Claudine (29 page)

Tears sprang to her eyes. “Thank you.” She would have kissed him if she’d been able to.

He started to leave, then hesitated and said, “One other thing. A word to the wise. You’re in the wrong business, Maria. I hope that’s apparent to you now.”

S
he had one more visitor that day, late in the afternoon. Andrei stepped into the room quietly. She noticed his look of surprise and imagined he barely recognized her without the jumble of catheters, tubes and wires. Now only a single IV trailed from her arm.

He eased his lanky frame into the hospital chair. “How are things going?”

Maria didn’t smile in welcome, only raised her heavy lids, her eyes dull and flat from all the drugs saturating her system. “I’ve felt better.”

“Are you okay to talk?”

She tried to sit up. “Can you put a pillow behind my back? It’s hard for me to speak lying down.”

Andrei supported her back while he tucked a pillow behind it. His hands were gentle, different from the nurse’s efficient but brusque motions. “Do you remember anything?” he asked.

“I remember you. We were on our way home. You were driving so fast. Even faster than you usually do. My head was in your lap and I didn’t know why.”

“I had to speed. It was touch and go.”

“I know that now. Thank you.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

She raised her hand as if to wave his question away. “I’m being well looked after here.” Her words masked the way she really felt. Any hint of the way she used to be, her old sparkle, the sly way she had sometimes of smiling, had totally vanished. She struggled to fill the silence. “How’s Tramp?”

“He’s great. He told me he misses you.”

She closed her eyes for a second and then said, “Could you get me a drink? The water carafe is on the stand there.”

Andrei poured some water into a glass. Her hand shook as she reached out for it. “Do you want me to hold it for you?”

“I can manage. Just give it to me.”

He sat back down. “Are you up to hearing how it all turned out?”

She drank and held the glass out for him to take. “I know some of it. Trainor came to see me a few hours ago. He’s not going to charge me with anything.”

“They haven’t got the DNA results back yet but suspicions are high that chamber links to a couple of killings, including the Romanian girl’s. My police contact told me they found no membership lists for Ferrer’s ‘club,’ though. He hid that very well.”

He looked weary, Maria thought. He was no longer limping but the mark on his face hadn’t fully healed. “I really screwed up,” he admitted.

“How so?” She shifted uncomfortably, pulled the blanket closer around her.

“You have to understand. I wanted to kill Hock after what he did to you in Queens. Had to hold myself back. I threatened him—way too hard. It wasn’t strategic. He spewed out what he
thought I wanted to hear. Had he told us the truth about Ferrer, you wouldn’t be lying there right now.”

“It’s too late for regrets,” she said expressionlessly. “You did what you had to do.”

Andrei shrugged. “Hock did San Francisco, including planting that toxic chemical that burned Lillian’s hand; Ferrer rented the black boat in Cannes. Ferrer was the architect of the whole thing. He had enough money to hire the best and used hackers to send the texts and plant them on Hock’s phone. None of the messages you got could be traced back to him, including the invitation to his Newport house. He wiped that off your phone. But I was able to find out something.”

“What?”

“Ferrer grew up in a Greek Cypriot family. Dad ran a private investment bank, mostly to hide illicit funds for foreign politicians and businesses. That’s how he came to know Ceausescu. His father sent him to Romania to assist Ceausescu with getting money out of the country. They became fast friends.”

“How old would he have been then?”

“Early twenties. In those days, it was easy for him to indulge his passion for young females with no consequences. When his father died, he left for America with the family fortune, and invented a whole new life for himself.”

Andrei met her gaze and for a moment Maria felt a softness for him. It quickly vanished and she let her head fall back on the pillow. “Have you decided what you’ll be doing next?” She asked this again in a disinterested voice, the way someone would fill in the gaps in an awkward conversation with a stranger.

He rose from the chair. “I’m moving to Los Angeles. A friend runs a cosmetics import company. I’ll be helping her to
set up a branch out there.” He made a halfhearted effort to smile.

“That’s good. You never did like our East Coast winters.”

He took a few steps toward the door. “I should be on my way. Don’t want to tire you out. What will you do when you get out of here? Carry on with the business?”

“I have a plan,” she said.

“I’m glad to hear that. It’ll help you to get well faster. If you have a goal, I mean.”

“Yes. I don’t have much to do here, day after day. So I’ve been thinking about little else.”

“I’m sure it will work out fine once you regain your strength.”

“Oh, it will.”

“What is it, then?”

“My plan? To disappear. One day someone will try to call, or book an appointment. But they’ll be too late, because I’ll be long gone.” Her voice was faint. “Andrei?”

“What?” He stopped on the threshold of the door but didn’t turn around.

“I know you hoped things would turn out differently between us. It wouldn’t have worked. I was never what you needed.”

He gave the merest hint of a nod, straightened his shoulders and walked away.

CHAPTER
33

Maria left New York in the waning days of August. Although the sun shone steadily, the winds already carried a hint of autumn chill and the light was slowly dying. She wrote Jewel a hasty note to say she’d be going away for some time, stowed her jewelry and other valuables in secure storage and took nothing more than a carry-on bag for the plane. All her clothes, costumes, racks of shoes went to charity. She told her Realtor to list her place at under market value. It sold in one day. A portion of the money went to Lillian, who’d decided to go back to school. They hugged each other good-bye and promised to keep in touch.

Maria grieved for Claudine and the life she’d led. She didn’t try to push those emotions into the background; she’d been numb for far too long. She experienced the sadness of that life ending, acutely. She’d never felt shame over her profession. Most
of the time, it had been glamorous, exhilarating and fun. But she was no longer that person.

Before she left New York, she ran into Reed Whitman when she went to Yale to sign some forms. He gave her a collegial pat on the shoulder as if she’d been nothing more than an acquaintance. “I’ve missed you around here,” he said brightly, “although I’m glad our paths crossed. Where have you been hiding?”

Maria was suddenly aware of the wide gap in their ages. He looked much older than she remembered. And the insipid smile he’d plastered on was patently false
. In a very dark place
, she was tempted to answer. Instead she said, “An urgent family matter came up—totally unexpected.”

“Sorry to hear that. Everything all right, I hope?”

“Yes. It worked out okay in the end.”

She tried to walk on but he reached for her arm. “Look. I realize there were a few loose ends we neglected to tie up.” His face flushed a little. “You wanted me to mentor you, give you some assistance to get ahead around here.”

“
You
offered to help me, you mean,” she said with a pointed stare.

“Well, I’ve given it some thought and I made a mistake by continuing to pursue you after we quarreled at the theater. Even though I’m not supervising you in any way, under the circumstances, it’s best we let things drop. Since we had a relationship of sorts, I’m concerned about appearances. It’s a small world around here. What others think they know can sometimes do more damage than the truth. I wouldn’t want to do anything to hold you back.”

She grinned. “I know exactly what you mean, Reed, and I’m glad you brought this up. In this small world, you’re regarded as
a two-bit jerk who hits on women. A guy who’s way past his prime. People laugh about it. Being associated with you would have been a bad move for me.”

M
aria was an emotional refugee. One without a home or destination. One who wanted only to drift like a corked bottle, blown about by the sea. She had no ambition, no passion and no desire. She went first to Paris, a place close to her heart. The moody autumn atmosphere suited her frame of mind. She spent eight weeks there; found a small, inexpensive, family-run hotel, watched television, lay awake at night, thinking of nothing, listening to the sounds of traffic outside and the steady beat of her heart. She slept most of the day. When she did venture out, it was always late in the evening. She walked for hours until her feet felt heavy as lead. Got lost in the enchanting maze of Parisian streets and didn’t care.

Andrei came often into her thoughts. She missed him terribly. How strange, that when she finally realized how much he meant to her, he’d chosen another woman. Love has no mercy, she thought bitterly.

One evening at a wine bar, a man came up to her. An American. He slipped onto the stool beside her, elbowed into her space in an overly familiar way. “I know you,” he gave her a wink. “Claudine, right? We spent a night together.”

“My name’s Maria. You’ve mistaken me for someone else. Take off.” She shifted farther away from him.

The man’s face reddened in annoyance. “For a hooker, you’re pretty unfriendly, aren’t you? I
should
remember, I paid you enough.”
She threw some euros on the counter to pay for her drink, slid off the stool and marched out.

In Geneva she decided to look up Marcus Constantin. She made it to his gallery door but couldn’t bring herself to go in, and at the last minute, turned away. She left the city the next day, took the train to Bern, went on to Italy. Like a phantom, she floated through cities, invisible. If she experienced any joy, it was in knowing she mattered to no one.

One night in Turin she stood on the bridge named Ponte Mosca with her hands in her pockets, the breeze ruffling her blond hair. She mused about how easy it would be to leap off, let the black water slip over her, peacefully and permanently. Although she eventually turned away, she wasn’t sure why.

After Italy, Maria traveled to Prague, Sofia and Belgrade. The weather over the past weeks had turned rainy and gray and she found herself craving sunshine. She decided to stay in Crete for a time, sleepy now that the tourist season was finished. Its bleached white landscape and azure sea lifted her spirits.

A long letter to her supervisor at Yale had gained her a substantial extension to the deadline for her thesis. It would be a waste to turn her back on her MA. Every afternoon she left her modest rental apartment and walked half an hour to a café, where she ordered brutally strong coffee and a bite to eat, and set up her tablet to write.

When she’d first started going to the café, men wouldn’t leave her alone. Her allure had diminished, not disappeared. Many of the locals seated at the tables, smoking, trading stories and jokes, cast hungry glances at her. A beautiful woman sitting alone day after day was a mystery to them. A swarthy fellow wearing a lot of flash, gold rings and chains around his neck,
pestered her constantly. She’d decided she’d have to choose another spot for her regular hangout, but then the café owner intervened. After that she was left in relative peace.

Physically she felt almost back to normal. She’d put on weight and all the walking strengthened her. And there were other changes. Except to tidy her hair or brush her teeth, she never looked in a mirror. On the occasions she did, she barely recognized her own reflection. She’d stopped the waxing and laser treatments and now had a silky golden fringe around her pubis. She changed her birth control prescription and it felt strange to have her monthlies again after years without them.

But her interior life had not caught up. Inside she felt empty, like an old tree with beautiful bark that hid a rotted-out core. She’d stayed in Crete too long. Perhaps that was it. Boredom was setting in.

She made plans to leave. The day of her departure she went to the café for a quick coffee and to say good-bye to the owner. It was warm out, sunny for November. She sat outside.

As she got up to pay her bill, she noticed the figure of a man down the street. Something struck her as familiar about him. His easy stride, the confident way he carried himself. She gave her head a shake. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She’d almost succeeded in erasing Andrei’s memory. And now here she was again, imagining the impossible. She’d have to hurry to make her flight.

He called out to her.

It might be possible to mistake a figure, but not a voice. Maria’s heart leaped. For a moment she was unable to speak.

He took off his sunglasses and gave her his old familiar grin. Instantly his smile swept her back, to the dinners, the drives,
the laughter over drinks, the magical night at his place in Brighton Beach. “Glad I caught up with you,” he said. “Were you just heading off somewhere?”

She hoped her voice wouldn’t betray the emotion that overcame her at the sight of him. “I have to be at the airport by six
P.M
. for my flight. Why are
you
here?”

“I’ve been wondering how you’re doing. Lillian told me you’d come to Crete and gave me your address. You neighbor told me you liked to come to this café.”

“I thought you were in California . . . with your girlfriend.”

The ring of his laughter sent her spinning. It was so good to hear his voice again. “You’ve got the California part right. If you’re talking about the woman I helped with her business, she’s married to a good friend of mine. Very happily,” he added.

“Oh!” Her face flushed in embarrassment.

His eyes searched hers. “You look much better; I’m happy to see that.”

She glanced away, unable to trust her reaction to the scorching impact of his gaze. “Yes. Going away was a good move for me.”