Fortune's rocks_ a novel - Anita Shreve [161]
“Well, yes, Mr. Sears, I did. Once while I was staying at the Highland, I happened to be returning to the hotel after an early-morning walk and I met Olympia Biddeford on the porch.”
“What time was this?”
“It cannot yet have been eight o’clock.”
“How did she appear to you?”
“Well, I must say I was quite shocked by her appearance. She appeared . . . how shall I say . . . disheveled?”
“Did you speak to her?”
“Yes, I did. I attempted to engage her in conversation.”
“And how did she respond to this attempt?”
“I thought her impudent. She refused my invitation to breakfast and rather ran off, I am afraid.”
“Mr. Cote, did you know Catherine Haskell?”
“Yes, I knew her well as a matter of fact. A lovely woman. An excellent wife and mother.”
“Did you and Catherine Haskell ever have occasion to catch Olympia Biddeford in a compromising position with Dr. John Haskell?”
“Yes, I am afraid we did.”
“Can you tell us about that?”
“Well, sir, it is a delicate matter. It was on the occasion of an evening dinner dance at the home of Phillip Biddeford, August tenth, 1899. While I was with Mrs. Haskell on the porch, she happened to look into a telescope that had been set up there and inadvertently pointed it through a window in the chapel, which was attached to the cottage. And there she saw a most disturbing, not to say shocking, sight.”
“Did you see this sight as well?”
“Yes, sir, I did. Noticing Mrs. Haskell’s considerable shock, I bent down to have a look myself.”
“And what did you see?”
“I saw Olympia Biddeford and Dr. John Haskell in a state of . . . how shall I put this . . . in flagrante delicto?”
“In the chapel, Mr. Cote?”
“Yes, sir, in the chapel. And if I may offer a further detail, on the altar, sir.”
“The altar, Mr. Cote?”
“Yes, sir.
“And what was Mrs. Haskell’s reaction?”
“She went white in the face.”
• • •
Counsel for the relator wishes to put some questions to Zachariah Cote:
“Mr. Cote, you are a poet, are you not?”
“Yes, Mr. Tucker, I have said that.”
“Of some reputation?”
“Of no small reputation, I am bound to say.”
“And were you possessed of this not entirely modest reputation during the summer of 1899?”
“I trust I was.”
“Mr. Cote, in June of 1899, did you submit a half dozen poems to Mr. Phillip Biddeford, editor of The Bay Quarterly, in hopes that he would publish them?”
“I may have. Is this relevant?”
“Judge Littlefield will determine what is relevant, Mr. Cote. Your answer, please?”
“I am not sure.”
“Think, Mr. Cote.”
“As I say, I may have.”
“Would it be correct to say that Mr. Biddeford rejected these poems for publication?”
“If you must put it that way.”
“I am not a poet, Mr. Cote; I prefer to speak the plain truth.”
“I do not recall exactly.”
“Perhaps this will refresh your memory, Mr. Cote. Is this not a copy of a letter Mr. Phillip Biddeford sent to you?”
“I am not sure.”
“Take your time.”
“It appears to be.”
“And what is the date?”
“August fourth, 1899.”
“Which means you would have received it shortly before the evening of August tenth, the night of the dinner dance at Phillip Biddeford’s house?”
“I may have done.”
“Mr. Cote, would you be kind enough to read the letter aloud?”
“Really, Your Honor. Must I?”
“Mr. Tucker, is this necessary?”
“Your Honor, I wish to show that Mr. Cote may not be an impartial witness in this matter.”
“Very well, then. Proceed.”
“Mr. Cote?”
“Yes?”
“The letter?”
“Yes, very well, Mr. Tucker. I shall read the letter if I must. But I should like to lodge my considerable protest at this invasion of privacy.”
“Mr. Cote, a custody hearing is nothing if not an invasion of everyone’s privacy.”
“‘Dear Mr. Cote. I am returning your several poems to you, since I find I cannot publish them in The Bay Quarterly as I had hoped. Though certainly unique in their style and content, they are not suitable for this publication. In future, you may want to consider a modest reining in of your descriptive powers, the result of which might be, I believe, less sentiment