They cleaned up the mess, carried the plates to the kitchen, and returned to the front parlor. Gwen picked up the remote control and joined Peter on the sofa, where they watched the full interview with Joan Dion, who was Scarlett’s close friend from high school. Mrs.Dion was expecting them for lunch the following day, and Gwen was exceptionally eager to talk to her.
CHAPTER 4
Gwen sat in the passenger seat of Peter’s rental car, her purse on her lap, her attention on the passing landscape outside the window. The apple blossoms in the orchards were in full bloom, and the sky was a brilliant cornflower blue. She couldn’t help but recollect many days like this, early in her marriage, when she and Eric had gone for long drives past charming farmhouses from bygone eras and freshly plowed fields that would provide acres of sunflowers and grains by summer’s end. They would hold hands in the car and talk about what kind of house they wanted to buy and how much land they would need for flower gardens and tomato plants.
She turned and glanced at Peter behind the wheel, which only made her miss Eric more. She wanted their old life back, even though she was angry with him for his abandonment and there were days when she felt that she could never forgive him for starting a relationship with another woman.
Peter touched his foot to the brake as the steep North Mountain loomed ahead of them, and Gwen glanced at the clock on the dashboard.
“We’re almost there,” she said, bringing herself back to the present. “Slow down, and turn onto that dirt road just coming up on the left.”
He made the turn, and they bumped and bounced over potholes. Soon they emerged into a clearing where a century-old farmhouse stoodamong willow trees. It was painted red with white trim, and the steep forested mountain behind it was a stunning backdrop.
Peter pulled the car to a halt, and they got out of the vehicle. “It’s so quiet here,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever experienced silence like this in my entire life.”
“Maybe you should get out of the city more,” she helpfully suggested.
“You’re definitely right about that.”
He shut the car door, and they made their way to the front porch. Peter was about to knock when Joan appeared at the screen door. Her gray hair was swept into a loose chignon reminiscent of the beehive days, and her paisley dress was formal, with a high buttoned collar and malachite brooch.
“I heard you pull in,” she said. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“Oh, Joan, you didn’t need to make a fuss.” Gwen stepped into the warm country kitchen. A pitcher of lemonade was set on the table beside a two-tiered plate of white-bread sandwiches cut in triangles. The room smelled of freshly baked apple pie.
“What’s the fun in life if you can’t make a fuss for company?” Joan replied.
Gwen introduced Peter. “This is the man I spoke to you about on the phone. He came all the way from California.”
Joan shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Gwen tells me you’re working on a book. I hope I can help.”
“I hope so too,” he replied cordially.
They sat down at the table, and Joan poured lemonade into three tall crystal tumblers, then invited Gwen and Peter to help themselves to the sandwiches while they made small talk. Peter told her about the book he was writing and spoke about his education at Stanford. It was conspicuous to Gwen that he neglected to mention his career as a tabloid photographer. She chose not to mention it either.
Eventually they arrived at the subject that had brought them to Joan’s home: her childhood friendship with a future Hollywood screen legend.
“We watched your interview last night,” Gwen said. “The one you did for the museum opening?”
“Oh, yes. But I don’t know what I was thinking, wearing that horrid pink dress.”
Gwen smiled. “I thought you looked lovely. But most importantly, you were very well spoken. It’s a valuable piece of history, Joan.”
She waved a hand as if it were nothing.
“But the real reason we’re here today,” Gwen continued, “is to ask a few questions about the year before Scarlett—or Valerie, rather—left for New York. You see ... we’ve come across something that suggests she might not have gone to New York. That she might have gone somewhere else.”
“Where?”
Gwen studied Joan’s expression and searched her eyes for a sign that she might already know the answer, but Joan appeared genuinely surprised.
“We think she spent some time in Alaska,” Peter told her. “Do you know anything about that?”
Joan fiddled with the large gemstone pendant she wore as a necklace. “No, nothing. Though we didn’t keep in touch after she left for New York, not until years later, after she’d starred in a few films and wrote to me, just to say hello. You have those letters in the museum, don’t you?”
“Yes, we do,” Gwen replied. “And we treasure them. But we think that she might have had some reason to leave Nova Scotia when she did. She had a falling-out with her father, as we all know.”
“He didn’t approve of her becoming an actress,” Joan replied with a note of disapproval herself. “He considered it beneath Valerie and ... well, he was very straightlaced.”
