. “If it suits him.”
Kim recognized her mother’s martyred tone of voice. “Did Grace Traters go along with him?” Kim asked. Grace Traters was Kim’s father’s personal assistant in a long line of personal assistants.
“Of course Grace went along,” Joyce said angrily. “John can’t tie his shoes without Grace.”
“If it bothers you, why do you put up with it, Mother?” Kim asked.
“I have no choice in the matter,” Joyce said.
Kim bit her tongue. She could feel herself getting upset. She felt sorry for her mother on the one hand for what she had to deal with and angry with her on the other for her playing the victim. Her father had always had affairs, some more open than others. It had been going on for as long as Kim could remember.
Changing the subject, Kim asked about Elizabeth Stewart.
Joyce’s reading glasses dropped off the end of her nose where they had been precariously perched. They dangled against her bosom from a chain around her neck.
“What a strange question,” Joyce said. “Why on earth are you inquiring about her?”
“I happened to stumble across her portrait in Granddad’s wine cellar,” Kim said. “It rather startled me, especially since I seem to have the same color eyes. Then I realized I knew very little about her. Was she really hanged for witchcraft?”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” Joyce said.
“Oh, Mother, why on earth not?” Kim asked.
“It’s simply a taboo subject,” Joyce said.
“You should remind your nephew Stanton,” Kim said. “He brought it up at a recent dinner party.”
“I will indeed remind him,” Joyce said. “That’s inexcusable. He knows better.”
“How can it be a taboo subject after so many years?” Kim asked.