Page 36 of A Matter of Pedigree
“Wow,” said Mom, following her. “I wish we’d had this stuff for Professor Higgins’s study when the Parish Players put onMy Fair Lady.”
Carole was bent over the desk, flipping through folders containing brokerage statements, bank statements, stock prospectuses, annual statements, departmental budgets, budget proposals, and minutes of meetings. Turning on Hosea’s computer, she found his email contained more of the same. “It was all about money with him,” she said with a sigh.
“Money is a big motive,” said Mom, nodding sagely.
“Yeah, but you’d need an accountant to make sense of all this. I sure don’t know what any of it means,” said Carole. “Except that he seems to have a lot of the green stuff.”
She was feeling depressed and anxious, convinced that the morning had been a waste, and wishing she hadn’t given in to Frank but had gone to the hospital instead. When her cell phone rang, she snatched it frantically, terrified that Frank-O had taken a turn for the worse.
“Bonjour, cherie,” chirped a voice. Her mother’s voice.
“Wow,” said Carole, “they’ve really improved long distance. You sound like you’re …”
“At the airport!”
“DeGaulle?” asked Carole.
“Non, cherie, T. F. Green!”
“You’re here in Providence?”
“Mais, oui!”
”Quelle horrible surprise,” sighed Carole.
Paula Filardi Prendergast was not amused. “What do you mean? Aren’t you happy to see your mother?”
“Sure I am, Mom …”
“Call me Polly.”
“Right. I forgot. Sorry. It’s just that this is such a bad time.”
“It seems to me that there’s never a good time with you,” complained Polly.
“That’s not true. It’s just that Frank-O is in the hospital …”
“Mon Dieu! What’s wrong?”
“He was in a fire.”
“A fire! Is he okay?”
“They’ve got him sedated. They say he’s doing fine, but I don’t think we’ll really know until he wakes up.” Carole sighed. “And then there’s Frank; he’s under indictment for murder.”
“I knew they’d catch up with him sooner or later,” said Polly.
“How can you say that?” demanded Carole. “He’s innocent.”
“Of course he is,” said Polly, stifling a giggle. “Now,cherie, you can’t leave me here at the airport. How soon can you come get me?”
Carole looked at Mom. “I’m kind of tied up until noon,” she said.
“Noon!” exclaimed Polly, so loudly that Mom could hear her across the room. “I can’t wait that long. What kind of daughter are you, anyway, who would leave her mother friendless and alone in a foreign country …”
“Mom, this is not a foreign country. You’re American, remember?” Paula Filardi had been a typical Federal Hill housewife when Carole was growing up, but when her second husband, Carole’s stepfather, died shortly after Carole’s marriage to Frank, she took a job as a social secretary for a wealthy Newport socialite. She quickly adopted a new name, Polly, and a new husband, Jock Prendergast, owner of two Kentucky Derby winners. The marriage didn’t last, but the nickname did. As soon as the divorce was finalized, Polly packed up her bags and her generous settlement and moved to Paris, where she’d lived in expat comfort ever since.
“I know I’m an American, but try telling that to those customs agents. This cute little dog ratted me out. In my defense, I didn’t know you can’t bring in unpasteurized cheese. I had that bleu d’Auvergne that Frank likes, but they took it! And then they searched all my bags. I had to watch as they pawed through my lovely Chantal Thomass lingerie. It was so embarrassing.” She let out an exasperated breath. “You’re never too old for pretty lingerie, never! But the way they looked at me, you’d think they’d never seen a black lace thong or a bustier.”
