Forever (48 page)

He reached across the table and took both
hands in his. Lifting first one, and then the other, he soundlessly
kissed each finger of both.

'And why should our dreams not come true?'
he asked her quietly, is that not what dreams are for? So that we
may make them into reality?'

'But we have only just met! You know
absolutely nothing about me!'

'On the contrary,' he said solemnly, 'I know
everything which I believe to be important.'

'Do you?' She gave him an oblique look.

'Yes,'he said softly,'I do.'

She shook her head and glanced down,
studying the tablecloth. 'No, Eduardo,' she said in a strained
whisper, 'you don't.'

He smiled. 'But why let that bother you, if
it does not bother me?'

'Because . . .' She took a deep breath and
the blood rose up to her face. 'Because what you don't know now
could very well hurt you in the future!' she blurted.

He stared at her, one amused eyebrow cocked.
'Is that what you intend to do?' He chuckled. 'Hurt me?'

'God, no!' She shook her head vehemently,
and added in a murmur, 'Not intentionally.'

He laughed indulgently. 'Oh, Monica, will
you stop being so melodramatic! My God, I know I fished you out of
the sea like a mermaid, but you really do make it sound as if you
are hiding the most sordid past! You of all people!' He laughed
again.' You, who have passed the ultimate test - the voice of my
heart!'

She was silent.

'Then if you refuse to come to Brazil with
me, I demand to know why.'

'Well, for one thing I ... I don't speak a
word of Portuguese!' she sputtered.

He smiled. 'I daresay you will pick that up
quickly enough. And besides, it really is not necessary to speak
it, you know. Most people you will come into contact with are quite
fluent in English.'

She said,'Eduardo, this is all so sudden! I
mean. . .how would I support myself. I refuse to be kept, and I
won't have a job waiting, so -'

He waved a hand dismissively. 'That can all
be arranged in the blink of an eye. You can have the job of your
choice.' There was irony in his grin, as well as humour. 'Grupo da
Veiga S. A. is Brazil, you know.'

'But . . . you don't even know my area of
expertise!' she protested.

He laughed. 'I am sure we can fit you in
somewhere. Shipping, lumber, mining, real estate, genetics,
software, petroleum, garment manufacturing, pharmaceuticals,
department stores, an airline . . . you name it, we own it. So
voila!
He flicked a finger at the rim of his glass,
producing a clear treble chime. 'You will have the pick of a career
in the business of your choice!'

'Like magic,' she murmured wryly.

'Like magic!' he agreed, and grinned. 'Now
then,' he said, placing both index fingers against his smiling
lips, 'tell me. Can you think up any more excuses why you should
not come to Brazil?'

Stephanie had a quick sip of wine. 'In time,
I'm sure I'll be able to. But at the moment . . . er . . . n -' She
stopped in midword, spilling wine on the tablecloth as a
high-pitched squeal rang out, silencing her and the entire
restaurant.

What on earth?

Her head snapped in the direction of the
front entrance. She could see the source of the commotion now. A
waiter had caught an urchin by the scruff of the collar and was
lifting him until his kicking feet trod air.

'Aiuto!
' The flailing urchin howled
like a wounded animal.
'Aiuto! Aiuto!
'

He was skinny and curly-haired and cute in a
ragamuffin sort of way. Stephanie guessed that he couldn't be more
than seven or eight years old. He had on shorts and dingy tennis
shoes two sizes too big and a faded Bon Jovi T-shirt.

'How cruel!' she exclaimed pityingly. 'What
does that waiter think he's doing? Stop him, Eduardo! Please! He's
hurting that little boy!'

Eduardo, too, had twisted around in his
chair to see what the fuss was about. He turned back to her.
'Little boy? Local pickpocket is probably more like it.'

Stephanie was outraged by what she took to
be Eduardo's blatant callousness. Her eyes flashed angrily.
'Perhaps the poor thing's hungry!' she countered heatedly. 'Have
you given any thought to that?'

But before Eduardo could respond, a loud
grunt issued forth from the waiter, and the man's eyes bulged
comically. Doubling over in pain, he let go of the child, who had
obviously kneed him in the groin.

The urchin didn't hesitate. Now that he was
free, he darted like quicksilver between a row of tables.

And the chase was on.

Two other waiters leapt forward to intercept
him in the narrow aisle, but to no avail. Agile as a tadpole, the
wily kid dropped down on all fours and quick-crawled under a
table.

'Quick-witted little bugger!' Stephanie said
admiringly. 'Slippery, too. Look at the way he can move!'

Even as she said it, she saw his little head
pop up from the other side of the table to scout the territory.
Seeing yet another waiter advancing, the child prudently dived back
out of sight - only to re-emerge two tables away - straight into a
waiting pair of arms.

The boy made one last valiant effort.
Twisting half around, he shouted something in rapid-fire Italian
and pointed directly across the low-ceilinged room at -

- Eduardo.

Stephanie frowned.

'Aspettare!
Eduardo called out and
gestured for the waiter to bring the boy over.

When the urchin was standing by their table,
Eduardo spoke to him in fluent Italian, and the boy rattled off a
quick staccato reply.

'Quando? Che?
' Eduardo asked.

The boy replied something and Eduardo turned
to Stephanie. 'Could you excuse me for a little while?' he asked
quietly, pushing back his chair. He rose to his feet and looked
down at her. 'I will not be gone for long.'

Stephanie had a sudden sense of foreboding.
'What's happened?'

'It seems,' he said quietly, 'that another
vessel has rammed the Magnum. I'm going down to the marina to check
on the damage.'

She started to get up. 'I'm coming with
you,' she said firmly.

He shook his head. 'Please, Monica. Do us
both a favour and stay here. I can get this matter settled much
quicker by myself.'

'If you're sure . . .'she said
doubtfully.

'I am positive,' he replied. 'I shall take
the funicular both ways. You will see. I will not be gone any
time.'

She nodded and watched in silence as he
reached for his wallet, counted out some bills, and handed them to
the urchin, who palmed them as expertly as a Las Vegas bookie.

Eduardo looked at her and hesitated. 'You
will wait for me?' he said softly.

Stephanie nodded. 'You know I will,' she
replied huskily.

He bent down and kissed her cheek and then,
following the urchin, threaded his way between the tables.

Stephanie watched his progress to the door.
When he reached it, he stopped momentarily, turned, and waved to
her.

She lifted her hand.

And then he was gone.

She nursed her wine and waited. Eduardo was
barely out of sight, and already she felt his absence like a
physical pain. Every passing minute seemed like torturous hours,
and each time she heard someone arrive, her heart would give a
hopeful leap and her eyes would jump to the entrance.

But it was always a stranger - never
Eduardo.

'Signorina?
' The voice was soft and
apologetic.

Startled, Stephanie glanced up. 'Y-yes?'

It was the waiter. 'The
monello
,' he
said, pointing across the room to the entrance. 'The boy. He has
returned.'

She looked across the sea of heads to the
front door. Sure enough, there he was again. The smudged urchin in
the Bon Jovi T-shirt, impatiently shifting his weight from one foot
to the other.

'Did he say what he wants?' She looked at
the waiter questioningly.

The man nodded.
'Si.
He said the
signore
needs you urgently.'

'Thank you,' she said.
'Grazi.'

Carefully, she scraped back her chair and
got to her feet. When she was outside, she breathed deeply of the
bracing fresh night air. Darkness had long since fallen, and after
the warm glow of the restaurant, the viuzzi was chilly; gloomy and
vaguely threatening - more claustrophobic cave than picturesque
tunnellike street.

'Signorina?
'

She looked down. It was the urchin, his
pale, waiflike face shining in the dim lamplight. Then she felt his
hand on hers and he tugged urgently on it.

She understood.

Holding onto her young guide's hand, she
allowed herself to be led, stumbling after him, her feet tripping
on the uneven cobblestones, the tunnel swallowing up her hollow,
echoing footsteps. Deep threatening shadows were everywhere. These
deserted, backstreet viuzzi were a dank maze, and now in the dark
she immediately lost her bearings. She could hear water dripping;
sniffed distastefully the sharp odour of cat faeces, cried out in
shock as her shoe splashed in a puddle.

On he led her, and on.

'S
ostarer!
The boy had stopped so
suddenly that she nearly collided with him. In silence, she looked
around and then let out a sharp gasp.

As if by its own volition, a thick door was
creaking slowly open until it banged back against the ancient
weathered stone wall. The rectangle of electric light was empty of
human form, and spilled brightly down the narrow front stoop,
casting the boy's and her own huge, distorted shadows high on the
opposite wall. Somewhere, two fighting cats yeowled.

The urchin let go of her hand.
'Salire!
' He was motioning her up the narrow steps.

Stephanie stood undecided for a moment.
Everything inside her had gone stone cold. So Eduardo hadn't even
made it down to the Marina Grande, she thought with a sinking
feeling. He must have fallen, or been attacked, or have met with
some other kind of accident -

'Oui!'
The boy gestured up the steps.
'Oui!
'

She looked around. The
viuzzi
was
deserted, without even a stray cat in sight. A moth fluttered in
the light, drawn to the door.

And, heart pounding, she followed it,
rushing up the steps and bursting through the slab of light which
was the doorway, calling, 'Eduardo! Eduar -'

Then the lights suddenly went out and the
room was plunged into darkness.

'Ed . . . uar . . . do . . .?' she whispered
falteringly, looking around but unable to make out anything in the
pitch blackness.

And then a hand was clapped over her mouth,
stifling the scream before it could rise in her throat.

New York City • Capri

It was 9:02 P.M. in Capri; 4:02 P.M. Eastern
Standard Time in New York.

At the Ansonia, the telephone exploded into
shrill urgent rings.

Sammy Kafka, a great believer in afternoon
naps, grumpily snatched up the receiver on the second ring. 'So all
right already!' he mumbled sleepily into the mouthpiece. 'If it
makes you happy, I'm awake. Now talk. Talk!'

There was a hesitant pause at the other end,
then a woman's voice said meekly, 'Mr Kafka?'

'Yes, yes? Who is this?'

'Chartrice Franklin at St. Luke's-Roosevelt
Hospital? You remember me? The day nurse? You always give me a
carnation whenever you visit Mr Kleinfelder?'

Sammy scratched his head. Now how was he
supposed to remember who he gave carnations to at that nurses'
station? As a matter of chivalry, he handed one to whoever happened
to be on duty, day or night.

Chartrice Franklin ... he thought,
struggling to get his fuzzy brain functioning. Chartrice Franklin .
. . Chartrice -

And then a light bulb glowed in his head.
Of course! The handsome black woman in ICU!

Sammy said, 'I apologise, Ms Franklin,' his
voice suddenly courtly. 'If I sounded a little crabby, it's just
that you caught me napping.'

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. But I
remembered, you asked to be notified the instant the patient came
out of his coma?'

Now that jump-started Sammy's grey cells all
right. Any remnants of sleep fell away like brittle husks.

'Has he?' he whispered hoarsely, the
receiver trembling in his hand. 'Come out of his coma?'

'Not fifteen minutes ago!' Chartrice told
him happily. 'I was seeing to another patient, and Betty, the other
day nurse? Well, suddenly she starts screaming like a stuck pig, so
I drop what I'm doing and run over to see what it is.' She paused.
'What happened, Mr Kleinfelder was comatose one minute and then sat
up and goosed her the next! Betty liked to have jumped out of her
skin, she was so spooked! Can't really blame her; I would've been
too!'

Sammy felt like doing somersaults - not that
his body had permitted him such youthfully strenuous exercises for
more decades than he cared to remember. He said, 'May I ask you a
question, Ms Franklin?'

'Of course, Mr Kafka.'

'If I kiss you, will you marry me?'

'Oh, you!' she scoffed in mock exasperation.
'I should've known!' And laughing, she hung up.

Sammy tossed the receiver into its cradle
and leapt out of bed, and for one of the rare instances in his life
- possibly the only instance - the dapper dandy took absolutely no
care in dressing. He jumped into a pair of trousers, snatched up
whatever clothes were the handiest, and dashed out of the
apartment.

Once on the sidewalk, he spied an empty cab
cruising towards him and flagged it down. Sammy yanked open the
rear door and hopped in. 'St. Luke's-Roosevelt Hospital,' he said,
slamming the door. 'And what are you waiting for, anyway? Hannukah?
Make it snappy, boychick! We're talking emergency here!'