a Perfect Stranger (1983)

by Steel, Danielle

  No, Alex, don't. He understood that if her world were filled with duennas, then she wasn't likely to kiss a man in the street.

  All right. But I want to see you, Raphaella. What about tonight? There was a brief chuckle in his shoulder as she moved to look at him again.

  What about my mother, and my aunt and my cousins? He was impossible, he was so stubborn, but he was also one of the nicest men she had ever met.

  Bring them along. I'll bring my mother. He was only teasing and she knew it, and this time she laughed out loud.

  You're impossible.

  I know. And I also won't take no for an answer.

  Alex, please! She looked at her watch again and suddenly panicked. Oh, my God, they'll kill me! By now they must be back from lunch.

  Then promise you'll see me tonight for a drink. He held tightly to her arm, and then suddenly remembered. And what the hell is your last name?

  She flung a hand away from him and hailed a cab passing nearby. It shrieked to a stop next to them, and Alex held the one arm more tightly. Alex, don't. I have to

  Not until It was half a game and half in earnest and she laughed nervously and looked into his eyes again.

  All right. All right. Phillips.

  Is that how you're registered at the Carlyle?

  Yes, your honor. She looked meek for a moment and then nervous again. But, Alex, I can't see you. Not here, and not in San Francisco, and not ever. This must be good-bye.

  For chris-sake, don't be silly. This is just the beginning.

  No, it's not. She looked serious for a moment as she stood there, and the cabbie snorted impatiently while Alex glared. This is not the beginning, Alex, it's the end. And I must go now.

  Not like that! Alex looked suddenly desperate, and then regretted that he hadn't kissed her. What? You just had lunch with me so you could meet my famous mother? Is that nice? He was teasing but she looked at him in confusion and he knew that he had scored a hit.

  Oh, Alex, how could you

  Will you see me later?

  Alex

  Never mind. Eleven o'clock tonight. The Caf+! Carlyle. We can talk and listen to Bobby Short. And if you're not there, I'll come upstairs and pound on your mother's door. But he looked suddenly worried. Can you get away from them by eleven? Even he had to admit that it was funny. She was thirty-two years old and he was asking her if she could escape her mother. In fact it was utterly absurd.

  I'll try. She grinned at him, looking suddenly young again, but with a hint of something guilty about her eyes. We shouldn't do this.

  Why not?

  She was about to tell him, but knew that she couldn't, standing on the sidewalk with an impatient cab driver beginning to snarl. We'll talk about it tonight.

  Good. He grinned broadly. Then she'd be there. And with that, he pulled open the door to the cab and swept her a bow. See you this evening, Miss Phillips. He bent slightly and kissed her on the forehead; a moment later the door was closed and the cab was speeding uptown as Raphaella sat in the backseat furious at her own weakness. She should never have misled him from the beginning. She should have told him the truth on the plane, and she should never have gone to lunch. But just once, just once, she told herself, she had a right to do something wild and romantic and amusing. Or did she have that right at all? What gave her that right when John Henry sat dying in his wheelchair? How dare she play such games? As the cab neared the Carlyle she vowed that that night she would tell Alex that she was married. And she was not going to see him again. After tonight' there was still one more meeting' and her heart fluttered just at the thought of seeing him one more time.

  Well? Alex looked at his mother victoriously and sat down. She smiled at him, and as she did so she felt suddenly very old. How young he looked, how hopeful, how happy, how blind.

  Well what? The blue eyes were gentle and sad.

  What do you mean, Well what?' Isn't she incredible?

  Yes. Charlotte said it matter of factly. She is probably the most beautiful young woman I've ever seen. And she is charming and gentle and lovely and I like her. But, Alex' . She hesitated for a long moment and then decided to speak her mind. What good is that going to do you?

  What's that supposed to mean? He looked suddenly annoyed as he took a sip of his cold coffee. She's wonderful.

  How well do you know her?

  Not very. He grinned at her then. But I'm hoping to change that, in spite of her mother and her aunt and her cousins and her duennas.

  What about her husband? Alex looked suddenly as though he had been shot. His eyes flew open as he stared at her, and then they narrowed again with rare distrust.

  What do you mean, her husband'?

  Alex, do you know who she is?

  She is half Spanish and half French, she lives in San Francisco, she is unemployed, thirty-two years old, I learned today, and her name is Raphaella Phillips. I just discovered her last name.

  That doesn't ring a bell?

  No, and for chris-sake, stop playing games with me. His eyes darted fire, and Charlotte Brandon sat back in her chair and sighed. She had been right then. The last name confirmed it. She wasn't sure why, but she had remembered that face, though she hadn't seen a photograph of her in the papers for years. The last time was perhaps seven or eight years ago, leaving the hospital, after John Henry Phillips had had his first stroke. What the hell are you trying to tell me, Mother?

  That she's married, darling, and to a very important man. Does the name John Henry Phillips mean anything?

  For a fraction of a second Alex closed his eyes. He was thinking that what his mother was telling him couldn't be true. He's dead, isn't he?

  No, not as far as I know. He had a series of strokes several years ago, and he must be almost eighty, but I'm sure he's still alive. We'd certainly all have heard about it if he weren't.

  But what makes you think she's his wife? Alex looked as though an earthquake had struck him, right between the eyes.

  I remember reading the story, and seeing the photographs. She was just as beautiful then. It struck me as shocking at first that he was marrying such a young girl. I don't know, she was seventeen or eighteen, something like that. The daughter of some important French banker. But when I saw them together at a press conference I went to with a journalist friend and I saw some of the photographs, I felt differently. You know, in his day John Henry Phillips was an extraordinary man.

  And now?

  Who knows. I know that he's bed-ridden and seriously impaired by his strokes, but I don't think the public knows much more than that. She has always been kept very much out of the public eye, which was why I couldn't place her at first. But that face' one doesn't forget it easily. Their eyes met and Alex nodded. He hadn't forgotten it easily either, and he knew that he never would. I take it she hasn't told you any of this. He shook his head again. I hope she does. His mother's voice was gentle. She ought to tell you herself. Maybe I shouldn't have' . Her voice trailed off and he shook his head again, and then stared miserably up at the woman who was his oldest friend.

  Why? Why should she be married to that ancient bastard? He's old enough to be her grandfather, and he's practically dead. The injustice of it tore at everything in his heart. Why? Why should he have Raphaella?

  But he isn't dead, Alex. I don't understand what she has in mind with you. Except that I'll tell you honestly I think that she herself is confused. She's not sure what she's doing with you. And you should keep in mind that she has led a totally sheltered life. John Henry Phillips has kept her totally concealed from the public for almost fifteen years. I don't think she's used to meeting brash young lawyers or having casual affairs. I may be wrong about her, but I don't think I am.

  I don't think you are either. Christ. He sat back in his chair with a long unhappy sigh. Now what?

  Are you seeing her again?

  He nodded. Later tonight. She said she wanted to talk to me. He wondered if she would tell him then. And then what?

  Alex realized
as he sat staring into space across from his mother that John Henry Phillips might live for another twenty years at which time Alex would be almost sixty, and Raphaella would be fifty-two. A lifetime of waiting for an old man to die.

  What are you thinking? His mother's voice was very soft.

  Slowly he dragged his eyes back to hers. Nothing very pleasant. You know, he spoke slowly, I saw her one night on the steps near her house. She was crying. I thought about her for days until I saw her again on the plane coming here. And we talked, and He looked up at his mother bleakly.

  Alex, you hardly know her.

  You're wrong. I do know her. I feel as though I know her better than anyone else. I know her soul and her mind and her heart. I know what she feels and how lonely she is. And now I know why. And I know something else. He looked long and hard at his mother.

  What's that, Alex?

  That I love her. I know that sounds crazy, but I do.

  You don't know that. It's too soon. She's almost a complete stranger.

  No, she isn't. And then he said nothing further. He put his credit card down for the check, looked at his mother, and said, We'll work it out. But Charlotte Brandon only nodded, thinking it unlikely that they would.

  When Alex left her a few minutes later on Lexington Avenue, the look in his eyes told her that he was determined. And as he bowed his head in the stiff breeze and walked briskly north, he knew in his own mind that he didn't care what it would take to win Raphaella, but he would do it. He had never before wanted any woman as he wanted her. And his fight for her had just begun. It wasn't a fight that Alex Hale was willing to lose.

  Chapter 7

  At five minutes to eleven in the evening, after a brisk walk up Madison Avenue, Alex Hale turned right on 76th Street and walked into the Carlyle.

  He had reserved a table for them in the Caf+! Carlyle, with every intention of chatting with Raphaella for an hour and then enjoying Bobby Short's midnight show. He was one of the greater gifts of New York, and sharing him with Raphaella was a treat Alex had looked forward to all night. He checked his coat at the door and wove his way to the designated table, and then sat there for ten minutes, waiting for her to arrive. At eleven fifteen he began to worry, and at eleven thirty he wondered if he should call her room. But he realized that was impossible. Especially now that he knew about her husband. He realized that he had to wait for her quietly without creating a stir.

  At twenty minutes before twelve he saw her staring through the glass door and looking as though she were poised to run. He tried to catch her eye but she didn't see him, and then, after a moment of scanning the room, she disappeared. Almost without thinking, Alex rose from the table and hurried to the door and out into the lobby in time to see her escaping down the hall. Raphaella! he called out softly, and she turned, her eyes huge and frightened, her face very pale. She was wearing a beautiful ivory satin evening dress that fell straight from her shoulders to its black-bordered hem at her feet. On her left shoulder she wore a huge elaborate pin with an enormous baroque pearl at its center, surrounded by onyx and diamonds, and she wore earrings to match. The effect was very striking, and Alex noticed once again how incredibly beautiful she was. She had stopped when he called her, and she stood very still now as he stood in front of her with a look of great seriousness in his eyes. Don't run away yet. Let's have a drink and talk. His voice was very gentle, and he wanted to reach out to her, but he didn't even dare to touch her hand.

  I I shouldn't. I can't. I came to tell you that' I'm sorry it's so late' I

  Raphaella, it's not even midnight. Couldn't we talk for just half an hour?

  There are so many people' . She looked unhappy as they stood there, and suddenly he remembered the Bemelmans bar. He was sorry to miss out on Bobby Short with her, but it meant more to him to spend the time talking about what she had on her mind.

  There's another bar here where we'll be able to talk more quietly. Come on. And without waiting for an answer, he tucked her hand into his arm, and led her back down the hallway to a bar across from the Caf+! Carlyle, and here they slipped onto a banquette behind a small table, and Alex looked at her with a slow, happy smile. What would you like to drink? Some wine? Some sherry? But she only shook her head in answer, and he saw that she was still very distressed. When the waiter had left them, he turned to her and spoke softly. Raphaella, is something wrong? She nodded slowly, first looking down at her hands, her perfect profile etched sharply in the darkened room as he watched her.

  She looked up at him, her eyes seeking his, as though that alone caused her great pain. The look of sorrow on her face was the same that he had seen that first evening when he had found her crying on the steps. Why don't we talk about it?

  She took a little breath and sat back against the banquette, still keeping her eyes locked in his. I should have spoken to you about it earlier, Alex. I have been she hesitated on the words and then went on very deceitful with you. I don't know what happened. I think I was carried away. You were so nice on the plane. Your mother was so charming. But I have been most unfair to you, my friend' . Her eyes were filled with sorrow and she gently touched his hand. I have given you the impression that I am free, I have been very wrong to do so. And I must apologize to you now. She looked at him bleakly and withdrew her hand. I am married, Alex. I should have told you that from the first. I don't know why I played this game with you. But it was very, very wrong. I can't see you again.

  She was a woman of honor, and he was touched to the core by the earnestness with which she looked at him now, the tears dancing on the tips of her lashes, her eyes so very big, her face so very pale.

  He spoke to her carefully and with great seriousness, as he did to Amanda when she was a very little girl. Raphaella, I respect you very much for what you have just done. But must that affect our our friendship? I can accept your situation. Couldn't we go on seeing each other in spite of that? It was an honest question, and he wasn't about to let go.

  She shook her head sadly. I would like to see you' if if I were free. But I am a married woman. It's not possible. It wouldn't be right.

  Why?

  It would not be fair to my husband. And he is such she faltered on the words such a good man. He has been' so fair' so kind to me' . She turned her face away and Alex saw a tear roll swiftly down one delicate, ivory cheek. He reached out a hand to smooth his fingertips across the satiny softness of her face, and suddenly he wanted to cry too. She couldn't mean it. She couldn't mean to be faithful to her husband for the rest of his life. The horror of that began to dawn on him as he watched her face.

  But, Raphaella' you can't be' the night I saw you on the steps' you're not happy. I know that. Why can't we see each other and just enjoy what we have?

  Because I have no right to that. I'm not free.

  For God's sake He was about to tell her that he knew everything, but she stopped him with one hand held out as though to defend herself from an aggressor, and with one swift movement she stood up and looked down at him with the tears still running down her face.

  No, Alex, no! I can't. I'm married. And I'm very, very sorry for letting it go this far. I shouldn't have. I was dishonest to come to lunch with your mother' .

  Stop confessing and sit down. He reached out gently for her arm and pulled her toward him back onto the seat, and for reasons that she herself did not understand, she let him, and then he wiped the tears from her cheeks with his hand. Raphaella. He spoke very softly so that no one else could hear. I love you. I know that sounds crazy. We hardly know each other, but I love you. I've been looking for you for years and years. You can't walk out on that now. Not for what you have with with your husband.

  What do you mean?

  I mean that from what I understand from my mother, your husband is very old, and very ill, and has been for years. I have to admit, I had no idea who you were when I met you, it was my mother who recognized you, she told me who you were and about about your husband.

  Then she knew. She mus
t think I'm awful. Raphaella looked deeply ashamed.

  No. He was definite and his voice sounded urgent as he leaned toward her. He could almost feel the warmth of her silky flesh next to his and he had never been as filled with desire as he was right then, but this was no time for passion. He had to talk to her, make sense to her, make her see. How could anyone think you awful? You've been faithful to him, haven't you, all these years? It was almost a rhetorical question and she nodded her head slowly and then sighed.

  I have. But there is no reason to stop now. I have no right to behave as though I'm free, Alex. I'm not. And I have no right to confuse your life or touch it with the sorrow of mine.

  The reason your life is so lonely is because that is how you are living it. Lonely and alone with a very sick, elderly man. You have a right to so much more than that.

  Yes. But it's not his fault things turned out as they did.

  Nor is it yours. Must you punish yourself?

  No, but I cannot punish him. The way she said it told him that he was losing the battle again, and he felt a desperate sinking in his heart. And as he did she stood up again, but this time with great determination. I must go now. His eyes begged her not to. I must. And then, without saying anything further, she let her lips gently brush his brow as she kissed him softly and walked quickly from the bar. He made a single move to follow her, and she shook her head and held up a hand. He knew that once again she was crying, but he also knew that this time he had lost. To pursue her would only make her more unhappy and he knew that there was nothing that he could do. He had sensed that as she was speaking. She was bound to John Henry Phillips in marriage and in honor, and it was not a bond that Raphaella was prepared to break, nor would she even stretch it, and certainly not for a perfect stranger, a man she had met the day before on a plane.