Deceptions (37 page)

'Mr Stuyvesant says they add a touch of humanity,' said the contractor. 'And not to paint them over.'

Stephanie smiled. 'I'll make a note of it.'

They went through the house, checking the work against Stephanie's drawings. Each day she saw her ideas closer to completion, restoring the balance of walls and windows, using the angles of sun and shadow to bring the house to life. She felt she had never been happier.

It was in her face. 'Pure happiness,' Max observed that

afternoon as they walked through the cavernous warehouse. 'Always, with a new project? Or is this one special?'

'Always.'

'Now I am disappointed.'

'But not surprised,' she laughed. She was glad to see him. Among the gossiping people of Sabrina's world, he was confident and casual, intriguing, private. He fended off personal questions, and his flat gray eyes were empty of emotion. There could be nothing personal between them, Stephanie thought. She was safe for the brief time she was here.

They were walking down an aisle lined with wooden lifts stacked to the ceiling, each six feet high, six feet deep, six feet wide, packed with furnishings. A lift truck lowered twenty-two of them, one at a time, to the concrete floor, and workers pried them open with crowbars. As they brought out the furnishings and Max checked them against his hst of contents, Stephanie watched, trying not to gawk.

It was not easy; she had never seen anything like it. Ranging through all the great periods of art and furnishings, from Russian samovars to William Morris chairs to Art Deco lamps, even including a disassembled fifteen-foot-high Jacobean canopied bed, Max's collection turned the dingy aisles into a dazzling palace.

'Did you rob a museum?' she asked lightly to hide her awe.

A light flickered in his eyes as he glanced up from his lists. 'A dozen. Do you see anything you can use?'

That was carrying nonchalance too far. 'Don't be absurd. Max. It's magnificent and you know it; much more than we'll be able to use.'

'Good. And now I'm sorry, Sabrina, but 1 must go; I couldn't put off another appointment for this afternoon. I'll leave you to make your choices, and my chauffeur will return for you in half an hour; is that all right? He'll wait as long as necessary to take you home.'

She turned away to hide her disappointment and took from a packing crate a porcelain canary perched on a spray of flowers. 'Copenhagen,' she murmured, remembering the day her mother had brought one home in triumph from a flea

market in Paris. 'Yes, of course,' she said. 'But I'll be here for hours. Your chauffeur shouldn't have to wait—'

'He is paid to wait. Will you have dinner with me Thursday night?'

'Yes.'

He kissed her fingertips. 'Until then.'

The vast collection fired Stephanie's imagination, adding to her excitement. The house filled her thoughts, and she spent more and more time there, working closely with the contractor, whom Max was paying an exorbitant fee to meet her schedule. I have to see it finished, she thought; I can't leave without finishing it.

Max paved the way, too, for delivery of flooring, cabinetry, wallpaper, light fixtures.

'Is there anyone you don't know?' Stephanie asked when, with a telephone call, he assured delivery of handcrafted Swedish rugs for the bedrooms.

'I don't know you. Yet.'

On Friday, Stephanie stopped at Ambassadors to go through the mail and reflect for a few moments on her dinner the night before with Max: friendly, casual, bantering, almost impersonal. Not once had they relaxed their guard in hours of conversation. I've taken up fencing again, she thought wryly. The chimes over the fi-ont door broke her thoughts, and she looked up to see the elegantly dressed elderly man who had greeted her at the Chilton auction. But he was not as smooth as he had been; Stephanie was puzzled to see that he was watching her closely, studying her. She held out her hand.

'My lady.' He bowed. 'I bring you something very special.'

Dramatically, he opened a parcel and unwrapped a porcelain statue of two figures: a regal Venus watching a small, mischievous Cupid, wings folded back, face bent over his arrows. The statue was made of biscuit porcelain in the pale rose pink called rose pompadour; with the thrill of discovery Stephanie recognized it as Sevres, from the late 1700s, of enormous value.

He was watching her, and she kept her face smooth, hands

clasped before her. More poker, she thought; just like the auction. 'Very fine/ she said calmly.

*My lady,' he murmured reproachfully. 'It is quite extraordinary. Sold privately in Germany last week; I was told in advance it would be offered. As soon as I saw it I thought of you.'

Don't buy it. Stephanie tilted her head. Where had the thought come from? She looked past the statue through the front window, at the overcast sky and busy street, and let tne silence stretch out.

The salesman adjusted his foulard, a small movement that betrayed nervousness. *We haven't discussed price, my lady, but of course you know the value.* She slid her gaze slowly firom the window to his face. He cleared his throat. 'Perhaps you wish to think about it. I can leave it here; we trust each other ... * She continued to look at him and saw him swallow, and swallow again. 'I understand,' he said, glancing around the shop, 'that you had a sad accident at Lady Chasson's. A strange coincidence, breaking a piece you sold her yourself.'

And suddenly Stephanie knew who he was. Rory Carr. He had come to find out about the stork- whether it had really been an accident.

'Mr Carr,' she said, testing it.

•My lady?'

Right on the button, she thought triumphantly. And you're the one who sold Sabrina that stork.

*I have no need for porcelains now.' She let a note of genuine regret slip into her voice. 'I must refuse this one, as fine as it is.'

'But my lady, this is unexpected. We have dealt with each other for such a long and pleasant time—'

*Yes,' she said firmly, feeling more confident as cracks appeared in his suave speech. 'But not today. I bought many porcelains in China, and until I go through my inventory I ^vill buy nothing more.'

'My lady!'

'Nothing, Mr Carr. And now, if you will excuse me—'

She saw a quick gleam of fear in his eyes. 'My lady, perhaps I can change your mind.'

Tou can tell me nothing I don't already know,' Stephanie said. That was probably rash, but she was swept along by a sense of adventure. By herself, she had solved the problem of the stork; now she was getting back at Rory Carr for cheating Sabrina. It served him right if he was afraid. Sabrina would have been afraid when she discovered the forgery. If only Sabrina had told her about it when it happened; she would have known enough not to encourage him at the auction.

But it didn't matter. It was over. He was leaving, and that would be the last of him.

'I will hold the Venus, my lady, and call in a few days.'

'If I want to buy from you, Mr Carr, I will call you.'

When he was gone she went into her office, closed the door and called Sabrina. There was no answer. Ten o'clock on Friday morning in Evanston. She could be anywhere. Grocery store. Hardware store. Dry cleaner. Or at work. Was she going to the office this week? Stephanie couldn't remember. She closed her eyes, thinking back to their last phone call. What had they talked about? She couldn't remember. She was losing touch with her other life, her real life, her home.

I can't do that, she thought; I can't lose touch. It's the only real thing I've got. Behind her closed eyes she pictured the house, the porch, the living room. There's the new lamp, she thought; Penny's charcoal pencil, the tear on the couch that I meant to fix before I left for China. And in the kitchen, the new rack for mugs and - what's that on the counter? Oh, the Cuisinart I got for my birthday; Sabrina told me about it. And upstairs in the bedroom, the quilt on the bed and the striped wallpaper ... No, no, the striped wallpaper is here, on Cadogan Square, with the blue carpet and... and what? In her mind the two bedrooms wavereJl and merged. Which was which? Which was real?

The trouble was, she was too tired to think. Trying to do everything, she was not getting enough sleep. Every night she went out to the dinner parties, theater parties and concerts that made up Sabrina's social hfe. She was collect* ing them, as if in a scrapbook - the elegance and color, the varied foods and entertainment that filled the hours. But she soon found it was as exhausting as it was exhilarating to

keep up with the rapid-fire gossip, knowing glances and shared recollections of different groups of people whom she had trouble keeping separate. By the time she got home she was so keyed up that she slept restlessly, and the next day she had trouble distinguishing her dreams fi-om her London life and both of them from her real life.

If it was real. 'Which is my home?' she asked out loud.

'My lady?' Brian opened the door of his cubicle and stood, waiting.

Stephanie pushed back her thoughts. 'Brian,' she said, 'I just told Roiy Carr we would not be buying fi-om him for awhile. Will you note that, please? There is some question about his honesty.'

'In what respect, my lady?'

'He may deal in forgeries. Until we are sure, we will avoid him.'

Brian restrained his curiosity, and Stephanie gathered her drawings and left for Max's house.

That night, Gabrielle telephoned. She and Brooks were having trouble, and fragments of quarrels and suspicions trailed through her talk. Each night, as Stephanie unlocked her door, the telephone was ringing, and she answered it to hear Gabrielle pour out new fears.

'He's changed,' Gabrielle said a week after her first call. 'He's cold and ... I think ... suspicious. He watches me; if I write a letter he looks over my shoulder. If I get a telephone call he has to know who it is. And now he's started going to the office at night. He's there now; I know because I called him—'

'Have you asked him what's wrong?' Stephanie asked.

'He won't tell me - he hardly talks to me at all. He doesn't come back 'til late, and I don't wait up for him. I'm afraid to, because he doesn't talk to me when he gets in. He makes me feel guilty just by looking at me, and I'd rather be asleep than face that. Then in the morning when I wake up he's leaving again.'

Yes, Stephanie thought, I know how it feels to be with someone who barely knows you're there.

'I don't know what's happening,' Gabrielle said, sounding

like a bewildered child: Penny, tearful and clinging when she was frightened.

'Would you like me to come over and stay with you tonight?' Stephanie asked. It was midnight, and she really wanted to stay home; she had been out to dinner with Max for the third time in a week and was tired and exhilarated at the same time. She wanted to think. But the panic in Gabrielle's voice brought a rush of anxiety and protective-ness she had not felt in a long while.

'No, don't. Sabrina, you're wonderful, and I love you, I don't know what I'd do without you. But if Brooks comes home early, I don't want him to know I've told you about us. I'll call you tomorrow.'

But the next day, instead of calling, she arrived on Stephanie's doorstep. 'He told me I had to leave. He said I was a spy; that I sold the secrets of Westermarck's new line to another company, I don't even remember which one—' She looked up helplessly, and then, as Stephanie put her arms around her, she began to sob.

They sat on the sofa. Stephanie rocked Gabrielle in her arms, feeling her breast become wet with tears. She put her cheek against Gabrielle's clustering curls. 'Hush, my dear Penny,* she said, and caught her breath. But Gabrielle had not heard, and Stephanie said, 'It will be all right. Gaby; we'll find out what happened, it will be all right,' while she ached for Penny and tears came to her eyes.

She blinked them away, 'Gaby, have you talked to anybody about Westermarck cosmetics?'

'No. I swear it. I don't know anything about them. I never even think about them except when I'm putting on makeup. Why should I? Anyway, I can't tell the difference between any of them. Westermarck, Revlon, Estee Lauder-they're all the same. Oh, God, don't tell Brooks I said that!'

Stephanie hid a smile. 'Did you bring any clothes with you?' Gabrielle shook her head. 'Well, we'll have to get your things.'

'I can't. 1 can't go there until he calls-he will call, won't he?'

'If he doesn't, I will.' Stephanie took Gabrielle upstairs to the pink and green bedroom she had used when she visited

Sabrina the year before. Take what you want from my closet, and then we'll talk about what comes next.'

The telephone rang and she took it quickly. But it was not Brooks; it was Alexandra. 'I have been asked to dine in splendor at a new Italian place in Soho, gracing it with my presence so it will become the new "in" restaurant.'

'A bit unsubtle of them. Does that happen often?'

'Honey? You all right?'

'Of course. Why?'

'Because either you are asleep or-oh, hell, are you in bed with someone?'

'No. What are you talking about?'

'I'm talking about us, you and me, getting these invites all the time. So what's bothering you?'

'Oh ... we can talk about it later.'

'Uh huh, there is something. Okay, how about dinner with me tonight? This one I'm accepting because the owner did me a favor once.'

'What's the name of it?*

*I1 Cocchio Oro. Could that possibly mean The Golden Cock?'

Stephanie laughed. 'The Golden Coach. Your Italian needs polishing. What time?'

•Eight? I'll pick you up.'

Before Stephanie could turn back to Gabrielle, the telephone rang again. This time it was Sabrina.

'I haven't got long, Stephanie, but I had to let you know.'

'What's wrong?'

'Nothing, everything is fine. But Nat says he'll take X rays on the twenty-second.'

The twenty-second? That's only a week away.'

'Ten days. Only?'

'I mean, it seems so soon. Does your wrist feel better?'

'You can't tell when it's inside a cast. Wait a minute.' Sabrina's voice turned from the telephone. 'Yes, Cliff, of course you're going to the airport with me. Yes, Penny, you too. We're all going.' Her voice came back, clear and exasperated. 'When do you get to be alone in a family?'