The Family Fortune (25 page)

That evening I went to see Isabelle. She had a summer cold and was bundled up in a large chair. She had a box of tissues nestled in her lap. Jimmy was waiting on her, but she kept waving her hand at him and telling him to go out with his friends.

It took both of us to convince him, but finally Jimmy got ready to go.

“I'll be back in an hour,” he said.

Isabelle smiled.

“Fine, fine,” she said. As soon as he was out the door, she said, “He's a good kid, that Jimmy.”

“You've done a good job.”

She shrugged.

“I'm not sure that I had much to do with it. Kids are what they are. I've been lucky.” She paused. “Listen, Jane, I'm glad you came by. I have something I need to tell you.” I waited. “I hear you've been seeing a lot of Guy Callow. There's talk on the island that you're a couple.”

“Who would bother to talk about me?”

“Everyone talks about everyone. That's not the point. Is it true? Are you and Guy a couple? I would have thought you'd say something to me, but you were always pretty closemouthed about that sort of thing.”

“We are not a couple. First, I don't really like him, and second, he used to be Miranda's boyfriend. I've never even slept with him.” I felt a little guilty saying this, since I'd come so close, but the fact was, I hadn't slept with him and had no intention of sleeping with him. In this day and age, how much of a couple could that be?

“You don't like him?” Isabelle looked incredulous.

“Not much.”

“But he likes you.”

“That may be, but if you want to know the truth, he's a thorn in my side. He's always where I don't want him to be. I don't know what he wants from me, but I think whatever it is, he's getting a little desperate. I used to think he was just a benign annoyance, but today he showed up in town and insisted we'd made a plan for lunch when I knew we hadn't, and then, right in front of everyone, he said that I must have been drunk—that's why I didn't remember.”

“Oh God,” Isabelle said. “Thank God you finally told me. It makes this easier. That Guy, that manipulating little prick, is the Guy Callow I know.”

“Why didn't you say anything before?”

“I thought he might have changed, that something good might be happening for you and I didn't want to ruin it.”

Isabelle moved in close to me and peered into my eyes.

“What on earth are you doing?” I asked.

“I'm trying to see if you're telling the truth, if you really have no feelings for Guy.”

I appreciated that she was trying to read me, but I'd be grateful if she would keep her cold to herself.

“Why would I lie? I never lie.”

“That's true, you never do—not about the important things.”

That was true. I didn't lie about the important things, but I had told Winnie that her painted pottery was beautiful.

“Anyway, where are you getting all this information?” I asked.

“From the girl who works for the Buffingtons.”

“I still don't see why anyone would care.”

“You wouldn't.” She sneezed into a tissue. “You're fairly well known on the island. Not just because your family has had a house here for so long. People like you, Jane. They know you from the
Review
and you're a bit of a celebrity. You've been single all these years and now this absolutely breathtaking man is hitting on you—people are talking.”

“Whatever,” I said. “It's silly.”

“So you really aren't in love with him?”

“Isabelle, do you want me to write it out in blood?”

“Okay, then this is what I want to tell you: it's about Jimmy's father.” In all these years, she'd never said anything about Jimmy's father, and I was afraid now that she was going to reveal that it was Guy Callow, that he'd been the man who'd impregnated her, then left her with a child to support.

“Guy?” I asked. I must have looked like a wide-eyed caricature of surprise, because Isabelle started to laugh almost uncontrollably. When she caught her breath, she continued. “No, of course not. Jimmy's father is named John Boyd. Guy was his best friend. We spent a lot of time together, the three of us. John and I were in love—you know, the way you are with first love—nothing else matters. This was just after Guy and
your sister, but before the supermodel. When I got pregnant with Jimmy, John asked me to marry him. John came from an old Virginia family. His father was in politics and John was slated for politics too.

“John's parents, with the help of Guy, talked John into walking away from the ‘whole mess.' John's parents paid Guy to talk John out of marrying me. That was the money Guy used to go to Europe. They said that marrying me would ruin John's life—and it might have—the life they'd planned for him.”

“How did you find out about this?” I asked.

“From John—years later. He'd gotten sober and was doing something called ‘amends.' He was going around to all the people he had harmed and apologizing. He came to the island and cut a substantial check for back child support. I had never taken him to court. I couldn't. I was so ashamed. Not because I got pregnant, but because he didn't love me, not the way I loved him.”

Isabelle sat back and blew her nose.

“Why didn't you ever tell me?” I asked.

“Aren't there important things you haven't told me? We're both the type of people who tell things when we're ready, when we think it's time. Maybe that's why we get on so well.”

“Where's John now?” I asked.

“He's a state senator in Virginia. Married with two kids. And this is the part I have to tell you so you'll know exactly what kind of man Guy Callow is. Every time Guy needed money—before he ran into Ooh-Lala—he tapped John. It was an insidious sort of thing. He'd ask John for a loan, knowing that he couldn't refuse. There was always an implied threat that Guy would tell his secret. John told me this—almost in passing. It was so long ago, and after Ooh-Lala, Guy didn't need him anymore.”

“What do you think Guy wants with us?” I asked. I could hardly breathe.

“From what I hear, he is really crazy about you, Jane.”

“That's ridiculous. Does he know about our ‘reduced circumstances'?” I asked.

“Honey, the Fortunes in reduced circumstances live better than ninety-nine percent of the population—but that's not it. He has money. He's not interested in your money.”

“Then what?”

“He's written a novel.”

“What?” I was having trouble taking this in. Wasn't this the man who said that writing was dead or soon would be? Maybe his novel would be the thing that would ultimately kill it.

“He has money, but what he doesn't have is fame. Guy Callow, even when we were in our twenties, always wanted a fast and famous sort of life.”

“Why has he been hanging around me, then?” I asked.

“You don't get it, Jane, do you? You never have. If you were to put your stamp of approval on his novel, you could get it published. You could take him from obscurity into the limelight.”

“I doubt that very much,” I said.

“You could,” she insisted.

“Not if the novel isn't any good,” I said.

“Even if it's marginal, you could. And if he were married to you, the door to that world would be open to him, and that's what he wants.”

“I don't even live in that literary world,” I said.

“But you could. All you'd have to do is accept a few more invitations.”

I smiled. “Well, you and Guy have thought it out much more completely than I ever could.”

I remembered, in Vermont, thinking that if Lindsay married Max, she could walk into his world. It had never occurred to me that someone would want to walk into mine.

The evening was chilly.

“You warm enough?” I asked Isabelle.

“I'm okay. You?”

“I'll be fine,” I said. Despite Isabelle's cold and her rumpled tissues, I sat on the arm of her chair. “Thanks for this.”

“You're very welcome.” She paused and looked toward the window. “God, Jane, I'd better go to bed. I feel like shit.”

“I'll take you up.”

“I can manage on my own.”

“But the thing is,” I said, “you don't have to.”

Midmorning the next day, I picked up Priscilla at the ferry. Though Priscilla didn't have a summer house of her own, she made liberal use of those of her friends. She was coming to stay for a few days and I was giving her my room and taking the small one under the eaves. Priscilla brought three suitcases and a carpetbag for her knitting. It was a lot of luggage for a short visit.

Priscilla and I came up the front walk lugging her well-worn but elegant suitcases. The rest of the family must have been able to see us from the sunroom, but only Teddy got up to greet Pris and help us.

“Welcome,” he said. “You've come just in time. Miranda's having a party.”

“Lovely,” Priscilla said. She dropped her bags on the front walk and started toward the house.

“On Saturday,” I said. I picked up two of her suitcases and followed her in. Teddy took the other one.

“How long does the woman think she's staying?” Teddy said to me in a low voice. “She's got enough luggage for weeks.”

We followed Priscilla toward the house. She walked into the sunroom and looked around.

“I hear you're having a party, dear,” Priscilla said to Miranda.

“Just a small party,” Miranda said in her nasal mock-English accent.

“Hello, Priscilla,” Dolores said from her chair in the corner. Priscilla wouldn't expect Dolores to call her by her first name unless she had specifically given her permission to do so, which I'm sure she never did.

“Hello, Dolores. You're still here, I see,” Priscilla said.

“The Fortunes have been so wonderful to me. We've become just like family.” Dolores reached over and poured a cup of coffee for Priscilla from a tray that was perched on an ottoman.

Miranda eyed Dolores. Miranda would think it presumptuous for Dolores to proclaim herself one of the family.

“You must want coffee, Priscilla,” Dolores said.

“Thank you, dear.” A simple “Thank you, dear” from Priscilla could hold a wealth of kindness or be the coldest, most patronizing words ever heard. This particular “Thank you, dear” could have frozen lava.

Guy came over with a bunch of daisies for Priscilla. He didn't knock. He was becoming too familiar for that. He opened the screen door and called into the house to warn us he was there.

“I heard you were coming,” he said, handing the flowers to Priscilla. “I don't know if you remember me. I'm Guy Callow.”

“I remember you,” Pris said in an unpleasant tone.

Guy sat with us for over an hour, which was not at all unusual. What was strange was how easily he was able to charm Priscilla in that time.

After he left, Miranda said, “He comes around so often. As far as I'm concerned, it's over. I don't mind him coming around, but he should know he has no chance with me.”

Priscilla looked at Miranda, then back at me. I shrugged.

“Well, Miranda, would you like me to tell him how you feel?” Pris asked. “So he'll know. You wouldn't want to hurt his feelings.”

“His feelings?” Miranda laughed. “That man doesn't have feelings to hurt. Never did.”

Dolores looked up.

“I don't think you're being fair to him,” Dolores said.

“Dolores always sees the best in people,” Teddy said.

“Oh, please. I've had enough of this Saint Dolores business, Daddy,” Miranda said.

Dolores looked down, hunched her shoulders, and for a minute I thought she might cry. Teddy walked over to her and took her hand.

“Come on, Dolores. Why don't you and I go for our walk.”

She smiled and followed him out of the house.

“Well, that worked beautifully, Miranda,” Priscilla said. “Why not just ask her to leave if that's what you want?”

“I don't know what you mean.”

Priscilla pulled out her knitting. She was working with ribbon and mohair and her fingers moved with great agility as she twisted and turned her needles.

“Emma and I are making this same scarf, only in different colors,” she said to me.

“Who's Emma?” Miranda asked.

 

The next morning I got up early and sneaked out of the house before anyone else was up. Guy had taken to coming earlier and earlier, and if I wanted to avoid him, I had to be out with the sun. I put together my bag with my hat, sunscreen, book, journal, and towel. The morning was cool and dewy, but it would warm up. I walked to my secret and favorite spot
near the ocean, a small gathering of rocks that served as both backrest and windscreen.

I knew I shouldn't have left Priscilla alone on her first day on the island, but she was the whole family's friend, not just mine, and they could entertain her for one day. I left a short note saying that I'd gone to the beach and would be back in the afternoon.

The beach was deserted that early in the morning. I settled into my little cove and looked out at the ocean. I took out some pages Jack Reilly had sent me. The work he was producing was good and he liked to get my editorial input even if he rarely took my advice. It wasn't the same relationship I'd had with Max, of course, but it was a good working relationship and I was satisfied with that. Allowing Jack to move into the cottage in Hull had been the right decision.

When I finished the pages, I took out Max's book and began to read. Though it was not my favorite of Max's books, it was still engaging. I read until the sun moved higher into the sky and the heat of the morning made me drowsy. Eventually I nodded off and the book must have fallen from my hands.

I felt a shadow fall across me. I was afraid it was Guy, so I didn't open my eyes. It would be just like him to track me down when I wanted privacy.

“Jane?”

It was Max's voice. I blinked my eyes open. Max picked up his book from where it lay in the sand and brushed it off. “Hasn't anyone told you not to leave books lying around in the sun?” He smiled and sat down beside me.

“How'd you find me?” I asked.

“I went to your house and they said you were at the beach. I've been looking for you for the better part of an hour. Miranda gave me an invitation to your party tomorrow night.”

“It's her party,” I said, “not mine. I think my sister has a crush on you.”

He smiled. “She's out of luck,” he said.

“Why is that?” I asked.

He looked out toward the horizon.

“I have to ask you a question.” He dug his hand in the sand.

“Go ahead.”

“Are you in love with Guy Callow?”

I turned toward him.

“Is that what you think?”

“I wouldn't have asked if I didn't think it could be true.” He was very serious. He twisted his fingers in the sand.

“No. I am not in love, nor have I ever been in love, with Guy Callow,” I said. “I don't even like him.”

Max stopped twisting his fingers. He looked at me.

“I have some things to explain,” he said. I waited. I realized I was wearing a two-piece bathing suit and moved to cover myself with a towel. “You don't have to do that.”

I crossed my arms over my stomach. “I wasn't expecting company.”

“I want to ask you another question,” Max said.

“Go right ahead.”

“Before, when we were together, if I hadn't run off after I got your note, if I had tried to change your mind, do you think you would have come with me to California?”

“That's an easy one,” I said. “I knew I had made a mistake almost before I made it, if that's possible. I was afraid. I was stupid. When I look at Nora, how she believed in Duke, how she stood by him all those years, when I compare myself with her, it makes me sick.”

He took my hand, which required that I uncross my arms. I felt exposed. A shiver slid along my legs and up my thighs. It was nothing like the housefly buzz of titillation given off by Guy Callow. This was a different feeling entirely.

“I should have come back for you,” Max said.

“I could have come after you,” I said.

“When I first saw you after all those years, I was still angry. I hardly knew it, but it was like a stone in my stomach. I was willing to do almost anything to get away from the feelings I had about you.”

“Lindsay?”

“I don't even know what I was thinking. By the time we were in Vermont, I had decided I didn't even really like her, let alone love her, but I had led her on and the Maples are such good people. I don't know why I told you I was thinking of marrying her. I guess I wanted to hurt you. Then there was the accident. If Basil hadn't come into the picture and Lindsay had wanted to marry me, I probably would have married her for a whole lot of reasons, none of them having anything to do with love.”

“You would have been very unhappy.”

“I know.”

“Tell me about the girl on the phone that night,” I said.

“I dated her twice. I met her at a signing and she turned into an obsessed fan. I know. Sounds silly. An obsessed fan.”

“Did you sleep with her?” He blushed and looked into the sand. I nodded. “You slept with everyone,” I said. He bit his lip.

“I wasn't as bad as my press, but I was pretty bad.”

“I always felt a little sorry for Glenn Close in
Fatal Attraction,
” I said. Max laughed and kissed me on the lips. His mouth tasted of Listerine and apples. I pulled away. “I was afraid you had become the type of man I wouldn't like.”

“Have I?”

“I don't know. It doesn't matter. Some feelings are so tied up in who you are, you can't get rid of them, even when you know you should.”

“If I have turned into the kind of man you wouldn't like, I'll change,” Max said.

Even though I'd felt a shift in Max since he'd come to the island, I never expected this. It was all so romantic and my life was not romantic; it was pedestrian, even mundane. But here he was. And here I was.

And he was kissing me and kissing me again and it was the same kiss from when I was twenty-three and the years peeled away and the two of us were on the beach in Hull and we were young and nothing had happened to us yet.

“How long have you known?” I asked, pulling away.

“I knew in Vermont. That night at the hospital. You were the only one who made sense. You were the same Jane Fortune I had always known, the one I fell in love with. It was as if no time had passed. I came here looking for you.”

“No, you came here for a book signing.”

“It was just an excuse. I scheduled it myself. They were happy enough to have me. Then I saw you and it looked like you were with Guy.”

“I wasn't,” I said.

“Anyway, Guy or no Guy, I decided I had to risk it. This time I don't want to screw it up with half measures. I don't want there to be any confusion. This time we're older and I want the whole thing. I want you to marry me.”

“I can do that,” I said.

If possible, I was happier at that moment than I had been fifteen years ago. There was no ambivalence. Not for an instant did I think I might be doing the wrong thing. There is great comfort in being sure of something. And I was sure of Max.