CH 78 Busted
"What's this?" Dr. Cummings shot Bonnie a sharp glance, and then frowned back down at her summary which, until that instant, he'd been skimming with regular nods of approval. "'There is, finally," he read, "reason to believe that, either by accident or design, Lebrun and Lavallière's paths crossed again in the early years of nineteenth-century Paris. The painter's death record shows he was survived by a wife whose name is given as Magdalene Lavallée. The almost-perfect overlap of this name with Madeleine's is too striking not to suggest the possibility of a simple clerical error, and further investigation is currently in hand to determine whether, in fact, we are dealing with two distinct women, or only one: Lebrun's former model, Madeleine Chiasson Lavallière.'" He lifted his eyes from the page and regarded her accusingly. "You didn't say anything about this yesterday."
"No," she conceded apologetically. "Yesterday, the possibility of their being married was too outrageous even to mention. It was just a hunch my grandfather floated, one none of us really expected to pan out, though we were hopeful, of course. Now, as you can see from the attached report, there's actually a good chance he was right. I should know for certain in a matter of days."
"But we can't afford to wait." He fell silent, his mouth contorting into various shapes as he mulled over the situation. At length, to Bonnie's surprise, he broke into a wry smile. "I confess, this story of yours has the potential to be such a blockbuster, I'm tempted not to share it with the Louvre. Why shouldn't the Jeff break it and reap all the credit and publicity? But that wouldn't be fair to you." He flicked the bottom of the page he still held with a finger. "If this last little bit is verified, you deserve to make a splash. So, we'll stick with the plan. I'll pass this on, as written, to Henri, and we'll wait to hear from him. In the meanwhile, I recommend you work up your presentation, prepare your visuals and so forth. How are you set for time? Can you fit this in around your other responsibilities?"
"Yes. Luckily, I'm well ahead on my other assignments."
"Good. And don't stint on the work. I've been thinking, whatever the committee decides, I'd like you to do an in-house video on the subject for the Jeff web channel. It'll be just the thing to air in advance of La Coupe d'amour's return to us."
"Oh!" Bonnie was at once tickled pink and astonished. "Thank you, sir. That's very kind."
"Not at all. It's good P. R., is what it is. So, that's all settled. That leaves one last thing before you go, Bonnie: Baer's going to need bringing up to speed on all this, and it'd be better coming from you than me." He fixed her with an admonishing look, and added, "Sooner rather than later."
She nodded, sheepish. "Yes, sir. I'll get right on it."
As she stepped out of the office and started down the hall, Bonnie was so absorbed in formulating what she might say to Bear she didn't notice him coming toward her until she'd all but run into him. She startled violently at his suddenly appearing before her, and, jumping back, clapped a hand to her heart. "Oh, Bear! I'm so sorry! I didn't see you."
"Obviously," he said shortly, frowning down at her quizzically. His eyes traveled past her, down the empty corridor to Dr. Cummings' open door, and returned to her, narrowed. "Do you want to tell me what you're doing here, Bonnie?"
She quailed a little at the bite in his voice, but dredged up her best game smile. "Funny thing, I was just on my way to do that."
"Were you, now," he said, with heavy irony.
"Yes! I was heading straight to your office to fill you in." At his disbelieving look, she protested, "You can ask Dr. Cummings!"
"I don't think so. And, what's more, I'll spare you the trouble of informing me you had so little use for my opinion you went looking for a more congenial reception at the first opportunity."
"That isn't what happened!"
"No? Are you denying you put your case to Cummings — yesterday, I'm guessing — in hopes of a more favorable reaction?"
"Yes! And… no," she said, faltering under his glare. "Look, will you give me a chance to explain? Please? Somewhere other than this hallway?"
He regarded her stonily for a nerve-wracking moment but finally, he slapped his leg irritably with the folder he was holding and grumbled, "Fine."
They covered the short distance down to Bear's office in silence, and it wasn't until he'd waved her into a chair and dropped into his own that he motioned her to speak. "Go on," he said, more dare than invitation. "I'm listening."
Bonnie was not convinced of that, but plunged ahead, admitting, "I did consult with Dr. Cummings yesterday, but it was only after I'd taken all your objections into account, and revised my narrative, as you called it, accordingly. Once I'd edited out everything I couldn't prove, just about all that was left was Madeleine's story, but even that little, I felt, contributed something new and meaningful to our knowledge of La Coupe d'amour, something worth sharing. I needed to test my assumption, though, and — I know! — at that point, I should've come back to you…"
"Then, why didn't you?" he pressed when she wavered.
"Because," she said reluctantly, "I'd made such a botch of things in the morning, I wasn't sure you could still be impartial, while, with Dr. Cummings, I was guaranteed the advantage of starting out with a clean slate. He didn't know anything about the grand claims I'd made on Madeleine's behalf, and so, I thought, he'd be better able to judge my pared-down version on its merits. I realize," she hurried on, "that's no excuse for going over your head, and I apologize. I should've handled things differently, but, honestly, I meant no disrespect."
He subjected her to a drawn-out scrutiny, but, in the end, seemed mollified. "All right. So, how do things stand at the moment? What's Cummings view?"
"First of all, you should know he completely agreed with you about not requesting a switch in topics, and he didn't approve of my asking his opinion without clearing it beforehand with you. He did, however, think there was enough value in my findings to approach the committee about possibly squeezing in an additional talk. He offered to pass a summary on to Henri Perrin for his assessment, and, then, shortly before quitting time, oh, Bear, you'll never guess!" She sat forward in her excitement, all awkwardness forgotten. "I got the stunning news from Paris that Lebrun was survived by his wife, Magdalene Lavallée!"
He stared at her, uncomprehending. "Magdalene Lavallée," he repeated, as if to check his hearing. "Not Madeleine Lavallière."
"No, but don't you see? The similarity's so great, it's more than likely the clerk made two very minor spelling errors. My contact's looking for the marriage record as we speak for corroborating evidence."
Bear reached for one of the stray pencils on his desk and rapped out a steady tattoo as he thought this over. "Well," he said eventually, "if your suspicion checks out, it'll be a game changer for sure. I suppose, since the wheels have been set in motion, the prudent course of action, now, is to proceed as if you're going to get the green light, which means carving out some time for you to pull this talk together. Remind me, what's your status on the de Troy and your technical presentation?"
Bonnie made a full report, and when Bear decided to re-assign the varnishing of Après le bal to someone else, she protested the necessity; in vain. "Your focus needs to be on getting set for the symposium. And, if you run into any questions or difficulties along the way," he said, his irritation flaring once again, "bring them straight to me, is that clear? It's my job to steer you right professionally, and I'd appreciate your letting me do it."
"I will," she promised meekly. "And, again, I'm very sorry."
Bonnie was to be grateful later on in the week that Bear had taken the de Troy off her hands. She couldn't say how it happened, or where the time went, but whenever she looked up from her monitor, hours had somehow slipped past. Happily for her nerves, Henri Perrin had not been long in sending word that the committee was prepared to slot her into the program but only on the condition that Madeleine proved, in fact, to have been Lebrun's wife; otherwise, they would pass. Early on, Bonnie had been in expectation of hearing from Richard at any moment, but, oddly, several days elapsed without any news from that quarter, and she'd just begun to fret when her grandmother called to explain that Richard had been felled by a nasty bug currently making the rounds of Paris, and had until that morning been confined to bed. "He's devastated to be holding you up, sweetie. He knows time is of the essence. He'll be in touch very soon."
When later that same day her phone started buzzing, she grabbed up the device, thinking it was Richard, but instead a short text from Trev appeared on the screen. They'd spoken at some length Sunday night on his return from the lake house, but, ever since, they'd both been too taken up with work to do more than exchange brief texts. This message read curiously, "Any chance U can take 2moro am off?"
Intrigued and lightly concerned, she tapped out, "Doubtful. What's up?"
"Presser, campaign HQ, 10:30," came the reply. "GR8 if U CLD B there."
She caught her breath. The big announcement was upon them, then: they'd be naming the replacement candidate. Her thumbs flew over the keys. "U get the nod?"
She waited impatiently for the answer, an unrewarding, "Can't say. Sworn to secrecy." Before she could respond, he went on, "NP if U can't make it. H2CU but, if not, watch any news outlet."
"I'll try to come," she typed, but even as she sent the text, she knew it was no good. In theory, she still had one personal day to draw on, but Bear had made it clear he disapproved of those days being taken for any reason other than a health or family crisis, and this qualified as neither. She couldn't, in any case, really afford to be away from her desk at present, not with her work taking longer than anticipated and the deadline looming large. Much as it grieved her to let Trev down, she was forced to resign herself to missing his big moment, and the disappointment was severe, both for his sake and her own. She found some consolation in vowing to make her absence up to him by volunteering every minute she could spare in the coming weeks to help him get elected. It was the best she could do.
Vanna, when she phoned that evening to ask if Bonnie were planning to attend the presser, was sorry but not surprised to learn she couldn't get away. "It's rotten that they have to hold it mid-morning on a week day," she sympathized, "but it's the best time for insuring good media coverage."
"Well," Bonnie said lightly, "that just means you're going to have cheer and applaud loud enough for both of us." She'd meant it as a joke, but, afterward, thinking it over, she wondered if, given Trev's feelings for Vanna, it wasn't just as well she couldn't go. Perhaps the time had come for her to take more of a back seat in Trev's life, obliging and freeing him in roughly equal measure to turn increasingly for the help and support he needed to Vanna, waiting ever-steadfast in the wings. It was a bittersweet prospect, this intentionally giving up first chair to become second fiddle, but essentially right and fitting, and this thought more than any other reconciled her, finally, to watching Trev received the honor of his party's nomination from a distance.
The next morning, then, shortly before ten thirty, Bonnie repaired to the staff lounge, which, in addition to boasting an efficiency kitchen and a number of serviceable tables and chairs, was equipped with a small, wall-mounted flat-screen. Two women were before her, idly watching a talk show together as they drank their coffee, but they made no objection to her changing the channel once she explained. She tuned without further delay to a local news station, and was just in time to see a cool blonde in a smart wool suit step up to a podium and smile benignly over campaign workers and press alike as she waited to gain their attention. Behind her and in front of a blue-and-white Wyndham-Pryce for Senate backdrop crowded no fewer than six people: Trev, of course, flanked by Freya and Emma to one side, and, on the other, his uncle Randall Denholm with his wife at his elbow and beyond her a man Bonnie suspected was another party official. Seeing Randall there, his demeanor dignified and his stance confident filled Bonnie with a sudden apprehension. Could she have been wrong? Was the party chair about to introduce Randall, and not Trev, as the replacement nominee? She looked at her friend again, scouring his expression, but he appeared no less calm and self-assured than his uncle. She detected, too, with relief, the quiet pride in his smile and upward tilt of his chin. He was poised to step forward; ready.
"We feel immensely fortunate and grateful, today," the blonde woman was saying, "to be able to fill the vacancy occasioned by late Senator's tragic death with a person who was not only dear to his heart but whom he was often heard to extol as possessing the potential to be an outstanding legislator, even, quite possibly, better than himself. This individual's long association with the Senator, first-hand knowledge of, and support for, the causes he championed, and profound commitment to faithfully carrying on his life's work guarantee that voters in this district can, with confidence, cast their ballots as usual in November for Wyndham-Pryce, secure in the knowledge that their concerns will continue to be understood and addressed, their views and interests actively advocated for in Richmond, and the local community provided with strong, responsive leadership. It is my great privilege, at this time, to present the Republic candidate for Fairfax County State Senator, and I ask you to join me in a warm round of applause for…" She half-turned to her right, extending an arm, and, at this signal, Trev moved aside and his mother stepped forward. "Freya Wyndham-Pryce."