Because I need you. She said it softly and he shook his head and turned his face away again. He said nothing for a very long time then, and when she approached the bed carefully, she saw that he had fallen asleep. It made her sad to realize how unhappy he was. It was as though she weren't doing enough.
The nurse came in on tiptoe and Raphaella motioned to her that John Henry had fallen asleep. They stepped out for a whispered conference. The consensus was that he was probably asleep for the night. He had had a long, difficult day, and Christmas had made no difference. Nothing really did anymore. He was sick of it all.
I'll be in my room if you need me. She whispered it to the nurse and then walked pensively down the hall. Poor John Henry, what a rotten existence. And in Raphaella's mind the injustice was not that he was still living but that he had had the strokes at all. Without them, at his age, he could still have been vital. Slower perhaps than he had been at fifty or sixty, a little more tired, but happy and busy and alive. But the way things were, he had nothing, and he was right in a way. He was barely alive.
She walked slowly into her little study, thinking of him and then letting her mind drift to other things. Her family celebrating Christmas at Santa Eugenia, her father, and then inevitably the Christmas she had shared with Alexander and Amanda the year before. And then for the hundredth time since that morning she remembered what he had said to her three weeks before on the beach. I'll be waiting ' I'll be there' . She could still hear him say it. And as she sat there, alone in her study, she wondered again if he really was. It was only seven thirty, a respectable hour, and she could easily have gone for a walk, but where would it lead her? What would happen if she went there? Was it smart, was it wise? Did it make sense at all? She knew that it didn't, that her place was there in John Henry's huge empty house. As the hours ticked slowly onward, she suddenly felt she had to go there, just for a moment, for half an hour, just to see him. It was madness and she knew it, but at nine thirty she flew out of her chair, unable to stay in the house a moment longer. She had to go.
She quickly slipped a red wool coat over the simple black dress she had been wearing, put on long narrow black leather boots, slipped a black leather handbag on her shoulder, and ran a comb through her hair. She felt her heart flutter at the prospect of seeing him, reproaching herself for going but suddenly smiling as she thought ahead to the moment when he would open the door. She left a note in her room that she had gone for a walk and to drop in on a friend, in case someone came to find her, and her feet fairly flew as she hurried the few blocks to the little house she hadn't seen in five and a half months.
When she saw the house, she simply stood there looking at it, and she sighed softly. She felt as though she had been lost for almost half a year and she had finally found her way home. Unable to suppress the smile on her face, she crossed the street and rang the doorbell, and then suddenly there was the rapid thumping of his footstep on the stairs. There was a pause, and then the door opened and he stood there, unable to believe what he saw, until suddenly the smile in her eyes was matched by his.
Merry Christmas. They said it in unison and then laughed together as he stood aside with a bow and then rose to face her with a warm smile. Welcome home, Raphaella. Saying not a word, she walked inside.
There was furniture in the living room now. He and Mandy had put it together, gone to auctions and garage sales and department stores and art galleries and thrift shops, and what they had put together was a comfortable combination of French provincial and Early American. The room was decorated with a handsome fur throw, soft French Impressionist paintings, lots of silver and some pewter, and some handsome old books. There were huge jugs filled with flowers on the tables, and there were plants in every corner and crawling all over the little marble mantelpiece in the double parlor. The couch was off-white, the little throw cushions were made of fur and tapestry, and there were several needle-points that Amanda had made for Alex while they were doing the house. With Raphaella gone she was even closer to her uncle and felt an obligation to take care of him now that there was no one else who would. She nagged him about eating the right foods, taking his vitamins, getting his sleep, driving too fast, working too hard, and not weeding the garden. He teased her about her boyfriends, her cooking, her makeup, her wardrobe, and yet somehow managed to make her feel that she was the prettiest girl alive. Together they ran a nice little household, and as she stepped across the threshold, Raphaella could feel the love that they shared, it exuded from every corner of the room.
Alex, this is lovely.
Isn't it? Mandy did most of it after school. He looked proud of his absent niece as he led Raphaella into the living room, and it was something of a relief to sit in a room that had not been one they had shared. She had been somewhat nervous that he would take her up to the bedroom to sit in front of the fireplace and she couldn't have borne the memories there, or in the study, or even in the kitchen downstairs. This was perfect, because it was warm and pretty, and it was new.
He offered her coffee and brandy. She accepted the former, declined the latter, and sat down on the pretty little couch, admiring the details of the room again. He was back in a minute with the coffee, and she saw that his hands were trembling as badly as hers when he set down the cup.
I didn't really know if you'd be here, she began nervously, but I decided to take a chance.
He eyed her seriously from a chair next to the couch. I told you I would be. And I meant it, Raphaella. You should know that by now. She nodded and sipped the hot espresso.
How was Christmas?
All right. He smiled and shrugged. It was a big event for Mandy, and my mother flew in last night to take her to Hawaii. She's been promising her that trip for years, and this seemed a good time. She just finished a book and she could use the rest too. As the saying goes, she's not getting any younger.
Your mother? Raphaella looked both shocked and amused. She'll never be old. And then she remembered something she had forgotten to tell him when they met on the beach. I'm having a book published too. And then she blushed and laughed softly. Though nothing as important as a novel.
Your children's book? His eyes lit up with pleasure and she nodded.
They just told me a few weeks ago.
Did you use an agent? She shook her head.
No. Just beginner's luck, I guess. They smiled at each other for a long moment and then Alex sat back in his chair.
I'm glad you're here, Raphaella. I've wanted to show you this room for a long time.
And I've been wanting to tell you about the book. She smiled gently. It was as though they had both retrieved a friend. But what would they do now? They couldn't resume what they once had. Raphaella knew that. It would rock the boat too badly, with Kay, with her father, her mother, John Henry. She wished that she could tell him what the previous summer had been like, what kind of a nightmare it had been for her.
What were you thinking about just then? She had looked devastated as she stared into the fire.
She looked up at him honestly. Last summer. She sighed softly. It was such an awful time.
He nodded, looking pensive too, and then he sighed with a small smile. I'm just happy you've come back at all, and that we can talk. That was the hardest part for me, not being able to talk to you anymore' or see you' knowing you wouldn't be here when I got home. Mandy said that was the hardest part for her too. What he said turned the knife in Raphaella's heart and she looked away from him so he wouldn't see the pain in her eyes. What do you do now, Raphaella? His voice was gentle, and she stared pensively into the fire.
I'm with John Henry most of the time. He hasn't been well at all in the past few months.
It must be hard for both of you.
Mostly for him.
And you? He eyed her pointedly and she didn't answer. But then, without saying more, he leaned toward her and gently kissed her lips. She didn't stop him, she didn't think about what they were doing. She just kissed him, gently at first, and t
hen with the passion and the sorrow and the loneliness and the aching for him that had drowned her since the summer before. It was as though it all washed over her with that first kiss, and she could feel him battling his own passions too.
Alex' I can't' . Not again. She couldn't start this again. He nodded.
I know. It's all right. They sat there for a while, talking, looking into the fire, talking about themselves, about each other, about what had happened to them, and what they had felt, and then suddenly they were talking about other things, about people, about things that had amused them, about funny moments, as though for six months they had stored it all. It was three in the morning when Raphaella left him at the corner around the bend from her house. He had insisted on walking her home. And then, like a schoolboy, he hesitated briefly and decided to plunge in. Can I see you again, Raphaella? Just like this ' ? He didn't want to frighten her away again, and he had just glimpsed the pressures she lived with, both real and in her own mind. She seemed to think about it, but only briefly, and she nodded.
Maybe we could go for a walk on the beach?
Tomorrow?
She laughed at the question and nodded. Very well.
I'll meet you here and we can go in my car. It would be Saturday, and he was free. Twelve o'clock?
All right. Feeling very young and girlish, she smiled at him and waved, and then she was gone, grinning to herself all the way home. She didn't think of John Henry, or her father, or Kay Willard, or anyone else. She thought only of Alexander' Alex' and of seeing him at noon the next day and going to the beach.
Chapter 29
By the end of a week Alex and Raphaella were meeting every afternoon, either for a walk on the beach or to sit lazily in front of the fire, drinking espresso and talking about life. She showed him her contract for the book when it arrived from New York, and he told her about his latest cases, and they went back to Fort Point. They shared afternoon hours when he wasn't working, and a few hours in the evening after John Henry went to bed. They were always hours when she couldn't be with John Henry because he was sleeping, so she didn't feel that she was stealing a single precious life-giving moment from him. She gave to Alex the time that was her own, a half hour here, an hour there, a spare moment, to walk and breathe and think and be. They were some of the happiest hours they had spent together, hours in which they discovered each other once again. Only this time they discovered more than they had a year earlier, or perhaps it was that they had both grown so much in the time they were alone. In both cases the sense of loss had been staggering, yet it had prodded each of them in different ways. But the relationship between them was still very tenuous, it was all very new and they were both afraid. Raphaella was terrified to create the same cataclysmic disaster she had once before, arousing his sister's ire and her father's, and the problem of keeping Alex from a fuller relationship with someone else still remained. But Alex was only frightened of scaring her off again. He had, after all, John Henry's blessing, so he had no guilt at all. They advanced carefully, inching slowly toward each other, until the day after New Year when she came over at two in the afternoon, after John Henry had declared that he wanted to sleep all day, and he seemed bent on doing just that.
Raphaella wandered over to see Alex, rang the doorbell, not even sure that he was home, and he opened it to her in jeans and a comfortable old turtleneck sweater, with a look of immense pleasure to see her standing at the door.
What a nice surprise. What are you doing here?
I just thought I'd come to visit. Am I disturbing you? With a blush she suddenly realized that she had taken a great deal for granted, he could have had a woman upstairs in his room. But he instantly read the look on her face and chuckled.
No, madam. You are not disturbing' me at all. Want a cup of coffee? She nodded and followed him downstairs to the kitchen.
Who's been doing those? She waved a hand at the shining copper pots as she slid into a kitchen chair.
I have.
Have you really?
Of course. And then he smiled at her. I have many talents you don't know about yet.
Really? Like what? He handed her a cup of warm coffee and she took a sip as he watched her happily from his chair.
I'm not sure I should give up all my secrets at once.
They sat quietly together for a while, sipping their coffee and enjoying each other's company, and then they began, as always, to discuss a dozen different things. Their time together always seemed to pass so quickly. Then suddenly he remembered the manuscript to his mother's book.
Oh, Alex, can I read it? Raphaella's eyes shone.
Sure. I have it upstairs. It's all over my desk.
Her eyes danced with pleasure at the prospect, and abandoning their coffee, they hastily went upstairs. She glanced at a few pages, loved what she was reading, and smiled up at Alex. She suddenly realized that this was her first time back in his room. Cautiously then she glanced across the hall at his bedroom, and then silently their eyes met and held. He kissed her then, slowly, artfully, hungrily, and her back arched with pleasure as he held her in his arms. He was waiting for her to stop him, but she didn't and he let his hands begin to rove, and then, as though by mutual agreement, they wandered slowly across the hall.
For the first time in his adult life he was frightened, of what he was doing, of the consequences of what they had just found again. He was so desperately afraid of losing her, but it was Raphaella who whispered softly to him. It's all right, Alex. And then as he peeled off her sweater, I love you so much. It seemed like a ballet as he slowly unclothed her, and she took off his clothes as well. They tasted and felt and held and caressed and lingered and it seemed to take them all afternoon to make love, but when at last they lay with each other and their bodies were sated and their minds and hearts were full, they both looked happier than they ever had with each other. Propped on one elbow Alex looked down at her with a smile that she had never seen before.
Do you know how happy it makes me to see you here?
She smiled softly. I missed you so much, Alex' in every possible way. He nodded and lay down beside her, his fingers roving, his mouth hungry, his loins beginning to tingle, and suddenly he knew that he wanted her again. It was as though he couldn't get enough now, as though she might leave him again and there would never be more. They made love again and again and again into the evening, and then they took a warm bath together, and Raphaella sat in it dreamily with her eyes closed.
Darling, you are exquisite.
And very sleepy. She opened one eye and smiled. I have to wake up and go home. But it seemed odd to be going anywhere, odder still to call the other house home. This was home again, where Alex was, where they shared their lives and their souls and their bodies and their loving. And she didn't give a damn what her father threatened this time. She would never let Alex go. Let Kay write him another damn letter. Let them all go to hell. She needed this man. And she had a right to him after all.
He kissed her again as they sat there soaking and she teased him that if he touched her again she would call the police. But he was as tired as she was, and as he drove her home, he yawned happily, kissed her once more, and then as always, let her walk the last block alone.
When she let herself into the house, there was a strange stillness, as though all the clocks had stopped somewhere, as though some sound that had existed subliminally in the huge mansion had somehow stopped. She decided that it was only her imagination and pure exhaustion, and with a grin and a yawn she began to climb the stairs. But as she reached the first landing she suddenly saw two of the maids and two of the nurses clustered in a small group outside John Henry's door. For an instant her heart skipped a beat and she wondered, and then she stopped at the head of the stairs as they saw her.
Is something wrong?
It's The nurse looked red-eyed as she faced Raphaella. It's your husband, Mrs. Phillips.
Oh, my God. She said it softly. She knew as she saw them there was no mistaking t
he looks on their faces.
Is he She couldn't finish the sentence and the nurse nodded.
He's gone. But then, overcome by her own emotions, she burst into tears again and was instantly taken into the other nurse's arms.
How did it happen? Raphaella approached them slowly, her back very straight and her voice very soft. Her eyes looked enormous. John Henry had died while she lay in bed with Alex, playing and cavorting and making love. The indecency of it struck her like a slap across the face and in a single instant she remembered the impact of her father's words the previous summer. He had called her a whore. Did he have another stroke?
For an instant the foursome stood frozen, and then the nurse who had been crying cried louder, and the two maids seemed to instantly disappear. It was then that the second nurse looked at Raphaella, and she knew that something had gone very wrong while she was gone.
The doctor wants to speak to you, Mrs. Phillips. He's been waiting for two hours. We didn't know where you were, but we found the note in your room and assumed that you'd be home soon. Raphaella felt sick as she stood there.
Is the doctor still here?
He's in Mr. Phillips's room, with the body. But they'll be coming to take him away soon. He wants an autopsy just to be certain. Raphaella stared at her dumbly and then hurried into John Henry's room. She stood very still as she came to the bed and saw him lying there. He looked as though he were sleeping, and once she thought that she saw him move his hand. She didn't even see the doctor as she stood there. All she could see was John Henry, so tired, so shriveled, so old, and looking only as though he were asleep.
Mrs. Phillips' ? Raphaella?
Raphaella spun quickly when she heard the voice beside her, and then sighed when she saw who it was. Hello, Ralph. But then, as though drawn by a magnet, her eyes went back to the face of the man she had been married to for fifteen years. She wasn't even sure what she felt yet. Sorrow, emptiness, regret, grief, something, but she was not yet sure what. She didn't really understand that he was gone. Only a few hours before, he had said that he was tired, and now he looked like he had gone to sleep.
a Perfect Stranger (1983) Page 24