"Fine. I'll make a note of that."
"I won't be at the number I gave you," Jeff said. "In fact, I can't really give you a number, because I'm doing a lot of running around, seeing people and tying up loose ends-family business. What I'll do is give you another call, either this time tomorrow afternoon or else the first thing Friday morning. Your time. All right?"
"F'me. Got lt."
"You can give Ted the message," he added. "I assume he hasn't been trying to get me."
"He would have told me, I think," Callie said. 'He's completely wrapped up in the project."
"Of course." The project. Sigma Tau, so sensitive they were forbidden to use those two words on any telephone-not even on the company's internal system. It was such a sweet contract that LiskerBenedictus could probably survive on it alone for the next five years.
After Jeff hung up, he sat back on the bed and lit a cigarette. It was Wednesday evening, and the last twenty-four hours had been tiring.
What was he really doing here? It seemed like the kind of fool's errand that could easily turn into a colossal embarrassment. He hadn't seen her since they were teenagers. She was married now and had a teenage daughter of her own. That in itself was so hard for Jeff to fathom that it almost paralyzed him.
He opened a can of beer as he flipped through the Danbury telephone directory. There it was, Foxrock. A short section for a small town. He turned the pages slowly, enjoying his search. It didn't take long. There were only two Corcorans listed: Bonnie, on Indian Hill Road, and Sean R., also on Indian Hill Road. For a moment, Jeff wondered what the R. stood forsomething Irish, like Rory? He tried to picture the man. Florid, freckled, red-haired? He smiled. Georgianne marrying an Irish stereotype? Fat chance of that ever happening.
What about the daughter? He tried to construct a chronology. Georgianne should be thirty-eight, or nearly so. If she hadn't given birth until after college, Bonnie would be fifteen, sixteen at most. Did she look like Georgianne at that age? It was a dazzling, terrifying thought. But Bonnie didn't really interest him. He was curious about Georgianne, not some teenager who probably dressed like Madonna.
Should he dial the number and talk to her? Now? That was what he had come for, but Jeff was hit by another attack of uncertainty. He could still avoid this moment of possible contact. He could check out of the Mortlake Motel and get to New York at a reasonable hour. Catch a late flight to L.A. or else spend a night in Manhattan, where there were good restaurants, music, films, any number of pleasant things to do. It would make a lot more sense than sitting out in the middle of nowhere drinking beer and acting silly about a girl, no, a woman he hadn't seen in twenty years.
Even if he did call the number, her husband might answer. Then what? Or if he did get Georgianne on the line, he might just dry up and not know what to say. His professional manner would desert him. The whole thing was a whim, a bad idea really, nothing more. The kind of thing that seems irresistible until you actually do it. Then you understand what a mistake it was all along.
Jeff scrawled the two telephone numbers on the road map and put the directory back on the bedside table. He went into the bathroom and urinated, then sat down on the bed again and stared at the floor. All right. He had a plan, of sorts. He called Bonnie's number, and she answered on the second ring.
"Hello."
"Is Harold there?"
`Who?"
"Harold. Harold."
Jeff nearly laughed, because he was doing such a good job of altering and coarsening his voice.
"There's no Harold here," Bonnie Corcoran said. "What number did you want?"
"Who's this?"
"Bonnie. What number-"
"Sor "
Jeff hung up and fell back across the bed, his whole body shaking with excitement. Jesus Christ, that voice! As though it had come right out of his own head, not from the other end of a telephone line. It was like honey poured in his ear, lighting up the center of his brain with a warm glow. Bonnie sounded like Georgianne, as he remembered her. The voice of a teenager-deliciously appropriate, so right, so true to the voice he had carried in his mind all these years.
That did it. He had to see her. Not the daughterhe didn't care about her-but the mother. Georgianne. No matter how it might turn out-awkward, embarrassing, a disaster-he had to see her.
And why worry? Now that he had made the first move, he was sure the rest would fall in place. It required a little careful thought, that was all. Plan it, make it nice, smooth, relaxed. Something that would become a fine memory for all of them.
Lighting a cigarette and opening another beer, he began to piece it all together. It was a special project, but nothing he couldn't handle. Jeff was good at special projects.
CHAPTER SIX
Foxrock wasn't much more than a village, off route 7 north of Danbury. Jeff got there just before eight o'clock the next morning. It was a rural community, and the houses were widely scattered along country roads rather than closely packed on neat residential streets. It took him nearly another half hour of driving around before he found Indian Hill Road.
When he spotted the Corcoran mailbox, he took care not to slow down, and glanced only briefly at the house. As soon as it was convenient, he turned the car around and drove back. The second time he passed the house he noted the two cars in the driveway, one a blue compact, the other a deep-red or maroon wagon. The usual suburban scene.
Back at the T -junction, he turned left, away from the center of Foxrock and stopped just before the first bend in the road, about a hundred yards along, where he pulled onto a grassy verge. He turned the car off, adjusted the rear-view mirror, and propped a road map conspicuously on the steering wheel. Next, he took the lid off a cup of coffee he'd picked up at a fast-food place on the way. Still hot. He waited.
The wagon appeared fifteen minutes later and turned in the other direction. Two people in it. Precisely what Jeff had expected. Sean and Bonnie going to school. Hadn't Mrs. Brewer said Sean was a teacher?
Now, Georgianne. He had no intention of barging in on her this early in the morning, having visions of her in some drab housecoat, her hair mussed, surrounded by breakfast dishes. It wouldn't be fair to either of them. She needed time, and he was prepared to wait.
So he was startled when he saw the blue compact stop at the junction only a few minutes later. It headed toward town. Pushing the map aside, he started the car, anh turned it sharply around. He put his sunglasses on and hung back as far as he could; all he wanted was to keep her in sight. No passengersit looked good. The thought came to him that there might well be more than one blue compact on Indian Hill Road, but when he had to come up close behind her at the red light in the center of Foxrock, he was sure it really was Georgianne. The blond hair ... He cupped his hands in front of his face, lighting a cigarette with difficulty. He was trembling.
He followed her all the way into Danbury, where she left her car in a municipal lot. Jeff parked there as well, though some distance away. Then he trailed her for two short blocks. She went into a place called the Reinecke Fitness Center. Jeff continued walking slowly along the other side of the street, trying to figure out what to do. If Georgianne was a customer, she would most likely be out in an hour or ninety minutes. But if she worked there, she might not reappear until lunchtime, or even the end of the afternoon.
He bought a newspaper, found a convenient diner, and sat at the counter, by the front, where he could keep an eye on the entrance to the Fitness Center. He ordered coffee, orange juice, and a Danish. Later he had to ask for another coffee, but he hardly ever looked at the newspaper.
What was she wearing? He had been trying to remember, but he didn't have a clear picture in his mind yet. He had been so concerned about keeping her in sight without getting too close that he hadn't been able to focus on details. A light summer skirt and blouse, appropriate for the May heat wave? It was maddening. For twenty years, whenever Jeff had thought of Georgianne, she had always come to mind in sharp, vivid images, so real he would sometimes think he could actually speak to her or touch her. But now, when he had finally seen her in the flesh, she was so elusive he didn't even know what she was wearing.