I 've Heard That Song Before

72

Richard was leaving for London on Sunday night. I scheduled the farewell dinner for Saturday evening, more to honor Peter’s wishes than to honor Richard, but I did go all out preparing for it. I’m a good cook and I worked with Jane to plan some really special dishes: asparagus with warm cheese as an appetizer, Dover sole, a watercress salad with apples, followed by raspberry sorbet and then an assortment of cheeses with a dessert wine.

“We’ll have cocktails in the living room, then after dinner have coffee in Mr. Carrington’s library,” I told Jane.

“I’ll have Gary build a fire in the library,” she promised.

Gary Barr was being uncomfortably solicitous toward me, and I knew that before much longer I was going to give him his walking papers. I was very sorry that it would mean letting Jane go, too, but I knew I had no choice, and I was sure she could see the handwriting on the wall.

I had spoken to Nicholas Greco several times, and he had said that my suspicions were totally correct about the missing dress shirt. He told me that Barr had stolen it from Elaine, and Slater had then found it in the gatehouse, and presumably still had it. He warned me that I was not to say or do anything that would indicate I was aware of the shirt having been recovered.

“But I was the one who put Gary on the phone with Vincent,” I protested. “I set him up for that trip to New York.”

“My guess is that Barr is probably thinking that Slater tricked you for his own purposes,” Greco said. “You must act as if Gary Barr is still your trusted employee, and I would suggest that when you speak with Mr. Slater, you apologize for doubting his word about the shirt. Certainly Gary Barr would not dare to challenge him on the subject.”

Whenever I spoke to Greco on the phone, he continued to warn me: “You must be very careful around both Slater and Barr. We may still find an unholy alliance there. Elaine Carrington is a blackmailer, and her son is always desperate for money. Throw that into the mix and you have a potentially explosive situation.”

I told him that Richard was going to live in London.

“I doubt that distance will solve his problems,” Greco said. “The problem is not in the location; it’s in the man.”

Greco asked if I had brought the page from People magazine to show Peter. I confessed that I had not. “I’m sure he did not see Grace showing her guests that magazine,” I said. “Everyone agrees he went straight upstairs after that scene with her.”

“I understand your wishing not to cause your husband any further distress, but Mrs. Carrington, someone took that magazine that night. I believe it was taken because that person didn’t realize Grace had already torn out the page featuring an article about that actress. It is important. Trust my instincts. It is very important.”

“I will show it to Peter next time I visit him,” I promised. Then I asked Greco if he was making any progress in proving Peter’s innocence. His answer did not encourage me: “I am learning why this tragedy was set in motion,” he said. “Now it is up to me to put the rest of the story together. It’s far too soon and most unfair to offer you unfounded hope.”

I didn’t want double-talk. “Is there any hope that you can find new evidence so that Peter can be acquitted when he comes to trial?”

“There may be hope, Mrs. Carrington,” Greco said. “But until I can offer proof that would stand up in court, it would be impossible to offer you more than just that.”

For now I had to be content with that. The problem was, I was missing Peter so acutely that I needed some kind of reassurance that he would come home, even if it would take a miracle.

Planning the farewell dinner for Richard was a diversion, and as I made my selections in the cheese shop, I forced myself to believe that someday soon I would be buying Peter’s favorite cheese for him.

I spent time that week having Gary Barr move furniture around in the living room. My first impression of that room had been wholly favorable-it was a beautiful room. But I had come to realize it also was a reflection of Elaine’s taste-she had chosen everything in it, and as I got used to being there, I began to feel uncomfortable. Everything seemed too formal, too precise. The room lacked the lived-in feeling necessary to give it comfort and warmth.

I began to exchange the lamps Elaine had chosen with lovely porcelain antique lamps I found on the third floor. According to Jane Barr, Elaine had banished them when she redecorated the mansion. I set framed family pictures on the mantel, and placed photograph albums dating back one hundred years on top of the grand piano.

I once heard a prominent journalist say that in her home, books were the interior decoration. The bookcases by the fireplace in the living room contained expensive but modern tchotchkes. I packed many of them away and replaced them with some of my books which I had shipped to the mansion before the wedding. Peter and I joked that those boxes constituted my dowry. When Elaine came to the house on Saturday, it would be her first visit since I had made my changes. I would be watching for her reaction.

I had told the guests for Richard’s dinner to arrive at seven o’clock. It seemed like years had passed since Peter and I had dinner with these same guests the week after we returned from our honeymoon. I decided to wear the same silk shirt and velvet slacks that I’d worn that night. I could tell I wouldn’t be wearing those slacks again until after the baby was born. Then I let my hair fall loose on my shoulders. I knew I was dressing for my husband, not these people.

I had left that page from People magazine on top of my dresser, hoping that if I kept looking at it I would find the information Greco was sure was there. When I was about to go downstairs, I impulsively picked up that page and took it with me. I placed it on top of Peter’s desk in his library, where it would be easy to see when we were having coffee. I had said I wanted to draw out the real killer-if he or she was in that small group. If there really was significance to that page, then maybe one of them would react to it. Frankly, I thought Greco was putting far too much weight on it.

At precisely seven, the chimes sounded, and the first of my guests arrived.