Penelope's Suitors

Chapter 21 and Epilogue

Chapter 21

Spring, 2006

Was there anyone who could answer his questions?

He closed his eyes and imagined each person in the Hall, almost like a tableau. Vic stunned. Laurie glassy-eyed. Inside, at the far left, Matthew had retreated to his shop, staring off in the distance. In a corner stood Stanislaus, with his usual passive look, fiddling with his pipe. Beside him Mrs. Bretton fretted, her face a portrait of concern. They were talking in low tones to a deputy. A few teen guests sat on the fixed benches around the room's edge, some with parents protectively hovering as other deputies spoke with them.

And in the center of the bench at the far side sat Penelope, misery completely suffusing her face. Ariadne was lying on her side, her head in Penelope's lap, her expression mirroring her sister's. Their braids hung down wetly.

Wetly.

Practically dripping. Of course, it made sense now. Everyone had quickly come in from the drizzle, but they had been on the cliff in the open while everyone else been in the Hall. The light rain had soaked their hair all the way through.

He opened his eyes and looked across the lake at Longwood Mountain. After a restless night, he had checked out of the hotel at around 11:00. He thought he'd drive straight back to New York, and scenarios of what he'd tell Penelope—and how—chased themselves around his mind to no effect.

Ted was already in his car when he decided he couldn't possibly leave without a visit to Twelve Pines. His visits to Ariadne and Joan had been limited to the Stone House; he hadn't seen the resort grounds. Ted had turned into the entranceway, but went down to the empty upper lot instead of the driveway. He parked and walked down the hill past the closed-up cabins. It was dead quiet; there were no guests this early.

Spring runoff flowed down the stream bed that was dry in the summer. Ted walked across the bridge that led to the three north cabins, and he bent down and dipped his hand in the stream. He scooped up some freezing water and splashed it on his face.

The cliffs hadn't changed. Short plants and grass grew sparsely over the thin soil, with rock outcroppings sticking up in places. But there were two man-made changes: One was a wooden fence at the edge, with a sign that read "Danger—Keep Back." The other was a bench of wood and metal, fastened to one of the outcroppings with metal bolts. Ted read the words on the small brass plaque: "In Memory of William Zelnick."

He turned and looked up the hill—a little detail to check out. It was true, he saw. You could see the edge of the Stone House through the trees—the garage with its automatic lights. He never noticed that before, but that too made sense. William had noticed you could see it.

Ted leaned on the fence to take in the lake, and then he closed his eyes to call up those final memories of the summer, to remember those last few key images.

Later, Ted couldn't say how he knew he wasn't alone anymore, perhaps a subtle mix of sound and scent. But he knew someone was looking at him; he felt the eyes between his shoulder blades as he looked at the lake. He turned around, to see her standing behind the bench.

"Hello Penelope," he said. "I never thought we'd meet here again."

She didn't respond right away, just stood there looking at him.

"I could kill you," she finally said. "And so could Ariadne." She walked around the bench and sat down on it, stretching her legs in front of her, and shoving her hands in her jacket pockets. Ted walked closer to her.

"Sneaking into her house, and grilling a little girl. And people make jokes about lawyers. She called me last night almost hysterical. I told you not to upset her. So I decided to drive up early this morning. Then I called the hotel but you had already checked out. I was standing in the living room trying to figure out what to do, when I saw you drive in. I knew you'd come to this spot."

"I'm so sorry. I really am. I wouldn't have hurt her for anything. But I had to be sure, and that was the only way."

He let the silence stretch for several moments. Penelope looked across lake, then she turned to him.

"You know what happened," she said.

"Yes I do."

"Then tell me. I hired you, so you owe me."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He spent a few minutes gathering his thoughts. "I'll see if I can explain it from the beginning. It started when Ariadne fell head-over-heels in love with William. Not a crush—not to her. A real passion. Anyway, there's your sister, your vivacious impulsive sister, and she's never seen anything like William. And there's you, wondering and fearing where this will end, and knowing you're the only one who can help her."

Penelope's face was impassive. She stopped looking at him, and stared into the distance.

"Ariadne became so pretty that summer. William was attracted to her too, but I don't think he ever cared deeply for anything except his music. That night, William and Ariadne wanted some time together without you breathing down their necks. And of course, you were stretched pretty thin yourself, with your own lover."

Penelope smiled at the memory, with a hint of bitterness. "I thought you'd come to that eventually."

Ted just continued. "So you're meeting your teacher-boyfriend while trying to keep an eye on your sister, while your father jets around the country and Mrs. Bretton keeps house. And then William cooks up that nonsense of the lost guests, thinking you would go looking for them. That's where the real trouble started."

He gave her a chance to say something, but she was quiet. "You didn't go, of course. You sent me and Mary-Lou, but no one else knew that. You were nervous and jumpy that evening. You could've just sat there and watched Ariadne like a hawk, but that wouldn't do. You wanted to actually catch her slipping off, so you could read her the riot act, and make sure William was never employed here again. And you did, but you misjudged. You thought you'd find them necking somewhere, perhaps in the shadows of the Hall. But that's not how it panned out, was it?" Penelope's face was somber, as she looked down.

"You suddenly realized he had lured her to one of the North cabins. And things must've been gone pretty far when you found them. My God, you must've exploded." Ted felt his heart pounding, and he began to sweat again. "I can see them hurriedly getting dressed. Ariadne horrified at seeing you there. William, defensive, maybe embarrassed, but probably not too upset. I can see you screaming at him. He maybe wanted to slip down the path to the beach, but you cut him off. Ariadne was probably right behind, watching and not knowing what to do. You were yelling at him, threatening him, backing him into the edge of the cliff as it started to drizzle, neither of you realizing how close to the edge you were."

Ted stopped, and prepared himself for the last bit. "And then, he started to go over. You grabbed at his shirt, tearing it, and maybe you would've saved him. But the ground gave way under him. And he was gone." Ted took a deep breath. "That was always the big question: Who could've brought him there? No one else but you, defending your sister."

Penelope looked up at him. He didn't notice for a minute, in the bright light, but tears were coursing down her pale cheeks. Then she buried her face in her hands and started to sob with great gulping sounds, her narrow shoulders shaking as tears leaked between her fingers.

Oh my God, Ted thought.

Ted's father had always told him gentlemen never leave the house without a clean handkerchief. But Ted had never followed that advice, and now had nothing to give her. If I were a different man, he thought, I would have a handkerchief to hand her. If I were a different man, I would take her in my arms right now and tell her everything was going to be OK.

But he knew he wasn't going to do that, and he looked away, to give her some privacy while she finished crying.

The sounds eventually stopped. Ted turned back to her. She was fishing tissues from her jacket pocket and wiping her face and nose.

"Tell me how you knew," she asked.

Ted sat down on the bench, and they half-turned to face each other. "There was no other explanation that covered everything. First was the phone call about the stranded guests. Everyone assumed later I was the one who faked the call, hoping you would send me on the errand with your father's new Land Rover. But I of course knew that I hadn't made that call. Whoever did make it would probably assume you would go."

"William wanted to get rid of me so he could get Ariadne into bed. Ariadne told me later. It was a big joke."

"They thought you might hang around to keep an eye on them. And when you didn't—when you decided to go back to the house and wait to pounce on them later—they thought their trick had worked. From these cabins, you can see the automatic lights way up by the Stone House garage. They probably figured when they saw the garage lights go on, you were back, time to leave. But of course, that never happened. When you came you walked down."

"Tell me the rest," she said very softly.

"You said at first you didn't come back down that evening. But you did, looking for them, and only admitted it later. Vic thought you were angry he was throwing a party in the Hall, but you were upset at not finding Ariadne and William. And there were the scripts you got other people to deliver."

At that, she looked up sharply.

"Joan and Stanislaus were loyal employees," he continued. "And I think they had a pretty good idea of what was going on. They were not very helpful to me, while pretending they were. They were awfully quick to give up your relationship with your ex-teacher. That was to distract me, to make me think that was the only thing being hidden." Another bitter smile.

"And of course, there's what you did with Denise."

"She was easy to work. She had a girl crush on me. Denise fell hard for William but she also fell for me. She admired me, older, cooler, wealthier. Did you know from time to time she wrote to me? And she sent me a note when my father died."

"It was probably easy to turn her," said Ted. "I think she half-believed she had had an affair with William anyway. Another series of lies, to convince me it was her William was having an affair with, not Ariadne."

"She was delighted to hear from me," said Penelope. "It was easy to tell her there was going to be some unpleasant publicity, and I'd appreciate it if when questioned she could stretch the truth a bit. As you said, she half-believed she had been his girlfriend. She was just another girl William strung along."

"Well, her story was all over the place, full of errors. William did nothing with her. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it. He spent weeks avoiding her and never made love to her in our cabin. We never took girls there."

"Didn't you?" she said, and Ted looked at her closely for a moment.

"She was an awful liar," he said.

"I should've guessed she would be."

"And then there was the incident of the missing sister. The police found Ariadne at home. But the party was in full swing—I saw a full Hall when I returned and the police weren't dragging people in. They were found there. Ariadne would never have left a party like that. But no one seems to be certain how long she was there, or when she left. With Ariadne, you always sort of assumed she was there. Of course, Matthew sent both of you straight up to the house—didn't he? Ariadne was in no state to go back to the Hall and establish an alibi there."

"Of course, you grilled Matthew," she said. "You missed nothing."

"Oh, he's a much better liar than Denise. He showed it that night. It was ridiculous to say he had some fear that something had happened to William. He was the only other one besides you who suspected what was going on, and that's why he was heading to the North Cabins. To stop them, before you even got there. He arrived there just in time to find you staring down at William, and Ariadne petrified behind you. He sent both of you to the Stone House, cleaned up the cabin, and then ran back to the Hall. That lie—about why he went to look for William—no one really believed it but no one could prove otherwise. It was so simple, and that's what makes a great lie. You know, he was the most remarkable thing about this."

"You have no idea," she said, grabbing back some of her usual superiority. "I was practically catatonic. Matthew came and took charge. He asked no questions, just accepted what had happened and told me to keep quiet. I didn't think it would work. I waited for him to talk to the police, for everything to unravel. I waited for Ariadne to spill the whole story, but of course we had said she was up at the house, so no one questioned her closely. The whole thing was noted as an unfortunate accident. Case closed." She sighed. "I went to my college a few weeks later. Matthew went to his. I didn't know what to say, so we hardly ever spoke again—and never about that night. And as weird as it sounds, life went on. Until now."

"And there was no Tolford cover-up. The only conspiracy was organized by an 18-year-old boat mechanic."

"I never looked at it that way. You have a nice sense of irony," she said. She peered at him with her those magnificent dark eyes, as if she could see inside of him. "You know what I'd really like to do now, Ted? I’d like to wipe that triumphant look off your face." There was real venom in her tone.

"I'm sure you could do it," said Ted.

She looked at him like he was insane, and then turned quickly from him. Ted reached out, and almost without thinking, put his hand on her cheek and turned her to face him. Her eyes blazed like polished obsidian, and for a moment he thought she'd lash out.

"You trusted Matthew that night. You had to, and he didn't let you down. Because he loved you so much, I bet he never even asked why or how. He just covered for you. But 20 years later, you didn't trust me."

"You brought this up at my father's funeral. And then again at the Four Seasons. And there I was thinking, you're determined to do this. I remember sitting there after lunch and coming to the conclusion that you might do it even if I asked you not to, so all I could do was pretend to work with you and try to mislead you, try to stop you from finding something I didn't want you to find." Her voice was controlled, and cold. "Would you have investigated it behind my back anyway? I actually debated whether I should just say to you, please don't. Don't do it, Ted, and don't even ask me why. Don't do it, and walk away, just because you love me."

She spat out her final words: "Only you know whether you actually would've stopped. Only you know whether you love me that much."

Ted couldn't think of any suitable reply, so they sat in silence.

"So what are you going to do now?" she asked, looking out to the lake again. She looked tense, her jaw line set strong. The sharp sunlight showed every angle of her face and made her black hair glisten.

"I'm going to get into my car and drive back to Manhattan."

"No, I mean what happens with—this," she said, irritated.

"Oh that. Well, nothing. All I have is a story. Everyone figured a teen boy got stupid and fell off a cliff. Well, that's what happened. Everything else is just conjecture." Ted looked at Penelope. She relaxed back into the bench. "Are you going back to the city today?"

"I thought I'd spend a few days with Ariadne and Karen. I think it will be good for all of us."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to wander around for a bit. Your father said we were always welcome back."

"Of course. Everything is probably still locked up for the winter, but go ahead." Penelope stood up, and it looked like she was going to say something. Thank you? Sorry? Goodbye?

"Have a good trip back, Ted." She began walking toward the bridge, then stopped and turned.

"Where were you that night anyway? You two were gone a long time after failing to find the guests."

"Mary-Lou and I took the Land Rover up Mount Drear."

"Ah. So you had sex with your girlfriend in the Tolford family car?"

"We loved each other," he said.

"Did you really," she said. "How very fortunate for you." She turned again, crossed the bridge, and disappeared up the path to the Stone House.

Ted felt limp and hollow. And the absolute worst of it was lying to Penelope.

He stayed for a while on the bench, staring at Longwood Mountain. To not see her again—he couldn’t bear it.

Ted got up and walked up to the North Cabins. They were padlocked for the winter against hobos but he could look through the windows of his and Mary-Lou's cabin. He shook his head and walked down the cliff toward the beach. He shuffled across the sand to the path that led to the Hall. It too was locked. The padlock was new, but Ted walked into the utility closet adjoining the Hall, and bent down to the third 2x4 from the back, three inches from the bottom. There it was—new key, same place.

Ted opened the door. It was cold and stale inside, as if the winter air was still locked in. He walked down the three steps and across the room, unlatched the great rolling front door and threw it open. Light filled the room, and a breeze swept in from the lake and cleaned out the smell.

The place had hardly changed, he was pleased to see. A few more fishermen photos on the wall, and a new fridge and freezer, empty and open. He stepped behind the counter.

Footsteps sounded on the wooden steps. He turned—it was Ariadne. She was dressed in jeans, a paint-stained tee shirt and old sweatshirt, and was swinging a small tote bag. "Penelope just gave me a summary. Then she mentioned you were hanging around," she said, grinning at him. "And I knew you'd end up here."

Ariadne sat on a stool and pulled two cans of diet coke from the bag. "In memory of all the sodas you served me here, I am serving one to you." He couldn't help but smile back at her. They popped open their cans. "To our youth," she said.

"You're being so nice to me," he said. "I understood from Penelope you wanted my head on a platter."

"Ohh, you mean lying your way into my house and tricking Karen into revealing confidential information? Yeah, well, I was a little sore then, but nowhere near as hysterical as Penelope probably told you I was. But no harm done. And considering all the lies Penelope and I told you, it’s you who should be angry at us. Anyway, Karen thought the whole thing was an adventure." She gave a wry smile. "She wants to go this weekend to shop for her flower girl dress."

Ted laughed. "I'm really sorry about that. But I'm not surprised Penelope is still protective of you. She always was."

"Big sister prerogative."

"Her strong feelings helped her earn her all-county women's boxing title."

Ariadne choked on her soda. "Good God, how did you find that out?"

"She had quite an audience."

"But they were locals—I don't think even Joan knew about that."

"I'm a reporter. I find things out. That's what I do." He couldn't help keeping the smugness out of his voice. But now came the hard part.

"Still, I don't know everything," he said. She was looking at him shrewdly now, her eyes not leaving him even as she drank more soda. "For example," he said slowly and deliberately, "I don't know at what point you realized you and Penelope were sharing William."

The Hall was dead quiet. Ariadne swallowed her soda and carefully placed her can on the counter. She grinned again and shook her head. "I knew it. I told Penelope you were smart, that you'd figure it out. Oh Christ. You're right of course." She turned serious, and put her hand on his arm. "Yes, we lied. But I want you to believe this, I had no idea beforehand. I never would've—with William if I had known."

Ted shook his head. "I know. I never thought you'd do that had you known. But I didn’t know if you found out that night, or sometime later."

"It was then and there. We suddenly heard her pounding on the door and yelling at us to come out. We threw on our clothes. William seemed more resigned than upset, but I was terrified." Ariadne smiled again, this time grimly. "I had never seen her so angry. She started yelling at him, backing him against the cliff edge. At first it was just 'How dare you—she's only 15,' but then it was 'you said you loved me, you told me I was beautiful…'" Ariadne's eyes moistened, and Ted thought he'd be facing another sobbing girl, but she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and pulled herself together.

"Imagine finding your boyfriend cheating on you with your prettier baby sister," he said.

"Particularly someone as private as Penelope. She fell for him so quickly but couldn't bear being just another one of the girls lying at his feet and listening to him play. They were so secret about it—I never knew. So you found out. But I'll be damned if I know how."

"The one big lie you were all in on. Penelope and her teacher-lover. That was all made up, from beginning to end. Penelope wouldn't do that, and evidence pointed away from it as well. Only those close to you knew about it—but no one could be that careful in so small a town. And Joan is almost as bad a liar as Denise. She couldn't even keep straight the location of the fictional trysts. So I asked myself—what if it's all a lie." His throat was dry, and he finished his soda.

"It was to point me away from Penelope's real summer love. Then other things fell into place: William cleaning the house especially when he knew Vic and I would be gone. He had Penelope over there, because she didn't dare slip off to the North cabins and risk running into me, Vic and our girlfriends. It would be too embarrassing for her. It explains a lot of William's disappearances. It explains Penelope buying tapes of music William played, and being embarrassed when she was caught. And there's one strong piece of actual evidence." Ariadne looked up quizzically.

"It was Joan. She thought she saw you one night, running up the hill, late as always, and stopping to braid your messy hair under the parking lot light. But you couldn't braid your own hair. It was actually Penelope. She never unbraided her hair. Except, apparently, when she—"

"Don't," said Ariadne sharply. And Ted turned away embarrassed.

"I don't know how much she really suspected," continued Ted. "I think by that last evening she had some sense of what William was up to. But whether she was a scorned lover or angry older sister, the result was the same. So I was going to keep this last part to myself. There was no way I could tell her to her face, tell her personally I knew about that. But Penelope would wonder eventually if I knew, and the doubt would be even worse. So I am telling you, and someday you will tell her." He smiled. "Today might not be the best day. But someday."

"You're probably right," said Ariadne, nodding.

They sat in silence with their empty soda cans, and looked at the lake. Ted got lost for a few moments in the thought of Penelope in bed, hair flowing loosely over her pale white shoulders, and the joy on her face as she listened to William play for her, just for her, and he felt the same ache as when Vic admitted he kissed her, only worse.

Ariadne touched his arm. "Hey. Cheer up. I really think that someday she will talk to you again. Today might not be the best day. But someday," she laughed, then leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "It will be OK. I have to go now—I'm going shopping and making Penelope a good home-cooked meal. You have a good trip back." She scooped up the cans, and headed out the back door. "Oh Ted, thanks for buying my picture. I hope you enjoy looking at it as much as I enjoyed painting it." And he was alone again in the Hall.

Ted opened his cell phone, but couldn't get a signal. At first he was annoyed, but then took a peculiar comfort in knowing that the lake was still so separate from the rest of the world. He closed the sliding door and latched it, then exited through the back and locked it behind him. He walked up the hill, and thought of peeking into the staff cabin, but decided there was nothing to see, and he wanted to get home.

He got into his car in the upper lot. On his way out, he stole a final glance at the Stone House, but saw no sign of activity. He turned South onto Route 18 and drove along until the final rise before entering Fort Bramwell. There was a small lay-by, and he parked the car. Pulling out his phone, he saw he could get a cell here and dialed Miranda.

"I'm on my way home, honey. It's over. I'll give you an edited version tonight, over the best dinner you've ever had."

"You sound so sad. I have a better idea. Why don't I cook you my spaghetti and meat sauce, with garlic bread. You bring wine and dessert. We’ll stay in. Would you like that?"

Ted was flooded with gratitude, and suddenly wanted nothing more than to be with his sweet girlfriend, eating her simple dinner in her Brooklyn apartment.

"So very much," he said. "I'll see you soon." He clicked off, then started the car again. He looked back, and saw the lake one last time. As he headed down the hill, it was lost from sight.







Epilogue

Fall, 2006

Ariadne stood in the doorway and watched Penelope work at the mahogany desk. The only light in the room came from the brass desk lamp with the green shade, and the only sound from the fountain pen scratching across the fine blue stationery. She watched the light play across her sister’s features, and wished she had her sketchbook with her.

Penelope finished her letters before noticing Ariadne.

“I’m sorry,” said Ariadne. “I’m just remembering Dad working in this study when we were girls. I hardly ever come in here now. For some reason, I do my paperwork at the kitchen table.”

“It was presumptuous of me to use this room,” she replied. “I should have asked—it’s your house.” She looked over her letters, then started addressing the envelopes and folding the sheets into them.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a lovely room and you look so right sitting there, like Dad. I’m glad you’re using it. And anyway, it isn’t my house. It will always be our house.” Penelope smiled briefly.

“That’s kind of you to say.”

“You’re the kind one. You’ve been so helpful these past few days. I really appreciate it.”

“I’m glad I could help, and that your shows were such a success.” She put the pen back in its elegant case on the desk, centered the two blue envelopes in the middle, and swiveled in the leather desk chair to face her sister. “I’ll drop these letters off with Glen Kurlian at the gallery tomorrow. He said he could easily enclose them with the paintings as they’re wrapped for shipping.” At the mention of the paintings, Ariadne frowned.

“I still can’t believe I let you talk me into this. I really wanted to keep them.”

“And what were you going to do with them? I don’t want them hanging here where I can see them when I come up. At least they’ll be with people you know so you can visit them.”

“You don’t like them?” she pouted.

“They’re probably your best pieces. That doesn’t mean I want to look at them.”

Ariadne gave Penelope a half-smile. “Have you spoken to Ted?”

“No,” she said. Ariadne knew that tone and the piercing look. The subject was closed—at least by direct means.

“Very well,” she said, still smiling. “If you’re done here, Karen would like her Aunt Penelope to kiss her goodnight. Oh, and she said she wants to apologize for asking you at dinner again when you were going to marry Ted.”

“She’s got a smart mouth—like her mother. OK, and I’ll even read her a story.” She got up, gave Ariadne a quick kiss on the forehead, and headed upstairs.

Ariadne watched her sister to make sure she headed toward Karen’s room, then quickly walked to the desk. How convenient—the envelopes weren’t sealed. She picked up the one addressed simply to “Ted,” checked the doorway, and removed the letter.

Dear Ted,

I went back to the lake to help Ariadne with her paintings after the summer shows, and the oh-so-helpful Mr. Kurlian mentioned how one man wanted to buy "Penelope, by Sunset" so badly, and another wanted to buy "Penelope, by Dawn" equally badly. He just happened to have their names, and would Ariadne reconsider? I managed to bully her into selling both to me. And now I am giving them to two men who inexplicably fell in love with me when we were all young.



I hope you enjoy it.



All my love,



Penelope





Ariadne imagined Ted’s face when he opened the package, saw the portrait, and read the letter. She allowed herself a brief giggle at the thought, then put the letter back just as she had found it and returned to the kitchen to finish cleaning up.





###