Bannerman's Law (3 page)

Nellie Dameon smiled. She raised one gloved hand
toward Lisa who accepted it, tentatively, then wondered
what she was to do with it. Kiss it? Curtsey? Or assist
Nellie Dameon to her seat. She presumed the last.

Nellie settled daintily onto the marble bench and smoothed the folds of her robe so that the hem covered
her shoes. It was not so much a robe, Lisa decided, as an eve
ning coat, the sort one used to wear over long dresses.
The style was at least fifty years out of date but it showed
little sign of wear.

“
May I sit
?”
she asked. She realized that, standing,
she was exposed to view from the ch
a
teau. Other staffers
were moving about the grounds. One man, youngish, dressed in a suit, was walking across the lawn toward
Jason Bella
rmi
ne. He carried what looked like a medical
bag. Lisa lowered herself and backed away toward the
bench reserved for Ga
r
bo. She hesitated.
“
Is this one all
right
?”
she asked.

Nellie Da
m
eon nodded. Lisa sat.

“
I've seen several of your films
,”
she said. ”I have
two of them on tape.
Broadway
and
The Four Horsemen
.”

Lisa bit her lip. She probably should not have men
tioned videotapes. They belonged to a world that Nellie
Dameon no longer knew. But if the word sounded strange
to her, she gave no sign. Rather, she t
o
ok notice of the drying mud that covered Lisa's hands, legs, and much of her clothing. She raised a finger, pointing it first at Lisa
and then at the ch
a
teau, frowning, her eyes narrowing. She
was asking a question.

”Um
.
.
.
no
.”
Lisa chose not to lie.
”
I don't work
here. I snuck in through those woods
.”

Nellie Da
m
eon
’
s eyes asked why.

“
To see the house
,”
she said.
“
To see you, I guess.
But I never really expected
.
.
.”

The old woman raised a hand. Her head had turned in
the direction of the young doctor. He was moving toward them. Nellie Dameon brought a finger to her lips and ges
tured, urgently, in the direction of the trees. Lisa under
stood. Crouched low, she backed away. She hid herself.

She watched, between the branches of a juniper, as the doctor approached, greeted the old woman pleasantly, and
eased himself down on his heels beside her bench.

“
Was someone here, Miss Dameon
?”
Lisa heard him
ask. She crouched lower. But the doctor, oddly, did not look in her direction. He was looking toward the house.

The actress shook her head.

“
M
r. Bella
r
m
i
ne said there was a
w
oma
n
.
H
e heard her speak
.”

Nellie Da
m
eon smiled. Slowly, she raised a finger to her temple, making a circular motion with it.

The doctor answered her smile, but his eyes were stern.
“
Nellie
,”
he tapped the seat beside her,
“
the bench is
still warm. I feel her
.”

She shook her head, stubbornly. She made another cir
cular motion with her finger, this time pointing it at the
young doctor.

His grin widened, his expression now a bit sheepish. Lisa could see that his bluff had been called and he knew
it. She had not been sitting where he claimed to feel
warmth. He had only the word of a blind old man who
thought he was still a director and who painted scenes that
only he could see.

Lisa watched as he took Nellie
Dameon's
hand, his
fingers feeling for her pulse. His eyes dropped to his wrist-
watch. He counted for a few moments, then frowned.
“Y
our
heart's really cooking
,”
he said, distantly. But he was no
longer looking at the watch. He was studying the grass
around the bench. There were footprints there. In the dew.
Too many. Lisa's heart began to pound as well. The young doctor touched the folds of Nellie's coat. He moved them
slightly, revealing her shoes. Lisa understood. He was
looking to see if she was wearing heels. She was not.

Nellie Dameon took his hand. She slapped it, lightly,
reprovingly. She gave it an affectionate squeeze. He raised
his free hand in surrender, then continued his examination
although his attention, thought Lisa, kept turning toward
the house.

“
Are you sure
,”
he said at last,
“
that none of those
people have been bothering you
?”

She nodded, patting his knee.

“
If they ever do, any of them, do you promise you'll
tell me
?”

Another nod. A smile.

Lisa watched as he finished the examination. It was not
much of one. He looked into her eyes, had them follow h
is finger. He tested her grip and, lightly, he scratched
each of her hands to determine that she had sensation in them. With a stethoscope drawn from his bag, he listened
at her chest, then, partially peeling her evening coat, he
listened at her back.

Satisfied, he covered her. His hands lingered on her
shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze.
“
Stay well
,”
he
said. Lightly, he kissed the top of her head, then turned
abruptly toward the ch
a
teau.

Nellie Dameon watched him go. Not looking at Lisa,
she raised a staying hand in her direction. The young doc
tor had reached the broad stone terrace. He seemed to pause there momentarily, as if deciding whether to go
inside or to visit the two old men on the far side of the
lawn. He chose, apparently, to continue his rounds. He set
off toward the one in the yachting costume. The old
woman motioned Lisa forward.

“
He seems very nice
,”
said Lisa tentatively, drawing
near.

Nellie Dameon nodded. ”.
.
.
ss.'`

“
Um
.
.
.
Did you just say something
?”

The actress looked at her. The eyes were clear. Search
ing. But suddenly they closed. She shook her head.

“
Miss Dameon
.
.
.”
Lisa knelt at her side.
”
I think
you did. I think you just said
yes
.”

There was no response. Nellie Dameon looked away.
But those eyes had told Lisa that she was not mistaken.

“
Is it that
,”
she tried again,
“
you don't want people
to know? That you can talk, I mean
?”

Slowly, the eyes returned to Lisa's face. Searching
again. A parchment hand rose toward Lisa's face. It
touched a long curl that had fallen across her cheekbone. Nellie Dameon rolled it between her fingers, feeling it,
studying it. Then, slowly, the eyes rose to meet Lisa's.
They looked deeply. An eyebrow flicked upward,
questioningly.

Lisa thought she understood.
“
No
,”
she said earnestly.
”I wouldn't tell anyone. Not if you don't want me to
.”

The old woman's eyes narrowed. Her mouth curled
upward at one corner. It was a look of
...
sk
e
pticism. It
removed any doubt.

“
Listen
.
.
.”
Lisa took Nellie's hand and held it
against her cheek.
“
It will kill me not to be able to say
anything
.”
Especially,
she thought,
to Professor Meck-
lenberg
.
“
But for what it's worth, I swear. I won't say a word unless you give me permission
.”

The hand squeezed her own, briefly, then freed itself. Gently, it caressed Lisa's hair, bringing it forward, framing
her face with it.

”.
.
.
Auburn
,”
she said.

Lisa held her breath.

“
Like mine
.
.
.
once
,”
she whispered, distantly.

“
You
can
,”
Lisa gasped.
“
You can
talk
.”

The fingers moved to Lisa's mouth, silencing her. Now
they moved to her cheek, feeling the skin, as if studying
it. The eyes drifted, slowly, over Lisa
'
s body, the small
bosom, narrow hips, slim waist.
Like mine once,
she said
again, but this time only to herself. And yet Lisa could
hear it.

“
Are you my d
.
.
.
” The old woman stopped herself.
She closed her eyes. She shook her head as if to show
that she knew the question to be foolish.

And once more, Lisa heard, or sensed, the word that was not spoken. The word was
daughter.

“
I'm just
.
.
.
Lisa Benedict
,”
she said.
“
I'm only
twenty
-f
our
.”

Nellie Da
m
eon nodded. So sadly, thought Lisa.

The actress wet her lips.
“
You look
.
.
.
eighteen
,”
she said.

”I know
.”
Lisa took her hand.
“
It runs in the famil
y
.
We're all built like boys
.”

“
Your mother
.
.
.
looks like you
?”

“
She did once, I guess. She died when I was little
.”

The old woman's eyes became moist. She swallowed.
“
She had a
...
mark. A strawberry mark
.”
She
to
u
ched
her own throat just above the right collar bone.
“
Here
.”

Once more, Lisa took her hand.
“
I'm sorry. She
didn't
.”
She
'
s not your daughter either. Lisa said this last with her eyes.

“
Would you tell me
,”
Nellie Da
m
eon wet her lips,
“
when she was born
?”

“
Umm, nineteen thirty
.
.
.
two, I guess
.”

The huge eyes blinked. The lips parted.