Deceptions (50 page)

'Viscount,' Laura said. 'But I thought we weren't going to talk about Sabrina.'

'I always loved her. I just didn't feel as close to her as I do to you. Do you understand that?'

'Don't,' Sabrina said softly. 'Please don't.' Her face was hot and she wanted to run away.

'I was uncomfortable with her because I always felt she was about to spring out of her chair and go off and .,. do something. Run a race or explore some caves or shoot at a fox or be the belle of the ball. I loved her, there was no one Uke her, but I couldn't relax with her because I could never predict what she would do next.'

His voice was rising. Sabrina forced herself to sit still.

'I always worried about what she might do to the reputation of the embassy. We tried to tell both of you that we were symbols of America and my career depended on the image we presented to the world. I never had to worry about you, but Sabrina, with her high spirits, seemed uncontrollable. Do you understand why I was sometimes harsh with

her, fearing she would do something foohsh or dangerous? Why we decided to send you both to Juliette? Why 1 may have seemed not quite ... fatherly all the time?'

Sabrina was silent.

'But I loved her. She was fire and light and love. So much energy and curiosity. So much life. I regret that I never told her that.' Gordon's voice began to fade. 'Even when we settled in Washington, I didn't tell her. She was running about as much as ever, getting married and divorced. building up that shop of hers, going on hunts and cruises. She'd even taken up with some Brazilian at the end. But I loved her as much as I love you. And I wish I had told her so.'

Laura was crying, her head averted. Gordon's eyes were closed, his slight figure rising and falling with shallow breaths beneath the white coverlet. In the stillness, Sabrina heard footsteps and low voices of other Sunday afternoon visitors to the hospital.

Parents, she thought. She was thirty-two years old, and still they had the power to make her feel guilty about disappointing them. Gordon was trying to explain away a lifetime of neglect and, at the same time, tell her he didn't want her to act like Sabrina. And Laura, who had felt closest to Sabrina, was trying not to show that she resented his preference for Stephanie.

'She knew you loved her,' Sabrina said to Gordon's closed eyes, wishing she could find a way to convince him. 'Even when she knew she disappointed you.'

Gordon nodded. Absorbed in his own health, he was easily convinced that all was well. 'I'll take my nap now,' he said.

Laura took Sabrina's arm as they left the hospital. 'I feel I ought to apologize for what your father did just now.'

'What did he do?'

'Dismissed us as soon as he made his point and got some agreement. That's his way. It seems very effective in diplomacy, but it's not easy to live with.'

'Isn't it comforting, though, to know he's consistent? Even in grief?'

Laura looked sharply at her daughter. 'That's the kind of

double edged remark Sabrina would have made. It's not kind to your father.'

Sabrina sighed. 'Mother, you're as hard to deal with as he is.'

Parents, she thought again. But we keep loving them and wanting their approval, no matter how old we are. How was she going to have the courage to tell them the truth when Gordon recovered? Rejoice, Mother, Sabrina is not dead. Intensify your mourning, Father; it was your beloved Stephanie who died.

Neither of them would ever forgive her.

'I was hoping,' Laura said the next morning as Sabrina put her key into the door of Ambassadors, 'thatyou wouldn't sell it. Of course, it may not be fair to ask you that -1 know you and Garth could use the money-but I was hoping you would keep it.'

Sabrina did not answer. She had been away so long, and now, walking through the dusky showroom, she breathed deeply, touching familiar pieces, and felt as she had when she walked into the house on Cadogan Square: she was back where she belonged. A shop, a home. Every inch of them hers; created by her, held together by her work. 'Of course I'll keep it,'she said.

'But what will you do with it? If you can't run it—'

'Of course I'll run it; what are you talking about. Mother?'

'Stephanie, I'm asking how you plan to run Ambassadors from Evanston. Unless - are you suggesting you might not be in Evanston? That you and Garth— V

'No.' Standing with her mother at the door to her office, Sabrina came back to earth. 'I'd work something out with Nicholas Blackford. He's interested in a partnership.'

'Then you'd come over now and then. Well, that might work out. But, of course, Ambassadors really was Sabrina; it would take someone with her brilliance to keep its reputation. You could do it, though, if you study, or work in a small shop in Chicago to get some experience. And I would help you.' She put her arm around Sabrina. 'Oh, there is so much I could teach you! Wouldn't it be wonderful? Now my suggestion is—'

'Mother.'

Laura drew back at the coldness in her daughter's voice. *If you don't want to talk about it now—'

*I don't want to talk about it now.' Sabrina felt the pressures building inside her. Last night she had not slept, thinking of Stephanie, and, alone in bed for the first time in weeks, she had felt lonely and vulnerable without the comfort of Garth's arms. But mostly she was angry at her mother: how dare she insult Stephanie by assuming she couldn't handle Ambassadors? All her life she'd favored Sabrina, and now she was doing it again, acting as if Stephanie would automatically fail if she were to take over the shop.

Wait, this doesn't make sense, she thought. Am I Sabrina, defending Stephanie, who is dead? Or am I Stephanie, angry because my mother doesn't believe in me?

'I don't want to talk about it now,' she said to Laura. '1 have to meet with Sidney Jones and Nicholas and Brian, and in a few days I'll know better what I'm going to do.' She was walking toward the front door, bringing Laura with her. The shop was closed for the week; she'd come back alone the next day and think about the future.

By the next day she had another reason for coming to Ambassadors: it was her only private place. Laura and Gabrielle both were living in her house, wanting to talk to her. Mrs Thirkell found little tasks on the upper floors so that she could find someone to talk to about Lady Longworth. The telephone rang constantly; everyone wanted to entertain Sabrina's American sister before she left London, and though she told Mrs Thirkell to refuse them all, more kept coming. Flowers, letters and telegrams arrived daily. Sabrina retreated to the dim quiet of Ambassadors.

Alone, she went through the account books and files, reading letters and scanning catalogues that had come while she was away. Stephanie had recorded the sale of the Grendly daybed, the French beaded bag and several other pieces. In a notebook on the shelf behind the cherry table, she had listed three interior decorating commissions she had accepted for November and December. Sabrina was about to put the notebook away when she saw a lener tucked in the

back. 'Dearest Sabrina/ it began. Dated October 23. The day before the cruise.

'I've been wondering/ Stephanie had written, 'what present I can leave you when I go back to Chicago, to thank you for the most wonderful time of my life. I could buy you something, but I've just thought of a better gift than anything Harrods has to offer. It's a story I've kept secret, and I'm writing it now for you to discover when you return. I'll have such fun imagining your face when you read about it, and then your telephone call....

'It began at a party at Olivia Chasson's some time ago. I was talking to Rose Raddison when a sad accident occurred.

How wonderful, Sabrina thought, reading about the broken stork. Such a simple solution. Why didn't it occur to me when I was trying to figure out what to do? Maybe now, after living with two rambustious kids, I would have thought of it. She picked up the letter to finish it.

'That's about all, except that Rory Carr did come in later, after I'd seen him at the Chilton auction, with a magnificent Sevres piece that it broke my heart to turn down. But by then you'd told me not to deal with him. He wasn't here to sell, anyway, not really. He'd heard about the stork and was fishing for information. When he kept prying, I did a small imitation of a police officer and said, "There isn't anything you can tell me that I don't already know." That shook him up - he kept adjusting his cravat with elegant nervousness, and speedily departed. Oh, there's the front bell. I'll try to finish this tomorrow.'

But tomorrow she was dead.

Alexandra walked in and found Sabrina carefully folding a handwritten letter. 'Mrs Thirkell gave away your hiding place; you don't mind if I invade your privacy?'

'Of course not. Please sit down. I'm not getting much done anyway.'

'Thinking about Sabrina.'

'Thinking about Sabrina and Stephanie.'

'Funny, I never realized how close you two were.*

There was a silence. 'Shall I make us some tea?' Alexandra asked.

'Oh, how rude of me. I'll make it."

Sabrina put the kettle on the hot plate in Brian's office. 'I'm afraid we have only biscuits to eat.*

'Biscuits will be fine.' There was another silence. 'Areyou still worried about your father?'

'No, he's much better. He'll go home Sunday.'

'And you with him?'

'I... think so. Probably.'

They sat in silence. 'I'm sorry, honey,' Alexandra burst out at last. 'I can't get used to it. Are you a ghost? Sabrina told me the two of you didn't look alike.'

'But - why would she say that?'

'How do I know? I thought she said it because it was true. Nicholas had played a little game, accusing her of being Stephanie - that you'd switched places in China, or something like that - and Sabrina was great; she frowned so seriously and told Nicholas to tell her who she was because he'd gotten her so confused she couldn't remember. You know, I loved that lady, though I don't think I ever actually told her so. Anyway, after Nicholas proclaimed her Sabrina, I asked if you two really were identical and she said, no, he just thought so because of his pastries or his diet or some such thing.'

Sabrina laughed. Oh, Stephanie, good for you. You were saving that, weren't you, to tell me when we met in Chicago. So we could laugh about it together. But they couldn't laugh about it together. She stood up quickly. 'I'll just see what's happening with the kettle.'

'Damn,' said Alexandra, following her into Brian's office. 'I'm a damn fool. Please forgive me, I don't mean to upset you. It's just that I can't get used to the resemblance; it's uncanny, you know - people must tell you that all the time. Oh, why can't I shut up and leave you in peace?'

'No, don't shut up. I'm fine.' The chatter helped; she made the tea with a steady hand and filled a plate with biscuits. She picked up the tray to carry it into his office. 'Napkins,' she said to Alexandra, tilting her head toward a cupboard in the comer.

'There! See? That's exactly what she did, only a week ago. See why I'm having trouble?'

Stephanie did that a week ago. But I've never done it before.

Sabrina poured the tea and spread jam on a biscuit, taking her time, thinking. Of all the people she knew in London, Alexandra was the most trustworthy, the one closest to her - and the toughest. There wasn't much that would shock Alexandra. But she was proud. Would she be such a close friend when she knew she'd been tricked?

It didn't matter. I have to tell someone, Sabrina thought. It's been so long since I had anyone to talk to -1 have to tell someone. It will be my rehearsal for telling Garth. And everyone else.

'I'm going to tell you a story,' she said slowly, 'if you promise to listen to the whole thing without interrupting and not make a judgment until you've heard it all.'

'Intriguing. Possibly wicked. I can't wait.'

'Promise?'

'You want me to draw blood and sign my name?'

Sabrina smiled. 'No. I wouldn't be telling you if I didn't trust—' The bell over the front door rang as someone opened it. 'I'll be right back; I thought I had a Closed sign in the door.'

A tall man was silhouetted against the front window; Sabrina saw his graying hair, a slight stoop, the thin cane he carried. She could not make out his features. 'Mrs Andersen?' he asked.

'Yes. But the shop is closed. If you'll come back next week—'

'I'm from Scotland Yard, Mrs Andersen.' He showed his identification. 'Detective-Sergeant Thomas Phelps. I'd appreciate a few minutes of your time to talk to you about the death of your sister.'

'Scotland Yard?'

He walked past her. 'If we could sit down?'

Sabrina turned blindly and led the way into her office. Somehow they'd found out. They knew she was Sabrina. She wouldn't be able to tell the story in her own way after all. Everyone would learn about it in a jumble from the police, reporters, gossip columnists... and Garth would hear about it, too, from the police when they called - when they called

to tell him his wife was dead. In London society it would be a scandal; at home in Evanston there would be pain and anger and tears....

'My God/ cried Alexandra, looking at her face as she came into the office. 'What is it?' She looked at Phelps and stood up. * If you think I should leave, honey - Stephanie—'

'No, would you mind staying? I'd like it if you stayed.'

'This is confidential, Mrs Andersen,' said Phelps.

'Then it will be confidential for Princess Martova,' Sabrina said coldly. 'I am asking her to stay.'

He hesitated, then shrugged. It would be all over London in no time, anyway; one more society gossip wouldn't make a difference. He sat down and opened a notebook. *In the course of our investigations,' he began, 'we've learned that some of the people on Mr Stuyvesant's yacht were not what they seemed to be.'

Sabrina looked at him fixedly, waiting for his flat deliberate voice to call her Lady Longworth. 'How did you discover-—?'

'Please, Mrs Andersen, let me begin at the beginning.'

Mrs Andersen. He had called her Mrs Andersen. She watched him, waiting for the moment when he would try to trap her.