A Face Like His

Tuesday. Forty-one million dollars, plus interest, pl

go insurer pulled its coverage, three banks called in their loans in the same week, and her father had a stroke at his desk with the phone still in his

she told him.

de. She waited in the lobby with her mother's pearls in her handbag, the last thing she hadn't sold, and watched men in expensive

dings," he said, not meeting her eyes. "Mr.

house. Eleven pages. The debt would be forgiven in full on the condition that Beatrice Hale became Beatrice Cole,

first. It held one handwritten l

ardrobe had once been worth. The creditors had already taken the paintings, the cars, the summer house. She looked at the signature line for

at a delivery he has already paid for. When the officiant said he might kiss the bride, he did, briefly and correctly, wit

six mon

o fill with anything alive. Every room was white or gray. She could go anywhere in it except her husband's study.

ay. 10:00 Hair. 12:30 Foundation luncheon. 19:00 Whitlock dinner, blue dress. He never apologized for any of it

ife" the way people say "my car," and let photographers catch him leaning to her ear as

f the harbor authority's new berthing fees. She opened her mouth to answer; her father had

nd her wrist under the table

ative than informed," he s

oman in green leaned toward the host and asked brightly wh

of the room drop

asantly, and turned to the next subject. Beatrice not

new only that his name was not spoken at Harrow Point, and that whatever liv

judge. Just a steady cold, like living beside an open freezer, and a way of looking through her that made he

nside it, in her father's old shorthand, she copied out everything she remembered about Hale Shipping: the routes, th

tebook once. She said nothing. The next m

that afternoon, folding napkins in the

t woman of sixty who had worked for the Cole fami

hen she closed her mouth like a

enough. Beatrice turned

with his coat over his arm. For a moment she thought he might say someth

e days," he said.

ever

gone. The car pulled out of the drive at eight, and she watched its

llway, his voice low and precise. She caught only one w

cell

nk anything of

obody was watching her. She ate dinner in the sunroom with the notebook op

orning, the fro

ck. A key turned, and the door eased shut with the

steps crosse

ever told about. But Mr. Dray walked like a man carrying something fragile, quick, careful, a little anxious.

thought was

was imp

inpricks and disappear where the road curved around the cliff. She had read the itinerary on her cream card: Flight 217, 21:40 dep

th a glass of scotch and a tablet propped against the tray ta

ps reached

down to the pause at the third stair, the one that creaked, the one he always skipped without thinking

d stair

pped br

the house settling.

r. Then the landing, and

dn't turn it on. She didn't move. She lay in the dark with her heart slamming against h

oor o