The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [40]
First things first. . . .
Simon sat on the edge of the white damask love seat and did his best to focus totally on his hostess. She’d been christened Lady Celeste by her detractors for her outwardly cool and collected manner, those qualities that her defenders had always maintained were due to her natural shyness. Now, already three hours into his interview, Simon was still wondering which assessment was closer to the truth. So far, she’d discussed watching her husband agonize over a crisis in the health care system, the deaths of her parents, and state trips abroad with her husband, all with the same level detachment. Simon knew he’d barely scratched the surface.
“Of all the people you met while living in the White House, whose face would you see if you closed your eyes right now?” Simon asked. “Who made the greatest impression on you?”
“Oh, my!” Celeste Hayward covered her mouth with a delicate hand and pretended to stifle a laugh before closing her eyes, thus proving that she was, after all, a good sport. “I suppose I should say my husband, shouldn’t I?”
“If that’s who you see.” Simon smiled.
“Well, of course I do. But I suppose you mean who else.” Mrs. Hayward tilted her head slightly and appeared to ponder the question. “The first person who comes to mind is Reverend Preston. He was our pastor for so many years, you know, and we had him at the White House for so many dinners and such. And then there was Mrs. Ellis, Kathryn Ellis, the wife of the British Prime Minister. A lovely woman. We became quite close friends. She passed away several years ago, you might recall. I still miss her.” Mrs. Hayward’s eyes were open now and she gazed pensively out the window. “And of course, there was Jeanine Bayard. Only the most talented singer of our time. She sang for us on several occasions. Magnificent voice, I’m sure you agree. But mostly, I remember the people I saw every day. David Park, the vice president. Philip Norton comes to mind. He and Graham were thick as thieves. And of course, there was Miles Kendall, my husband’s Chief of Staff and closest friend.” She smiled coyly and added, “After me, of course.”
“Mr. Kendall and the late President had known each other for many years, if I recall correctly.”
“Oh, yes, since grade school. They went to prep school together. College. Even went to law school together, so you could certainly say they were lifelong friends. Though unfortunately, Miles isn’t well these days.” She sighed deeply. “Such a shame. He was such a wonderful man. Such a wonderful friend to Graham.” Mrs. Hayward’s eyes filled with tears. “Alzheimer’s, you know. We—the children and I— visited with him last fall on his birthday. He had no idea of who we were.”
“Perhaps you might try visiting again. He appears to have good days and bad days.”
“Excuse me?”
“There are some days when he doesn’t remember who he is,” Simon told her. “Then there are days when he seems very clearly to recall his days in the White House with your husband.”
Simon watched his words land, then studied their effect.
Celeste Hayward went perfectly blank for one long moment before asking, “Then, you’ve . . . ?”
“Been to see him, yes.” Simon nodded.
“Why . . . I had no idea . . .” She faltered for just a second. “I’d been under the impression that he had no recollection of anything at all. . . .”
“As I said, he seems to have his good days and his bad days.”
“Isn’t that something?” She still appeared flustered. “I’ll have to tell Sarah and Gray. Perhaps we should plan to visit him again.”
“Perhaps you should.