Listen for the Whisperer

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  “Now then,” she said, “—I can’t go on calling you Miss Thomas, or Miss Hollins. Your father named you Leigh, after an aunt, I believe. So I’ll call you that.”

  I matched her tone as well as I could. “And I can’t go on calling you Miss Worth, or Mrs. Fletcher. So I’ll call you Laura.” There was another name I could have used—a sentimental term we both rejected.

  The hint of a smile touched her wide, beautiful mouth. “You may call me Laura, of course. You needn’t be defiant about it. That tilt of your chin when you look like that—you must have caught it from watching my pictures.”

  I lowered the betraying tilt. The last thing I wanted was to resemble her in any way. She laughed softly.

  There was a tap on the dor and Laura called, “Come in.”

  Irene Varos came into the room, looking quickly from Laura to me and back again.

  “I’ve been told the truth,” Laura said dryly. “Leigh is to remain with us for a time. I understand that you and Mr. Thoresen have been conniving.”

  Irene paid no attention to this accusation. “Now you will have to talk with Dr. Fletcher. He has returned home, and in a few moments he will come upstairs. Mrs. Jaffe is telling him about Miss Hollins’s arrival.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” Laura said. “Miss Hollins and I will wait for him here.”

  “Perhaps you’d rather—” I began, but she waved a hand at me.

  “Stay with me. We’ll talk to him together. Irene, will you tell Dr. Fletcher I would like to see him, please?”

  Irene hesitated at the door, as though she was undecided about something. Then she went out.

  When she had gone, the woman in Burgundy velvet drew a deep, slow breath, as though she prepared herself for a coming engagement of forces.

  Outside on the stairs I heard footsteps. I swallowed hard, waiting. Nothing had gone as I had expected, or as I’d wanted it to. I didn’t know what was coming next.

  Chapter 5

  What came next startled me. Laura lay back against the chaise longue, with the lovely lines of her gown flowing about her. She let one arm droop limply toward the floor. The planes of her face seemed to loosen and change as apathy took over. She was once more a woman who cared about nothing. I dropped into a nearby chair, watching her suspiciously. What game was she playing now?

  Dr. Fletcher came into the room with a firm, decisive step. He flicked me a look of recognition and dismissal. Plainly he wanted none of me. He went directly to where Laura lay and bent to kiss her cheek.

  “Hello, darling. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m all right.” The words came faintly. “You’ve met Leigh Hollins, I understand? My daughter.”

  He had to acknowledge me and we exchanged stiff greetings. Then he picked up Laura’s hand by the wrist and felt for her pulse.

  “Too fast,” he said. “This meeting has excited you. And now you’re worn out.”

  I could imagine that Laura was damning her giveaway pulse. She opened her eyes and smiled at her husband weakly. “It has been tiring. But this is something I must do. Gunnar is right. This is something I owe to the world.”

  “Just what do you owe the world?” Dr. Fletcher pulled a chair close to his wife and sat down. At this moment, with sunlight falling upon him, he seemed younger than she, although he was older. His dark hair and mustache did not age him.

  Laura answered gently, and there was a note of pleading in her voice. “You’ve forgotten that I used to be Laura Worth. Leigh tells me that I’m still remembered in the States. And Gunnar thinks I should grant this interview. There are people who want to know what has become of me, where I am, how I live.”

  “What people will want to know,” Miles said evenly, “is about Cass Alroy’s death. Your so-called public will be avid for scandal, as always.” He flung me a quick look. “Isn’t that true, Miss Hollins?”

  “I suppose people are always titillated by scandal,” I said, “but there are many who are interested in her art. Laura can talk to me about whatever she chooses.”

  He shook his head at me. “It won’t work out that way. This is something I can’t permit. As I told you at the hotel yesterday, you will only upset and disturb my wife. Obviously, you’ve already done that.”

  “I’ve invited Leigh to stay for a few days.” Laura’s voice was faint, weary. “Please, let’s not have any fuss about it. It’s much easier to go along with what she asks than to quarrel over it.”

  “There will be no quarrel,” Miles said. “I must simply forbid her staying here.”

  He had turned toward me, and I saw the dark flash in Laura’s eyes that he missed. “You forbid her to stay in my house? When she is my daughter?”

  He turned back to her at once, studying her thoughtfully as he realized that her apathy was not as complete as it appeared. For a moment he seemed to conduct an inward debate, as if he might be considering whether or not to face her down. Then he acquiesced gracefully.

  “I’m sorry, love. You know I’m thinking of your health, your strength.”

  “I’m feeling better since I’ve talked to Leigh,” she said. “Perhaps it will be good for me to remember who I am.”

  “We’ll see,” he told her. “If you stay, Miss Hollins, can I count on you to disturb my wife as little as possible?”

  That was not entirely what I planned, but I nodded meekly enough, and he rose and went to the door. “I’ll leave you for now. I hope we can make you comfortable, Miss Hollins. The house, as you may realize, is somewhat crowded at the moment.”

  “She’s going to stay in my downstairs room,” Laura said. “She can interview the room, as well as me.”

  For some reason this seemed to startle him, and he looked less pleased than ever. “As Laura knows, I’ve wished she would get rid of all those things. She belongs to another life now, and such memories can only be painful.”

  “Why?” I asked directly. “I should think there would be an enormous satisfaction in looking back at a success like Laura Worth’s. There must be so many gratifying details to remember.”

  “All ending in disaster,” Miles said. “It’s better put away—forgotten.”

  “You were there at the time, weren’t you?” My question was calculated. There was no reason why I should pull my punches with this man. I had Laura on my side now, and I knew she meant to keep me in the house. So I might as well challenge him with some of the questions I wanted to ask. “I believe you were in the studio that very afternoon—if I remember the newspaper reports correctly.”

  But it was Laura who stopped me. “That door will stay closed, or I won’t talk to you at all.”

  Miles leaned toward her. “You’re trembling, darling.” He seemed to be watching her closely, probing for something. “None of these things can touch you now. It’s all finished by twenty years.”

  She clung to his hand and looked up at him with her eyes brimming, while he patted and soothed her. It was a very touching scene, I thought, believing none of it.

  “I still feel this isn’t good for you,” Miles said. “The shock of seeing your daughter—”

  “The mother-daughter aspect needn’t worry you,” I interrupted. “There’s more to being a mother, or a daughter, than the mere matter of blood. The ingredients have been left out of both of us. Laura and I are agreed on that. So you needn’t worry about the shock to either of us.”

  He looked at me curiously with those gray eyes that seemed to catch the light, weighing me in some sense, perhaps not knowing exactly how to take me, but definitely not liking me.

  “Leigh is quite right,” Laura agreed. “She’s neither asking nor being given any family privileges.”

  “You’re cool about it, both of you. I must say that’s reassuring, in a way.”

  “Reassuring because of Victor?” Again I was challenging. “Because of the legend concerning my father, so that you’d prefer no sentiment there?”

  His face changed from its wary, watchful quality to something oddly sad, and
I was suddenly uncomfortable. I saw myself with abrupt clarity as someone who plunged into deep waters I knew nothing about. Legend also had it that Miles Fletcher had loved Laura Worth a long time ago. Loved her enough to bring her back to life from her illness after the tragedy, and to receive nothing tangible for his efforts. Until now, perhaps. Could he really have remained in love with her for all this time? And if she had never been in love with him, why had she married him after all these years? What hold might each have over the other?

  He did not answer me, but his manner had a certain dignity that set me in my place. With a brief nod to Laura, he went out of the room.

  She did not stir from her chair. She looked bone tired, and all her strength and animation had seeped away. Her very voice was weary as she spoke to me.

  “Perhaps you’d better understand to start with that Miles and I have a very real affection for each other. Love changes with the years. We bring each other something different now than we may have expected years ago, but it’s nevertheless real. I won’t have you baiting or challenging him. If that needs doing, I’ll do it. Do you understand?”

  I returned her look angrily, discounting her words. I didn’t believe that Miles Fletcher had married Laura for love at this late date, or that she could return his affection.

  When she saw I didn’t mean to answer, she sighed wearily. “You’re too much like me, Leigh. You’ve a sharp tongue that you don’t curb. It was unnecessary to hurt him with Victor’s name. It can’t be a happy thing for him to have you here.”

  Her words shamed me, and my anger died. “I know that,” I said contritely. “I wished at once that I hadn’t spoken. He made me furious and I wanted to strike at him.”

  “We’re all vulnerable. You, too—perhaps more than you think. And especially me. I’ve not made the best of lives for myself. A sacrificed career. A marriage that didn’t work out. Lost love. A child I never acknowledged. I wonder that you want to write about me.”

  “I don’t want to write about any of those things. I want to write about Laura Worth the actress.”

  “Someone who existed only in the parts she played? Someone who was nothing otherwise?”

  “That’s self-pity,” I said.

  Her laughter startled me. “The quick tongue again. But you’re right, of course. I can feel sorry for myself at times. That’s why I’m glad you’ve come.”

  “Because I can help you to regain your pride in what you’ve been?”

  She swung herself up from the chaise longue. “No, my earnest young interviewer. Because you are one more person in this house. And I want it as full as possible. I want no more empty corners where shadows can lurk. Nowhere a whisperer can hide.”

  I felt a chill along my spine. I had been right earlier when I’d thought that at times she looked haunted by fear. There were traces of it in her dark eyes now.

  “A whisperer?” I repeated softly.

  For a long moment she stared at me as though she challenged me to deny her words. “You—with the sharp tongue! What will you say if I tell you that I’ve heard him more than once lately? The whisperer!”

  “Perhaps you’re hearing with your memory, because you’ve grown tired and discouraged. People do, you know—hear voices when they’re exhausted. Have you told your husband?”

  “And be put on some drug to cure my hallucinations? No. I’ve told no one but you. I can tell you because you are safely my enemy.”

  Her words startled me and I made some involuntary sound of denial, even though they were true. But she rushed on.

  “Oh, yes—I recognized it at once. An actress is watchful, you know. We’re forever on the lookout for the ways in which those around us betray themselves. So that we can imitate. It’s a habit that never dies. But I prefer you that way. You can be objective. The others are too close to me. They would fuss and carry on and pretend. But you—will listen. That’s why I want you here. Because you are a listening ear.”

  Again, I believed none of this. “If there’s a voice, what does it say?”

  “What does it always say?”

  I remembered my father’s book and the secret play.

  “Do you mean the word listen?”

  She raised her shoulders in a faint shudder. “Of course. But now you will become the listener. That’s what I ask of you. In repayment I’ll give you the material for your chapter—up to a certain point. You must accept the taboo. I won’t ever talk about Cass Alroy’s death.”

  I nodded, but I gave her no verbal promise. There were questions I must eventually ask. In the meantime, I would do as she wished and give her my listening presence. If she really suffered from hallucinations, then perhaps I could help her to recognize and banish them. And she would reward me by answering my questions. In the end she would have to answer because I would find the means of pressing her.

  She broke in on my thoughts. “Whatever you are plotting, you’re unlikely to succeed. You have an open young face that gives you away. A pretty face. Or it could be. Not beautiful, but acceptable.… But now—it’s only an hour or two till dinnertime, and I want to rest. Dinner is at seven. We don’t follow the Norwegian customs here.”

  I moved self-consciously toward the door, my emotions in a state of confusion that would take some sorting out. In the course of these last hours I had been ashamed, angered, humiliated, rejected, complimented, and appealed to. Now I was being dismissed.

  “I’ll see you later,” I told her stiffly and went out of the room.

  In the dim upper hall where there was only one small window next to the stairs, I stood quietly for a moment, trying to get a grip on my own indignation, and at the same time orient myself to the house.

  The closed door at the front next to Laura’s would be Miles Fletcher’s room, undoubtedly. The two doors at the side were the other bedrooms—Irene’s and Donia’s. The good-sized modern bathroom and various closets were at the rear. As I looked about, one of the side doors opened and Irene Varos came toward me earnestly.

  “You’re good for her, after all,” she told me in her slightly accented voice.

  “I’m not sure she’s good for me,” I countered.

  She paid no attention, but looked quickly around, as though she did not want to be heard. “I wasn’t sure about you at first, Miss Hollins. Mr. Thoresen urged me to accept you, and I trust his judgment. But still—it seemed a risk. Miss Worth’s daughter …”

  I wondered how well Miles accepted Irene’s habit of calling his wife “Miss Worth.”

  “It’s only Laura Worth’s career I’m interested in,” I assured her, “and I think perhaps she enjoys someone new. She looks better than she did yesterday.”

  “Yes?” The faintest smile touched the woman’s straight mouth. “Of course with Miss Worth it’s not always possible to be sure.”

  “I’ve already discovered that. She must bewilder any doctor.”

  There was a certain pride with which she answered. “She makes them think what she pleases.”

  “I’ve gathered that.” I moved toward the stairs and she followed me to the top step.

  “We’ve tried to make you comfortable in the downstairs room, Miss Hollins. The sofa is a daybed—a good one. And there’s a downstairs bath you can have for yourself. I hope the—atmosphere of the room won’t disturb you.”

  “Atmosphere?”

  “All those faces out of the past. I agree with Dr. Fletcher that all those things should be disposed of. Given to some theatrical museum in America, perhaps.”

  I started down the stairs and she came after me.

  “Did you know Laura Worth when she was an actress?” I asked over my shoulder.

  “No. I’ve never been to Hollywood. We met in Dubrovnik, in my country, after she had left the films. Perhaps that’s why the things in that room disturb me. They belong to a time I don’t understand.”

  We had reached the closed door of the lower room, and I put my hand on the knob. “I’m going to rest for a while before dinner. I’m s
till trying to catch up from my trip.”

  “Yes—yes, of course. It takes a few days to adjust.” But she looked faintly disappointed, as though she would have liked to come into the room with me and further discuss her distaste for memorabilia.

  “Don’t worry about me,” I said. “I’m fascinated by anything that has to do with Laura Worth as an actress. I’ll feel at home in this room. I’d like to write a very good piece about her.”

  “She has talked to me a little—about that time,” Irene said. “If I can be of any help—”

  I looked at her in surprise, wondering what she might offer me that Laura could not, wondering at what she was hinting.

  “Thank you,” I said, and opened the door of the room.

  All the blinds were closed, but the overhead light with the Tiffany shade was burning, so that the center of the room glowed yellow, while the outskirts were shadowy. The odor of dust and camphor was stifling. No one had thought to air it for me. Or was it that they preferred me to be uncomfortable? And so not stay too long.

  On the far side there was unexpected movement and I paused in the doorway, with Irene looking over my shoulder.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” said a light voice from the shadows across the room.

  I could see her now. Donia Jaffe sat perched upon a trunk, her short legs crossed, not touching the floor. She had changed from sweater and slacks to a bright green and purple print that sent a jungle design sprawling over her small person. If Miles was sixty, she must be about ten years younger—if I remembered the news write-ups correctly.

  Behind me Irene made a slight sound of disapproval. At once Donia waved a small, bony hand in her direction.

  “It’s all right, Miss Varos. I’ll take care of Miss Hollins’s comfort. You can run along back to Laura.”

  Without a word Irene went away, but I could sense the offense she took from the stiff manner of her going. I walked into the room and glanced longingly at the sofa. If Donia noted my look, she paid no attention.