'I wasn't listening through keyholes,' Dorothy-Anne said with sudden savageness. Then she fell silent again.
Nanny did not speak. She knew that the girl's outburst was merely to mask her pain.
Dorothy-Anne bit down on her lip. She could feel the tears threatening to fill her eyes, but she would not let them come. She got up slowly. 'I have to go to the bathroom.'
'Well, you better hurry up, then,' Nanny said. 'Your Great-Granny will be here any minute, now.'
'Yes, Nanny.'
Dorothy-Anne left the room. She did not use the bathroom off the downstairs hall. Instead, she took the staircase up to the second floor, where she glanced around quickly to make sure that none of the servants were about. She slipped into her father's suite and closed the door behind her.
His bathroom was huge and smelled faintly of disinfectant. She got up on tiptoe. She found what she wanted in his medicine cabinet.
And slashed her wrists.
All because the telephone had rung yesterday.
She had been coming down the sweeping stairs when the hallway telephone had begun to ring. She hurried downstairs to answer it. It was the servants' day off, and her father was busy upstairs in his study. After picking up the ivory receiver, she was about to speak when she heard a second, almost instantaneous click.
'Henry Hale speaking.'
She recognized her father's voice and was about to hang up when she heard a cultured, purring woman's voice answer. Something made her stay on the line and listen in. Perhaps it was because the caller was a woman.
'No 2, is that you, darling?'
'I'm not No 2, Chessy,' he growled. 'You know very well I'm Henry.'
'My, my.' The throaty voice held a hint of mocking laughter. 'Aren't we touchy this morning.'
'Look, Chessy - ' he began irritably.
The playful voice changed instantly. 'I'm sorry, darling,' she said quickly. 'You know how I love to tease you.'
'Sometimes your jokes aren't very funny.'
'Ah, but you don't mind my teasing you nights, do you, darling?' She laughed softly. 'But listen, darling, the reason I called was because you mentioned you might be coming out here to La Jolla, and since CeCe's birthday is tomorrow . . . '
Dorothy-Anne brightened. CeCe's birthday. Who was CeCe? Was that a nickname for her that she didn't know about? After all, her birthday was tomorrow -
'Oh, shit,' Henry broke in harshly.
Dorothy-Anne held her breath and tried to keep her heart from pounding. Had she made a noise? Had her father discovered she was listening?
'What is it, darling?' the woman asked. 'Is something wrong?'
'No, it's nothing. I just remembered my daughter's birthday is tomorrow, too.'
'Oh, Henry. I am sorry. I didn't mean to take you away from your little girl. You've got to be there.'
'No, Chessy, it's alright. I'll be happy to join you in La Jolla. There's no need for me to be here. In fact, I'd rather not.'
'Henry, how can you say that? She's your own daughter -'
'I prefer not to think of her that way.'
'Henry,' the woman said, shocked by his words, 'you sound as if you hate the poor thing.' She laughed tentatively, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken.
Henry paused for a minute, then spoke in a strangely expressionless voice. 'I do. I can't stand to be around her. You see, tomorrow is also the anniversary of my wife's death. I do hate that child. Especially on the anniversary of the day she killed my wife.'
She first became aware of invisible angels humming softy all around her. The cool currents stirred up by their wings caressed her face. She heard faint, ethereal whispers. She listened closely, but they made no sense. A peculiarly buoyant, floating sensation held her in its spell. It was not at all unpleasant. Rather like floating lazily in a swimming pool. The water felt soft and warm, and smelled vaguely of chlorine. Through half-closed eyes she tried to look around her. Big, soft white shapes moved gracefully in ever-so-slow swirls. Wherever she was, she had never been to this place before. She couldn't understand what was happening. Nor did she really care. The buoyant feeling felt so good. So good. . .
She closed her eyes and let everything recede as she gave herself up to that pleasant nothingness.
Next, she noticed that her sense of smell was heightened. A sharp, mediciney odor seemed to emanate from within her. It seemed to come and go in waves, teasing her nostrils.
She lifted her head a few inches. Her eyelids felt heavy, but she managed to see out through the haze of her lashes. The world was drifting by as if she were watching it through a white scrim. Shadowy white apparitions moved in a dreamlike, slow-motion ballet. Everything was white, a hundred different shades of white. All but the thin, ruby- red line which rose from her arm to be swallowed up by all that white. Murmured voices seemed to chant incantations in a monotone.
The whiteness and the red line went slowly dark, receding once more into sleep.
The clouds and white scrim had turned warm and yellow when she awakened again. It was easier to open her eyes now; the lids didn't feel nearly as heavy as they had before. She stared up into space. She could make out a flatness above her.
Without moving her head, she glanced around. Her eyes were deep green, confused. The clouds were receding. In their place, she could see more flat surfaces all around her. She was in a two-toned box. The top half of the walls were white, the bottom half, bilious green. The warm yellow she had seen was emanating from an electric light. She thought she recognized the strange smell which had eluded her. She had smelled it once before. Three years ago when she'd had her appendix taken out. She was in a hospital.
A hospital? She stared up at the flatness. No, it couldn't be a hospital, she thought dreamily. The semi-gloss ceiling was a monotone landscape, topsy-turvy and seen from a hundred miles out in space. A crack of river, held up by gravity, flowed between a valley of mountains. She felt a peculiar longing. She didn't want to be in outer space. She wanted to be home.
She turned her head sideways and caught sight of a small pale hand, bandaged at the wrist. Her eyes widened. For a moment she didn't understand. Then she could feel a tightening in her chest as it all came back to her.
The metallic-gray razor blade, paper-thin and yielding easily from the pressure of her fingers. So thin she almost bent it.
The strangely painless parting of her soft flesh as the blade sliced into it.
The pop as the artery was severed.
The mighty, pulsating roar as her blood rushed to meet the wound, seeking escape from her body.
The geyser of blood, a thick, powerful stream at the bottom spraying outward like a ruby fountain, the droplets falling all around like warm rain.
Her stomach churned with the memory, and a flash of heat engulfed her. The moment she tasted the bile starting up, she lunged forward and held a hand to her mouth. She swallowed, breathed deeply, desperately.
Bit by bit her head cleared. She remembered every painful detail. Now she knew why she didn't have a mother like other children. Because she had killed her. She didn't ask herself how or why. She never even remembered seeing her mother. But Daddy had said she killed her, so it must be so. And he hated her so much for doing it that she had tried to kill herself.
And failed.
The breath hissed out of her as she sank back down. The mattress was hard, the sheets starched and scratchy. They weren't her own sheets.
She was in a hospital.
She closed her eyes, feeling helpless, ashamed. She couldn't bear to face anyone. Not after what she had done.
Death. Oh, how peaceful it had seemed . . . The falling sensation, like being sucked into a slow, powerful maelstrom. The darkness that first engulfed her becoming blinding light, brighter than a thousand suns. How easy to give herself up to that beguiling, dazzling light!
She felt a moistness sliding down her cheeks, toward her lips. She tasted it with her tongue. The tears were salty. Suddenly she was glad sh
e was alive.
She heard a door opening. A mannish-looking nurse in uniform came toward her, stopped, turned on her heel, and went right back out. The door sighed closed, opened again. She heard the faint squeak of pneumatic tires. She struggled up. The nurse was holding the door wide and Nanny was wheeling Great-Granny into the room.
Except for the wheelchair, Great-Granny hadn't changed a bit since Dorothy-Anne's earlier memory of her, though Dorothy-Anne knew she was now over 80. The erect, regal posture, the sterling silver hair perfectly coiffed, even the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes didn't seem to have changed at all. The only thing that was different was how Great-Granny got around. She hadn't let that slow her down any, either.
Dorothy-Anne was relieved she wouldn't have to face anyone but her great-grandmother. If anyone would understand, she would.
Elizabeth-Anne was the only person in Dorothy-Anne's life who had ever truly shown how much she loved her. She was the only one who understood her, who was there when she needed someone. Yes, she was glad she was alive, if only for Great-Granny's sake. They had had a special rapport all Dorothy-Anne's life, as if they had recognized even when she was an infant how alike they were.
These thoughts flashed through Dorothy-Anne's mind in the moment that passed before Elizabeth-Anne raised her right hand and said, 'This is far enough. Please leave us now.'
Nanny nodded. She cast a worried glance at Dorothy-Anne but left the room, shutting the door behind her. Elizabeth-Anne placed her hands on the wheels of the chair and negotiated her way to the bedside.
Elizabeth-Anne smiled at her great-granddaughter. 'Good evening, Dorothy-Anne.' She reached out and took the girl's bandaged hand in her own. 'How are you feeling?'
Dorothy-Anne looked at her sheepishly. 'You're not angry with me, are you, Great-Granny?' she asked in a tiny voice.
'No, I'm not angry,' she answered. 'But I am disappointed. If something was troubling you, you should have come to me.'
Dorothy-Anne bit down on her lip, preparing herself to be chastised. But she had forgotten one thing: Elizabeth-Anne Hale was some lady. She knew her priorities. Smiling conspiratorially, she reached under her cashmere lap blanket and produced a stack of comic books. 'I know for a fact that Nanny doesn't allow you to read these, but just this once, I thought we could break the rules. What Nanny doesn't know won't hurt her, eh?'
Dorothy-Anne was awed. 'How did you ever manage to sneak them in past her?'
'I sent Nanny on an errand while Miss Bunt wheeled me into the bookshop.' Elizabeth-Anne shook her head in marvel. 'I picked them out myself. My, my, you can't even find a simple Superman comic anymore. Just those ghastly creatures like Hydraman and Granite Woman. Brrr!' She made a production of shuddering. 'Hide them under your blanket. Nanny will be in a little later.' She paused as Dorothy-Anne slid them under the covers. 'Do you hurt?'
Dorothy-Anne shook her head. 'No. But I feel kind of. . . weird.'
'I shouldn't imagine. Probably the result of blood loss. I talked to Dr. Sidney. He assured me you'll be out of here in no time. Thank goodness Nanny and I found you in time. Otherwise you might have died.' Elizabeth-Anne paused, bowed her head, inspected her hands. 'I've always been of the opinion that there can't be effects without causes. Some people may say certain acts are never justified, but I'm not one of them. People usually do things for a good reason.' She lifted her head and gazed at Dorothy-Anne. 'Do you want to talk about it?'
Dorothy-Anne shook her head. 'You . . . you wouldn't understand.' A look of hurt came into Elizabeth-Anne's eyes. Dorothy-Anne felt instantly contrite. 'I didn't mean it that way, Great-Granny,' she said. 'I know you would understand. It's just that . . . ' She took a deep breath, frowned, then shook her head again. 'It's just that I can't talk about it. At least not yet.'
Elizabeth-Anne cocked her head to one side. 'I've lived a good many years, you know, and one of the few things that I have learned was never to coop up any hurt inside you.' She paused. 'You just concentrate on getting better. Just remember, I'm not advising you to do it, but if you feel you don't want to talk about it - ever - well, I'll understand that, too.' She smiled gently.
Dorothy-Anne returned the smile, her eyes moist. 'Thank you,' she whispered.
Elizabeth-Anne rearranged her lap blanket. 'Well, I'd better be going before the nurse charges in here and throws me out. Five minutes, I was told, and no longer - '
As if on cue, the door opened and the mannish nurse poked her head in. 'Five minutes are up, Mrs. Hale,' she said.
'I'm going, I'm going.' Elizabeth-Anne shook her head. 'To several thousand people I may be the boss, but when it comes to doctors and nurses, I'm the one who gets pushed around.' She laughed, maneuvering her chair back to the door. 'You just make sure they take good care of you,' she warned. 'After all, you're a Hale. I didn't set up an endowment for a new wing here for nothing.'
'Great-Granny?'
Elizabeth-Anne stopped wheeling the chair. 'Yes, dear?'
'Why are men the way they are?'
Elizabeth-Anne started; then a veil seemed to drop down over her eyes. She moved the chair around so that she faced the bed. 'I honestly don't know, dear,' she said. 'That's one question I haven't been able to answer.'
'And Great-Grandfather? What was he like?'
'Zaccheus?' Elizabeth-Anne steepled her fingers and raised them to her lips. Her eyes held a faraway look. 'He was sweet. And I loved him.'
'Was he like Daddy?'
Elizabeth-Anne's eyes flashed. So that was it. Henry had driven his daughter to this, caused a mere child to reach for solace in death. As stunned as she was, she wasn't surprised. She had always admonished him to do more for his daughter. Yet what was more impossible to fake than a love that was not there?
'Your Daddy doesn't mean to be cruel,' Elizabeth-Anne said. 'It's just that he's still hurting from something that was no one's fault. He's angry that he couldn't control things.'
Dorothy-Anne paused for a long minute, then asked, 'Are all men like that?'
'No, my love, not all men. Someday, you'll see. Just be patient and someday you'll see.'
The day Dorothy-Anne was released from the hospital, her great-grandmother had to leave for Tokyo to inaugurate the newly completed Hale Imperial Palace. The most ambitious hotel in the Hale chain, the Imperial Palace rested amidst an ancient rock garden of lakes and cherry trees. It boasted every modern luxury, but also respected traditional Japanese design. Elizabeth-Anne had been applauded for insisting that the authentic design also spoil as little of its ancient setting as possible. 'Art,' Elizabeth-Anne had told reporters at a much-publicized press conference before the hotel was built, 'must be respected and preserved, no matter the price.'
The price had been a million dollars more than anticipated.
'There's been so much fanfare that I've got to be there.' Elizabeth-Anne explained when she stopped by the hospital to visit Dorothy-Anne before leaving. 'The press will be there, and so will the American ambassador, as well as an emissary from the emperor. I've spoken to Dr. Sidney. You're to go home this afternoon. Nanny will have my car at her disposal and she'll come to pick you up. Also, I've spoken to your father. He should be home this evening.'
Dorothy-Anne nodded. She had been in the hospital for two days, and that had given her plenty of time to think. She had been hoping that when her father got back and was told what she had done, things would change. At least she knew why he hated her. That was a start. She promised herself that she would try her best to make things up to him. Perhaps, in time, if she tried hard enough, he would find it in his heart to forgive her for killing her mother. They would get along better together. He might even learn to love her. He'd celebrate her birthdays with her. Take her out to dinners. Even to his office, where he would proudly introduce her to his associates.
Now that the time to face him was nearly at hand, Dorothy-Anne wished that she didn't have to see him. She had counted on Great-Granny being there, giving her support. Without her, the drea
ms of reconciliation vanished. Much as she needed to, she knew she would never be able to explain to her father why she had tried to kill herself. Worse, she felt like a stupid, weak bungler for having tried it. She knew how her father despised weak people.
She felt miserable during the drive home. Once she got there, she stayed in her room until her father arrived and Nanny came upstairs to get her.
She was surprised when she entered the big sitting room. Four people were there: her father, a beautiful woman she had never seen before, and two girls about her age. The woman was tall and blonde, a combination of femininity and virility, elegant but athletic. She studied Dorothy-Anne with wide blue eyes set in a tanned face. The two girls were mirror images of her, smaller, but just as self-assured.
Her father cleared his throat. 'Dorothy-Anne?'
She stepped timidly forward, hugely conscious of her bandaged wrists. She hid her hands behind her back. 'Yes, Daddy?'
'This is Chessy,' he said, gesturing at the beautiful woman. 'And these are her daughters CeCe and Diane.' He indicated the two girls.
Dorothy-Anne stared first at the woman, then at the girls. She didn't understand why they were there. She looked stupidly at her father.
'Chessy and I stopped in Las Vegas this morning and got married,' Henry Hale said. 'Aren't you going to kiss your new mother?'
Dorothy-Anne stood stock-still. For a moment she couldn't believe her ears. It was too much to bear. 'You're not my mother!' she shouted angrily. 'You'll never be my mother!' Then she burst into tears, ran upstairs to her room, and locked the door.
Chessy got to her feet to follow her, but Henry Hale waved her back. 'Leave her be,' he said sternly.
Chessy looked at him dubiously, but sat back down.
'He didn't even ask why I did it or how I was,' Dorothy-Anne sobbed, clutching the pillow to her. 'He couldn't have cared less if I had died or not. .. '
She wept all night long, long after no more tears would come. She was still sobbing when morning came. Her face was red and tired, her eyes swollen, and the nubby pink bedspread was rumpled and damp. But the cry had done her good. It had anesthetized the hurt.
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