Authors: Tom Dolby
The Trust (11 page)
L
ater that evening Patch lay next to Lia on the king-size bed in their guest suite. Aside from their coffee at the Pink Pony, they had barely even had a real date, and now he was in this incredibly romantic situation. They kissed for a few minutes before she broke the mood by asking the question he had been dreading.
“Patch, you’ve got to tell me, what’s going on here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, let’s see: The five of you all seem to speak in your own language, or at least you have your own vocabulary. You all have ankh tattoos on the back of your necks—at least, I’m pretty sure you all do, though I couldn’t see Nick’s too clearly in the pool. You’re obsessed with keys and strange board games. Nick is leading you on some kind of quest, but he doesn’t seem to know what the final goal is. What’s it all about?”
“It’s nothing. It’s . . .”
“Patch, don’t mess with me.” Her eyes shone fiercely, and he realized he would have to tell her if he wanted the relationship to have any chance of working.
“We’re not supposed to tell anyone. That’s what they told us.”
“Who’s they? The boogeymen under the bed?”
Patch sighed and started speaking slowly. “The leadership of the group that we’re in . . . it’s sort of like a club. We’re really not allowed to talk about it. I don’t know. I guess we’re sort of far away. Maybe the rules don’t apply once we leave the city.”
He knew that wasn’t true. He knew that by telling Lia, he would be breaking the second rule on the scroll that had been handed to him on Isis Island: “
You will not speak to Outsiders about the Society, not to family nor to friends.”
Screw that. Until recently, Patch was an Outsider himself. And he still felt like he wasn’t truly a member, not a full-fledged one like the others in his class.
He started explaining to Lia how he had gotten involved in it all, about the Night of Rebirth, about the footage he had taken, about how he had been threatened and kidnapped after infiltrating the island. About how he had joined the very group that his grandmother had warned him about, which had left her none too pleased.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “This is all so heavy. You don’t need to hear this—the weekend was supposed to be fun, right?”
“I just don’t believe—I mean, this stuff is really incredible. Secret initiations? Threats? Sneaking your way onto an island?”
Patch grinned shyly. “I know, crazy, right?”
“I’m actually sort of . . . well, I’m sort of impressed. I didn’t think you had this kind of thing in you.”
“Hey, it’s not all fancy private school stuff,” Patch said. “So does all this seem incredibly strange to you? You seem worried about something.”
“No.” She shook her head.
“Let me guess: You want nothing to do with any of it, including me.” He knew he was being melodramatic, but he figured he should put his worst fears out there in the open.
“No, not at all,” she said. “If you’re in this, I want to be right there with you.”
S
weetie, is that you?”
Phoebe had arrived back from Palm Beach after being dropped off at her house by Nick. She heard her mom’s voice in the living room, so she popped her head in from the hallway. There was a fire going, and Maia and Daniel were drinking wine.
“I’m so glad you’re back. How was the weekend? It was so nice of Nick to take you all to his grandfather’s house.” Phoebe had been able to tell her mother the truth about where she was going for the weekend, explaining that yes, Mr. Bell’s caretaker would be on the premises at all times in case they got into trouble.
Phoebe could have sworn that she saw Daniel perk up at the mention of Palmer Bell’s house. Maybe it was some kind of Society privilege to spend time at the house of the Chairman Emeritus.
“Um, it was really pretty there. Warm.” She found herself fidgeting in the hallway, wishing her mom would let her go upstairs.
“We should get away more,” Maia said, looking in Daniel’s direction. “I guess work has sort of been preventing that.” Maia had been printing photographs all the time for a new show she had coming up.
“We certainly can, if you want.” Daniel smiled.
“Honey, we have a little something to share with you.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ll be seeing a lot more of Daniel from now on.”
Phoebe looked at her mom, confused. “Why?”
“Honey, he’s moving in with us! Isn’t that great?”
Phoebe stopped. After only a few months of dating? It seemed so fast. She didn’t know what to think—she would now be living with a member of the Society under her own roof. It felt so odd, particularly since Daniel had only once made reference to actually being part of it. Aside from the conversation they had had a few weeks ago, he had never really been candid with Phoebe about the Society and his role in it.
“Don’t you have anything to say?” Maia asked. “It’s wonderful news. Tatiana has renewed her teaching contract in Paris, and the town house will be ours for another year.” Officially, the reason they were living in such a posh house while paying only a pittance was that they were house-sitting for Tatiana, a wealthy sculptor friend of Phoebe’s mom.
“Um, sure.” Phoebe forced a smile. “That’s great. I’m so happy for you both. I’d better get upstairs, and you know . . . schoolwork.”
Maia and Daniel both nodded as Phoebe ducked into the hallway and went upstairs to her room. She heard them behind her, talking in hushed tones about teenage moodiness. Phoebe so desperately wanted to tell her mother everything she knew, but now with Daniel in the house and his direct ties to the Society, that would be impossible.
The following day, after school, Phoebe decided to take a route home that involved her walking past Nick and Patch’s building. She didn’t know if either of them were home, but she wanted to visit someone else.
“Will you ring Genie, um, I mean, Mrs. Madison, please?” she asked the doorman. Thankfully, he recognized her by now.
“Would you like me to tell Master Bell that you were here?” the doorman asked.
“No, just Mrs. Madison, that’s all.”
The doorman introduced Phoebe over the intercom and told her to go on up. Phoebe had to remind herself to stop at Patch’s floor and not go all the way up to Nick’s apartment. When Phoebe reached Patch’s apartment, she was comforted by its sense of warmth, by the cracked and worn marble tiles in the entryway, scuffed with years of use.
Genie had already opened the door for her. “Phoebe, dear, what a nice surprise! I had no idea you were coming over. Is Patch expecting you?”
“No, it’s actually you that I wanted to talk with,” Phoebe said. “I hope you don’t mind my dropping by like this.”
“Not at all. Let me go make some tea.”
Genie busied herself with the teakettle while Phoebe stood awkwardly at the entrance to the little galley kitchen.
“I wanted to talk to you about the Society,” Phoebe said. “That’s probably no surprise. I feel like I’m stuck in the middle of all of it. Not only in the Society itself, but stuck with Nick. I love Nick—please don’t tell him that—but I just . . . well, it’s just hard, everything with his family. And then getting to know Patch has been great, too, but there are so many things that we don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m babbling. I just thought you might be able to give me some advice.”
“Come into the living room,” Genie said. “We should just let this tea steep for a few minutes.”
“Thank you.” Phoebe followed her.
Genie sat down on one of the two living room couches. “My advice to you and also to Patch is to stay away from it all. Nothing good can come from being involved with the Society.”
Phoebe sighed. “It’s too late for that, I’m afraid. It was supposed to make our lives better, and instead it’s made them worse. I was so ambitious last semester, while this semester I’ve done nothing.”
“Now, Phoebe, come on. That’s not the Society. That’s all you. Patch is the same way, going on about his television show. You can do whatever you want to do. You don’t need the Society to get you there.”
Phoebe nodded. “I know. But we’re trapped in it now. All I want is to get out, to get away from all the craziness.”
“I don’t know how you can get out. I know that others have tried, and failed.”
“Others? Like who?”
“Why don’t you go get that teapot and I’ll tell you.”
Phoebe walked to the kitchen. She wanted to find out as much as she could, but she wondered how much she could ask before Genie got too suspicious.
“My daughter was in your same position,” Genie said as Phoebe poured two cups of tea in the living room. “She thought that being in the Society would make her life wonderful. And it was, for a time. She met her husband, she had a child. And then there was a disagreement.”
“A disagreement with whom?”
“Let’s just say that she upset some people with her words. She upset the people in charge. And then she had her psychotic break.”
Phoebe thought back to her experience with Dr. Meckling, how quickly he had labeled her as delusional.
“And that was when she was hospitalized?” Phoebe asked. She knew about the story from Nick.
“That’s right. Patch doesn’t know all the details, and I’d rather not get into them now. All I am saying is that you have to be cautious. Patch is looking for information about his mother, but I’m not certain he’s ready to know everything.”
“What about the Bells?” Phoebe asked. “I’m trying to understand—forgive me if I’m being nosy, but there’s a connection somehow between you and Patch and them. I mean, beyond your engagement to Palmer Bell.” She knew she was taking a risk, and she wasn’t even sure if what she was saying was true, but there were too many connections for it to be a coincidence: Genie being in the same building as the Bells, years after her broken engagement with Palmer; Patch and Nick’s friendship; Genie’s knowledge of the Society; the bottle of tuberose perfume in Genie’s medicine cabinet that smelled exactly like the scent used in the initiation ceremony.
“Our families have always been close,” Genie said a bit stiffly. “Not so much in recent years, aside from Patch and Nick’s friendship.” She took a sip of tea. “I’m not really sure what else you want to know.”
Phoebe sensed a defensiveness in her voice and realized that to push the issue would seem rude. She and the others needed to keep Genie on their side, and she didn’t want to alienate her.
“I’m sorry,” Phoebe said. “I’ve been so intrusive—it really isn’t polite.”
“Not to worry, dear. It was kind of you to visit. And yes, if you’re wondering, I would have asked exactly the same questions myself when I was your age.”
A
week later, Claire Chilton announced the first meeting of the Dendur Ball Junior Committee at the Colonial Club. Lauren and Phoebe attended begrudgingly, knowing that they didn’t have a choice.
Phoebe and Lauren arrived just as the meeting was starting. Nick, Patch, and Thad were already there, listening dutifully to Claire Chilton. What a charade this all had become, Lauren thought. Who ever thought that one’s greatest role in life would be playing oneself?
After the meeting, which had mostly been a pep rally urging everyone to get their friends to buy the $250 tickets to the ball, Mrs. Chilton approached Lauren, with Claire behind her. Letty Chilton had been supervising the meeting from the back of the room, as if she didn’t trust her daughter to do something properly on her own. Lauren and Phoebe were standing next to each other; the boys had disappeared somewhere else, into the vast maze of rooms that was the club.
“Lauren, dear, I’ve just had the most marvelous idea suggested to me,” Mrs. Chilton said.
“Yeah?” Lauren cocked her head. She realized she was being a bit rude, but Mrs. Chilton didn’t seem to notice.
“I’m very interested in your little jewelry company.”
“Thanks,” Lauren said.
“And you specialize in reproductions?”
Lauren bristled. She did not do reproductions. To suggest it was an insult.
Lauren smiled as sweetly as she possibly could, given that she wanted to walk away. “They’re not reproductions. They’re my own designs, and reinterpretations of classic jewelry.” She paused. “Really old stuff. The kind of thing you might have worn while growing up.”
Now it was Mrs. Chilton’s turn to pay Lauren no mind. “We have had the most brilliant idea. You are familiar with the Scarab of Isis necklace?”
Lauren nodded. “I think I’ve seen pictures of it.” The piece was a scarab, a winged beetle that was a popular amulet in ancient Egypt. The original was gold, inlaid with stones that were burgundy, navy blue, and turquoise. The gorgeous beetle was about the size of a silver dollar and hung on a gold chain.
“It’s coming to the Met again from Cairo, on loan for the new exhibit. We were thinking that the museum could give you the dimensions of it and the names of the original materials. We’d like you to make copies of it for all the members of the Junior Committee, using less expensive materials, of course. Won’t it be darling when all the girls are photographed wearing such a stunning piece?”
“Absolutely,” Claire said, nodding.
“Mrs. Chilton, I really don’t make copies,” Lauren said. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” That wasn’t true at all, of course. It would be easy to make a copy. All Lauren would have to do is hand the specifications to her manufacturer in Red Hook, the one Sebastian Giroux had connected her with.
“Lauren, dear, I know you can make it happen. I’ll have the marketing department at the museum contact you tomorrow with all the details. Oh, and say hello to your mother for me, will you? I’m going to call her next week, as a few of our rooms need a face-lift, and I think she’d be perfect for the job.”
Claire gave Lauren a sneer as she walked away.
“I guess you’ve got yourself a jewelry job,” Phoebe said.
Lauren scowled. “Isn’t it ironic? You get the thing that you want all your life—or at least, for most of your life—and then you don’t want it anymore.”
“Tell me about it,” Phoebe said. Lauren understood that Phoebe knew exactly how it was, having gone through a similar experience with her gallery show last November. A number of the paintings had disappeared, and Phoebe was never paid for them.
“Reproductions of jewelry,” Lauren said. “What does she think I am, a supplier to the museum gift shop or something? So tacky!”
“Think of it as charity work,” Phoebe said.
“I guess so.” Lauren lowered her voice. “What I really want to know is, when are you and Nick going to figure out what the next step is in his grandfather’s little treasure hunt? If that’s what it is.”
Phoebe shook her head. “We’ve been so busy with school, we haven’t really had a chance to come up with a plan.”
Lauren had a pleading look in her eyes. “Whatever you do, please come up with it quickly, okay?”
“We will,” Phoebe said. “We’ll do our best.”