Newport: A Novel Read Free

kindness, could never have come this far without his patronage. But it was more than that: dashing, sure-footed Adrian de la Noye was everything he wanted to be. Summoning superstitions from the old country would only further emphasize the differences between them.
    “Never mind,” Jim said slowly. “I’m tired, that’s all.”
    “All the more reason for a good night’s sleep before we visit Liriodendron. I’ll need that sharp mind of yours, Mr. Reid. I’ve grown to depend upon it.”
    Jim followed along in silence, trying to forget that his granny’s predictions had seldom been wrong.

CHAPTER
2
    A drian de la Noye navigated the Pierce-Arrow down Bellevue Avenue as if he’d done so only yesterday, a fact that irritated him no end. His last visit to Newport had been some twenty-three years ago. He’d been around Jim’s age then, recently graduated from law school and just back from a Grand Tour of Europe. It would have pleased him now to find that memories from that time had faded into oblivion.
    Newport had changed, and unwelcome memories or not, Adrian approved of the shift he’d noted while driving from the ferry last night. The patina of pretension he remembered from years ago had dulled somewhat, lessened as society wealth siphoned away either to other resorts or to former President Wilson’s reviled income tax. Still, one needed only to look at the lavish mansions lining either side of Bellevue to realize that, despite the more pronounced presence of the navy, despite the increased influx of immigrants and theworkingman, Newport would always keep a soft spot for the glittering doyennes of the social order—the ornaments who’d made the town sparkle in its heyday.
    Adrian tamped down his distaste and, for the fourth or fifth time since they’d docked the night before, reminded himself that he’d been rescued long ago from that mindset.
    In fact, he’d spoken to his favorite personal angel just last night.
    “You sound worried.” Constance’s lilting tones had soothed like honey. He’d have paid the hotel clerk twice over for the privilege of using the telephone. “What’s wrong?”
    He knew his wife well, knew he had interrupted her evening cup of tea and the New York World crossword puzzle she enjoyed working after Grace and Ted kissed her good night and disappeared into their bedrooms. She’d most likely taken a cookie or two up the stairs to enjoy with her tea, probably the rich, buttery shortbread she baked to perfection. The thought had made him smile: wise men did not interfere with Constance and her sweet tooth. In truth, wise men rarely interfered with Mrs. de la Noye at all. Her ethereal prettiness hid a steel trap of a mind, and those who underestimated her once never did so again.
    He’d pictured her so very clearly: telephone receiver grasped loosely in one graceful hand, candlestick body of the phone raised close to her soft lips. He’d longed for home so badly then that it had nearly robbed him of breath. He’d ached to envelop his wife in his arms, to brush away the blond tendrils that always escaped the casual twist of her hair, to gently kiss her cheek.
    “Adrian?” Constance’s voice had crackled through the wire.
    He’d quickly submerged his yearning. “It’s . . . unpleasant . . . here without you. It feels wrong.”
    “You’ve been away on business before.”
    “This is different.”
    “Is it Newport, then?”
    He’d licked dry lips. “It might be.”
    “I see.” There’d been silence as she absorbed his words, but it had been a comfortable silence. Constance never required excessive explanation. “Adrian, listen to me. I don’t know the source of your unease, but I’ll swear to this: you’re a good man with a good heart. Nothing can change that unless you allow it. Just finish the task at hand and hurry back. I miss you.”
    He’d lost the line then, listened as Constance receded into a field of sputtering noise. But it had been enough to remind him