Iris Johansen

by The Ugly Duckling

  Balcony.

  She heard Nicholas’s indrawn breath behind her. “I forgot all the rooms on this side have balconies. Do you want me to have your room changed?”

  Oh, God, she wasn’t ready for this after the day she’d had. She wanted to weep and hide under the bed. But she couldn’t hide. All the hiding was finished.

  “No, of course not.” She braced herself and walked toward the glass doors. “Do they open?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve been in a good many hotel rooms where the doors are kept locked. I guess it’s supposed to keep people from having accidents, but it used to make Richard furious.” She was talking quickly, saying anything to keep from thinking about what lay beyond those doors. “He loved the view from a balcony. He said it gave him a rush.”

  “He probably connected them with Peron or Mussolini waving at the populace.”

  “That’s not kind.”

  “I don’t feel kind. Dammit, stay away from that—”

  She opened the door and the sharp wind struck her face. Not like Medas, she told herself. This balcony was tiny and utilitarian. The view wasn’t like Medas either. No rocks or churning surf. She stepped close to the high railing and looked down at the lights and cars streaming like lightning bugs far below.

  Two minutes. She would give herself two minutes and then permit herself to leave the balcony.

  The music box was tinkling …

  Here we go down, down, down …

  “Enough.” Nicholas grasped her arm and whirled her away from the railing and into the suite. He slammed the doors and locked them.

  She drew a deep, shaky breath and had to wait a moment to steady her voice. “Such violence. Did you think I was going to jump?”

  “No, I think you were testing yourself to see if you could stand the pain. You had to prove how strong you were. Wasn’t standing over your daughter’s grave enough? Why don’t you just put your hand into an open flame?”

  She smiled with an effort. “There wasn’t one available.”

  “Not funny.”

  “No.” She crossed her arms over her chest to stop the trembling. “I wasn’t testing myself. You don’t understand.”

  “Then make me understand.”

  “I was afraid. I’ve never been a very brave person. But I can’t afford to be afraid any longer. The only way to get past being afraid is to face the thing you fear.”

  “Is that why you went to the graves?”

  “No, that was different.”

  Sorry, Jill. Forgive me, baby.

  Panic raced through her. She felt as if she were dissolving. She turned her back to him and said quickly, “I want you to leave now. I’m not afraid of that poor waiter from room service, and I promise I won’t go out onto the balcony.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders.

  She stiffened.

  He turned her to face him. “I’m not leaving.”

  She stared blindly at his chest. “Please,” she whispered.

  “It’s all right.” He drew her into his arms. “You feel as if you’re made of glass. Let go. I’m not important. I’m just here.”

  She stood rigid, staring straight in front of her.

  Here we go up, up, up …

  She slowly let her head fall on his chest. His arms went around her. No intimacy. As he said, he was just there. Close. Living. Comforting.

  She stayed that way a long time before she could force herself to step back. “I didn’t mean to impose on you. Forgive me.”

  He smiled. “Those exquisite manners again. It was one of the first things I noticed about you. Did you learn them at your mother’s knee?”

  “No, my mother was a math professor and far too busy. My grandmother really raised me.”

  “She died when you were thirteen?”

  She was surprised for a minute, until she remembered the dossier he had mentioned. “You have a good memory. That report you have on me must be very complete.”

  “It didn’t mention that Jill wasn’t Calder’s child.”

  She automatically tensed before she remembered it didn’t matter any longer. No Jill to protect. No parents to please. Why not tell him? He knew everything else about her. “No, it wouldn’t. My parents were very clever in covering up that fact. They wanted me to have an abortion, but when I refused, they scrambled to put on a good front.”

  “Who was the father?”

  “Bill Wazinski, an art student I met while I was attending William and Mary.”

  “You loved him?”

  Had she loved him? “At the time I told myself I did. I was certainly in lust with him.” She shook her head. “Probably not. We were both in love with life and sex and all those wonderful canvases we were sure were going to be masterpieces. It was the first time I’d ever lived away from my parents, and I was drunk with freedom.”

  “And this Wazinski wasn’t willing to take responsibility?”

  “I didn’t tell him. It was my fault. I’d told him I was on the Pill. His father was a coal miner in West Virginia and he was studying on a scholarship. Why should I mess up both our lives? I went home to my parents as soon as I found out I was pregnant.”

  “An abortion would have been the easier course.”

  “I didn’t want one. I wanted to finish college and get a job.” She added bitterly, “My parents didn’t agree. An unwed mother was an embarrassment they wouldn’t tolerate.”

  “In this day and age?”

  “Oh, they prided themselves on being free thinkers. But they worshiped self-control. Children must be born in the family structure. Life must always be civilized and carefully orchestrated, and I’d not behaved with the proper decorum by coming back to them pregnant. I should have gotten an abortion or married my baby’s father.”

  “But Jill was born the year after you returned to Greenbriar.”

  “Seven months. I told you my parents covered my indiscretion well. I married Richard two months after I returned to Greenbriar. He was working as an assistant to my father and he knew I was pregnant.” She smiled without mirth. “He couldn’t have escaped knowing. I’d tossed the household into a turmoil. My parents weren’t used to me fighting them over anything. He came up with a solution. I could keep the baby and he’d marry me and take me away.”

  “And what did he get in return?”

  “Nothing.” She met his gaze. “Richard wasn’t the climber you seem to think he was. I was desperate and he offered to help me. He didn’t get anything out of it but another man’s child and a wife who was sometimes an embarrassment to him. I had the right background for an executive’s wife but certainly not the temperament.”

  “You seemed to be doing well that first night I met you.”

  “Bull,” she said impatiently. “A blind man could see I was miserably shy and as socially adept as Godzilla. Don’t pretend not to remember.”

  He smiled. “I only remember thinking you were a very nice woman.” He paused. “And that you had the most extraordinary smile I’d ever seen.”

  She stared at him, stunned.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “Room service.” He turned and moved toward the door.

  The waiter was a middle-aged woman of Latin descent who bustled in with the tray. She quickly set out the food on the table by the French doors and smiled cheerfully as Nell signed the bill.

  “Not very intimidating,” Nell said dryly once the waiter had left.

  “You can never tell.” Nicholas started across the room. “Keep the door locked and don’t answer to anyone but Jamie or me. I’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow morning.”

  The door closed behind him.

  His sudden departure surprised her as much as his other actions today.

  “Lock it,” Nicholas said on the other side of the door.

  She felt a twinge of annoyance as she crossed the room and shot the bolt.

  “Good.”

  He was no longer there. She didn’t hear his footsteps, but sh
e could no longer sense his presence. It was a relief to be rid of him, she told herself. She had not wanted him to go with her today. She had wanted to face that horror by herself.

  And she had certainly not wanted to confide in him. If he had shown her pity, she would have instantly rejected him. Instead, he had been as impersonal and resilient as a pillow. A dynamic man like Nicholas wouldn’t be complimented by the comparison to a pillow, she thought. Oh, well, perhaps it was just as well she had broken that long silence. When the words had tumbled out, it had seemed like stepping out of the shadows into sunlight. No shame. No hiding. Release.

  She moved back toward the table. She didn’t want the food, but she would eat anyway. Then she would shower and go to bed. She was so exhausted, maybe she would go right to sleep. Perhaps she would not even dream.

  She deliberately sat down at the table in the chair facing the balcony and started to eat.

  Seven

  “I’ve found what you want,” Nigel Simpson said as soon as he picked up the phone. “I know why the hit was made.”

  “Why?” Nicholas asked.

  “Come here and I’ll tell you. And bring two hundred thousand dollars in cash.”

  “No deal,” Nicholas said flatly.

  “I have to get away. I think someone is watching me.” Nigel burst out, “It’s your fault. You made me do this. I’ve been dealing with Kabler for over a year and no one’s suspected me. It’s not right that I have to give up everything and run away.”

  “The only payment you’ll get from me is silence.”

  “I tell you, I need the money to—”

  “Jamie tells me you have a Swiss account with the money Kabler has been funneling to you. I’m sure that’s enough to start a new life in some tropical paradise.”

  There was silence at the other end of the line. “A hundred thousand dollars, and I’ll give you the books I keep for Gardeaux.”

  “What good would they do me? You said yourself that they weren’t incriminating.”

  “Unless you put them together with Pardeau’s records. Then the picture becomes complete.”

  “Who is Pardeau?”

  “François Pardeau, 412 St. Germain. My counterpart in Paris.” Nigel’s tone became sly. “You see how cooperative I am. That didn’t cost you a penny.”

  “The records might not do me any good. I don’t want Gardeaux behind bars.”

  “Kabler does. I could approach him.”

  “Don’t try to play us against each other, Simpson. If you need money right away, you know Kabler’s out. It takes time to cut bureaucratic red tape and get authorization for a bribe of that size.”

  “Do you want the books or not?”

  “I want them. For fifty thousand, false passport and identity papers and safe escort out of England. Take it or leave it.”

  “It’s not enough. I should—”

  “If you try to get your own papers, Gardeaux will find out and smash you like a cat does a mouse.”

  Simpson was silent. “How soon?”

  “It will take a day for Jamie to get the papers. I’ll fly out of here tomorrow morning and be at your flat by midnight.”

  “No, don’t come here. I don’t want to be seen with you. Drop the money and papers in the poor box at St. Anthony’s Church at ten o’clock day after tomorrow.”

  “Without the books and information? I’m afraid my charity doesn’t extend that far.”

  “In the box will be a key to a locker in the Thompson’s holiday tour bus station in Bath. Trust me.”

  “Bath is more than an hour’s drive from London.”

  “It’s the best I can do. There are no lockers at any station in London because of the IRA bombings.”

  “How convenient.”

  “I’m the one who’ll be taking all the risk,” he said shrilly. “What if I’m followed?”

  “You will be. From the moment you pick up the money until I phone Jamie that the package in the locker is legitimate. After that he’ll send a man to pick you up and see that you’re safely on your way.”

  He hung up the phone.

  “Books?” Jamie asked from his chair across the room.

  “Simpson’s running scared. He’s offering to sell Gardeaux’s books and the Medas information for a lump sum and safe passage.”

  “Why do you want the books?”

  Nicholas shrugged. “I may not. It’s a wild card. I have to access Pardeau’s books in Paris to even make sense of Simpson’s.”

  “Then why pay for them?”

  “Sometimes a wild card comes in handy. God knows, we’ve never been this close to Gardeaux before.” He added, “And I do want to know why Medas was hit.”

  “And I suppose you want me to get cracking about Simpson’s papers?” He rose to his feet and strolled toward the telephone. “Captured once more in the toils of this pragmatic world. Too bad. I was just sitting here composing a deathless ode to our beauteous Nell’s eyes.”

  Joel Lieber’s house vaguely reminded Nell of one built by Frank Lloyd Wright that she had seen in a magazine. It was all clean modern lines and glass, subtly integrated into a setting of rocks, gardens, and a small waterfall issuing from a sparkling stream.

  “It’s beautiful,” Nell said as she got out of the car.

  “It should be.” Nicholas led her toward the front entrance. “It’s a house that beauty built.”

  “Tania says that Joel does a good deal of charity work.”

  “I’m not criticizing him. I’m a capitalist. Everyone has a right to reap the rewards of his labor.”

  “Hi, Nicholas. Good to see you.”

  Nell turned in astonishment to see Phil coming down the garden walk. He was dressed in jeans and a Bulls T-shirt and carrying a tiller. “What are you doing here?”

  He smiled happily. “Nicholas thought I should stick around just to make sure you don’t have a setback. In the meantime, Dr. Lieber’s letting me work in his garden. I worked my way through college selling plants in a nursery. It’s kind of nice being close to flowers again.” He set off down the bank by the stream. “You need me for anything, you just call.”

  Nell turned to Nicholas. “You know I’m not going to have a setback.”

  “You can never tell.” He changed the subject. “Joel said you wanted to start the paperwork to nullify your death. Why haven’t you mentioned it to me?”

  “Because I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Good. May I ask why?”

  “I’ve decided it might be convenient. My new name will be Eve Billings. I’ll need a driver’s license and a passport in that name. Can you get them for me?”

  “It will take a few days.”

  “And I’ll need money to live. Will you open an account for me and make a cash deposit to see me through until I can access my own money? Of course, I’ll write you an IOU.”

  “You’re damn right you will,” he said. “I may need to collect it from your estate if you persist in trying to get yourself killed.”

  “Right away?”

  “I’ll call and transfer funds to Joel’s bank in the name of Eve Billings this morning. You’ll receive the IDs by mail.”

  “Thank you. Kabler found me too easily. Do I have to worry about Maritz tracing me to the hospital?”

  “No.”

  He spoke with absolute certainty. He must have plugged the hole, she thought. “What about records of my surgery?”

  “Destroyed except for the ones Joel keeps here. I’ll ask him to get rid of them too.”

  “Good.” She rang the doorbell. “I know I said I wouldn’t ask anything of you again. I promise this will be the last. Good-bye, Tanek.”

  “Don’t sound so final. I’ll be seeing you again. If you don’t end up on a slab in—”

  “You’re here.” Tania swung open the door, smiling broadly. “And Nicholas too. This is good. Come in and see what wonders I’ve wrought with Joel’s house.”

  “Another time. I’m in a hurry.” He smiled at Tania
. “I have a plane to catch. See you.”

  Nell watched him as he walked toward the car. It was the first time he’d mentioned a trip. London?

  “Come in.” Tania was eagerly drawing her into the foyer. “I wish to show you—”

  “Wonders,” Nell finished for her. “The exterior is wonderful enough.”

  “But cold. Joel is a surgeon, and clean, efficient lines appeal to him. But inside you must have warmth. I tell him he cannot have a house that’s as neat as one of his incisions.” She drew her into the living room. “There must be excitement and color.”

  “You certainly have that.” The chairs and sofas in the room were clean and contemporary but luxuriously upholstered in camel-colored fabric. Burgundy, beige, and orange occasional pillows were tossed everywhere. Stripes and florals and tapestries that should have clashed blended for a look that was exotic yet oddly homey. A cream Berber rug covered the oak floor that gave off a soft, warm glow. “It’s really lovely.”

  “My grandmother used to say the hardest ground can be made soft if you use enough pillows.” She made a face. “Well, she couldn’t be profound all the time. But you have to admit she was right.”

  “Your Gypsy grandmother?”

  She nodded. “You should have seen the house before I came. Danish modern and very cold.” She gave a mock shudder. “Not good for Joel. He’s a man who won’t reach out to warmth unless it’s thrust at him.” She smiled cheerfully. “So I thrust it at him.”

  “It’s very unusual. Have you thought of taking up decorating?”

  She shook her head. “I’m going to the university in the fall, but I intend to study writing.” She moved toward the door. “Come, I will show you your room. It’s over the water, and I think you’ll find the sound very soothing.” She ran up a spiral staircase and threw a door open at the top of the stairs. “Is it good?”

  More color—golds and rusts and scarlet, a study in autumn shades. A sleigh bed draped in deep hunter green. Ivy plants in brass containers, chrysanthemums standing tall and proud in a crystal vase. Richly bound leather books in a low bookcase. “Very good.”