Possessions

  We dedicate this book to

  Harry Barnard

  Whose boundless love and encouragement

  we deeply miss

  Parti

  Chapter 1

  K.

  ATHERINE!" The voices echoed in the brightly lit rooms. "Wonderful party . . . terrific food! ... so good to be here ..." And to one another, still at the top of their voices, they shouted, "Didn't know they threw these parties ... did you?"

  The voices rose above the music from the record player and swept through the house and out to the terrace where couples danced in the warm June night or stood on the low stone wall to view the spectacle of Vancouver's skyline across the bay. And Katherine, with Jennifer and Todd's help, opened new bottles at the small bar and moved back and forth between the kitchen and dining room, keeping the steaming casseroles and platters on the buffet heaped with food.

  "The guest of honor salutes a terrific hostess," said Leslie McAlister, lifting her glass. "And," she added with a small bow, "Jennifer and Todd. Your mother should hire you out to friends when they entertain." She put her arm around Katherine. "Very impressive, being the reason for such a party. Why didn't

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  you tell me you threw such terrific affairs? If Td known, I wouldn't have let three years go by since my last visit. On the other hand, why haven't you come to San Francisco so I could give a party in your honor?"

  "You should have come sooner," Katherine agreed. She was trying to twist the cork out of a champagne bottle. "Craig does this so easily, but I can't seem to—"

  "Let me." Leslie took the bottle from her. "It's one of the first skills single women learn." With a flourish, she pushed up the cork with her thumbs, at the same time covertly studying Katherine, comparing her to the plain, shy Katherine Fraser she'd seen only sporadically for the past ten years. She was still shy—slightly alarmed at the boisterousness of her party and looking surprised when her guests praised her—but she was a little prettier, especially now, with the excitement of her party brightening her wonderful hazel eyes and giving her pale skin some color. And though she and Leslie were the same height, she was slimmer; she doesn't worry about her hips, Leslie thought ruefully.

  Still, her educated eye saw that Katherine wasn't nearly as attractive as she could be. Her heavy dark hair was pulled back and held tightly by an elastic band, stretching the skin at her temples, her lipstick was the wrong shade for her skin, and her dress was too plain for a figure that demanded drama. Leslie, who woiiced at being stunning and sophisticated, making a virtue of kinky red hair and a sharp jaw, feh her fingers itching to redo Katherine. Silently she laughed at herself. Never content; not only did she spend her days as an executive of an exclusive department store that catered to the whims of wealthy customers, but she also couldn't wait to go to work on a friend who seemed perfectly satisfied with herself.

  The cork popped neatly from the bottle, trailing misty tendrils of champagne vapor. "Oh, well done!" cried Sarah Murphy, small, round, with black alert eyes. "Men always spray it everywhere, but you have such finesse! You must entertain a great deal. Katherine, on the other hand"—she tapped Katherine playfully— "never entertains, yet here she is giving such a lovely party. And without a husband in sight. Where is Craig, my dear? Usually I see him leave like clockwork every morning, but I haven't seen him since Tuesday."

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  "He had to go to Toronto—"

  "With a party coming up? It must have been terribly important to mlake him disappear and expect you to—"

  "Cope," Leslie finished smoothly. "And isn't she admirable? One might be envious—if one were the type." She smiled sweetly. "Katherine and I were catching up on our news; do you mind if I monopolize her before I leave for the airport?"

  "Oh, my, no," said Sarah. "Of course not; Katherine's been so anxious to see you—" She followed them, still talking, until they hid behind a cluster of guests at the piano. Beneath the noise of the party, they burst out laughing.

  'Thank you," Katherine said. "She's a wonderful neighbor and she'd do anything to help us if we needed her, but she's a little hard to get rid of."

  "Hinting," Leslie scorned. "I can't stand people who haven't the guts to be honestly nosy."

  "Or honestly anything," Katherine added as they went through the glass doors to the terrace. "You never liked anyone who Ued."

  "That's why we latched on to each othen the two of us, so damned stubborn about the truth. So how come we don't see each other more often?"

  A shout from the living room broke in, rising furiously above the sounds of the party. "You son of a bitch, you have to accommodate the Quebecois—^"

  "Accommodate the French!" came an outraged response. "We're already taxed up to our necks to pay for them. Our money should stay in the west— "

  "So that's what you want, eh? You'd do anything to get out of paying taxes!"

  Katherine's face was frozen with panic. "They can't fight; it would ruin everything."

  The outraged voice rose higher. "Pretty free with accusations, Doemer! You're known for that, aren't you? Especially false ones!"

  "What the hell—! Listen you bastard, that was two years ago. And when I found out I was wrong, I paid the costs and it was over. Who do you think you are—"

  "Oh, shit!" someone else cried. "Do you two have to come to blows at every party?"

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  Leslie looked at Katherine's face. "Shall I try to break it up? Sometimes a stranger is a good distraction."

  Katherine shook her head. "I should do it. Damn, why isn't Craig here? He'd know what to do; one of those men is his partner. Well—" She straightened her shoulders. "I'll be right back."

  In the living room she made her way through a crowd surrounding two men, their faces contorted with anger as other guests held them apart. Katherine drew a shaky breath and, forcing a smile, raised her voice. "It's like an American West-em, isn't it? But shouldn't we have a saloon and a dusty street where you can pace off?" She heard a ripple of laughter and the two men reluctantly smiled. She put her hands on their arms. "We do have a bar; can I offer you drinks instead of bruises?"

  "Far more civilized," one of them said. "Mrs. Eraser, I apologize. If some people weren't so free with accusations—"

  "The bar! The bar! Drinks, not bruises!" came crifes from the guests. A short, gray-haired woman mouthed an apology to Katherine and took the other man's arm, turning him toward the bar. In a moment, Katherine slipped out and returned to the terrace.

  Leslie was watching from the doorway. 'The perfect hostess," she said admiringly. "I thought you said you don't give many parties."

  "We don't give any parties. We used to, years ago, but we haven't lately; Craig doesn't like them." Katherine was trembling but a feeling of pride swept over her. "I did stop them, didn't I?"

  "You did. Without making anyone angry. Who are those guys, anyway?"

  "Carl Doemer, Craig's partner in Vancouver Construction; I have no idea who the other man is. My house is full of people I don't know."

  "Katherine! You're not serious."

  "Yes I am. We don't have many friends, and I wanted to impress you. So we invited Craig's business acquaintances and people I'd met at Jennifer's and Todd's school."

  "But they came to your party."

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  "They wanted to meet my friend, the vice-president of Heath's of San Francisco. You're a celebrity."

  "If I am, it's the first time. And I didn't make this terrific party; you did."

  "If I did, it's the first time." They grinned at each other and Katherine felt the warmth of Leslie's closeness. It had been almost the only warmth in high school and two years of college, and afterward, until she met Craig. Leslie, brash and curious, had breached
her shyness and given her a chance to know how good a friend she could be. But then, on a vacation in British Columbia, Katherine met Craig Eraser and, within a month, married him. And Leslie, returning to San Francisco after the wedding, decided to make herself the first woman vice-president in the fifty-year history of Heath's of San Francisco.

  "The years disappeared," Katherine said, thinking back, trying to answer Leslie's question of why they saw each other so seldom. "And you haven't visited us very often."

  "Look who's talking!" Leslie retorted. "You've never come back to San Francisco. Ten years, and never one visit."

  "Craig wouldn't go. I asked him so many times; he just refused and wouldn't talk about it," Katherine gazed unseeing at the lights of Lions Gate Bridge, strung across the bay, fastening West Vancouver to the glittering Vancouver skyline. "Do you remember the time I called you, when I was so lonely? We'd been married about three years and had only a couple of friends, and Craig was starting with Carl Doemer's company, and I was always alone with the babies—it was when you were breaking up with what's-his-name—and we nearly drowned our telephones in problems and tears. What was his name?"

  "I have no idea. Seven years ago? How could I possibly remember?"

  "You were so miserable, I thought it was an undying love."

  "It probably was, at the moment. I haven't found one that lasts. I don't see many, either. You and Craig; a few others. Though don't you think you could find someone else if he suddenly— Sorry, ghoulish question."

  "Well, it is, but everyone thinks about it. And I suppose I could love someone else if something happened to Craig." She smiled at Jennifer, who came on to the terrace carefully balancing two plates of steamed shrimp. 'Thank you, sweetheart..

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  Would you and Todd like to go upstairs now? I can take over; you've worked so hard and it's getting late."

  'Todd's already goofing off," Jennifer said resignedly. "He's talking about Atari games with some computer guy. I like being the hostess. See you later."

  Amused, Leslie said, "Seems you've been displaced as hostess. Speaking of computers, my wild oats brother has become a computer whiz. In fact, I hired him a while back, figuring a good job might make him an upright citizen. Fingers crossed and daily prayers; so far he seems to be making it." She paused. "So do you. You look happy, Katherine."

  "I am." Through the open doors, Katherine heard fragments of conversation and a chorus reviving old folk songs to a piano accompaniment. She felt she was floating on the bright lights and colors of her beautiful house, and wished Craig were there, to share it. We've got to stop being so solitary, she thought; we should make more friends, entertain more.

  "I'm sorry I won't see Craig," Leslie said, as if picking up Katherine's thoughts.

  "I am, too. I can't imagine why he isn't back; he promised he'd be here to help with the party. Can't you stay over? He'll probably get here just when you leave."

  "I really can't. A couple of odd things have come up at the store and I ought to earn my salary by looking into them. I wouldn't even have come up for the conference, if you weren't here. You'll just have to bring the whole family to San Francisco."

  "I will. I don't know what Craig has against it, but we'll—"

  "Katherine." Cari Doemer was in the doorway. "Could I see you for a minute?"

  "I'll get some more wine," Leslie said, and left them alone.

  "I apologize," he said. "No excuse for such childish behavior. I'm on edge, lots on my mind, but still . . . Katherine, have you heard from Craig?"

  "No, have you? I thought he'd be back by now."

  "I just called him at the Boynton. He's not there.'*

  "Of course not. He's on his way home."

  "They don't have a registration for him."

  "They must have; that's where he stayed. But it isn't important, is it? He's on his way home."

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  "Katherine, have you heard from him? All week?"

  "No, he's probably been busy. So was I, with the party—"

  "Does Craig use other hotels in Toronto?"

  "No. Carl, what is this? Craig is on his way honae; there's no mystery about it."

  "Probably not. But when he gets here, will you have him call me? Right away."

  Something in his voice finally reached her. "Are you worried about Craig?"

  "Of course not. Just—have him call me. All right?"

  She nodded, frowning slightly as he walked away. Behind her, someone said, "Wonderful house, Katherine. So much room to move around."

  "We built it," she answered. "Three years ago. It is beautiful, isn't it? Craig and the architect worked out every inch."

  What does that mean — no registration at the Boynton?

  *Talented fellow; he and Doemer built our office building."

  "And that new motel in Bumaby? Didn't they do that?"

  Of course he was registered. Carl was impatient and didn't ask them to check.

  "Mom!" Katherine looked down at Todd's mischievous grin. "There's a whole bunch of chocolate cake in the kitchen. It's for us, isn't it?"

  She smiled. "How much have you eaten?"

  "Just a taste. Jennifer said I better ask you."

  "How much is 'just a taste'?"

  "Uh . . . two and a half pieces? Jennifer only had two."

  "Quite a taste." She kissed the top of his head. "One more small piece. And don't forget to brush all that chocolate off your teeth before you go to bed."

  "Sure. When's Dad coming home?"

  "I guess tomorrow. He'll probably call and let us know."

  He would have told me if he'd changed hotels.

  "He promised me a balsa airplane model."

  'Then he'll bring you one. Good night, Todd. Sleep well."

  Unless he changed his plans at the last minute.

  "Nice boy, Katherine. The picture of his father."

  But whenever he changes his plans, he calls me.

  "Katherine." Leslie was carrying her overnight bag. "I've got to go or I'll miss my plane." They walked to the front door

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  and she looked at Katherine appraisingly. "A sudden problem?"

  "Whyr'

  "Furrowed brow, faraway look. Can I help?"

  "No, it's not serious, just something that I can't explain. I wish you could stay longer."

  "Next time. Or you'll stay longer in San Francisco. You will come? Promise?"

  "Promise. As soon as Craig can get away."

  "Don't wait too long; I really have missed our talks."

  "So have I. I didn't realize how much until now."

  "You could come alone, you know."

  "Oh. Yes I could. I'd rather not, though; and wouldn't you like a visit from the whole family?"

  "Of course. Come soon, then. I'll give you the key to the city." They put their arms around each other. "So damn good to see you. Letters and phone calls aren't enough. Why the hell we let ourselves get so wrapped up in our own lives—" And she was gone, waving from the front gate as she got into the taxi.

  Just as Craig did when he went to the airport on Tuesday.

  Three days earlier. Tuesday morning. He held her to him as the taxi pulled up, but he was looking off in the distance, already thinking of Toronto. He kissed her, told her he loved her, and was gone, waving as the car pulled away. An ordinary trip, no different from the dozens he took every year to meet with suppliers, architects, other contractors with whom he and Carl did business. Back on Friday, he had promised at breakfast, to help with the party. An ordinary trip. But why wouldn't he be registered at the Boynton?

  Her exhilaration had vanished; her party had changed. Her guests still gesticulated and smiled, talking rapidly, but the sound and brightness had dimmed, as if muffled by a curtain, ril find out for myself, she thought, and ran upstairs to call the hotel. "No, Mrs. Fraser, he didn't register," the clerk said. "We certainly wouldn't make a mistake about one of our regulars. That's what I told Mr. Doemer when he c
alled, and if he hadn't gotten angry and hung up on me, I would have told him that Mr. Fraser did have a reservation but he didn't arrive. We assumed he'd changed his plans. I wish I could help you, but I can't. He isn't here, Mrs. Fraser, and he hasn't been, all week."

  lO

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  He isn't here, Mrs. Fraser. He hasn't been all week. Katherine sat on the bed and looked blankly at the wall. He hasn't been all week. Laughter drifted up the stairs, glasses clinked, and the chorus at the piano belted out "The Big Rock Candy Mountain," but the sounds were far off, the air dark. He isn't here, Mrs. Fraser. He hasn't been all week.

  Chapter 2

  0

  N Saturday morning, the debris of the party lay strewn about the house. Katherine sat at the kitchen telephone, watching her children clean up the dining room. "We need a maid," Todd grumbled, stacking plates precariously on the floor. "We're the maid," Jennifer responded. "If Dad was home," Todd said, "Mom would do it with us, like she always does." "She's waiting to hear from Daddy," said Jennifer. "She's worried." Todd looked up from his stack of plates. "She didn't say she was worried. She just said Dad would be late because he got busy in Toronto." "He always calls, doesn't he?" Jennifer demanded. "He calls in the middle of the week and he calls if he's going to be late and this week he didn't call at all." "Mom!" Todd yelled. "Has something happened to Dad?"

  Katherine came to the door. Her legs felt heavy, her eyes scratchy from being up all night, waiting, watching the blazing porch light grow feeble as the sun rose. She was too tired to lie convincingly, and her children were expert at catching her

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  in contradictions—and anyway, she thought, they deserve to know what's h^pening. "I don't know where he is, Todd. He's probably tied up with some business people and he'll call us as soon as he can."

  "But where is he?" Todd insisted.

  "I said I don't know," Katherine snapped. More gently she said, "I'm waiting for him to call."

  The telephone rang and she flung herself across the kitchen to answer it. "You haven't heard from him?" Carl Doemer asked without preamble.

  "No." In her disappointment, her legs gave way and she sat on the stool at the counter. "But if he's really busy . . . Couldn't something important have come up at the last minute? Something in another city—?"