Suzanne sauntered into the room, threw the keys she had in her hand into a little bowl on a small table, kicked off her shoes, and gracefully sank down on the sofa. "You're mistaken, Sara, this used to be your home. It's mine now," she drawled. "I see you've made yourself quite comfortable," she commented, glancing at Sara's teacup.
"Your home! It's not your home; it's Roarke's and mine. You have no business being here," Sara said indignantly.
Suzanne languidly rose from the sofa. "All right, Sara, since we're both dropping our little poses, let's get down to brass tacks. I knew once Roarke wasn't around you'd drop your lost little girl act. That's why I had to come to the house the other night. I wanted to see how well you played your role. And I must say, Sara, your talents are lost on painting. You should have been on the stage. Poor Roarke, he's such a sucker where you're concerned. He always lets pity overcome his better judgment when you're in the picture. I'm tired of you using Roarke; it's time that it stopped. Roarke and I are going to marry, and there's not a thing you can do about it." Suzanne stood in front of Sara, her hands on her hips, tapping her stockinged foot with impatience.
Sara couldn't meet the other woman's eyes. She was totally confused. What was she talking about? Had Roarke really moved Suzanne into this apartment? On those nights he supposedly worked late, were they spent here with Suzanne?
Suzanne sat down again on the sofa. "When it was made clear to Roarke how badly injured you were and when you were released from the hospital you would need constant care, he made the decision to move you back into the house. I moved out and moved in here. Of course it was only to be a temporary move, but you just couldn't resist using the situation to your advantage. You know how responsible Roarke feels for you since you have no family. I'm sick of you taking advantage of that fact; you're a big girl now. It's time for you to stand on your own two feet. Roarke and I are eager to put the past behind us and start our new life together." Suzanne sat with her hands folded in front of her face, her nose covered by the apex of her fingertips. The only feature of Suzanne's face Sara could see were her glowing catlike eyes that were locked onto Sara's face with an imperious gleam.
"What are you talking about? I don't understand. If you're telling me the truth, why wouldn't Martha tell me you were living here? She gave me the key," Sara gasped.
Suzanne threw her head back in deep soft laughter that purred through the room. "Darling, why would Roarke have to ask permission from a servant to do what he wants, when he wants? You're more naive than I thought." Her laughter ceased suddenly and her eyes pierced Sara's. "Yes, that's it. It's all part of the role you're playing. The helpless child with no memories."
"Suzanne, what do you mean, my role as a helpless child with no memories. I can't remember—"
"This is beginning to bore me, Sara," Suzanne interrupted. "What are you doing here? I know Roarke doesn't know where you are because he would have stopped you from coming here. For some reason he has this big-brother protectiveness where you're concerned." She chuckled. "I can just see the expression on Roarke's face if you had told him you were coming to this apartment. He's so sure that you've really lost your memory that he wanted to keep you from finding out that he's in the process of divorcing you to marry me. Your doctor told him some nonsense that if he told you of our plans, it would be more than you could stand. He feels that the accident has put you in such a state of shock that any more emotional strain might put you over the edge. What nonsense. We both know how strong you are!"
Sara watched Suzanne pull a dark cigarette from her purse. Suzanne was very calm and very sure of herself. Someone in this room was insane, and Sara's insides began to shake. Is everything Suzanne telling me the truth? Is she living here? Are she and Roarke in love? It had to be true. I saw the photo in the magazine with my own eyes. Suzanne thinks that I don't have amnesia and can remember everything. I don't recognize anything here, so how can I be positive she's not living here? It must be true!
Suzanne's slight smile as she exhaled the smoke stabbed at Sara's heart. "Give up, Sara. Roarke put you out of his life long ago. Why do you insist on torturing the man? You know how responsible he feels for you. Why do you persist in continuing this charade and reinforcing his feeling of obligation? If he felt any love for you, it died long ago. Why can't you step gracefully out of his life? You certainly haven't been an asset to him, I can tell you that! Your antics over the past two years have brought him so much unwanted attention. How do you think he felt with you going out with different men all the time? Poor Roarke, the talk he had to put up with behind his back about his wife having round heels!"
Sara stared at Suzanne in stunned disbelief. "Other men? I couldn't have been like that!"
Suzanne leaped to her feet. "Why are you keeping up this lost-memory ploy?" she cried heatedly. "I told you, you can fool your doctor, you can try to fool Roarke, but you can't fool me. Roarke doesn't love you. How can you want to keep a man tied to you who doesn't want you? He has bitterly regretted his marriage to you and yet you won't let go. You keep him hanging around for your sick pleasure and drag him through all your escapades with you." Suzanne was shouting and Sara winced at the fury in her eyes. "I hate you, Sara. I hate you because of what you've done to Roarke. You've single-handedly almost ruined his business, made him the laughing stock of his friends and business associates, and just when he was going to put you out of his life forever, you have this automobile accident. It wouldn't take much convincing for me to believe you had that 'accident' on purpose." Suzanne was calmer and stood towering over a shocked Sara still riveted in her chair. "It does seem ironic that you'd have an accident the very day you were to be served with Roarke's divorce papers." Suzanne leaned down, placing her hands on the arms of the chair on either side of Sara, trapping her in the seat, forcing her to look up at Suzanne. "Give up, Sara, you've lost!"
Sara stared into Suzanne's feline eyes and what she saw convinced her Suzanne was telling her the truth. She didn't see hate or anger in Suzanne's eyes. Sara saw pity. Suzanne pitied her!
Suzanne released her hold on the chair and walked back over to the sofa and curled her body into the deep cushions.
Sara was paralyzed. After a few moments she stood, her legs trembling and threatening not to hold her up. But she braced herself and with her back straight and her head held high Sara picked up her purse from the table in the foyer, opened the door, and left the apartment. She was determined Suzanne would not see the pain she had inflicted on her or the defeat and humiliation that she knew showed in her eyes.
Outside the closed apartment door Sara leaned weakly against the wall, trying to pull herself together. Her hands were shaking badly and her knees felt like they would not support her. The churning of her stomach was welcome, as it momentarily took her mind off her breaking heart. Shame and humiliation washed over her, and her face flamed with the memory of Suzanne's words.
Sara took a deep breath and walked toward the elevator, her one coherent thought was to escape Suzanne's triumph and to leave before Roarke would come looking for her. She couldn't face him now, she doubted if she could ever face him. Had she really humiliated him? Had she made him the laughing stock of his friends? All those… those men in her past! No wonder he doesn't want me to get my memory back! No wonder he wants… wants Suzanne!
The elevator door closed, leaving Sara in momentary solitude. She leaned her head against the cool wall of the cab, beating it with a white-knuckled fist. My God, what kind of a cruel, sadistic person am I? Hysteria tried to bubble up inside her, but she knew she must keep it in check. She didn't want to look as sick as she felt when she walked through the lobby.
The elevator doors parted and she stepped out of the cab. Moving through the lobby like a robot, she stared straight ahead, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other and getting out of the building quickly. Outside, the warm evening breeze ruffled her hair and felt cool on her face. She looked around her at the traffic-filled street. Where can I go? she thoug
ht, with panic rising in her throat.
She walked around the corner of the building and for several moments leaned against the side of it. There has to be one answer to this. I am crazy. No, I can't think about that right now. I have to focus on what I'm going to do. I can't just roam around the streets. Her thoughts raced. Then a clear one caught hold. I know, I'll call Ted. I'll ask him to help me, at least maybe he'll find me a place to stay.
Then she remembered something Suzanne had said. Ted knew that Roarke was going to divorce me! Not only had he kept their separation a secret from me, but now this. Ted had convinced her in his office that he hadn't wanted to tell her of her separation from Roarke because she needed him or someone to take care of her. But to keep this a secret from her was inexcusable. He said he was her friend! With friends like Suzanne and Ted she certainly had her share of enemies.
Sara's mind felt like putty; her instinct to run took over, and she ran around the corner of the building and stopped short. Gasping in alarm, she saw Roarke entering the lobby. She ran back around the side of the building, breathing hard and, her heart pounding in her throat, waiting in rigid anticipation to hear Roarke's voice call her name. She didn't know how long she stood there, but when she knew that Roarke hadn't seen her, she started to run.
Running blindly, unaware of the curious stares of passers-by, she ran until she could run no more. Convulsively taking deep, panting breaths, she slowly became aware of where she was for the first time. She was standing in the Mall between the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument and the reflecting pool was in front of her. Somehow she knew there were benches somewhere a little farther ahead where she could sit down, rest, and collect her thoughts. She didn't know how she knew about the benches; she just knew she had to reach one before she fell down.
She found a bench and practically collapsed on it. People walked by her, but no one paid any attention to her. Letting the pent-up tears fall, she sobbed silently. When she could cry no more and took notice of her surroundings again, there were very few people in the vicinity. She was practically alone. Alone… the word rang out in her head. She was alone, she had no one, no one who really cared about her. No one who gave a damn about her happiness. The only person in her life whom she loved thought of her as a burdensome obligation.
Sara saw a policeman walking in her direction and panic gripped her once again. Quickly she stood and tried to walk casually in the direction of the Washington Monument. She held her breath as she passed the officer, afraid that Roarke had alerted the police she was missing. But when he passed her without even looking in her direction, she let out her breath with a sigh.
Desperately trying to hang on to some coherent thoughts, she knew she must do something; she couldn't wander the streets all night. She tried to think of anyone she could call for help that wouldn't tell Roarke, and the only person she could think of was Ted. Would he tell? After all, her thoughts ran rampant, I am his patient and if I tell him not to call Roarke, he has to do as I say! She knew she had to find a pay phone and call Ted and trust him. He was her only hope. If she didn't soon find a place to stay, the police would become curious and she'd be back where she started.
She didn't know where she was but hoped she hadn't gone back toward the apartment building. Roarke might be driving around looking for her, so she stepped out of the glow of the streetlight she was standing under.
It could be that Roarke wasn't looking for her. Maybe he was feeling relieved that she had gone out of his life so easily. Sara's heart lurched. If only I didn't love him so much.
Despite everything that had happened, her love was deep and all-consuming. She had to disappear out of Washington but, most of all, she had to disappear out of Roarke's life. That's the only way Roarke could be happy. With all the things that Suzanne had told her and the few things Roarke had said, some of .the pieces were beginning to fit into her puzzle. The picture wasn't clear yet, there were still mammoth gaps, but what she did know showed her that she had practically ruined Roarke's life. Since she was released from the hospital, he must have made a very real attempt to mend their marriage, but the past could not be put to rest. It was all very real to him and the pain of all those years just couldn't be anesthetized by a few short months.
She knew she couldn't remember and was a different person from the other Sara, but she also knew she could never convince Roarke. "The only question is where and how do I disappear?" she whispered.
Sara walked and walked. She wasn't sure how long she had wandered around looking for a pay phone. Of the two she saw, one was in use and a policeman was standing near the other. She walked by the National Gallery of Art, avoiding the late-night people milling around. In front of her the Capitol building loomed over the city like a white picture glued on the dark sky behind it. She turned up another street, praying she'd find a phone.
Her head was spinning from exhaustion and she was having a difficult time controlling her panic. It had been hot when she left the house this morning, but the night was cool and she shivered slightly.
As she passed in front of some store windows, she glanced at her reflection. She saw a bedraggled, scared woman staring back at her. Her eyes were wide and almost vacant from terror and the strain of maintaining the steel control over her emotions.
What if someone stopped her to ask her if she needed help because she looked sick? What would she say to them? She must find a phone; she must get in touch with Ted and get off the streets. She dragged herself a little farther on and found a telephone that wasn't being used. It was under a streetlight and as Sara approached it she carefully looked around to make sure no one was watching her.
With a shaking hand she put the change in the slot and punched Ted's number. The phone on the other end started ringing. Let him be there, please let him be there. Sara mouthed the words silently. The phone kept ringing, but no one answered it. Sara let it ring and ring, hoping against hope that he was just coming in and would answer.
Devastated, she finally hung up the receiver and stared around blankly. The panic she had been holding under restraint for so long was uncontrollable; she was beyond reasonable thought. She walked blindly through the streets and wandered mindlessly for hours. When she was once more rational, dawn was streaking the city sky.
She knew she had spent a great deal of time in an all-night coffee shop and that she had even gone into a bus station for a little while, but it seemed like it happened in a dream. It had no reality for her. Nothing seemed real except her aching body and her fear.
Looking around, she saw a hotel across the street. She had to sleep. Taking her wallet out of her purse, she saw there was money inside—her weekly allowance from Roarke. She just hoped it was enough. Desperate, not caring anymore if Roarke found her or not, she went into the hotel and paid for a room. She didn't pay any attention to the curious stares or that the night manager hesitated to give her a room until she had told him her name. She just took the proffered key and made her way to the elevator. Fumbling with the key in the lock, she got the door open, went inside, and locked the door behind her. Not bothering to take off her clothes, she collapsed on the bed and was immediately deeply asleep.
Her sleep was troubled and she thrashed around in the bed. She dreamed that Roarke and Suzanne were chasing her around the city. She ran and ran but couldn't find anyplace to hide. At one point she was running in slow motion, and when she turned around, she saw that Ted had joined the chase and they were all laughing and pointing their fingers at her. She would rouse awake and realize she was dreaming but fall back into a druglike sleep only to have the dream continue. Suddenly Sara woke with a start. Someone was pounding on the door.
"Sara, let me in!" It was Roarke and his voice sounded angry and hoarse. "Open this door and let me in." He kept pounding on the door until she thought he would break it in.
Sara shook her head, trying to make sure she was awake and that this was not a part of the nightmare she had been having. She was awake and the pounding
continued. She was trapped. There was nowhere to run. She heard a key turn in the lock and panic rose in her throat.
When Roarke entered the room, Sara was lying in a heap on the floor, unconscious.
CHAPTER TEN
Sara blinked to clear her vision. Everything was blurred with a bright halo of light shimmering through the room. Where was she? Was she back in the hospital? Sensing someone nearby, she cautiously moved her head and through the murky haze made out Roarke's form sitting beside her. She closed her eyes quickly, hoping Roarke didn't notice she was awake.
"Sara, I know you're awake. Will you please open your eyes and look at me?" He sounded exhausted.
She opened her eyes again and stared at the ceiling. She couldn't look at him. Awareness was replacing her confusion along with the knowledge that she had been running away from him. Turning her head away, she gazed around and saw that he had brought her back to the apartment.
"Sara, why did you run away? You know you aren't in any condition to be roaming Washington alone." Roarke paused, waiting for her answer. "Damn it, Sara, will you look at me and answer my question!" Roarke's voice raised and it sounded hoarse.
She looked at Roarke through half-closed lids. His clothes were rumpled and a dark growth of beard marred the smooth, sleek skin. He looked as if he hadn't slept in days. The bloodshot eyes exposed his weariness and a faint crease between his brows lent his face an air of sadness and regret.
A deep sense of sympathy surged through her, but she steeled herself against it. It couldn't be those emotions she was seeing in his eyes. If it were, it was only because he was regretting that he had her as a burden again.
"Sara, please talk to me." His voice cracked roughly.
"How did you find me?" Sara asked weakly and' turned her face away from him.
"The hotel manager called me. He was concerned when he saw how you looked. When you told him your name, he decided he'd better let me know you were there. Now, answer my question. Why did you run away?"
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