Luckily, although Dorothy-Anne mourned the fact that her father was elusive, she did not think his behavior at all strange, because it was all she had ever known. She loved him unquestioningly and with all her young heart. To her, he was the most handsome man in the world, and now, looking across the room at him, she was filled with love for him.
'Daddy!' she squealed, racing across the deep blue carpet toward him. She flung her arms around his thighs and hung on for dear life.
Henry drew a deep breath and seemed to recoil. He clenched his hands at his sides and his face went dark as he glowered across the office at Elizabeth-Anne. 'This is the luncheon appointment?' he asked in quiet disbelief.
Elizabeth-Anne raised her chin. 'It is, Henry,' she answered. 'Need I remind you that it's her birthday today?' Her clear eyes glared at him challengingly.
But he matched her gaze without wavering. 'How can I ever forget?' he asked. 'It's the fifth anniversary of her mother's -'
'Henry.' Elizabeth-Anne's warning tone cut him off. She came over and, taking Dorothy-Anne in her arms, carried her away from her father. 'Be a good girl and wait outside with Nanny and Mrs. Goldstine, dear,' she said in a strained voice as she took Dorothy-Anne to the door. 'Your father and I have something important to discuss in private. It won't take but a minute, I promise.' Elizabeth-Anne attempted a smile, and hoped Dorothy-Anne didn't notice how false it was.
Dorothy-Anne's face fell. She didn't understand exactly what was going on, but she could tell Elizabeth-Anne was tense, and that was something she had never seen before.
Dorothy-Anne's small shoulders slumped as she stepped out of the room and the doors closed behind her. The moment they clicked shut, she heard voices raised in anger from behind her. Helplessly, she gazed over at Nanny, who was seated on one of the gold brocade chairs facing Mrs. Goldstine's desk. Behind it, Mrs. Goldstine busied herself by beating furiously on her sleek red typewriter, obviously attempting, though unsuccessfully, to muffle the tirade seeping through from behind Elizabeth-Anne's office.
'Goddamnit, Grandmother,' Henry Hale said bitingly, 'can't you the hell ever stay out of anything? Do you always have to meddle in all my affairs?'
'You're my grandson,' Elizabeth-Anne replied with a calm tone. 'Dorothy-Anne is my great-granddaughter. She's also a minor, and as such, needs someone to protect her interests. I don't think I should have to remind you that she's your daughter, Henry. Your much neglected daughter.'
'You think I don't know that?' Henry Hale, usually the cool, composed executive found himself losing control. His face was red and his neck cords stood out in bold relief.
'You dare stand there and tell me who is or isn't related to me?' he shouted. 'You dare tell me how I should treat that child? I suppose the next thing you'll try to tell me is how I should forgive her and forget it all, isn't it? After all the pain and heartache she's caused?'
Elizabeth-Anne was angry, but she did not allow herself the luxury of succumbing to her emotions. 'Henry,' she said, 'what happened was a tragedy, but it was not Dorothy-Anne's fault and you know it. If anyone was to blame it was Anna. The doctor warned her, but she ignored him. Nor did she even tell us the danger she was in.'
Henry made a sharp, dismissing gesture and turned away from Elizabeth-Anne. 'I don't believe you could say such a thing,' he said with angry disgust.
'What do you mean?'
'How could you speak of Anna like that . . . blame her! You act as if she's nothing, as if all you cared about were that child!'
'She's all that matters now, Henry,' Elizabeth-Anne answered sadly. 'She's your daughter and my great-granddaughter. She's our living legacy. Everything else was yesterday. Dorothy-Anne is today. She's all we have. Don't waste it, Henry, don't live in the past. What's gone is gone. You've got to leave it behind you.'
'Sure.' He laughed bitterly. 'And kiss her at bedtime. Tell her stories. Tuck her in.'
'Yes, Henry. That's exactly what I mean.'
'Never,' he answered, his voice cold as ice. 'And this - this is one thing I can do something about.'
The odd words, and the ugly vehemence behind them, caused the terrible truth to sink in. Elizabeth-Anne shook her head and compressed her lips. She was aghast with the realization that Henry would never change. He couldn't. He didn't just ignore his daughter, he wasn't just indifferent to her; he detested her. Somehow, in the grief twisted state he had been in just after Anna's death, he had turned Dorothy-Anne into some kind of villain in his mind. And now he clung to that belief as the bedrock of his sanity. It was his lifeline, as if he couldn't face the world, couldn't live with his loss, unless he blamed it on someone, on the inhuman devil that he believed his child to be.
And now Elizabeth-Anne understood why. To Henry, Dorothy-Anne was not just a symbol of death, but a living proof of his own mortality. He had believed himself invincible, a match and master for any challenge. But the one battle that had really mattered was the one he had lost, the one that cut him down to mortal size. Death had won out, and he blamed the child.
'Henry,' Elizabeth-Anne begged softly, 'can't you find it in your heart to forget the past?'
'Forget?' he answered in disbelief. 'Forget.' He turned on her again, his eyes blazing with a light that frightened her, that took the heart out of her struggle. 'Just remember one thing, Grandmother,' he spat out. 'You may pull the strings around here, but I won't let you do it in my home. Your power stops right here, at Hale Hotels. My life is my own.' He turned and strode toward the door, and with his hand on the doorknob spoke again in a chilling voice. 'And as far as that child goes, you can have her. I would prefer it if I never saw her again.'
With that he was gone, striding through the outside office without a backward glance.
Elizabeth-Anne dropped her head to her hands. She looked terribly old, as if all the years she had lived had suddenly caught up with her.
Dorothy-Anne twisted her head around and gazed after her father's departing figure in confusion. She glanced over at Nanny, but her face was stoically expressionless. Mrs. Goldstine kept right on typing, as if trying to pretend nothing unusual had happened.
Finally, Nanny pushed herself to her feet. 'Come dear,' she said gently reaching for Dorothy-Anne's hand. 'Let's go see your great-grandmother again.'
Together they headed back into Elizabeth-Anne's office. But once they saw Elizabeth-Anne, Nanny frowned and let go of Dorothy-Anne's hand. Elizabeth-Anne was swaying unsteadily on her feet and Nanny rushed forward to catch her as she collapsed in slow-motion. Nanny stretched the old lady out flat on the floor and loosened the constricting collar of her blouse.
'Mrs. Goldstine!' she cried over her shoulder. 'Quickly, call for an ambulance!'
In the outer office, the machine-gun typing stopped abruptly as Mrs. Goldstine jumped up from her chair. She peered around the corner of the doorway, her hand poised on her breast, and then lost no time in snatching up her telephone.
Dorothy-Anne stood quietly, a jumble of fleeting images flashing through her mind. She did not know what was happening, only that Great-Granny and Daddy had had an awful fight.
And now Great-Granny was lying motionless on the deep blue carpet.
Dorothy-Anne was filled with a black, chilling fright, and began to cry soundlessly.
3
While they waited for the ambulance to arrive, Mrs. Goldstine got busy on the telephone. Elizabeth-Anne hadn't hired Natalie Goldstine, trained her over the years, and raised her income to the princely amount of fifty-five thousand dollars a year, for nothing. Elizabeth-Anne considered it a small price to pay for the services Natalie Goldstine was capable of providing. And, right now, she was proving her worth.
First, she called Elizabeth-Anne's physician of many year, Dr. Vartan Dadourian. Then she called up Henry's office, and finding him out demanded that he be sought.
'But when he walked out, he looked so . . . so angry,' Ruby Schaber stammered uncertainly. 'I don't know if I should bother him - '
Among he
r other talents, Natalie Goldstine was a woman who knew how to collect gossip and when to use it. 'Miss Schaber, if you value your job, you'll do everything within your power to locate Mr. Hale as quickly as possible. And that includes calling the numbers in his little black book, which you have so indiscreetly let everyone know you have access to.'
With that, Mrs. Goldstine hung up, but even Miss Schaber's fear-inspired efforts failed to turn Henry up by the time the ambulance arrived.
Mrs. Goldstine, Nanny, and Dorothy-Anne followed the stretcher bearers down to the lobby. They knew Elizabeth-Anne was gravely Ill, but decided not to call her sole surviving daughter Regina, who had lived alone in California ever since her husband's death, until they reached the hospital and conferred with the doctor.
'I'll ride with Mrs. Hale,' Mrs. Goldstine told Nanny as they reached the ambulance. 'You two follow in Mrs. Hale's car and we'll meet at the hospital.'
Nanny looked hesitant, loathe to let Elizabeth-Anne out of sight. If she should die, perhaps she would come to first and want to see Dorothy-Anne.
Mrs. Goldstine seemed to read her thoughts. She laid a hand on Nanny's arm. 'I don't think the child needs to be exposed to the horrors of an ambulance ride just yet, do you?'
Nanny shook her head and Mrs. Goldstine climbed up into the back of the ambulance. The paramedics ducked inside, slammed the door, and the ambulance nosed into the thick traffic, siren wailing.
Nanny led Dorothy-Anne by the hand to Elizabeth- Anne's familiar yellow-and-black Rolls-Royce, which was double-parked a few yards away. Nanny's sharp eyes did not miss the fact that Henry Hale's limousine, which they had taken into the city, was gone. He had obviously used it for his escape.
They caught up with Mrs. Goldstine in the Hale Wing of Columbia Presbyterian. 'Any word on her condition?' Nanny asked as she and Dorothy-Anne joined Mrs. Goldstine in the waiting room.
Mrs. Goldstine shook her head. 'None yet. It's too early to tell, I'm afraid. Dr. Dadourian is in the emergency room. We'll just have to wait and see.'
They sat down and began their impatient vigil. The busy sounds of the hospital's emergency waiting room - the hurried coming and goings of doctors and nurses, the cries of patients and worries of their loved ones - all seemed to be taking place at a great distance. Dorothy-Anne was lost in another world of fear and confusion.
Nanny's face was pinched and set in an expression of tight anxiety. Mrs. Goldstine kept fidgeting, constantly consulting her tiny gold wristwatch, and jumping up to use the pay telephone.
'Did they get through to him?' Nanny asked the first time Mrs. Goldstine returned from calling Miss Schaber.
Elizabeth-Anne's secretary had shaken her head morosely. 'Nobody knows where to reach him,' she said, 'and the mobile phone in the limousine isn't being answered. This just isn't like him.'
Thereafter, each time Mrs. Goldstine returned from using the telephone, she merely shook her head in a negative response to the hopeful question in Nanny's eyes.
'I'll get us something to drink,' Mrs. Goldstine said finally, needing desperately to keep busy. She brought back three styrofoam beakers from the vending machine, but she and Nanny didn't take more than one sip from their coffee before putting their cups down. Dorothy-Anne finished off her hot chocolate. It was not at all rich and creamy like the cocoa the cook made at home, but the sitting and waiting in the big airless room for so long had made her thirsty.
After what seemed an eternity, Dr. Dadourian pushed open the swinging doors of the waiting room to see them. He was a large, burly man with bushy salt and pepper hair. As soon as they caught sight of him, Nanny and Mrs. Goldstine sprang to their feet but Dorothy-Anne, whose experience with Dr. Dadourian had been limited to countless childhood inoculations, tried to make herself look as inconspicuous as possible. She sat swallowed up in the big, green vinyl chair, her feet sticking straight out in the air in front of her.
'Mrs. Hale has suffered a severe stroke,' Dr. Dadourian said heavily in his thick, guttural accent.
'Can we see her?' Nanny asked eagerly.
'Not just yet, I'm afraid.'
'When can we see her?'
Dr. Dadourian sighed. 'Perhaps tomorrow, but I'm not certain you'll want to.'
Nanny looked at him in alarm. 'Why not, pray tell?'
Dr. Dadourian looked at Nanny and Mrs. Goldstine, then Dorothy-Anne. His eyes fell. 'Mrs. Hale won't respond to you,' he said quietly. 'She's in a coma.'
Dorothy-Anne didn't hear what he said, but she saw both Nanny and Mrs. Goldstine's faces turn white. After a moment, Nanny came over to her. 'Let's go home,' she said quietly.
And that was what Dorothy-Anne remembered of her fifth birthday.
4
The storm had worsened considerably. Flashes of lightning were followed by deafening peals of thunder as the wind- slashed rain hammered fiercely against the corrugated roof and the windows. Shrieking drafts of wind found their way inside the house, mocking the delusion of human shelter and threatening to throw the sheltered world into darkness. Dorothy-Anne felt it all swim before her eyes like a live creature.
Elemental chaos.
Angry gods.
Fear.
And pain.
Pain which was more than she could endure.
She was lying perfectly still now, her face shockingly white. She had no strength left to move. This contraction seemed the worst yet, seemed to take over her entire body with all-encompassing pain. Chills slashed up and down her spine while deep inside her, something which struggled to get out, whose time had come, was wedged unnaturally.
Was trapped.
Mrs. Ramirez sat in frightened silence. For a long time now she had been thinking, studying her memory, looking for some half-remembered answer. Long forgotten tidbits were recalled from the dark depths of her mind. A story told once surfaced slowly and rippled the pond of her memory.
But then it was gone, and her mind again was blank. I must remember! she told herself again.
She crossed herself, then glanced at the young mother- to-be. Dorothy-Anne Hale's eyes seemed lost in foggy thought, so far, faraway.
Felicia Ramirez wondered where the young woman was, and what she was seeing.
Faraway.
Another time.
Another place.
The private recovery room of the Hale wing of Columbia Presbyterian Hospital.
It was a week after Elizabeth-Anne had come out of the coma. She had been unconscious for four months and three days. Upon awakening, the first visitor she had summoned was her grandson, Henry. She had warned him to be prepared. She expected a detailed report of business matters.
He was surprised when he walked into her room. She was confined to the bed, her legs rendered useless by the stroke, and he knew the prognosis was that she would never walk again. Fortunately, the doctors had said, she had suffered no other serious, long-term damage from the stroke. They promised she would eventually fully regain her strength and be able to carry on with her business.
Elizabeth-Anne, typically, wasn't about to sit around and wait for this to happen. She had never been sick in her life and was determined not to bow to illness now. If her strength was to be regained, she would see that it was in the shortest possible time.
Although the hospital continued to enforce a recuperative schedule, Elizabeth-Anne persuaded Dr. Dadourian that she was at least well enough to visit with her grandson. And for that, she would have to look her best.
After applying light make-up earlier that morning, she had made a fuss until her hairstylist from Kenneth's was allowed to come to her room. During the coma, her hair had grown considerably and turned completely white. Now she had it tinted its usual shade of sterling silver and set in a permanent.
By the time Henry walked in, Elizabeth-Anne had never looked better. She was sitting up straight in bed, wearing not a hospital gown, but a beautifully embroidered bed jacket. She was surrounded by piles of business-related reading material - back issues of Forbes, Fortune, and
Business Week, as well as the Wall Street Journal and the business sections of the New York Times. On the night- stand beside her, a pot of water was kept heated on a hot plate, and a silver tea service, along with a can of herbal tea, was within easy reach. The room was a mass of flowers, with the more formal arrangements, sent by friends and acquaintances, hidden behind forests of pink peonies. She hated formal arrangements, and she had done her best to hide them from sight.
Henry bent down to kiss her cheek. 'You look,' he said pointedly, shaking his head in disbelief, 'like you're vacationing on the Cote d'Azur.'
She smiled at him. 'Thank you, Henry dear. But a forced vacation, I'm afraid, is really no vacation at all.'
'How are you feeling?'
'I'll feel a lot better,' she answered, 'once I know what's been happening at Hale Hotels over the past four months. Pull up a chair. I suggest you begin at once.'
They were at it for two hours. After the nurse insisted Henry leave, Elizabeth-Anne sent for Dorothy-Anne and Mrs. Goldstine. She napped before they arrived, but they were allowed to visit for only fifteen minutes. Elizabeth-Anne had little intention of respecting this directive, and finally, Dr. Dadourian had to come personally to escort Mrs. Goldstine and Dorothy-Anne out. He wasn't surprised or annoyed by the chore; Vartan Dadourian had been a personal friend of Elizabeth-Anne's for years and knew her stubbornness. He wasn't even taken aback when Elizabeth-Anne pleaded to have Dorothy-Anne stay a minute more.
'For God's sake, Vartan, I just want to look at my great- granddaughter. After all, I haven't seen her for four months. You're not going to begrudge an old woman that, are you?'
He studied her chart. 'And since when do you consider yourself an 'old' woman?'
She raised her chin stubbornly. 'When it suits me.'
He glanced sideways at her. 'I thought as much.'
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