I've Got You Under My Skin

73

George Curtis arrived at the Powell mansion at three-thirty. He had been asked to wear the same kind of evening attire he had worn at the Gala. He had a virtual replica of it in his closet. Because it was so warm, he carried his white dinner jacket, shirt, and bow tie on a plastic-covered hanger.

Before going to the club to play bridge with her friends, Isabelle had given him a cautionary note. “Just remember, you think you kept your little romance pretty quiet, but if I was suspicious, don’t you think anyone else was? Maybe even Rob Powell? Just be careful and don’t fall into a trap. You had the strongest motive of anyone to have Betsy dead.” Then, with a kiss and a wave of her hand, she stepped into her convertible.

“Isabelle, I swear to you-” he had begun.

“I know you do,” she said. “But remember, you don’t have to convince me, and I don’t care if you did it anyway. Just don’t let yourself get caught.”

The temperature had dropped a little, but it was still very hot. George parked his car in the front driveway, picked up the clothes hanger, and walked around to the back of the house. A flurry of activity greeted him. The production crew had their cameras aimed at designated spots on the grounds. He guessed that was where the graduates would be standing while he talked in the foreground with Alex Buckley. He had been told that the background would be a rolling shot of scenes from the Gala.

Laurie Moran approached as soon as she spotted him. “Thank you so much for agreeing to do this, Mr. Curtis. We’ll try not to keep you too long. Why don’t you wait inside with the others? It’s too hot out here.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” he agreed. He crossed the patio with reluctant steps and went into the house. The four graduates were in the main dining room, dressed in the gowns that he recognized were replicas of the ones they had worn that night. Even with the skillfully applied makeup they were wearing, the tension in their faces was unmistakable.

He did not have long to wait. Laurie’s assistant Grace came in to take the graduates outside. When she came back for him, he saw that they were all in place, standing like statues against what he knew would be the background of films of the Gala. He wondered what they were thinking. He wondered if every one of them didn’t feel as he had that night. I was terrified that Betsy had the power to ruin my marriage just as the children Isabelle and I had prayed for were becoming a reality, he thought. Alison had to have been bitter. She had lost out on her scholarship because of the donation Rob had made to her college. Occasionally I would pick up something in the grocery store where her father worked, and he would always brag about how hard Alison was studying…

There’s no one in town who didn’t hear Muriel tell the story of how Betsy stole Rob from her, and the fact that it was all because of Nina. And from what I hear, Claire had desperately wanted to board at Vassar, but neither Betsy nor Rob would hear of it. “A waste of money when she has such a beautiful home,” as Betsy put it. And Regina’s father committed suicide because of his investment in Rob’s hedge fund.

Who among those girls, amid all the extravagant display, could have avoided feeling bitterness that night? And from the next day on, for twenty years, they had lived under a cloud of suspicion.

George Curtis felt a deep sense of shame. I did come back here the night of the Gala, he remembered. It was about 4 A.M. I stood here on this spot. I knew where Betsy’s bedroom was. I was crazed with fear that Isabelle would divorce me if Betsy ever told her about us. But then I could see the reflection of someone moving in Betsy’s room. There was a light in the hallway, and when the door opened I was almost sure I could tell who it was.

I still think I know who it was. I know who it was. When Betsy’s body was discovered I wanted to tell, but how could I explain why I was here at that time? I couldn’t. But if I had admitted to what I saw, everyone else who has been under suspicion wouldn’t have been going through this hell for twenty years. He felt the guilt wash over him.

Alex Buckley was walking to him. “Ready to go down memory lane, Mr. Curtis?” he asked cheerfully.