Deceptions (27 page)

'How odd,' said Gabrielle as the waiter poured their wine. 'You hear so many rumors about someone you feel you know him, and then he turns out to be completely different. You knew him years ago, didn't you, Sabrina? When you and Denton were married?'

'Yes,' Stephanie said cautiously. Had Sabrina liked him? Loved him? She had never mentioned his name. 'What rumors have you heard?*

'None that you haven't heard. He certainly seems more civilized than they make him out to be. But Brooks doesn't like him.'

Brooks gazed at her. 'You never fail to astonish me, Gabrielle. Was I impolite?'

'No. Impassive. Tlie way you are when you disapprove of something I say or do, but you'll wait until later to spank me in private.*

'And have I ever spanked you?'

'Only with words.'

There was a pause. Brooks put his hand over Gabrielle's. 'I apologize. I never thought of a spanking. And I promise I will not spank Max Stuyvesant, in public or in private.'

Gabrielle laughed. '1 hope not. He might turn the tables.'

'Was there really an Annabel?' asked Stephanie. They were making her uncomfortable - childlike Gabrielle, who, surely, had been more grown-up long ago at Juliette, and Brooks, acting like a teacher, amused, critical, surprised when his student said something intelligent.

'I never met Annabel,* said Brooks as the waiter served their soup. 'But if you want to know the story of the club—'

'Where does he get his money?' asked Gabrielle.

Brooks sighed. 'The fascinating Max Stuyvesant. No one

really knows. He owns art galleries in Europe and the Americas, and he may be an agent, but none of that would account for his wealth. He's seen at auctions, and his private collection is considered one of the finest in the world. Beyond that, everything is rumor. He doesn't talk. And he's been gone for three years, so the rumors are no doubt even less reliable than usual.'

'Will you, Sabrina? Brian can manage Ambassadors another day, can't he? He did the whole time you were in China. And we'll be back Sunday evening. Sabrina? Have you been listening?'

'No, I'm sorry; I seem to have—'

'Drifted away. Now listen: Will you come with us to Switzerland?'

'Switzerland?'

'I repeat, since you were not listening. Tomorrow Brooks is flying to Bern on business, and I'm tagging along. I shall be dreadfully bored while he is working, so I'm asking you to join us. There's plenty of room in the plane, and Brooks will take care of your hotel room. We'll be back on Sunday. Yes?'

Stephanie did not hesitate. *Yes.*

Gabrielle clapped her hands. A waiter cleared their plates, another poured coffee, a third divided a sugared Grand Marnier souffle among them as they talked together like old friends. Stephanie smiled with pleasure. And her smile met the answering smile of Max Stuyvesant as he made his way once more to her table.

The dance floor was crowded, and they moved in a narrow space. The rhythm of the music, slow with a steady heartbeat in the bass, slid into Stephanie's blood, and her body swayed as she followed Max's lead.

'How is it we have never danced?' he asked.

'How is it we have never talked?' she responded recklessly. She felt young and unfettered, and she saw in his smile that she was beautiful and that he desired her.

Talked,' he repeated. 'For some time I had the impression that you would have found cozy chats with me distasteful.'

'Which explains why we have never danced.'

'My impression or your distaste?'

•Both.'

•Very quick, Sabrina. WiU you have dinner with me tomorrow night?'

'No.'

•How abrupt. Not even an excuse? The South American, for example?'

'I'm sony. I'll be away until Sunday.'

'Sunday night, then.'

'Late Sunday.'

'I am free on Monday.'

'On Monday I'll ... be away again, for the day and evening.'

The dance ended. He still held her. 'We will find an evening. May I call you next week?'

Stephanie nodded, and they walked back to her table. She was shaken by her thoughts. She wanted him. A stranger -mysterious, arrogant, with cold eyes and an air of absolute assurance. So different from Garth, who was content to fill his own place in the world without demanding a larger one. How could she desire him? She had never desired anyone but Garth, and not even Garth, in this trembling way, for years. She breathed a sigh of thanks that she would be away for the next three days.

Which meant she would never see Max Stuyvesant again.

They reached the table. Gaby and Brooks were dancing and Stephanie hesitated. Well, then, she would never see him again. That was the best way to handle the feelings churning within her. 'Goodbye,' she said, unable to keep a regretful note from her voice.

He kissed her hand. 'Until next week.'

Stephanie watched him return to the table where his fiiend waited. She picked up her wine glass and a waiter rushed to fill it. The best way, she repeated to herself. She tasted the pale gold of her wine. Tomorrow they would leave for Bern.

The Lear jet was furnished with a built-in, curved leather couch, two armchairs and a long teak table used as a desk

and for eating the Fortnum and Mason box lunches Brooks ordered for his trips. On the hour-and-a-half flight to Bern, Gabrielle and Stephanie feasted on French cheeses, bread and fruit, while Brooks read the reports of his managers in Bern.

'They're introducing a new line of cosmetics,' said Gabrielle. 'Or maybe an old line with new names. Brooks refuses to talk about it; you wouldn't believe the games they play with lipsticks and moisturizers and all the rest: passwords, codes, secret formulas, spies from other companies. It is big, big business.'

Stephanie rested her arm along the back of the soft leather couch, and looked through the window at the small, neat fields below, far different from the sprawling landscapes of America. But everything is different from America, she thought. Here is Stephanie Andersen, dashing off for a quick trip to Switzerland in a friend's private jet while her housekeeper tends her five-story town house and plans a tempting snack for Sunday night when my lady returns. 'Nice,* she said.

'What, the view? I like the Alps better. Do you know what I thought we might do? Visit Juliette. I haven't been back since we graduated, and it's less than an hour by train. What do you think?'

'I think I'd love it.*

But when they were there, standing in the park and looking up at the school's balconies and red tiled roof, they were dismayed. Nothing had changed, but - 'How small everything is!' they said. Professor Bossard's castle was just a large, handsome building in a pleasant park, neither as awesome nor as grand as it had seemed when they were students. 'And look how young the girls are,' Gabrielle marveled. 'Not nearly as sq>histicated as we were.'

Stephanie smiled. 'Maybe we weren't.'

'Of course we were.'

*I don't know. We sat up there on the fourth floor and dreamed about growing up—'

'Third.'

'What?'

'We lived on the third floor. Your sister lived on the fourth,

remember, with that girl, what was her name? The one from New York.'

'Dena Cardozo. You're right.' They wandered through the building - 'feeling older every minute,' Stephanie murmured. Professor Bossard was dead, his place taken by a rotund, white-bearded Santa whom they found in the gymnasium discussing tournaments with the fencing instructor.

Stephanie walked to the center of the room, imagining the foil in her hand, remembering a match she had lost, and a quarrel with Sabrina.

'Gaby,' she said abruptly, 'I'm starved. Let's go into town for something to eat.'

They walked down the hill, through the vineyards. 'I had a good time there,' said Gabrielle. 'But I was always disappointing people who expected too much of me. You knew you wanted to do something in art and antiques, but all I wanted was to find somebody to take care of me. To stand between me and the world and cherish me. Do you know what I mean?'

Stephanie nodded, her eyes on the choppy blue of Lake Geneva and the jagged Alps beyond the far shore. Wasn't that exactly what she had wanted with Garth? 'And now you have Brooks,' she said.

'Now I have Brooks. As long as I can walk the line that keeps him happy.'

In the town, they found the small caf(6 that had been their favorite when they were students. They sat outside in the sun and ordered lunch. 'Walk what Une?' asked Stephanie.

'The one you warned me about.'

They were silent. 'And was I right?'

'You were always right about Brooks. He wants a child-bride he can mold and be proud of and be adored by. And he also wants someone who can fuck like a professional and make smart conversation at dinner.'

Taken aback, Stephanie said, 'Did I really say that?'

'Not exactly. But close. And I didn't believe you and now I do. So I play act: One minute I'm a httle girl, and then I'm a demimonde who's had a hundred lovers* and then I switch

to the sharp lady who sees, for example, that he doesn't like Max Stuyvesant, even though he's trying to cover it up/

'Not easy.'

'No. And I don't even know who I'm deceiving-him or me. But Sabrina, what can I do? I love him so much that I can't forget it for a minute; all I want is to sink into him and live there forever. And I'll do whatever I have to do to stay there.'

With her finger, Stephanie traced the red checks on the tablecloth, thinking of Garth, remembering New York before they were married, and their early years when everything was new and wonderful. He had loved her for what she was, not for what she could pretend to be.

They ought to be able to find that love again; it couldn't have disappeared completely. If she went home and told him she wanted to go back to the beginning... but she couldn't go back. Not now, not today. How could she walk into her house and say, 'Hi, everybody, I'm home!' - and come face to face with Sabrina cooking dinner? But it's only three more days, she thought. Then I'll be back with Garth and my family. Not even a full three days. Just the weekend. And then I'll be home.

And what will be waiting for me?

A filthy anonymous letter about my husband, worries about money. Penny wanting art lessons, CU^s shoplifting, and trying to start a business again.

All of it. Waiting for me. But I don't want to think about it now; there's nothing I can do, and it would just spoil the rest of my week. There's plenty of time to think about it when I'm home again. Plenty of time to take care of everything.

Gabrielle talked steadily on the train back to Bern, giving Stephanie new information about Sabrina and her Ufe, the kind of details people take for granted. It's too bad I'm about to leave, she thought wiyly. With these facts I could play Sabrina for weeks.

Still, she was nervous when Brooks shepherded them to the Kursaal after dinner; she had never gambled, and she didn't want to learn on Sabrina's money. But Brooks and Gabrielle took it for granted that he would buy chips for the three of

them. So all I have to wor j about now, Stephanie thought, is pretending I know how to play houle.

But it was so easy - a simplified form of roulette - that within a few minutes she was betting cautiously with the chips Brooks had stacked in front of her. Gabrielle leaned close. *Brooks thinks you're being careful because you didn't buy your own chips. If you don't start being extravagant he'll be insulted. And very difficult to get along with.'

'No,' Stephanie said. 'It's just that irdoesn't make sense to—'

Brooks interrupted. 'Of course, you're right; it can't compare with Monte Carlo, but it's the best Bern has to offer. We'll play for an hour or so and then Gaby wants to dance. Bet enough to make it interesting; all profits go to that new museum you're helping raise money for.'

Profits, Stephanie thought. When I've never gambled in my life.

But she began to win, thinking all the while how foolish it was to bet money on where a tiny bouncing ball would come to rest among nine slots. Surrounded by serious players, she bet whimsically on the first digit of her telephone number in Evanston, and won. She bet on the first number of her address, the first number of Penny's birthday, and the first number of Cliff's, and won all three times.

Gabrielle's eyes sparkled. 'What's your system?'

•Birthdays, addresses, telephone numbers.*

'Whose?'

'It doesn't seem to matter.'

'Sabrina, that's not a system; that's witchcraft.'

'You're probably right. Next thing you know, I'll turn into someone else.'

She bet the first digit of her London address. And she lost. It was so unexpected that she stopped short and stared at the little white ball that had betrayed her. She put a modest number of chips on the first digit of her London telephone number - and lost.

'Systems tend to do that,' said Brooks. 'So does witchcraft.'

Gabrielle, who had won once and lost twice on Stephanie's system, stood up and swept her remaining chips into her

hand. 'These are for your museum, Sabrina. And I am for dancing.'

When they cashed in their chips, Stephanie had won a little over a thousand dollars. 'The system did well for the museum,' she said casually and followed Brooks and Ga-brielle to a table near the orchestra.

It hit her as she was dancing with Brooks. The system did well for the museum? A week ago a thousand dollars would have seemed a miraculous windfall for groceries, paying bills, sending Penny to art classes, perhaps buying a new dress for herself. I'm becoming Sabrina, she thought. Thinking like the rest of them in this fairytale world.

'Sabrina,' said Gabrielle as they walked back to the hotel. 'This has been so wonderful I don't want it to end.'

'Neither do I.'

But tomorrow was Sunday. Her last day.

'Come home with me,' she suggested. 'I'll call MrsThirkell and tell her to expect us. She's only had me to feed this week, and she's happiest when she can show off for discriminating guests.'

Did she really know that about Mrs Thirkell? Of course she did. Because Sabrina knew it. And when they flew back Sunday evening and Stephanie led Gabrielle and Brooks upstairs into the drawing room, Mrs Thirkell's smile was so delighted, and her buffet supper so ample, that Stephanie knew she had chosen the perfect way to end her week: entertaining in her Cadogan Square home - before she had to leave it for good.