Terry Lynn Thomas - The Drowned Woman

Simon’s face paled.

‘They’ve been reworking the autopsy and other evidence. What do you say about that?’ Simon’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth and shut it again, without uttering a word. ‘And it seems that you’ve somehow come up with the money to pay off your gambling debts,’ Zeke said. ‘So how did you get the money?’

‘Are you saying that Joe Connor thinks I had something to do with Rachel’s … My god, I cannot even fathom this,’ Simon said. He started pacing the floor beneath Rachel’s picture. The irony of this was not lost on me.

‘Where did you get the money?’ Zeke asked again.

‘None of your business,’ Simon snapped. ‘I’ll discuss it with Joe Connor. That’s all you need to know.’ He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

I stood behind Zeke and started to knead the muscles in his shoulders.

‘It never will change,’ Zeke said. ‘Simon doesn’t want me here, my father doesn’t want me here, and – here’s the irony – I don’t want to be here.’

I longed for the foggy days, our small, yet comfortable flat, and the day-to-day things that we dealt with at home – finding scrap metal for Jimmy Blithe to take to the corner; Mrs Fields and her cats that were always escaping; the clients who would wander into the office seeking help for small matters, such as lost jewelry or suspicions about wives who had spending problems. They all appealed to me now. I even missed the neverending noise from the shipyards that were turning out Goliath-like ships at a frightening pace. Now that I had a chance to miss the home we had created together, I realized that our life in Sausalito was very fine indeed.

Zeke stood up, kissed me, and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind my ears, a familiar gesture of endearment that never failed to warm my heart. ‘Promise me that you won’t let my father upset you. He’s an ogre. Prepare yourself for the worst.’

‘Surely you know by now that I’m case hardened,’ I said.

‘Excuse me, miss?’ Helen rapped on the door before she opened it. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that I thought you might like me to dress your hair.’

‘I’ll be back shortly,’ Zeke said. He nodded at Helen and left us.

‘He’s very romantic,’ Helen said.

‘He is. Now show me what you have in mind.’ I took the seat at the vanity.

‘Close your eyes,’ she said. I did as she requested. She took my silver brush and ran it through my hair in sweeping strokes that lulled me. She parted my hair and started curling and pinning, weaving my hair into loops and curls with the expertise of a professional.

‘Okay, I’m finished.’

She handed me a small mirror. I surveyed my hair from the back. Helen had woven my hair into an updo, similar to the style worn by movie stars.

‘I can’t believe it,’ I said.

‘You look lovely.’ She beamed at me, her cheeks aglow.

‘You should be a professional, Helen,’ I said.

‘No, ma’am. I’m going to be a teacher. But you have such thick hair, it is easy to do up like that.’

I tested it, just to make sure that nothing would fall down during the course of the evening. ‘Don’t you worry about that, miss,’ Helen said. ‘It’s pinned fast, of that I can assure you.’ I dismissed Helen, as she was needed in the kitchen. The sun started to set, so I opened the French doors and ventured onto the veranda, where I had a clear view of the sloping back lawn, followed by miles of the golden grass indigenous to California. In the distance, the stable gleamed white as the horses grazed in the diminishing sunlight. It was still warm out, and the grass smelled sweet. At home in Sausalito the fog would be rolling in. Zeke came out of the bath, damp tendrils of hair curling around his face, and found me sitting at the vanity fidgeting with my pearl necklace.

‘You’ll break that string of pearls if you keep on like that.’ He stood behind me. Our eyes met in the mirror. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from my father. If you can survive this, you can survive anything.’

‘Surely he can’t be that bad,’ I said.

‘We shall defend ourselves, whatever the cost may be.’

And so we headed down to dinner to face Zeke’s father, while Zeke quoted Winston Churchill.

My husband’s tension level increased with each step, so by the time we reached the sitting room where everyone had gathered, he was coiled like a panther, ready to spring. The energy flowed off the arm that I held and coursed through me, as we followed the sound of clinking glass and the low murmur of voices. We entered a large room with whitewashed walls, which gave the spacious room a gleaming brightness, accentuated by the large picture window. Through it, the sun set in purple and red streaks. Daphne held a champagne flute while Simon filled it. She gazed at Toby, who was busy with a vast collection of toy soldiers.

‘You look gorgeous,’ Daphne said, smiling as she walked over to me. ‘Pour Sarah champagne, Simon.’ She put her arm around me, as though she wanted to tell me a secret. Zeke went over to Simon and busied himself with his own drink.

‘I see Helen has done your hair.’

‘She also mended my clothes. She is very talented,’ I said.

‘Helen is a marvel,’ Simon said. He handed me a flute full of bubbly liquid, took a sterling silver cigarette case from his pocket, and made a fuss over lighting up. I wanted to step away – I hated cigarette smoke – but was afraid of being rude. He offered the case to me. I shook my head.

‘No, thank you,’ I said. ‘What an interesting lighter.’

‘Thanks. Gift from my father.’ He handed me the sterling lighter, overlaid with white enamel. On the front a tiny fish under the sea had been painted in remarkable detail. ‘It’s my lucky charm.’

‘Then I’d best give it back to you.’ I handed the lighter to him. He tucked it into his pocket, gave me a tight smile, and wandered to the window, where he stood smoking with his back to the room.

‘This room is lovely,’ I said.

Daphne spoke about her interest in design and her efforts to use light to enhance space. I listened, nodding when I should, or saying, ‘Really?’ and, ‘You don’t say,’ when a response was required. We carried on this way until an old woman hobbled into the room.

‘Granna, look at me! I’m big!’ Toby jumped up and flew toward the woman. ‘Mamma said we can eat lots of ice cream and cake.’

Granna wore a floor-length skirt twenty-five years out of style, topped with a silk blouse with an elaborate lace collar, held by a cameo at her throat. Toby skipped around her skirts for a moment before he ran back to Zeke, his eyes riveted on Zeke’s black cane with the silver lion’s head.

‘Do you have a sword in there? Some crime fighters have swords in their canes—’

‘Not so loud, Toby,’ Daphne said. She stood up and went to her son. Soon Daphne, Zeke, and Simon were listening to Toby’s tales of heroes with canes.

‘That’s my fault.’ The old woman stood next to me now. ‘I’m afraid I let him listen to anything on the radio that he wants, and, well, boys will be boys. Let’s sit, shall we?’

We took the two chairs tucked into the far corner, just out of earshot.

Granna said, ‘My son – Zeke’s father – is a bully and a fool, and I just want to warn you not to expect too much from him. We are glad to have you here, my dear. It is time that Zeke came home. I’m sure that you’ll want to stay on permanently after you’ve had a chance to get the lay of the land, so to speak.’

I was about to tell her that we wouldn’t be staying permanently when Mrs Griswold stood in the doorway.

‘Dinner, Mrs Griswold?’ Daphne asked.