Palindrome (14 page)

James spoke up. "May I get you some refreshment, Miz Elizabeth?" he asked, moving toward a butler's tray filled with decanters and an ice bucket. She asked for bourbon, and Angus' requested a martini, watching closely as James finished.

Liz took her drink from a silver tray and sipped it. "What a handsome room," she said, looking about at the high shelves of leather-bound volumes and the polished mahogany paneling.

"I'm glad you chose that word. I've always thought that old Aldred Drummond made this room to be handsome, not beautiful. It's a man's room, and it's always been my favorite. I have probably spent more time here than in any other place on earth."

She looked at the gun case and the rack for fishing rods, then at the old-fashioned file cabinets and map drawers. "I think it must reflect you as much as old Aldred," she said, and he beamed with pleasure.

"It certainly holds a lot more books than he originally allowed for. It is the library of six generations. We always had a bookbinder on the place until a few years ago, when the last one died."

"What sort of staff do you still have here?"

"Just a maid and a cook to take care of me. Of course, there's a gardener and a maintenance crew of a couple of dozen to keep the roads, the docks, and the airstrip."

She stopped before the fireplace in the center of the room and gazed at the painting over the mantel. It was a naval battle scene, and the fires on the burning ships cast an amazing light. "Is it a Turner?" she asked, not willing to believe her instinct.

"It is, and one of his best, I'm told. My grandfather bought it in London in 1889. I've got the bill somewhere. It was a hundred pounds, I think."

"He was always one of my favorites," she said.

"You probably appreciate it more than I. It was always there for me to see when I was growing up, and I suppose I've gotten used to it. When I was a boy, though, it was the source of many dreams about fighting at sea. I think it was the reason I joined the navy in 1917, right out of Princeton."

Liz did a quick calculation. "You finished Princeton at what, nineteen?"

"I'd been well tutored most of my life, and I was somewhat ahead of my classmates."

"Were you in the first war?"

"I served in a frigate in the North Sea. It was my greatest regret that I did not arrive there in time for the Battle of Jutland, the previous year. I was never even shot at."

Liz's grandparents were both dead, and she was enchanted with the notion of knowing someone directly connected with a past she viewed as distant history. "What did you do after the war?" she asked.

"Like a lot of well-off young men of my day, I traveled. I spent three years in Europe—Paris, Rome, Florence, Budapest, Prague, Warsaw, Vienna, Dresden, Berlin." He showed her to one of a pair of wing chairs and sat opposite her.

"When you finished your traveling, then what?"

"I went to law school at Duke University, but I never practiced, never even took the bar. My father thought the law would be useful in managing the estate, and he was right to an extent. My father died the summer I graduated, and from then on, I was here—with a lot of time spent in New York, London, and the Continent, of course. I stopped traveling abroad when the last war broke out, and I never wanted to again after that." He crossed his long legs and sighed. "It's a vanished world, now, but in my memory, Europe still exists as it was. He sipped his martini and gazed into the fire. "When I heard that Dresden had been destroyed, I wept."

"I plan to travel, when I've finished my book," she said. "The whole of my European experience was a guided trip to Paris when I was in college."

"See the world, all of it," he said, with vehemence. He looked at her. "You're still doing the book? After what's happened to Ray Ferguson?"

"Yes," she said.

"I was sorry to hear about Ray and Eleanor. They were decent people; they shouldn't have died like that."

"You're right," she said, and tried not to think about Baker Ramsey.

"Keir convinced me I should finish the book, although I didn't need much convincing. If you don't mind my staying on."

"Of course not. You've been seeing Keir?" he asked.

"Quite a lot," she said, and felt herself blushing.

"He's a good boy," Angus said, "they both are, but they're different."

"You're the first person who's said that. Everybody else talks about how much alike they are."

"They were always different, to me. They could fool me for a time, if they tried, but I could usually tell them apart. I sometimes wish Keir had led a more conventional life, but he seems happy, happier than Hamish in some ways, although Hamish has been more the success. I think Keir feels more than Hamish."

"I've felt that, too," Liz said. "Hamish seems, well, colder. Do you know why they... stay away from each other?"

"I don't," Angus said, "but I stopped letting it drive me crazy a long time ago. If they want to go on pretending that the other doesn't exist, well, I reckon they must have their reasons, and I respect their wishes. If I didn't, I'd never see either of them, they'd never come around. As it is, I see Hamish fairly often, but I hadn't seen Keir for three years, until recently." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "You know, when I was younger I thought that my progeny would succeed me as I succeeded my father, that Cumberland would always be kept as it was by future generations. Then, my son, Evan, died in that airplane crash, and I thought his sons would be here. Now I know that neither of them, no matter how much they love this place, is the man to continue for me."

"What about Germaine?" Liz asked.

"Germaine has her hands full with her inn, and I believe she's content with that." James reentered the room.

"Excuse me, Mr. Angus; dinner is served." Angus escorted Liz to the table, seated her, and turned to a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice beside the table. "Krug 'fifty-three," he said, showing her the bottle. He peeled away the foil and freed the cork from its wire cage.

"I love old champagne. Not quite as fizzy as it was, I'm sure, but the color, the flavor!" He removed the cork and poured her a glass. "It's been in my cellar for thirty-five years—hasn't moved an inch in all that time."

Liz drank from her glass, and turned to report to him.

"Let me tell you," he said. "Big, yeasty, not too many bubbles. Perfect."

"You're right, of course."

She laughed. He seated himself and looked up as James entered with two covered dishes. He placed them before the diners and lifted the covers; there were a dozen fresh shellfish on each plate. "My clams, from down on the flats behind the house. Best in the world."

Liz savored the sweet flavor. "I can't disagree."

Angus watched James as he left the room. "I've been training him all afternoon to serve dinner. The maid's too clumsy, and the cook's in the kitchen. He's doing well, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is. He seems a very nice boy; did he grow up on the island?"

"Yes, he did," Angus replied, forking a clam into his mouth.

"He's my son." Liz stopped, her fork in midair. Then, for something to do instead of speaking, she ate the clam. "His mother worked on the place. She was Buck Moses's daughter, by his fourth wife. I liked her, and I'd been a widower many years. We... comforted each other. She died some years ago and Buck has raised the boy since then—Buck and now, me. Buck's getting too old." He sipped his champagne. "I've never told another soul that," he said. "Indeed, I admitted it to myself only a short while ago." He peered at her across his glass. "I wonder why I told you."

"I'm glad you did," she said. "It's flattering when someone you like tells you his closest secrets." They finished the clams, and James came and took away the dishes. Angus got up, went to a sideboard, and retrieved an empty wine bottle and a full decanter. "Do you like claret? Red Bordeaux, I mean. The British call it claret, and I think it's a nice word."

"I do. I haven't drunk all that much of it, though."

"I want you to know about this bottle, because as long as you live, you may never have another wine as good. This is Chateau Lafite-Rothschild 1929, the finest red Bordeaux of this century, maybe ever." He poured a small amount in his glass, twirled it, plunged his nose deep into the glass, and inhaled. "Perfect. It's my last bottle; I wanted to drink it before I die, drink it in good company." He poured them both a glass and sat down.

Liz imitated his action with the glass, then sipped the wine. "I've never tasted anything so wonderful," she said, and she meant it.

James returned with a platter and presented two pheasant, sizzling. "I shot these myself last week with my new shotgun," he said, smiling.

Angus smiled back at him. "I've always managed to keep a good cook," Angus said when the birds had been served. "I think that's why I've lived so long." They ate in silence for a while. Finally, Liz asked, "What's going to happen to James when you die?"

"I've thought about that," Angus said. "I'd leave him to run wild on this island, if I thought he'd stay. But he won't. He wants to go to college, to see some of his country and the world. I'll see that he can do that, then I can only hope that Cumberland will draw him back the way it always draws back the people who love the place. I'll try and make it easy for him to come back."

"Do your grandchildren know they have an uncle?" Liz asked.

"I think Keir knows, but I'm not sure about Hamish and Germaine; they may have had their suspicions. I don't much give a good goddamn what anybody else thinks. Like that little weasel, Jimmy. He thinks he's going to develop Cumberland Island. He has some surprises coming!"

Liz was tempted to ask about the surprises, but she didn't want to pry.

They finished their dinner with a blueberry pie and a honey-like dessert wine from Angus Drummond's cellar, then they repaired to a leather sofa before the fire. "I don't think I've ever had a better dinner in my whole life." Liz sighed, accepting a brandy snifter from Angus. "And certainly not one where everything came from the backyard, so to speak."

"It's been awhile since I've entertained a beautiful woman," Angus said, sipping his brandy. "I'd forgotten how satisfying it can be."

"Thank you." It was at this moment, she thought, when a younger man would move on her. She wondered if he were about to, and, if he did, what she would do.

"Will you accept a gift from me?" he asked suddenly.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked, surprised.

"I'd like to give you something. Will you accept it?"

She hesitated only a moment. "Yes."

Angus rose and walked to his enormous desk. He brought back an envelope and a sheaf of papers. "I assure you it's not an inappropriate gift for an old man to give a young woman." He handed her the envelope. "Wait until I die to open it. I don't much like being thanked, and, I assure you, you won't have long to wait."

She looked at him, alarmed. "Do you know something I don't?"

He laughed. "No, but at my age, I could go at any moment. Lately, I've been feeling that it might be soon."

"All right," she said, laying the envelope in her lap, "I'll respect your wishes about waiting, but I'll thank you anyway. Even though I don't know what it is, I'm very grateful that you would want to give it to me."

Angus looked nonplussed for a moment, then he began shuffling the papers in his hands. "I'd also like to ask a small favor of you—nothing to do with my gift."

"Of course."

"I'd like you to witness my will."

"All right. I was at the inn when your lawyer arrived the other day. Germaine thought you might be making one."

"He didn't prepare this, I did. I told you I was trained as a lawyer, and when Cheatham paid me his visit earlier this week, I decided I didn't need a lawyer any longer." He turned red, apparently at the thought of Cheatham. "Do you know what that sonofabitch tried to do?"

"Easy now," she said, placing a hand on his arm.

He took a deep breath. "He brought my congressman and a man from the government here to... the congressman wants to introduce a bill in the Congress that would turn Cumberland Island into a national park. Wants to pay me thirty million dollars for it."

Liz said nothing. "Said it would be a monument to me. The idiot."

"I can imagine what you must have told them," Liz said.

"I fired my lawyer. I told the congressman this: I said, I'm making a will, and I'm going to put a clause in it leaving fifty thousand dollars to the campaign fund of the principal opponent of any congressman or senator who introduces such a bill in Congress."

Liz burst out laughing. "Oh, that's wonderful! What did he say?"

"He said, 'Well, of course we want to respect your wishes in this matter, Mr. Drummond.'" She started laughing again.

"I did it, too, I put the clause in my will."

"Good for you," she managed to say.

"Now, I don't want you to think that I drew this up hastily, because I didn't. I've been working on this document for a month, and it's just the way I want it. I've made it very difficult, I hope impossible, for anybody to ever make any radical change in this island. When Aldred Drummond got the grant of this place, he made it into a seat for himself and his family, and we Drummonds have been prolific enough to see that there'll be family around for a long time to come."

"It's your property, Mr. Drummond," Liz said, "and I think you should do whatever the hell you want to do with it."

"Good girl," he said, smiling broadly. "Now, listen to me. This document is my last will and testament; I am of sound mind, if not body; I'm not crazy, and I wasn't drunk when I wrote it, even if I am a little bit right now; it contains what I intend for this island and my family, is that clear to you?"

"Yes, it is." He produced an old Parker pen and signed it. Then he pointed at the place for her to sign. "Sign and date it right there." Liz did so.

"Why did you want me, in particular, to witness your will?"

"Because you're damn near the only person on the island at the moment who's not either a beneficiary or cut out of it. You've no ax to grind."