The Stand-In (21 page)

The clock struck, and Boy decided that since he was merely a character witness, the police would not be apt to come calling after midnight and rang for Fortman to help him upstairs. He could hobble about with the stick, but stairs were damnably difficult. “Tomorrow,” Papa used to say when that Speakman clock chimed eleven, “is another day.” Papa always checked his Hunter with the Speakman and after announcing that tomorrow was another day, used to snap the cover to on tonight. Tomorrow was indeed another day. He would find a way tomorrow without bringing Julius into it and then he would pounce. Pounce!

24

On Thursday morning he—
Desmond
—Millie pronounced his name shyly even to herself—woke up. Maybe you shouldn't call it waking up when a person'd been unconscious for almost two days, but that was how he acted, as if he had passed out last night from drink and now woke up, still half stoned.

Then he tried to sit up and on account of the needle, the position it was in, couldn't, so he reached up to yank off the adhesive and pull the needle out. She grabbed his hand. “Don't do that!” Millie held his hand. She was going to say she'd get the doctor. She was supposed to call him when Desmond came to, but she had a lot to tell him before she was letting him talk to anybody. “Lie back, I'll do it,” she said instead.

Bending over him getting the adhesive off and the needle out, she felt him staring at her, blinking. He didn't even know who she was. She could understand why he didn't recognize her; he had only seen her made up to look like Coral, and for less than an hour in all. (In the tent he hadn't been looking at her, only Kitten.) It was pretty funny that he shouldn't recognize her (even though she understood why), but that was the story of her life. Then finally he remembered.

He said, “I know. You're her sister.”

Even him, even him! The story of her life. “I'm Kitten's mother. I'm Millie, Millie Williams. Mrs. I'm divorced,” she added, blushing.

He asked what the needle had been in his arm for. She said the doctor had stuck it there when he was unconscious.

“Unconscious?”

Then it started coming back, how he took the sleeping pills and why. (Now
he
was her idea of a real actor, because his face could tell you a whole story without him opening his mouth.) Millie hoped he would ask how Kitten was, but he didn't, so she told him Kitten was with Cyril in his store. Cyril was taking care of Kitten while she stayed with him.

Desmond tried to connect her with Cyril. How come she knew Cyril?

“It was Cyril who found you and got the doctor here just in time.”

“The Good Fairy. Wouldn't you know?”

“And then I telephoned to tell you—Look, it's a long story. The doctor said that if I couldn't reach him and you came to, I should give you tea with a lot of sugar and some bread with a lot of butter. I'll go fix it, then I'll tell you.”

Desmond rolled himself over on his belly. That way he was closer to the grave he had dug for himself. That way he couldn't see the sunlight and feel the warmth coming in the open window, because he knew he didn't want to die. He heard her coming back, the rattling of china on a tray, and then her small hands on him, He turned around because he didn't want a girl's hands on him. (Because he did want a girl's hand on him.) She poured tea and let him lift the cup and held out the plate with the buttered bread on it. As soon as he took a bite of bread, she began to talk.

“When I was washing you earlier, I was thinking when you woke up you'd be a regular Rip Van Winkle. Don't get scared, you didn't sleep twenty years, not even two full days. You must have a strong constitution. But so much has happened it might as well be twenty years.”

He said, “Too bad it wasn't.”

“What? What kind of thing is that to say!” She was so used to touching him now that she snatched his free hand and held it. “Oh, I get it—jail! But wait till you hear, wait till you hear!

“Look, I better start at the beginning, that's the best. Look, in the car, you remember in the car when I said I wanted to help you, you said it would take a miracle? You said if God would perform a miracle?”

“I remember,” Desmond said.

Suddenly she dropped his hand, put the tray down, slid off the chair and onto her knees. Onto her
knees
. His heart beat fast. “Is Ronnie alive? Was he hurt, but not dead?”

“He's dead, that's not the miracle. Let me tell you what happened.”

“Could you prop me a little with the pillow?” He could have fixed it himself, but he wanted her off those knees. She made him uncomfortable, like he was watching something private. She did get up then and fixed the pillow and pulled a chair closer and began.

“That Ronnie's dead. The papers say Mr. Ossian found him. The police are still investigating. According to Coral, they have no information.” Millie waited, then said, “Of course, Coral thinks Bran did it.”

“Bran did it?”

“Yes, Coral and Mr. Ossian think Bran killed Ronnie. Bran's split, and they think it's because he's the murderer.”

He heard his heart thumping. “I—don't—get—it.”

“How could you? Look, I'm going to tell you just what happened. I'm going to tell you the whole thing so you'll see God's hand like I do. So you'll know sometimes things turn out right. While you were lying there unconscious, Cyril told me about Bran and you. And about your lousy mother. Bran and my sister, I'm going to tell you what they did to both of us. We're just the same, we're two of a kind and they're two of a kind. Bran and Coral-there is a God in Heaven and finally he says it's enough! Enough! You know, you get pretty low. You begin to lose faith, then a thing like this happens and—boy, do you know there's Someone up there! Boy, do you
know!!”

He was too weak for this. He felt like he was in a high wind. “Hey, cool it!”

“I know. I'm like Hosannah to the All Highest. I'm like singing hymns inside, but I've been sitting here for almost two days and two nights telling you this miracle over and over, and you wouldn't wake up! I know it by heart. Can I begin?”

He nodded.

When Desmond heard about Ronnie and Coral Reid, he slid lower in the bed wishing he could disappear, because Ronnie had known how he felt about Coral Reid. One more laugh Ronnie had on him. Another laugh: Ronnie asking him whether he thought Ronnie would be at St. Andrews just to see Coral Reid. Dope! Dope! His gut twisted recalling that he had been dope enough to believe that Ronnie had come there especially to apologize to him.

It figured. He could see now that it all figured. Now Desmond recalled the purple-colored letters sticking out of Ronnie's pocket as he lay there at the foot of the stairs. What had happened was that Ronnie tried to blackmail Bran as soon as he realized they had Kitten and that they weren't going to get any fifty thousand pounds. Ronnie had called Bran and told him to come to Stoke Newington. My God, that was why Ronnie had had to rush him and Kitten out of the house—because Bran was coming there for the payoff!

Desmond said, “Bran just walked into the house and found Ronnie dead there. How would that look when they found out who Ronnie was? He ran away, you said? No wonder he ran! Who wouldn't? Have they found Bran?”

“No. Who's looking? Didn't you understand? Coral and Mr. Ossian are covering for him. Coral didn't know where Bran was, but nobody's looking.”

“I know where Bran is.”

“You
know?”

“Well I don't
know
, but I'd bet my shirt on it from something Bran said to me in the commissary the other day.”

“Where?”

“It's funny. You know, when Bran and I were kids, we spent all this time together between takes. I had to have something to brag about, what with Bran having the big house in Beverly Hills, the pool, the cars. So I bragged about this place where my folks and I spent our summers. For me, there was only one glamorous place, and someday I was going back to England and buy it. In
my
house I could become a smuggler. I could become an international spy and hide out there. Kid stuff, but I didn't forget it, and Bran didn't, either. When I came back to England, I drove out to see it again. The house was still there and still deserted but—I looked in the windows and it had been fixed up, paint, furniture. There was a big sign outside, for rent or sale.

“I had some extra bread, so I called the agents to see if it could be rented for the summer. (No one in his right mind would live up there in the winter.) You know how agents are, I had to leave my name and telephone number, and they called me on—I don't remember just when—but it was a couple of days after your company got here. They said I'd better make up my mind. There was another gentleman interested in renting the place. They didn't tell me who, but they said it was an American, and I'm betting it was Bran because in the commissary he asked me if I was living there.”

Millie had her eyes closed and was rubbing her forehead with a forefinger. “Was this house on top of a cliff?”

“That's right.”

“Bran had this place he wanted Coral and him to rent, but Coral turned it down sight unseen because he said it was on top of a cliff and Coral could see Cornie falling off.”

Desmond remembered bragging about the dangers of that cliff and how he'd said Bran's mother would never let him live there. Bran said when he grew up, his mother couldn't stop him. Absolutely, Bran was in Jennett House! He sat up and shoved the covers down and she was right there, helping. “I can manage. That tea and bread did the trick. I can get up now okay.”

Trying to stand, Desmond shoved his feet over the side of the bed and would have fallen if she hadn't grabbed him. “I don't think I'm going to be able to make it.”

“Make what?”

“Getting dressed and down to a police station, telling them.”

“What?”

She let go, and he had to fall back on the bed again.

“You haven't been listening! What do you mean ‘telling'?”

“You know what I mean.” Desmond pushed back from the furious red of her face.

Millie pressed her lips together and pulled the covers up as they had been when he was unconscious.

Desmond said, “I really don't get you. Bran is innocent, and you know it. You're a good woman, you're a religious woman. All that God business.”

“God business!”
Her voice still sounded furious, but she could hardly push the anger through her trembling lips.

“I'm grateful to you. I'm grateful as hell to you, but—”

“I don't want you to be grateful to me. I want you to respect God. I want you to accept His Judgment.”

Desmond watched while she smoothed the blanket out in a practiced way, then deliberately shoved the blanket lower and reached for the small competent hand. “While I was lying here, you did everything. You washed me and covered me and did miracles, but I wasn't a man while I was unconscious.” He squeezed her hand. “I'm conscious now. I'm not Kitten. You're not my mother.

“I'll never forget you, but I intend to do the right thing.” Funny, you could see where they were sisters. There was a resemblance, only the other one had it and this one didn't.

“The right thing! You tried to pay with your own life for the life you took, didn't you? That's the way I see it, and that's the way God saw it, because He pulled you through. You're a brave man who risked his life for a child's life!”

She should know, thought Desmond, that he'd only killed Ronnie because he was a fool. But he didn't tell her. It felt so good to have someone thinking you were the real thing. It was even better than when Ronnie was respecting him for pulling off the kidnapping. He told himself that it hadn't lasted long with Ronnie, and it wouldn't with Millie, either, but it was great while it lasted. He glanced at her and, funny, her admiration not only made him feel good, it made her better looking.

She pulled her hand away from him and began walking up and down. “Well, if you're going to the police, I better tell you one more thing. When I marched out on Coral, she asked me where I was going and I said to my boyfriend, Desmond Carr. I said it in case you needed an alibi for the night you took Kitten.”

Desmond was thinking that Coral Reid would now have him down as her sister's speed.

“Well?
You go down to the cops and tell them where you really were and it comes out that I've been with you since Wednesday, that's going to look great, isn't it? I don't know what a person with nothing going for her gets—I mean I don't know what they'll give me for not turning you in, but I'll get it, don't worry. In spades. Is that what you want for me?”

“You know better.”

She shrugged to show life had never given her much reassurance.

“No. I can't do that to you. Okay, I can wait,” he said. “Just so long as you understand Bran's not taking the rap for me.”

“Has Bran ever had to take the rap for anything yet? Don't hold your breath. He's going to get away with this, too, as per usual.”

Desmond opened his mouth to remind her that this time Bran was innocent, but didn't say so. To her Bran was the bad guy and he was the good guy, and that was that. Just then the phone rang in the living room and she started toward it, then stopped, turned, and looking at Desmond, asked his permission. He gave it.

She picked up the receiver, listened, and said Desmond couldn't be disturbed. A minute later she repeated that Desmond really couldn't come to the phone, that he was too weak to get out of bed, and hung up.

She went back to the bedroom, took the plate that held the buttered bread and the tea cup and put them on the tray with the pot. She didn't know how hard she was shaking until she started walking and everything on the tray rattled.

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