The Lady Vanishes
A case, in which Jack is missing sleep, Sam is missing simpler times, Martin is missing lunch, Vivian is missing her family, Danny is missing a vacation, and a Society matron is plain missing.
Disclaimer: Mine, all mine! Oh, well, a girl can dream.
I would like to say again how grateful I am to everyone who responded: I wouldn't be able to do this without you guys!
Mariel3: This is possibly the funniest review I ever got. Made my day!
SpyMaster: As always, I try to stay within canon, so, yes, there are JS undertones, because I perceive them to be implied on the show. There are unresolved feelings and unspoken things, and I just go with them. :)
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Sam appeared at the doorway, relief written on her face. Jack's eyes drifted toward her, as they inevitably did everywhere.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," Sam addressed herself to Blake first, "I just need a word with Agent Malone."
She didn't move from the door and Jack got up to meet her there.
"The Blue Hall, I presume?" She tilted her head, smiling. "I got lost looking for you guys. This house should come with a map and a compass."
"It should come with a translator and a rabies shot, but I'm digressing," Jack smiled back, "what've you got?"
"We've talked to the youngest daughter. That is, she talked and we mostly listened. Bright kid, even if she is a little too verbal. Anyway, according to Allie, early yesterday evening Mrs. Stevens-Newberg and her mother-in-law had a shouting match that reverberated through the entire house and lasted for some time. Also according to Allie, it was unusual, because the elder Mrs. Stevens-Newberg rarely loses her cool and almost never shouts. The banging of the doors ensued, and that's the last that was heard of the grandma, at least in here."
Jack sighed. "Damn, I was hoping that this place would be a dead end we can walk away from as soon as possible. Now we have to re-interview the Mrs., and I was so looking forward to never seeing her again. . . ." Jack rubbed his eyes again and asked with a smile of tired resignation: "You have a firearm on you, right?"
Sam looked up in surprise.
"Always. Why? You think something here is likely to escalate to a gunfight?"
"No, I just might need somebody to shoot me very soon."
Sam smiled back, and touched his shoulder lightly. "Now, now, where's that legendary, owl-like detachment we've all grown to love and depend upon?"
"It deserted me somewhere between the East River gondolas and the eight little grooms."
"What?" Sam laughed in surprise.
"Never mind, I just want to be put out of my misery."
She shook her head: "I'd rather shoot Mrs. Stevens-Newberg, if it comes to that."
"I feel incredibly tempted to authorize this measure, but then I have to remind myself how much it will not be worth the trouble. . . . Viv and I have to finish up with the bride here, now that we have something definite to ask her. Thanks." He held on to Sam's hand just a second longer than necessary, his fatigue robbing him of customary control.
"Why don't you find the mother and talk to her. Take Martin and Danny with you. You'd need all the help you can get with that one. And don't let her blow you off. When we questioned her, she plead general amnesia of "insignificant details" - her words - but she can hardly claim to forget a shouting match that's only a day old."
Jack watched her walk away and down the staircase, returning to the Blue Hall somewhat reluctantly. His headache was now an entity of its own: alive, throbbing, and here to stay. He sank back into the chair, catching a frustrated glance from Vivian and deducing that she was treated to yet more wedding details while he talked to Sam.
"I'm sorry for the interruption." He smiled as genially as possible. "Now, could you please tell me what the fight between your mother and your grandmother was about?"
Blake looked taken aback: "Who told you?"
"It doesn't matter. Apparently, it was loud enough for everyone to hear."
"Oh, everyone! Everyone usually means Allie. That little minx's got ears like a bat. . . . Look, it was nothing. They disagreed about the arrangements. They often do, disagree." Blake fidgeted with the tussles of a sofa cushion, her eyes downcast. Jack got the impression that she was lying, or at least not telling them something, but he had nothing specific to confront her with.
She raised her head, her cheeks slightly pink, whether from being angry or ashamed, he couldn't tell.
"Look, grammy is an amazing character. Really, she is. She never complains, for one. I know what you think: what could a billionaire's widow possibly have to complain about? You'd be surprised! She lived through a lot. The company wasn't doing so well in the 50s, and grandpa had to spend most of his time at the office for years and years. And just when things started to go extremely well, he got sick. She took him to every specialist possible - reputable or not. He was ailing for a long time, and she was there with him, cheerful and steadfast. . . . When he died she basically took over the company for a while and turned out to be very good at business, too. And later, with all her charity work, she did amazing things. . . . It's just that she can be incredibly imposing, especially to us, mere mortals. And mother is sensitive, and she feels it so. Not only is grammy a tough act to follow, she is also very 'old school,' very 'stiff upper lip' when she wants to be. Mother can't help but feel somewhat weak and superficial next to her, and she resents it. Who wouldn't?"
Blake turned her head, her eyes fixed on something outside the window. The pause was designed to let the agents reach the conclusions that needed to be reached.
Jack voiced them first: "I take it, your mother and your grandmother don't get along."
Blake shrugged. "They don't worship each other, certainly. But there is no open animosity or anything like that. More often than not, they simply stay out of each other's way. Family gatherings and such they can't very well avoid, but other than that. . . . They don't go shopping together, if you know what I mean."
"I do." Jack exchanged glances with Vivian. "And how is your grandmother's relationship with the rest of you?"
"Oh, fine, I suppose. She's been good to us. Sometimes, to a fault. Especially to Allie. She has spoiled her rotten! But then, Allie's the baby, and also, grammy thinks she's a 'chip of the old block' - whatever that means. I guess it's mostly because she is too young to care for the more material advantages of our situation, and she is a tomboy. Grammy likes that. She says a lady isn't defined by a skirt and a manicure. She supposes Allie will grow up into her definition of one: stoic, self-contained, attentive to others but not subjected to them, and bound by a tremendous sense of duty. . . . I don't know. Allie's too unformed yet to tell. I certainly didn't turn out that way, but to grammy's credit, she doesn't hold it against me."
Vivian asked with interest: "You don't think a sense of duty is important?"
"Oh, I think duty is very important. And so does mother, for that matter. Duty to one's family, for instance. Only I don't think our interpretation of duty - or mother's at any rate - is exactly what grammy has in mind."
"I see. Was that at the crux of the argument yesterday?"
"Indirectly. May be. I don't know. . . . The argument was silly, really." Blake was looking out of the window again. Jack was beginning to recognize that as a sign of the girl's discomfort.
"You've got to understand: grammy is more than fair to us. She gave us this house, for one. When grandpa was alive, it was their place. When he died, she bought a suite on Park Avenue, and we moved here. Dad has to be in New York. The work, the clients, the meetings at all hours. We barely saw him when we lived in the Hamptons. This way, we are all together. At least more often than we used to be."
"You couldn't buy a place in Manhattan yourselves?" Jack was mystified.
"Oh, we could, of course, it's not the money at all. It's the neighbors and the environment that are the problem. Mother absolutely refused to live next door to the "riffraff,' as she put it. The new millionaires, the ones with the flashy cars and Versace-decorated living rooms. The old guard so seldom moves, you see, one cannot find a property in decent surroundings for sale these days. . . . And grammy doesn't care. She always said that environment was what one made of it."
"She is philosophical about it."
"Philosophical or oblivious. But, honestly, I think she secretly enjoys it. All those people with pretensions. She derives amusement from their activities. Much like she derives amusement from mother's."
"And your mother resents that, too, I bet."
"Oh, well, kind of." Blake sighed and stole a glance at her watch. Jack returned to the original question:
"What was the fight about exactly?"
"The guest list. Grammy put some people on it that mother later cut. And grammy didn't know. She thought the invitations went out, and then she ran into an old friend who told her that she wasn't invited. Grammy was furious. It was the one thing she insisted upon. She didn't interfere with the plans and the scope of the wedding, though she wasn't thrilled with any of it. She just wanted some people included. And mother. . . . I don't think she did it deliberately. She was just trying to do too much, make sure everything was flawless, and she had to cut that guest list three times already. She originally wanted about 800 people. We got it down to 500 plus, and some of grammy's guests were the casualties. . . . I didn't know." Blake sighed again, something of a genuine regret in her eyes and posture.
It suddenly occurred to Jack that she was very young. Not just in years, but in her outlook. Too young to carry responsibilities of this family and mediate its various egos. On the one hand, her mother was clearly her flagship in life. On the other hand, she wasn't stupid and she clearly saw the flaws of such a guide. Jack thought about divided loyalties, the perpetually absent father, and what that had possibly done to the family dynamic. No wonder the girl couldn't wait to shed the Stevens-Newberg.
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Danny made a makeshift seat on a wide windowsill. He was a lot more at ease there than in a satin-covered armchair.
Sam left the room a while ago in search of Jack and Viv. Martin was going over the notes at a small table in the middle.
"I like to sit here, too." Danny was startled out of his reverie by the girl's voice. "The view is nice, and it's much more comfortable than mother's fruity chairs."
He smiled companionably: "I take it the decor is not your favorite?"
"Well, some of it's fine. I am not an expert. But the chairs here are the pits! I can't sit on them for long. My bum slides off."
"I hear you!" Danny moved to the side, making a place for the girl to sit next to him. Allie climbed the windowsill and pulled her legs up, pressing her chin to her knees: clearly her favorite way to sit.
"So, Allie, I gathered earlier that your mother and your grandmother don't see eye to eye. Do they often argue?"
"Often? No. Grammy is very tolerant, really. She understands mother better than mom thinks. Grammy says mother suffers from what she calls 'progressive positional myopia.' Mom's not a bad person, but because of the position she occupies in life, and because of the way she was raised, and also due to some natural inclinations, she is totally blind to anything not immediately in her 'sphere.' And that sphere is shrinking progressively with every passing year. . . . I mean, grammy isn't angry with mom, or annoyed all that much, really, because she thinks what mom has is a vision impairment - a disease - and you can't be angry with a person because they are impaired."
Danny looked at the girl intently: "You know, I think your grandmother is a very wise woman."
"Oh, she is. Wise and generous. And not just with money and stuff. She is really patient with people. And with business, too. Did you know she ran the company for a long while, when grandpa died and dad was too young to take it all on? They could have hired somebody, of course, and they did, but grammy was a real leader, not just a figurehead! And when dad got enough of a hang of it to be a success, she stepped down without a backward glance. She isn't at all petty, you know. Or mean. She says that practically everything in life is a state of mind. . . . Well, some things definitely aren't: like, the fact of birth, or health, or real accidents. But how you deal and who you become is. Grammy is a big believer in free will. In that way she gets mom better than any of us, because mom doesn't believe in free will so much as she believes in circumstances. If that makes any sense. . . ."
Danny nodded: "I think I get the picture."
"Grammy explained it all to me and Hank. Hank is my brother. He is 17. He is at school right now, prep boarding school: St. George's Academy in Massachusetts. He didn't want to go, but mom and dad insisted. Hank wanted to stay in New York. His friends are all here and stuff, but grammy explained it so that he - and me, too - didn't see it as such a big deal anymore. Like, since mom and dad won't budge, and he can't avoid it, Hank should treat this as a temporary inconvenience at worst, and a possible adventure at best. There are benefits: it's one of the best schools anywhere, and they all go to Ivy League afterward. And, as grammy put it, if mom's reality insists upon intruding on ours, we can at least derive something useful from it. She also says that almost anything in life is temporary, and, therefore, unimportant. Except for death. Death is permanent."
Danny felt a simultaneous desire to laugh and to cry: the sentiment was too true, even if put as a joke.
Allie continued: "Grammy was really funny about it. She told us stories from dad's school days, and how he at first didn't want to go, and later didn't want to leave. Seriously, he was getting bad grades on purpose, so he could stay another year! Can you believe it? Grammy says that all schools are basically atrocious, but the reputable ones at least have that reputation going for them, and a much, much better food. Also, that Hank should look at it as an opportunity to get the hell out of this nuthouse. Only she didn't say it quite like that. Grammy is real diplomatic: she wouldn't bad-mouth mom on purpose. Not to us, anyway. It's just the implication we got."
"What about your father?" The question was rather vague, Danny knew, but he reasoned that without knowing the specifics, it could be useful to learn about the family in general.
"Dad's single-minded. He can be that focused, but it's mostly with business. And he loves mom. I mean, for real. I can't think why, but there it is. Also, anywhere outside of his work, he lacks imagination. He can never see that others feel, think, or understand things differently from him. He is forever surprised to discover that. Even with grammy, when she contradicts him on something. . . . In that way he is opposite to mom, because she is never shocked when others contradict her or feel differently from her. She just assumes that they are either unimportant or dead wrong. . . . You know how they say: knowledge is power? Well, with mom, ignorance is power. She never wants to know and people mostly just accept that."
Allie took a breather and looked around the room, as if noticing it for the first time.
"Where did Goldielocks go?"
Martin raised his head at this, and he and Danny smiled simultaneously.
"I assume you mean Agent Spade? She went to find our colleagues, who, I believe, are interviewing your sister."
"Oh, good luck to them! It's very possible you may never see them again: they could be buried under all the wedding garb."