Three
M was dozing, almost asleep, when she heard the noise. It brought her up with a start, and she tensed, straining to hear. There it was again . . . fainter now but nevertheless quite distinct, like metal falling on a hard surface.
There was somebody in the house. She remained very still, her mind racing. It couldn’t be Geo, she was in New Jersey. And Annette Lazenby, who rented the small attic apartment above M, was in Afghanistan on one of her journalistic assignments.
But there was somebody in the entrance hall, somebody who had broken into the brownstone; how they had done this she wasn’t sure. M knew she had locked the door of the studio which led to the garden, and later, when Dax had gone home, she had definitely double-locked the front door. But the alarm system was on the blink again, and she hadn’t been able to turn it on.
Was there a window open somewhere?
She swallowed, fear rushing through her, and for a split second she was paralyzed, wondering what to do. Then taking a deep breath, endeavoring to steady herself, M threw back the sheet and slid out of bed. Quickly taking off her nightgown, she dressed in the clothes she had shed a short while before, noticing that her hands shook as she zipped up her cotton pants.
After stepping into her loafers, she found her old Louis Vuitton shoulder bag in the cupboard, took it out, dropped in her cell phone, wallet, and door key, then slung it over her head with the strap across her chest. That was the safest way to wear it, especially now. She might get into a tussle with whoever it was downstairs.
After moving closer to the bedroom door, she stood listening for a split second; the silence was deafening. Her umbrella was hanging on the hook behind the door, and she decided to take it with her. It was the only weapon available.
Taking care to be scrupulously quiet, she opened the door an inch or two, peered out. Everything was in darkness and very still. Summoning all of her courage, she went out into the corridor and crept the few short steps to the head of the staircase; slowly, she began to walk down the stairs, holding on to the banister.
M was almost at the bottom of the stairs when a strong hand grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her forward. Startled and frightened, she began to scream and struggle, endeavoring to free herself. At the same time she lifted the umbrella and started hitting the intruder over and over again.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Geo shouted, instantly letting go of her. “It’s me. Geo! Stop hitting me, M.” As she spoke, she ran across the hall and switched on the light.
Still trembling and upset, M sat down heavily on one of the stairs, gaping at the other woman. “My God, what on earth were you thinking about, Geo? Creeping into your own home in the dead of night, frightening me to death. I thought you were an intruder.”
“I was a bit distraught earlier, and I rushed back home in quite an emotional state.” A deep sigh escaped the other woman, and she shook her head.
M was baffled. “Why were you distraught and emotional? Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
M’s dark brows drew together in a frown. “I don’t understand . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she gave Geo a curious look.
Without saying another word, Geo stepped past M on the stairs and flew up to the first floor, rushed into M’s bedroom, glanced around, and then came back downstairs, moving more slowly.
Because she was intuitive and exceedingly bright, M knew at once what was going on, and she said softly, “You thought Dax was here, didn’t you? With me. That’s what this is all about.”
Geo nodded, looking sheepish. “My next-door neighbor, Alice Foley, called me in New Jersey. . . . She’s kept an eye on the house for me for years and often calls me at my sister’s. She saw Dax huddled on the steps earlier this afternoon, and then later noticed the two of you in the garden. He had his arm around you, she said, and was kissing you. I thought you were the other person he was seeing. Because he is involved with someone else.”
M was silent; she just sat staring at Geo, who was standing in the middle of the hall again. After a moment, M said, “He’s certainly not involved with me, and I don’t know whether he’s seeing anyone or not. All I know is that he and I are simply friends, pals. When I got home this afternoon, he was on the steps, soaked to the skin and looking really ill. I brought him in and told him to dry himself off. I did the same, and then I made us hot tea.”
“But she saw the two of you making out in my garden,” Geo protested.
“No, she did not!” M shot back swiftly, glaring at Geo, suddenly angry. “What your neighbor saw was Dax giving me a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. There is nothing between us except friendship, and frankly I rather resent you suggesting otherwise. Anyway, what kind of woman do you think I am? Sneaking around stealing other women’s boyfriends is not my style. I think you should apologize.”
Geo looked shamefaced, and she slowly walked across the hall, pushing back her long blond hair, shaking her head regretfully. “I’m sorry, M, really sorry. I shouldn’t have accused you, shouldn’t have paid attention to Alice. She is an old busybody. But I’ve been perturbed about Dax and our relationship. I think he’s lost interest in me, and I really do care about him.”
“Apology accepted, Geo. Are you in love with him? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes, I am. And I thought he felt the same. Now I’m not so sure. Has he said anything to you? About me, or us?”
M shook her head, and quickly changing the subject, she asked, “Did you knock something over when you came into the house? I heard a crash, like metal hitting a hard surface.”
Geo nodded and gestured toward the wrought-iron coat stand. “I walked slap-bang into that, and it woke you up, right?”
“Yes, it did, and then I heard a fainter sound of something metallic hitting the floor. What was that?”
“My flashlight.” Geo began to laugh. “I’m an idiot, creeping into my own house like this, walking into the coat stand, dropping a flashlight, and wondering if I was going to catch you and Dax in a hot clinch in your bed. And wondering how I would handle that.”
M joined in her laughter and stood up. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like a cup of tea, or hot milk. What do you fancy?”
“To be honest, a vodka. How about you?”
“That sounds great. . . . It’ll help to calm me down.”
Geo glanced at her swiftly, frowning. “I really frightened you, didn’t I?”
“Yes. Absolutely. I knew someone was here in the hall. I was prepared to knock him down and get out.” She patted the old Louis Vuitton bag. “I stuffed this with a few essentials, like my cell and wallet, as well as the door key, just in case I had to run.”
“That was smart of you.” Geo walked toward the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, “Come on, M, let’s have that drink. I think you might need it more than I do. You’re as white as a sheet.”
Geo moved around the kitchen swiftly, taking a bottle of vodka out of the freezer, then filling a glass bowl with ice. As she arranged these items on a tray and went back to get a lime out of the refrigerator, her thoughts settled on M for a few moments. She liked her tenant, or paying guest as M preferred to call herself, and she was filled with chagrin for having even considered that M might be having a relationship with Dax.
How truly stupid she had been to think such a thing, even more stupid to have crept into her own house at such a late hour expecting to find them together. She must use much better judgment in the future; certainly she must question Alice Foley more carefully whenever she calls her in New Jersey. Her next-door neighbor meant well, but she had jumped to silly conclusions this evening.
Taking two glasses out of the glass-fronted cabinet, Geo stole a surreptitious look at M, who was sitting at the kitchen table looking forlorn.
There was no question in Geo’s mind that M had been frightened to death when she crept downstairs clutching the umbrella. The girl’s face remained pale, almost translucent, and apprehension lingered
in those dark eyes. Poor kid, Geo thought, she’s enough problems without me adding to them, scaring her when she was asleep.
Geo was a smart young woman, and at twenty-eight she had lived life to the hilt, seen enough to have insight into people. She had recognized from the start that M, full name Marie Marsden, came from a good family and had had a superior upbringing. She had impeccable manners, a cultured, rather beautiful speaking voice, and refinement. Even though her few possessions were well worn, they were of the best quality. On several occasions Geo had seen her carrying different-colored antique Kelly bags, and the old Louis Vuitton she was using tonight. They were more than likely hand-me-downs from her mother or her older sister, whom she had referred to once. Otherwise Geo knew very little about this reserved, polite young Englishwoman who had oodles of self-confidence. Not to mention looks to die for.
Georgiana Carlson, artist by profession, landlady by necessity, had never met anyone quite like M. There was something mysterious about her, and Geo couldn’t help wondering, yet again, what the real story was.
Turning around, picking up the tray, Geo suggested, “Let’s have our nightcap in the den. It’s much cozier than sitting at the kitchen table, isn’t it?”
M nodded and jumped up. “I’ll go ahead and put on the lights.” Hurrying across the hall and into the den, she switched on the desk lamp and made space on the coffee table for the tray, then dropped her shoulder bag on a chair.
The two young women sat down opposite each other; lifting the vodka bottle, Geo filled two glasses, put in ice, and added a chunk of lime to each glass.
“Thanks,” M said and gave her a faint smile as she took the drink.
Sitting back in the chair, Geo said, “Cheers.”
M repeated the toast and took a sip of the vodka, made a face. “That’s strong. Wow!” Placing the glass on the coffee table, she stared at Geo for a long moment, finally said, apologetically, “I hope I didn’t hurt you. . . . Obviously I didn’t know it was you I was bashing so hard with the umbrella.”
Geo grinned. “I deserved it, though. I behaved like an imbecile tonight.” She shook her head, looking bemused. “Men! They sure can drive us crazy, can’t they?”
M was silent. Her fear and anger had subsided, but only slightly. A hint of resentment still lingered. That Geo believed her capable of duplicity was annoying. Slowly, she said in a quiet voice, “Well, I suppose they can get a rise out of us. . . . Although I haven’t had that experience, because I haven’t had many boyfriends. And those I have had I haven’t had to steal from another woman.”
Geo caught the hint of sarcasm and realized at once that M continued to be miffed, so she answered swiftly, “Please, M, let’s get over this. . . . I told you I was sorry, and I am. Tonight has taught me a lesson. I mustn’t jump to conclusions, and I’ll have to question Alice more diligently should she ever call again to tell me there are strange goings-on at my house.” Geo took a sip of vodka and asked, “How is Dax? I haven’t seen him for ten days.”
“He’s got a terrible cold, and sitting on the steps here didn’t do him any good. Otherwise, he’s just the same, trying to get an acting job, or a fashion shoot. Neither of us have been lucky about finding work.” M peered at Geo and murmured, “He was waiting for you, actually. He certainly hadn’t come over here to see me.”
Geo nodded. “He’s left several messages on my cell, but I haven’t called him back yet. Unfortunately, I’ve had to make these sudden trips to New Jersey to help my sister. She lives with our aunt Gerry, who isn’t well at the moment.”
“I’m sorry. Is it something serious?”
“She has a heart condition, and we have to keep an eye on her. She’s in her eighties and has no family but us.”
M gave Geo a sympathetic look. “I hope she’s going to be all right.”
“So do I. My sister, Joanne, is very loving and caring, and she’s lived with our aunt for a few years now. She moved in after she was widowed. She used to be a booking agent for fashion photography but after she lost her husband it became too much. And having something to do, someone to care for, has really helped her to cope with her grief.”
“I know what you mean. My sister is a widow,” M volunteered and could have bitten her tongue off. Why had she suddenly confided this to Geo? She didn’t want anyone to know one thing about her. Anonymity, that was her goal. Her past was blotted out. Only the future mattered.
Geo looked at M alertly and said, “You never mentioned that. What did he die of?”
“A heart attack,” M answered laconically.
“So did Joanne’s husband. Dick was fifty-nine when he passed. How old was your brother-in-law?”
“Young, in his thirties,” M muttered. Changing the subject, she went on quickly, “Dax isn’t seeing another woman, I’m sure of it. He’s very focused on his career. He’s got the acting bug, you must know that.”
“Yes, I do, of course. And I have a feeling he’s hankering to leave New York, go out to the West Coast. What do you think?”
“It’s possible, he has mentioned it, I must admit. But why don’t you tackle him about it? That’s what I would do, anyway. You and he should talk it out, clear the air between you.”
“I think I’ll do that tomorrow. I’ll call him, go over and see him, look after him if he’s still sick. He’s awfully neglectful of his health, that I know. Now, what about you, M? Is there anything I can do to help? I do know a few fashion photographers, and I could call them up, introduce you.”
M sat up straighter in the chair and nodded. “That would be wonderful, Geo! How sweet of you to offer. Personal recommendations are the best.”
“Consider it done,” Geo responded. “I’ll get in touch with two of them on Monday. I know Hank George and Frank Farantino are in town, and we’ll see how they respond. It’s certainly worth a try. In my opinion, you’d be very photographable.”
Four
She could not fall asleep; M lay there in the dark, listening to the house, listening to its many voices.
She had grown up in old houses. To her, they were living things . . . they breathed and sighed, and groaned or moaned, especially in winter. And they frequently rattled their ancient bones, and sometimes shifted on their poor old feet. Her grandfather had once told her that the foundation of a house was like a pair of feet, and she had never forgotten this. She smiled to herself now, remembering him, Popsi, she had called him, remembering how he had confided that it was merely the wood used in the structure of the house that was expanding and contracting, and that she mustn’t be afraid of the noises. “A house is a safe harbor,” he had said that day. “The one true haven.”
M was well aware it was not the creaking house that was keeping her awake but her many anxieties. She had been scared out of her wits when she had heard those noises downstairs. How thoughtless Geo had been and, yes, stupid, to come into the house with such stealth. And all because of a man. Dax.
M turned over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, suddenly thinking of the house where she had grown up and had lived, until very recently, with her parents. She and her siblings had been schooled to always put the alarm system on, especially at night, and that lesson was forever engraved on her mind.
She had broached the subject of the alarm system here before coming back to bed tonight. Only when she volunteered to split the cost of having it checked and properly fixed, if this was necessary, had Geo reluctantly agreed. This decision had brought a degree of relief to M, and she was determined to make sure it was carried out. She had no intention of leaving this job to Geo, who once she was lost in her painting, was lost to the world, with all practical matters obliterated from her mind.
M was a pragmatist by nature, and she believed she had inherited her practical mind-set from her mother, who had always had her feet firmly planted on terra firma. Her Mum was diligent, disciplined, a stickler for work, and shrewd to boot. M loved her mother and father; they were extraspecial. She knew no one else who had parents
like hers, and she missed them tremendously. But even if she had been in London at the moment, it would have been the same state of affairs. They had gone to Australia for six months, mostly to see her mother’s mother, and M knew she would have been alone in London except for her favorite sister, which wasn’t a bad thing, after all; but all of her other siblings were abroad, living the life, or so she supposed. And working, of course. That was a certainty.
The Protestant work ethic had been force-fed to them by a couple of crazy zealots, their parents, who believed they were all going to be struck dead if they didn’t work their bums off.
She and her siblings knew that if they didn’t work they wouldn’t get breakfast, lunch, supper, or whatever. “You’re positively Dickensian in your attitudes!” M would yell at her parents, and they would simply laugh and give her the famous V for Victory sign à la Winston Churchill. And then, relenting, they would cuddle her, spoil her, and congratulate her, telling her she truly was a chip off the old block and was really earning her stripes. Then they’d take her somewhere special or buy her a unique gift.
And now here she was, in Manhattan, doing sweet nothing and getting bored. Dax would go to the Coast, M was convinced of that, and she must endeavor to get a job. She was not used to lolling around—that was the way she thought of it. Tomorrow she would make an effort to get a part-time job as a waitress. Or a shop assistant. No, waitress. Easier in so many ways. They were looking for somebody at the All-American Cheese Cake Cafe, not far from West Twenty-second Street. It would be something to do, and it would give her extra money. Yes, she would go there tomorrow. Talk to the manager. He liked her. Always gave her a big smile.
M turned restlessly in her bed, suddenly focusing on her plans to become a model. Well, she would, she knew she would. After all, she had come here to reinvent herself.
She was seeking obscurity and anonymity, and now she laughed out loud. How truly ridiculous she was. Seeking to go unnoticed yet she would put herself on a runway. Or in front of a camera to be featured in a magazine fashion spread. A dichotomy? Surely.
Breaking the Rules Page 3