The Blackstone Chronicles - By John Saul Page 0,50

here.”

Ignoring Celeste’s protests, Madeline mounted the steps to the porch, then fumbled with her keys until she found the right one. “Jules?” she called out as she set her packages down on the table in the entry hall. “Jules, are you here?” When there was no answer, she crossed the foyer to the library and rapped sharply on the closed door to her husband’s den. “Jules? May I come in?” There was no answer. “Jules!”

A muffled voice came from the other side of the door. “Go away.”

Madeline’s hand closed on the doorknob and she tried to turn it.

Locked.

“Jules, I want to talk to you!”

When there was no response from inside the den, Madeline mounted the stairs, heading for her dressing room. She kept a spare set of keys to every door in the huge old house in the top drawer of her vanity. But when she came to her dressing room she stopped abruptly. The door was ajar. Beyond it, every drawer and every closet door stood open, and her lingerie had been scattered across the carpeted floor. The anger she’d so deliberately dissipated in the shops along Newbury Street came flooding back. Jules never came into her dressing room, just as she never went into his den. Today, though, he’d not only entered her sanctuary, but searched through her things! Surely he hadn’t actually expected to find proof of the affair he imagined she was having! It was ludicrous! Intolerable!

Ignoring the tangle of clothes on the floor, Madeline went to her vanity. Though it was clear that every drawer had been gone through, everything still seemed to be there, and she quickly found the ring of keys.

Celeste was just coming into the foyer when she got back to the foot of the stairs. Together the two women returned to the locked door to the den. Madeline once again knocked loudly on the mahogany panels, and when there was no reply, she began trying the keys on the ring until one fit. She heard the bolt click back and turned the knob once more. The door swung open.

Jules glowered at her from behind his desk. A nearly empty bottle of scotch sat at his elbow.

She crossed to the desk. “I don’t know what’s wrong, Jules,” she said softly. “But I do know that finishing that bottle won’t help.”

“You know what’s wrong, you tramp!”

As if acting under its own volition, Madeline’s hand flashed out and slapped her husband across the face, but even before the sting on her palm had died away, she regretted her action. “Oh, God, Jules, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“You’ve been wanting to do that for years, haven’t you?” Jules growled, his words slurring. “Do you think I haven’t known? Well, I know, Madeline. I know everything.”

Madeline bit her lower lip to keep her temper in check, then took a deep breath. “All right,” she said. “I can see there’s no point in talking to you right now. Dinner will be ready at seven. Come to the table or not, as you see fit.” Picking up the bottle of scotch and taking it with her, Madeline left the study, pulling the door closed behind her.

“What is it?” Celeste asked. “Mother, what’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know,” Madeline replied. “But I think it’s time to call Dr. Margolis.”

The two women went back through the library to the foyer, where a telephone sat on a table near the base of the wide staircase. Picking up the receiver, Madeline dialed Philip Margolis’s office. His nurse answered on the second ring.

“Nancy?” Madeline said. “It’s Madeline Hartwick. I would like to speak to Philip, please.”

“I’m afraid he’s in Concord, Mrs. Hartwick,” Nancy Conway told her. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Madeline hesitated. Though she’d known Nancy Conway for twenty years, and liked her, she was well aware that Nancy had never kept a secret in her life, and never passed on a story without embellishing it. If she even hinted at the things Jules was doing and saying, by tomorrow morning everyone in Blackstone would have heard that he’d lost his mind. Better to deal with Jules herself tonight, she decided, and talk directly to Philip Margolis in the morning. “I don’t think so, Nancy,” she said. “It’s nothing that can’t wait.”

Chapter 6

As the symphony of chimes signifying the dinner hour echoed through the Hartwicks’ vast house, Madeline carried the last plate into the breakfast room, where she, Jules, and Celeste invariably ate when they were alone. Tonight, in a