Winter affair, p.14
Winter Affair, page 14
Chapter 9
Reardon had lied to her. He’d been lying all along. She tried to remember exactly what he’d said at the Logan Inn when she questioned him about her father forbidding the test. He had never answered her directly; instead he had launched into his sabotage story, and she’d believed him.
The truth was right under her nose. Reardon had disobeyed a direct order and killed all those people with his negligence, including her father, who had died as a result of it. Reardon was responsible and deserved to go to jail.
Leda couldn’t absorb it. Why was the memo here, secreted in her father’s wallet, where it was never found? Had her father sought to protect Reardon, or had Reardon hidden it? No, no, that didn’t make sense. Nothing made any sense, except one clear fact: Reardon was guilty, just as everyone said.
Leda stood up abruptly, and the contents of the strongbox fell to the floor. She couldn’t face Reardon, knowing this. She wouldn’t do anything to get him into further trouble, but she couldn’t pretend that all was the same as before either. She knew that it was cowardly, but she had to get away. And she had the perfect passport out of town—the acting company that was about to go on tour.
Wiping her streaming eyes, she called her agent and asked if she could still audition for a spot. She was told to be in New York the next morning to talk to the manager of the company, who had seen her perform at the playhouse and expressed an interest. Leda asked her agent to call him and tell him that she wanted the job. Almost as soon as she replaced the phone the manager called her back and said that she had it, if she could work out the details with him in the morning. Leda said that she could, hung up, and went straight to her bedroom to pack.
When she came back out with her suitcase, she looked around the apartment and set it on the floor. She had to leave a note for Claire. She grabbed a piece of notepaper and scribbled something about a change in plans and being unable to turn down such a wonderful chance, and stuck it through the mail slot in Claire’s door. Then she called Anna and told her that she would be joining her in Atlanta the following day, where the company would already be in rehearsal. Anna was full of questions about Reardon, but Leda silenced her by saying that she would explain it all when she saw her.
That left the problem of Monica. Amazed at her own calm handling of the situation, Leda dialed her aunt’s number, mentally rehearsing what she would say to her.
“Hi, it’s me,” Leda began when Monica answered the phone.
“I see. Fresh from your triumph at the country club?” Monica responded sourly.
Leda put her hand over her mouth for a second to stifle a sob. Then, clearing her throat, she said, “I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be going out of town for a while. I just got a great offer to travel with a Shakespearean company and I’m going to take it. The first booking is in Atlanta, and I’m going straight there. I’ll call you with the information about where I’m staying, and with the rest of the itinerary, dates and places and so on. Okay?”
There was a protracted silence. Then, “Leda, tell me the truth. Is this some cover story for the fact that you’re running away with that Reardon man?”
Leda closed her eyes. “No, Monica. I’m going on tour. Anna is going too, we’ll be together, roommates probably.”
“Kind of sudden, isn’t it? You didn’t say anything about this to me before now.”
“I just found out about it myself, and I really should jump at the chance. It’s great experience.”
“What about your undying love for Kyle Reardon?”
“That’s all over,” Leda whispered.
Monica didn’t try to conceal her relief. “Well, thank God you finally came to your senses. What happened?”
“I can’t talk about that now. I have to run.”
“Wait a minute, Leda. A few days ago you stood in my kitchen defending him to the death, and now you’re taking off for the hills with no explanation other than ‘that’s all over’? You’ll have to do better than that, young lady.”
“And I will, but it’s too much to go into right at the moment.” Leda took a deep breath, hoping that she would be able to end this conversation without her aunt suspecting how close she was to breaking down. “I’ll call you as soon as I get to Atlanta. Goodbye.”
Monica was calling her name as she hung up.
Leda found some tissues, blew her nose, and picked up her suitcase and purse.
When the phone began to ring again she ignored it and headed for the door. Then she paused on the threshold, looking back.
If she didn’t leave Kyle some kind of message he would come after her. He would find out where she had gone, follow her, and undoubtedly create a highly emotional scene she would rather avoid.
He would return in three days, possibly sooner when she didn’t answer her phone. She had to take action to convince him to leave her alone. She got another sheet of notepaper and wrote:
I have been reading my father’s records. I found the memo and I know the truth. I’m going away on tour, please don’t come after me. I’m sorry it worked out this way.
She signed her name, barely able to see through her tears, and left the note on the kitchen table where he would be sure to find it. Then, crying uncontrollably, she grabbed up her things and ran out of the house.
* * * *
The audition the next day was perfunctory, and Leda flew out of Kennedy to join Anna and the rest of the company, already in rehearsal in Atlanta.
Reardon came back to Yardley the next day, alarmed that he hadn’t been able to contact Leda. When he walked into the living room of her apartment and saw the contents of the strongbox on the floor, he knew something was dreadfully wrong. Fearing for Leda’s safety, he ran from room to room and saw the half empty closet in her bedroom and the open space where her suitcase had been. His fear turning to the dread of loss, he walked slowly back into the kitchen, where he found the note.
He read it, knowing what he was going to see before he saw it. Then he sat in a chair and folded his arms on the table before him, resting his forehead on the cushion they provided. He remained motionless for some time, enervated by despair.
Looking up at length, he rubbed his eyes and crushed the note he still held into a ball, throwing it across the room.
She had found the memo. He knew what that meant. He had to locate her and explain. His only thought was to get to the playhouse and ask her friends where she had gone. On the way out he checked the apartment next door, but Claire was not home. He ran back to the street and set out for New Hope.
Nobody there knew where Leda was. The director was in his office, but all he could tell Reardon was that he’d heard Leda signed on with a tour at the last minute, the same one Anna Fleming had joined. He suggested a visit to Leda’s aunt. Reardon nodded wearily, thanking him. Monica Donlon was the last person on earth he wanted to see, but he was fairly sure she would know where Leda was.
He was quite a bit less sure that she would tell him.
Monica answered her door, and was shocked into silence at the sight of her visitor.
“Hello, Mrs. Donlon,” Reardon said calmly. “I’ve been looking for Leda, and I wondered if you could tell me where she went.”
“No, I couldn’t,” Monica replied, attempting to close the door in his face.
Reardon stuck his foot in the jamb. “It’s very important that I reach her.”
Monica put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Look, Reardon, can’t you see that she went out of town to get away from you? I say it’s high time she saw what you are, and I thank God she finally started showing some of the sense she was born with and gave you the gate.”
“Did she tell you what happened? ”
“She just said that it was over between you, and that’s enough for me.”
“I love her, Mrs. Donlon.”
“That’s your problem. Now get off my porch before I call the police.”
Reardon barely had time to jump back before the door crashed shut an inch from his nose.
He sagged against the porch railing and wondered what to do. Badgering the old lady would get him nowhere; Monica was as immovable as the Capitol building, and if he tried to push her any further he probably would wind up in jail.
He could think of only one person, beside the absent Claire, who might be able to tell him something. That was John Caldwell, Carter Bradshaw’s lawyer. Leda had told him that Caldwell handled her legal affairs as well. Maybe it was a shot in the dark but it was all he had. He trudged through the snow to his car and drove down the hill into the center of Yardley.
The receptionist at Caldwell and Younger was not happy to see him. He didn’t have an appointment, which upset her; her world was ruled by order, and the sight of this large, forceful looking character lingering in the waiting room for an unscheduled interview cluttered her day. Reardon stared at her pointedly until she finally buzzed Caldwell’s office and told him that a Mr. Kyle Reardon wished to see him, and could he find a moment. As Reardon had anticipated, the sound of his name was magic, and Caldwell came out to get him.
“Hello, Reardon,” Caldwell said, shaking his hand. “Come inside and sit down.”
Reardon followed him into the spacious office filled with sunlight, which he remembered from his days with Leda’s father. He took the seat Caldwell indicated, and waited as the lawyer settled himself behind his desk.
“So,” Caldwell said, “how are you?”
Reardon shrugged. “As you see me.”
“You don’t look any the worse for wear,” Caldwell observed.
“I feel it,” Reardon replied, holding the other man’s gaze until Caldwell looked away.
“You got a rough deal, Kyle,” Caldwell said softly. “I admit that.”
“Do you?”
Caldwell spread his hands. “There was nothing anyone could do. There was no evidence, Prescott had an airtight case.”
“You know he was lying, John.”
Ever the cautious attorney, Caldwell said nothing.
Reardon shrugged. “It’s all over now anyway, at least that part of it. That’s not why I’m here.”
Caldwell eyed him warily.
“Do you know where Leda Bradshaw is?”
Caldwell was startled. “What do you mean? Has she gone somewhere?”
“Apparently. I’m trying to find her. Did she say anything to you to indicate where she might go?”
“No, nothing.”
“Do you know the name of her agent?”
“That’s confidential information, Kyle. I can’t tell you that.”
“Fine. I’ll go through the Equity directory one by one until I hit the right person.”
“What’s going on, Kyle? Why is it so important for you to find her? I understand that you were seeing her, but...”
“How did you understand that?” Reardon asked sharply.
Caldwell looked uncomfortable. “Word gets around.”
“I see. You heard about the New Year’s Eve party.”
Caldwell looked away. “It’s a small town.”
Reardon stood up. “Thanks for your time, John.” He made for the door.
“I’d help if I could, Kyle,” Caldwell called after him. “But I don’t know anything. I really only spoke to Leda once, when she asked to see the transcript.”
Reardon froze. “What transcript?”
“The transcript of your trial. She called me and wanted to get a copy of it and I gave it to her. That’s public information, you know.”
Reardon closed his eyes. He knew very well what a damning picture that document presented. No wonder the memo sealed his doom. Going through the trial records had planted the subconscious seeds of doubt in her mind, and the memo had finally convinced her against him. She would never listen to him now. She wouldn’t listen to him unless he got proof, and that was going to take time.
“I appreciate your seeing me, John,” he said to the lawyer, turning to go.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t have been of more help,” Caldwell said in parting.
“Oh, you helped, John. You helped me more than you know.”
Reardon closed the door of the office behind him and set off down the hall. The hell with his license, and the hell with trying to work on the case from his end. This situation called for drastic action, and he was going to take it.
He stopped at a pay phone in the lobby of the building and dialed the Phelps number. When the secretary answered he asked to speak to Jim Kendall.
“Jim?” he said when the other man got on the line. “This is Kyle Reardon.”
“You sound close. I thought you were in Harrisburg.”
“I was, until this morning. Jim, listen. Can I come to your office to talk to you?”
“Sure, Kyle, what’s up?”
“I have a favor to ask, and it’s a big one. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Reardon hung up the phone and strode purposefully toward the door.
Chapter 10
It was spring in Boston. The frozen grip of winter had long given way to the rains of April and May, and now the Common was blooming with June abundance. Leda looked out her dressing room window at the gorgeous display, and then turned away from the sight. It should have been cheering, but it wasn’t.
She hadn’t heard from Reardon for six months. During that time she’d been traveling with the troupe, bringing the bard to the cities of the Eastern corridor and trying to forget the man she’d left behind in Pennsylvania. She’d had considerable success with the former endeavor, none at all with the latter.
Leda went to her mirror and glanced at her costume, routinely checking the fit. She was appearing as Kate in The Taming of the Shrew, and the laces of the bodice kept coming undone, which was a source of vast amusement to cast and crew. She had finally sewn in a hidden set of snaps and they seemed to help, but she still didn’t trust the blouse. The director wanted her to wear the outfit because its designer swore to its authenticity. Leda thought that if it really was authentic, the women in the sixteenth century must have led a very exciting life.
The door opened and Anna entered, carrying a stack of mail and a hat box. She handed Leda a letter.
“For you,” she said. “The concierge at the hotel sent it over.”
It was from Claire. Leda opened it and learned that her tenant was engaged to her old boyfriend from Wilmington, a piece of news not guaranteed to brighten Leda’s day. She was happy for Claire, of course, but during this tour she had met such an alarming array of simpletons, bores, and gigolos that she had almost decided to enter a convent. The fact that Claire was obviously doing a lot better added to Leda’s general depression. There was a rent check enclosed, however, and she received it with gratitude, stowing it in her purse. She could certainly use it.
“What do you think?” Anna asked, modeling the hat she had just acquired from the wardrobe room.
It was a large chapeau, with a spray of fake ostrich plumes. Leda stared at it, speechless.
“Oh, my God,” Anna said, examining herself in the mirror. “I look like Sir Walter Raleigh.”
“I guess that’s the idea,” Leda said cautiously.
“What do you mean, that’s the idea? Walter Raleigh was a man.”
Leda shrugged. “Well, at least they got the period right.”
Anna removed the headgear and jammed it back in the box. “They’ll have to come up with something else.” She stalked out of the room, muttering to herself.
Leda sighed and glanced at her watch. Dress rehearsal was at three, and the performance was scheduled for eight. She would have time for a nap in between. She was sleeping a lot lately; escape was always desirable when she had so much to forget.
For the first couple of weeks after she had left Yardley she’d been hoping to hear from Reardon, praying that she’d been mistaken and he would be able to explain it all.
But when the time passed without a word, Leda realized that he had nothing to say in his defense and she gave up. Monica wrote that he had quit his job at Phelps and left town. So much for his big plans to search out the truth and make his case.
Claire had been right.
There was no case to make.
Leda dried her eyes, retied the drawstring on her blouse, and made her way down the hall to the stage.
The performance that evening went well, and Leda was pleasantly tired when she got back to her dressing room. She showered in the adjoining bathroom—the facilities were far superior to those in Bucks County— and changed to jeans and a soft sweater. Anna was off somewhere, romancing a stagehand, and Leda was drifting into a doze on the couch when there was a knock at her door.
“Come in,” she called, thinking that it was the prop mistress with Anna’s latest hat.
The door opened and Reardon walked through it.
Leda sat up, instantly wide awake. Her eyes locked with his, and she felt a falling sensation in the pit of her stomach. Unconsciously her hand sought the armrest for support, as if she were bracing for an impact.
“Hello, saddle shoes,” he said.
He looked wonderful. He was wearing tan chinos with a light blue shirt and a navy sweater, the clothes emphasizing his graceful, athletic body. His hair was shorter than she remembered it, clipped close to his head on the sides and in the front. But his gaze was the same: steady, penetrating, unnerving. Time had done nothing to diminish his power over her, and as Leda looked back at him she knew she had to be firm or she would be tossed into his whirlpool all over again.
“Hello, Kyle,” she said, with an approximation of control.
“How have you been?” he asked, his gray eyes watchful.
“Fine.”
“I was in the audience tonight. You were wonderful, you really brought Katharina to life.”
“Thank you.”
“I told you that you should stick with the acting. It looks like you made the right decision.”
Leda stood up. “Yes, it does. Look, Kyle, I don’t want to be rude, but we really have nothing to say to each other. I broke it off between us six months ago, for good, and I still feel the same way. So no more chitchat, okay? Get to the point. What do you want?”
