You belong to me (32 page)

93

"On Sunday mornings, Regina and I often attended services at St. Thomas's and then, afterwards, went out for brunch," Jane Clausen told Susan. "The music there is simply wonderful. I couldn't bring myself to go back there for over a year after I lost her."

"I just came from the ten-fifteen at St. Pat's," Susan told her. "The music is magnificent there as well." She had walked to the hospital from the cathedral. It was another beautiful fall day, and she found herself wondering what Tiffany Smith had been doing last Sunday. Had she had any sense that it was to be her last Sunday, that her life was going to end in just a few days? Of course she didn't, Susan decided, then chided herself for being so morbid.

Jane Clausen clearly realized that she had very little time left. It seemed to Susan that everything she said reflected that inevitability. Today she was propped up in bed, a shawl around her shoulders. Her complexion had lost its pallor, but Susan was sure that was because she had developed a fever.

"It's very kind of you to stop by again today," Mrs. Clausen said. "Sundays in a hospital have a way of passing very slowly. Also, yesterday I didn't have the opportunity to speak with you privately, and I do need to do that. Douglas Layton has been very thoughtful, very kind. I told you that I felt I had misjudged him earlier, and that my doubts about him were unfounded. On the other hand, if I make the move I'm contemplating-that is, asking the current director of the family trust to step aside and let Douglas take over-I will be giving him a great deal of authority over a substantial amount of money."

Don't do that! Susan thought.

Jane Clausen continued, "I do realize that at this time I am particularly susceptible to expressions of concern or to displays of affection or thoughtfulness-whatever label you want to put on it."

She paused and reached for the glass of water beside the bed, took a few sips, and continued. "That's why I want to ask you to have Douglas Layton thoroughly investigated before I take this major step. I realize it's an imposition, and that I've only known you a week. Still, in that time I've come to think of you as a trusted friend. It's a gift you have, you know. And it's probably why you are so good at what you do, and so successful."

"Please, I'm happy to do anything I can. And thank you for your kind words." Susan knew that it was not the moment to tell Jane Clausen that Layton already was being checked out, and that based on just the earliest information had been found wanting. She chose her words carefully. "I think it's always wise to be very cautious before making major changes, Mrs. Clausen. I promise you I'll take care of it."

"Thank you. That relieves me greatly."

It seemed to Susan that Jane Clausen's eyes were becoming larger from one day to the next. This morning they had a luminous quality, yet the expression remained tranquil. Even a few days ago, they were so sad, Susan thought, but now they're different, as if she knows what's ahead and has accepted it. Susan searched for a moment to find an appropriate way to explain her next request, but realized she had best save explanations for later. "Mrs. Clausen, I have my camera with me. Would you mind if I took a few Polaroids of the sketch of the orphanage?"

Jane Clausen had been drawing the shawl closer around her shoulders. She waited until she had adjusted it to her satisfaction before she responded, "You have a reason for wanting that, Susan. What is it?"

"Will you let me tell you tomorrow?"

"I'd rather know now, of course, but I can wait; audit will be nice to know that I have another visit to look forward to. But Susan, before you go, tell me, did you ever hear from the young woman who phoned your program Monday morning, the one who said she had a turquoise ring like the one that had belonged to Regina?"

Susan answered carefully. "You mean 'Karen'? "Yes and no. Her real name is Carolyn Wells. She was seriously injured a few hours after she made the call, and I haven't been able to speak to her because she's in a coma."

"How terrible."

"She keeps calling for someone named Win. I think it might be the name of the man she met on the cruise ship, but I haven't been able to confirm it. Mrs. Clausen, did Regina ever phone you from the Gabrielle?"

"Several times."

"Did she ever mention anyone named Win?"

"No, she never discussed any of her fellow passengers by name."

Susan could hear the fatigue in Mrs. Clausen's voice. "I'm going to take those pictures and be on my way," she said. "I'll be out of here in just a few minutes. I can tell you need to rest."

Jane Clausen closed her eyes. "The medication makes me terribly sleepy."

The sketch was propped on the bureau opposite the bed. Using her flash, Susan shot four pictures, watching them develop one by one. Satisfied that she had enough, she replaced the camera in her purse and quietly started for the door.

"Good-bye, Susan," Jane Clausen said, her voice heavy with sleep. "You know, you've just reminded me of something very pleasant. At my debut, one of my escorts was a handsome young man named Owen. I hadn't thought of him in years, but at the time I had quite a crush on him. Of course, that was very long ago."

Owen, Susan thought. Oh my God, that's what Carolyn is saying. Not "Oh, Win," but Owen.

She remembered there was an Owen Adams on the passenger list of the Seagodiva. He was the first man she had checked off as traveling without a wife.

Twenty minutes later, Susan rushed into her apartment, ran to her desk and grabbed the passenger list from die Gabrielle. Be here, she thought, be here.

There was no "Owen Adams" listed, something she was able to determine almost immediately, but realizing the man she was looking for might very well travel under a false name, she continued searching through the passenger list.

She was almost at the end when she found it. One of the very few passengers whose middle name appeared on that list was Henry Owen Young. There must be a connection, she thought.

94

Alex Wright called Susan at her apartment at ten, eleven, and twelve, before finally reaching her at one. "Tried you earlier, but you were out," he said.

"You could have left a message."

"I don't like talking to machines. I wanted to see if you would let me buy you brunch."

"Thanks, but I couldn't have made it," Susan told him. "I went to see a friend in the hospital. Which reminds me, Alex, is there any such thing as a standard orphanage in Central America?"

"Standard? I'm not sure what you mean, but I don't: think so. If you're referring to what they look like, though, then as with hospitals or schools, there are certain characteristics that are indigenous to the type of institution. Why?"

"Because I have some pictures I need to show you. When do you leave tomorrow?"

"Early, I'm afraid. That's why I wanted to see you today. How about dinner tonight?"

"I'm sorry, I have plans."

"All right, for you I'll make the arduous trip downtown. Are you going to be home for a while?"

"All afternoon."

"I'm on my way;"

I know I'm right, Susan thought as she replaced the receiver. These two buildings aren't just similar- they're the same. But this way, I'll be absolutely sure. The book about the Wright Family Foundation was lying on her desk, its pages open to the picture of the orphanage in Guatemala that had caught her eye. Line for line, it appeared to be exactly like the sketch Jane Clausen had in her hospital room. But it is a sketch, not a photograph, she reminded herself. Maybe Alex will see some distinguishing features I've missed.

When he studied the photographs, Alex did see something she had overlooked, but rather than distinguishing one building from the other, it confirmed the feet that they, were the same. In the sketch, Mrs. Clausen had, the artist had painted a small animal over the front door of the orphanage. "Look at this," Alex said. "That's an antelope. Now look at the photograph in the book. It's there as well. The antelope is taken from our family crest; we always have one over the door of any building we fund."

They were sitting side by side at the desk in Susan's den.

"Then certainly there wouldn't be a carved sign with Regina Clausen's name on it in front of your building," Susan exclaimed.

"The sketch of the sign is definitely a phony, Susan. My guess is that someone is pocketing the money that was supposedly used to fund this building.."

"I had to be sure." Susan thought of Jane Clausen, and of how disappointed and sad she would be when she realized that Douglas Layton was cheating her.

"Susan, you look really upset," Alex said.

"I am, but not for myself." She attempted a smile. "How about a cup of fresh coffee? I don't know about you, but I need one."

"Yes, thank you. In fact, I want to see how good your coffee is. That could be very important."

Susan closed the Wright Family Foundation book. "I'll show this photograph to Mrs. Clausen tomorrow. She's got to know as soon as possible." She looked at her desk, suddenly realizing how untidy it must seem in Alex's eyes.

"I'm not usually this messy," she explained. "I've had a couple of projects I've been working on, and the papers have piled up."

Alex picked up the booklet with the passenger list from the Seagodiva and opened it. "Was this a cruise you were on?"

"No. I've never been on a cruise." Susan hoped Alex wouldn't ask any more questions about it. She didn't want to talk about what she was doing to anyone, not even him.

"Neither have I," he said as he dropped the booklet back on the desk. "I get seasick."

Over coffee he told her that Binky had phoned to invite him to brunch. "I asked her if you were coming, and when she said you weren't, I turned her down."

"I'm afraid Binky doesn't like me very much," Susan said. "And I suppose I can't blame her. I practically begged Dad on bended knee not to marry her."

"Which knee?" Alex asked.

"What?" Susan stared at him, then caught the amused twinkle in his eyes.

"I ask because I went down on bended knee to beg my father not to marry Gerie. In the end it didn't do any good either, and for the same reason Binky can't stand you, Gerie hated my guts."

He stood up. "I should go. I've got a messy desk that should be cleared as well." He turned to her at the door. "Susan, I'll be gone a week or ten days," he said. "Stay as busy as you want during that time but after that, don't get too booked up. Okay?"

Just as she closed the door behind him, the phone rang. It was Dee calling to say good-bye. "I'm leaving for Costa Rica tomorrow. I pick up the ship there," she said. "I'm going to stay on it till Callao. Wasn't last night fun?"

"It was great."

"I called Alex to thank him, but he's out"

Susan heard the question in her sister's voice, but she had no intention of explaining that Alex had been with her, or of giving her the reason for his visit. "Maybe you'll catch him later. Have a marvelous time, Dee."

She hung up, painfully aware that the reason she could not take greater pleasure in being with Alex was that she still felt something could develop between him and Dee, especially if Dee kept pursuing him. And Susan had no intention of going through the distress of losing another man to her sister.

95

Don Richards had felt restless all day. Early Sunday morning he had run in Central Park. Afterwards he came home and made a cheese omelet, reflecting that during his marriage he had been the regular Sunday-morning chef, but he had gotten out of the habit and almost never bothered to fix anything for himself now. He read the Times while he ate, but finally, after pouring a second cup of coffee, he found he was unable to concentrate, so he laid down the paper and walked to the window.

It was eleven o'clock. His apartment overlooked the park, and he could see that the crisp, sunny day had already brought out a host of New Yorkers. Below he could see dozens of joggers. Daredevils on in-line skates were whizzing past people out for a stroll. There were many couples and family groups. Richards watched one elderly woman settle on a bench and turn her face so that the sun shone directly on it.

He turned away from the window and went into the bedroom. He had to pack for his trip tomorrow, and the prospect irritated him. It was almost over though. There was only one week more of publicity for the book, and then he was taking a week off to himself. The travel agent had faxed a list of cruise ships with empty first-class space that would accommodate his schedule.

He went back to his desk to look at it.

By two o'clock he was in Tuxedo Park. His mother arrived home from having lunch at the club with friends to find him sitting on her porch steps. "Don, dear, why didn't you tell me you were coming?" she asked, feigning irritation.

"When I got in the car, I still wasn't sure that I was. You look very nice, Mother."

"So do you. I like you in a sweater. It makes you look younger." She saw the suitcase beside him. "Are you moving in, dear?"

He smiled. "No, I just wanted to ask you to put this away in the attic somewhere."

It's all those pictures of Kathy, she thought. "Lots of room in the attic for a suitcase-or anything else for that matter," Elizabeth Richards said.

"You're not going to ask me what's in it?"

"If you want me to know, you'll tell me. I suspect it has something to do with Kathy."

"I've taken every single thing that I still had of Kathy's out of the apartment, Mother. Does that shock you?"

"Don, I suspect you needed those reminders until now. I sense now, though, that you're trying to go forward with your personal life-and you know Kathy can't be part of it. Turning forty has a way of making most people take a long, sober look at both the past and the future. By the way, I know you have a key to the house. Why didn't you just go in?"

"I saw your car was gone, and I suddenly realized I' didn't want to go into an empty house." He got up and stretched. "I'll have a cup of tea with you, then I'm off. I have a date tonight. That's two in a week with the same person. How about that?"

He called Susan from the vestibule of her building promptly at seven. "I seem to be making a habit of apologizing for not being on time," she told him when she let him into the apartment. "My producer has been yelling at me all week about arriving just as we're ready to go on the air. A couple of times this week I barely got back to the office before a patient arrived-and you know as well as I that you don't keep people in therapy waiting. And tonight-well, I'll be perfectly honest: a couple of hours ago I closed my eyes for a few minutes and just now woke up. I was dead asleep."