AllFreeNovel
Share Us
22
Mia
Beacon Hill
Wednesday, early afternoon
Mia pulled her bright red wool coat close, worked her hands into her snug leather gloves, smashed her red knit cap over her head, and walked into the stiff wind the quarter mile from Pamela Raines Barrett’s digs to Juliet Ash Calley’s family home. Kali had found out Juliet wasn’t currently living in her small cottage near the Harvard campus; she’d moved back to her family home to tend to her ill mother. Milo had been enthusiastic about Mia seeing Juliet, the former fiancée. He’d given her his shark smile, waggled his thick salt-and-pepper eyebrows, and said out of the blue, “She’s yet another person with three names. If your family is worth a billion dollars, it’s an unwritten law you have three names or you get booted out of the club. Don’t even think about using that bit, Briscoe. I think she’ll see you. She’s used to reporters interviewing her about her piano playing. I remember Jim Perry of the Boston Globe interviewed Juliet Calley for us, wrote a piece about her performance when he heard her play Ravel in Boston. Said it nearly made him weep.”
Mia lowered her head when a gust of frigid air hit her full in the face. Still, lots of people were out and about, with places to go; nothing could keep them inside, just like New Yorkers.
She stopped in front of a stately early-nineteenth-century mansion, mellow gray stone rising above iron gates covered with acres of ivy. She double-checked the address, pressed the button beside the gate, identified herself to the unknown man whose deep disembodied voice was loud and clear. The gate slowly swung inward. She walked into a wonderland along an old meandering flagstone path through an elaborate garden, hibernating now, ah, but come spring, it would be glorious. There were only hushed sounds of traffic, but nothing else, outside the iron gate. Mia heard yew bushes whispering in the wind, heard the arms of tree branches moaning as the wind swayed them back and forth. The house rose three stories, with ten chimney stacks—she had to count them, couldn’t stop herself. The ivy didn’t grow wild up the sides of the house; it was perfectly trimmed around the large windows and the large dark gray front door.
Mia banged the antique lion’s head, heard skipping footsteps coming downstairs. The large door opened and Juliet Ash Calley herself appeared. An older man dressed in a beautiful black suit materialized behind her. She turned to him. “I’ll see to Ms. Briscoe, Weldon, thank you.”
A butler. Well, of course.
Weldon nodded his iron-gray head and melted away.
Juliet Ash Calley held out a competent hand with long tapered fingers, short buffed nails, and shook Mia’s gloved one. “I’m Juliet Calley and you’re Mia Briscoe, right?”
Mia gave her a warm smile, difficult because her face was so cold.
“Come in, come in, quickly, before you’re frozen to the bone.”
Mia stepped inside and Juliet quickly closed the front door, flipped the dead bolt, and turned, shivered. “I think Admiral Perry would be at home here today. Mother’s sleeping, so your timing is perfect. I admit I was surprised to hear a reporter wanted to speak to me, and not about music but about Alex Harrington. I haven’t been part of his life for over two years now. Let me take your coat.”
Juliet hung Mia’s winter gear on an old-fashioned coat-tree, and said, “Come into the living room and we can hunker down in front of the fire Weldon always lights for me when I practice.”
Mia followed Juliet Ash Calley out of the dim entrance hall and into a large living room filled with extraordinary light even on this grim March day. Old and gracious was Mia’s impression of the large rectangular room, all its English antiques looking settled and comfortable, everything in the room a part of the whole. A twelve-foot ceiling made the room seem even more spacious. The walls were painted a soft cream, and pale-blue-patterned wallpaper framed the front bow windows. But the focal point was the shiny black eleven-foot Steinway grand piano. Mia said, “I’ve listened to some of your recordings. I remember sitting back, closing my eyes, and letting your amazing Scarlatti melt away every bit of stress. I got right back to work, whistling.” Mia pointed at the beautiful instrument. “You grew up with this Steinway?”
“Yes. It was originally my grandmother’s. She was an amazing musician, but she didn’t wish to pursue a career. Now the piano is mine.”
“And your mom?”
“My mom had lessons, but she always said they didn’t take and my grandmother nodded, sadly. I’ve always found talent genes to be very unpredictable. Believe me, I’m grateful they came together for me.”
Mia waved her hand around the living room. “There’s such peace in this room. Do you think you’ll live here someday?”
Juliet blinked, cocked her head. “I haven’t thought about it. It’s my parents’ house. My grandparents gave it to them when they moved to Florida ten years ago. Honestly, I can’t imagine my folks ever being gone. As to this house, it has their stamp on it. For me, it’s a bit too opulent.” She waved Mia to a red velvet Victorian love seat with graceful scrolled arms. Juliet poured a cup of tea from a whimsical teapot and placed a cup in front of Mia. “Oolong. I hope you like it. It’s my early afternoon treat.”
Mia thanked her, took a sip, and nearly swooned. Hot and pungent, just what she needed. “Thank you. It’s delicious.”
Juliet nodded and sat across from Mia, the light from the bow windows full on her face.
For the first time, Mia really looked at Juliet Ash Calley. She was riveted. Of course she’d seen her photos, but the woman in person was . . . Mia, the wordsmith, could only come up with—drop-dead gorgeous. Juliet was blessed with skin like porcelain, eyes so pale a blue they were almost silver, and absurdly long lashes, even darker than her hair. She was several years older than Mia, not as model thin as Pamela; that is, no bones were showing. She looked fit and strong in dark blue sweats, the jacket open to a white silk cami, soft black ballet slippers on her feet. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a thick ponytail and fastened with a pink poof ball, an oddly charming effect. Mia said without hesitation, “Forgive me for staring, but you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. Mr. Harrington must have thought he’d died and gone to heaven when he laid eyes on you.”
Juliet blinked, reared back in her chair. “What? Oh, well, thank you, but I strongly doubt that was Alex’s reaction when he first saw me. I was about six years old, missing a front tooth, wore tight braids, and pink tights on my skinny legs.”
Mia said, smiling, “I like the visual.”
Juliet said, “Of course I googled you, Ms. Briscoe. I realized I’d read some of your Guardian articles that appeared in the Boston Globe. I came away thinking you’re bright and a good writer. You’re not about doing political hatchet jobs or pushing an agenda, and that’s refreshing in these contentious times. That’s why I was fine with seeing you.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to talk about my mother’s big charity bash for breast cancer research next Friday?” she continued, a twinkle in her eyes. “Or perhaps my father’s most recent trade talks with Indonesia?” She laughed, then sighed. “I know you want to talk to me about Alex Harrington and his run for mayor of New York City. But I really have little that’s interesting or pertinent to say to you or your readers about him. In short, I’m old news, two-year-old old news to be exact.”
Mia kept her voice smooth, matter-of-fact. “Still, you were part of the fabric of his life, you knew him very well indeed, Ms. Calley. You were slated to marry him.”
Mia saw a flash of distress on her beautiful face before she slowly nodded. “Well, yes, of course. Very well, Ms. Briscoe, but please realize whatever I might say about Alex wouldn’t be of much interest to the voters of New York City. I don’t know much of anything about his politics, or what he advocates.”
