Over the years, I had experienced a multitude of reactions ranging from my being turned into a scapegoat to families begging me to somehow make the death untrue. I had seen people weep, wall, rant, rage and not react in the least, and throughout I was
always the physician, always appropriately dispassionate yet kind, for that was what I was trained to be.
My own responses had to be mine. Those moments no one saw, not even when I was married, when I became expert at covering moods or crying in the shower. I remembered breaking out in hives one year and telling Tony I was allergic to plants, shellfish, the sulfite in red wine. My former husband was so easy because he did not want to hear.
Windsor Farms was eerily still as I entered it from the back, near the river. Fog clung to Victorian iron lamps reminiscent of England, and although windows were lighted in most of the stately homes, it did not seem anyone was up or out. Leaves were like soggy paper on pavement, rain lightly smacking and beginning to freeze. It occurred to me that I had foolishly walked out of my house with no umbrella.
When I reached the Sulgrave address, it was familiar, for I knew the judge who lived next door and had been to many of his parties. Three-story brick, the Eddings home was Federal-style with paired end chimneys, arched dormer windows and an elliptical fanlight over the paneled front door. To the left of the entry porch was the same stone lion that had been standing guard for years. I climbed slick steps, and had to ring the bell twice before a voice sounded faintly on the other side of thick wood.
. “It’s Dr. Scarpetta,” I answered, and the door slowly opened.
“I thought it would be you.” An anxious face peered out as the space got wider.
“Please come in and get warm.
It is a terrible night.”
“It’s getting very icy,” I said as I stepped inside.
Mrs. Eddings was attractive in a well-bred, vain way, with refined features, and spun-white hair swept back from a high, smooth brow. She had dressed in a Black Watch suit and cashmere turtleneck sweater, as if she had been bravely receiving company all day. But her eyes could not hide her irrecoverable loss, and as she led me into the foyer, her gait was unsteady and I suspected she had been drinking.
“This is gorgeous,” I said as she took my coat. “I’ve walked and driven past your house I don’t know how many times and had no idea who lives here.”
“And you live where?”
“Over there. Just west of Windsor Farms.” I pointed.
“My house is new. In fact, I just moved in last fall.”
“Oh yes, I know where you are.” She closed the closet door and led me down a hall. “I know quite a number of people over there.”
The gathering room she showed me was a museum of antique Persian rugs, Tiffany lamps and yew wood furniture in the style of Biedermeier. I sat on a black-upholstered couch that was lovely but stiff, and was already beginning to wonder how well mother had gotten along with son. The decors of both their dwellings painted portraits of people who could be stubborn and disconnected.
“Your son interviewed me a number of times,” I began our conversation as we got seated.
“Oh, did he?” She tried to smile but her expression collapsed.
“I’m sorry. I know this is hard,” I gently said as she tried to compose herself in her red leather chair. “Ted was someone I happened to like quite a lot. My staff liked him, too.”
“Everyone likes Ted,” she said. “From day one, he could charm. I remember the first big interview he got in Richmond.” She stared into the fire, hands tightly clasped.
“It was with Governor Meadows, and I’m sure you remember him. Ted got him to talk when no one else could.
That was when everyone was saying the governor was using drugs and associating with immoral women.”
“Oh, yes,” I replied as if the same had never been said of other governors.