Rushing Waters (11 page)

“We'll help you, Bob,” she said gently. “It may not be as bad as it looks.” He sighed and smiled at her, and wiped a tear from his cheek. It was upsetting for him too, and would have been for anyone.

“It's worse than I thought,” he admitted. There were framed photographs of his children underwater, and all of his books other than his own. “I guess we have our work cut out for us, don't we?” He smiled at his neighbor, and after a few more minutes of the depressing scene, they left and made their way through the lobby and back to the SUV. Ellen was particularly grateful that they had gone there with him—it had been comforting to share the shocking first sight of the damage with him, and they supported one another.

Ellen assumed he would drive them back to the shelter, and he looked at them as soon as they were in the car again.

“Won't you come uptown with me? My agent has an enormous apartment on Central Park West. He would love to help out, and he's a nice man. He told me to bring you with me if you were willing. At least you can get some rest, instead of at the shelter with all that noise and all those people. I'm going to stay there for the duration, and you can stay as long as you want.”

“I would hate to impose on him,” Grace said, looking uncomfortable, but the shelter was undeniably exhausting, and she had barely slept since they got there. “Maybe for a few days,” she hesitated, “until we can get a hotel room, or I can find a temporary furnished apartment. It took me almost four months to set everything to rights last time,” which was too long and too costly to stay at a hotel.

“Seriously, he won't mind. I think he enjoys the company. He's a widower with no children, and he likes to help his friends.” But they were strangers to him, which Grace found embarrassing. Ellen was willing to do whatever her mother wanted. At this point, it was unlikely they would find a hotel room, or even a furnished apartment, anytime soon. And she thought it might be a relief to stay with Bob's agent for a few days, even though Bob wasn't a close friend. But they were all in the same boat now, and Bob was a kind man, and obviously fond of Grace, and Ellen by association.

“All right,” Grace said in a soft voice, still overwhelmed by what she'd seen. She had lost her home again. “We'll go uptown to your friend. But we won't stay too long, I promise,” she said, looking apologetic. And both Ellen and Bob were relieved. They didn't want the shock and hardships she was enduring to impact her health, and they easily could.

It took them two hours to reach Forty-second Street in the chaos of downtown, having to make constant detours, and getting stuck in traffic, as people tried to get to or from their damaged homes, on streets that were impassable or destroyed. And it went more quickly after that, once they were in the unaffected part of town. It was nearly seven o'clock when they pulled up in front of a well-known building on Central Park West, with a uniformed doorman waiting outside. It was like being transported from hell to heaven, as Grace stepped out of the car looking tired, and Bob and Ellen followed. Bob handed the doorman the keys to the car and asked him to put it in the garage. The doorman recognized him immediately. He had the keys to James Aldrich's apartment and said that Mr. Aldrich was expecting them. They were familiar with Bob and knew he was staying there.

Bob let them into the apartment, and it was like stepping into another world. It was enormous and handsomely decorated in a masculine style. He had beautiful antiques, important paintings, and it was obvious that both an architect and a designer had worked on the apartment, which looked more like a house and occupied two floors. Grace recognized immediately that she had seen it in several architectural magazines over the years, but didn't know who it belonged to. And its owner had collected unique treasures and works of art on his travels. Like bedraggled victims of a shipwreck, Bob led them into the library, while Grace suddenly hoped Aldrich wouldn't mind the dog. This was a very impressive home, and she and Ellen both felt lucky to be there. Jim Aldrich was the most important literary agent in New York, and his art collection was famous in the art world.

Bob preceded them into the library, and strode across the room to a man quietly working at his desk. Their host looked up as soon as they arrived, and came to greet them with a welcoming hand and a warm smile. He looked thrilled that they were there, as though it were a long-awaited visit and not an imposition, and he went straight to Grace, thanked her warmly for coming, and patted the dog.

“I had an English bulldog I adored for thirteen years. I lost him two years ago, and I miss him dreadfully. I haven't had the heart to get another one. I'm so glad you brought yours—it will put a little life in the place. Thank you so much for coming.” He smiled warmly at Grace as she stared at him. They were intruders, and he was treating them like greatly anticipated, welcome visitors, and was even nice about her dog. Jim was obviously as kind as their mutual friend. He chatted with Ellen as he showed them to their bedrooms, both of which were elegant and as beautifully decorated as the rest of the apartment, and Ellen felt as though they had landed in some kind of fairyland after what they'd been through at the shelter, and just seen at her mother's apartment. And in the elegant atmosphere of comfort and discreet luxury, Grace looked and sounded more like herself again and not like the victim of a disaster.

“We have food for you in the kitchen whenever you're ready,” Jim told them. He was anxious to ask Bob how things were in his apartment, but was afraid to do so in front of Grace, in case she had suffered terrible damage in hers. A few minutes later Bob filled him in, that both apartments had been destroyed and very little could be saved. He said it had been a terrible blow to Grace, and he thanked Jim for letting the two women stay with him.

“I've always been an admirer of her work as an architect,” Jim said candidly, looking relaxed. “And I'm happy to do whatever I can to help. From everything I see on TV, downtown looks like a nightmare. I'm glad you're all right at least. You can always get another apartment. But there's only one Robert Wells,” he said warmly, and Bob smiled.

“I think this one did me in,” Bob admitted. “It's too traumatic living down there, if this could happen again. I made a decision when I saw my apartment today. I'm going to move uptown.”

“There's an apartment for sale in this building, if you're interested,” Aldrich said easily, and Bob looked doubtful.

“This is a little grand for me. I like the bohemian side of Tribeca, but not the risk of natural disaster. Maybe a small apartment somewhere, even in this building, but not as big or elaborate as yours. I'd get lost in it, and my kids hardly ever come to New York, so I don't need a huge apartment,” Bob explained to him.

“Neither do I,” Jim admitted, and he had no children or family at all. “But I like it anyway. I guess it's the show-off in me. But I'll ask if there's something smaller in the building for you. I think you've made the right decision to move, and I'm relieved to hear it. Drowning in a hurricane in lower Manhattan would be such a stupid way to die.” And it could easily have happened, and had to others. The hurricane had turned out to be far more dangerous than many people had wanted to believe.

Jim and Bob talked about business for a moment then. Jim had had an interesting offer for him that afternoon to sell another of his mystery novels for a film in L.A., not to write the screenplay, which Bob never did, but simply to sell the book for a major movie with first-rate stars in it, and Jim thought he should agree. The two men had become good friends in the twenty years Jim had represented him and initially launched his career. And Bob attributed his considerable and very impressive success to him. Jim had unfailing judgment in the business, was a master negotiator, and had represented Bob well, with rewarding results for them both. Bob had recently turned forty-nine, and Jim was twenty years older than Bob, although he didn't look it. But over the two decades he had represented him, Jim had gracefully shifted into the role and appearance of a distinguished older man. He was as tough as ever in business, but a little mellower privately than he had been in his youth, when he had been known as something of a firebrand. Bob loved that about him too, and had a profound respect for him as an agent and a friend. And he was very touched by his offer to let Bob's neighbor and her daughter stay with him in the aftermath of the storm, which was so typical of Jim, who never failed to help a friend, even someone he scarcely knew.

Bob went to call his children then. He had called them the night before to reassure them and tell them he was at Jim's. But after seeing the destruction in his apartment, he wanted to call them again. They were both sad to hear how much he'd lost, and grateful that he was willing to sell the place and move uptown. It sounded like a sensible decision to them.

As Ellen unpacked the pathetically few items she had brought in her go bag, and thought of the suitcase of clothes that were now soaking wet in her mother's apartment, she wanted to call George immediately and tell him where she was. She could well imagine that he must have been frantic trying to reach her for the past two days. It was midnight in London by then, but even if she woke him up, she knew he would be relieved to hear from her, and upset if she didn't call as soon as she was able.

She used the landline in the spectacular guest bedroom she'd been given, told the operator to bill the call to her mother's home phone, and listened as the phone rang in their house in London. George sounded sleepy when he answered.

“I'm sorry, darling, I haven't called you in two days. We've had a hell of a time, and my cell phone didn't work downtown. We had to evacuate from my mother's apartment, after she initially decided to stay. We waded out in water almost to our chests, had to go to a shelter, and we just went back to her place today. She lost everything. I just got uptown so I could finally call. I'm sorry if you were worried.” She told him all the pertinent information rapidly so he could understand her silence.

“When I didn't hear from you, I assumed you were fine,” he said, sounding very British and half asleep. “I tried to call you a few times, but nothing went through, and I heard on the news that cell phones weren't working in the affected parts of the city. I knew you'd turn up eventually. How's your mother?” he asked, seeming surprisingly matter-of-fact. Ellen had expected him to be panicked about her, and even Grace. This was the first time she had ever heard him sound so calm, while knowing she might be in danger.

“My mother is being very brave,” Ellen answered, “but understandably very upset. She just lost everything, or close to it. The apartment was nearly destroyed.”

“She'll just have to move,” he said simply, as though it wouldn't matter to Grace, which Ellen knew it would, and the way he said it seemed a little heartless to her. Grace was very attached to her apartment, and loved living in Tribeca, which George knew, but she had to be sensible about it now, even if it was painful for her. Ellen suspected that it was going to be a battle, but she intended to try to force her to listen to reason. “You're all right?” he asked, sounding cool, which seemed strange to Ellen, since he had been so worried about the hurricane when she left. But sometimes he was that way and got very British and unemotional. He seemed to be in that mode now, and appeared to be neither affectionate nor concerned. She had thought he would be worried sick about her, especially with no word from her.

“I'm fine, but it's been pretty rough. The shelter was a madhouse.”

“You really shouldn't have gone to New York,” he said almost coldly. “You should have changed your plans and stayed here. It's a bit ridiculous to fly into New York in a hurricane, don't you think?” He seemed irritated, and far less sympathetic than she'd expected.

“Of course not. What about my mother? I couldn't leave her alone to face that. I'm glad I was here, even if it was scary and a mess. And I never thought it would be this bad when I left. But I'm glad I was here for her.”

“She's a lot tougher than either of us. She would have been fine.” He wasn't the least bit worried about them, or even compassionate, and she was upset. He acted as though she had just been in some minor summer storm, while he enjoyed his weekend with his friends. And his lack of concern for her mother didn't sit well with her either. It wasn't totally uncharacteristic, but seemed unusual, extreme, and particularly inappropriate in the circumstances. She had envisioned him frantic about them, while she had agonized over not being able to call him. And she had the impression that he couldn't have cared less. “Where are you now?” he asked her dispassionately.

“Staying with a friend of my mother's neighbor. He was very kind and took us in. New Yorkers are wonderful in a crisis. We're uptown, and it's totally normal up here, so I could finally call. We just got here half an hour ago.”

“You mean the famous mystery writer who lives next door to Grace?” George knew his books too. The whole world did, and he had read some of the ones her mother had given her, and thought he wrote extremely well, and was impressed Grace knew him.

“Yes, his agent. Bob is staying here too, and I was relieved for my mother. The shelter was too hard for her. I don't want her to get sick, and there isn't a hotel room available in New York supposedly, or damn few. We're going to have to find her a temporary apartment. I'm afraid I may get stuck here for a few weeks while I help her sort it all out, and deal with the insurance. I don't want to just leave her alone to face this on her own,” she said apologetically.

“Whatever you need to do,” he said, sounding unworried and practical, which wasn't like him. He usually complained vehemently if she stayed away too long.

“Are you mad at me?” she asked him bluntly. She wondered if he was jealous that she was staying at Bob's agent's home, but he didn't seem it. Mostly, he seemed indifferent, which came as a shock to her.