Deceptions (16 page)

That made her laugh, and for a moment she felt better.

'Ah, you are lovely,' he said softly. 'Like a queen. I have come back for your answer, Sabrina, to be my queen - so I may spread the world at your feet—*

A memory streaked past Sabrina: Denton saying he would buy her a piece of the world for each birthday. Why did the men she knew offer her things instead of feelings?

In the act of spearing veal and dipping it in three different mustards, Antonio saw Sabrina's frown. He put down his fork. 'You cannot be surprised. I told you I would expect your answer tonight.'

'Antonio, I want to talk to you.' Rapidly, before he could stop her, she told him about Jolie and Michel's suspicions of Rory Can and her discovery of the forgery. She ignored his deepening scowl. 'Of course I'll buy it back from Olivia and tell her the truth. I'm sure she won't broadcast it; why should she? If you could help me decide how to tell her—'

'Sabrina.' She waited. 'Your friends say there have been five forgeries? And it appears that some galleries are collaborating with this Westbridge?' She nodded. 'And your friends will publish their story in the newspaper. Exposing this Westbridge. And its book-keeping.'

Around her the softly lit room dinmied as the fears of the past week returned. 'Of course,' she said slowly. 'Descriptions of every piece sold to every gallery, including Ambassadors.'

*Ah, you are a child,* he said. 'You think you will ask Olivia to keep silent, but what you will be asking her to do is lie when all her friends read descriptions of her Meissen stork in a story on forged art. Why should she lie for you?'

Sabrina looked at the discreet crowd dining on the restaurant's famous veal and duck and spicy gossip. They would lie for their own protection, but few would lie for another. Some friends would lie to protect me, she thought: Alexandra, Antonio, a few others. No, she added with bitter humor; there's a limit to the number of times Alexandra can rescue me.

'My Sabrina/ Antonio said, signaling the waiters to remove their plates and bring coffee. 'I am glad you finally told me of these problems. I admire your strength and spirit, but there are limits to what any woman can do alone in the world of commerce. I will not allow you to suffer. I will hire solicitors to deal with this Westbridge, I will help you close your little shop and then I will take you far away, where you will have no more difficulties.'

'Where you buy off the clouds so it will not rain.'

*I beg your pardon? Is this some of your humor, my Sabrina?'

'No. I apologize.' She could do it; she could many him and let him cany her off to live where he was indeed like a king and she would be safe at his side. But always in his enormous shadow, and without her "little shop".

It wasn't enough. She held her glass of cognac to the light and looked into its amber glow. I want more than a protective shadow. I want someone who knows that that "little shop" is a very big part of me, something I built, something I'm proud of. I want someone who will put his arms around me at night, in the quiet time when I wake up fiightened about tomorrow or next week or next year, and hold me, and tell me I'm not alone. I don't know if Antonio would ever let me admit to fears when I am under his protection.

She put down her glass. She couldn't make a decision now; she refiised to be forced into one when she was being pulled in so many directions. Antonio would have to be patient a while longer. And if he refused, then she would face that fact alone.

He was waiting for her to speak. She changed the subject, finishing her dinner with the poise and light conversation that had carried her through a number of complicated affairs, and then quietly told him that she was very tired and wished to go home.

He stood abruptly and reached for the chiffon scarf she had worn around her shoulders as the waiters, caught by surprise, rushed to help. 'You make difficulties for me. my Sabrina. I wish only to help you.* When they reached her firont door, he said brusquely, 'I will telephone you tomorrow.'

In the quiet beauty of her drawing room, she sat beside a window reliving that long day, from the time she discovered the forged porcelain to the moment when she refused to answer Antonio, however bad the future might seem. She tucked her legs under her and put her head back against the chair.

Everything piled up. She was always running, as she had told Michel, afraid her life would get away from her. It took all her time and energy to keep her business going while keeping up with her crowd of friends, who were also her customers - wearing the right clothes, entertaining, taking time from Ambassadors for house parties and cruises. She loved it all - the brilliant, glamorous life of Sabrina Longworth, photographed and described in magazines around the world: aristocratic friends, luxurious homes, exotic foods, travel, clothes, her famous Ambassadors - a spinning world she could keep balanced as long as she was in control. But now she felt she was losing control.

She was so exhausted she ached all over. She felt hollow and alone. The clock on the landing struck ten-thirty. She hadn't been home this early in months. Now that she had time to think, she was too tired. All she really wanted to do was cry.

But that was for later. If she needed it. Because she wasn't alone. She calculated quickly - ten-thirty in London; four-thirty in Evanston. Stephanie would be home from work; Penny and Cliff would be outside playing. A good time to call. She reached for the telephone.

On her way to work, Stephanie stopped at the bulletin board to read the notice, dated August 18, that the office would be on a full schedule through September, even though classes would not start until the end of the month. Another reason she couldn't go to China. As if kids and house and money weren't enough. If she were a professor, the university would pay her way. Unlocking her desk in the room she shared with two other women, her anger flared as it did every time she thought of Garth spending a month in Berkeley and San Francisco.

He got a vacation while she stayed home and worked. He had a month near the ocean, an exciting city to explore; she had Lake Michigan, Evanston, two children, a house, a job. 'It's not a vacation,' he said. 'I'll be at the university, working. No time for romping through the city or degenerating in its nightspots.'

He joked about it, but he flew off and left her behind. And at the end of the sunmier session, worn down by office work and the humid August heat, Stephanie didn't think she could greet him with a cheerful face when he returned the next day. How could she keep her resentment from bursting out and ruining his homecoming for all of them? Well, she just wouldn't talk. Let the rest of them make conversation.

'Stephanie,' said one of the secretaries. 'Coffee?'

'No, thank you,' she said. 'I want to finish and leave early.'

She organized her desk as secretaries firom six deans' offices traded tidbits on the latest campus scandal. This one was nastier than most, accusing women students and professors of trading sex for grades. Whispers had floated around campus all summer, but lately their volume and ferocity had increased and Stephanie had begun hearing names mentioned by groups huddling in corridors. One of the names was their friend Martin Talvia. She would have to tell Garth when he got back.

Stephanie began to type up notes made by guidance counselors in sessions with students. But in a few minutes she stopped; the women were glancing at her furtively.

'What?' she asked. 'What's happened?'

'Stephanie,' said William Webster's secretary, 'would anyone want to make trouble for you and Garth?'

'I can't imagine—' She stopped. 'What is it?*

The secretary held out a piece of paper. 'This was on my desk this morning. With Dean Webster's mail.'

Stephanie took it. A letter, typed on pink stationery: 'If you really want to know who gives grades for work between the sheets instead of in the classroom, take a good look at the famous Professor Garth Andersen, who talks like a monk but flicks like a monkey.'

She read the words over and over. Childish, but ugly and very effective. Bile welled in her throat. She swallowed, feeling it bum. Not Garth. No one was more decent and honest than Garth.

But Garth stayed away most nights, 'working,' he said, and on those nights he slept in the study 'to avoid disturbing' her. He never looked at her anymore: he hadn't noticed when she lost weight and changed her hairstyle and bought new clothes. He wouldn't take her to Stamford. How long had it been since they had a real marriage?

Carefully Stephanie folded the note and put it in the pocket of her sundress. 'Stephanie,' the secretary said. *It isn't true. Everybody knows Garth—'

'Thank you,' she said and turned blindly back to her typewriter. She sat for a moment until her stomach settled and then worked steadily through lunch, until three o'clock, when she went home.

Penny and Cliff were visiting friends in Highland Park; she would pick them up the next day before going to the airport to get Garth. Alone in the rambling, quiet house, she rehearsed her argument with Garth, leaving out no detail of their courtship and marriage, reliving all that was good and all that was wrong with the past twelve years.

And she forgot most of it the next afternoon when they faced each other in their bedroom, while Penny and Cliff were playing. 'I don't believe it. If I ever have, I'm sony, but when was the last time you listened to what I was saying?'

'What should I listen to? Talk about the university? Did it ever occur to you that I'm sick of the university? But it's all you care about. You don't care about me. When did you last even look at me? We talk in the kitchen, we eat at the same table, we get dressed to go out, and you never once look straight at me. Or if you do, you look through me, thinking of something else - probably the university. If you closed your eyes, would you know what I look like? Would you know what your children look like? Do you have any idea what we think about? Do you remember how we used to make love, before it got to be a kind of routine exercise you perform when you do me a favor and sleep in here instead of

in the study? You know one thing, you care about one thing

- the university, and whatever it is you do there—' 'You know what I do. I tell you every—'

'And whoever you do it with.'

'What does that mean?'

'You know what it means.'

'I don't and I don't give a damn. What I do know is, you sit there and complain that I don't care about you, but you haven't once asked me about Berkeley, and when I try to tell you about it, to share one of the most important times in my life with you, you won't let me.'

'How could I know it was so important? You never told me—'

'I told you a hundred times this last year, and then again and again, every phone call from Berkeley—'

'Talking about yourself all the time, not once asking about Qiff.'

•Cliffr

'You were going to talk to him - remember? Weeks ago when I told you I found some things in his room - a radio and -1 forget what—'

'I meant to. Stephanie, I'm sorry, I really meant to, but the last few weeks, getting ready for this seminar—'

'You keep talking about it as if it were something you never did before. You could do it in your sleep.'

'I have tried to tell you in every way I could that this was different. Stephanie, please listen. I worked for two solid years for this. I know I neglected all of you, but there was so much to do to be ready to stand up in front of this group

- the top geneticists in the world, Stephanie - and give the major paper of the seminar. 1 put together everything I've done for the last twelve years and then took a flying leap into the future, telling them what we should be doing in the years ahead. And then those eminent scientists dissected my every word so we could spend the rest of the month talking shop based on the conclusions of my paper. All that kept me going was that I learned to chant molecular formulas to calm my nervous stomach. The hotel staff thought they'd been invaded by mathematical Krishnas.'

She laughed reluctantly. 'Well? It went all right, you said.'

'A little better than all right. It was, in fact, a triumph. Everything I ever hoped for-—'

That's wonderful. And it means you've finished your work here. You can take the job in Stamford.'

Garth stared at her. 'Is that job all you think about?'

'It's important to me. And it would be to you if you cared about what I want.'

He moved from the window to stand behind a deep armchair where Stephanie curled up at night to read. He rested his hands on the back of the chair and looked at them. *1 do care. But I can't wipe out my needs, even to give you what you want. I'm torn, Stephanie; I wish you could understand that it isn't an easy choice. There's the money-I know what it means to you; it means something to me, too; do you know what a budget I'd have for research and staff? But there's the other side - the freedom of the university, my teaching, which I love; you know how I feel about those things.'

'We talked about those same things before we were married. Don't you think it's time you grew up and wanted other things?'

'Yes, by God, it is. And one of the things I'd like is a wife who gives a damn for my needs and provides some support when—'

'Don't you dare accuse me of not caring about your needs! I spend most of my life - when I 'm not earning money to help pay for the house you live in - ironing your shirts, cooking your meals, cleaning your bathroom, making sure you have the kind of soap you like for your tender skin—'

'Damn it, that's not support, that's maid service. Stephanie, we used to talk about my dreams, and you encouraged me to hold onto them.'

'That was a long time ago. I've given you twelve years; now you might give me a few. I want to get out of the Midwest and meet new people and live a different way. I want the excitement of New York—'

'For God's sake, you've been talking to your sister.'

•What?'

'My Lady Sabrina, who dines at castles and dances until dawn. Every time she calls she gets you more dissatisfied. You never expected me to be a rich lord until Sabrina married one, and now you nag me to be something I'm not just so you can have the kind of pampered, parasitic life she has.*