The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [76]
“There is someone else we should talk to. Would you feel comfortable leaving town for a few days? Could you leave Polly in charge of your business till you get back?”
“Yes, but—”
“Good. Go home and make whatever arrangements you need to make with her. Pack for several days. We’re taking a trip, you and I.” Jude nodded decisively. “A long-overdue trip . . .”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Simon rang the doorbell of the home that Gray Hayward and his wife, Jen, had built three years earlier. It was the last of the family interviews and had been put off twice by the congressman’s schedule. Simon had returned from Henderson the day before yesterday and found the message on his answering machine from Hayward’s aide asking if the appointment could be moved to Thursday. Simon was happy to comply.
“Simon Keller.” Gray Hayward himself opened the door and extended his hand. He was every bit as tall, dark, and handsome as his photos suggested. “Come on in. Have you had lunch? Jen is just making sandwiches. Did you have a good flight up?”
“Yes . . . fine. And no . . . that is, no lunch.” Simon was taken aback by the welcome he received. He’d heard it said that President Hayward had been a man who could put anyone to ease in thirty seconds or less. It appeared that his son had come by the talent naturally.
“Right on back here to the den . . .” Gray led the way through a house that was bright and open and filled with green plants. “We’d hoped that the weather would warm up a bit so that we could show off our new patio, but the wind’s picked up a bit too much. Great view though, wouldn’t you say?”
“Wonderful.” Simon nodded, trying to take it all in. The larger-than-life yet friendly young congressman. The house that looked like a sample for a designer who excelled at integrating heirloom antique furniture and primitive art with the large airy and open room. The breathtaking view of the Narragansett Bay. “The setting is awesome.”
“Exactly what we thought the first time we drove out here. We stood right out there on that outcropping of rocks—come on; let me show you.” Gray Hayward’s enthusiasm was infectious, and within seconds Simon was standing next to his host at the top of a rocky point that overlooked the choppy bay.
“When the realtor brought us up here to look over a few plots of ground, he brought us here first. Didn’t need to see any of the others. I knew this was it.” Gray pointed out into the bay and said, “There’s a small island out there. On a foggy morning, you’d swear the Sirens were singing. It’s just magic.”
“It must be hard for you to leave it behind all the time you spend in Washington,” Simon noted.
“It is hard, but you know, Simon, I love my job. I love the people of Rhode Island. Love that they’ve put such trust in me.”
Had anyone else made such a statement, Simon would have fought an urge to roll his eyes. But there was something about Hayward that was so earnest, something that made you believe that he believed every word he said. Another legacy from his father?
“And besides”—Gray continued to look out over the dark water—“I know that this place is always waiting for me. It’s a great family home, but it’ll make a great retirement home, too, when that day comes. Now, let’s run on back to the kitchen and see what Jen has for us. I’m starving, myself. How ’bout you?”
“A sandwich would be great.”
The sandwich was great—honey maple ham on pumpernickel with lettuce and tomato—served with a steaming bowl of New England clam chowder.
“I hope you like our local quahog chowder,” Jen Hayward, a pretty strawberry blonde with a trim athletic build, told Simon as she set the tray down on the round wooden table in the den.
“It smells delicious.”
“Well, enjoy it.” The congressman’s wife smiled and stretched out a hand to Simon. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to stay and chat. Our son is in a play at school and I have to be there.”
“I’m sorry, too.” Simon