A Perfect Stranger (18 page)

Raphaella?

Yes. And then a sharp intake of breath as she realized who it was. Oh. Is She sounded frightened, as though she thought it meant that Amanda had died.

No, no, everything's fine. But I had to let you know that my niece and I will be coming to San Francisco at the end of the week, and your father wanted me to say hello when I reached the States. If anyone was listening, it sounded like a perfectly respectable call. And Raphaella had fully caught his meaning. She was beaming from ear to ear.

Will your niece be with you for long?

I' uh' believe so. Yes. He grinned. I do.

Oh' . She had almost said his name in her excitement I'm so pleased! And then she thought of the room she had promised to put together for him. I'll take care of the accommodations as quickly as I can.

Wonderful. I'd be very grateful. And of course I'll reimburse you as soon as I get to San Francisco.

Oh, shut up. She was grinning into the phone, and a few minutes later they both hung up. Friday, he had finally told her, or maybe Saturday. It didn't give her much time.

The next two days were a kind of frenzy for Raphaella. She spent the morning reading quietly to John Henry and holding his hand as he drifted off to sleep, and then she would hurry downtown to go shopping, telling the chauffeur not to wait, she would prefer to go home in a cab. And if Tom found her behavior a trifle eccentric, he was too well trained to mention it as she raced into the nearest store. Each afternoon she emerged carrying enormous bundles, and the bigger items she had sent directly to the house. She was buying floor samples and pieces in funny little thrift shops, like a wonderful old washstand from a decorator, and a whole set of Victorian wicker from a garage sale she'd passed on the street as she raced home in a cab. By the end of the second day she had created total chaos, and she almost cried with relief when Alex apologetically told her on the phone that he wouldn't be back until Sunday night, but he had very good news. He had seen George that morning and everything had gone smoothly. George had agreed that it would do Amanda good to get away. They hadn't discussed the length of her visit, but once she was in California, it would be easy to extend it, she would already be away. For the moment he had casually mentioned a few months and George hadn't demurred. Alex had called the best of the private high schools in San Francisco and, having explained the severity of her accident, read them a transcript of her grades, and explained who her mother and grandmother were, it had not been very difficult to get her into the school. She was to start after the first of the year. In the meantime she would rest at home, go for walks, get her health back, and do whatever she had to, to get over the shock of the rape. She had a month to recuperate slowly before going back to school. And when Raphaella asked how Kay had taken it, Alex sounded strained. It was less pleasant with her than with George.

What does that mean, Alex?

It means I didn't give her any choice.

Is she very angry?

More or less. He changed the subject quickly then, and as Raphaella hung up the phone her thoughts were filled with the young girl, wondering what she was like, if she would like her.

It was as though Raphaella had suddenly acquired not just a new man, but a new family as well. And there was Kay to consider. Alex had mentioned that his sister would be coming out to San Francisco at some point to check on Amanda. And Raphaella hoped that eventually they could all become friends. They were, after all, civilized people. Kay was undoubtedly an intelligent woman, and Raphaella was sorry that she and Alex were at odds. Perhaps, eventually , she could do something to still the troubled waters. In the meantime, after the phone call, she bustled about setting everything right on the third floor of Alex's house. She had told him that he could reach her there while she worked on the room for Amanda, and when she was through with her labor of love, she sat down on the bed with a broad, happy grin. In a few days she had wrought a minor miracle, and she was very pleased.

She had turned the bedroom into an airy haven, a room filled with pink flowered fabrics and Victorian wicker, a huge flowered rug she had bought right off the floor at Macy's, and the antique washstand with the white marble top. She had put a large pink azalea in the old sink, and there were delicate flowered prints in gold frames on the walls. The bed was a four-poster with a white canopy and pink bows, which they had delivered only that morning. There was a huge pink satin quilt on the bed, and a little fur throw rug over a nearby chair. There was more of the flowered fabric and the wicker in the little study beyond. She had even found a small pretty desk that sat in front of the windows, and the bathroom had also been filled with pretty feminine things. The fact that she had been able to do it at all in so few days was nothing less than extraordinary, and that she had been able to bribe and cajole everyone into making deliveries still amazed her.

She had bought all of her purchases with the huge roll of cash she had gotten at the bank on Wednesday morning, she didn't want her checks to record any of those purchases. All of her accounts were balanced at John Henry's old office and it would have been impossible to explain what the checks had been for. This way she only had a single sum that had been withdrawn, and she would find some way to explain it, like a shopping spree, or perhaps in time the secretary wouldn't remember if it had been before or after her trip to New York.

The only one she had to account to now was Alex, and she was a little bit nervous about what he would say. In truth she had not spent a great deal of money, and he had asked her if she could see if she could order a bed. She had of course done a great deal more than that in the upstairs bedroom, but much of it was in fact simple. It was just done with a great deal of caring and style and good taste. The lavish profusion of flowers, the little white curtains she had sewn and trimmed with pink ribbons, the cushions she had thrown here and there, and the wicker she herself had spray-painted late one night made the difference. The extra touches that now looked so expensive in fact were not. But she hoped that Alex would not be angry at the extent of the decorating, she had just found as she went along that she couldn't stop until she had turned it into the perfect room for the battered young girl. After the horror of what had happened to the child, Raphaella wanted to help provide her with something special, a home she could sink into with a long, happy sigh, a place where she would be loved and could relax. She closed the door softly now and went back downstairs to Alex's bedroom, looked around, straightened the bedspread, picked up her coat, and walked down the stairs and out the front door.

With a sigh Raphaella opened the door to John Henry's mansion and walked slowly upstairs with a thoughtful look and a slow step. She looked around her at the velvet hangings, the medieval tapestries, the chandeliers, the grand piano in the foyer, and she realized once again that this was her home. Not the cozy little house on Vallejo, not the place where she had just spent almost a week like a crazy woman decorating a room for a young girl who also was not her own.

Mrs. Phillips?

Mmm? Raphaella looked up, startled, as she turned to go down the hall to her room. It was almost time for dinner and she still had to dress. Yes? The nurse from the second shift was smiling at her.

Mr. Phillips has been asking for you for the last hour. Perhaps you'd like to spend a moment with him before you change.

Raphaella nodded quietly and murmured, Yes. She walked slowly to the door of his room, knocked once, turned the knob, and walked in without waiting for him to bid her to enter. The knock was only a formality, like so many others in their lives. He was lying tucked into bed, with a blanket over him, his eyes were closed and the light in the room was very dim. John Henry? Her voice was only a whisper as she stared at the broken old man who lay in his bed. This was the room that had once been their bedroom, the room he had also long ago shared with his first wife. At first it had bothered Raphaella, but John Henry was a man of tradition, and he had wanted to bring her here. And somehow the ghosts had all faded as they had lain there. It was only now that she thought of them all again. Now that he almost seemed to be one of them. John Henry' . She whispered his name again and he opened his eyes. When he saw her, he opened them fully, smiled his crooked smile, and patted a place next to him on the bed.

Hello, little one. I asked for you earlier but they said you were out. Where were you? It was not an interrogation, only a friendly question, but something inside her flinched nonetheless.

I was out' shopping' . She smiled at him. For Christmas. He didn't know that her packages for Paris and Spain had all been shipped a month before.

Did you buy anything pretty? She nodded. Oh, yes, she had. She had bought lovely things' for Amanda, her lover's niece. The realization of what she was doing struck her once again like a physical blow. Anything pretty for you? She shook her head slowly, her eyes very wide.

I didn't have time.

Then I want you to go shopping tomorrow and get something for yourself. She looked at the long, angular frame of the man who was her husband and she was once more devoured by her own guilt.

I'd rather spend the day here with you. I I haven't seen you very much lately' . She looked apologetic and he shook his head and waved a tired hand.

I don't expect you to sit here with me, Raphaella. He shook his head again, closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them again. There was something infinitely wise in the eyes that gazed out at the young woman. I never expect you to sit here with me waiting, little one' . never' .I am only sorry that it is so long in coming. For a moment she wondered if his mind were wandering, and she looked at him with sudden concern in her eyes. But he only smiled. Death, my darling' death' . It has been a long wait for the final moment. And you have been a very brave girl. I will never forgive myself for what I've done.

How can you say that? She looked at him in horror. I love you. I wouldn't be anywhere else. But was it true now? Wouldn't she rather be with Alex? She asked herself as she reached for John Henry's hand and took it very gently in her own. I have never regretted anything, my darling, except she felt a lump rise in her throat as she watched him that this has happened to you.

I should have died when I had the first stroke. I would have, if life were a little more fair, and if you and that young fool doctor you hired had let me go.

You're being crazy.

No, I'm not, and you know it. This is no life for anyone, not for me and not for you. I keep you here year after year as my prisoner, you're still almost a child, and I am wasting your best years. My own are long gone. I was He closed his eyes briefly as though he were in pain and the frown on Raphaella's face deepened as she watched him. He very quickly reopened his eyes and looked at her again. I was wrong to marry you, Raphaella. I was too old.

John Henry, stop it. It frightened her when he spoke like that, and he didn't do it often, but she suspected that many of his thoughts centered on this theme. She kissed him gently and looked at him closely as he leaned forward. He looked deathly pale as he lay in the huge double bed. Have they had you out in the garden for any air this week, darling? Or on the terrace?

He shook his head with a crooked little smile.

No, Miss Nightingale, they haven't. And I don't want to go. I'm happier here in my bed.

Don't be silly. The air does you good, and you like going out in the garden. She sounded quietly desperate, thinking that if she hadn't been spending so much time away from him, she would have been aware of what the nurse was doing for him. They should have been taking him out. It was important that they keep him moving, that they keep him as alive and interested as they could. Without that she knew that he would stop trying and sooner or later he would just simply give up. The doctor had told her as much many years earlier, and she could see now that he had come to a very bad spot. I'll take you out tomorrow.

I don't want you to. He looked querulous for a moment. I told you, I want to stay in bed.

Well, you can't. So how's that?

Pesty child. He glared at her, but he smiled then and raised her hands to brush them with his lips. I still love you. So much more than I can tell you' so much more than you know. His eyes looked faintly misty. Do you remember those first days in Paris he smiled to himself and she smiled with him when I proposed to you, Raphaella. He looked at her clearly. My God, you were only a child. They looked at each other tenderly for a moment, and she leaned forward to kiss his cheek once again.

Well, I'm an old woman now, my darling, and I'm lucky you still love me. And then she stood up, still smiling. But I'd best change for dinner or you may throw me out and find yourself another young girl! He chuckled at this and when she left the room with a kiss and a wave, he felt better, and she berated herself all the way back to her room for having neglected him so terribly for the past week and a half. What had she been doing, running around buying furniture and fabric and curtains and carpets for almost a whole week? But as she closed the door to her bedroom she knew what she had been doing. She had been thinking of Alex, of his niece and of setting up her bedroom, of the other life that she wanted so badly. As she stared into the mirror for a long moment, tormenting herself for having neglected her husband for almost ten days, she wondered if she had a right to what she had with Alex. This was her destiny with John Henry. She really had no right to ask for anything more. But could she give it up now? After two months she was no longer sure that she could.

With a deep sigh she opened her closet, and pulled out a gray silk dress she had bought with her mother in Madrid. Black pumps, the exquisite necklace of gray pearls that had belonged to John Henry's mother, matching earrings, and a delicate gray slip. She threw it all on the bed and walked into her bathroom, lost in thought over what she'd been doing, thinking of the man she had almost forgotten, and the one that she never could, yet knowing that both men needed her. John Henry more than Alex of course, but they both needed her, and more than that, she knew that she needed them both.