A Perfect Stranger (6 page)

John Henry' . After her fourteen years in San Francisco her accent was still evident when she said his name, but her English was perfect now, and had been for many years. John Henry' . He turned his eyes slowly toward her without moving his head, and then slowly he moved himself so that he could look at her, and the lined, tired face contorted into a half-smile.

Hello little one. His speech was slurred but she could understand him and the agony of the smile now rendered crooked since the stroke always tore at her heart. You look very pretty. And then after another pause, My mother had a hat like that a long time ago.

I think on me it is very silly, but ' She shrugged suddenly looking very French as she smiled a hesitant little smile. But it was her mouth that smiled now. Her eyes seldom did. And his never did anymore, except on rare occasions when he looked at her.

You're going today? He looked worried, and again she wondered if she should cancel her trip.

Yes. But darling do you want me to stay?

He shook his head and smiled again. No. Never. I wish you would go away more often. It does you good You're meeting' He looked vague for a moment searching his memory for something obviously no longer there.

My mother, my aunt, and two of my cousins.

He nodded and closed his eyes. Then I know you'll be safe.

I'm always safe. He nodded again, as though he were very tired, and she stood up, bent to kiss his cheek and then ever so gently let go of his hand. She though for a moment that he was going to fall asleep, but suddenly he opened his eyes as she stood staring down at his face.

Be careful, Raphaella.

I promise. And I'll call you.

You don't have to. Why don't you forget about all this and have some fun. With whom? Her mother? Her aunt? A sigh fought its way through her, but she didn't let it escape.

I'll be back very soon, and everyone here knows where I'll be if you need me.

I don't need you' . He grinned for a moment. Not like that. Not enough to spoil your fun.

You never have. She whispered the words to him and bent to kiss him again. I'll miss you.

This time he shook his head and turned away from her. Don't.

Darling' . She had to leave him to go to the airport but somehow she didn't feel right leaving him like this. She never did. Was it right to leave him? Should she stay?

John Henry' . She touched his hand and he turned to face her again. I must go now.

It's all right, little one. It's all right. The look in his eyes absolved her, and this time he took her firm young hand in his gnarled, worn fingers that had once seemed so gentle and so young. Have a good trip. He tried to fill the words with every ounce of meaning he could give them, and he shook his head when he saw her eyes fill with tears. He knew what she was thinking.

Just go, I'll be fine.

You promise? Her eyes were bright with tears, and his smile was very gentle as he kissed her hand.

I promise. Now be a good girl and go, and have a good time. Promise me you'll buy yourself something outrageous and absolutely beautiful in New York.

Like what?

A fur coat or a wonderful piece of jewelry. He looked wistful for a moment. Something you would have liked me to buy you. And then he looked into her eyes and smiled.

She shook her head as the tears rolled down her cheeks. It only made her look more beautiful, and the little black veil added further mystery to her eyes. I'm never as generous as you are, John Henry.

Then try harder. He tried to bellow it at her, and this time they both laughed. Promise?

All right, I promise. But not another fur.

Then something that sparkles.

I'll see. But where would she wear it? At home in San Francisco, sitting by the fire? The futility of it all almost overwhelmed her as she smiled at him from the doorway and waved at him.

At the airport the chauffeur slid the car to the curb at the section marked DEPARTING FLIGHTS and showed the policeman his special pass. John Henry's drivers had gotten special passes from the governor's office, and they were renewed every year. It allowed them to park where they wanted to, and now it would allow the chauffeur to leave the limousine at the curb while he took Raphaella inside to put her on the plane. The airline was always warned that she was coming, and she was always allowed to board the plane before everyone else.

Now, as they walked sedately down the huge bustling hallway, the chauffeur carrying her tote bag, strangers glanced at the startlingly beautiful woman in the mink coat and the veil. The hat added an aura of drama and there were gaunt hollows beneath the perfectly carved ivory cheekbones that framed her splendid dark eyes.

Tom, would you wait here for me for a minute, please? She had touched his arm gently to stop him as he marched dutifully along the airport corridor beside her, bent on getting her to the plane as quickly as he could. Mr. Phillips didn't like her lingering in airports, not that reporters or photographers had bothered them for years. Raphaella had been so totally kept away from public attention that even the reporters no longer knew who she was.

She left the chauffeur standing near a pillar and walked rapidly into the bookstore, glancing around as the driver took up his post against the wall, holding her large leather tote bag tightly in one hand. From where he stood, he could admire her striking beauty as she wandered between the shelves of magazines and books and candy, looking very different from the other travelers wandering past in parkas and car coats and old Jeans. Here and there you'd see an attractive woman, or maybe a well-dressed man, but nothing to compare with Mrs. Phillips. Tom watched her take a hardcover book off a shelf, walk to the cash register, and reach into her bag.

It was then that Alex Hale came hurrying through the airport, his briefcase in his hand, and a suit bag draped over the other arm. He was distracted. It was early, but he still had to call his office before he got on the plane. He stopped at a bank of telephones just outside the bookshop, put down his bags, and dug into his trouser pocket for a dime. He dialed his office number quickly and inserted the extra coins the operator requested as his receptionist picked up the phone. He had several last-minute messages to leave for his partners, there was a memo he wanted to explain to his secretary before leaving, and he was anxious to know if the call he was expecting from London had come, and just as he asked the last question he happened to turn around and with amusement he saw a copy of his mother's latest book changing hands at the counter of the bookstore. A woman was buying it, wearing a mink coat and a black hat with a veil. He stared at her with fascination as the secretary on the other end put him on hold while she took another call. And it was then that Raphaella began to walk toward him, her eyes only slightly concealed by the veil, and the book carried in her gloved hand. As she passed near him he was suddenly aware of the lure of her perfume, and then suddenly it dawned on him that this was not the first time he had seen those eyes.

Oh, my God. The words were a whisper as he stood there staring. It was the woman on the steps. Suddenly there she was, disappearing into the crowd at the airport, with his mother's latest book in her hand. For an insane moment he wanted to shout Wait! but he was trapped on hold and couldn't move until the secretary returned with the answer to his question. His eyes desperately combed the constantly moving crowd. In a moment, despite his attempts not to lose sight of her, she had passed beyond him and once again disappeared. The secretary came back on the line a moment later, only to give him an unsatisfactory answer to his question and tell him that she had to return to another call. And for this I waited on the phone all this time, Barbara? For the first time in a long time, the receptionist noted, he sounded angry, but she only had time to mutter Sorry and then had to answer two more calls.

And then, as though he could still find her if he hurried, he found himself rushing through the crowd, looking for the fur coat and the black hat with the veil. But it was obvious within a few moments that she was nowhere in sight. But what the hell difference did it make anyway? Who was she? No one. A stranger.

He chided himself for the romanticism that made him chase some mystery woman halfway through an airport. It was like looking for the white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, only in this case he was looking for a beautiful woman with dark eyes, wearing a mink coat and a black hat with a veil and of course carrying Lovers and Lies by Charlotte Brandon. Cool it, he told himself softly as he passed through the crowd to the airport desk, where people were already lining up for their seat assignments and boarding passes. There seemed to be mobs ahead of him, and when at last he got to the counter, the only seats they had left were in the last two rows of the plane.

Why not just put me in the bathroom while you're at it? He looked ruefully at the young man at the counter, who only smiled.

Believe me, whoever gets here after you will be, and after that we'll be sticking them in the cargo hold. This one is filled to the gills.

That ought to be pleasant.

The airline's representative smiled disarmingly and held out both hands. Can we help it if we're popular? And then they both laughed. Suddenly Alex found himself looking around for her again, and once more to no avail. For an insane moment he wanted to ask the man waiting on him at the counter if he had seen her, but he recognized that that temptation was more than a little mad.

The airline rep handed him his ticket, and a moment later he took his place on line at the gate. He had enough on his mind as he stood there: the client he was planning to see in New York; his mother; his sister; and Amanda, his niece. Still, the woman in the mink coat once more began to haunt him, just as she had the night he had seen her crying on the stairs. Or was he totally crazy and it wasn't the same woman at all? He grinned to himself, his fantasies even bought his mother's books. Maybe it was all very psychotic and he was finally losing his mind. But the prospect seemed to amuse him as the line moved slowly forward and he pulled his boarding pass out of his pocket. Once more he pushed his thoughts ahead to what he had to do in New York.

Raphaella took her seat quickly as Tom stowed the tote bag under her seat and the stewardess quietly took the beautifully cut dark mink coat. All of the personnel on board had been warned that morning that they would be carrying a VIP on the trip to New York, but she would be traveling in coach instead of first class, which was apparently her standard choice. For years she had insisted to John Henry that it was much more discreet. No one would expect to find the wife of one of the richest men in the world lost among the housewives and secretaries and salesmen and babies in the coach section. When they preboarded her as they always did, she settled quickly into the next to the last row, where she always sat. It was discreet almost to the point of being invisible. Raphaella also knew that the airline's personnel would make every effort not to place any other passengers in the seat beside her, so that it was almost certain that she would sit alone for the entire flight. She thanked Tom for his help and she watched him leave the plane just as the first passengers came on board.

Alex stood with the throng of others, inching his way along the narrow gangway to the door of the plane, where one by one they were funneled into the mammoth aircraft, their boarding passes checked and taken, their seats pointed out by the flock of smiling stewardesses who stood ready to greet them. The passengers in first class had already been seated, and they sat hidden in their private world, two curtains drawn to protect them from any curious gaze. In the main body of the plane the masses were already settling in, shoving too big pieces of hand baggage into the aisle or stuffing briefcases and packages into the overhead racks, so that the stewardesses were rapidly obliged to cruise up and down, urging passengers to put everything except hats and coats beneath their seats. It was an old litany for Alex, who searched for his seat mechanically, knowing already where it was. He had already surrendered his suit bag to a stewardess at the entrance, and his briefcase he would slide beneath his seat after selecting one or two files that he wanted to read during the first part of the trip. It was of this that he was thinking as he made his way toward the rear of the plane, attempting not to bump other passengers or their children as he moved along. For an instant he had thought again about the woman, but it was futile to wonder about her here. She had been nowhere in the crowd that had waited to board the aircraft, so he knew that she would not be on this plane.

He reached the seat they had assigned him and quietly stowed his briefcase underneath it, preparing to sit down. He noticed with only mild annoyance that there was already a small piece of luggage stowed under one of the seats beside him, and he realized with dismay that he would not be sitting alone for the flight.

He hoped it would be someone with as much work to do as he had. He didn't want to be bothered with conversation on the trip. He settled himself quickly, pulled the briefcase back out from under his seat, extricated the two files he wanted, glad that his seatmate had momentarily disappeared. It was several moments later when he felt a stir beside him and he instinctively shifted his gaze from the page he was reading to the floor. And as he did so he found himself staring down at a pair of very graceful and expensive black lizard shoes. Gucci, he registered without thinking, the little gold clips embedded in the throat of the shoe. He then noticed, all in a split second, that the ankles were even more attractive than the shoes. Feeling faintly like a schoolboy, he found himself looking slowly up the long elegant legs to the hem of the black skirt, and then up the interminable expanse of fine French suit to the face looking down at him, her head cocked slightly to one side. She looked as though she were going to ask him a question, and as though she were perfectly aware that he had just looked her over from her shoes to the top of her head. But as he looked up to see her a look of total astonishment overtook Alex and, without thinking, he stood up beside her and said, My God, it's you.