A Tangled Web (70 page)

She sat, her eyes on Stephanie. She looked from one sister to the other. “I don't . . . How could . . .
Who are you?
”

As she asked that of each of them, the waiter arrived with bowls of risotto. “Ah, there are three signorinas for dinner?”

“Later,” Sabrina said and waited until he left. She pushed away her dinner and held Alexandra's hand between hers. “My sister wasn't killed on Max's yacht; she escaped, but she lost her memory and only regained it two weeks ago. But that's only—”

“Sabrina!” She rose to lean over the table, stretching her hand to Stephanie. “Oh, my God, my God, I can't believe it . . . Sabrina!”

“No, wait,” Stephanie said. “That's only the beginning.”

“We'll tell you all of it,” Sabrina said. “but first we owe you an apology.”

Alexandra turned to her. “For what? You don't owe me anything. Sabrina was the best friend I ever had, and when she was gone, it was as if you took her place. I mean, when I visited you in Evanston I almost felt—”

“You were in Evanston?” Stephanie exclaimed in surprise.

“I forgot to tell you about that,” Sabrina said to Stephanie.

“So what's the apology for?” asked Alexandra.

Sabrina and Stephanie exchanged a look. “You tell it,” Stephanie said.

The waiter returned. “Is there anything—?”

“More wine,” Sabrina said.

“Just a minute.” Alexandra took a pad of paper from her purse and wrote a brief note. “Give this to Mr. Tarleton when he comes in, with my apologies. My would-be dinner companion,” she said to Sabrina and Stephanie. “Now, go ahead. You're apologizing—for what?”

“We played a trick on you. You were a loving friend and we tricked you, and both of us hated doing it, but we were in so deep by then—”

“Am I supposed to know what you're talking about?”

“No. I'm about to tell you.” Sabrina paused impatiently while the waiter filled three wineglasses. He looked at them curiously. “That's all,” Sabrina said, and, reluctantly, he left. “First of all, I'm Sabrina; that's my sister, Stephanie. Thirteen months ago we took a trip to China . . .”

Gradually the restaurant emptied. The waiter drifted by as he crisscrossed the room. He removed the cold risotto. Unasked, he brought espresso for three. Soon all the waiters were clustered near the kitchen door, relaxing. Talk and laughter still came from the bar and a few diners dallied at tables near them, but Stephanie felt the change in the atmosphere: the evening coming slowly to an end, busboys clearing the last dishes and spreading fresh table-cloths
and white paper on the tables, waiters changing into their street clothes, the owner preparing to make a final swift appraisal of his domain before closing and locking the door.

Closing.
Coming to an end.

She shook her head and turned back to Alexandra, who, all through Sabrina's story, had looked back and forth from one of them to the other, listening, looking, wondering. By now she was no longer disbelieving, as she had been when Sabrina began, but she was still stunned, clinging to every word.

“—and we came to London a couple of days ago, to try to figure out what happened. We never went anywhere together, but we thought we were safe in Cambridge, that no one would know us. What in heaven's name you're doing here—”

“A new restaurant, and the owner is a friend and he asked me to show up so he'd get a mention in the gossip columns. You and I used to do this a lot; we did it a year ago, as I have good reason to remember, since that was the night you introduced me to Antonio. Oh. But it wasn't you, was it? It was Stephanie, and you were in America, being her.” Alexandra's eyes flashed to the ring on Sabrina's left hand. “You haven't said anything about that.”

“That's a separate story.”

“But I visited you, and you had the most wonderful family . . .” She saw Stephanie wince. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean . . . well, yes, I did; that's what I saw. And all that time you'd found Léon. I have one of his paintings, by the way; I bought it at Galeries de Rohan. I liked the way Sabrina described him. Is he really that wonderful?”

“Yes.”

“And you've told him all of this?”

“Yes.”

“I can't believe it. It is the most fantastic, unbelievable, incredible story . . .” A slow smile lit her face. “You two are amazing. You know, I don't even mind it that you
fooled me; good Lord, how many times have I wished I could do the same thing? I've looked at other women and wanted to be them, just for a little while . . . What the hell, there was a time, some years back, when I wanted to be Sabrina.”

“A tangled web,” Sabrina murmured.

“Yes, a good way to put it. But who could have guessed the things that would happen?”

“We never even tried to predict what could happen,” said Stephanie. “We just talked about how to make it work for a week.”

“Well, it did. And for a lot longer. You were perfect. And you must have been having a good time; everybody in London said how happy you looked all that fall.” She looked at Sabrina. “Both of you, right? Building new lives. Well, I have to hand it to you; you'd win best actress at Cannes hands down.” She saw Sabrina's face harden and glanced again to her left hand. “Sorry, that was dumb. You weren't acting, were you? Not after a while. But why didn't you tell me?” she suddenly demanded. “We were as close as friends could be. When we all thought you'd been killed, and you came back as Stephanie to bury her—
oh.
For God's sake,
whom did we bury that day?
”

“We don't know. We can't understand it. I was in the funeral home for a long time; I sat by the coffin . . .”

“But you said it was dark,” Stephanie said. “Just a few candles. And you were crying.”

“Yes, but my own sister . . . Well, maybe that was it; I really didn't see anything clearly. I saw what I expected to see.” Slowly she repeated it. “What I expected. Everyone does that, you know; that's why Stephanie and I were so successful; people arrange reality to fit their expectations, and they'll go through all sorts of contortions to make the world seem logical rather than take something seriously that doesn't make sense at all.”

“I did that,” Alexandra said to Stephanie. “Remember, at my dinner party, you told a story about Greece, when you were young, and you said, ‘Sabrina saved me.'
We all thought it was very odd, but you covered it up somehow and that was that. It never occurred to any of us . . .”

“Why would it?” Stephanie said with a faint smile. “Who would try such a crazy trick?”

“Yes, but wait a minute. Didn't Denton identify the body?”

“He did, and that really doesn't make sense,” Sabrina said. “I'm sure he wasn't crying his eyes out when he did it. That's one of the things we're going to ask him.”

“Both of you? Didn't you tell me you'd been taking turns?”

“Yes, up to now.” She and Stephanie smiled at each other. “But I think this time we'll go together.”

Alexandra's eyes gleamed. “Won't that be something to see. You know, I was never fond of Denton; he didn't seem to connect with anybody, me included: we were all background to whatever he was doing to make himself happy. But I never would have pegged him for a murderer. It makes me wonder about some other people I know in the upper ranks, so to speak, of society, here, South America, everywhere. Do you think it's dangerous, going to see him?”

Sabrina thought about it. She met Stephanie's worried frown. “He'll be confused when he sees us; we'll definitely have the advantage. And I'll bet he never does his own dirty work. I think we'll be all right.”

“You're just going to walk up there, both of you, and ring the bell?”

“That's the idea.”

“It has great possibilities. I'd love to see it. Can I go along? I promise I'll stay in the background; you won't even know I'm there.”

“No, but we'll tell you what happens. Where are you staying?”

“Claridge's. I've been meeting with Brian at Ambassadors. I love that shop, Sabrina. I love owning it.”

“You're probably going to own Blackford's, too. I'll tell you all about it later.”

“Blackford's? It's gone downhill.”

“That's one of the reasons you're getting it for fifty thousand pounds. You'll do wonders with it; even from Brazil, you'll do better than Nicholas has.”

“Probably, but I didn't even know I wanted it. Well, good Lord, another mystery. You're sure you won't take me with you to see Denton?”

“No, and you didn't really expect us to. We'll call you tomorrow, after we see him. It may be late afternoon.”

“Then I won't be here. I'm going to Paris.”

“Oh.”
So am I, to have a week with my husband. But when he finds out I've lied to him, when he finds out that Stephanie is alive
—

And what happens before that, when Stephanie and I finally talk about everything we've avoided for three days?

“We're going, too,” Stephanie said, and avoided Sabrina's swift, surprised glance. “We'll be in Paris tomorrow night. We can call you there.”

“Oh, good. Why don't we have dinner together? And really eat it this time. I'll be at Relais Christine; where will you be?”

Stephanie looked at Sabrina.

“L'Hôtel,” Sabrina said. Her hands were clenched in her lap.

“Perfect; we'll be just a few blocks from each other. I'll call you tomorrow night. No, Antonio meets me tomorrow night, and it's beyond his understanding that I'd be able to think of anything but him on the night of our reunion. How about Saturday morning?”

“Fine,” Stephanie said. “We have all day Saturday.”

Sabrina was silent.
All day Saturday. Before Garth arrives on Sunday. All day to talk, to decide what will happen on Sunday, at least the part of Sunday we have any control over.

Sabrina signaled for the check. “Listen,” Alexandra said abruptly, “I want you to know I love you both. I
guess if I knew Stephanie better I'd see differences between you, but to me, right now, you're both Sabrina and I love you. I'm sorry, I know how crazy that sounds, but—”

“It's all right.” Stephanie said. She put her hand on Alexandra's arm, almost as if to steady herself. “I don't know who I am, either.”

*  *  *

That night, as she did every night at midnight, Sabrina called home. They were ready for her: Cliff on the couch in the kitchen. Penny in Garth's study, and Mrs. Thirkell waiting nearby to say a few words when Cliff let her have the telephone.

“You sound excited,” Sabrina said to Cliff. “What's going on?”

“Nothing.” There was a warning note in his voice that was clearly meant for Penny on the other telephone, and Sabrina knew that something was indeed going on. Her heart sank, because she was sure it was some kind of homecoming surprise, and there might not be a homecoming if Garth would not allow it. Maybe he'll banish me as he did before, she thought, as he has a right to do, and I'll lose them, lose them all, and Penny and Cliff will think I deserted them, just as I did last December.

But if she did not come home, would Penny and Cliff know it?

If Stephanie went home with Garth, would Penny and Cliff know it?

Would they see differences even greater than the ones they had found excuses for a year ago?

Would they demand an explanation because they'd know something was wrong, that the mother they loved had changed?

Tears stung her eyes. “Cliff, if you're planning something for when I come home—”

“We're not,” he said, sounding relieved, and Sabrina was taken aback. What were they up to?

She listened to their talk about school and friends and a
painting contest Penny had entered, and she laughed at their small jokes and puns, and when she hung up, she told herself that she wouldn't think about whatever they were planning. It was probably a present they were making at school, and there was nothing she could do about that.
They'll give it to me or they won't. I'll know on Sunday.

At six the next morning, as she did every morning, she called Garth in his hotel at The Hague. Seven in the morning there; his only time to talk before his conference sessions began. Curled up in her sitting room, with Stephanie in the guest room down the hall, Sabrina knew that her voice was subdued, almost strained with the effort of measuring every word, but she could not make herself sound carefree and lively, even when she concentrated on trying.

“A lot of talking to people,” she said, avoiding outright lies. “Nicholas is selling Blackford's . . . Oh, Alexandra is here, getting organized at Ambassadors with Brian, and she's buying Blackford's, too.” She talked about London and the weather and packing up the furnishings and art at Cadogan Square and shipping them to Evanston, and then she said, “I don't really want to talk about me; tell me what you've been doing.”

As he talked, she could tell, because she was so familiar with every nuance of his voice, that he knew something was bothering her. But after the first night, when she had been evasive, he had not pressed her. He described the scientists at the conference and their papers, the attention his own talk had received and the little sight-seeing he had been able to do; he told her he had heard from Claudia that the
Chicago Tribune
was doing an investigative series on Congressman Leglind and the effect congressional hearings had on university research, and Sabrina asked enough questions to keep him talking about all of that and more for almost an hour.

“And that's enough,” he said at last. “Everything else will wait. You haven't told me your hotel in Paris.”