It felt good to be called “ma’am” by a member of the Carnifice organization. I thanked him genially and mingled with the crowd going up the drive. I wasn’t exactly in disguise, but hoped that a wide–brimmed hat and the fact that no one expected to see me would protect me. I skirted the drive, clogged with SUV’s and the occasional actual car, and moved around to the back of the house, where the crowd was thicker.
In the media tent I got the press packet marked for Morrell but ducked back outside before I had to get into idle chitchat with anyone. Alex Fisher’s hapless assistant was there; I didn’t want her questioning me on where Morrell was. Besides, I had recognized several reporters I knew, and it would take only about three sentences before they’d realize it was my face behind the big hat and sunglasses. I planned to talk to them all soon enough, but it would be disastrous if they saw me now.
Thirty–two children were entered in the contest, I read in my packet. The meet was divided into different heats for children of different ages and abilities. Swimming was scheduled to start at one, but the Carnifice and Global sponsors had plenty of entertainment lined up for both before and after. Lacey Dowell was supposed to make an appearance, and the first three Virgin films were being shown in a tent behind the garage.
The event had grossed sixty–seven thousand dollars to be shared by three charities dedicated to children with disabilities, inner–city children, and children’s athletic programs. Carnifice Security and Global Entertainment had each contributed ten thousand dollars. It was a nice mediagenic event, and plenty of media was swarming about.
“Jennifer! They want us inside in five minutes to do a press conference.”
It was Eleanor Baladine, speaking so close to me I jumped. She was on the other side from me of a large shrub with spiky leaves. I sipped my Malvern water thoughtfully and kept an eye on the flash of turquoise linen, which was all I could see of her.
“I’m annoyed with Abigail,” Eleanor continued. “She says Rhiannon got tired of swimming when we were in Limoux and doesn’t want to compete. I wish she had said something before we had the programs printed: I tried telling her how bad it looks for one of the organizers to withdraw her own daughter from competition. I thought it was ridiculous the way she kept running off with her daughter to Toulouse for little shopping trips, as if they were girlfriends together. My girls were in the pool six hours a day and loved every minute of it.”
“But you’re so intense, Eleanor,” Jennifer Poilevy said. “Not everyone has your drive. Of course your girls inherited your competitive spirit. It’s a shame about poor Robbie, but I do wish you and BB had brought him to France with you. He might have kept the twins from terrifying me with their climbing and jumping. Half the time we were there, I was scared they were going to be brought in on stretchers.”
“We certainly never have to worry about that with Robbie,” Eleanor said dryly.
“Eleanor—there you are.” Baladine had come up to the women from the other side of the house. The sound of his voice woke in me such a frenzy of hatred and of helpless rage that I had to move away before I blew my cover by leaping through the shrubbery and strangling him.
Before I got out of earshot I heard Baladine say, “Did your sister say anything about visiting Robbie at Camp Muggerton on Friday? Major Enderby called to say the boy’s Aunt Claudia took him out for dinner and got him back after lights–out.”
My stomach jumped. I hadn’t expected the camp commandant to check up on a family visitor. That meant I had to move as fast as possible.
I scurried past the media tent into the kitchen, since the bathroom we media folk were allowed to use was there. Rosario the nanny was washing glassware while caterers assembled monstrous platters of shrimp, mushroom tartlets, and other delicacies. The contrast to the kitchen at Coolis, where roaches crawled over congealing piles of grease, and women swore at each other as they lugged dented pots around, made my anger start to boil again. When a waiter offered me a tray of salmon tartare with a perfect circle of caviar in the middle, I turned him away with more fury than manners.
The bathroom stood next to a swinging door leading into the body of the house. I pushed on it—anyone could make a mistake—and a Carnifice guard sprang to life in the hall beyond. He saw my green media badge and said, “House is off–limits to guests, ma’am. If you’re looking for the bathroom it’s next to this door. And don’t you want to be at the press conference? It’s starting in two minutes.”
I murmured an apology and slipped into the bathroom. The first swim heat would start immediately after the press conference. It was the one for the littlest children, in which the Baladines’ younger daughter was competing. Both Eleanor and BB would be at the pool for that, or at least Robbie had seemed to think so. “They’ll both want to see the girls beat everyone else, or if they lose, BB and Eleanor will want to show them everything they did wrong. They love that kind of stuff.”