Vanished

“Mrs. Patterson,” he said slowly, after the tea had arrived and the policeman who'd brought it had left again, leaving the library door ajar. Taylor stood up and strode over and closed it. “I want to tell you something your driver said. I want to discuss this with you myself. Because if the press get hold of this, it's going to make a hell of a story.” She knew before he said anything what the story was going to be, and maybe in some ways it would be a relief to tell him. “Mr. Reilly says you have a 'boyfriend.' “ His face was without expression as he said the word, and Marielle smiled. It was so absurd that she had to smile, but she also knew how vicious Patrick was, and she could imagine the story.

“That's an interesting term.”

“Is it accurate?” She could feel him pressuring her. He wanted to know everything about her, for the sake of her child's life. And if he had to, no matter how pretty he thought she was, he would be ruthless.

She sighed, and looked at him. “No, it's not accurate.” It was almost funny to even think of Charles as her “boyfriend.” “He's my ex-husband, and I hadn't seen him in almost seven years until two days ago. We ran into each other at Saint Patrick's Cathedral.”

“Was the meeting prearranged?”

She shook her head solemnly, and the way she looked at him, he believed her. Her eyes were full of grief, and he sensed that behind the new sorrow was old grief.

“It was totally coincidental that we met. He's been living in Spain …fighting against Franco.”

“Oh Christ, one of those.” Taylor took a long sip of coffee. It had already been a long night, but he needed to be alert as the night grew longer. He wanted to talk to her himself, and to hear her story before her husband came home. “Is he a Commie?”

She smiled again. That was another funny word to apply to Charles, although nothing was funny now. Now that Teddy was gone, nothing would ever be funny again … or happy … or nice … or even worth staying alive for …but he would return. It would be different this time. It had to be. The story would have a happy ending. “I don't think he's actually political. He just spends his life tilting at windmills. He's an idealist and a dreamer and writer. He's gone to Pamplona to run with the bulls. He's close to Hemingway. I think he just saw a fight in Spain, and he went to fight it. I don't know. I haven't seen him in years. I haven't spent any real time with him since 1929 … I haven't seen him at all since 1932 when I came back to the States, and married Malcolm.”

“And why now? Why is he suddenly here? To see you?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Family obligations. His father is very old, and probably dying, or close to it.”

“Did he call you when he arrived, or write to you?” She shook her head. “Do you think he followed you? Is he angry at your remarriage?”

She sighed and looked at the inspector long and hard. ^£? don't know if he has followed me, I don't think so. He hasn't called …and yes … I think he is angry at my remarriage …and about Teddy … he didn't know. I told him on Friday that I'd remarried, but I didn't …say anything …about Teddy. And then yesterday, he saw him.”

“Yesterday?” John Taylor looked intrigued as she continued.

“In Central Park. We went to the boat pond, but it was frozen.” Taylor nodded and wondered about the second meeting.

“Did you agree to meet him there?”

“It was coincidence again. His home is just outside the park, at the level of the boat pond.”

“Did you want to meet him there?”

“I never thought about it.” She looked straight at him, and she was still trembling.

“Did you think about him?”

She nodded, her eyes boring holes in his. She had thought about nothing but since she'd seen him at Saint Patrick's.

“Don't you think that two coincidental meetings is a bit much to believe after seven years? You don't see him in seven years, and suddenly there he is twice in two days. Don't you think he was looking for you on purpose?”

“Perhaps.” It was possible. She had asked herself the same questions.

“Did he want anything from you?” Taylor's eyes searched everything about her.

She hesitated, and then nodded. “Yes … he wanted to see me.”

“Why?”

“I'm not sure … to talk … to talk about things that no longer matter. It's all over now …it's gone … it was a long time ago. I've been married to Malcolm …my husband … for six years …” Her words drifted off as she looked sorrowfully at John Taylor. He had come into her life at a terrible time, and she barely saw him. She saw his face and heard his voice but she didn't know who he was, she didn't know anything. She felt numb, and desperately frightened every time she thought of Teddy.

“When were you married to him?” His voice droned on, gentle but ever probing.