A Perfect Stranger (34 page)

It was the only letter to which Raphaella did not respond immediately as she sat by herself for endless hours in her ivory tower. The letter from Charlotte languished for weeks on the desk, unanswered. Raphaella simply did not know what to say. In the end she answered simply, expressing her gratitude for the kind words and the woman's thoughts and hoping that if she found herself in Europe she would stop at Santa Eugenia and say hello. However painful for Raphaella the mental association of Charlotte and Alex, she had been fond enough of Charlotte in her own right, and in time she would like to see her again. But when she made the suggestion, she did not anticipate a note from Charlotte in late June. She and Mandy had just flown to London, as usual, to promote Charlotte's latest book. There was also going to be a movie tie-in so she was very busy. She was scheduled to fly on to Paris and then Berlin, but as long as she was in Europe, she was thinking of flying to Madrid to see some friends. She and Mandy were longing to see Raphaella and wondered if they could either lure her to Madrid or drive to Santa Eugenia to see her for an afternoon. They were willing to undertake the trip to see her, and Raphaella was deeply touched. Enough so that she didn't dare refuse to see them, but attempted to discourage them with kind words. She explained that it was awkward for her to leave Santa Eugenia, that her assistance was needed to keep an eye on the children and see that things ran smoothly for her mother's innumerable guests, none of which was true of course. Since the rest of the family had begun to arrive for the summer, Raphaella had been more elusive than ever, and often took her meals on a tray in her room. To the emotional Spaniards around her it didn't seem an unusual posture during mourning, but nonetheless her mother was growing increasingly concerned.

The letter that Raphaella addressed to Charlotte in Paris was put on the same silver salver where the family left all of its outgoing mail. But on the particular day Raphaella left it, one of the children scooped it all up in his knapsack to mail it in town when he went shopping for candies with his sisters and brothers, and the letter to Charlotte slipped out of his hand before he reached the box. Or at least that was the only explanation Raphaella could discover when Charlotte called her three weeks later, in July, having heard not a word.

May we come to see you? Raphaella faltered for a long moment, feeling at the same time rude and trapped.

I' it's so hot here, you'd hate it' and you know, it's so awkward to get here, I hate to put you to so much trouble.

Then come to Madrid. Charlotte's voice had been filled with good cheer.

I really can't leave here, but I'd love to. It was a blatant lie.

Well, then it looks as though we have no choice, do we? How about tomorrow? We can rent a car and come down after breakfast. How does that sound?

A three-hour drive, just to see me? Oh, Charlotte ' I feel awful' .

Don't. We'd love to. Is that all right for you? For a moment she wasn't sure if Raphaella really wanted them, and she suddenly wondered if she was pressing herself on her and Raphaella would rather not see them at all. Perhaps the link with Alex was still too painful for her to bear. But she sounded well to Charlotte, and when she answered again, she sounded as though she'd be pleased to see them.

It'll be wonderful to see you both!

I can hardly wait to see you, Raphaella. And you'll barely recognize Mandy. Did you know she's going to Stanford in the fall?

At her end of the conversation Raphaella smiled gently. Mandy' her Amanda' it pleased her to know that she would still be living with Alex. He needed her as much as she needed him. I'm glad. And then she couldn't help asking. And Kay?

She lost the election, you know. But you must have known that before you left. That was last year. As it so happened, she had known it, because she had seen it in the papers, but Alex had refused to discuss his sister with her during the brief revival of their relationship. For him there had been an irreparable break between them over Amanda, and Raphaella had often wondered what he would have done if he had known about Kay's letter to her father. He would probably have killed her. But Raphaella had never told him. And now she was just as glad. What did it matter? Their life together was over, and Kay was his sister after all. Darling, we'll catch up on all this tomorrow. Can we bring you anything from Madrid?

Just yourselves. Raphaella smiled and hung up, but for the rest of the day she paced her room nervously. Why had she let them talk her into it? And what would she do when they came? She didn't want to see Charlotte or Amanda, didn't want any reminders of her past life. She was leading a new life now at Santa Eugenia. This was all she would allow herself to have. What was the point of staying in touch with the past?

When she came down to dinner that evening, her mother noticed the nervous tremor of her hands, and she made a mental note to herself to speak to Antoine. She thought that Raphaella should see a doctor. She had been looking ghastly for months. Despite the brilliant summer sunshine she stayed in her room and remained ghostly pale, she had lost fifteen or twenty pounds since she'd arrived from San Francisco, and she looked frankly unhealthy compared to the rest of her family, with her huge dark, unhappy eyes in the painfully gaunt, waiflike face.

She mentioned in passing to her mother however that she was having two guests from Madrid the next day. Well, actually they're from the States.

Oh? Her mother looked at her warmly. It was a relief that she was seeing someone. She hadn't even wanted to see her old acquaintances in Spain. It was the most earnest period of mourning Alejandra had ever seen. Who are they, darling?

Charlotte Brandon and her granddaughter.

The writer? Her mother looked surprised. She had read some of her books translated into Spanish and she knew that Raphaella had read them all. Would you like them to spend the night? Raphaella shook her head absently and went back upstairs to her room.

She was still there late the next morning when one of the servants came upstairs and knocked softly on her door. Do+|a Raphaella' you have guests. She hardly even dared to disturb Raphaella. The door opened and the fifteen-year-old girl in the maid's uniform visibly quailed.

Thank you. Raphaella smiled and walked to the stairs. She was so nervous that her legs felt like wooden posts beneath her. It was odd, but she hadn't seen any friends in so long that she didn't know what to say. Looking serious and a little frightened, in one of the elegant black summer dresses her mother had bought her in Madrid and still wearing the black stockings, she walked down the stairs, looking frighteningly pale.

At the foot of the stairs Charlotte waited, and she gave an unconscious start when she saw Raphaella approach. She had never seen anyone looking so anguished and unhappy, and she looked like a portrait of sorrow in her black dress with her huge grief-stricken eyes. There was instantly a smile there for Charlotte, but it was more like a sad reaching-out across an unbridgeable chasm. It was as though she had slipped into another world since she had last seen her, and as she watched her, Charlotte felt an almost irresistible urge to cry. She managed somehow to quell it and took the girl in her arms with a warm, tender hug. She realized as she watched the gaunt beauty hug Amanda that in some ways she was even more beautiful than before but it was the kind of beauty one only looked at, one never touched, and one never really came to know. Throughout their visit she was hospitable and gracious, charming to them both, as she showed them the house and the gardens, the historical chapel built by her great-grandfather, and introduced them to all the children who were playing with their nannies in a special garden built just for them. It was an extraordinary place to spend a summer, Charlotte found herself thinking, and it was a relic of another life, another world, but it was no place for a young woman like Raphaella to be buried, and it frightened her when Raphaella told her that she planned to stay there.

Won't you go back to San Francisco? Charlotte looked upset.

But Raphaella shook her head quickly. No. Eventually I have to go back to close the house of course, but I may even be able to do that from here.

Then won't you want to move to Paris or Madrid?

No. She said it firmly and then smiled at Amanda, but Amanda had said almost nothing. She had only stared at Raphaella for the most part since they had arrived. It was like seeing the ghost of someone they had once known. This wasn't Raphaella. It was a kind of broken dream. And like Charlotte, Mandy spent the afternoon trying not to cry. All she could think of were the times with Alex, when he and Raphaella had been so happy, when she had been there when Mandy got home from school every day. But now, as she looked at this woman, she was a stranger, someone different and foreign. She reminded Mandy of Raphaella, but nothing more than that. It was a relief when at last Raphaella suggested she go swimming, and as Raphaella had so long ago, she tried to work out her feelings with a long exhausting swim, which gave Charlotte an opportunity to be alone with Raphaella, something she had longed for all day. Now, as they sat side by side in comfortable chairs in a secluded corner of the garden, Charlotte looked at her with a tender smile.

Raphaella ' may I speak to you as an old friend?

Always. But the look of the frightened doe came to her quickly. She didn't want to answer any questions, didn't want to have to explain her decisions. This was her life now. And she didn't want it exposed to anyone but herself.

I think you are tormenting yourself beyond anything that anyone can imagine. I see it in your face, in the haunted look in your eyes, in the way you speak' . Raphaella' what can I tell you? What can anyone say to set you free? She had gone right to the heart of the matter in a single minute, and Raphaella turned her face away so that the older woman would not see the shimmer of tears in her eyes. She appeared to be looking at the garden, but slowly, sadly, she shook her head.

I will never be free again, Charlotte.

But you are imprisoning yourself in this life. You are wrapped in guilt over something I will never believe was your doing. Never. I will always believe that your husband was tired of living, and if you let yourself, I think you'd know that too.

I don't know that. I never will. It doesn't matter anyway. I had a full life. I was married for fifteen years. I want nothing more. I am here now. I have come home.

Except that it's not home to you anymore, Raphaella. And you're talking like an old woman.

Raphaella smiled. That's how I feel.

That's crazy. And then, on the spur of the moment, she looked Raphaella in the eye. Why don't you come to Paris with us?

Now? Raphaella looked shocked.

We're going back to Madrid tonight and we fly back to Paris tomorrow. How does that sound?

Slightly mad. Raphaella smiled gently. It appealed to her not at all. She hadn't been to Paris in a year now, and she had absolutely no desire to go.

Will you think about it? Raphaella shook her head sadly.

No, Charlotte. I want to stay here.

But why? Why must you do this? It's not right for you.

Yes, she said, nodding slowly, it is. And then finally she dared to ask the question that had been on her mind all day long. How is Alex? Is he all right now? He had written to her twice and she had not answered, but she had seen in his letters that he was distraught over what had happened, and it was compounded by her removal, her silence, and her original insistence that they would not meet again.

Charlotte nodded slowly. He's coping. But this had been much harder than his separation from Rachel, and she was no longer entirely certain that he would ever be quite the same. She wasn't sure whether or not she should say that to Raphaella. She wasn't sure that Raphaella could bear any more guilt than she was already carrying around. You never wrote to him, did you?

No. She looked Charlotte squarely in the eye. I thought it would be better for him if I cut the cord all at once.

That was what you thought once before, wasn't it? And you were wrong that time too.

That was different. Raphaella looked vague, remembering the scene in Paris with her father only a year before. How intense it had all been, how important, and now everything had changed and none of it mattered anymore. Kay had lost her precious election, she had lost Alex, John Henry was dead' . Raphaella glanced up at Charlotte now. Kay wrote a letter to my father, telling him about the affair with Alex, begging him to stop us, which he did. Seeing how shocked she was by this revelation, she decided not to add the information about the letter to John Henry, which had been an even crueler act. She smiled at Alex's mother. He threatened to tell my husband and he had me followed. He also insisted that I was being selfish and destroying Alex's life by keeping him from marrying and having children. She sighed softly. That time I really felt I had no choice.

And this time?

My father wanted me to come here for a year. He thought it was the least I could do her voice dropped to barely more than a whisper after killing John Henry.

But you didn't kill him. A moment passed between them, and then, What happens after the year? Will your family be unhappy if you leave here?

I don't know. It doesn't make any difference, Charlotte. I won't. This is where I belong. This is where I will stay.

Why do you belong here?

I don't want to discuss it.

Stop punishing yourself, dammit! She reached out and took Raphaella's hands in her own. You're a beautiful young woman with a fine mind and a good heart, you deserve a full, happy life, a husband, children' with Alex, or with someone else, that's up to you, but you can't bury yourself here, Raphaella.

Raphaella pulled her hands slowly out of Charlotte's. Yes, I can. I can't live anywhere else with what I've done. Whoever I touched, whoever I loved, whoever I married, I would think of John Henry and of Alex. One man I killed and the other I nearly destroyed. What right do I have to touch the life of anyone else?