Authors: Aleatha Romig
The vibrant sky and tall
limestone buildings disappeared beyond the sea of sidewalk tables
and happy tourists.
Isabelle
politely intermingled and scanned the landscape.
Slipping into an internet cafe, she ordered a tall tea. No
question, her Italian was improving with each passing day. She
settled into an available swivel chair next to a computer, logged
onto the Wi-Fi, and transcended the ocean in search of
information.
Information began to materialize: Parrott
Press Wins Battle Against Rawlings Industries - Representative
Promises Claire Nichols’ Rawlings Memoirs Published By October
First. Claire’s heart sank... was there any way to stop this mess?
Next story: Palo Alto Police Question Iowa City Police Regarding
Lack of Cooperation with Anthony Rawlings. As of yet, no charges
had been filed or restrictions placed on Mr. Rawlings’ travel. Mr.
and Mrs. Vandersol have requested his passport be seized. Marcus
Evergreen, Iowa City Prosecutor, was quoted as saying, “Mr.
Rawlings is an upstanding law abiding citizen. Until we are
convinced otherwise, he is free to live his life. He has a home and
multibillion dollar business empire. We have no reason to assume he
is a flight risk.”
Claire exited the current
stories and began searching New Jersey records -- nothing on Marie
Rawls. She remembered Nathaniel was incarcerated in 1987. Claire
wasn’t sure when he married Marie. However, if he married her while
in prison, that would have been in New York. Claire entered
Marie Rawls
into the
data base of
Marriage Licenses - New York
State
. She narrowed the search to 1986 –
1989.
Claire held her breath as the small sentence
surfaced:
February 25, 1988,
Nathaniel Rawlings and Catherine Marie London- license of
marriage
.
Claire stared at the
screen...
Catherine Marie
London
.
She wasn’t sure how long
she stared; a minute, an hour, a day, maybe ten? Claire’s world
once again swayed from its axis.
Catherine
is Marie! Marie is Catherine!
What does
that mean?
She closed her eyes and
reviewed. The nausea from her early pregnancy returned. The stress
at the bank was nothing compared to the mayhem in her mind. It
meant
Catherine
killed Samuel and Amanda Rawls. It meant Tony paid Patrick
Chester yearly for
Catherine’s
freedom. It meant
Catherine
loved Nathaniel. According
to Tony, Nathaniel loved her, too.
Despite the damn gray
contacts, Claire’s tears of fear, rage, and sadness swelled behind
the pigmented disks. She didn’t want to believe the thoughts and
theories flooding her mind. She loved Catherine. The woman
sustained her during the time of Tony’s domination. Claire
reassured herself:
Catherine is protecting
me again
.
However, she had to wonder, was this truly
protection?
Catherine knew Claire’s greatest fear -- her
biggest terror. She knew it was isolation. Catherine provided money
– lots of money. However, suddenly Claire questioned -- how was
this kinder than thirteen days sequestered in her suite? She and
her baby would have every need met. Yet, when all was said and
done, Claire’s need for love and companionship would remain
unsatisfied for the rest of her life.
She laid ten Swiss Francs on the counter and
stepped out into the bustling cosmopolitan city. Her hotel was only
blocks away.
Claire, no
Isabelle,
entered the
Hotel d'Angleterre in a mental fog. Her mind whirled with new and
old information. The concierge’s greeting caught her off
guard.
“B
uon pomeriggio, Seniora Alexander
.
Senior Alexander è qui, ti
aspetta
.”
(Good afternoon Mrs. Alexander,
Mr. Alexander is waiting for you.)
Mr. Alexander?
She thought. “
Grazie,
dove
?”
(Thank you, where?)
“
Egli è nella vostra suite
,
seniora
.”
(In your suite,
ma’am)
Claire nodded and tried to
smile. Panic from years before bubbled from the depths of her soul.
The past few months with Tony held no hint of domination, yet she
knew it existed. And now, if he were upstairs in her suite, what
did that mean? Did he think she’d left him for his money? Did
Catherine tell him? Was this all just a set-up, a test? Had she
just failed?
Claire decided company would be beneficial,
“
Mi sembra
di aver smarrito la mia chiave, potreste
aiutarmi
?”
(I seem to have misplaced my
key, could you help me?)
“
Si,
seniora
.” The concierge accompanied
Seniora Alexander
to the
third floor suite. As they rode the elevator in silence, Claire’s
mind spun with questions. When the doors opened, anticipation
prevailed. She prayed,
Please let Tony be
here, and let us work this out.
She foresaw anger. But she’d seen it before.
Claire squared her shoulders and stiffened her neck. Once his
impending tirade was complete, she’d explain. She wanted to face
the man she’d just left.
The concierge inserted the key and
penetrated the lock on the polished wooden door.
Before he pulled the
opulent lever, the door opened. Instead of brown darkness she saw
intense hazel. Flecks of gold shimmered within her
husband’s
gray-green
eyes while his white hair lay casually over his forehead. Claire
sighed as Phil beckoned her into the suite.
“
Il mio amore!” (My love)
He pulled her hand toward him; her body followed. Instantly his
lips were on hers. She fought her urge to fight, knowing the
concierge was watching their show.
Claire lifted her hands to Phil’s shoulders
and pushed, “Lei mi sorprende.” (You surprise me)
In English, “Didn’t they tell you I was
here? I didn’t mean to surprise you.”
The concierge stood
faithfully near, in the open door. Phil immediately reached into
his pocket, removed some Swiss Francs, and thanked him for his
help. When the door closed Claire freed herself and retaliated,
“They said
Mr. Alexander
was here, my husband. I didn’t know who to
expect.”
“
You seem disappointed?”
Phil questioned. “I had to be your husband, to be allowed
entry.”
Grasping her arm, he directed her to the
main room. The doors of the balcony were open to the lake below.
For moments they stood silently and watched the docks as yachts
came and went. The hum of people below filled the silence as the
sun made its way toward the Alps elongating the shadows below.
Claire’s mind tried unsuccessfully to
prioritize her myriad of thoughts. After a time Phil’s arm
surrounded her shoulders. She turned toward him; her words harsh,
“The concierge is gone - the show is over.”
He removed his arm, “Did you complete your
transaction?” “I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”
“
I had to get to you. I’m
scheduled to return to the United States early tomorrow morning. I
have an appointment with the ICPD. They want to discuss the
disappearance of a woman I was hired to trail.” His eyes twinkled,
“You know, there is a $100,000 reward!”
“
So you’re here to turn me
in?”
His hazel eyes closed, jaws clenched, and
head shook. “No, Claire, I’m here to make sure you completed your
little endeavor at the financial institution today and to set up a
meeting to move you to your permanent residence. Where will that
be?”
Claire’s neck straightened. She walked onto
the balcony and peered over the wrought iron rail. Phil followed
closely behind. His words were a mere whisper against the sounds of
the blossoming nightlife below. “You know, the last time I followed
you on to a balcony, you played me for a fool. Is that your intent
tonight?”
Claire turned toward him. “You know it
isn’t. Things have changed.”
“
Some things.”
“
In San Antonio I was
protecting someone.”
“
In San Antonio you out
smarted me. I can’t tell you how much that impressed me.” He
stepped closer. “Until that trip,” his breath bathed her cheeks, “I
had preconceived ideas about you.”
Claire stood her ground and looked up into
his eyes, “Preconceived?”
His gaze searched her
contact covered eyes, “I researched you, you know?” She didn’t
answer. “From the beginning of my assignment with Mr. Rawlings, I
read all about
Claire Rawlings
Nichols
and made
assessments based on that research. I predetermined you to be this
woman who tried to kill her multibillion dollar husband -- a
gold-digger. I assumed he hired me to keep an eye on you, to let
him know if you were getting close. I assumed he was afraid you
might try it again. Then I saw you for the first time; you were
walking down that street in Palo Alto. The wind was blowing your
hair.” He reached out, removed the dark wig, and loosened strands
of her once again chestnut hair from the confines of the hair pins.
She shook her head allowing the trusses to fall free. “I knew Mr.
Rawlings wanted you, not because he was afraid. He wanted
you
. His insistence at
knowing your every move proved he wasn’t willing to give you up.
Then, you tricked me in San Antonio.”
He stepped away. Slowly Phil settled at the
wrought iron table, leaving Claire against the rail as the glow of
the setting sun framed her beautiful face. She smiled at his
reference as he went on, “I learned that week, you were so much
more than a beautiful woman. You’re smart, strong, sneaky, and
conniving.”
“
If I recall, you called
me a bitch.”
A grin filled his face. “I assure you, it
was meant as a compliment. I find those qualities very endearing.”
He leaned forward, “I immediately became enthralled. From that
moment, I’ve fought an intense desire to have you for myself.”
Claire lowered her eyes. Although she didn’t
want to encourage him; she needed his help, “Thank you,” she said
demurely.
“
For what?”
“
For all you’ve
done.”
His head tilted sideways, questioning
her.
She went on, “Thank you -- for your kind
note in San Diego, for saving my life in Palo Alto, and for wasting
your talents babysitting me for months on end.”
“
Clair...
Isabelle
,” he corrected,
“I wish I could’ve been there sooner, in Palo Alto.”
Her smile turned bashful; she walked back
into the suite. Phil rose and followed her within. “You, Harry,
Tony, and the security guy all saved me.” She turned her intense
gaze on him, “Right now, I’m nervous. Phil, I have so many
questions – things aren’t adding up.” His gaze stopped her. She
needed to collect her thoughts. Exhaling she said, “I’m going to go
get these damn contacts out. Help yourself to the bar.”
Phil smiled, “Good, I like your eyes much
better green.” He turned and walked toward the highboy containing
bottles of fine liquors. Phil poured himself two fingers of Cognac
as Claire disappeared into the bedroom.
When she returned, wearing a casual pair of
yoga pants, a t-shirt, and no contacts, she saw Phil’s intense
glower. As their eyes met he said, “I’ve watched both of you.” He
finished the Cognac and added more to his glass. “I realize this
whole thing is to hurt your ex-husband,” he shrugged his shoulders,
“which could work out well for me. But... I have to say, I’ve
watched a lot of people. Love and hate are both strong emotions.
You’ve sacrificed everyone you hold dear to hurt Anthony Rawlings.
You could’ve gone on living in California. The governor of Iowa
wiped your record clean. Yet, your anger, your crusade was
continually met by him. You told me it was a game to him. I think
it was a game to both of you, a real life chess game. Every move
you made he countered. In order to get his king, you sacrificed
your queen, a bold move. One I believe will work. But at what
cost?”
Claire stood dumbfounded. She didn’t
understand Phil’s words. “What are you saying? You think I’m here
to hurt Tony?”
Phil swallowed the remaining contents of his
tumbler, “That’s what Ms. London said. She said you wanted away
from him. You were afraid to leave him, of what he’d do... so this
was the plan.” Claire tried to follow. “Pretty creative; you
exploited Mr. Rawlings’ obsession with you, his Achilles heel, to
penetrate his invincibility.”
Claire didn’t speak, she couldn’t. Her mind
swirled as the cyclone of thoughts became a category five
hurricane. Phil took her silence as an invitation to continue his
notion. “I read your theories of retaliation, for sins of past
generations. I’m not saying they aren’t true. Nonetheless, don’t
you find it odd? The only person who continues to survive is
you.”
Claire stuttered, “You... you read my
theories? Where?”
“
On your laptop -- of
course.”
Claire involuntarily took two steps
backward. Her legs hit the sofa and she crumbled into the soft
cushions. “You found my laptop?”
“
Yes, the night you were
attacked. It was in Patrick Chester’s hotel room.”