Tom Hyman (27 page)

The guest list was small—only a dozen—but Dalton had made sure it was high-caliber: none of your boring local WASP gentry, jet-set riffraff, or Wall Street types this time around. Besides Lexy and a male friend, Carlton Fisher, who was curator of antiquities for the Metropolitan Museum of Art, there would be Henry Klein, secretary of state in the last Republican administration, and his wife, Claudette, an imposing social figure who sat on the boards of half a dozen cultural and philanthropic organizations; Charles VanDamme, the president of International Airlines, and his new wife, the famous actress Sylvia Sanders. And of course, Hank and Carol Ajemian. Since the Baroness was coming alone, the table was balanced by inviting an extra single male—the Broadway producer and director Freddy Abbot.

Lexy finally breezed into the room, a full glass of white wine gripped precariously between thumb and forefinger. “Wow!”

That gown!” she exclaimed. “Fantastic.”

“I’m scared to death. What am I going to say to these people?

A secretary of state? A German baroness?”

Lexy handed Anne her wineglass. “Have a taste. Settle your nerves.”

Anne took two deep gulps.

“Hey, take it easy. You don’t want to pass out before the soup course.”

Lexy picked out a small gold necklace from the jewelry case on the dresser and put it around Anne’s neck. “Black and gold.

You’ll look like a goddess. Now, two things: One, don’t worry.

Two, don’t try too hard to be amusing. Just be yourself. The men aren’t going to hear a word you say, anyway. Just smile and ask a lot of intimate questions. Everybody loves intimate questions.”

“I’m depending on you to keep things lively.”

“It won’t be necessary. Tonight’s crowd is strictly A-list.

They’re all super-articulate egomaniacs. You’ll have to shout to make yourself heard over the din. It’ll be the best dinner party you ever had.” Lexy handed Anne a set of her gold earrings.

“Here, put these on. That’s all you need.”

Anne stood in front of the mirror and adjusted the earrings. “I have great news,” she said. “Dalton finally said okay. I’m going to have a real job!”

“You’re joking.”

Anne squeezed Lexy’s hand in glee. “Biotech has a small research facility half an hour away from here. I’ll have my own lab and two assistants! Isn’t that great?”

Lexy laughed. “Sounds like nepotism to me.”

“Some friend you are.”

“I’m happy for you, of course. What’ll you be doing?”

“Tell you more later,” Anne promised. “Go ahead down. I’ve got to go check on Genny.”

Her daughter was in the nursery, eating dinner with Mrs. Callahan and watching a videotape.

“Mommy, you look so pretty!”

Mrs. Callahan murmured her agreement, although Anne thought she seemed a trifle shocked by the gown. Anne gave Genny a quick hug. “The baroness wants to meet you,” she said.

“I’ll come up and get you in about half an hour. Then you let Mrs.

Callahan put you right into bed, okay?”

“What’s a baroness, Mommy?”

“It’s a special name given only to very special ladies. And I want you to be very nice to her.”

“Does she have any name besides baroness?”

“Yes, but you can call her baroness.”

“Miss or Mrs. Baroness?”

Anne and Mrs. Callahan laughed. “Just baroness,” Anne said.

Anne arrived on the ground floor just in time to greet Carol and Hank Ajemian. She gave each of them a hug and hurried them into the library, where Dalton was already engaged in a lively conversation with Carlton Fisher and Freddy Abbot.

Henry and Claudette Klein arrived minutes later, with Charles VanDamme and Sylvia Sanders right behind them.

Lexy’s predictions were exactly right. The guests crowded into the library and within minutes all were talking at once. The mood was relaxed and jovial, almost boisterous—as if they were all old friends who hadn’t seen each other in ages. Anne was showered with compliments and was soon beaming.

Dalton came over. “Everything okay?”

Anne squeezed his hand. “Yes. But where’s the baroness?”

Dalton glanced at his watch. “Good question.”

“She hasn’t called.”

“It’s begun to snow outside,” Dalton said. “Maybe that slowed them down.”

Another halfhour passed . . . still no baroness. The cook was getting anxious, and the guests were beginning to expect dinner.

Anne went upstairs and told Mrs. Callahan to put Genny to bed.

Ten minutes later the baroness arrived, chauffeur and bodyguard in tow.

Dalton did the introductions in the library.

Anne found the woman intimidating. She looked both regal and gorgeous, like a movie star. Her gown was subdued, but it complemented her figure and complexion perfectly. Her makeup was artfully invisible, and every strand of her blond hair rested exactly in place. She acted as if she dressed this way every evening of her life.

The baroness seemed preoccupied. She greeted everyone in the most perfunctory manner and then stood aloof from the others, as if she preferred not to talk with anyone.

The festive mood evaporated. The guests began looking about awkwardly and staring into their drinks. The baroness hardly seemed the shy type, Anne thought. What was her problem?

Lexy came over. “Don’t worry. A temporary lull. A little culture shock. Things’ll improve as soon as we get into dinner.”

Dalton came by. “Remember, the baroness wants to meet Genny.”

“It’s awfully late. Is it that important?”

“Absolutely.”

“All right. I’ll bring her down. But just for a few minutes.

We’ve got to start dinner. Amelia is about to start screaming and throwing things.”

Anne raced upstairs. Genny was in bed but still awake. “Would you like to come downstairs to meet everybody?”

The little girl jumped up, immediately excited.

“Just for five minutes. Then right back to bed.”

“Okay. Do I have to get dressed?”

“No. We’ll put on your bathrobe.”

Genny clutched her stuffed animal. “Can I take Rabbit?”

“Okay.”

Anne guided Genny around the room and introduced her. She was mildly astonished at how the child poured on the charm.

Someone asked her how old she was, and there was a widespread expression of disbelief when they learned she was just past two years of age.

Anne introduced her to the baroness last. Genny did a little curtsy and said “Good evening, Baroness,” in a very formal tone.

Everyone laughed.

The baroness smiled—the first time she had smiled since her arrival.

She came up close to Genny and bent down to take her hand. Genny backed away. Her cheerfulness vanished, replaced by an expression of wild-eyed fear.

The baroness stepped forward again, murmuring some endearment in German. Genny backed away again. Panic lit her eyes.

She pressed her lips together as if she were about to burst into tears.

Anne put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her gently toward the baroness.

Genny exploded in a rage. She twisted away from her mother and uttered a high-pitched scream that froze everyone in place.

Anne caught her, but Genny punched her hard on the arms, twisted free again, and ran from the room, wailing loudly.

Anne was dumbstruck. The child had never done anything like this, ever. She caught up with her on the stairs and followed her into her bedroom.

Dalton quickly escorted the guests into dinner.

Anne picked Genny up in her arms and rocked her gently. She soon calmed down.

“What’s the matter, darling?”

Genny buried her face in her mother’s shoulder.

“Did something scare you?”

“Baroness.”

“She scared you?”

“Yes.”

“But why?”

“She’s bad. I hate her.”

Anne held her daughter in her arms for a few minutes, then tucked her back in bed. She fell asleep almost instantly.

Anne returned downstairs, wondering how she was going to explain Genny’s embarrassing behavior. She could hear the baroness’s voice as she approached the dining room. The shock of the incident with Genny seemed to have jolted the woman out of her unsocial mood. She was laughing at a story Dalton was telling her.

Anne was relieved to see that everyone else at the table was chatting amiably. Lexy and Henry Klein were joking about some movie they had seen recently. Claudette Klein and Charles VanDamme were engaged in a discussion about the new politics of Eastern Europe. Freddy Abbot and Sylvia Sanders were telling each other show business anecdotes.

Carlton Fisher and Carol Ajemian were talking about primitive art.

Anne sat down next to Hank Ajemian.

“Is Genny all right?” he asked.

“She’s fine,” she replied in a low voice. “But I’m so embarrassed.

She never behaves like that.”

“What set her off? Do you know?”

Anne hesitated, then spoke in a whisper only Ajemian could hear. “She doesn’t like the baroness.”

Ajemian stole a glance across the table and curled up his lip in a sly smile. “She has good judgment,” he whispered back. “Neither do I.”

The quenelles of pheasant were perfectly prepared and elegantly served.

Anne and Hank Ajemian talked about Goth and Coronado.

“My own gut instinct,” Ajemian said, “is that Jupiter’s a fraud.

I could be wrong. But that’s my feeling. They’re going to set up a test program. So we’ll find out who’s right.”

“Why would Goth have tried to perpetrate a fraud?”

Ajemian cut into his pheasant with his fork. “I don’t know. But Dalton and I spent hours hunting through the hospital, through Goth’s apartment, and through that old medical school up on the hill, looking for records. We couldn’t find anything.”

“Couldn’t everything have been destroyed in the fire?”

“Maybe. But there ought to have been at least some traces of his work around somewhere. All we found were a couple of boxes of old bones, some fetuses pickled in jars, and some old scientific journals. But no research. No computer printouts, nothing.”

After dessert the party moved into the library for coffee. Anne immediately went over to the baroness. The woman smiled and complimented Anne on the dinner. As she spoke, her eyes appraised Anne with a keen, feral hardness. “You look quite lovely, Frau Stewart.”

Anne blushed. “Thank you. Please call me Anne.”

Her eyes explored the exposed swell of Anne’s bosom. “Your husband never told me how beautiful you were.”

Anne didn’t know how to reply. The tone in the woman’s voice had an insinuating, almost flirtatious quality to it. If she had been a man, Anne would have assumed she was making a pass.

“I’m very sorry about our daughter,” Anne said. “I don’t know what got into her. She’s usually so well-behaved.”

“It’s quite all right,” the baroness purred. “Perhaps I shall have another opportunity. Your husband has told me so much about her, you know. Naturally I wanted to see this extraordinary child for myself.”

“Fathers like to brag,” Anne replied, forcing a smile. “But it’s true that Genny is quite precocious….”

“I am so relieved to hear that.”

The remark confused Anne. “You are?”

“Of course. And you should be congratulated. Such a very brave woman.”

“Brave?”

The baroness laughed. “Don’t be so modest, Frau Stewart. To be willing to volunteer for such a procedure demanded great courage. You must have had to overcome many fears. Many things could have gone wrong, ja?”

“The procedure is actually pretty commonplace these days,” Anne replied, still puzzled.

The baroness ignored her reply. “When I think of you and your daughter I think of Mary and the Virgin Birth,” she said, arching an eyebrow.

“And born exactly at the beginning of the third millennium.

Extraordinary. Almost like the Second Coming. Really quite extraordinary.

Anne wrinkled her brow in complete bafflement. “I’m sorry-I don’t think I know what you’re talking about.”

The baroness took a sip from her demitasse and placed it on a side table. “My dear,” she said. Her tone was patronizing. “I’m talking about Goth’s procedure, of course. The Jupiter program.

I know you’ve kept it a big secret but of course your husband had to tell me about it to get my financial backing. It was a very clever idea. Inspired.”

Anne felt her pulse racing, but she still didn’t quite get it.

“What was?”

The baroness waved a hand impatiently. “Using you as the program’s guinea pig, of course.”

Anne blinked. She tried to say something but couldn’t. She suddenly felt faint. She managed a barely audible “Excuse me,” then turned and started out of the library. Everything became a blur —the faces of the guests, the sounds, the rooms, the furniture.

She found herself running upstairs.

Genny’s door was open, and a night light burning. Anne pressed herself against the side of the crib and looked down at her sleeping daughter.

She felt a wave of terror, then rage. After a few minutes the narcotic of psychological shock took hold and submerged her thoughts and emotions in a kind of twilight numbness.

She pulled Genny from the crib and cradled her in her arms.

“My God, my God, what have they done to you?”

The little girl woke and stirred uncomfortably for a few moments, then drifted back to sleep in her mother’s arms.

Lexy appeared in the bedroom doorway. “I saw you dash out,” she said.

“Are you all right?”

Anne squeezed Genny against her. “No. We’re leaving.”

“Say that again?”

“Genny and I are leaving.”

Lexy threw up her arms in confusion. “When?”

“Now.”

“Why? What’s the matter? Where are you going?”

“I can’t explain. Can we stay with you?”

“With me? In the city? Sure, I guess so, but—” “I want to leave right now. Get your car.”

“Jesus, Annie, hold on a minute—” “Now. Get your car. We’re leaving right now. Right now!”

It was two days before Anne could bring herself to speak to her husband, even over the telephone.