speaking to Caddy, and she told me she met you in the meditation garden today.”
“Right.”
“Ah … well … the thing is, I feel kind of embarrassed, you know, for not introducing you earlier in the day.” He paused, as if awaiting a response, but Gurney said nothing.
“Dave?”
“I’m here.”
“Well … anyway, I wanted to apologize for not introducing you. That was thoughtless of me.”
“No problem.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“You don’t sound happy.”
“I’m not unhappy—just a bit surprised that you didn’t mention her.”
“Ah … yes … I guess with so much on my mind, it didn’t occur to me. Are you still there?”
“I’m here.”
“You’re right, it must seem peculiar I didn’t mention her. It just never crossed my mind.” He paused, then added with an awkward laugh, “I guess a psychologist would find that interesting—forgetting to mention I was married.”
“Mark, let me ask you something. Are you telling me the truth?”
“What? Why would you ask me that?”
“You’re wasting my time.”
There was an extended silence.
“Look,” said Mellery with a sigh, “it’s a long story. I didn’t want to involve Caddy in this … this mess.”
“What exact mess are we talking about?”
“The threats, the insinuations.”
“She doesn’t know about the letters?”
“There’s no point. It would just frighten her.”
“She must know about your past. It’s in your books.”
“To a degree. But these threats are something else. I just want to save her from worrying.”
That sounded almost plausible to Gurney. Almost.
“Is there any particular piece of your past you’re especially eager to keep from Caddy, or from the police, or from me?”
This time the indecisive pause before Mellery said “No” so patently contradicted the denial that Gurney laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“I don’t know if you’re the worst liar I’ve ever heard, Mark, but you’re in the finals.”
After another long silence, Mellery began to laugh, too—a soft, rueful laugh that sounded like muted sobbing. He said in a deflated voice, “When all else fails, it’s time to tell the truth. The truth is, shortly after Caddy and I were married, I had a brief affair with a woman who was a guest here. Pure lunacy on my part. It turned out badly—as any sane person could have predicted.”
“And?”
“And that was that. I recoil from the mere thought of it. It attaches me to all the ego, lust, and lousy judgment of my past.”
“Maybe I’m missing something,” said Gurney. “What’s that got to do with not telling me you were married?”
“You’re going to think I’m paranoid. But I got to thinking that the affair might in some way be connected to this Charybdis business. I was afraid that if you knew about Caddy, you’d want to talk to her and … the last thing on earth I want is for her to be exposed to anything that might be connected to my ridiculous, hypocritical affair.”
“I see. By the way, who owns the institute?”
“Owns? In what sense?”
“How many senses are there?”
“In spirit, I own the institute. The program is based on my books and tapes.”
“ ‘In spirit’?”
“Legally, Caddy owns everything—the real estate and other tangible assets.”
“Interesting. So you’re the star trapeze artist, but Caddy owns the circus tent.”
“You could say that,” Mellery replied coldly. “I should get off the phone now. The Charybdis call could come anytime.”
It came exactly three hours later.
Chapter 14
Commitment
M adeleine had brought her bag of knitting to the sofa and was engrossed in one of the three projects she had in various stages of completion. Gurney had settled in an adjacent armchair and was leafing through the six-hundred-page user’s manual for his photo-manipulation software but was having a hard time concentrating on it. The logs in the woodstove had burned down into embers from
“Right.”
“Ah … well … the thing is, I feel kind of embarrassed, you know, for not introducing you earlier in the day.” He paused, as if awaiting a response, but Gurney said nothing.
“Dave?”
“I’m here.”
“Well … anyway, I wanted to apologize for not introducing you. That was thoughtless of me.”
“No problem.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“You don’t sound happy.”
“I’m not unhappy—just a bit surprised that you didn’t mention her.”
“Ah … yes … I guess with so much on my mind, it didn’t occur to me. Are you still there?”
“I’m here.”
“You’re right, it must seem peculiar I didn’t mention her. It just never crossed my mind.” He paused, then added with an awkward laugh, “I guess a psychologist would find that interesting—forgetting to mention I was married.”
“Mark, let me ask you something. Are you telling me the truth?”
“What? Why would you ask me that?”
“You’re wasting my time.”
There was an extended silence.
“Look,” said Mellery with a sigh, “it’s a long story. I didn’t want to involve Caddy in this … this mess.”
“What exact mess are we talking about?”
“The threats, the insinuations.”
“She doesn’t know about the letters?”
“There’s no point. It would just frighten her.”
“She must know about your past. It’s in your books.”
“To a degree. But these threats are something else. I just want to save her from worrying.”
That sounded almost plausible to Gurney. Almost.
“Is there any particular piece of your past you’re especially eager to keep from Caddy, or from the police, or from me?”
This time the indecisive pause before Mellery said “No” so patently contradicted the denial that Gurney laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“I don’t know if you’re the worst liar I’ve ever heard, Mark, but you’re in the finals.”
After another long silence, Mellery began to laugh, too—a soft, rueful laugh that sounded like muted sobbing. He said in a deflated voice, “When all else fails, it’s time to tell the truth. The truth is, shortly after Caddy and I were married, I had a brief affair with a woman who was a guest here. Pure lunacy on my part. It turned out badly—as any sane person could have predicted.”
“And?”
“And that was that. I recoil from the mere thought of it. It attaches me to all the ego, lust, and lousy judgment of my past.”
“Maybe I’m missing something,” said Gurney. “What’s that got to do with not telling me you were married?”
“You’re going to think I’m paranoid. But I got to thinking that the affair might in some way be connected to this Charybdis business. I was afraid that if you knew about Caddy, you’d want to talk to her and … the last thing on earth I want is for her to be exposed to anything that might be connected to my ridiculous, hypocritical affair.”
“I see. By the way, who owns the institute?”
“Owns? In what sense?”
“How many senses are there?”
“In spirit, I own the institute. The program is based on my books and tapes.”
“ ‘In spirit’?”
“Legally, Caddy owns everything—the real estate and other tangible assets.”
“Interesting. So you’re the star trapeze artist, but Caddy owns the circus tent.”
“You could say that,” Mellery replied coldly. “I should get off the phone now. The Charybdis call could come anytime.”
It came exactly three hours later.
Chapter 14
Commitment
M adeleine had brought her bag of knitting to the sofa and was engrossed in one of the three projects she had in various stages of completion. Gurney had settled in an adjacent armchair and was leafing through the six-hundred-page user’s manual for his photo-manipulation software but was having a hard time concentrating on it. The logs in the woodstove had burned down into embers from
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