Deceptions (24 page)

Stephanie put on the watch and glanced at the time. Almost three-thirty. She was stunned. Where had the day gone? Penny and Cliff would be home any-no, of course they

wouldn't - at least, not here. In Evanston. Sabrina would be waiting - Sabrina! She was supposed to call at -what time was it in Evanston? Nine-thirty in the morning. It was all right, then; she'd remembered in time.

But she'd almost forgotten. Guilt swept through her. How could she forget her family? How could she let almost a whole day go by without thinking of her own family?

'When would you like dinner, my lady?' asked Mrs Thirkell.

'Oh. At... the usual time. I won't be out long.*

She shut the bedroom door. Sitting on the chaise, the telephone in her lap, she closed her eyes. There was her house, speckled with shade from the oak trees in the yard. There was the kitchen, honey-colored in the sunlight, and her children, grabbing books and lunch boxes as they left for school. And there was her husband's back as he walked to the campus. Where was Sabrina? Alone by now; probably exploring the house. This might be her first telephone call. Stephanie smiled mischievously as she gave the operator her number in Evanston.

'Am I speaking to the lady of the house? This is Lady Longworth in London, and I wish to speak to—'

'Stephanie!' cried Sabrina, an ocean away. 'How wonderful!'

Stephanie tucked her legs under her, as she always did when they had a long talk, and began to ask about Garth and the children and answer Sabrina's questions. 'Sabrina,' she asked. 'Did you ever tell me about the box on your dressing table where you put your watch at night?'

'I might have. I don't remember. WhyV

'You probably did; I put it there last night when I was wandering around totally exhausted* and stuffed with Mis Thirkell's trifle.'

Sabrina laughed. 'She's so proud of her trifle. And she knows I love iL She'll probably make another one for your birthday.'

'Should I call you then? You always call me, and Garth might wonder—'

'Why don't I just tell him we ulked whenyou called to ask

about my trip? Enjoy your week; don't worry about telephone calls.'

Stephanie heard impatience in Sabrina's voice. 'Yes, he'll believe that. Are you in a hurry?'

'Oh, it's just that I have so much to do - the house and grocery shopping—'

Stephanie knew; errands, chores, the daily routine. After they said goodbye, she pictured Sabrina moving about her rooms, cooking in her kitchen, talking to her family, eating breakfast with Garth, sitting across the dinner table from Garth...

She wanted to call back and talk some more, but Sabrina had been impatient. And, after all, thought Stephanie, it's her house right now; 1 shouldn't interfere. She's not interfering with me. She jumped up and ran down the three flights of stairs to the front door. The week would pass all too quickly; it was time she got acquainted with her neighborhood.

Skirting the park, she walked to Sloane Square, smiling at its contrasts: the old Royal Court Theatre opposite the modem Peter Jones department store, and in the center a fountain with reliefs of Charles II and his mistress, Nell Gwynne, in happy dalliance. Respectable London, she thought; racy London. Letting visitors think what they like. Chicago tries harder to impress us.

She was looking for differences to make the week more of an advent\ire. Walking up the other side of Sloane Street, she admired the sleek window displays of art and antiques, fashion, shoes, jewelry and books. No shopping today, she told herself sternly, determined to watch her money - and then, unable to resist, bought a sampling of handmade candies at Bendicks, and a small vial of perfume at Taylor of London.

Nibbling on a candy, Stephanie strolled unhurriedly. She felt hght and untethered, as if she were floating. How odd to feel that way, she thought, but then, passing Children's Bazaar, she knew why. No one knew where she was. No one was expecting her. She was alone; she was anonymous; she was free.

She passed strangers, some with closed, private faces, some

openly admiring her beauty, most simply absorbed in their own lives. No one looked at her as if she were an outsider, and suddenly she did not feel like one. She bought a magazine, handling the unfamiliar coins speedily enough to satisfy the clerk. Watching for landmarks, she easily found her way home. Her key worked smoothly in her front door the first time she tried it. Mrs Thirkell, telling her the mail was on the desk in the study, peered closely into her face as she asked if her flu was really better and showed no suspicion that she was not three inches from Lady Longworth.

Stephanie hugged her delight to herself as she climbed to the third-floor study. There is nothing I cannot do, she thought again. And silently she thanked Sabrina.

'My lady, I forgot to tell you,' said Mrs Thirkell on the house phone. 'Now that you're back the flowers are coming again.'

'Flowers,* she said cautiously.

'I put them in the drawing room, as usual.'

*I see. Thank you.' Stephanie walked down one flight and there they were, dominating the room, overwhelming, absurd, magnificent: three dozen red roses rising fi-om a crystal globe. And nestled among them, like bits of luminous moonlight, a dozen great white orchids.

She had never seen an3^hing like it. The scent of the roses reached her down the length of the room, and she walked toward them, thinking how ridiculous to do anything on such a scale, what a flagrant waste of money - and how impressive. She read the card.

Welcome home, my lovely Sabrina. You have asked me not to call, so I do not call. But I return to London next week, and I rely on your goodness and the pleasant hours we have spent together to move you to give me an evening and then, at last, your hand as my wife.

Antonio.

'My lady,' said Mrs Thirkell, as Stephanie tucked the card back among the flowers. 'Princess Alexandra.'

Alexandra walked in behind her, tall, blonde, striking. Stephanie had never met her; when she had visited Sabrina

the year before, Alexandra was in France. But, seeing her walk in, Stephanie recognized her as a character come to life from the pages of Sabrina's letters - the daughter of a bit player in Hollywood who lived out all her mother's dreams by marrying a prince and moving easily among European nobility. She made a mock curtsy to Stephanie. 'Couldn't resist the chance to greet the returned traveler. Did it do the trick?'

'The trick?'

'Finding new ways of handling old dilenunas. Wasn't that what you said you were going off to China for?'

'I'm trying something new; I'm not sure yet it will do any good.'

'Well, in the meantime, you can revel at my house tomorrow night. A small do in your honor.'

•A small—?'

'Birthday party. Honey, I apologize. I wrote you about it, honest to Gcfd I did, but it just never got mailed. I don't know how these things happen in a house full of servants - they never happen to you, do they? Anyway, it doesn't matter, because you told me you weren't making plans for the week, so of course you're free and you know I wouldn't let your birthday pass without a celebration. Some of your friends are coming, I think about sixteen, and we'll call it a welcome-home party if you've stopped counting birthdays, so don't argue with me, just show up in casual finery at eight. I'm counting on you.'

'I think I have some kind of flu; I shouldn't—'

'The best cure for flu is a party. Ask any sensible doaor.'

'Well... I'll let you know.'

Alexandra blew her a kiss. 'See you tomorrow,' she said, and was gone. But before Stephanie could think about the party, the phone calls began, each one announced by Mrs Thirkell in a voice sternly disapproving of anyone who would force my lady to talk when she had the flu. Michel Bernard called from Paris to ask if Alexandra's party was still on; he and Jolie would be there. Andrea Vernon thrilled that her ballroom, redecorated by Sabrina with a hundred new lamps, was being featured in an Italian magazine, and the editor wanted Sabrina in the pictiu^ they would be uking

in two weeks. TU let you know,* Stephanie said. Amelia Blackford called to ask if Sabrina would care to accompany Nicholas to the Chilton auction next week. 'I'll let you know,' Stephanie said.

Between calls, she opened the mail - a cornucopia of invitations. House parties, tennis matches, dinners, a fox hunt in Derbyshire, a luncheon in honor of a Comtesse in Paris, a dozen charity balls between October and May. To Stephanie they were as overwhelming as Antonio's flowers: too much - yet wonderful. And just as she had caught the fragrance of the roses from far off, she could imagine the brilliance and gaiety promised by the heavy parchment and elaborate lettering of each invitation.

Piling them neatly for Sabrina, she realized wistfully that, between telephone calls and the mail, Sabrina's calendar for months ahead was more crowded than her own for this one week. All she had was - she looked at the calendar - a hairdresser appointment and a fitting with the dressmaker. And Alexandra's party.

But was she going to the party? The idea terrified and tantalized her. She didn't want to go and make a fool of herself; but after seeing Sabrina's photographs, she wanted to see Alexandra's house. And how wonderful to be the guest of honor at one of her parties.

After dinner, curled up on the chaise in the bedroom with books on London from Sabrina's library, Stephanie thought about Alexandra's party. She thought about it as she fell asleep, she woke up thinking about it. I'll decide later, she told herself. After I do some sight-seeing.

But first, reluctantly, she telephoned Sabrina's hairdresser to cancel her appointment. He would know instantly that her hair had been cut by someone else. We can fool a husband, she thought wryly, but not a hairdresser. But I will go to the dressmaker; I've always wanted one. and this is my chance.

And Alexandra's invitation is my chance for a party this week. One party. To balance all those invitations. Why not? Climbing the steps of Mrs Pemberley's flat on a warm September morning, Stephanie held her head high. I'll celebrate Lady Sabrina Longworth's thirty-second birthday

in style, and no one will know I'm really celebrating the birthday of a suburban housewife who never even had a dressmaker.

Mrs Pemberley adjusted the three-way mirror. 'Madame perhaps gained a pound or two on her Chinese excursion/ she said through a mouthful of pins.

Stephanie looked down at her bent head and said nothing.

'But, of course/ she added hastily, 'madame's figure is so superb it does not matter.' Her fingers, pinning a dart in the suede dress, trembled.

She's afi'aid, Stephanie thought, afraid I'll be offended and find another dressmaker. It was the first time she had ever felt the power that influential people have over those who serve them.

'Now if madame will look,' said Mrs Pemberley, getting to her feet. 'I made a small change at the shoulder, here, so the sleeve moves more gracefully, but otherwise it is as madame wished. As you see—' She opened a glossy French magazine to a photograph of a model in a suede dress. And suddenly Stephanie understood the high fashion in her sister's closet - thousands of dollars worth of designer clothes costing a fraction of that because she had found a dressmaker who could copy photographs down to the smallest seam, modified to suit Sabnna's flair.

She looked from the magazine to her reflected image. 'Marvelous,' she murmured, and Mrs Pemberley's face relaxed into a smile. She brought out another dress and then another, followed by an evening gown, two suits sleek enough to wear to dinner after a day of work, a floor-length wool paisley skirt with a velvet cloak and a pair of pants with a hacking jacket. As Stephanie tried them on, Mrs Pemberley made adjustments and chatted about other customers, many of them obviously sent to her by Sabrina.

'—and Princess Alexandra tells me it is your birthday today, madame; my very best wishes. The party sounds quite festive.*

'I beg your pardon?' Stephanie was starded. If she made a mistake tonight, how long would it be before everyone knew it?

Mrs Pemberley's fear returned; she clamped her lips so that no further personal remarks would slip through. Stephanie felt sorry for her but said nothing, and the fitting ended in silence. *The garments will be ready in a week, madame,' said Mrs Pemberley as she was leaving.

Stephanie nodded. She felt guilty for causing her worry. 'I'm very pleased with them,' she said, and left quickly. She wasn't sure she liked having the power that Sabrina and her friends took for granted.

As soon as she left Mrs Pemberley, Stephanie became anonymous again. Riding double-decker buses and the underground, with its clean-swept cars and velvet seats, she explored from Kensington Church Street to Brook's Mews in Bond Street. The buildings were not as tall as American skyscrapers, the shops smaller but more numerous, making Stephanie think of rooms in a vast museum filled with fabulous objects- antique furniture, porcelain, chandeliers, cut glass, clocks, dolls, jewelry and paintings. Gazing and dreaming, she felt like a young girl again, shopping with Sabrina and her mother in the enchanted world of open markets and small dusty shops. How simple everything had seemed when they were children! No complicated marriage, no worries about money, no search for a different kind of life.

But we ran away from the chauffeur, she remembered with a smile. Wanting to be free.

The statue of King George I in Grosvenor Square looked blankly past her as she remembered Athens. I've done it again, she thought. Run away to be free. Across the square stretched the block-long American Embassy where they had visited occasionally with their father. She walked toward it. First I ran away fiim my father, and then from Garth. She walked past it. But of course I'm going back to Garth.

She joined the crowds strolling on Park Lane along the green expanse of Hyde Park, nannies pushing baby carriages, dowdy dowagers, free-skirted young girls talking of discos, businessmen in derby hats, businesswomen in suits and white blouses. Harrods and then home, she decided, and quickened her walk until she saw the distinctive round awnings with scalloped edges and the store's name in bold