JOBS WERE HARD to come by for a 25-year old history major just back from Vietnam. Woody read where veteran unemployment exceeded 300,000 nationwide and so he felt fortunate to land a position as a stringer for the Alexandria Observer, a local rag with small town ambitions. Woody would get paid only when he was given an assignment but was free to bring his own stories to the attention of his editor, Bradley Bertram, who had forewarned him that he would only be paid if the paper, at its sole discretion, chose to print anything he wrote.
For now, Woody’s only assignment was to research and write a puff piece on State Senator Barrington Dumont who had just announced a run for Congress. Dumont had the easy, almost insouciant Kennedy-esque style plus the chiseled good looks and glib charm that made him a favorite with the press as well as a large chunk of female voters. The Dumont money, Bertram had told him, would no doubt propel the boy into big time politics with a congressional seat almost viewed as a lowly stepping stone. Dumont had his military bona fides covered, still serving in the Air Force reserves. The Alexandria Observer had already run photos of young Dumont sailing on the Potomac and standing next to a fighter jet as if ready to do battle. A seasoned and cynical observer would have noted that his neatly-pressed uniform had just come back from the cleaners. And if anyone had chosen to investigate, they would have learned that although Dumont had flown a few training missions, he had never left the United States. In any event, Bertram had decided that a favorable piece on the candidate was newsworthy and who was Woody Meacham to challenge his new boss?
WOODY PUSHED HIS shagging locks away from his mug and took a big gulp. He had let his beer sit too long during his ruminations and it was losing its bite. He would head to the library first thing in the morning to learn all he could about Barrington Dumont but already he was brooding about writing a story on a privileged pretty boy. Little did he know that this seemingly innocuous “puff piece” would lead him into a murky past fraught with present day danger.
CHAPTER FOUR:
The Dumonts
THE DUMONT’S GREEK revival mansion, situated just south of Old Town proper, was constructed sometime in the 1780s and had been home to generations of this venerable clan. During the Civil War, it had been used as a temporary hospital for convalescing Union soldiers even though the family’s sympathies, at least at that time, lay with the confederacy. It was now the home of Augustus and Helga Dumont and their two grown children – Barrington and Lucy.
Augustus Dumont was now in his early sixties. He had always been withdrawn but was now becoming almost reclusive. He attended to business at the bank when required but preferred to be ensconced in his library at home, comfortable among the family heirlooms and antiquarian books that had been collected over the last two centuries. Someone observed that Augustus had never ventured outside of his beloved Commonwealth except for his stint in the military during the big war.
Helga Dumont was the public face of the family and relished her role. As a young lady, she wanted nothing more than the opportunity to shine among the socially elite. When this goal was eclipsed in her beloved Germany, she was quick to take advantage of the opportunity presented by the diminutive and reserved young lieutenant attached to the American occupying forces in Berlin. Augustus Dumont was easy prey for the likes of Helga Brunner. She was a gregarious young woman, large framed and buxom but not corpulent, and carried herself majestically, with an air of superiority that had been cultivated over the years. She had learned during her teenage years in Berlin that a domineering presence served her well and she applied it successfully in social settings.
For Augustus, his introduction to the German social butterfly was a reminder of his childhood with an over-protective, demanding mother; and yet, he was drawn to Helga nonetheless. It might be said that bringing Helga home to Virginia as his bride was his revenge against his mother and he did, indeed, take delight in seeing these two towering females, these blustery and domineering Amazonians, do subtle battle for years until the younger one wore down her worthy but older combatant.
Barrington Dumont was cut from the same cloth as his Mother. He was smooth-talking and opinionated but had a surprising talent for restraining himself at the right moment before blurting out whatever outrageous observation or idea was on the tip of his tongue. He had been appointed to a seat in the Virginia House of Delegates when his aging grandfather, Septimus Dumont, keeled over and died while walking through the General Assembly Building. A Dumont, or the family’s designee, had held this seat dating back to the days of the House of Burgesses in the 1600s. For all practical purposes, it was as much a “rotten borough” as were the seats held by lords in Victorian England and the Dumonts owned it. Duly re-elected and like his grandfather before him, Barrington was hardly diligent in his legislative duties.
After two terms, the indolent politician had neither introduced nor co-sponsored any bills, pronouncing that everything was perfectly fine in Virginia just the way it was. When the current Congressman announced his retirement, Helga Dumont was ready to pounce even before her son. She had grand plans for Barrington but hardly understood the political machinations that dominated politics at all levels. What she did know how to do, however, was to throw lavish parties at the Dumont estate which attracted all the most influential people in Northern Virginia.
When Barrington was ten-years old, his parents had a rare conjugal liaison which resulted in the birth of a daughter. Helga had seen and admired the stately-looking portrait of Lucretia, the tragic noblewoman of ancient Rome by the Venetian artist Lorenzo Lotto. She knew nothing of Lucretia’s history but felt a kinship with her nonetheless and Augustus acquiesced in choosing this name for their daughter. It was only a few years before Helga realized that Lucretia strongly resembled Augustus in both looks and temperament. Nick-named Lucy by her older brother, the alienation of mother and daughter grew through the years. By the time Lucy went off to college, their estrangement was complete.
Lucy Dumont was nothing like the prima donna portrayed in the media or in the imposing portrait of Lucretia. She was diffident – not coy – and sensitive – not haughty and indifferent. Her Mother had pushed her forward into awkward social settings when all she wanted was to do was tend to her prized horses. In the evening, unless she was commandeered for one of her mother’s frequent parties, she would retreat to the library with her father where they would commune silently among the family antiquities with Rachmaninoff and Dvorak playing softly in the background. Lucy, slender and sylph-like, was not without her amorous aspirations. At the time of our story, she was infatuated with an equally shy groomsman who worked in the Dumont stables.
Through various charitable functions, Helga was intimate with the widowed aunt of Addison Bellows and it was because of this connection, along with the prominence of the Dumont & Bellows banking name, that the archivist from the Torpedo Factory would be added to the guest list for the numerous galas that were arranged to advance Barrington’s political career.
Bellows would have been given unfettered access to Helga Dumont if he told her about his secret efforts to re-acquire the family photographs that he was certain had been taken by Leonard Scatcherd. But the archivist demurred, reasoning that Helga would be impressed with how discreetly he had managed such a delicate issue and would, upon his success, reward him accordingly.