The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [35]
“I haven’t talked about Blythe in so long,” Betsy said. “She’s been gone for . . . well, it seems a lifetime. Could it really be thirty years? And my father’s been gone for nearly twenty-five years. No one seems to remember her except for me.”
“Your father’s still listed in the phone book,” Simon noted.
“I just never bothered to have it changed.”
“I hope my visit isn’t upsetting to you.”
“No, no, not at all. Now sit there on the sofa and tell me what it is you wanted to know about Blythe.”
Simon sat as directed and hesitated. How to begin?
“Well,” he chose his words carefully, “for my book, I’ve been gathering some personal reminiscences about Hayward. In doing so, I’ve been taking a look at some of the players he was close to, such as his Chief of Staff, Miles Kendall. Your sister’s name came up in connection with Kendall’s on a number of occasions. It appears they may have been an item, as they say.”
“I’m afraid I’d know nothing about that.” Betsy folded her arms across her chest. “Blythe always seemed to play her cards close to her vest.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was never particularly chatty about her social life. At least, not with me. Then again, she was ten years older than I. Back in the days when she lived in Washington, I was . . . let’s see, she was in her mid-twenties when she first moved there, so I would still have been in high school. We weren’t particularly close in the way that some sisters might be, mostly, you see, because of the age difference.”
“So you wouldn’t have known what her life was like back then? Where she lived, who she dated, who her friends were?” Simon asked casually.
“Well, I do know where she lived. I visited her a few times during school breaks. She lived in a lovely apartment over in the Woodley Park section.” Betsy’s voice dropped. “I just loved going to see her in those days. It was one of the few times that she and I really connected. Blythe would just drop everything when I came to visit, and we’d go to all of the tourist places and wonderful restaurants. If the weather was nice, we’d walk through Rock Creek Park in the morning.” Betsy noted Simon’s raised eyebrows, then smiled and added, “I haven’t always been in a wheelchair, Mr. Keller. I cracked my spine in a riding accident some years ago. But before that, I was very active.”
“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to—”
Betsy dismissed his apology with a wave. “Please, don’t. Frankly, it’s been a while since I thought about how good it feels to walk. I’m not distressed by the memory. I rather enjoy it.”
“Was your sister attending school in D.C.? Or did she have friends there?”
“No, she’d graduated from college by then. I don’t know of any friends who lived there. Why do you ask?”
“I was curious about why she moved there in the first place. Did she have a job, perhaps?”
“I recall that she volunteered somewhere, but Blythe never had a job. She didn’t need the money, frankly. And as for why she moved to Washington, as I recall, she first visited with Dad for some embassy function or other. She was fascinated with all there was to do, socially, that is. She went back several times, I believe, before leasing her apartment.” Betsy smiled. “Blythe loved the nightlife. The pastoral life bored her to death. I, on the other hand, could never live anywhere but here.”
“Did you ever meet any of her friends? Any of the men she dated?”
Betsy shook her head. “No. As I said, when I visited with her she devoted all of her attention to showing her little sister a good time. She always planned things that she and I could do together, and since we didn’t see each other often in those days, she never invited anyone else to join us. Actually, the only friend of Blythe’s that I ever really knew was her college roommate. She and Blythe had remained very close. If Blythe was dating someone while she was in D.C.— even someone important in the government such as Mr. Kendall, as you have intimated—she never mentioned it to me. Though it