Smaragdus

The next morning Carol wasted no time getting ready for work. She was practically sitting by the front door when Abby got in. Carol didn’t want to talk to her or even look at her before she had made up her mind about how to handle what she had come to know. Abby, on the other hand, seemed eager to have her stay.

“Carol, please…” Abby said. “Do you honestly have to leave this early? I really need to talk to you.” She sounded desperate, which further irritated Carol. She remained adamant. Nothing good would come out of any conversation, were they to get into one before she was ready.

“No,” Carol refused curtly. “Later.” Work seemed like the best antidote for the poison she was now tasting, even if it meant running into Therese. She wasn’t a stranger to acting professional and keeping her distance, Carol consoled herself, and she would make damn sure not to end up in a room alone with her.

Her schedule for the morning was hectic enough to make the hours fly by faster than she had expected. When Carol remembered the lunch appointment with Lady Cantrell and the representative of the transportation company, she was less than thrilled. It seemed like a waste of time to go all the way to a French brasserie in SoHo when they could have very well met in the Roof Garden Bar instead. She wasn’t kidding about changing the scenery , Carol mused. When she finally reached Balthazar on Spring Street, she was nevertheless pleased to be there.

The place was unbelievably busy with no free table in sight. Carol looked around, not recognizing a single soul. She had arrived in time, she reassured herself, wondering if she should give Lady Cantrell a call.

“Carol! Over here!” Smiling, Genevieve Cantrell waved at her from behind a column that partly blocked the view to her table. Relieved, Carol made her way to greet her. As promised, she wasn’t alone but with a man who politely stood up as Carol was about to join them.

Carol couldn’t tell if the man was really handsome or not, for she found it impossible not to pay all her attention to his steady gaze that seemed to penetrate her professional reserve. She had never seen eyes that blue before. Smiling, he seemed to catch her confusion.

“Hello,” he said, extending her hand to Carol. The handshake was kind yet firm. “How nice of you to find time in your busy schedule to hear my proposal, Mrs. Aird.” He pulled out a chair for Carol who was grateful to sit down and hide her temporary embarrassment.

Before the man had a chance to continue, Lady Cantrell intervened. “Oh, please, let’s not be so formal,” she said. “Carol, this is Raymond - Raymond, Carol is in charge of the exhibition, so it's not me but her you need to convince of your professional prowess.” Genevieve spoke hastily, aiming her words inclusively at Carol.

Carol glanced at Raymond, wondering if he was still watching her as keenly as he had only a minute ago. He wasn’t. “So tell me... why should we pick your service out of all the other candidates?” she asked him to be on top of things again.

Raymond looked pleased to get straight to the point. “My company comes with the best credentials regarding the kind of work you need. We’ve provided services to a number of local jewelers, Tiffany Co being just one of them. All our cars have three occupants - a driver who won’t leave the vehicle until it returns to the garage and two trained, armed guards who take care of the pick-up and delivery.” He opened up a folded brochure he had brought with him. “I propose we use one of these…” he said, the fingers of his right hand singling out what Carol thought was a sturdy looking safety truck. “With an armored shell and cab, this model is customized on a basic van chassis, and it will thwart any attempts at robbery and hijacking.” Raymond let Carol study the brochure on her own. “There’s not a handgun or a rifle that can penetrate this glass,” he stated.

“It’s only a short drive from the airport, yet you make it sound so dramatic,” Carol pointed out. She wasn’t at all convinced that such an effort was needed in their case.

“The devil is in the detail, Mrs. Aird,” Raymond said, the corners of his mouth curving up. “If there was one thing I learned as a Boy Scout it was that one can never be too prepared.”

Lady Cantrell coughed abruptly. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, “I swallowed too big a sip of water…” Her face was red as she was trying to breathe normally.

“I thought it was God that’s in the detail?” Carol chuckled. Raymond’s phrasing was somewhat unfamiliar to her.

“God or devil - take your pick,” Raymond smiled. “I think the point remains that when you want the job done properly, you can’t afford taking unnecessary chances.

The lunch was served, and Carol found her new acquaintance both charming and competent. While forking a plate of pan-seared skate, she enjoyed listening to how Raymond had single-handedly built the company he was now proud to call his own. Who knew the armored car racket could be so interesting? Carol thought, taking a sip of her wine.

The man’s stories were laced with colorful characters like that fellow Ned “who had minded the store” while he had taken a leave of absence to learn more about the national scene of his chosen business. And he wasn’t just interested in talking about himself either. Raymond was courteous and attentive, asking Carol about her work, commending her for her past achievements. Even though his tastes lacked the back-up of formal education, he had developed a certain fondness for art. He had several favorites and a special soft spot for the works of Hieronymus Bosch, he confided in Carol.     

Lady Cantrell remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout the lunch. She hardly touched her meal, focusing on ordering two cocktails and an extra bottle of wine. Raymond wasn’t much of a drinker, Carol noticed. His wine glass was practically untouched, which she deemed a good sign for someone in such a serious business.

All in all, the meeting went extremely well, and when Lady Cantrell suggested they could very well finalize the contract right then and there, Carol didn’t balk at the idea. After all, Genevieve had done the background check on the man, and Carol herself had found him not only riveting but also trustworthy. He’s a gentleman, a rare breed these days, she thought, writing her name on the dotted line. Just as she was about to hand the contract back to Lady Cantrell, Raymond’s obscure signature caught her attention.

“I’m sorry…” Carol smiled, surprised by what she only now realized. “I don't think I caught your full name?” She looked apologetic, hoping her oversight wouldn’t be interpreted as a lack of appreciation on her part.

“How rude of me,” Raymond said. “I should be the one to apologize.” Again he looked Carol straight into the eyes. “It’s Vickers, Raymond Vickers.” The blue intensified, turned to ice. “But please, call me Ray.”   

How Carol found her way back to her office, she wasn’t sure. Where to?   the cab driver had asked her, and evidently she had remembered where she worked. Somehow she had managed to maintain her calm when her feeling good had come to a screeching halt. The glasses of wine she had indulged in revealed their belated effect, mocking her carelessness, her succumbing to the discreet flattery that had obviously had only one goal in mind - to get her to sign that damn piece of paper.

Ray Vickers is not Therese’s father nor should he be allowed to get anywhere near her ever again. Del Krasinski’s fierce statement came back to haunt Carol. What have I done?  she questioned herself. What in heaven’s name have I gotten myself into?  There was no pretending that this man she had just met could be anyone else than the one and the same. And now she had let him in, practically opened the door to Therese’s life and to God knows what else.  

Only a few hours earlier Carol had been fuming with anger, certain of having been betrayed by both Therese and Abby. Now she found herself slouching in the chair behind her desk, her thoughts in total disarray. When she wasn’t panicking over what had just happened, her mind drifted to the kiss she had thoroughly enjoyed right up to the moment of her regained memory.

Carol hadn’t bothered to turn on the light, for sitting in the dark felt appropriate. She had been left in the dark on purpose, yet she wondered if the darkness she knew was still less solid than the one Therese was dealing with. At least Carol knew the players even if she didn’t know the game. Therese, Abby, Lady Cantrell. The crystal Pan smirked at her from his corner of the desk. He was mocking her for taking such a long time to piece it all together. She would have to talk to Therese, she decided, but not here. Therese deserved to know about Ray Vickers.

After work Carol took yet another cab, this time to the address she had found in Therese’s personnel file. When Carol got to the door of Therese and Dannie’s home, no one came to open it.

An elderly lady poked her head out of the neighboring apartment. “They moved out just this morning,” the woman said.

“Did they leave a forwarding address?” Carol asked, hoping to get more out the stranger’s apparent nosiness.

“Nope,” the lady replied, eyeing Carol suspiciously. “Good riddance, I say…” she muttered, closing the door to show the intruder that the conversation was over.    

Carol didn’t know what to make of Therese’s abrupt decision to reside elsewhere. Maybe it was for the best not to get a hold of her right away, she thought. This way she would at least have more time to think of how to approach the matter, even if she wasn’t aware of the big picture.

One thing was clear though. She had to find out where Therese was living. Returning home, Carol asked Abby to join her in her room. It was ultimatum time: Abby had only one minute to either tell her where Therese was staying or have her ass kicked out of her house for good.   

The post office box was empty. Not that it surprised Therese all that much - the same depressing sight had greeted her for what seemed like ages now. Why do I bother?   she asked herself, drawing a deep, frustrated breath. The hopes of something significant coming out of the elaborate plan she had hatched two years ago had been scarce anyway. In the beginning she had checked the box regularly but not anymore.

“Are you Miss Dennis?” asked an apprehensive female voice behind her. Therese turned around, unaccustomed to hear herself addressed with the alias.

“Who wants to know?” Therese replied with a question, giving her surroundings a quick look around. The middle-aged postal worker she was now facing looked shy and embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, Miss. It’s just that we’ve been waiting for Miss Dennis to show up...” The woman obviously needed to ascertain that she was in fact speaking to the elusive ‘Miss Dennis’.

“I am she,” Therese acknowledged, her tone much kinder now.

“Great!” the woman exclaimed, a relieved smile lighting her round face. “I’m so glad we finally got a hold of you.” Her words were enough to make Therese nervous, but the woman was too happy to notice her slight discomfort. “You see, we’ve been having a lot of trouble with your mail recently…” she continued. “First nothing, and now so much that we can’t possibly fit it all inside the box…” She asked Therese to follow her behind the counter and all the way to the area normally restricted to customers.

The woman whose name tag spelled Lisa removed a large plastic bin from one of the storage shelves. “All this started pouring in about a week or so ago.” The container was almost filled to the brim. “Do you have a car or how would you like to take these with you?”

Therese was speechless. White envelopes with “Ms. Sandra Dennis” handwritten on them were piled up in countless layers inside the bin with a few bigger, brown ones thrown in for variety. The surprise sight made her almost giddy, an excitement far removed from anything she had ever known racing through her entire being. “I’ll…” she stammered, happily bewildered, “I’ll get a cab.”

That night Therese knew happiness that was powerful enough to erase all heartache and suffering. It was the happiness of accomplishment, of knowing that what she had begun was finally bearing fruit. All the envelopes were addressed to:

 Ms. Sandra Dennis

Kathleen’s School For Girls                        

In the privacy of her hotel room, she went through every letter, every heartfelt word on every single page. They had arrived from all over the country, from big cities and small towns, each one of them telling more or less the same story. I am forever grateful for this amazing opportunity your scholarship program has granted me… your generosity turned my life around…  this chance I have been given has restored my faith in humanity… how can I ever repay the kindness you have shown me… Kathleen’s help saved me… The individual voices and paragraphs melted into a thankful chorus of women who’d been given a third chance. A real chance .

All along as she was reading, Therese kept Genevieve’s list of lost girls close at hand. Each time when she was able to link a happy confession with a previously anonymous name, the smile on her face grew wider and her heart lighter. Almost all of the letters contained a photo, a snapshot of a young woman finding a firmer foothold in the world that had once shunned her. “Kathleen” had requested it, Therese only now remembered. For Kathleen with my everlasting gratitude. For Kathleen who saved my life. For Kathleen, with love. One of the women had even enclosed a picture of her newborn baby girl, Kathleen .       

Therese thought about the kind lady whose priced flamingo had made all the difference in these women’s lives. Therese wished she could’ve told her, somehow let Kathleen Morra know that right now, even if for a fleeting moment in time, her memory was firmly imprinted in the hearts and minds of these more than deserving girls. Kathleen’s girls.