Deceptions (67 page)

Garth sat back in the leather chair and watched the wavering reflection of lamplight in the deep red of his wine. He was very tired, and Nat's words drifted to him from far away.

After twelve years you've discovered things about your wife you hadn't suspected.

A little more serious than that. But still, something to think about. 'Nat,' he said. 'Would you do me a favor?*

'Ask.'

'Let me sit here alone for awhile. No interruptions. I'll join the festivities later.'

'Whenever you're ready.* Nat opened the cabinet and brought out a bottle of wine and a box of crackers. 'Everything you need for profound thoughts. Dinner is at ten-thirty.'

Garth barely heard him leave. Is it what you have

discovered—? What had he discovered besides the fact that he'd been deceived for three months into thinking he was living with his wife? He refilled his glass, and for the first time in weeks relaxed the rigid control he had kept over his thoughts. Images poured in: pictures, memories, recollections - a kaleidoscope revolving before his eyts.

He saw the woman who led the family to talk about his research at the dinner table and who encouraged him to turn down Foster Labs and stay where he would be most happy. He saw the woman who tore into Mrs Casey for damaging Penny's belief in herself and later found a way to ease Cliff out of his gang of thieves. He saw the woman who got Linda a job at Collectibles to give her a way to succeed on her own. He saw the woman who cowed Rita McMillan, marching her off to Lloyd Strauss's office to clear Garth Andersen's name and pave the way for his formal appointment as director of the Genetics Institute.

Why? Because she was having fun playing a role? Or because she cared about the people she was helping? Because she had fallen in love?

She loved his children. He knew that now.

The door opened, and Garth looked up to see Madeline Kane. 'Excuse me,' she said. 'Dolores wonders if you will join us for dinner.*

'I don't think so. I have some ... work to do at home. Dolores will understand.'

'Before you go, could you tell me -1 don't mean to pry, but - could you tell me when Stephanie will be back?'

Garth hesitated. 'I don't know. I can't tell you. Would you make my apologies to Dolores?'

He found his coat and left by the side door. The night was brittle with cold, and in the silent streets his footsteps crunched on hard-packed snow. He plunged his hands into his pockets and turned into the park along the lake, lengthening his stride across the unbroken white expanse shimmering beneath a full moon.

His wife of twelve years had cared about people, loved them, worried about them. But, no matter how involved she became in their lives, when there was a crisis she became fearful and withdrew. She could not have backed Mrs Casey

into a coraer or frightened Rita McMillan into a confession or even confronted Cliff when she thought he had been shoplifting.

And I knew that. Garth thought; I knew it but I let myself think that was one of the ways she was changing to help us rebuild our marriage.

But Sabrina, Lady Sabrina Longworth, who had no family and no responsibilities, who lived a lifeof extravagance that skimmed the surface of friendships and love affairs and even marriage ... she could dominate, she could confront, she could speak out. In fact, Stephanie had envied Sabrina for the courage to speak out and take the offensive when a wrong needed correcting. But was Lady Longworth the kind of woman who would have cared enough to take the trouble? Would she have loved Penny and Cliff? Would she have loved Garth Andersen?

His face felt frozen and his fingers in his coat pockets were numb. Garth turned toward home, slipping sideways on patches of ice as he broke into a run on the last block. The house was quiet; Penny and Cliff had left him half a bowl of cold popcorn and gone to sleep. Shivering, he laid a fire and lit it, then ran upstairs and changed into an old pair of jeans and a turtleneck sweater. In the kitchen, he fixed a tray of corned-beef sandwiches and beer, put on a pot of coffee and carried it all into the living room Where the fire crackled and leaped up the chimney. Pulling up an armchair, he sat down with his tray on a table beside him, looking at the flames, letting the warmth seep into his skin. He realized suddenly that he felt extraordinarily good.

Why? he wondered. And knew the answer even as he asked it. Because, as a scientist, he was making progress, making discoveries, and spiraling in on the central one, the heart of the puzzle. The woman he had lived with for the last three months was neither his wife nor her sister, but a different person, just as she had said she was in New York - a woman with the caring and loving of Stephanie and the independence and strength of Sabrina. That was why he had not seen through the deception.

There had been far more to his bUndness than the explanations he clutched in order to avoid disquieting

suspicions; trying to believe she wanted to renew their marriage, or was in shock after the accident, or was mourning and identifying with her sister. The fact was, Sabrina Longworth had not lived with them very long before she began to act as much like her sister as herself. Twins, Garth thought. In each other's homes, in each other's thoughts. Within a few weeks the best of Sabrina merged with the best of her sister; she was Stephanie Andersen in so many important ways that the suggestion that she was someone else would have seemed absurd.

And as that happened to her, she became as much a victim of the deception as he - loving him and unable to tell him so until she was sure it was over. She had been caught, and neither of them had realized it.

And then, of course, there was one more reason why he was content to believe this woman was his wife; he had fallen in love with her. She had deceived him for three months, yet for almost every moment of that time she was more than he had ever dreamed of finding and loving and making a part of his life. And even now, knowing what he did, he thought of her as his wife.

The sandwich plate was empty; the beer was gone. More than I've eaten in three weeks. Garth thought. He poked the fire, adding more wood, and then poured a cup of coffee. Holding it between his hands, he watched the orange flames, tinged with yellow and blue, as they licked the cheny logs and sputtered and hissed when they reached a hidden drop of sap. There was no one left to hate, no more room for anger. He mourned the woman he had married years ago, who had fled their house to find something of herself, only to find death. He remembered the love they once had. and he thought with sorrow of the misunderstandings and failures they had brought to each other in their years together.

But out of the tangle that she and her sister had created when they took each other's place. Garth found a single strand: a new beginning. We might have found it anyway, he thought. After twelve years, both of us were changing; peiiiaps we were almost at the place where we could have built a new kind of love and marriage.

Instead, her sister came and stayed and became both of them. My dearest love. My wife.

In the quiet room, he smiled at the softly whispering flames. We'll have to get married, he thought.

Chapter 25

Each morning, Dmitri called. Two days after the wedding, as Sabrina was closing Ambassadors for the hoUdays, he came to take her to lunch. 'I thought you might be melancholy, seeing your friend married and being without your family at Christmas.'

In the pub, a group was singing a French carol.' I know that song,' Sabrina said. 'We sang it at Jtiliette, my sister and I.'

'I want to talk about you,' he said. 'How can I give you what you want if you won't tell me what it is?'

'I told you, Dmitri. Friendship.'

'And that means someone to share feelings as well as talk and a lunch. All right,' he went on as she was silent, *I will talk about my villa in Athens. As it is near the homes of my sisters and their husbands and their children, too numerous to count, it is a good place to spend Christmas.' He took her hand. 'We could be private and see no one, or be part of a large family with much noise and kissing and music. We would do whatever you wish. Come with me, Stephanie. I would make no demands on you; only that you enjoy friends and family instead of being alone.'

The group ended its Christmas carol on a soft chord and began another. Dmitri smiled. 'We would teach you our Greek songs.'

Temptation tugged at her. To be with a family, even one that was not hers; to have a change of scene with no reminders of a sister who was gone ... But it was not fair to Dmitri. She was not a whole person. And though she had told him that many times, if she went with him to Athens he would think it a first step, not a single time shared by friends.

She shook her head. 'Someday I might, Dmitri, but not yet.'

'You should not be alone/ he insisted.

'Sometimes being alone is important. How else do we have conversations with ourselves to make decisions about the future?'

'Friends can help you make decisions. Stephanie, I would make no demands on you.'

She took her hand from his to pick up her glass of ale. She wanted very much to believe him. 'May I let you know tomorrow?'

His face lit up. 'I'll call you in the morning. We would leave in the afternoon of the twenty-fourth. Would that suit you? Never mind,* he added hastily. 'You can tell me tomorrow.' And, as they finished lunch, he talked about his family and Greek friends and neighbors. 'Andyou could help me decorate my villa,' he said as they left the pub, as Lf looking for one last incentive for her to come with him.

'Perhaps,' she answered, smiling, and they talked about the brilliant white sunlight of southern Greece, so different fi-om the light of other countries, while walking through London's damp gray afternoon, brightened only by Christmas lights.

Christmas lights: even the December mist could not dim them. They walked along Oxford Street, past SelMdges, where crowds stood at the windows, watching the story of Pinocchio acted out by puppets in miniature villages; and through Piccadilly Circus to Trafalgar Square, where the huge spruce, given each year to London by the city of Oslo, glittered as if stars had settled on its dark branches. Farther on, past Hyde Park Comer, every lintel, archway and window of Harrods, even its high dome, was outlined in pale gold lights like hundreds of small moons in the misty air.

Dmitri was silent, leaving Sabrina with her thoughts. She told herself the holiday meant nothing to her, that the lights and songs of carolers left her unaffected; but each time she saw a family group, with two children looking up and talking eagerly to the adults beside them, she turned quickly away, fixing her gaze elsewhere. It was then that she was gratefiil

for Dmitri's undemanding companionship and his graceful withdrawal at her door on Cadogan Square.

Inside, she found Mrs Thirkell gazing happily at a small tree in the drawing room. 'I thought it might cheer you up, my lady, but I'll put it in my apartment upstairs if it brings back too many memories.'

*No, leave it,' Sabrina said. 'Will you decorate it?'

*I will, my lady, but I thought we might do it together.'

My lady. She no longer corrected Mrs Thirkell; often she barely heard it. Nor did it seem important; it made Mrs Thirkell happy, and they were both used to it.

The telephone rang. Sabrina's hands clenched. Each time it rang she thought... butit never was. 'Another invitation.' Mrs Thirkell predicted.

'If so, another refusal,' Sabrina responded, and they smiled at each other. It was curious, she thought, as Mrs Thirkell went to answer it, how close they had become. Lady Longworth could not have done it; too many social barriers lay between them. But now, even though Mrs Thirkell called her 'my lady,' she also thought of her as an American who had never been married to a viscount. They still were not quite friends, but they were two women sharing a home, and Sabrina felt less isolated than she had feared she would.

It was Mrs Thirkell who handled the torrent of invitations that came in the week before Christmas - for house parties, trips to the south of France, skiing at St Moritz, New Year's Eve balls - telling everyone that Mrs Andersen was accepting no invitations for the holidays.

The calls were still coming the day before Christmas. 'You're the rage of the season,' said Mrs Thirkell with satisfaction as the telephone rang in the late morning. 'Because you're something of a mystery. Not quite real, if you know what I mean.'

Yes, Sabrina thought as Mrs Thirkell left the room. I know what you mean. But she was listening. Each time the telephone rang, she could not help herself; her body grew still, waiting.

'It's Mr Karras, my lady,' Mrs Thirkell said, returning. *And if you don't mind my saying so, I think you should go to Greece with him. It would do you good.'

Sabrina touched the needles of the small spruce tree they had decorated. It smelled of forests and mountains; of serene, private places. 'Perhaps I will/ she said, and went to talk to him.

But her face was clouded when she hung up; his delighted* eager voice, saying he would pick her up at four o'clock, made her feel guilty. It was not fair, it was not fair. I only want Garth, she thought; how will I talk and laugh with other people when I keep turning to the telephone to see if Garth is calling?

Mrs Thirkell found her a while later in the study. 'The post, my lady. Mostly cards, but also these packages.'

Sabrina knew what they were before she opened them. Two. One from Cliff, one from Penny. Nothing from Garth. Nothing. Not even a note. She unwrapped the packages, each colorfully wrapped, each with its own note. 'Mom, have a Happy Christmas,' Cliff wrote. 'With lots of food and presents. I hope you find what you're looking for. I wish I knew what it was. I love you. Your loving son. Cliff.'

'Dearest Monmiy,' wrote Penny. 'I hope you like this and it makes you happy. I'd rather give it to you but I can't so Daddy will mail it. We're all fine but sad and Cliff and I talk about you a lot. I love you, I miss you, I love you. Love, Penny.'

/ will not cry. I knew this might happen and I was prepared for it. I will not cry. Gently, she refolded the notes, pressing the creases with her fingertips, and then she opened the boxes. Cliff had sent a pin: a pair of yellow enameled birds on an enameled branch with two small leaves of green jade. A note inside the box said, 'These are you and Dad.'