A Brush With Death (22 page)

“You can't have turkey on Christmas Eve, John. You have that for Christmas dinner."

“Is it a law? I'd like turkey."

“Yes, it's a law. The anti-Christmas Eve turkey law. I'll have a pepper steak. You can pick the wine. Oh, and something from the French pastry tray. You choose. I have to wrap my present."

That took about five minutes, three of which were used to cut a huge sheet of wrapping paper to size with my manicure scissors. The edge looked as though a mouse had gnawed through it, but I folded it under. The bow was bigger than the box. I turned on the TV while I worked, and listened to some boys’ choir sing Christmas hymns. The Christmas feeling was there, just on the edge of my grasp, but not quite getting through to me. I wanted the Christmas feeling. When the present was wrapped, there was no tree to put it under.

I probably looked woebegone when I went back to the sitting room. “Sorry I messed up your Christmas, honey,” he said. “Would you like to open your present now? It might put you in the mood."

I was tempted, but the strong arm of tradition held me in its grasp. “Not till tomorrow morning. Let's just sit here and listen to the Christmas carols and imagine there's a tree in the corner. I guess we could probably allow ourselves one drink, since zero hour isn't till midnight."

“I ordered wine with dinner. Let's wait. I'll tell you what, why don't you go and take a shower and put on one of those fancy dresses? Maybe that'll put you in a party mood."

I didn't want a party mood; I wanted a—
the
Christmas mood. I felt an atavistic longing for the trembling excitement of Christmases past, believing in Santa Claus, aching with impatience for him to come. It hadn't been like that for years, but the memory returned every December.

“Dinner isn't coming till seven, so you can take a nice relaxing soak if you like. I think I'll do the same,” John said.

The hotel supplied little samples of assorted toiletries, including a bubble bath. I decided to indulge myself. It was strange that I thought so little about the case as I lay in the warm water, with bubbles tickling my chin. That was on hold till midnight or thereabouts. For the next half hour I just let my mind roam. It often veered in the direction of John's present for me. He already had it, and it wasn't big enough to be obvious in his room. Something small, then. A ring?

That was what I wanted. I didn't care if it was a small diamond. I didn't care if it was a zircon, just as long as it was an imperishable piece of metal I could stick on my third finger, left hand, as a symbol of our love. Or a token, if you will.

Since the white gown had had one outing, I wore the gold one. I shimmered like sunshine on water when I stood at the mirror. Even the punishing fluorescent light over the sink couldn't completely mar the effect. It was my hair that did that, so I twisted it up behind in a swirl and used a lavish hand with the eye makeup. I wore Sherry's present again on my ears. I really loved those heavy, uncomfortable earrings. They tinkled like tiny wind chimes at my ears and looked festive.

When I was all set for my grand entrance, I opened the door and went into the sitting room. I blinked, and stared, unable to believe my eyes. It had been transformed into a perfect model of Christmas Eve. A tree, fully decorated, had grown in the corner. Beneath it lay an embarrassment of beautifully wrapped presents. Poinsettias were everywhere. Tinsel bedizened the doorway. Tears dimmed my eyes, and a mute surge of emotion swelled inside me. The boys’ choir on TV was singing “Silent Night."

Through the mist of tears, I saw John, looking haggard and sweaty from his task. He hadn't taken his long soak or even changed. He had been scurrying around like a squirrel to create this miracle. I ran into his arms, blubbering like a baby. “John, how did you—where did all this come from? Oh, I feel so—"

He crushed me in his arms and kissed me into silence. What made me think I needed a ring? I had something better than cold metal. I had a sweet, caring man, one in a zillion, and an unforgettable moment I'd relive a thousand times. I dabbed at my melting mascara and just looked at him.

“You!” What could I say? “Oh John, this is too much. I feel—and I only got you a stupid book."

“Sweetheart, I don't need any present but the look on your face."

He meant it too. I didn't really need any present but the look on
his
face and the love gleam in his eyes. “I hope these aren't all for me!"

“Not all. There's something there for Victor and Export A."

“How did you
do
all this? I was only gone half an hour."

“Forty minutes. Export A and the staff did most of it. I ordered the tree and trim yesterday, and the stores wrapped the presents for me."

“But when did you buy them?"

“I picked out most of them when we went shopping for your working clothes and had Export A keep them downstairs. I noticed the things you liked but didn't buy."

“Oh lord, I feel like such a piker."

He lifted my chin and smiled into my eyes. “Hey, it's a fiancé's prerogative to load his beloved down with a bunch of foolish stuff she'll never use."

“Never use! That's what you think! If that white cashmere turtleneck is there, I may put it on and never take it off."

“Oh yeah, it's there. And the plaid slacks—"

“No, don't
tell
me!"

“Aren't you going to open them?"

“Of course I am, on Christmas morning. I have the Christmas feeling, John. And it isn't the presents. It isn't that at all. It's—oh, it sounds so corny. It's love."

“We like corn, out in Nebraska,” he said, and took my hand to point out various details of the decor. “Since you're so traditional, I got all red poinsettias. They come in white and pink now too."

I squeezed his hand. “I like red best."

He squeezed mine back. “I thought you would."

The room started misting up again. “I just can't believe it. You did all this."

“I only have these few days to spoil you. This is to make up for all the dates we've missed. And all the phone calls I didn't make. I guess I got a little ticked off a while back when I called two or three times and you were out—on dates with other guys.

“Sherry didn't tell me!"

“That's because I'm a cunning rascal. I didn't tell her who was calling. I was working myself into a real lather."

“If it bothers you that much, I won't see other men."

He considered it a moment. “No, that's unreasonable. A coed wants to go to the college dances and things. Just remember who it is you love."

“I'm not likely to forget it."

Dinner arrived on a trolley, and we just stood gazing lovingly at each other while the waiter arranged it. He must have thought we were both zonked on something. We didn't say a word. Before we ate, John poured the wine and proposed a toast.

“Merry Christmas, darlin'. I hope it's the first of many we share."

“I'II drink to that, John."

“I wonder if Ayesha will go to Mount Royal with the sheikh,” I mentioned, over coffee. John wanted to keep his head clear for business, but I was sipping a liqueur.

“He won't take a lady along. We don't really know how deeply she's in all this. She's probably just an innocent messenger."

We exchanged a certain look, a kind of contest of wills. He had refused to let me go with him; a decision not yet accepted by me. After our splendid evening, I wasn't in a mood to fight about it, but subtler persuasions might be brought to bear.

“You've got a job to do here,” he pointed out. “I'll leave you the number of the car phone. You're going to phone us and let us know when the sheikh leaves the hotel. We want to be there early."

“You know perfectly well that the Mountie Gino has downstairs is going to do that. Don't patronize me, John."

“No, the Mountie's going to follow the sheikh and just make sure he goes where he said he was going. Christmas Eve, we didn't want to call in any more men than necessary. You have that phone number I gave you?” I nodded sulkily.

It was ten-thirty. John was leaving at eleven. “I wish Victor would get back before I have to leave,” he worried. “I don't like to leave you here alone."

I was swift to point out, “I'll probably be in more danger here than if I were with you."

“That bone's already been picked clean, darlin'. You're staying here."

“Then I might as well get sloshed,” I said defiantly, and poured myself another glass of Bailey's Irish Cream. John knows it's my weakness and had given me a bottle in one of those gifts under the tree. It was the only one I opened.

“Why not? It'll help you relax."

Our idyllic evening had been interrupted by calls to Gino and visits from Export A. It had been arranged that John would meet Gino a few blocks away, at the corner of Sherbrooke and Crescent.

“I'll have to stay awake long enough to phone you when Export A lets me know the sheikh has left though,” I pointed out.

The quick look of surprise that flickered over his face told me the Mountie downstairs had been ordered to do that. John didn't say anything, but I ribbed him about it. “If the job's already been assigned to someone else, tell me."

“No, no! You phone,” he insisted. “That way, I'll know you're safe."

It was a crumb to appease me. I looked at the tree, with presents all around the floor beside it, and relented. He was only making me stay here because he didn't want me to be in any danger. I knew that and appreciated it. I was only frustrated, not angry.

“Take care of yourself, John,” I said softly. “What time do you think you'll be back?"

“Not before two. We'll have to take them down to the station. Don't wait up for me."

“As if I could sleep!"

We sat together on the sofa, looking at the tree and talking and kissing till it was time for John to go. Then I sat on alone, just thinking. It was so quiet you could hear the poinsettias breathe. I turned up the TV and poured myself the last cup of coffee to make sure I stayed awake. At eleven-thirty, Export A phoned up and said the sheikh had just left, alone. Ayesha hadn't accompanied him. I dutifully called Gino's car and relayed the information, fully aware that the Mountie had beat me to it, but John might worry if I didn't phone as arranged. Victor still hadn't returned. I wondered what Ayesha was doing. This would be her chance to break free of Rashid, when they arrested him. She could return half the stuff she'd bought at the store and live on that till she got work. I'd speak to Victor about the work.

When the phone buzzed ten minutes later, my heart jumped straight into my mouth. It was only Victor. “Are you still up?” he asked.

“Of course I am. Why don't you come down to my room and we'll see Christmas in together?"

“I've already changed. I'm in my pajamas. Why don't you and John come here and we'll have a nightcap?"

I didn't tell him about John's errand over the phone. “All right,” I said, without giving it much thought. But when I got there, I began to worry about leaving my phone unattended and stayed only a minute to fill him in on the latest developments. I saw from outside his door that the elevator was still at his floor and hurried to catch it. I felt a rising anxiety that I was missing a call. As I rushed past Ayesha's room, she opened her door and peered out.

“Oh, it's you!” she exclaimed, smiling. “I heard someone rushing along and thought it was Rashid. He had a business meeting—at midnight on Christmas Eve. Can you imagine?” She laughed in disbelief. “He. said he was going to try to find a church having midnight mass afterward. He wanted to see what it was like. He's probably meeting some woman. Why don't you come in and have a drink, Cassie?"

Ayesha wasn't in her white satin and marabou feathers tonight. She wore satin-striped lounging pajamas in various shades of rose and mauve, and looked rather lonesome. “Or are you and John—"

I duly noted what the sheikh had told her, but soon wondered whether she knew the real truth. Perhaps she just thought it was some legitimate business. If she were guiltily involved, wouldn't she have omitted the business meeting entirely and just said Rashid decided to attend a midnight mass? That sounded more plausible. She had asked about John very nonchalantly too. But most convincing of all was that remark about Rashid being with another woman.

No matter, I was too fidgety to get back to the phone to oblige her. “I have to run, sorry, Ayesha. I'm expecting a phone call."

She looked a little offended. After I was safely back in my room, staring at the silent phone, I remembered my decision to try to help her. Maybe I should begin by giving her an inkling that she'd soon be losing Rashid permanently. I paced the rooms, my mind in a turmoil and my stomach feeling as if it were being pinched by a giant nutcracker. I leapt a foot when a light tap came at the door. Export A, I thought, and made a dash for it. But when I looked through the peephole, I saw it was Ayesha.

She was alone and carrying a bottle of champagne. Her striped-satin pajamas fit like a glove. Obviously she wasn't armed. I hesitated, wondering what to do. She looked awfully sad. Alone on Christmas Eve, like me. I'd phone Victor and invite him to join us. A beautiful young woman not his niece would be a strong incentive. That would help pass the time till John returned. And when Ayesha heard the truth, she'd have us to help her. It was the decent, Christian thing to do. If you're ever going to heed your conscience, surely Christmas is the time for it.

I opened the door. “Me again,” she said apologetically. “Did you get your phone call yet?"

“I—yes, I did, but I just have to make another call. Come on in."

She stepped in and looked all around. “Where's John?"

“He's having a meeting with his assistant. I'll just call my Uncle Victor. You remember him."

“Of course.” She followed me into the sitting room and discovered the tree. “How lovely! I should have thought of doing this!"

“It was John's idea; so thoughtful of him."

“And look at all those presents! Why haven't you opened them?"

“I will, tomorrow. Why don't you open the wine and I'll call Victor."

I went toward the phone. I didn't hear any sound behind me. The first intimation I had that anything was wrong was the pressure at my back, as if someone was pushing a pencil against my spine.