her going to England was hardly a solution to Kim’s problems. Might, it not be infinitely better if he came to New York? The more she thought about this, the more Francesca was convinced it was the most effective and practical solution. She would remove him from his normal environment and propel him into a round of social activities on this side of the Atlantic. Francesca was nothing if not decisive and she hurried to the desk, picked up the telephone and dialled her home in Virginia.
‘Hello, Harrison. It’s me,’ she said when her husband answered.
‘Ah, darling, so there you are. I was just going to call you. Why didn’t you awaken me before you left? You know I like to say goodbye. Creeping off like that was grossly unfair of you. Ruined my day, I don’t mind telling you.’
As he was speaking Francesca was, as always, conscious of the rich timbre of his voice, and touched by the warmth and love it exuded. He was such a dear man. How lucky she was. She smiled into the telephone. ‘You were sleeping so soundly, my darling, I didn’t have the heart to disturb you.’
‘Did you have a nice trip? How are things at the apartment?’ he asked.
‘Smooth trip, and everything is fine here.’
‘I forgot to tell you last night, I’d like you to stop by at the gallery and chivy Ledere about the Utrillo, if you don’t mind. I’d really appreciate it, and I think a personal visit would be more effective than a ‘phone call. Any time this week will do, whenever you can fit it in.’
‘Of course, darling. Actually, Harry, I called you for a couple of reasons, apart from wanting to say hello. I wondered if you’d like to come up for a couple of days? Perhaps on Wednesday. You could bring the girls. They would enjoy it, and so would I, and we can all fly back to Virginia together, on Friday.’
‘I’d love to, Francesca, but I can’t. I have some special meetings in Washington, which I must attend, and a Democratic dinner. So sorry. Next week maybe. If you’re going to New York again,’ he said, regret echoing in his voice.
‘Fine,’ she said, suppressing her own disappointment. ‘There’s another matter I must discuss with you, Harry dear. I’ve received a rather disturbing letter from Kim.’ She went on to tell him about its contents and her dismay about Kim’s depressed mood.
‘So I thought it might be a good idea to invite him here to New York, Harry. And then I thought we might all go to the estate in Barbados for a week or so. That would be more beneficial to you than going to England. After all, you’d only get embroiled with your political cronies in the British government, and it wouldn’t be a rest at all.’
Harrison Avery chuckled. How well she knew him. ‘You’re correct there, my sweet girl. And Barbados does appeal to me. Can’t say I fancy London in winter. Too damned cold and damp for these old bones. And I agree with you wholeheartedly about Kim. I think you should invite him here immediately, Francesca. I’ve been a little concerned about him myself. Why don’t you give him a call right now?’ he proposed.
‘It’s so easy to refuse on the telephone, Harry, and he might just do that, without giving it any real thought. I’d prefer to write to him and then telephone him next week when he’s had the letter. To persuade him, if necessary.’
‘You know best, of course, darling. But I hope he comes over at once, if he can get away from Langley. You know I’ve always had a soft spot for that brother of yours, and I think he needs us both right now.’
‘Yes, he does. Thank you for being so understanding and supportive, Harry dear. I’d better go. I must write the letter, and I’ve got rather a busy day. I’ll speak to you later in the week.’
‘Fine, darling. Goodbye.’
Since the plans for Kim’s trip were uppermost in her mind at this moment, that sense of regret Francesca had experienced on entering the apartment earlier was entirely forgotten. Yet only a few weeks later she was to remember it, and with a sudden surge of clarity, wondering if it had been some kind of premonition of impending disaster, and not regret at all. Ridiculous as it was, she even entertained the notion that events would have progressed differently, the consequences been averted, if she had followed her original impulse and returned to Virginia. But hindsight was meaningless. By then it was already too late. Her life and the lives of others had been changed irrevocably, and so profoundly they would never be the same again.
Now, this morning, preoccupied as she was with her brother’s well-being, her speculation about the future revolved solely around him. She picked up her pen and began the letter. When it was finished she sealed it quickly, addressed the envelope and found an airmail stamp in the desk drawer. There, it was done! She leaned back in the chair and regarded the letter propped up against a malachite bookend. It was articulate and persuasive and so lovingly couched, Kim would be unable to reject her invitation, of that she was absolutely convinced. She thought then of the postscript at the end of his letter, and she made a solemn vow to herself: 1979 was going to be a better year for him, no matter what was entailed or what she had to do to ensure this outcome.
Francesca pushed back the chair, filled with a sense of purpose and renewed energy. She smiled happily to herself as she hurried upstairs to change her clothes and refresh her make-up, in readiness for the day’s appointments. Kim would come to New York and she would help him to recover from his hurt and pain and melancholy. She would help to make him whole again. Everything was going to be all right.
Estelle Morgan was too early for her appointment with Francesca Avery, and as the taxi sped up Madison Avenue she decided to alight a few blocks away from the apartment, and walk the rest of the way. She paid off the cab at Seventy-Fourth Street and Madison and stepped out into the crisp afternoon air. It had stopped snowing at lunch time, and a watery sun was trying to penetrate the bloated etiolated clouds with scant success.
As she turned onto Fifth Avenue and approached the palatial and imposing building where the Averys lived, a self-congratulatory smile slipped onto her face, giving her a smug look. How right she had been to wear her mink coat. The doormen of these apartment buildings where the very rich lived were invariably snootier than their privileged inhabitants, and she wasn’t going to have even one of them look her over with disdain and treat her dismissively.
Estelle had hesitated about the coat at first, because it was snowing hard at eight o’clock and she did not want to get it wet. But it looked far better than her raincoat, and so she decided to take a cab to the office. It had been a worthwhile investment. The coat made her feel chic and bolstered her self-confidence. It was her pride and joy really. To complete the outfit Estelle had chosen a red dress, black patent knee-high boots and a large black patent shoulder bag, a copy of a famous Italian design. Earlier that morning as she had surveyed herself in the mirror, she had nodded at her reflection with complete gratification. She thought she was the epitome of a glamorous, successful international journalist. Sadly, Estelle Morgan did not think very deeply about anything, and so it never occurred to her that an outfit could not transform her into all the things she believed herself to be.
She glanced at her watch as she waited for the traffic lights to change at Seventy-Ninth Street. It was a few seconds to four, but she was almost there and would arrive exactly on time. Punctuality was not one of her strong suits, but she recalled that Francesca Avery, the cold bitch, was a stickler about time and, not wanting to start off on the wrong foot, she had made a concerted effort not to be late. After giving her name and being announced, she was permitted to enter the grandiose building at Eighty-First
