The Tell-Tale Horse

CHAPTER 23

Sunday, the traditional day of worship, brings families together. Sunday, March 2, brought some together and rent others asunder.

High Vajay found himself the main suspect in the death of both Lady Godivas. Uncomfortable as this was, Mandy’s wrath proved more unsettling.

As they were Hindu, not Christian, they did not attend church service. Mandy asked Sybil Fawkes if she would take the boys for the day since she and High had issues to discuss. They’d kept a lid on it until they could have a day together. Neither one wanted to get into an argument when the boys were in bed and awaken and frighten them. Sybil’s two sons and the Vajays’ two sons had become friends, and Sybil readily agreed.

So at nine in the morning, across a highly polished kitchen table, husband and wife had already been going at it hammer and tongs for forty minutes. Mostly it was High being hammered. When you’re the anvil, have the sense to keep still. He did.

“So?” Mandy’s eyebrows were raised, her face perfect even in anger.

“What more can I say? I was wrong. I was foolish. I risked everything for momentary pleasure.”

Even at home, Mandy was dressed exquisitely, this morning in a cream-colored silk shirt, camel-colored pleated skirt, and low-heel Gucci boots. Mandy was five feet eight inches in her bare feet. She listened impassively, her anger spent.

High kept going. “I didn’t call her to come to Warrenton. I swear to you, I did not.”

“Then why was she there? You renewed the affair.”

He leaned forward on his elbows, misery etching every feature on his handsome face. “I did. I went back up to Washington. You remember, Tim Pasternak called me up.”

Tim Pasternak ran the small office in Washington, D.C., more as a presence than a power. Craig and Abrams occasionally needed the cooperation of the government. The U.S. headquarters was in New York City.

“I remember. Three months ago.”

“It was one night, Mandy, that’s all.”

“It was one night that fired up the affair. You didn’t stop at one night. Don’t play me for a fool, Lakshmi, or I will take you for everything you’ve got. We’re in America now, remember?”

A flash of pride almost made him say, Take it all. I can make it all over again. Instead, he wisely pushed down his ego and demurred. “The affair was more over the phone and the computer. I only saw her one other time, and we didn’t go to bed.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s true. If you don’t believe it there’s nothing I can do.” He was resigned now.

She got up from the table, folded her arms across her chest, and paced the large kitchen. “How about the children? Did you not think of the children?”

“Madhur, men don’t think of things like that when lust blinds them. To our shame. To my shame. For me the affair was like a good round of golf. Fun and relaxing, not central to life. Men do this. It doesn’t mean that much. But it means much to women and there’s no denying that we know that. We hope not to get caught. And when we do, we realize how bloody goddamned selfish we’ve been. I will do anything to win you back. Anything.”

She walked to the window and looked east as light flooded the immaculate brick buildings, painted white, that constituted the stable, the cow barns, the huge garden shed with greenhouse, all restored to perfection during their ownership. “All right then, Lakshmi, you have your chance. I have never meddled in your business; that isn’t my sphere. But I know when you’re building something, you’re tense, excited. What are you doing?”

He looked up at her, his dark brown eyes troubled, but he answered. “Trying to drive up Craig and Abrams stock. If I’m successful, our investment will spiral to the heavens.”

“And exactly what are you trying to do, apart from sleeping with a young woman now murdered?”

He raised his shoulders then dropped them. “I want to destroy or buy out the competition.”

“Cell phones?”

“Well, the technology that connects your phone to your TV, to your landline, to your car, to your iPod, the technology to drive everything from one tiny unit, is not an inch from us. There’s a little work to be done but the real next step is marketing.”

“And Faye Spencer? God, did you sleep with her too?”

“No. Ramsey Merriman was doing that. I know Clayton tried but I don’t think he succeeded.” He went on quickly. “I liked Faye enormously, but I was in enough trouble and she’s not my type. Wasn’t my type.” He closed his eyes. “What a shocking sight. Thank God you were on the plane coming back from Arizona.”

She returned to sit down. “Is what you are doing legal?”

“Yes. Well, a gray zone.”

“Which is?”

“One thing Craig and Abrams is doing, covertly, obviously, is to disrupt other companies’ service. Then offer better contracts and service. It costs Craig and Abrams three hundred and fifty dollars for each new client; that’s one of the reasons we need the year-long contract. But there’s a small company now that provides service to the poor without a contract. And there are other companies undermining what we’ve established in the wireless industry, trying to make what the Americans call an end run around Craig and Abrams. The sheer size of the company is both our strength and our weakness.” He paused. “That’s capitalism.”

“Do you destroy their towers?”

He half smiled. “Nothing that dramatic.”

“What do you do?”

“We can interrupt the wave, literally. Craig and Abrams is light-years ahead in some areas but woefully behind in others. Our research and development department is the best in the world; our marketing is abysmal. That’s one of the reasons I keep getting called back because I have the ability to talk both to the strange gnomes in research and to the marketing men, all of whom dress like bad models from GQ. If I see one more French-blue shirt with a tie the same color I think I’ll rip it off the man’s pencil neck.”

That made her laugh. “Not everyone possesses your incredible sense of style. You know, that was the second thing I noticed about you: Everything you wore fit perfectly. You stood out without being flashy. I don’t like flashy men.”

“What was the first thing you noticed?” He couldn’t help it, his vanity was being massaged.

“Your eyes. What was the first thing you noticed about me?”

“Everything. Hiroshima. Boom!” He threw up his hands.

“Then why other women?”

“One other woman. Mandy, I love you. You are my wife, the mother of my sons. But how do the Americans put it, A stiff dick has no conscience?” He shook his head. “Who could be as beautiful as you? And you are a good woman. But sometimes a man is weak or away from home and lonely.” He shrugged.

“And you don’t think women get lonely?”

A three-car alarm look crossed his face, “Yes. No. What do you mean?”

“Only that women, too, need solace. We’re better at hiding it. Have I cheated on you? No. Rest your pride, for that’s what it is. I have my circle of friends. I think my relationship with my friends is different from yours, but no matter. Back to Craig and Abrams. If what you are doing works, Craig and Abrams will emerge as”—she thought a moment—“the Toyota of wireless, of personal technology.”

“Military hegemony too. Those applications are not known to the public. We will be number one in the world, an Indian company. What’s that other American expression? When the tide’s in, all the boats rise. So it will be for our country.”

“Strange. I have love and pride for my people and for India in general, but I feel more American. Sometimes that bothers me. Am I faithless? Am I so easily won over by their freedoms, many of which are scurrilous or illusory? Or is it their attitude? What my father always says was called can do in his day. But they are like that, you know. Americans think they can do anything so they do. They aren’t chained to fathoms of history as we are. When I’m here I forget about Hindus hating Muslims. I don’t care. I don’t care that I think Mumbai residents combine the worst of Los Angeles and New York. I look out at the Blue Ridge Mountains, much smaller than the mountains of my childhood, and I feel peace. And strange to say, my husband, I feel power.”

“You have always had power, Mandy.”

“Beauty is power, but beauty fades.”

“Not yours.”

“Ha. Mine most of all. When you are called one of the world’s most beautiful women, everyone searches your face for that first wrinkle. Well, I have more than one wrinkle now and some gray to season my hair as well. No, this power is different. This is from within. Beauty is without.”

They sat in silence for a long time.

“I love you,” High said, voice overflowing with emotion. He rose from his seat, walked over to his wife, knelt before her, and wrapped his arms around her knees. “Forgive me. Please forgive me.”

“I do, but I must know: Did you kill Aashi and Faye Spencer?”

He looked into her eyes. “Never. Never would I kill a woman.”

“Do you know who did? It looks bad for you, Lakshmi; you discovered Faye and you are on the list for killing Aashi.”

“I don’t know who did it. I wish I did because I fear him.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s not finished. I feel it.”

“I see.” She stood up, pulling him up with her, and hugged him, then kissed him passionately on the lips. “I love you too. That’s why it hurts. But I must protect myself and my children. If you want me in your life as your partner, you must go to McGuire and Woods”—she named a prestigious Virginia law firm—“and assign half of your assets to me now. For one thing, should you predecease me, that will cut down the inheritance tax, and for another, if you do this again, I walk away a rich woman and a free woman.”

He didn’t flinch. “It will be done.”

“And Charing Cross Farm. I can never leave here. I have found my heart’s home.”

“That too.”

“If, for some reason, you awaken tomorrow morning and wish to run heel”—she used the foxhunting term whereby hounds become confused and run backward on a fox’s line—“I will reveal what you are doing.”

At that moment, although he had been married to her for all these years, he truly appreciated the depths of her intelligence, exploding within him like a depth charge. He needed her on his side as much as he loved her. “I will not run heel. I will do as you ask. But I too have a request.”

“What?”

“Please don’t ever tell our sons what a fool their father is.”

“I will not, but who is to say as they grow older they won’t find out? The first Lady Godiva’s life can’t remain a secret forever.”

“My second request. Let us not speak of her between us.”

“Lakshmi, I can’t promise that. With Faye’s dreadful murder, the first murder is fresh all over again and the sheriff’s department knows of your involvement. We can’t pretend it never happened.”

“I know that, but don’t throw it in my face.”

“I won’t, but I must ask you particularly, since you think the killer will strike again, do you know who else Aashi was sleeping with?”

“No. Why would she tell me?”

“I assume she knew people with whom you do business.”

“She knew Faye and Warp Speed’s work. She knew Ramsey, Clayton, Crawford, and Edward, all because of their investments in Warp Speed but also sometimes, as you know, we’d drive up to Washington together.”

“Faye. Anyone other than Ramsey?”

“I don’t know. I only know about Ramsey because once Ilona, when we were hunting, made a cutting remark about Faye. I’d be hard put to prove it, but it fits if you know both their patterns.”

“Yes, it does. I liked Faye. I liked her tremendously. She never wasted my time with twaddle. When I would call upon Faye or vice versa, we sank our teeth into interesting subjects. Did you know she was passionate about poetry? Unusual for a science type, I think.”

“No, but I didn’t know Faye as you did.”

“How is Kasmir?”

“Shocked. He’s taking care of her dog and her horse. I told him tomorrow I’d call around to find a farm manager. I don’t even know if Faye had a will or relatives. She rarely spoke of them.”

“She had a brother in Naples, Florida. Just a brother with whom she had a good rapport. Her parents were killed in a car crash on the Florida Turnpike in the late 1990s,” Mandy replied.

“Ah, poor fellow. What terrible news.”

As the Vajays found their way back to each other, the Porters were becoming further estranged.

Felicity’s mother tried every manipulation of which she was capable: grief, guilt, anger, tears, more guilt. Nothing worked.

Her father accepted his daughter’s decision with scant enthusiasm. Perhaps his vanity was tweaked. He hadn’t planned to become a grandfather until his late fifties and here he was just forty-seven, plus he thought Howard Lindquist was a dumb jock.

When her parents finally vacated Custis Hall, Felicity crossed the quad from the administration building back to Old One, the oldest dorm on the campus. She’d call Howard but she needed to collect her thoughts. She had thought her parents really loved her. She was grappling with the dismal reality that they loved her only when she was what they wanted her to be.

Halfway across the quad, bundled up against the cold and the March winds, appearing right on time, trotted Val and Tootie.

When they reached her, Val slipped her arm through Felicity’s right arm and Tootie took the left. No one said anything. Felicity’s tears came not because of her parents but because she realized her friends loved her. Val disagreed with her but she loved her. You can’t pick your family but you can pick your friends.

They gathered in Val’s room, the corner room traditionally given to the president of the senior class.

Val put a kettle on her hot plate. It was illegal to have a hot plate, but most of the girls jimmied up some way to make coffee, tea, and hot chocolate just like they snuck in liquor, pot, and the occasional gram of cocaine, all of which would horrify their parents, who pretty much did the same thing way back when.

“Mrs. Norton was very nice to give us the little conference room. Spared you all from hearing Mom wail down the hall.”

“Bad?” Val pulled out three mugs, proudly displaying how clean they were. “SOS pads.”

“That’s the first time you’ve scrubbed them since you were a freshman.” Tootie couldn’t believe it.

“They were clean. Stain’s not the same as dirt,” Val replied, then turned to Felicity. “Coffee?”

“Yes.”

“Are you tired?” Tootie noticed the dark rings under Felicity’s eyes.

“I never knew how much this stuff—well, it makes you more tired than physical stuff. Mostly I want to sleep for a week. At least I’m rid of them and they aren’t going to pull me out of school. Won’t pay for night school, though. Won’t pay for an apartment or anything like that.” She stopped, chin jutting out. “I don’t want their money. Whoever gives you money owns you.”

“Won’t be easy, Felicity. You’re used to having a lot,” Val said, not in a dismissive manner.

“I don’t even know what I have—I mean, how would I know until I have to do without? I don’t know how to run a house. I’m pretty good with money, but I don’t even own furniture.” She sat on the worn but comfortable reading chair.

“Sister will help.” Tootie listened for the water to boil; she was thirsty. “If she asks hunt club members they’ll find stuff. Your place won’t make House and Garden but, hey, you’ll have a bed to sleep in.”

“I don’t want to bother her. She’s put herself out for me with Garvey Stokes. I can’t ask for more.”

“Felicity, Sister would be upset if you didn’t ask. She knows about these things.” Val agreed with Tootie.

“I’ll think about it.”

Val and Tootie looked at each other, silently agreeing that they’d talk to Sister.

“There are lots of places to rent,” Val said cheerfully.

“Once I’m working full time we can afford something cheap. Howie should make some money at Robb Construction. Remember, we need a car too.”

“Forgot about that.” Val had.

“Val, I know how you feel about me, about Howie. I know you’re furious I’m not going to Princeton, should I get in.”

“We’ll get in,” Val boomed out.

“You will.” Felicity’s eyes misted again. “Thank you for standing by me even though you don’t agree with what I’m doing.”

The water boiled. Val poured hot water onto powdered cocoa, then coffee, and finally another cocoa for herself. “If I can’t change your mind, I might as well help,” she finally responded.

“I mean it. I hope someday I can pay you back.”

“That’s what friends are for.” Val smiled, handing her a cup, a spoon, and powdered milk.

“All for one and one for all.” Tootie smiled.

Felicity, who had had quite enough of talking about her future, changed the subject. “I heard about the hunt. Faye Spencer. Tell me.”

And so the grisly tale was repeated, with Felicity wretched that she’d missed the hunt just so her parents could try to grind her down.

What is it about horror that excites the mind?

Just as Val and Tootie were doing, other Jefferson Hunt members all over the county were recounting the story to their friends.