It wasn’t until after dinner that Veronica drifted into a monologue about having taken Cale’s place in the Senate. There was nothing maudlin about it, and she even spiced it with humorous asides about her Senate colleagues. “How about some more coffee in the den?” she asked.
“Love it,” said Lydia.
The fire was almost out, and Veronica tossed two small logs into it, saying, “Cale made such wonderful fires. I suppose it was because he kept an eye on it, never allowed it to dwindle too low.”
Lydia settled in a club chair and watched as Veronica arranged the coffee service on a rolling cart. It struck her then, as it had many times before, how smoothly and easily Veronica moved in a social situation. She had, of course, been born into a milieu in which social grace was expected. A good hostess never betrayed any hints of nervousness or lack of ease, and Veronica had learned the lesson well.
Aside from the pull of fatigue around her eyes, Veronica looked as lovely as ever. She wore a full plum skirt and frilly white blouse that buttoned high about her neck. Her auburn hair swooped softly over her temples and glistened in the flickering glow of the fire, like brandy picking up a candle’s light. Her figure, always on the lean side, was still firm and supple, although a barely discernible thickening through the middle was evident if one bothered to look.
“Would you like something in your coffee?” Veronica asked.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“I think I will. Cale taught me the pleasure in that.” She uncorked a bottle of cognac and added a few drops to her cup.
Veronica sat on the couch, sniffed the contents of her cup, then took a long, slow sip. “Well, where were we?”
“You were telling stories out of school,” Lydia said.
“I suppose I was. Cale used to come home and we’d sit up late while he told me about what had happened during the day. God, Lydia, the Senate is an amazing mix of individuals, each with his own point of view. How anything ever gets done is a wonder of the world.”
“I know what you mean. It’s a maze.”
Veronica sipped her coffee. “Exactly, a maze of conflicting needs and demands. Cale always said that negotiation was the key, negotiation and compromise. I used to argue with him sometimes for compromising his beliefs in order to get a bill through or to bring about harmony on a committee. I wish I hadn’t…” For a moment, she thought her hostess might burst into tears. “Yes, compromise, Lydia, is the key to everything, including your work with the committee.”
“Of course,” said Lydia. “I’m well aware of that. I really haven’t had to do much of it yet, but I’m certain my time will come—”
“Maybe it already has, Lydia.”
“How so?”
“Suggesting that Jimmye’s death be brought into Cale’s investigation.”
“Well… Jason mentioned to me that you were upset about that, Veronica. I’m glad you brought it up. I think we should discuss it.”
Veronica placed her cup on the cart. “Lydia, I really don’t think there’s too much to talk about when it comes to this matter. Frankly, personal feelings aside, I cannot for the life of me see anything of value to be gained by going into the old investigation of Jimmye’s murder. It’s a totally unrelated matter that coincidentally happened to a family that has just suffered a second tragedy. Jimmye was bludgeoned to death by a madman, probably a drug addict or former mental patient. At least that’s what the police have decided. Cale was murdered by someone who obviously had some political or financial gain as a motive, or thought he had.” Her laugh was forced. “I simply wouldn’t have thought that someone with your usual clear view of things would even suggest lowering an entire Senate committee’s role to something like this. This family is not a continuing soap opera, Lydia.”
Lydia was taken aback at the tone of the comment. She said, rather reluctantly, “I’d hardly characterize my work with the committee as a soap opera, Veronica. I think that’s unfair.”
Veronica sat forward and held up her hands. “Please, Lydia, forgive me. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. It’s been a long, hard day and my tongue evidently isn’t connected to my brain at this point.”
Lydia nodded. “We all suffer that malady now and then. Let’s forget it was even said.”
“Yes.”
“But I would like to discuss Jimmye’s death and how it might relate to the committee’s investigation. I suggested to Senator MacLoon and to the full committee that we do it, and I still feel that way. Naturally, I’m willing to—”
“Compromise?”
“Well, to change my mind if there’s some good reason that I’ve missed.”
“Isn’t the fact that her death is obviously not connected reason enough to drop it? The committee has a definite, narrow charter, Lydia—to investigate Cale’s murder and to establish that it was in no way connected with government. Or, if it was, to identify that link, resolve it and allow the Senate to get on with its business with a satisfied American public behind it and not riddled with the sort of doubts that have plagued the Kennedy assassination for all these years.”
“I understand that, Veronica, I really do. But what harm is there in at least looking at how Jimmye’s death might shed some light on Cale’s murder? I’m not suggesting a long drawn-out investigation, just a reasonable, limited examination of facts.”
Veronica stiffened, although her voice did not reflect it. She said softly, “If you don’t see the wisdom in what I say, Lydia, perhaps a more personal approach would be more acceptable. Frankly, I’m not sure I could stand up to another public hanging-out of Jimmye’s wash. Can you understand that?”
“Yes, of course. You’ve been through far more than most people should ever be asked to take on. I recognize, I respond to that… perhaps more than you know. The thought of opening up Jimmye’s case through the committee must be abhorrent to you. But I have to remind you, Veronica, that you were the one who pushed for a Senate committee in the first instance, and who asked me to serve as its special counsel.”
“I’m aware of that. To be perfectly candid, one of the reasons for wanting you was the faith I had in your sense of decency and taste. I’ve always known you to be an extremely sensitive woman, Lydia, a compassionate one too. I’m asking for a demonstration of that now.”
“Even if it means not doing my job?”
“We all bend at times, Lydia, in the name of decency, out of respect for our friends and their feelings.”
Lydia was confused. What Veronica had said made sense, and yet something inside her rebelled against dropping the Jimmye McNab matter. “I’m having trouble sorting out how I feel, Veronica. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth. If I promise to carefully reconsider introducing Jimmye into the investigation, will that do it, at least for this evening?”
“It will have to, won’t it?” There was frost in her voice. “Lydia… there’s more to this than I’ve indicated.”
“I wondered… I’d like to know.”
“I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to be this direct, but perhaps the direct approach is, as they say, the kindest. Senator MacLoon is extremely unhappy over you as special counsel. He feels that you haven’t the experience in government to fully understand the meaning of such a committee and its role in Congress. As you know, he’s dead set against expanding the investigation to include Jimmye’s death. If you insist on going ahead, even though there isn’t a shred of evidence to support it, I’m afraid your position with the committee might be in jeopardy.”
“The committee job is not my life’s work,” Lydia said tightly. “I’m involved because I was asked to be by people for whom I care a great deal. I accepted the job because I think it’s important. Also because it’s a challenge. Naturally, I’d not like to be fired, but”—she shrugged and forced a smile—“if that’s what comes from trying to do what I think is right, well, so be it…”
Veronica closed her eyes and slumped back into the cushions of the couch. “Of course, you’re right,” she said so softly that Lydia had to lean forward and ask her to repeat it. “I said ‘you’re right.’ You must forgive me, Lydia, perhaps I’ve handled all this all wrong. That happens to people, I’m told, who try to act too brave in the face of personal tragedy and never allow the impact of it to be felt, to come out.” She began to cry now. Lydia sat beside her and put her arm over her shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Veronica said.
“Don’t be. You’re right. There’s a time to let down and perhaps this is it. Cry, cry until it’s all out.”
Which she did. Fifteen minutes later the two women stood together in the foyer.
“Thank you, Veronica… for a good evening.”
“Thank you for being here when I needed you. I have to ask one thing, Lydia, about Jimmye.”
“Yes?”
“Whatever you do, please do it gently, and discreetly.”
“You can count on that.”
“I knew I could… be careful driving.”
“I will.” She kissed her cheek and left.
She arrived back at her brownstone in Washington without any memory of the trip, her thoughts totally on what had happened with Veronica. She’d driven as though on automatic pilot, making her turns by rote, unaware of the automobiles she passed or of their occupants. Nor was she aware that a gunmetal gray sedan had followed her ever since she turned onto the highway outside the Caldwell estate.
Its driver parked a block away from the brownstone and waited until she had reached her bedroom and turned on the lights. He pushed a button on a cheap digital watch; its face lit up. He noted her time of arrival on a pad, lit a cigar and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He would be here for the rest of the night. An assignment was an assignment. As he often told his wife when she complained about his being out all night, “It’s a living. You don’t complain when you cash the checks.”