A Tangled Web (69 page)

He'd been out of his mind, you know, wondering if Max was really dead—they didn't find the body, he kept saying that.

Kept saying that. Denton Longworth, frantic about whether Max was really dead or not.

Maybe Rory Carr and Ivan Lazlo hadn't been the only ones who were worried about Max getting rid of them because they were endangering his business.

Maybe Denton had had a falling-out with him; maybe Denton was trying to take over Westbridge; maybe Denton had threatened to shut the business down if it didn't go his way.

Crooks could find so many things to quarrel about.

Denton would have heard from Rory Carr that Sabrina Longworth had told him, one day in her shop, that there was nothing he could tell her that she did not already
know. He would think she'd figured out the forgeries for herself, or that Max had told her.

Plenty of reasons for Denton to want both of them gone.

But then, after the explosion, why did Denton identify someone's body as that of Sabrina Longworth? He'd been married to her; he knew what she looked like.

Something we'll have to ask him. Among a lot of other questions.

She dismissed Alan, who was gone in an instant, and stopped at a telephone to call Stephanie. “I'm on my way home. I have a lot to tell you. And tomorrow Denton will be back from his hunting, and we're going to pay him a visit.”

“I
expect him by noon tomorrow, Mrs. Andersen,” Denton's butler told Sabrina when she called, “if you wish to call then . . .”

“No, that won't be possible. Just tell him I'll be there at two. It's very important that I see him; make sure he understands that.”

“If you could tell me the nature of your call . . . he likes to know in advance . . .”

“I know he does. This is confidential and urgent. He'll know what it's about.”

She turned to Stephanie. “That should get him. He'll think I've heard from Max. That was the last thing he asked me: to call him if I did.” She ran a finger around the rim of her teacup. They were sitting in their usual places in the upstairs sitting room; in three days it had become a habit, one they already looked forward to. How quickly we make nests for ourselves, Sabrina thought. And settle into them, and mold ourselves to them and make them our definition of happiness. We didn't think about that a year ago when we started this caper.

“He'll be upset,” Stephanie said.

“I'd guess that panicked would be more like it. You know, I can't really believe it. In spite of everything we've heard, how could it be Denton? He wasn't brought up on the streets; he had everything anyone could want. And besides, he's such a lightweight.”

“Is he really? I always thought he had power; a viscount and all that.”

“Titles don't mean power. Anyway, I don't think Denton would know what to do with power if he had it. As far as I know, he only cares about himself and making his world pleasant.”

Their eyes met. “That's why it could be Denton,” said Stephanie. “Protecting his pleasant world.” They gazed at the leaping flames in the fireplace. “Do you know, almost the first thing you ever told me about him, when I came to your wedding at Treveston, was that he strolled through the world as if it were one of his Treveston gardens.”

Sabrina smiled faintly. “I remember. I thought it was wonderful, that kind of confidence. But in fact it's far different from confidence; it's a supreme arrogance that I suppose makes just about anything possible. Including murder.”

Stephanie put down her cup. “Let's go somewhere. We can't sit around and think about Denton all night; how incredibly depressing. And you did say you'd think about going out to dinner. Did you find a restaurant?”

“Yes, but—”

“Sabrina, please!”

“Well, I read about a new Italian place in Cambridge. I haven't been there for years and I don't know anyone there. It's about an hour and a half away; if you don't mind the drive, I think we'd be all right.”

“Then let's go.”

They dressed in evening suits with short skirts and long jackets with beaded lapels, Sabrina in black, Stephanie in deep blue. They took capes from Sabrina's closet, and
then Sabrina called a limousine. “The first rule for strange places is, always make sure you have a way to get home.”

Their eyes met in the mirror. They had not done that when they traded lives. Such a simple rule, and they had forgotten it.

They looked away. “Time to go,” Sabrina said.

The limousine drove slowly through the early evening traffic, weaving among high black taxis and small
MG
s and Volkswagens that skittered along the road like children thumbing their noses at authority. At intersections, streams of workers flowed past and vanished as they plunged into the earth, descending on escalators to tube stations far below. Locked in their thoughts, Sabrina and Stephanie watched through tinted windows as the neighborhoods changed, the crowds thinned and then disappeared, and only a few cars moved through the streets.

They were in the suburbs: neat cottages and half-timbered houses, blocks of apartments sprouting forests of television antennas, children playing in front yards, shops, schools, a hospital. And then open fields and dense forests, deep green in the fading light. Sabrina remembered a line from Blake—“England's green and pleasant land”—and she thought of how long it had been her green and pleasant home but now was a country for others. She could not imagine living there again.

She glanced at Stephanie, gazing out her window, absorbed in . . . what? Her children? Her husband? Léon? How far away she is, Sabrina thought, and touched Stephanie's hand lying on the seat between them. Stephanie turned and smiled briefly, and then they turned away again, into their own thoughts.

The limousine slowed as it reached Cambridge, driving past the mellowed red brick buildings of the university and through narrow streets lit by gas lamps and the illuminated windows of shops. “Wait, could we stop?” Stephanie asked suddenly. “Look, Sabrina, what a lovely shop. Ballard's. Have you ever heard of it?”

“No, it must be new.”

“Let's go in, shall we?” When Sabrina hesitated, she said, “Please, Sabrina, we're so far from London, what harm could it do?”

“Oh, I suppose it's all right. It's been a long time since we went to an antique shop together. We'll be about half an hour,” she said to the driver, and they walked to the shop.

The entrance door, of old leaded and stained glass, opened into a wide, shallow room, dimly lit and filled with European and American furniture, clocks and chandeliers from three centuries. “What an incredible collection,” Stephanie said. “Jacqueline would love it.” There was no shopkeeper in sight and she and Sabrina moved slowly through the room, looking at telltale details that could distinguish a genuine piece from a reproduction. “Georgian,” Sabrina murmured. “Just right for Billy Koner's lobby. Vern would love it, but Billy would say it's too old-fashioned.”

“Who are they? Billy Koner and Vern.”

“Billy owns the building I told you I designed. The one in Printer's Row. Vern is the architect.”

“And Vern likes Georgian furniture? Isn't that strange, for an American architect?”

“He's more interesting than most of them.” She looked up as an enormous man came into the store, his bald head shining as he flipped a light switch near the entrance.

“So sorry, my dear,” he said to Sabrina, peering at her through his glasses. “I stepped out for a pint and ran into some friends.” He did not see Stephanie, who was shielded by a large armoire. “Closing in half an hour; I'll be in the office back there if you need me.”

“Tell me about Vern and Billy Koner,” Stephanie said when he was gone. Sabrina described them, and her designs for the apartments, the lobby, the elevators and stairwells. “I loved that job; it was the biggest I've ever done, and the most fun because of Vern. And Billy, too; I like him. Vern and I played a game, guessing how long it
would take to convince him of something we both knew was perfect.”

“Did you convince him?”

“Most of the time. Sometimes he dug in his heels, but then, why not? It's his building.”

“It sounds wonderful. Much bigger than Max's town house, and that's the only job I've ever done.”

“But you had a good time. Did you buy all the furniture?”

“Good heavens, no; he had tons of it in storage. He took me to see it one day and I couldn't believe it; he had so many pallets in the warehouse it was like opening one treasure chest after another.”

They were sitting on one of the sofas now, close together, their voices low. Stephanie described her remodeling of Max's house around his massive furniture, covering the walls with suede, adding Oriental rugs and bringing in low lamps because he liked the rooms dim at night. “It wasn't as good as your design of Alexandra's house—I couldn't get the same light touch you had—but Max was pleased. He said it was the best house he'd ever had.”

After a moment Sabrina said, “You really became me, didn't you? I didn't realize, from our telephone calls, how perfectly you made my life your own. I knew you were having a good time, but it was more than that, wasn't it?”

“It was magical; it was a fairy tale that I'd dreamed about and envied as long as I could remember. And the most incredible thing was that I couldn't seem to do anything wrong. It was the only time in my life when everything went perfectly: I went to auctions and parties and dinners and I did what you would have done, and I did it well. I don't understand how that happened, but it did and it was so wonderful I didn't want to give it up. The problem is, I became you, but you did better: you became both of us. I don't know how that happened, either, but somehow the whole time you were Stephanie Andersen, you never stopped being Sabrina Longworth. I was so sure
you'd be bored and furious that you had to stay there, but you were happy. So what happened? You changed them; is that it? Somehow you changed Garth and Penny and Cliff so they fit in with the way you wanted to live. How did you do that?”

“I didn't change them. They changed me.”

“No, don't you understand? You were still Sabrina. You are now. You're both of us. So who am I?” Her eyes were pleading for an answer. “Who am I, Sabrina? You know who you are, but I've lost myself.”

Sabrina took Stephanie in her arms. “You're my sister and I love you.” Stephanie laid her head on Sabrina's chest like a child, her breathing slowing as if she would settle there for good.

“Closing, my dears, sorry, but it's time.”

The voice came from the office and Stephanie shot upright with a small laugh. “The voice of doom.
Closing.
Coming to an end. Oh, Lord, I'm getting morbid. Let's go to dinner.”

The Italian restaurant had a small front room with a bar and a larger room with tables and high-backed booths. Sabrina had requested a booth and they were led to one in the corner, drawing stares as they walked to it. “Not one familiar face,” Sabrina said as they sat opposite each other.

“You didn't expect any.” Stephanie leaned out of the booth to look behind her. “I like the room.”

Sabrina, facing the room, nodded. The walls were of rough plaster hung with watercolors of Italian hill towns and harbors; the floor was tiled in white stone, crisp paper covered the cloth on their table. “It could be Italy; they've done a nice job.”

The waiter, wearing an open-necked shirt, black pants, and a towel wrapped around his waist as an apron, brought glasses and a bottle of Chianti and took their order. “Tell me again about Penny's puppets,” said Stephanie, and Sabrina thought how like a child she sounded, asking for a bedtime story. Over the past three nights, in their long
evenings together before the fire, she had told Stephanie everything about Penny and Cliff she could think of, but still Stephanie asked for more.

As if she's memorizing things for her return, Sabrina thought, but she talked to Stephanie calmly and steadily, as if the thought had never been.

“—so somehow her teacher arranged with Kroch's to display Penny's puppets in the window with her name on a card in front of them—” She stopped, looking across the restaurant, her face frozen.

“What is it?” Stephanie's voice rose in alarm. “What's wrong?” She turned, but the booth was too high for her to see over it, and before she could slide to the front to look out, Alexandra was there, bending down, hugging Sabrina.

“My God, Stephanie, what a place to find you! Is this for antiques or academics? Garth giving lectures—” She turned to the other side of the booth and sucked in a loud breath. She staggered and grabbed the table, staring at Stephanie. Her mouth moved but no words came.

“Sit down, Alexandra.” Sabrina held her arm and pulled her down beside her.