A Perfect Stranger (25 page)

Hello, Mandy. Kay spoke to her first as she approached her, and still Amanda said nothing. Raphaella noticed that Amanda looked more than ever like a frightened child. She looked desperately unhappy as she stood there and the tall redhead approached. You look fine. Is that a new hat? Amanda noticed and Raphaella invited Kay to sit down just as the bell rang again and the lemonades arrived. She offered one to Kay who declined it and handed the other one to the girl, who accepted it mutely, with eyes that pleaded with Raphaella, and then she lowered them into her lap as she sipped her drink. It was a strange, awkward moment, and Raphaella was quick to fill the gap with small talk about the trip. It was nonetheless an awkward half hour as they sat there, and Raphaella was relieved when Kay rose to go.

Will you be going straight to Long Island? Raphaella asked, wishing she could comfort Mandy.

No. As a matter of fact Mandy and I are going to be taking a little trip. At this she instantly caught her daughter's attention, and the girl watched her with hostile eyes.

Oh, really? Where?

To Minnesota.

Something to do with your campaign, Mother? The words were her first to her mother and an accusation filled with scorn.

More or less, it's a county fair, but there are some things I should go to. I thought you'd enjoy it. Her face said she was angry, but she didn't dare let it show in her words. Raphaella glanced at Amanda, who she noticed looked tired and miserable. All the child wanted was to be back in San Francisco with Alex, and Raphaella had to admit that it would have been a lot more pleasant for her as well. Only her manners and breeding had induced her to be more than civil to Kay.

Amanda picked up her single suitcase and her tennis racket and faced Raphaella. They stood for just an instant like that, and then Raphaella folded her rapidly into her arms. She wanted to tell her to be patient , to be gentle, yet to be strong and not let her mother hurt her; she wanted to tell her a thousand things but it was no longer the place or the time. Have a good time, darling. And then more softly, I'll miss you.

But Amanda said it openly, with tears in her eyes. I'll miss you too. She was crying silently as she fled into the hallway of the Carlyle, and Kay paused for a moment in the doorway, seeming to take stock of every inch of Raphaella's face.

Thank you for bringing her in from the airport.

There was no mention of the rest of what Raphaella had done for her, the six months of loving and motherly care, as she helped Alex with the niece they had both come to love so much. But Raphaella wanted no thanks from this woman. All she wanted was her assurance that she wouldn't hurt the girl. But there was no way to get that, no way to admonish Kay to be kind to her own child.

I hope it's a good month for you both.

It will be. Kay said it with a curious little smile as she watched Raphaella. And then, almost grinning over her shoulder, she tossed back at the dark-haired beauty, Have a good time in Spain. With that, she stepped into the elevator with Amanda, and Raphaella, feeling suddenly empty and bereft, found herself wondering how Kay knew that she was going to Spain.

The next morning as Raphaella boarded the plane to Paris she wasn't even looking forward to seeing the children. All she wanted was to go home. This leg of her journey only carried her further away from where her heart was, and she felt tired and lonely. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend that she was on her way to California and not to France.

It was a flight that she was certainly used to, and from sheer boredom she slept halfway across the Atlantic. She did a little reading, ate lunch and dinner, and thought smilingly of when she had met Alex on the trip to New York the previous fall, but it seemed inconceivable now to her to speak to a stranger, as inconceivable as it had seemed to her before. She couldn't help smiling to herself as they prepared to land in Paris. He certainly wasn't a stranger anymore. And how did you two meet? She could imagine her father asking. On a plane, Papa. He picked me up. He what? She almost laughed openly as she fastened her seat belt and prepared to land. She was still amused at the idea as she was taken off the plane before the others and whisked through customs, but she was no longer amused by anything as she reached the gate and saw her father's face. He looked stern and almost angry and he stood like a statue, watching her come toward him in an outfit that would have brought an appreciative smile to any man's eyes. She wore a black suit with a white silk shirt and a little black straw hat with a veil. As she saw him her heart suddenly fluttered. It was obvious that something had happened. He had bad news for her' perhaps her mother' or John Henry ' or a cousin' or'

Bonjour, Papa. He barely bent as she reached up to kiss him, and his substantial frame seemed more rigid than rock. His face was old and lined, and the eyes looked at her coldly as she peered into his ice-blue eyes with a look of fear on her face. Has something happened?

We will discuss that at home. Oh, God' it was John Henry. And he didn't want to tell her here. Suddenly all thought of Alex left her mind. All she could think of was the elderly man she had left in San Francisco, and as always she reproached herself for leaving him at all.

Papa' please' . They stood in the airport looking at each other. Is it is it her voice sank to a whisper John Henry? He only shook his head. After not seeing her for an entire year, he had nothing to say to her. He remained a wall of granite as they climbed into his black Citro+1/2n. He nodded to the driver, and they started home.

Raphaella sat frozen in terror for the entire drive into Paris, her hand trembling when at last they stopped outside his house. The chauffeur held open the door for them, his black uniform suiting her father's expression and Raphaella's mood. There was an odd kind of feeling as she walked into the enormous foyer filled with gilt mirrors and marble-topped Louis XV tables. There was a magnificent Aubusson tapestry hanging on one wall, and a view of the garden through the French windows beyond, but the overall feeling was one of arctic splendor and it somehow made things worse as her father glared at her in displeasure and waved in the direction of his study up a tall flight of marble stairs. It was suddenly like being a child again, and as though somehow, in some way, unbeknownst to her, she had erred.

She merely followed him up the steps, carrying her handbag and her hat in one hand, waiting until her private audience to discover what was so upsetting to him. Perhaps it was something to do with John Henry after all. As she walked hurriedly up the stairs she couldn't imagine what it could be, unless it was something that had occurred while she was in New York. Perhaps another stroke? But it didn't seem like bad news he was going to share with her. But rather some terrible censure over something she had done. She remembered that particular expression on his face from her youth.

He marched solemnly into his study and Raphaella followed suit. It was a room with enormously high ceilings, wood paneling, walls covered with bookcases, and a desk large enough for a president or a king. It was a handsome example of Louis XV furniture, dripping with gilt, and highly impressive, and he took his chair behind the desk.

Alors' . He glared at her and waved to a chair across from the desk. There had been not a moment of kindness between them. Not a kind word, and barely an embrace. And although her father was not a warm man or given to excessive demonstration, he was certainly being, even for him, excessively stern.

Papa, what is it? Her face had grown very white during the long drive from the airport, and now she seemed even more pale as she waited for him to begin.

What is it? His eyebrows drew together, and his face looked fierce as he stared first at his desk and then at her. Must we play games?

But, Papa, I have no idea.

In that case he almost bellowed the words at his daughter you are totally without conscience. Or perhaps very naive, if you think you can do anything you wish, in any corner of the world, and not have it known. He let the words sink in for a moment and Raphaella's heart began to race. Do you understand me? He lowered his voice and looked at her pointedly as she shook her head. No? Then perhaps I should be more honest with you than you are with me, or your poor husband, lying sick at home in his bed. His voice was filled with reproach and contempt for his only daughter, and suddenly, like a child caught in a terrible misdemeanor, she felt awash with shame. The pale cheeks were suddenly suffused with a flush and Antoine de Mornay-Malle nodded his head. Perhaps now you understand me.

But her voice was clear when she answered. No, I do not.

Then you are a liar, as well as a cheat. The words rang out like bells in the large austere room. I received, he said deliberately, as though he were addressing Parliament instead of his only surviving child, several weeks ago a letter. From an American congresswoman, Madame Kay Willard. He searched Raphaella's face and she felt her heart stop.

Raphaella waited, barely able to breathe. It was, I must tell you, a very painful letter for me to read. Painful for a number of reasons. But most of all because I learned things about you, my daughter, that I had never hoped to hear. Shall I go on? Raphaella wanted to tell him not to, but she didn't dare. He went on anyway, as she knew he would. She not only explained to me that you are cheating on your husband. A man, may I remind you, Raphaella, who has been nothing but good to you since you were barely more than a child. A man who trusts you, who loves you, who needs your every waking moment, your every thought, every breath, to keep him alive. If you give him anything less than that, you will kill him, as I'm quite sure you are aware. So, not only are you destroying this man who has loved you, and who is my oldest and dearest friend, but you are apparently destroying as well the lives of several other people, a man who apparently had a wife who loved him and whom you have estranged, keeping him from a decent woman, as well as having children, which apparently is something dear to his heart. I also understand from Madame Willard that after a serious accident her daughter has gone to California to recover and to live with this man you have stolen from his wife. Apparently you are corrupting this child as well with your shocking behavior. In addition Madame Willard is in the Congress and from what she tells me, she will lose all chance to continue her life's work if this scandal comes out. In fact she tells me that she is going to retire immediately if you and her brother don't stop, because she cannot face the disgrace such a scandal would bring to her, and to her husband, her aging mother, and her child. I might add as well that if such a matter were to become public you would disgrace me and the Banque Malle as well, which does not even bring into consideration how your behavior would be viewed in Spain. Not to mention what they would make of you in the press.

Raphaella felt as though she had just been crucified, and the enormity of what had happened, of the accusations, of what Kay had done, and what her father had just said to her were almost more than she could cope with as she sat there. How could she tell him? Where would she begin? The truth was that Kay was a vicious, hungry politician who would stop at nothing to get what she wanted and that she was not retiring but running for election again, this time as senator. That Amanda had not been corrupted by her and Alex but deeply loved, that he hadn't been married to Rachel when she had met him, that he didn't want Rachel back, and that she herself was still giving everything she could to John Henry, but that she loved Alex too. But her father only sat there, staring at her with disapproval and anger in his eyes. As she looked at him, feeling powerless before him, the tears spilled from her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

I must also tell you, he continued after a moment, that it is not in my character to believe the word of a total stranger. At considerable inconvenience and great expense I hired a detective who, for the past ten days, has chronicled your activities and seems to verify what this woman says. You came home he glared at her in fury no earlier than five o'clock in the morning, every single night. And even if you don't care what you are doing to those around you, Raphaella, I should think that your own reputation would matter to you more than that! Your servants must think you a slut' a whore! A piece of garbage! He was roaring at her and left his seat to pace the room. She had still said not a word. How can you do such a thing? How can you be so dishonored, so disgusting, so cheap? He turned to face her and she shook her head mutely and dropped her head into her hands. A moment later she blew her nose in the lace handkerchief she extracted from her handbag, took a deep breath, and faced her father from across the room.

Papa, this woman hates me ' what she has said

Is all true. The reports from the man I hired say so.

No. She shook her head vehemently and stood up as well. No, the only accurate thing is that I love her brother. But he is not married, he was divorced when I met him He instantly cut her off.

And you are a Catholic, or had you forgotten? And a married woman, or had you forgotten that too? I don't care if he was a priest or a Zulu, the fact is that you are married to John Henry and you are not free to whore around as you choose. I will never be able to look at him again after what you have done here. I cannot face my oldest friend, because the daughter I gave him is a whore!

I am not a whore! She shouted the words at him, with sobs clutching at her throat. And you didn't give me to him. I married him ' because I wanted to' I loved him' . She didn't go on.

I don't want to hear your nonsense, Raphaella. I want to hear only one thing. That you will not see this man again. He glared at her angrily and walked slowly toward her. And until you do that, and give me your solemn promise, you are not welcome to be in my house. In fact he looked at his watch your flight to Madrid is in two hours. I want you to go there, to think about this, and I will come to see you in a few days. I want to know then that you have written to this man and told him that it's over. And to assure that you keep your promise, I intend to keep the surveillance on you for an indefinite time.