The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [56]
“You knew her.”
“Yes, I knew her.” Norton nodded. “I think it’s safe to say that back then everyone who was anyone in D.C. knew Blythe. She was young and lovely, but there were a lot of lovely young women in the capital in those days.”
“What set her apart?”
“What set Blythe apart from all the others . . . ?” He seemed to consider the question. “It’s hard to define. She came from a wealthy background—daughter of a diplomat, heiress to a fortune. She was accustomed to moving among the rich and powerful. The climate in the capital suited her. She was well educated. Best schools, all that. But again, D.C. was filled with such women. Blythe was just a little more than all the others—more intelligent, more poised, more intuitive, more knowledgeable, more fun, more beautiful. People sought her out. That combination of looks, good breeding, intelligence, and her genuine warmth drew people to her.”
“Was the President one of those people?”
Norton visibly tensed.
“According to Kendall,” Simon continued, not bothering to wait for a response, “not only was Hayward in love with her, he had a child with her and was seriously considering—”
“Miles Kendall was a rambling old man—”
“—seriously considering not running for a second term so that he could divorce his wife and marry Blythe.” Simon spoke softly as if fearful that somehow his words would be carried on the wind and overheard, even though he and Norton appeared to be the last of the mourners.
“Someone believed it, Philip. I think someone believed it, and killed her because of it. But you know that, don’t you? That the accident that killed Blythe was no accident? That the car that ran over Blythe did so twice?”
“Simon, do you have any idea of what you’re . . .” Norton had visibly paled.
“Oh, but there’s more. I found the child.”
Norton turned slowly toward Simon, his eyes cautious. “What?” he asked, quiet disbelief spreading over his face like a shadow.
“I found Blythe Pierce’s child.”
The statement hung in the air between them.
“You found . . .”
“Blythe Pierce’s child, yes,” Simon repeated meaningfully. “And the interesting thing is, she doesn’t know about Hayward. She doesn’t even know about Blythe.”
“Then for God’s sake, Simon, leave it alone.” There was desperation in Norton’s grasp when his hand closed over Simon’s arm.
“I can’t leave it alone. Aside from the fact that this is the biggest story that I may ever uncover, think about the implications. Graham Hayward has been held up before the American people—and all subsequent Presidents—as an icon of morality. What hypocrisy—that a man who preached honesty yet had a young mistress and an illegitimate child is still being touted as the standard of morality for his time. And then let’s talk about how Blythe died. Let’s talk about the fact that the person who ran Blythe down has never been identified. That someone somehow managed to stop the investigation of the accident dead in the water. How do you suppose that happened? Now, let’s not forget that this woman was the daughter of an Ambassador, yet even he didn’t have the clout to keep that investigation going. So who do you suppose would have been powerful enough to have done that?”
When Norton attempted to step away, Simon grabbed his arm and held it. “That’s the real story here, isn’t it? That the murder of the President’s young mistress—the mother of his illegitimate child—was covered up and that that cover-up came from the highest level of our government. That’s the story, Philip.”
“Simon, there is so much that you don’t understand. . . .”
“Enlighten me.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Then I have to believe that you had a part in covering up Blythe Pierce’s death. And that makes me wonder if the person you were covering for was the President himself. An older man, a beautiful young woman—”
“Dear God, Simon, that’s preposterous.”
“—an affair, a child he might not have wanted. . .”
“Whatever else you believe, believe that Graham Hayward loved Blythe Pierce with all his heart.”
“Believe it because you say it’s true? Your credibility isn’t quite what