“Do you mind if I use your phone?” Joshua asked. “If it’s working, I can call the operator for her information.”
Miss Helen nodded.
Joshua avoided Veronica’s eye as he walked to the desk. He had to be horrified at the fact that she’d had the diamond in her possession these past many hours. Hopefully he wasn’t calling the police, turning her in for her blatant deception. It struck Veronica that she was utterly alone here in America, with no one to come to her rescue, and in a rush of panic she wanted desperately to hear her mother’s voice. She’d promised to call her collect after the photo shoot, and Trish was probably worrying that she’d been swallowed up by the Big Apple by now. “I need to make a call as well, do you mind if I step out?”
Neither Joshua nor Miss Helen responded, so she ducked out and took the elevator down to the bank of telephone booths she’d spied earlier in the library’s lobby. Inside one, she waited for the operator to connect her.
“Veronica, how are you?” her mother said, the words tinny and hollow.
“I’m fine, Mum. Sorry I didn’t get back to you before. There was a snowstorm and everything shut down.”
“How unfortunate. Are you off to Newport today, then?”
All that—Barnaby, the photo shoot—seemed like a distant life. A less-than-desirable life. Even if on the off chance Sabrina asked her to continue, Veronica wouldn’t do it. She didn’t want to have to put up with inflated male egos and skinny mean girls. The past couple of days in the Frick house had opened her eyes to the possibilities. If Joshua could infiltrate the art scene, follow his passion, then she could, too. Not that she knew what exactly that passion was.
She swallowed hard, thinking of Polly. There was no easy answer.
“No, I won’t be going to Newport. In fact, I think I’ll be coming home soon. How’s Polly?”
“Oh, my dear.”
Veronica’s heart sank. “What’s wrong, what’s happened?”
“She’s refusing to eat. They’ve tried all her favorite foods, I even brought over a trifle, but she simply won’t do it.”
Poor Polly. She must be miserable to not eat even one bite of trifle. Who knew what was going on in that place? Tears pricked Veronica’s eyes. “She has to come home, Mum.”
“You know I can’t do that. The nursing staff says that it’s typical, that she just needs more time to settle in. She’ll be fine in no time.”
The cheery offhandedness in her mother’s delivery only increased Veronica’s anxiety. Her mum was desperate to believe what the staff said was true; she wanted so badly for both of her daughters to be happy.
“I’ll be on the next flight out.”
“Don’t rush anything. I’ll keep an eye on her, I promise.”
After Veronica hung up, she called the airline, but flights were backed up after the storm and she wasn’t able to get a seat until tomorrow afternoon. She switched her reservation and headed back to Miss Helen’s office. The past night felt like a dream, one that had dissipated in the morning light, and now the real world was pressing in on Veronica on all sides. For a brief moment, she considered collecting her suitcases and disappearing into the snow-covered city with her proverbial tail between her legs, but she couldn’t do that to Joshua. Not after the three days they’d spent together.
“I can’t remember his name for the life of me,” Miss Helen was saying to Joshua when Veronica returned. “How angry Papsie would be. He loved the man.”
“Who’s that?” Veronica asked.
“The organist who used to play for us at dinner.”
Joshua explained. “We can’t find a Lillian Carter in Pine Knolls, and Miss Helen said the family believed she ran off with the organist who used to play here.”
“He left our employ right as Miss Lilly went on the lam, and we always wondered if there was a link,” said Miss Helen. “But then the family started fighting amongst ourselves, over inheritances and the like, and it never came up again. But I simply can’t remember his name.”
The answer came to Veronica out of the blue. “Archer Graham,” she said. In her head, she could see it clearly on the page, written in fountain pen.
“What?” said Joshua.
“Archer Graham,” she repeated. “I’m pretty sure that’s who it was.”
“Brilliant!” Miss Helen snapped her fingers. “That’s it. You’re right.”