Howard said, “So stopgap solutions won’t do, will they? We need something permanent.”
“Reasonably permanent, yes. Why, what stopgap solutions are you talking about?”
Howard then told him about yesterday’s encounter with Wellington, that the Chinese agents in contact with Brad had now been supplanted by a couple of Vietnamese furnished by Wellington, and that it would now be possible to stall Brad for an extra week or two, perhaps for as long as a few months. Unless the Chinese managed to regain contact with him themselves. He also mentioned his and Robert’s feelings of uneasiness about Wellington, and Joe said, “Yes, I know what you mean. One has the feeling he’s playing his own game.”
“I think we should have another meeting,” Howard said, “and define Wellington’s relationship to the rest of us.”
Joe said, “Shall I call Gene? I can give him a ring tomorrow, when I get home.”
“Yes. That would be fine.”
“And yet,” Joe said, “I don’t think we could do without Wellington. I don’t just mean in your case yesterday, but overall. I think we’ve entered his world now, whether we like it or not, and we need him to be our guide.”
“If he’ll only level with us,” Robert said.
“Amen,” said Howard.
7
Sunday. Evelyn stood at the second-floor window of Dinah’s play room and watched Bradford walk out away through the orchard, his stick moving in his hand. Was he limping slightly? He did seem to lean on the stick a bit more than usual. Or was that simply the result of suggestion, of hearing Uncle Joe say that Bradford had an occasional limp?
The last five days, since Joe was here, had been calm on the surface, almost pleasant because of the temporary reprieve Wellington had managed, but beneath the surface tension had been building, like an unvoiced scream, and the center of the tension was Bradford.
He wasn’t taking the delays well. He hadn’t actually said anything about it, but Evelyn knew that was the trouble. Each day, when he returned from his walk, he would be silent and angry for a while. Wellington’s Vietnamese assistants must be having an increasingly difficult time of it.
And there was another source of tension, within the house, which was Howard. Again, the problem was delays, this time stupid and pointless delays. Both Uncle Joe and Eugene White were trying to organize another family meeting, this one larger and more comprehensive than the last, with the agenda not only to include the problem of Wellington but also the larger problem of getting together a volunteer force of men from the family to help guard Bradford and keep the Chinese from re-establishing contact. Every day that went by, the danger of the Chinese making another attempt was increased. Every day, Bradford grew more difficult to keep in check. And yet, they couldn’t seem to get the meeting organized.
Evelyn couldn’t understand it. All these excuses, all these postponements. It was perfectly true that these were busy men, most of them with important and time-consuming jobs, but it wasn’t a silly social get-together at stake here, it was something of vital interest to everybody in the family. Because Bradford was the family, its core and leader and the cohesive force that bound them all together, just as several decades ago it had been Bradford’s father who had been the central strength of the family. Bradford’s success had filtered out to help all the rest of them, from Sterling’s presidency of a university to Harrison’s reception of defense contracts. And Howard’s position as editor. And George’s position in television. And Joe’s reputation and position as a doctor. And on and on, spreading out to in-laws, so that the Bloor family in Cleveland and Baltimore were more important in banking circles than they would otherwise have been, and the Wellington family in Boston was more important in legal circles than they would otherwise have been.
And yet people were stalling and delaying. Not Howard or Uncle Joe or Eugene White. But people like Harrison, who offered excuses but who really meant he didn’t want to travel back from California again. And George, whose television production schedule was suddenly much more full than it had ever seemed before; but Evelyn thought she detected Marie in that, trying to keep clear of a situation that might turn sticky. And one or two of Elizabeth’s relatives among the Bloors. And William Wellington, in Boston.
How could people behave like that? Didn’t they realize what they owed to Bradford? How could they face themselves in the mirror?
Howard was off in Chambersburg again today, making more phone calls, trying to goad or persuade or shame all the different family elements into picking a definite time and place for the meeting. With Bradford off on his now daily walk, Evelyn was — except for the servants and security men — alone in the house.
Bradford was still in sight, though quite far away, when Evelyn faintly heard the sound of the main doorbell. Who would that be? She turned away from the window, told Dinah she would see her in a little while, left the room, and made her way to the front staircase and down.
Greg and Audrey. A maid had just let them in and was about to show them into a side parlor. These were the newlyweds, Evelyn’s cousin Gregory Holt and Eugene White’s daughter Audrey, at whose wedding Evelyn and Robert had told Uncle Joe about Bradford. Bradford had phoned his congratulations to them on the morning of their wedding, and it had been arranged they would drop in for a visit on their way home from their honeymoon.
“Hello!” Evelyn called, from halfway up the staircase, and skipped on down, smiling, delighted to be in the presence of happy and carefree people. “It’s good to see you!”
“The moochers have arrived,” Greg said, grinning, and Audrey slapped at him and told him he was terrible. They kept managing to touch one another, and stood so that their arms and shoulders were in contact.
Evelyn said, “What can we offer you? Have you had lunch?” She motioned to the maid to wait for instructions.
“As a matter of fact,” Greg said, “we’re starving.” He was deeply sun-tanned still from his Mediterranean tour with the Navy. Audrey, beside him, seemed as small and white and delicate as a Dresden doll in contrast.
“Lunch,” Evelyn told the maid, then asked Greg, “And something to drink first?”
“You could twist my arm,” he said. If he weren’t so obviously innocent and happy, his manner would have been cloying; as it was, it seemed merely naïve and was therefore enjoyable.
“No hard liquor for me,” Audrey said. “I’ll just go to sleep.”
“White wine,” Evelyn suggested. “Chablis?”
“Perfect!” Audrey said, and Greg said, “Just what the doctor ordered.”
Evelyn told the maid, “We’ll be in the small dining room.”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Come along, you two,” Evelyn said, automatically picking up Greg’s style, and led the way down the hall. “How was your trip?”
“Perfect,” Greg said. His grin seemed a permanent fixture on his face, like his nose.
“I’d never seen the Laurentians before,” Audrey said. “My God, they’re so beautiful.”
“I’ve never seen them in the fall,” Evelyn said. “Fred and I went up there skiing once, up above Quebec, but that was in the middle of winter.”
“You’ve never seen autumn colors,” Greg announced, “until you’ve seen the Laurentians in October.”
“You’ll have to go some year,” Audrey said, and suddenly looked flustered, and then lamely said, “But of course it’s beautiful around here, too.”
Evelyn couldn’t figure out for a minute or two what Audrey’s problem was. She’d embarrassed herself just now, but how?