He took me into the empty Mirage Room and turned on a few lights. We sat at a round table—right out of the film—and a busboy brought us coffee. I had a sense of déjà vu—as though I were playing a movie scene with Saxon Scott. He seemed sure of himself, and strong and young, yet I didn’t know whether he was acting a role from one of his pictures. Perhaps he never knew himself. His consideration for me seemed genuine, and I began to feel a little more confident. Until he spoke of Monica.
“Is she getting ready?” he asked.
I knew what he meant—ready to walk out on a stage with her hand in Saxon Scott’s.
“You’ll see,” I told him. “She’ll be beautiful that night. She’ll make everyone believe in her. Even you! Perhaps you’ll be able to look at her—and remember.”
“All I want is to forget,” he said grimly.
“Don’t hurt her. Let her have her moment on that stage.”
He didn’t have time to answer, because someone brought Owen into the room, and Saxon rose to shake hands with him. I must have tensed every muscle, for my arms and shoulders began to ache. Owen looked as striking as ever, and he was immaculately dressed in his usual conservative suit and tie. The sensual mouth that had once attracted me looked cruel and merciless. Everything about him frightened me, yet he mustn’t guess that I was afraid.
“Well, Carol?” he said, and I heard the challenge in his voice, knew how furiously eager he was to best me, punish me. Of course he would come to this meeting expecting to have me completely at his mercy.
He took his place at the table across from me, and I caught the scent of his after-shave lotion and found it sickeningly familiar. Saxon sat beside me, but when Owen glared at him his virile role slipped a little, and he looked away, not meeting Owen’s eyes.
“Do you know why I’m here?” Owen demanded of Saxon, and then spoke to me without waiting for his answer. “It’s your move, Carol. Are you willing now to talk about sending Keith back to me?”
I swallowed hard. “What I plan, Owen, is to send you to prison.”
His laughter had the terrifying ring I remembered. How could I ever have been captivated by that hard sound—a sound that meant total confidence in his ability to vanquish anyone who stood up to him. I mustn’t let that laughter freeze me, even though old conditioning died hard.
“Just how do you propose to do that?” he asked. “Because of course I’ll get my son back, and when I do I’ll see that you never come near him again. And perhaps not near anyone else, dear Carol.”
He was so sure of himself that he was willing to threaten me in Saxon’s presence. I glanced quickly at Saxon, who tried to rise to the occasion.
“Now, see here—” he began.
“You keep out of this,” Owen said.
Saxon flushed and stared at his coffee cup. This scene was going wrong, I thought wryly, and I didn’t look to Saxon again for help. I had to lie now, and I must put my heart into it.
“I have some records that I’ve been keeping over the years, Owen. They’re safe in a bank vault where even you can’t find them. I’ve told others of their existence, and if anything happens to me the box will be opened. I never wanted to use them. For Keith’s sake, I’ve never wanted to expose you. But now you’ve gone too far. If you kidnap Keith, or if you even try to take him away from me again, I’ll put all my information into the hands of a district attorney.”
I recognized the dark flush of fury that rose in his face—a sign of danger to anyone who displeased him, the sign of violence to come. For a moment longer he held himself in hand.
“You’re lying, of course. I always made sure you could never put your hands on anything that would hurt me. Don’t think you can pull a nutty bluff like this on me!”
I stared at him without blinking, dredging from somewhere inside me all the conviction I could manage. “Try me, if you want to find out.”
As I’d seen in the past, Owen could move faster than anyone I’d ever known. He was on his feet in an instant and had reached across the table to drag me up by the collar of my blouse. I was choking and helpless in his hands. Saxon made no move at all. He sat there staring at us as though all will to move had gone out of him.
I was struggling and gasping, when something astonishing happened. Someone had come into the room from the doorway behind us. Owen was dragged away from me, and I saw Jason’s fist catch him squarely on the chin. Owen went down with a crash that echoed through the room, and lay very still. It wasn’t like a movie fight that could go on and on, while the breakaway furniture smashed and the fighters took a terrible beating. Not a tablecloth was pulled, not a coffee cup spilled. Owen simply lay on his back on the floor, out cold, while Jason stood looking down at him and rubbing his knuckles.
Waiters came running in, but none of Owen’s goons. Apparently he’d been so sure of dealing with me easily, he’d left them outside. Saxon sat at the table with a stunned look of betrayal on his face. Self-betrayal. In this real life moment when he should have risen to my defense, he’d done nothing. Perhaps in that instant of speeded-up action he’d realized for the first time that he was an old man—and finished. He had let the villain of the piece frighten him into doing nothing.
“You’d better get him outside,” Jason told a waiter. “Barclay’s got a car waiting, with a driver in it.” Then he came to put his arms around me.
“It’s okay now,” he said, and I knew I was shaking as hard as Keith had. Jason put a hand gently to my throat. “Did he hurt you badly?”
I shook my head, finding that I could breathe again. “I thought you’d already left.”
“I couldn’t leave until I knew how this meeting would turn out. I just stayed out of sight, in case you didn’t need me here.”
“I needed you,” I said.
“I’ll take you back to Monica’s now.”
I couldn’t leave without speaking to Saxon, but he waved my words aside and got to his feet. For once, he seemed unable to play any of those gallant parts he’d done so well on the screen. There was nothing to be said, and I could only feel sorry for him. In that instant I knew how much Saxon Scott had always wanted to be a hero.
Neither Owen nor any of his men were outside when we reached the street, and I suspected they were already on the way to the hospital.
Jason helped me into his car. “I heard what you told him, and you put a ring of truth into it that’s going to keep him worried,” he said.
“He can be violent on the spur of the moment. He’s never been able to control his rages.”
I stared at Jason’s hands on the wheel as he turned the car away from the curb. There was broken skin and traces of blood on his right knuckles. It was the same hand that had caressed my throat just now, making sure I wasn’t hurt.
“When he cools down—” Jason began as we started up the mountain.
“He never cools down! And he never forgives! Jason, he’ll have it in for you now.”
Jason braked the car on the road up the mountain towards Smoke Tree House, and put an arm around me. “Listen to me—you stopped him cold. For now, anyway. I know how much courage it took to go through with what you did. I like courage.”
I didn’t care about those barriers between us anymore. I only wanted the comfort and safety of his arms. He kissed me—not too gently—and held me for a moment longer.
“There are things I have to work out, Carol. Just as you do too. I must go ahead with this trip, but I’ll keep in touch by phone. Will you be all right now?”
I hadn’t felt so all right in a long time. When he drove up to the terrace and left me there, the warmth of his concern stayed with me.
I gave Linda an account of all that had happened, except about Saxon’s humiliation. She was appalled, and also a little angry with me because of Jason’s involvement. I couldn’t feel reassured by her reaction.
We were into December, and it seemed strange to see Christmas decorations blossoming in the midst of palm trees and sand. The center mall at th
e Desert Inn Fashion Plaza burst into dazzling white trees, silver bells, and scarlet poinsettias. Palm Springs shop windows took on a festive look and a few Santa Clauses appeared.
Linda promised that we’d have a tree and try to make this a happy time for Keith. I was still afraid to take him away from the house, though no word had come to me about Owen. I wasn’t even sure if he was still in town. Saxon had been silent ever since that meeting at his restaurant, and I had the feeling that he would never forget that I’d witnessed his shame.
For any other man, this wouldn’t have mattered, but Saxon had gone on playing his screen self long after his film days were over. He hadn’t really faced the truth until now—I’d seen that in his face. I wished I could tell him that he really didn’t have to be that stupendous movie hero anymore.
Our preparations for Monica’s big night began in earnest, and as we shopped in elegant Palm Canyon Drive stores, I began to feel a sense of unreality. What we were doing seemed so normal, and we were being so lighthearted about it. Yet underneath—under all our happy pretense—I could feel a spreading apprehension. Neither Monica nor Linda was really confident about what was going to happen, and their own forebodings infected me. And what about Saxon now? What if he tried to recover his old macho image by doing something unexpected on the stage—something that might crush Monica?
More and more, as we moved toward that zero hour, I found myself drawn to her with a strong new feeling. I began to long for her appearance to be a triumph, after all these years of sadness and neglect.
Trying on gowns from one shop to another, she finally selected one that seemed exactly right. It was a lustrous panne velvet in a deep shade of garnet. With its bright touches of gold, which would show up well in stage lights, she would look magnificent. She rejected the somewhat shabby chestnut red wig, and Linda found her a new one—ash blond, as she’d bleached her fair hair even lighter for early pictures. Nothing fluffy. The style was sophisticated and suited her, piling pale coils on top of her head. Stunning.
Unhappily, I began to feel that Monica’s meticulous preparations were, in fact, intended for Saxon first of all. Whether she would admit it or not, she was still emotionally involved with Saxon Scott. Which would be fine, if they stepped out on that stage holding each other’s hands warmly, affectionately. But I wondered if that could happen.
The bright spot for me during those days was when Jason telephoned. He called nearly every day, and once twice in one day. Nothing was going well with his quest, but he felt he must continue, moving from town to town in Arizona, searching for evidence that Gwen had been there. At least there were enough leads to keep him going. Always I sensed his discouragement and distraction, but took comfort in his need to talk with me. As I needed to talk with him.
In spite of everything that had happened, Monica refused to cancel the sale of Cadenza to Owen. I could understand how much she needed the money, but I was still sure that he would never go through with paying her a cent. He didn’t want that house, and in the end she was going to get hurt. No arguments would change her mind, however, and she was being secretive. She wouldn’t even acknowledge if he was still in town.
I hadn’t meant to tell her what had happened at Saxon’s. I still felt sorry for him. But Linda told her with some enjoyment, and Monica seemed to relish every word.
“Saxon has always been like that,” she said scornfully. “He’s hidden behind that facade he built up until he convinced himself it was real. But when there’s a crisis, he’s lost. I know.” This new recognition of Saxon’s weakness seemed to make her stronger, until I wondered if what I’d feared might happen in reverse. Not that Saxon would hurt Monica—or could hurt her. But that she might in some way destroy him. In spite—or perhaps because of—her own unreciprocated feeling for him.
In any case, wherever he was, I knew Owen was marking time, waiting, and undoubtedly scheming. For this little while we were being left alone, but I couldn’t count on such peace forever. How much of my desperate bluff he believed I had no idea, and I had no confidence in his staying away from us permanently. His own smoldering rage would see to that. It was always Owen’s nature to lie in wait—that tiger I considered him to be—lurking in shadows until he could come in for the kill.
During this time, Keith had grown increasingly cross and restless, and it was hard to keep him occupied. Unfortunately, Ralph had regaled him with an account of the famous Palm Springs tramway, until Keith began to tease me to take him up the mountain. I could only promise that we’d go “sometime,” and put him off. After his fright at Cabot’s he understood a little better the need to stay within the safe boundaries of the house, but that didn’t make him content to be a prisoner.
I made an arrangement for Helsa to stay with Keith the night we would be away, and I asked Linda to put the guards on a special alert. She even promised to have one on duty up at the house itself—something we usually dispensed with. Nothing reassured me, and I began to look toward the night of the benefit with growing anxiety.
And then, the day before the benefit, Saxon Scott came to see Monica.
EIGHTEEN
She’d been psyching herself up for a week. Both Linda and I had seen it happening. She’d taken to living the impersonation of her former self, wearing the clothes and the makeup, concentrating on the moment when she must walk out on a stage and convince a sophisticated audience of her peers that she was forever young, vital, beautiful—a STAR.
“Her mental state is half the battle,” Linda told me. “It’s what makes a performance work. Like an athlete who keys himself into a winning state of mind.”
When Saxon phoned, Linda put him through to Monica. Monica wouldn’t tell either of us what he’d said, but later in the day she sent Linda on an errand and ordered me down to the gate to get Saxon past the guard. She had talked to the guard imperiously on the phone connection—yes, she knew they were supposed to check all visitors with Miss Trevor, but she was away, and this was perfectly all right. Miss Hamilton would come down herself and bring Mr. Scott in.
For once it was a drizzling day, but I wrapped myself up and walked down the road to the gate to meet Saxon, who sat at the wheel of his car. Mists lowered over the mountain, dipping into pockets close to the town, yet allowing the peak to stand free—so it looked like a Japanese print. Palm tree tops bloomed like eerie flowers in the drifting mist. Their long fronds dripped moisture, and dried and broken bits of palm skittered on the ground.
Saxon opened the car door and I slid into the seat next to him. “I’m your escort,” I told him. “She doesn’t want to be left alone with you, but she’s sent Linda away.”
I hadn’t seen him since the time in the restaurant and I didn’t like the change in him. He’d accepted his age at last, but in the wrong way. Even his shoulders had lost their jaunty look. I wished there was something to say that would let him know I understood what had happened. Jason was young, and Owen still in his prime. How could a man of Saxon’s age be expected to stand up to one, or equal the other physically? I might wish secretly that he’d at least tried, but I could understand very well why he hadn’t. Only I could say none of this, because it would only hurt him more.
He greeted me with a wistfulness I’d never seen in him before. His very look was an apology that I had no way to acknowledge.
When we reached the terrace, he turned off the engine and sat for a little while in silence, while drizzle streaked the windshield. When I started to get out of the car, he stopped me.
“Wait, Carol. I want you to know what I’m going to do. I think it will be a relief to her, really. I’m going to call the whole thing off. I find I don’t want to walk out on that stage with her tomorrow night, and I want her to join me in canceling the whole thing.”
For a moment I was too shocked to speak. Then I burst into words. “How can you do that to all the people who have worked for this? You can’t cancel at the last minute—that’s a terrible thing to do!”
“Oh, I expect
the rest of the show will go on. They’ll present Mirage, and they’ll get others who were connected with the picture up on the stage, as they’ve already planned.”
“But you and Monica are the big attraction. Everyone will be terribly let down and disappointed. They’ll be furious with you.”
“I don’t care much about that.”
“You may not, but Monica will. I don’t believe she’ll go along with this. Why are you backing out, Saxon?”
“Because I was going to do a pretty rotten thing. I was going to go out there and give them a real show. Even if it landed me with a trial that should have taken place long ago. Monica, of course, would be an accomplice.”
I felt sick over his words. “This is what Linda has been afraid of. But you couldn’t go through with it, after all, could you?”
“No,” he said. “Not because I’m full of loving kindness, but because I don’t have that kind of nerve. That’s what I found out about myself the other day in the restaurant.”
“What happened that morning doesn’t matter,” I said. “You don’t have to mix yourself up with those old movie parts. Now you can be you. But can’t you perform with Monica this one last time? She’s counting on it so.”
“No,” he said. “That would be the final hypocrisy. Let’s go upstairs and talk to her.”
Ralph let us in and then disappeared—undoubtedly on orders. The room was ready. Draperies had been pulled against the gray day, and the warm yellow glow from a few lamps gave a flattering ambience. I knew what she was going to do before she walked into the room, but I had no idea how well she’d do it.
Saxon and I were sitting together on the sofa, talking quietly about nothing important. The Persian cats had taken to him, and one was already on his knee. Annabella disapproved, and sat across the room with her tail twitching. Her blue eyes with the black oval down the center looked like marbles, with a hint of yellow reflection from the lamps. She watched Saxon intently without blinking.
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