A Perfect Stranger (12 page)

After all, one had to be careful, she reminded herself cynically in her room, if she wasn't, look what happened. As they had a thousand times in the last forty-eight hours, her thoughts flew to Alex, to the shape of his face, the look in his eyes, the broad shoulders, the softness of his hair that was what happened. One got accosted by strangers on airplanes. One went to lunch with them. One went out for drinks. One forgot one's obligations. And one fell in love.

She reminded herself once more of her decision, consoled herself that it was the right thing to do, and forced her mind back to other things. There was no reason to think about Alex Hale anymore, she told herself. No reason at all. She would never see him again. She would never know him any better. And his declaration to her the night before was only the infatuation of a very foolish man. Foolish and foolhardy. How could he expect her to see him again? What made him think that she was willing to have an affair? Her thoughts lingered over his face one more time as she lay there, and she found herself wondering if her mother had ever done anything like that. Had she ever met anyone like Alex? Had any of the women whom she knew in Spain? They seemed perfectly satisfied to lead sequestered lives, lives in which they constantly spent money, bought jewelry and furs and dresses, and went to parties, but lived surrounded by other women, behind carefully guarded walls. What was wrong with her? Why was she suddenly chafing at those traditions? The other women she knew in Paris and Madrid and Barcelona, they had the parties, and the amusements, and the gala events that made the years drift by.

And they had children' children' her heart always ached when she thought of babies. For years she had been unable to see a pregnant woman walk by her without wanting to burst into tears. She had never told John Henry how bereft she felt for the lack of children. But she always suspected that he knew. It was why he was always so lavish, why he spoiled her so much, and always seemed to love her so much more.

Raphaella forced her eyes shut and sat up in bed in her bathrobe, angry at herself for letting her thoughts take the turn they just had. She was free of that life for one more night, one day. She didn't have to think of John Henry, of his pain, of his strokes, of what would happen to her until he died. She didn't have to think of what she was missing, and what she had already missed. There was no point thinking of parties she would never go to, of people she wouldn't meet, and children she would never have. Her life was cut out for her. It was her destiny, her path, her obligation.

With the back of her hand, she wiped a tear from her cheek and forced herself to pick up the book that lay beside her on the bed. It was the Charlotte Brandon she had bought at the airport, and it was these thoughts that her books always kept her from. For as long as the books lasted, they kept everything but their intricate stories from her mind. They were her only haven, and they had been for years. With a comfortable sigh she opened the book again, grateful that Charlotte Brandon was still able to write two a year. Sometimes Raphaella read them over. She had read most of her books at least two or three times each. Sometimes she read them in different languages. But she had read only two or three pages when the phone rang and broke into the world into which she had fled.

Hello? It seemed odd that someone should call her. Her mother was supposed to be already on the plane. And they never called her from San Francisco, unless something had gone terribly wrong. And she had called John Henry that morning and the nurse had said that he was fine.

Raphaella? At first the voice was not familiar, and then suddenly her heart began to pound.

Yes? He could barely hear her.

I I'm sorry ' I I was wondering if I could see you. I know you explained it all to me last night, but I just thought that maybe we could talk about it more calmly, and' well, maybe we could just be friends. His heart was pounding as hard as hers. What if she said she didn't want to see him? He couldn't bear the thought suddenly that he might never see her again. I' Raphaella' . She hadn't answered, and he was instantly terrified that she might have hung up the phone. Are you there?

Yes. It was as though she could barely speak now. Why did he have to do this? Why did he have to call her now? She was resigned to her obligations, to her duty, why did he have to taunt her in this terribly cruel way? I am here.

Could I' could we' could I see you? I I'm leaving for the airport in a few minutes. I just thought I'd stop and see if I could see you. It was all he had wanted to do. Talk to her, once more, before catching the last plane.

Where are you? A frown crossed her face as she wondered.

I'm downstairs. He said it with such an abashed tone of apology that she laughed.

Here? In the hotel? She was smiling. He was ridiculous, really. Like a very small boy.

What do you say?

Alex, I'm not dressed. But it was a minor detail. And suddenly they both knew he had won. Even if only for a few minutes. But he had won.

So what? I don't care if you wear a towel' . Raphaella' ? There was a long silence between them. And then he heard the doorbell of the suite in the distance. Is that your mother?

Not very likely. She just left for Buenos Aires. I think it's my dinner.

A second later the door to the suite opened slowly and the waiter rolled the cumbersome table into the room. She signaled that she would sign it, and did so as she returned her attention to the phone.

So what are we going to do? Will you come downstairs, or do I have to come up and bang on the door of your room. Or I could masquerade as a waiter from room service. How about that?

Alex, stop it. And then she sounded serious again. I said everything there is to say last night.

No, you didn't. You didn't explain to me why you feel the way you do.

Because I love my husband. She squeezed her eyes shut, denying what she was already beginning to feel for him. And I have no choice.

That's not true. You have a lot of choices. We all do. Sometimes we don't want them, but they're there. And I understand how you feel, and I respect it. But can't we at least talk to each other? Look, I'll stand in the doorway. I won't touch you. I promise. I just want to see you. Raphaella' please' .

There were tears in her eyes and she took a deep breath to tell him that he had to go away, that he couldn't do this to her, that it wasn't fair, and then suddenly, not knowing why she did it, she nodded. All right. Come up. But just for a few minutes. And when she hung up the phone, her hand was trembling and she felt so dizzy that she had to close her eyes.

She didn't even have time to slip into some clothes before he rang the doorbell. She just tightened her robe around her and smoothed down her hair. It was hanging long and heavy down her back, and she looked much younger than she did when she wore it in the elegant knot. She hesitated for an endless moment in front of the door before she opened it, reminding herself that she could still refuse to let him in. But instead she unlocked it and turned the doorknob, and then she stood there, staring up at the remarkably handsome man who stood waiting on the other side. He stood as silent as she did for a moment, and then she took a step backward and gestured inside. But there was no smile on her face now, only a very serious expression as her eyes followed him into the room.

Hello. He sounded nervous and looked boyish and stood staring at her for a long moment from across the room. Thank you for letting me come up here like this. I know it's a little crazy, but I had to see you. And as he looked at her, he wondered why he had come. What was he going to tell her? What could he possibly tell her except that everytime he saw her, he was more in love with her than he had been the time before. And when he didn't see her, she haunted him like a ghost he couldn't live without. Instead he just looked at her and nodded. Thank you.

It's all right. Her voice was very quiet. Would you like something to eat? She waved vaguely at the enormous wheeled table and he shook his head.

Thank you. I already had dinner with my niece. I didn't mean to interrupt your dinner. Why don't you sit down and start. But she only shook her head and smiled at him.

It can wait. After a moment's pause she sighed and walked slowly across the room. She looked out into the street with a distracted expression and then slowly back at him. Alex, I'm sorry. I am deeply touched by what you feel, but there is nothing I can do. The voice that spoke to him was that of a lonely princess, aware always of her royal obligations and regretful that there was nothing more she could do. Everything about her was aristocratic, her posture, her expression, the way she stood there; even in the pink satin bathrobe Raphaella Phillips was regal to the very soles of her feet. The only thing that told him that she was human was the look of intense pain that could not be hidden in her eyes.

What about what you feel, Raphaella. What about you?

What about me? I am who I am. I can't change that. I am the wife of John Henry Phillips. I have been for almost fifteen years. I have to live up to that, Alex. I always will.

And for how many of those years has he been' the way he is now?

More than seven.

Is that enough for you? Telling yourself that you are fulfilling an obligation? Does that console you for your lost youth? How old are you now? Thirty-two? You've lived like this since you were twenty-five, Raphaella. How can you? How can you go on?

Slowly she shook her head in answer, her eyes brimming with tears. I have to. That's all. It doesn't matter.

Of course it matters. How can you say that? He walked to her side and looked down at her gently. Raphaella, we are talking about your life.

But there are no choices, Alex. That is what you don't understand. Perhaps that is why the way my mother lives is better. Maybe that's why all of that makes sense. That way, there are no temptations. No one ever gets close enough to force you to make a choice. There are no choices then.

I'm sorry that this is so painful. But why must it be a choice? Why must we talk about all that now? Why can't we just be friends, you and I? I won't ask anything of you. But we could meet as friends, maybe just for lunch. It was a dream and he knew it, and Raphaella did too as she shook her head.

How long do you think that would last, Alex? I know how you feel. And I think that you know I feel the same way too. Something in his heart soared as she said it, and he wanted to take her in his arms, but he didn't dare.

Can we forget that? Can we pretend it doesn't exist? The look on his face said it was not possible.

I think we have to. And then, with a small brave smile, Perhaps in a few years we'll meet again.

Where? At your family's home in Spain, after they lock you up again? Who are you kidding? Raphaella he walked to where she stood and put his hands gently on her shoulders as she looked up at him with those enormous, troubled black eyes that he already loved so much Raphaella, people spend a lifetime looking for love, wanting it, needing it, seeking it, and most of the time they don't find it. But once in a while, once in a great while, it comes to you, it throws itself in your lap, pounds on your door, and says Here I am, take me, I'm yours.' When it comes, how can you turn away from it? How can you say, Not now, maybe later'? How can you take that chance, knowing that the opportunity may never come again?

Sometimes taking that opportunity is a luxury, a luxury one can't afford. I can't afford it right now. It wouldn't be right and you know that.

I don't know that. Would letting yourself love me really take something away from your husband? Would it really make any difference to him in the condition he's in?

It might. Her eyes didn't waver from Alex's and he hadn't taken his hands from her shoulders as they stood facing each other in the center of the room. It might make a very big difference if I grew indifferent to his needs, if I was never around to see that he was properly cared for, if I became involved with you and forgot about him. Something like that could kill him. It might make the difference for him between life and death. I could never fail him like that.

I would never ask you to. Never. Don't you understand that? I told you, I respect your relationship with him, I respect what you do and are and feel. I understand that. I'm just telling you that you have a right to something more, and so do I. And it doesn't have to change anything for you with your husband. I swear it, Raphaella. I just want to share something with you that neither of us has, maybe that we've never had. From what I can gather, you live in a vacuum. And so do I. In some ways I have for a long time.

Raphaella looked up at him with the painful look of decision still in her eyes. How do you know we would even have anything, Alex? Perhaps what you feel is all an illusion, a dream. You don't know me. Everything you think of me is a fantasy.

But this time he only shook his head and lowered his mouth gently onto hers. For an instant he felt her stiffen, but his arms circled her so quickly and so firmly that she could not pull away, and moments later she didn't want to. She clung to him as though he were the last man left on earth, and her entire body began to pulse with a passion she had never known before. And then, breathlessly, she pulled herself from him and shook her head, turning away.

No, Alex. No! She turned to face him with a look of fire in her eyes. No! Don't do this! Don't tempt me with what I cannot have. I can't have it, and you know that! And then she turned away, her shoulders bent, her eyes filled with tears. Please go.

Raphaella' . She turned slowly to face him then, her face distraught, her eyes huge in the sharply etched face. And then it was as though he saw her melt in front of his eyes. The fire went out of her eyes and she closed them for an instant and then walked toward him, her hands going around him, her mouth hungrily reaching for his.

Oh, darling, I love you' .I love you' . His words were gentle yet urgent, and she held him and kissed him with all the pent-up loving of more than seven years. And then, without thinking, he slipped the pink satin bathrobe from her shoulders and knelt to kiss her body as she stood before him, a goddess he had revered from the moment he had first seen her crying on the steps. This was the woman he had longed for, the woman he had needed and almost instantly loved. And as he held her and caressed her Raphaella knew that she was giving herself to him with all of her heart. It seemed hours before they stopped kissing and touching and holding and reaching out and running their hands over each other's skin. She felt her legs tremble below her and then suddenly he swept her into his arms, the pink satin robe left behind them on the carpet, and slowly he walked into the bedroom and deposited her on the bed. Raphaella? His mouth formed her name as a question and she nodded slowly, with a small hesitant smile, and he turned off the light and quickly slipped off his clothes and lay beside her.