‘Really?’ Marion sounded doubtful.
Connie touched her hand.
‘How long have you two been together, anyway?’ Jones asked suddenly.
‘It depends upon what you mean by together. In our eyes it’s coming up twenty-three years.’
‘Jesus,’ said Jones. ‘So you were an item back when I was at Princeton. How the devil did you manage to keep it a secret?’
‘The way to keep a secret is to tell no one, and that really means no one.’
Connie was still looking at Marion.
‘It hasn’t always been easy,’ she said. ‘But it’s sure been worth it.’
‘Didn’t you ever want to say to hell with it? You of all people, Connie. When have you ever cared a jot about convention, about what other people think?’
‘That wasn’t it, Sandy. You don’t find happiness by walking over other people’s souls, you know.’
‘What?’
Marion interrupted them.
‘Do you remember my husband, Sandy?’
‘Yes, of course I do.’
‘And how well would you say you knew him?’
‘I didn’t know him at all.’
‘Yet you met him many times? Socialized with him sometimes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes. Well that’s pretty much how it was for me, really. Bernard lived and breathed Princeton. I never doubted that he loved me, and loved our children. He was never unkind. He provided and cared for his family. But well, he was twenty years older than me, of course, and he had different values. He had his job, as dean, and mine was to look after the children and our home. In a funny sort of way, we were never really that close.
‘Then, when I started to get to know Connie, well there was so much more. I don’t think I realized what was happening at first. I had never been with a woman before. But in any case, that was irrelevant. Connie’s gender was irrelevant. I just knew she was the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with...’
Marion leaned over and refilled Jones’s mug with more coffee.
‘But neither Connie nor I had any wish to hurt Bernard,’ she continued. ‘He didn’t deserve that, really he didn’t. There were young children to consider, and also his position as dean which meant so much to him. So Connie and I decided that our commitment to each other would be a private thing, that we would have our own secret life.’
‘But now? I mean, Bernard died years ago. Your relationship isn’t still a secret, is it?’
‘An open one,’ said Connie. ‘We have friends who know, of course, the remains of what family I have certainly know, and Marion’s children must know now, but—’
‘But they’re like their father — or rather the oldest one is,’ interrupted Marion. ‘Sometimes I think Thomas is more conservative than Bernard ever was. Even in this day and age he couldn’t cope at all with having a mother who is a dyke. Or, rather, a mother who is publicly known to be a dyke. I think he just pretends it isn’t happening. He prefers to think of Connie and me as friends. We’re old ladies, Sandy. I’m sixty-one, and Connie hits sixty-five next year. Well, in the eyes of the world we are pretty old, even if we don’t feel it. But we never expected what the younger generation expects. We still don’t expect to get everything that we want. And we’re not on a crusade. As long as we can be together that’s all we care about.’
‘Two more questions,’ said Jones, changing the subject only slightly. ‘Why does the Dominator call Marion Aunt M? And if he’s so rich why does he drive a yellow cab round New York?’
Connie shrugged. ‘He’s not that rich. Bought his Medallion when he started wrestling so he had a day job. Got himself his own cab. Nowadays he just likes to keep his hand in, I guess. And he calls Marion Aunt M because she took him on as a foster kid when he was a mad bad fifteen-year-old from the Bronx and nobody else would have him. She sorted him out like you wouldn’t believe. Dom was never going to be a college kid, but he sure as hell got his life together thanks to Marion.’
‘Yeah, now he’s a mad bad thirty-five-year-old,’ said Marion, the pride in her voice belying her words.
‘I noticed,’ responded Jones.
‘Right, so now you have our story, Sandy,’ said Connie, smiling. ‘Shall we get back to the matter in hand.’
Jones called Soho House, authorized them to take payment from her credit card, and told them a friend would be along to pick up her bag. Marion had agreed to run the errand. Nobody knew who she was, and if they used Dom it was just remotely possible that someone might be watching, and he might be recognized from his wrestling days, or even just as the cabby who’d picked up Jones outside the House that morning.
Jones left the apartment shortly after six p.m. She preferred to arrive in Princeton under cover of darkness, and in any case the timing suited her plan. First she sought out a cashpoint in central Manhattan. She then took out the maximum cash she could. Even if her bank records were checked all that could be learned was that she was still in Manhattan. That wouldn’t get anyone anywhere much. And she would be able to avoid leaving a trail to Princeton by not using credit cards at gas stations and so on.
Marion’s choice of car was one of the most common in America. The unassuming saloon coasted along comfortably enough but appeared to have absolutely no acceleration. Pulling sharply onto Route One, the main freeway heading for the university town, Jones actually thought the box-like vehicle was going to tip over.
The journey, sticking strictly to all speed limits, took almost two hours, including a stop for fuel and a visit to an electronics store, where Jones bought three untraceable pre-paid phones. Burners. One for her, one for Connie, and one for Marion. She ultimately coasted into Princeton just before eight thirty p.m.
She drove straight to Ed’s apartment block, and parked a little way down the street, tucking in behind another vehicle. She hoped not to be noticed by anyone else who might be watching the building, whilst at the same time having a reasonable view of any comings and goings.
Her intent was to approach Ed without being seen. And her plan was a simple one.
Ed had been a creature of habit, already a man of routine, when she had known him. He’d told her, when she had so spontaneously paid him that not entirely successful visit, that he walked his dog every evening. She didn’t know when exactly, except that it would be some time after nine — he had said nine was too early — and almost certainly well before midnight. Ed had never been a night owl. She just hoped he was still the same person, and that, sooner or later, he would step out into the street with Jasper the little black terrier.
She hunkered down to wait. It was a lovely starlit night. And quiet. Several vehicles passed, two or three turning off the main drag into driveways and parking areas, just one pulling out. A woman strolled by walking a Labrador. That was all.
Then just before ten p.m. her patience was rewarded. Out stepped Ed, with Jasper on a lead. He turned right, walking away from Jones. She waited until he disappeared from sight after turning right at the next junction, then she started her engine and followed, drawing the car to a halt once she was alongside him, and opening the window.
‘Get in, please,’ she instructed.
‘What the fuck?’ said Ed.
‘Please, we need to talk. But not here. It’s possible you may be under surveillance. Please get in.’
For a moment she thought he was going to walk away. But he didn’t. He obediently climbed into the passenger seat, with Jasper jumping swiftly onto his lap.
Jones pulled away at once.
‘Where the fuck are we going?’ asked Ed.