looking into something for him.â At the outer door, he paused. âMartin is a widower.â
Then he was gone.
7
Madeline read with stunned amazement the newspaper story about Catherine Adamsâs long-term relationship with Nathaniel Fleck, the slain author whose death had stirred up such posthumous pride on campus. Mark had passed the paper to her without comment. Now he said, âAnd just the other dayâ¦â
âYes.â
âHave I become clairvoyant?â
But Madeline was thinking of the way Catherine had put Nathaniel down, warning her away from him. Had all that been a ruse? And, despite her liaison with Maurice Dolan, she had claimed to be smitten by Mark Lorenzo. No; Catherine had been her mainstay during the worst time of her life, someone on whom she could lean. All this business with Nathaniel must have come later. After all, a great deal of time had intervened. Madeline resolved to go to the memorial. No need to mention it to Mark, he would be in class in any case.
Catherineâs performance at the memorial stole the show. How little she had changed physically, except for the hair, of course, But her head was covered at the memorial, conferring on her an air of noble suffering. Afterward, Madeline lingered, wondering if she should speak to Catherine.
âMadeline?â
She turned but did not immediately recognize the woman who had spoken her name.
âJanet. Janet Owens that was.â
Suddenly the unfamiliar figure was transformed. âJanet!â
âWhat are you doing here?â
âAfter the story in the newspaper, how can you ask?â
âShall we say hello to her?â
âDo you want to?â
Janet studied her for a moment, then shook her head. âWhere can we have coffee?â
They went up the street to a student haunt and felt middle-aged as they took their coffee to a far table. For fifteen minutes, they brought one another up to date.
Janet lived in Barrington, was married to an accountant, and had three children, two boys and a girl. âAnd you married a professor, didnât you?â
âMark Lorenzo. Why havenât you ever looked me up?â
âI couldnât remember his name.â Janet smiled wonderingly. âTo think you never left this place.â
They got around to Catherine. Madeline said that for her the greatest surprise was this professed devotion to Nathaniel Fleck. âShe always hated him.â
Janet dipped her chin and looked at Madeline. âYouâre kidding, right?â
âKidding?â
âMadeline, when you went home for a semester, she and Nathaniel became a big thing. I mean big. Everyone talked about it. I assumed she had stolen him away from you.â
âOh, we were all through by then.â
âEven so.â
âShe told me she was nuts about Mark.â
âThen itâs a good thing you married him.â
âTell me more about your kids,â Madeline said, desperate to change the subject. Catherine had been a familiar stranger recounting her lifelong passion for the dead author, but Janetâs remarks made Madeline wonder if she had ever really known Catherine. Catherine alone had known the reason for her supposed leave of absence from the university, and she felt odd talking with Janet, who, close as she had been, never knew.
âMadeline, we have to stay in touch.â
âOh yes.â
âIâm sorry now we didnât talk to Catherine.â
âThe chief mourner.â
Janet made a face. âAs a housewife I was shocked. Shocked. Well, I guess itâs the way of the world now.â
How innocent and normal Janet seemed. There was no dark secret in her past that threatened the peace of her marriage. What would she say if Madeline told her the truth about her own past, told her that Nathaniel had hunted her down and insisted he wanted to find their child? His strange death would take on an ominous significance in the
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