Deceptions (25 page)

handwriting - the largest department store in Europe and one of the most luxurious anywhere in the world, even boasting its own uniformed doorman.

She wandered happily through the aisles, looking for a gift she could leave behind for Sabrina when she went back to Evanston, and was in the Wedgwood room when, behind her, someone cried, 'Sabrina!'

'Sabrina, isn't this amazing?' She was hugged and kissed on the cheek by an exquisite young woman, small and delicate, with a halo of ash-blond hair and wide gray eyes. *We're going to see you tonight and now here you are. Happy birthday!'

Stephanie stared. 'Gabrielle! You haven't changed a bit!'

'In two weeks? I hope not. Unless you mean ... have you already heard? Who from? We were waiting to tell you first.'

'Heard what?' Stephanie's heart was racing; what a stupid thing to say. But she had been so surprised - Gabrielle de Martel, Sabrina's roommate at Juliette, here in the middle of Harrods. Stephanie hadn't seen her in almost fifteen years, but she looked just the same, though Sabrina had written that she was divorced and living in London, modeling for a cosmetics firm. Her voice was the same too: light and a little breathless.

'Oh, good, you haven't heard. Here's my news.'

Stephanie looked up as Gabrielle put her hand on the arm of a man standing behind her and brought him forward. He towered over her, handsome, broad-shouldered, muscular, with thick blond hair and impatient brown tyes, exactly as Sabrina had described him. Brooks Westermarck, president of Westermarck Cosmetics; wealthy, hardworking, a favorite of society reporters and photographers, always accompanied by a different beautiful woman

'Welcome home, Sabrina/ he said pleasantly. 'Did you bring me my Chinese dancer?'

Dancer. Now what? Stephanie despaired. I can't keep up; there are too many—Then she remembered the carved jade figures Sabrina had bought in Peking. Which was Brooks's dancer? She didn't know. *Of course/ she said easily. She

could put off giving it to him for the week.'But I still don't know your news.'

'We're living together/ said Gabrielle. 'You wouldn't advise me, so I made up my own mind. Now tell me, what would your advice have been?'

'To live with Brooks,' said Stephanie instantly.

Brooks laughed. 'Wise woman. Will you have dinner with us tomorrow night, Sabrina?'

'To celebrate,' Gabrielle added. 'At Annabel's. Brooks has been a member for years, but I've never been there. Do come.'

'Oh, not this week; I really planned to stay home the whole—'

'Because Antonio is out of town? He wouldn't mind; we're quite respectable. And I've been waiting to celebrate until you got back. Please, I want you to.*

'And what is more important than what Gaby wants?' asked Brooks, amused.

Well, why not? Stephanie thought. If Sabrina can have a full calendar, so can I. 'I will, then; thank you. But since it's your celebration, I'll expect you to do all the talking.'

'Wonderfully tactful. Lady Longworth.' said Brooks, still amused. 'You'll make Gaby the happiest woman at Annabel's.'

The honeymoon, Stephanie thought, surprising herself with her bitterness. Just beginning. Once Garth and I were like that, our faces shining with happiness, as if we had a wonderful secret. And we did: we were in love. How long ago that seems. I don't even remember how it feels.

At home, Mrs Thirkell brought her tea to the study as she went through the mail and telephone messages. And then she began to get ready for Alexandra's party.

In the bath, bubbles rising languorously about her, she heard the telephone and then Mrs Thirkell coming upstairs to stand outside the bathroom door. 'Princess Alexandra called, my lady. Her chauffeur will come for you at eight. What dress shall I put out?'

'I'll take care of it, Mrs Thirkell,' Stephanie said, wondering if she could ask her for a suggestion. She shook her head. Sabrina wouldn't do that. Sabrina would decide for herself.

And whatever she chose would be right. Because if you are Lady Sabrina Longworth, who will tell you that you have on the wrong dress? Or that you are not clever enough to keep up with the people you meet?

And when she walked into Alexandra's salon, she knew she was right. She stood in the center of the room, poised, slender, as simple and elegant as a jewel in a full-length emerald-green taffeta skirt and a white satin blouse with tiny rhinestone buttons. Guests surrounded her with a confusion of smiles, kisses and birthday greetings; she saw Gabrielle and Brooks and was trying to match the other faces with Sabrina's descriptions when one lively voice rose above the others.

'And do you know, they bought identical Chinese dresses and I could not tell them apart? You would not have believed my bafflement! Now tell me,' said Nicholas Blackford, smiling with genial wickedness at Stephanie as the other guests looked on. 'Which one are you, really? 'Fess up! You're Stephanie, come to fool us all; isn't that right?'

Stephanie was stunned, the center of attention with nothing to say. She felt sick. Sabrina was successfully deceiving a husband and children, but she couldn't even fool casual friends. She lowered her tyes and caught the light flashing from her rhinestone buttons. In an instant her head came up. She knew she looked exactly like Sabrina; no one suspected anything, Nicholas was playing a game. I can play, too, she thought.

She had hesitated only a few seconds. Looking at Nicholas's small figure bouncing on the balls of his feet, she put on a worried frown. 'Nicholas, you've confrised me so much I'm not sure myself. But I've always trusted your judgment, so I put myself in your hands. You tell me who I am, and that's who I'll be.'

Everyone burst into laughter and applause. 'She's got you, Nicky,' said Alexandra. 'Who is she?'

Nicholas bowed over Stephanie's hand and kissed it. 'Who else but our magnificent Sabrina? I never had a moment's doubt, my dear. In China I was confused because of that dreadful diet I was on. You know, I was starving the entire time I was there.'

Stephanie smiled, the knot of tension unraveling inside her. 'As I recall, the pastry-shop clerks heard all about your diet. Many times.'

Amid the laughter, Alexandra led them to a buffet of hors d'oeuvres. Stephanie's breathing returned to normal. It was going to be all right. She was going to be all right.

' I wish I 'd met your sister last year,' Alexandra said.' Is she really your double?'

'No, of course not. We caught Nicholas with an armload of pastries, and he was so embarrassed he made up the first excuse he could think of.' Stephanie listened to herself in amazement. How easily she lied. But she knew why it was easy. These people heard what they wanted to hear. Whatever she said, they would make it fit what they expected her to say or wanted her to say. Did they really listen to her? Did they really look at her? Only as much as they wanted to. As she and Alexandra laughed together, she felt herself slide smoothly into place. The week was finally hers.

'Nicholas and his games,' said Alexandra.

Stephanie, envying her statuesque beauty and flamboyant gypsy dress, had been trying not to stare; now, with her new confidence, she looked boldly at her. 'You look magnificent. A gypsy queen.'

'It was your idea, honey. And you were right, as always. Now look, you're not eating and it's your party. Fill up your plate: grape leaves, spinach something with pine nuts, flaming Saganaki - where's Arnold with the match?'

'Arnold?'

'The caterer, honey. Why can't you ever remember his name?'

'Maybe I don't like the way he combs his hair,' Stephanie said, thinking: How incredible to have a caterer for only sixteen people. She'd given dinners for twenty or more with only Garth to help her clean up afterwards.

Arnold came firom the kitchen with a long match and set aflame the squares of Saganaki cheese, fried in butter and surrounded with brandy. Stephanie looked at his hair, combed forward so that he looked like a sheep dog. How had

she known? Had Sabrina mentioned a caterer named Arnold with sheep-dog hair?

'Sabrina, you look wonderful/ someone said in a low voice. 'No worries in China?'

She turned and met bright eyes in a pleasant face; a small man, ordinary looking; she would never notice him in a crowd. That was exactly the way Sabrina had described him: Michel Bernard.

'What should I worry about in China?' she asked

'Nothing; you're absolutely right. But when we got your letter we were afraid your news might spoil the trip.'

'Oh. Well, there wasn't time to think; our tour guide organized eveiy minute—' She felt her way cautiously, with no idea what he was talking about. 'What - what did you think of my letter?'

'We thought it was wonderftil, of course; and you were wonderful to have the courage to write it*. His voice dropped even lower. 'Not many experts would admit they'd been taken in by a forgery. But I want you to know it helped us. Oddly enough, not the stork as much as the names on the certificate you sent. Some of those names have been used more than once - would you believe it?'

She shook her head.

'It seems to be their first real mistake. You'd think they'd be smart enough to make up different names for each fake certificate.'

He paused, waiting for Stephanie to say something. She nodded.

'But the story's delayed by all this new information. We won't be ready to publish before November, middle or end of the month. That could help you, don't you think?'

'I think so...'

'Especially if you're going to try to get the stork back. Have you decided? Or don't you think the grand Olivia will keep your secret?*

'1 don't know.'

'If we can do anything to help—'

Stephanie was dizzy. 'You could tell me what you*ve found,* she said desperately.

'Since we talked last? Not much; mostly confirmation of

what we already told you. But it's not a bad idea to go over the whole stoiy; how about Monday? We'll be out of town until then.'

'Not Monday.' Monday morning she would be on her way to meet Sabrina in Chicago. Monday afternoon Sabrina would be flying back to London. 'Can't we talk this weekend?'

'Maybe. We'll call you from Paris on Thursday or Friday when we know our schedule. What do I hear?'

Stephanie heard it,too, softly but growing louder: a lilting Greek melody strummed on a bouzouki. As the guests grew quiet, listening, Alexandra pulled aside a curtain at one end of the room to reveal a small orchestra with the bouzouki player in front, sitting cross-legged on the floor. At his signal the orchestra picked up the melody, following the tunes his quick fingers wove together.

The lights dimmed. Like silent shadows, waiters set up a low table surrounded with large tasseled cushions, and set it with gold plates and goblets, baskets of pita bread, steaming platters of lamb and onion kebabs, shrimp in wine sauce, cod with tomatoes and currants, lemon chicken, bowls of fresh fruit and bottles of red and white wines from the Island of Rhodes, all illuminated by flickering candles set in saucers of floating camellias.

Alexandra took Stephanie's hand and led her to the cushion at the head of the table. 'The guest of honor.'

Wide-eyed, Stephanie felt like an awestruck girl from the country. How would Sabrina act? Pleased, but not overwhelmed; this was her world. She let herself look delighted and turned to Alexandra on her left. 'It's marvelous. You've become an expert on Greece.'

'Not me. Arnold has a Greek wife. I took her ideas and added a few of my own.'

'But,' said Stephanie, looking around the table, 'where are the sheeps' lungs fried in oil?'

'I vetoed them. How do you know about such things?'

'A long time ago we lived in Athens.. .'Stephanie told the story of the day she and Sabrina had escaped from their chauffeured limousine and walked into a street battle over Cyprus. Everyone fell silent, listening, and for a brief, clear

moment she saw, as if from far off, the lavish table with its guests, and the small ghosts of two sisters huddled in a cellar, holding each other, while heavy boots tramped overhead. And in that moment she was both sisters: Stephanie living Sabrina's life; Sabrina describing a time when she and her sister Stephanie were frightened children, clinging together for protection.

'Poor things,' said AmeHa Blackford. 'How terrifying for you.'

'Sabrina gave me courage,* said Stephanie softly. *She always—'

'Who?'said Jolie and Michel together.

Stephanie laughed slightly. 'We gave each other courage.'

'Well,' said Amelia. 'Nothing that exciting ever happened to me.'

The spell was broken. The conversations resumed until the last of the baklava and thick black coffee was gone and Alexandra announced it was time for presents.

Everyone had brought something: Nicholas and Amelia, a nineteenth-century Saint Gobain hand mirror with a carved ivory handle; Michel and Jolie, a book of Greek art; Gabrielle and Brooks, a cashmere shawl from India; Alexandra, a set of crystal candlesticks. The other guests brought books, jeweled hair clasps, framed prints and a miniature porcelain dancer.

'And this,' said Alexandra, handing her a slender, silver-wrapped box. 'Antonio had it delivered. Do you want to open it now or at home?'

'Oh, now,' said Gabrielle. 'Do open it now.'

Stephanie was uncertain. 'Perhaps I'd better wait—' But the gift was already public. She tore off the paper and silently hfted from the box a gleaming strand of perfect star sapphires and diamonds. A note lay in the bottom of the box^ She ignored it. There was a kind of brutality in Antonio's sending the gift to Alexandra's house, knowing it would likely be opened before a group of people - as if he had flung it in Sabrina's face, daring her to deny in public that he had the right to drape her in such jewels. Stephanie let the necklace

drop into the box. The others felt her embarrassment and said nothing.

Alexandra clapped her hands once. Dancers appeared, the lights were turned up and waiters moved about the table with after-dinner drinks. Stephanie excused herself to Alexandra. She wanted to be alone, and to see the house. 'I won't be long.'

Take your time, honey. You know your way around.'