Читать книгу Mercury Rising - Christine Rimmer - Страница 12

J ane set the golden vase carefully on the narrow table near the front door.

“It must be valuable,” Virginia said.

“Yes, I’m sure it is.”

They both stood back for a moment, admiring it. It reflected light so beautifully, with the shiny golden surface—veined in places, after years and years—and that layer of quicksilver trapped beneath. It seemed almost magical, managing somehow to be opaque and transparent and reflecting all at once. It was all curves, too, distorting in a fascinating way what it mirrored, so that, staring into it, Jane’s entry hall became a strange and fantastical otherworldly place.

“And you don’t know who left it on the front mat?” Her mother sent her a quizzing, narrow-eyed look.

Jane made another noncommittal sound.

“That means you know, but you’re not telling,” said Virginia, her tone accusing now.

Jane gave her mother a smile. “Lunch will only take a few minutes. Let’s go on in the kitchen.”

They ate at the oak table by the bay window. Twice more, Virginia tried to pry from her daughter the name of the person Jane believed had left the vase. Finally Jane decided she’d had enough.

“Mom, by now you must have gotten the message that I don’t want to go into this. I’d appreciate it if you’d just leave the subject alone.”

“Well, but why wouldn’t you want to talk about it? It makes no sense that you’d be so touchy about something like this.”

“If I’m touchy, it’s because I’ve asked you to let the subject drop—and you haven’t.”

“But—” Virginia began, and then had the grace to cut herself off. She shook her head and conceded in a thoroughly wounded tone, “Well, all right. I won’t say another word about it.”

“Thank you. More iced tea?”

“Yes. I suppose. One more glass.”

Virginia left about a half hour later, with a bouquet of blood-red roses and three grocery bags, one each of tomatoes, string beans and zucchini. Jane felt marginally guilty loading her poor mother up with all those vegetables. There were only the two of them, her mother and her father, at home now, after all. And her father rarely showed up to sit down to dinner with his wife.

Clifford Elliott was district judge and he sat on the boards of various trusts and charities. And then there were all the organizations he belonged to, the Masons and the Knights of Columbus, to name just two. Both he and Virginia liked to say that he “kept very busy.” The fact that he was away so much and didn’t share his wife’s bed when he finally did come home was one of those things that simply wasn’t talked about.

Virginia said, “Belinda’s coming Wednesday.” Belinda was her housekeeper. “I can share some of these beautiful vegetables with her. And I’ll make some zucchini bread. It freezes well.” Jane helped her mother carry it all out to the car.

The Porsche was back again. Cade must be home. Good. She had a thing or two to say to him. She kissed her mother’s cheek and stood waving as Virginia drove off.

Once the Lincoln turned the corner, Jane headed for her house again. She marched up the walk, mounted the steps and went inside. The outer door closed automatically behind her.

Leaving the heavy oak inner door standing open, she went for the vase, which gleamed, breathtakingly beautiful, on her entry hall table to the right of the door. She paused, caught again by the absolute perfection of it as a gift meant specifically for her, for Jane Elizabeth Elliott.