Penelope's Suitors

Chapter 03

Chapter 3

Spring, 2006

In front of an empty marble fireplace on the 2nd floor of Maxwell's mansion, caterers had set up a table with thin triangle sandwiches. Waitresses carried around trays of hors d’oeuvres and glasses of red and white wine. Ted helped himself to a piece of toast with lox and caviar, and took a glass.

Penelope was talking to a small knot of people, but when she saw him, she excused herself, and walked over.

“That was lovely, what you said about my father. I appreciate it. And I got a nice note from your mother in San Diego. She’s sorry she couldn’t make it.”

“Thank you. I’m glad I could be here for you. We all liked your Dad. You know, I was looking around—I think I’m the only one here who knew your father from the lake.”

“You knew my father. He—we—never fit in socially there. He moved us there because he thought it would be better to raise us in a quiet area after my mother died, instead of the City, especially since he traveled so much. When he started getting sick he moved to the Stone House with Ariadne, but when it got really bad, he came back to New York."

She toyed with her wine, but didn't drink it. “Most of these people are with TRED, or the Tolford Foundation. I know a few of them. The price of my law degree, Dad said, was sitting on the family foundation board."

“I got the press release when you were named director of the Inner City Legal Help Center.”

“And you sent me a card. And I never thanked you. That wasn’t nice of me.”

Ted waved away the apology. "I know how hard you work."

He could really look at her here, in the full light of the house instead of the club’s dark halls. She did look tired, and there were fine lines around her eyes.

“When did we last see other?” she asked.

“Three months ago. I was doing a piece on the New York Nonprofit Network, at their annual dinner, and you were there, too.” He hoarded the memories of the quick lunches or chance meetings, four to five times a year.

“You have a good memory.” A ghost of a smile. “Maybe I felt we were in touch more because I read your column every week, and see your picture.”

And that cheered him. It was like the old days, when he looked eagerly in his mailbox for her sky-blue monogrammed stationery, the neat script across the envelope, and the letter itself. Oddly, it was the signature he valued most, and kept looking at them again and again, “All my love, Penelope.”

"I really would like to talk to you in private," she said.

“Of course."

“Come upstairs—my father kept an office here.” She walked briskly across the room to a winding staircase, and Ted put down his wine on the nearest table and scrambled to catch up.



One flight up they found themselves on an empty floor, and Penelope opened the door to Maxwell’s office. Unlike the rest of the house, the office was modern. It contained a Scandinavian wood desk, computer and bookshelves. Two comfortable leather chairs sat opposite a matching round coffee table. Papers and piles of business and reference texts spoke of recent use. The windows were high, and clean, and the light poured in from the street, making the ceiling and desk lamps unnecessary.

Penelope sat down in one the guest chairs, and Ted took the other. Her eyes went to the bookshelf above the desk, and she reached up and pulled down a book, The Beginner's Guide to Real Estate Investing. "It's your book, Ted, he kept the inscribed copy here. I know he appreciated that. He was flattered that you asked him to write the foreword."

"That helped sell it. The debt was mine."

"Speaking of writing, what do you think of this?" She opened a desk drawer and pulled out a glossy magazine—Celebrity Insider. She slid it across the desk to him. "Have you heard of it?"

"It's a poor man's People. Don't tell me there's something about your father here? Movie stars are more in their line."

Penelope sighed. Her eyes left him, and she looked out the window. Lacquered nails began drumming on the arm of the chair. She was nervous, thought Ted. Penelope was never nervous.

"They'll find scandal anywhere. Look at page 24."

He opened the magazine: There was a brief obituary of Maxwell, hardly mentioning his business and philanthropic interests, but noting that a young man had "died under mysterious circumstances" and "rumors had circulated that his great wealth and influence had caused the investigation to be shut down."

"Oh Christ, not that again. Not the accident. Only trash publications like this even bother writing about it anymore. Your father was closing a deal in Chicago that week anyway. He wasn't even there then."

"No, but we were. You, me, Ariadne." She got up and opened a cabinet to reveal a bar. "Dad wasn't much of a drinker, but like a good Englishman he always had fine brandy." She took out a nearly full bottle and two snifters. "And don't tell me you won't join me. I was told reporters never turned down a drink and this is much better than the wine downstairs." She poured two glasses and handed one to Ted.

"To your father," he said.

"And to happy days," she said. The brandy slid down his throat like silk.

"It doesn't matter that Dad wasn't there," she continued. "You remember the talk, which apparently is still going on, that it wasn't an accident, that Dad opened his wallet and covered everything up."

"Yes, but why? Cover up what? Protect whom?"

Penelope shrugged. "Conspiracy theorists don't need logic. But Dad's death creates a new problem, as the people at Celebrity Insider know."

"You can't libel a dead man," finished Ted.

"Exactly. And even if Dad is hardly a movie star, an unsolved death, which some said was murder, could be fodder for them. Do you know these people? Is there any way you could reach out? A word in the right place, that kind of thing?"

"Anything for you, Penelope. You know that. But I don't even know those people at Celebrity Insider. My publication is hardly going to rake that up again, but I can't stop others. If you want my advice, let it be. It will die down quickly. Although…" He let his voice trail off.

"What?"

"How often have you thought of that night?" asked Ted.

"How often haven't I?" she said.

Ted finished the brandy. "Have you ever dreamt of it? I did, in the weeks that followed, and then, over the years. It still happens, every couple of months. And the night your father died." He paused. "I saw William's broken body in my nightmares."

"Yes," she said softly. "Me too."

"You know something was wrong there. You know there was no reason for William to be there, especially at that time of night. There was a story, I think, we didn't know about.” He looked closely at her, but as always, she was unreadable.

“I was going to talk to you about this later, but since you bring it up, often, when it was very late, and I was alone, I've wondered if I could figure it out. Every time I had one of those dreams, I felt I needed to find out. In fact, I made a promise to myself that I would. Perhaps I'm arrogant enough to think I could—I'm a pretty good reporter. Anyway, I thought this past week that now is the time. " He watched her carefully to see her reaction.

“Why now?” she asked calmly.

"Because I wouldn't let myself do it while your father was alive. I wouldn't have wanted him to think I was investigating him, that I had even a tiny doubt about him. I think you understand that."

She nodded. "But now, with my father gone, you would be able to look into it? Actually discover something?"

"It's 20 years ago. But it's not impossible."

She peered into the depth of her brandy for a while, then looked up. "I'm glad we could talk. I ought to get back to everyone, and Ariadne very much wanted to see you again." She placed her brandy back on the desk, and Ted saw she hadn't drunk any of it.

Downstairs again, Penelope mingled and Ted found Ariadne sipping a diet Coke and watching the people outside from the second-story window.

“It's good to see you, Ariadne, and again, I’m sorry.”

"Oh Ted, I'm so glad you're here." She gave him a hug. "Thanks for what you said about Dad. You're the only one from the lake years here. Do you ever get up to the lake? You know I’m living in the Stone House now—I relocated from L.A. a couple of years ago. I lived with Dad as he got sick, and now it's just me and Karen. Do you know she's finishing up second grade? She goes to North Lake, just like we did."

"I'd love to meet her."

"You remember how big the house is. There's plenty of room—come for a visit. Stanislaus is still running things, and now we have a manager for the office. The town hasn't changed much, but things are a little tonier—there's a gourmet deli where the Laundromat used to be…"

And now Ted could look her over too, as he did her sister. Still more beautiful than Penelope, she also looked more tired around the eyes. Penelope may have been worn by her father's illness and death, but Ariadne's face spoke of something else.

"…anyway, I don't know what Penelope told you, but I had the world's worst divorce. But I'm not talking about it because Penelope told me I was to stop boring people with it."

"You were many things Ariadne, but boring was never one of them." And she laughed.

"Penelope pushed me to come back East afterward. Dad was already semi-retired and was living in the Stone House. Penelope said I could live here, or if that was too big, she'd help find me and Karen find an apartment. She was surprised when I said I wanted to move to the Stone House."

"That was nice of you. I'm sure you're father appreciated it." But she shook her head.

"Don't give me credit for that. I mean, I was glad to be with Dad, but I moved back for selfish reasons. I was so happy there. I know how things ended that summer…Penelope hates when I talk about it, she's so protective of me. And yes, it was awful, but I always remember, there was a lot of love there too." She squeezed his arm. "I'm so glad you came."

"Ariadne?" Penelope was suddenly at her sister's side. "Some Foundation people want to talk to us…don't make that face and don't give me a hard time." Big sister and little sister, all over again, thought Ted.

"Thank you again," said Penelope to him, as they walked off. He watched them, and when they were halfway across the room, Ariadne quickly turned her head and gave him a wink and a smile.



Summer, 1986

By 6:00, the shadows of the trees were long on the lake, and it was beginning to get cool. A hush always seemed to come over the lake at that hour. Any afternoon wind usually died, and the blue smoke from a few barbecues scarcely moved across the beachfront. The only bright spot was Longwood Mountain on the East shore, still lit at the top by the setting sun, and the woods sank even further into gloom.

After locking up the Hall, Ted, Vic and William headed to the staff cabin, and Matthew to his car.

The boys put on jeans, sneakers and socks after a hasty dinner of boiled hot dogs. William took his guitar out of his case and lovingly held it. Cocking his ear, he carefully tuned it, then put it back in its case, and followed Vic and Ted out the door and down the path.

A great shelf of rock bordered the north end of the beach, and some forgotten craftsman years ago had carved a large hearth into it. Above the rock, a cliff rose gradually above the beach to peak thirty feet above the lake, at the north end of the property.

Each spring, Stanislaus oiled up his chainsaw and cut the trees that had fallen during the winter storms, and stacked the wood in a shed above the hearth in the edge of the woods. Any guests who wanted could start an evening fire, but as a matter of tradition, one of the "Hall Boys" usually took care of it. Teens would pull their chairs around and warm themselves in the cool summer nights.

In the last of the light, Ted and Vic laid the fire with back issues of the local paper, pine branches sticky with resin and the logs Stanislaus had so neatly sawed and split. They pulled some of the heavy deeply raked Adirondack chairs around the hearth, and fetched a cooler of Budweiser from the Hall. William sat back and began playing his guitar, flowing neatly from the Beatles to Simon & Garfunkel to Bob Dylan.

“The beer is courtesy of my father,” said Vic. “A little part of him felt guilty he wasn’t helping out with the car. Not guilty enough to actually pay for it, but guilty enough to buy me a case at the Grand Union when we came up. It’s been chilling in the Hall fridge.” They stuck their feet on the hearth ledge, and the crackling wood fire provided the only noise to interrupt the songs.

On a good night, there might be 20-30 people around the hearth, but the season had just started, so at first it was just Ted, Vic—who kept looking at his watch—and William. Soon, a boy came down; he looked about 15 and wore a brand-new blue sweatshirt, with the lake's seal emblazoned on it. Afraid of his welcome, he quietly sat in a chair in the edge.

“Put your feet up,” said Vic. The boy relaxed, and stretched out in the chair, but wasn’t brave enough to ask for a beer. A girl, about the same age as the boy, found her way down next. She also wore a lake sweatshirt, in pink. A little bolder, she sat up front, and said hello to boy, whom she had seen all week. But they didn’t know each other’s names. Ted told her to make herself comfortable.

“This must be the place,” said a voice, thick with the local accent.

“Laurie!” Vic jumped up. “I’m glad you could come. Here’s a chair. Help yourself to a beer.” She wore designer jeans and pink sneakers, and a hooded sweatshirt that said “Fort Bramwell Volunteer Fire Department.” Behind her came Mary-Lou, in Levi’s and white sneakers. Her sweatshirt said “Fort Bramwell High Swim Team.”

“Is there a seat for me?” asked Mary-Lou.

“Take the one next to Ted—nice and warm, close to the fire,” said Vic. Damn him, thought Ted. He was saving it for Penelope. And Vic probably knew that.

Laurie popped a beer and soon she and Vic was talking; he was leaning over the wide arm of his chair to get close to her.

“So you’re from New York City,” said Mary-Lou.

“All my life. Until last year, when I went to college. We vacationed here when I was a kid, so I started working here last summer.”

“I was born and raised in Fort Bramwell,” said Mary-Lou. “I've never been far from here, but I’m starting college in the fall, to get a bachelor degree in nursing.”

“I almost burned down the high school lab once. By accident. So they steered me away from science.” Mary-Lou peered at him to see if he was kidding. Then they just watched the fire for a while.

“Do you want a beer?” he asked.

“No thanks.”

“Is Mary-Lou short for Mary Louise?

“Yes.”

“I never met a Mary-Lou before. There are very few Mary-Lou’s in Manhattan.” Mary-Lou didn’t seem to know what to make of that, so she said nothing.

A soft shuffle on the sand announced more visitors. Penelope and Ariadne, dressed alike again, in plain blue sweatshirts, with their hair braided as always and flowing down their breasts. Matthew was with them.

"I stopped at the top of the hill to give them a ride down," he said.

"Have a seat," said Ted. "Help yourself to a beer, if you want." William kept playing and hardly looked up.

Penelope and Matthew sat next to each other, and Ariadne sat on the other side of the half-circle. The boy and girl were not introduced to anyone, but they knew they were the youngest ones there, and that gave them a feeling of importance that made up for being slighted.

"Who’s the musician?" Ted heard Penelope ask Matthew.

"William. The new Hall Boy."

"Hmm." She leaned back in her chair, her face lost inside the hood of her sweatshirt.

William launched into some James Taylor, and started singing. His playing was on target, and although his voice wasn’t strong, it was gentle and on-key. And soon everyone was singing, even the boy and girl, who were flushed with the excitement of being included.

The singing flowed up the mountains to the cabins, and Ted imagined parents stopping their reading or card playing to listen to it, and little children falling asleep to the sound of it.

Ted looked around and Ariadne caught his eye for a second. He thought he saw a sly smile on her face, meant only for him, but it was gone a moment later.