Marcia Talley - A Quiet Death

‘That’s not what she told me.’ With a swipe of his arm, he swept ‘Sailboat 23’ off the easel. Without taking his eyes off me, he stepped on the painting. When the canvas only sagged, he stamped on it repeatedly. ‘Marriage! Reputation! Social standing! That’s what motivates Doro Dearest.’ A savage kick sent the ruined painting flying into the wall where it knocked over two others, like dominoes.

Several hundred yards away, Lilith’s house was turning into a pile of ash. What remained in this studio was all she had, and I wasn’t going to let Hoffner ruin that, too.

Hoffner’s eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth, to threaten me, probably, but before he could utter a word, I heard sirens, supplemental fire trucks, I supposed, ambulances maybe, police. ‘Hear that, Hoffner? I told you, we called the cops. They’re coming for you.’

While Hoffner had been taking out his hostility on ‘Sailboat 23,’ I’d worked my way closer to the window and to the door that led out to the patio.

‘You!’ Hoffner snarled, turning away from the easel, backing me up against the chaise lounge. He reeked of gasoline. I hadn’t smoked for decades, but I wished I still carried matches so I could strike one, set his jeans on fire.

The box cutter bulged reassuringly in my pocket, yet I hesitated to use it. Slashing another person’s flesh, feeling their blood sluice over me, warm and red and smelling of copper… my stomach heaved.

I felt around for the afghan, found it where Lilith had draped it over the arm of the chaise, and tossed it over Hoffner’s head.

‘Goddammit!’ It took Hoffner only a moment to shrug his way out from under the afghan, but it was time enough for me to wrench open the back door and escape through it, running hell-bent for leather in the direction of the main house.

Hoffner, mad as a bull, charged after me.

About fifty yards down the path I collided, literally, with one of two firemen dragging fire hoses toward the creek. ‘Help! He’s after me!’ I panted.

The fireman looked puzzled. ‘Who, ma’am?’

I turned, equally puzzled, in time to see Hoffner crouching at the end of the pier, untying one of the lines that held Lilith’s motorboat to the dock. As the firemen and I watched, Hoffner stepped into the boat, tilted the outboard motor into the down position, stooped and squeezed the gas line bulb. His elbow shot out once, twice, three times as he yanked on the starter rope in an attempt to get the little engine going.

‘Is there a problem, ma’am?’ one of the firemen asked.

The distinctive roar of the outboard motor being revved up cut the breeze. With Hoffner’s hand on the throttle, the little boat backed, turned and shot into the creek, leaving a rooster tail in its wake.

Hoffner had gotten away.

‘No problem at all,’ I told the fireman, mentally turning Hoffner over to the vicissitudes of the wind and the tide. ‘I think my problem just solved itself.’

When I got back to what remained of Lilith’s cottage, I was pleased to see that the Madison Volunteers had powered up their pumper and water from the creek was now reaching the blaze. A third truck screamed up the drive. The volunteers from the Neck District did their best, too, but by then it was mostly too late. The roof of Lilith’s historic cottage had fallen into the shell of the building, leaving nothing but charred beams, blackened stone walls and an ancient chimney, standing erect and proud like a monument over the smoking ruins. Still the firemen remained, playing water on the house, chasing sparks and dousing flare-ups to keep the fire from spreading to the nearby woods.

Nicholas limped off to check on the damage Hoffner had done to his mother’s paintings, while I remained sitting under a tree, watching the firemen and comforting Lilith, my arm around her shoulders. Quite suddenly, she shivered and all the color drained from her face. ‘Lilith, are you OK?’ I thought about the chaise in her studio. ‘Do you need to lie down?’

Lilith shook her head, and slipped out from under my sheltering arm. ‘Zan!’

I turned to see John Chandler, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, striding in our direction. Eyes on the prize, he weaved up the drive, deftly navigating a path between fire trucks and fire hoses, seemingly oblivious to the chaos going on around him.

Next to me, Lilith struggled to rise, but before she could get to her feet, Chandler had broken into a loping run, closing the distance between them in seconds. He seized Lilith by the hands and pulled her up, catapulting her straight into his arms.

‘You…’ Zan breathed, crushing Lilith to his chest. ‘I always…’

‘Zan, why are you here?’ Lilith asked when she came up for air.

‘My wife received a disturbing phone call this morning. I had to make sure you were all right.’ He stepped back, holding Lilith at arm’s length, eyes on scan as if checking her for damage. Seemingly satisfied that she wasn’t broken, he turned, noticing the firemen and the ruined house for the first time. ‘I see I’m too late.’

Before Lilith could comment, I stepped out of the shadows and into a patch of sun. ‘Her ankle’s sprained, but otherwise-’

‘You!’ Chandler interrupted. ‘Hannah Ives, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. It’s me. Quite obvious now that you didn’t tell me the truth when I visited you at your office.’

‘I’m sorry, but I thought I was doing the right thing.’ He paused. ‘For my family.’

‘At least you’re here now,’ I said. ‘That’s a step in the right direction. You mentioned a disturbing call.’

Chandler cleared his throat. ‘Guy named Hoffner. He’d been pestering Dorothea. This morning my wife and I had a showdown. I found out that she’d actually agreed to pay him money in exchange for the letters I wrote to Lilith.’

‘Hoffner doesn’t have the letters, Mr Chandler. Lilith does. There were some photocopies once, but Nicholas destroyed them. Hoffner doesn’t have anything to bargain with.’

‘Is that why…?’ Lilith began.

Chandler’s hands slid down Lilith’s arms, found her hands and grasped them tightly. ‘Perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself, darling. A couple of months ago, a young man shows up at Lynx, asks to see me. I was out of town on assignment – US troops were leaving Iraq – so my PA put him off. She told him to make an appointment, come back in a couple of days. Later, after Meredith disappeared, we were reviewing the Lynx security tapes, and the minute I saw him waiting at reception, I knew. I had my research people check him out, just to be sure. Nicholas Aupry, born September 27, 1987. He’s mine, isn’t he Lilith? He has to be.’

Lilith caught her lower lip between her teeth. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

‘Darling, why didn’t you tell me?’

‘What good would it have done, Zan, except to feed your Catholic guilt?’

‘God, Lilith. All these years.’ He embraced her again, clinging to his former lover with quiet desperation, like a life preserver. ‘You haunt my dreams, so, even in sleep, there is no refuge.’ Looking at her again, drawing her in like a saving breath, he stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. ‘Remember Budapest? Eglise Matthias, Buda Castle, the view at night from Gellért Hill?’

Still weeping, Lilith nodded.

‘Well, that’s a pretty picture!’ Nicholas had returned, his face flushed, whether from exertion or pent-up rage, it was impossible to tell.

Lilith started.

Keeping his arm firmly around his lover, Chandler turned. ‘Son…’

‘You haven’t earned the right to call me that, Chandler!’

‘Nicholas, it’s true!’

‘Shut up, Mother. I’m not talking to you.’

Nicholas advanced, paused, screwed his cane into the grass and leaned on it heavily. ‘Where were you, Mr Chandler, when I lost my first tooth? Hit a home run? Graduated from college? Where were you when I nearly died ?’