“I wasn’t.” Jane was surprised by her own honesty, but someone like Clara Bellamy would understand. “Every note I played came with this sense of déjà vu, as if I had already played it perfectly.”
“A fait accompli.” Clara nodded her understanding. “I lived for those moments. They never happened often enough. Makes you understand drug addicts, doesn’t it?” She had stopped walking. “That was your last classical performance, wasn’t it? Why did you give it up?”
Jane was too ashamed to answer. Clara Bellamy had stopped dancing because she had no choice. She wouldn’t understand choosing to walk away.
Clara offered, “Pechenikov put it around that you lacked ambition. They always say that about women, but that can’t be the truth. I saw your face when you performed. You weren’t just playing the music. You were the music.”
Jane looked past Clara’s shoulder to the house. She had wanted to keep her spirits up for Nick, but the reminder of her lost performing life brought back her tears. She had loved playing classical, then she had loved the energy of jazz, then she’d had to find a way to love being alone inside a studio with no feedback from anyone but the chain-smoking man on the other side of the soundproofed glass.
“Jane?”
She shook her head, dismissing her grief as a foolish luxury. As usual, she told a version of the truth that the listener could relate to. “I used to think my father was proud of me when I played. Then one day, I realized that everything I did, every award and gig and newspaper or magazine story reflected well on him. That’s what he got out of it. Not admiration for me, but admiration for himself.”
Clara nodded her understanding. “I had a mother like that. But you won’t give it up for long.” Without warning, she pressed her palm to Jane’s round belly. “You’ll want to play for her.”
Jane felt a narrowing in her throat. “How did—”
“Your face.” She stroked Jane’s cheek. “It’s so much fuller than in your photos. And you have this bump in your belly, of course. You’re carrying high, which is why I assumed it was a girl. Nick must be—”
“You can’t tell him.” Jane’s hand flew to her mouth as if she could claw back the desperation in her tone. “He doesn’t know yet. I need to find the right time.”
Clara seemed surprised, but she nodded. “I get it. What you guys are going through, it’s not easy. You want some space around it before you tell him.”
Jane forced a change in subject. “How did you get involved with the group?”
“Edwin—” Clara laughed, then corrected herself. “Tucker, I mean. He met Paula while they were both at Stanford. He was in law school. She was in poly-sci. Had a bit of a fling, I expect. But he’s mine now.”
Jane tried to hide her surprise. She couldn’t see Paula as a student, let alone having a fling. “He’s handling any legal issues that come up?”
“That’s right. Nick is lucky to have him. Tucker dealt with some nasty contract problems for me when my knee blew out. We kind of hit it off. I’ve always been a sucker for a man with interesting facial hair. Anyway, Paula introduced Tucker to Nick, I mean, Nickel. Tucker introduced Nickel to me, and, well, you know how it is when you meet Nick. You believe every word that comes out of his mouth. It’s a good thing he didn’t try to sell me a used car.”
Jane laughed because Clara laughed.
Clara said, “I’m not a true believer. I mean, yeah, I get what you’re doing and of course it’s important, but I’m a big chicken when it comes to putting myself on the line. I’d rather write some checks and provide safe harbor.”
“Don’t dismiss what you’re doing. Your contributions are still important.” Jane felt like she was channeling Nick, but they all had to do their part. “More important, actually, because you keep us safe.”
“Lord, you do sound like him.”
“Do I?” Jane knew that she did. This was the cost of giving herself to Nick. She was starting to become him.
“I want lots of babies,” Clara said. “I couldn’t when I was dancing, but now”—she indicated the farm—“I bought this so I can raise my kids here. To let them grow up happy, and safe. Edwin’s learning to take care of the cows. I’m learning to cook. That’s why I’m helping Nick. I want to help make a better place for my children. Our children.”
Jane studied the woman’s face for a tell-tale grin.
“I really believe that, Jane. I’m not just blowing smoke up your ass. It’s exciting to be a part of it, even on the periphery. And I’m not taking a big risk, but there’s still a risk. One or all of you could end up in an interrogation room. Imagine the kind of press you could get for pointing the finger at me.” She gave a startled laugh. “Do you know, I’m sort of jealous, because I think you’re more famous than I am, so I’m already hating you for hogging all of the press.”
Jane didn’t laugh because she had been in the spotlight long enough to know that the woman was not really joking.
“Edwin thinks we’ll be okay. I set great store by his opinion.”
“Do you—” Jane stopped herself, because she had been about to say the exact wrong thing.
Do you know that Quarter got shot? That Maplecroft was killed? What if the buildings aren’t really empty? What if we kill a security guard or a policeman? What if what we’re doing is wrong?
“Do I what?” Clara asked.
“Cough medicine,” Jane said, the first thing that came to mind. “Do you have any? My brother—”