Somewhere in Time (18 page)

"What is it?" she asked suspiciously, not following any of my instructions.

I drew in a quick breath. "I wasn't sick." "I do not-"

"I only told you that I wasn't feeling well so I could get you to myself."

What did her expression signify? Acceptance? Shock? Disgust? "You tricked me?" she asked. "Yes."

"But that is loathsome."

I thought her tone belied the harshness of the word and was impelled to answer, "Yes, it is. And I'd do it again."

Once more, the look, as though she sought to understand me totally in the examination of my face. Abruptly, then, she shook herself, making an impatient sound. Turning, she started toward the hotel again, myself beside her. "Guess it's time I found a room," I said.

She glanced at me. Dear Lord, did that sound ulterior too? I thought. "You have no room?" she asked.

"There was no time to get one," I told her. "I started looking for you as soon as I arrived."

"You may have difficulty then," she said. "The hotel is very crowded."

"Oh," I murmured. One more thing I hadn't taken into consideration. Still-I force-fed confidence to my mind- there was sure to be something available. It was the winter season, after all.

� � �

As we entered the Rotunda, Robinson was standing by one of the pillars, obviously waiting for our return.

"Excuse me," Elise said and I saw a whitening around her nostrils as she started toward him. There were sparks between them, sure enough; the books had been correct on that.

I wondered momentarily about how I was going to see her again, no arrangements having been made. Then I realized that first I had to have a room and quickly turned toward the desk. How could I have a room though? The contradiction was disturbing to me. My signature was destined for tomorrow, not tonight.

The answer was not long in coming. Clerk Rollins, eyeing me with cool disdain, took obvious relish in informing me that not a single room was available for occupancy. Perhaps tomorrow.

Irrevocably tomorrow, I almost replied. Instead, I thanked him, turned, and started from the desk. Elise and Robinson were still engaged in what was, clearly, not an amicable discussion. My pace decreased, faltered, then stopped. Now what? I thought. Sit on a lobby chair all night? I felt the start of a smile on my lips. Perhaps that giant armchair on the mezzanine. That would provide a curious-albeit sleepless-satisfaction. Maybe I could ask Elise if I could sleep in her private railway car tonight. I discarded that idea instantly. I had done enough to make her suspicious. I would risk no more.

I started slightly as she turned from Robinson, her features tensed by an expression of wrath which cowed even me. Seeing me, she altered her direction and walked to where I stood. "You have a room now?" she inquired. I could not tell for sure whether it was concern or challenge in her voice.

"No, they're all taken," I answered. "I'll have to get one in the morning."

She gazed at me in silence.

"Don't worry about it, I'll manage something," I told her.

She didn't look excessively worried about it, her expression still on the harsh side; a carry-over from her talk with Robinson, I hoped. "I'm more concerned about seeing you-" I began, breaking off as she turned and started back toward Robinson. Now what? I thought. Was she about to order him to punch me in the nose? I watched with wary interest as she stopped in front of him and said something. He shook his head, glanced angrily in my direction, looked at her again, and spoke with obvious fury. What in God's name was she saying to him? I wondered. Whatever it was, his monumentally adverse reaction led me to believe that she was requesting him to help me.

Now he reached out suddenly and took hold of her right arm. She jerked it away from him, that striking look of command on her face again. I was newly awed by the fact that this woman, capable of such monarchical possession, had been so kind to me. If she had wanted to, she could have sent me packing in an instant; that was obvious.

Not that Robinson looked overly subdued by her authority. She did stand up to him, however, and clearly had the better cards in hand; for he fell silent, scowling at her as she went on speaking. After several moments, she turned away from him and came back across the Rotunda to me, that expression still on her face, intimidating me. Was she going to tell me off now?

"There is an extra bed in Mr. Robinson's room," she told me. "You can stay there tonight. Tomorrow, you will have to make other arrangements."

I wanted to refuse her; tell her I'd rather sleep on the beach than spend the night in the company of her manager. I couldn't do that though; it would be insulting to her after she had, once more, extended herself for me. "Fine," I said. "Thank you, Elise."

For many seconds, I was under that intense scrutiny again, her eyes searching mine, her expression one of tight uncertainty, as though she would have welcomed the motivation to send me packing but could not quite summon it. I said nothing, realizing that this feeling on her part was the only thing in my favor at the moment.

Abruptly, she murmured, "Goodnight," and turned.

To stand there, watching her move away from me, had to be the most terrifying experience of my life. It took every bit of will I had not to run after her, clutch at her arm, and plead with her to stay with me. Only the conviction that doing so might alienate her completely kept me from it. My need for her was overwhelming. Like a frightened child, I stood there, watching the one person in this world I longed for most vanish from my sight.

I didn't hear his footsteps; never noticed his approach. My first awareness of his presence was a viscid clearing of the throat nearby. I turned to face his stony visage. His dark eyes were regarding me, to put it bluntly, with murderous hatred.

"Know immediately," he told me, "that I do this out of deference to Miss McKenna and for no other cause. Were it left to my election, I should have you bodily ejected from the premises."

I could not have believed, until that moment, that any comment of his might strike me as funny. Yet, despite my wretchedness over Elise's departure, his comment did sound funny to me; it was so utterly and staunchly mid-Victorian. I was forced to restrain a smile. "You are amused?" he asked.

Amusement fled before physical alarm. He was a heavy man if not a tall one; I had a good three inches on him and was feeling infinitely stronger, but it was best I didn't goad him into fisticuffs. "Not by you," I said.

I'd meant the remark to be conciliatory but it sounded more like an insult. I suppose it was an optical illusion but it seemed as though Robinson's suit went taut all over, every muscle in his body expanding simultaneously with rage.

"Look," I said. I was starting to lose patience with him. "Mr. Robinson. I don't want to argue with you or have any kind of difficulty. I know you think-I take that back, I don't know what you think of me except that, obviously, you disapprove. For now, though, can we call a truce? I'm just not up to anything else."

He regarded me at length with those cold, black eyes of his. Then he said, eyes narrowing, "Who are you, sir, and what is your game?"

I exhaled wearily. "No game," I said. His smile was thin, contemptuous. "That we shall see," he observed, "as sure as eggs are eggs."

Good phrase, I thought, in spite of my awareness of his threat to me. The writer's mind at work.

"I will warn you once and then no more," he continued. "I do not know what you have said to Miss McKenna which has caused her to accept you with such credulity. You are a long way wrong, however, if you think your ruse, whatever it may be, has cozened me in any way, shape, or form."

I felt inclined to applaud but didn't. I didn't contest his will in any way because I knew that Mr. William Fawcett Robinson had to have the last word. We would stand in the Rotunda all night if I failed to understand that and behave accordingly. So I let him have the point. "May we go to your room now?" I asked.

His features contorted with a look of disdain. "We may," he answered.

Turning on his heel, he began to move across the floor in rapid strides. For several moments, I failed to comprehend what he was doing. Then, suddenly, it came to me that he had no intention of escorting me. If I were unable to match his pace, he would simply tell Elise that he had tried to take me to his room and I had chosen not to follow.

I stepped off, walking after him as fast as possible. You son of a bitch, I thought. If I'd felt a trifle more dynamic, I think I would have taken a run and punch at him. As it was, I was lucky to keep him in sight at all. He started up the staircase two steps at a time, obviously intending to outdistance me, and causing me to find out that my physical recovery was not as extensive as I'd thought.

Thank God for a sense of humor. I have often thought it but never more acutely than during those moments. If I had not been able to appreciate the ludicrous quality of that chase, I think I would have buckled. I did appreciate it though-in the very midst of it. I must have made a farcical sight, lurching up those stairs, holding onto the banister rail, trying to keep him in view as he bounded upward like some damned overweight gazelle. More than once, my legs gave way and I pitched against the banister, holding on like an earthquake victim. Once, another man came down the stairs but, unlike the first man I'd met, this one eyed my reeling ascent with icy disapproval. I actually laughed as I wallowed past him, though to him it doubtless sounded like a drunken hiccup.

By the time I reached the third floor, Robinson was out of sight. I staggered to the corridor and looked both ways, then, seeing no one. spun around and staggered to the stairs again, continued climbing. The walls were starting to blur around me and I knew I didn't have much longer to go before I'd pass out. And here I'd thought that I'd completely overcome the side effects of my journey through time. One more mistake.

Fortunately, I came across him on the fourth floor. What the hell's he doing way up here? I wondered dizzily as I turned right from the staircase landing and saw him down the corridor, talking to some man. I don't know, even now, if he'd spoken to the man deliberately, giving me a chance to catch up with him; not out of personal sympathy, God knows, but because he'd had second thoughts about facing Elise after I told her I'd been ditched. Then again, he might have simply run across the man and been unable to avoid a conversation.

Whatever the case, as I approached them on my rubbery legs, I heard that they were discussing the play. Nearing them, I stopped and leaned against the wall, wheezing and puffing, fighting off waves of darkness. Robinson chose not to introduce me, which was just as well since I couldn't have done more than gurgle at the other man. He must have wondered, though, who in the name of heaven this strange, perspiring fellow was, slumped against the wall.

Finally, the conversation ended and the man walked by me, his appraisal darkly curious. Robinson moved into a side corridor and, pushing from the wall, I followed him. His room was on the left. As he unlocked the door, I wavered toward him, too close to fainting now to wait for an invitation.

Robinson said something in a surly tone as I barged past him through the doorway; I couldn't interpret a word of it. My blurring vision, going fast, made out two beds on the opposite side of the room. One of them had a newspaper lying on it, so I groped for the other, miscalculated distance, and banged my shins against the footboard. Gasping in pain, I hobbled to the side of the bed and pitched clumsily across the mattress, reaching down with my right hand to break the fall. My palm slipped on the spread and I felt my right cheek jar down on it. The room begin to turn around me like an unlit, silent merry-go-round. I'm going! I thought. The frightened awareness was the last to cross my mind before unconsciousness devoured me.

� � �

A sound awoke me. Opening my eyes, I stared at the wall. I had no idea where I was. Ten to fifteen seconds passed before I felt a sudden jab of fear and turned my head.

Contradictory, I suppose, that the sight of Robinson consoled me. It did, however, for it told me in an instant that I hadn't gone back. Despite a period of actual unconsciousness, my system had remained in place. Which could only mean I had begun to send down roots.

I stared at Robinson, confused by the way he stood with his back to me, facing what appeared to be a blank wall. He was holding something in front of himself. I couldn't see what it was but, from the crackling sound it emitted, it was something made of paper.

At last he moved, there was a thumping sound, and he began to turn. I closed my eyes, not daring to deal with him again. After a while, I opened them a tiny bit and saw that he had turned away from me. I glanced to the spot where he'd been standing and made out the door of a wall safe.

I looked at Robinson again. He was sitting in a wicker chair by the windows, removing his shoes. There was an unlit stump of cigar clamped in the left corner of his mouth. He'd removed his coat, vest, and tie and I saw elastic bands on the sleeves of his striped shirt, the mountings on which looked as though they might be made of sterling silver. The trimmings on his black suspenders also looked like silver.

The chair creaked as he dropped his second shoe-more like an ankle-high boot, I saw-sighed, and propped his black-socked feet on a stool. Reaching over to a writing table by the chair, he picked up an ornately designed silver pocket-knife. He opened it and began to run the blade tip underneath his fingernails. The room was so still I could hear the delicate rasping noise. I noticed the ring on the third finger of his right hand, black onyx with a raised gold emblem.

I wanted to look around the room but my eyelids were getting heavy again. I felt warm and comfortable even in Robinson's presence. After all, he was only doing what he thought was best for Elise.

I began to think about what she'd said to me behind the hotel; that she'd been expecting me. How could that be? An answer seemed impossible unless one thought in terms of ESP. Was that it? I felt perplexed, yet at the same time deeply grateful. Whatever the explanation, her expecting me had made all the difference. She was still a long, long way from accepting me in the way I wanted to be accepted, but at least a start had been made.