Weep No More My Lady (10 page)

“I thought if she just
saw
Ted . . . You know how much she cared about him . . . I've always suspected that she was in love with him herself.”

“I know what you thought. But it hasn't worked. So, no more about it tonight, Minna. Get into bed. I'm going to make a cup of hot milk for you, and give you a sleeping pill. Tomorrow you'll be your usual overbearing self.”

Min smiled wanly and allowed him to lead her toward the bedroom. His arm was still around her, she was half-leaning against him. Her head fitted into the crook of his shoulder. After ten years she still loved the scent of him, the hint of expensive cologne, the feel of his superbly tailored jacket. In his arms, she could forget about his predecessor, with his cold hands and his petulance.

When Helmut returned with the hot milk, she was propped up in bed, the silken pillows framing her loosened hair. She knew the rose-tinted shade on the night table threw a flattering glow on her high cheekbones and dark eyes. The appreciation she saw in her husband's eyes when he handed her the delicate Limoges cup was gratifying.
“Liebchen,”
he whispered, “I wish you knew how I feel about you. After all this time, you still don't trust that feeling, do you?”

Seize the moment. She had to do it. “Helmut, something is terribly wrong, something you haven't told me. What is it?”

He shrugged. “You know what's wrong. Spas are springing up all over the country. The rich are restless people, fickle. . . . The cost of the Roman bath has exceeded my expectation—I admit it. . . . Nevertheless, I am sure that when we finally open it—”

“Helmut, promise me one thing. No matter what, we won't touch the Swiss account. I'd rather let this place go. At my age, I can't be broke again.” Min tried to keep her voice from rising.

“We won't touch it, Minna. I promise.” He handed her the sleeping pill. “So. As your husband . . . as a doctor . . . I
order
you to swallow this, immediately.”

“I'll take it, gladly.”

He sat on the edge of the bed as she sipped the milk. “Aren't you coming to bed?” Her voice was drowsy.

“Not yet. I'll read for a bit. That's my sleeping pill.”

After he turned out the light and left the room, Min felt herself drifting off to sleep. Her last conscious thought became an inaudible whisper. “Helmut,” she pleaded, “what are you hiding from me?”

AT QUARTER OF TEN ELIZABETH SAW THE GUESTS BEGIN TO stream from the main house. She knew that in a few minutes the whole place would be silent, curtains drawn, lights extinguished. The day began early at the Spa. After the strenuous exercise classes and the relaxing beauty treatments, most people were more than ready to retire by ten o'clock.

She sighed when she saw one figure leave the main path and turn in her direction. Instinctively she knew it was Mrs. Meehan.

“I thought you might be a little lonesome,” Alvirah said as, uninvited, she settled herself on one of the deck chairs. “Wasn't dinner good? You'd never guess you were counting calories, would you? Buhlieve me, I wouldn't weigh one hundred and sixty-five pounds if I'd eaten like this all my life.”

She rearranged the shawl on her shoulders. “This thing keeps slipping.” She looked around. “It's a beautiful night, isn't it? All those stars. I guess they don't have as much pollution here as in Queens. And the ocean. I love that sound. What was I saying? Oh, yes—dinner. You could have knocked me over when the waiter—or was he a butler?—put that tray in front of me, with the spoon and fork. You know, at home we just kind of dig
in.
I mean who needs a spoon
and
fork to get at string beans, or an itsy-bitsy lamb chop? But then I remembered the way Greer Garson helped herself from the fancy silver platter in
Valley of Decision,
and I was okay. You can always count on the movies.”

Unwillingly, Elizabeth smiled. There was something so genuinely honest about Alvirah Meehan. Honesty was a rare commodity at the Spa. “I'm sure you did fine.”

Alvirah fiddled with her sunburst pin. “To tell the truth, I couldn't take
my eyes off Ted Winters. I was all set to hate him, but he was so
nice
to me. Boy, was I surprised at how snippy that Cheryl Manning is. She certainly hated Leila, didn't she?”

Elizabeth moistened her lips. “What makes you think that?”

“I just happened to say at dinner that I thought Leila would become a legend like Marilyn Monroe, and
she
said that if it's still fashionable to consider a washed-up drunk a legend, Leila just might make it.” Alvirah felt a pang of regret at having to tell this to Leila's sister. But as she'd always read, a good reporter gets the story.

“How did the others respond to that?” Elizabeth asked quietly.

“They all laughed, except Ted Winters. He said that was a sickening thing to say.”

“You can't mean Min and Craig thought it was funny?”

“It's hard to be sure,” Alvirah said hastily. “Sometimes people laugh when they're embarrassed. But even that lawyer who's with Ted Winters said something like it's pretty clear Leila wouldn't win any popularity contests around here.”

Elizabeth stood up. “It was nice of you to drop by, Mrs. Meehan. I'm afraid I have to change now. I always like to take a swim before I go to bed.”

“I know. They talked about that at the table. Craig—is that his name, Mr. Winters' assistant—?”

“Yes.”

“He asked the Baroness how long you were going to stay. She told him probably until day after tomorrow because you were waiting to see someone named Sammy.”

“That's right.”

“And Syd Melnick said that he has a hunch you're going to avoid all of them. Then the Baroness said that the one place you can always find Elizabeth is swimming in the Olympic pool around ten o'clock at night. I guess she was right.”

“She knows I like to swim. Do you know your way to your cottage, Mrs. Meehan? If not, I'll walk with you. It can be confusing in the dark.”

“No, I'm fine. I enjoyed talking to you.” Alvirah pulled herself up from the chair and, ignoring the path, began to cut across the lawn to her bungalow. She was disappointed that Elizabeth hadn't said anything that would be helpful for her articles. But on the other hand, she had gotten a lot of material at dinner. She certainly could do a meaty article on jealousy!

Wouldn't the reading public be interested to hear that Leila LaSalle's very best friends all acted as if they were glad she was dead!

CAREFULLY, HE DREW THE SHADES AND EXTINGUISHED the lights. He was frantic to hurry. It might already be too late, but there was no way he could have ventured out before now. When he opened the outside door, he shivered for a moment. The air had become chilly, and he was wearing only swim trunks and a dark T-shirt.

The grounds were quiet, lighted only by the now dimmed lanterns along the footpaths and in the trees. It was easy to stay hidden in the shadows as he hurried toward the Olympic pool. Would she still be there?

The change in wind had caused a mist to blow in from the sea. In minutes, the stars had been covered by clouds, the moon had disappeared. Even if anyone happened to stand at a window and look out, he would not be seen.

Elizabeth planned to stay at the Spa until she saw Sammy tomorrow night. That gave him only a day and a half—until Tuesday morning—to arrange her death. He stopped at the shrubbery that edged the patio around the Olympic pool. In the darkness he could barely see Elizabeth's moving form as she swam with swift, sure strokes from one end of the pool to the other. Carefully, he calculated his chance of success. The idea had come to him when Min said Elizabeth was always in this pool around ten o'clock. Even strong swimmers have accidents. A sudden cramp, no one within hearing distance if she cried out, no marks, no signs of struggle . . . His plan was to slip into the pool when she was almost at the opposite end, wait and pounce on her as she passed him, hold her down until she stopped struggling. Now, he edged his way from behind the shrubbery. It was dark enough to risk a closer look.

He had forgotten how fast she swam. Though she was so slender, the muscles in her arms were like steel. Suppose she was able to fight
long enough to attract attention? And she was probably wearing one of those damn whistles Min insisted lone swimmers put on.

His eyes narrowed in anger and frustration as he crouched nearer and nearer the edge of the pool, ready to spring, not sure if this was the precisely right moment. She was faster swimmer than he was. In the water she might have the advantage over him. . . .

He could not afford to make a second mistake.

*   *   *

IN AQUA SANITAS. The Romans had chiseled the motto into the walls of their bathhouses. If I believed in reincarnation, I would think I had lived in those times, Elizabeth thought as she glided across the dark recess of the pool. When she had begun to swim, it had been possible to see not only the perimeter of the pool, but the surrounding area with its lounge chairs and umbrella tables and flowering hedges. Now they were only dark silhouettes.

The persistent headache she'd had all evening began to ebb, the sense of enclosure faded; once again she began to experience the release she had always found in water. “Do you think it started in the womb?” she'd once joked to Leila. “I mean this absolute sensation of being free when I'm immersed.”

Leila's answer had shocked her: “Maybe Mama was happy when she was carrying you, Sparrow. I've always thought that your father was Senator Lange. He and Mama had a big thing going after my daddy dear split the scene. When I was in the womb, I gather they called me ‘the mistake.'”

It was Leila who had suggested that Elizabeth use the stage name
Lange.
“It probably should be your real name, Sparrow,” she had said. “Why not?”

As soon as Leila began making money, she had sent a check to Mama every month. One day the check was returned uncashed by Mama's last boyfriend. Mama had died of acute alcoholism.

Elizabeth touched the far wall, brought her knees to her chest and flipped her body over, changing from a backstroke to a breaststroke in one fluid movement. Was it possible that Leila's fear of personal relationships had begun at the moment of conception? Can a speck of protoplasm sense that the climate is hostile, and can that realization color a whole life? Wasn't it because of Leila that she'd never experienced that terrible sense
of parental rejection? She remembered her mother's description of bringing her home from the hospital: “Leila took her out of my arms. She moved the crib into her room. She was only eleven, but she became that child's mother. I wanted to call her Laverne, but Leila put her foot down. She said,
‘Her name is Elizabeth!'”
One more reason to be grateful to Leila, Elizabeth thought.

The soft ripple that her body made as she moved through the water masked the faint sound of footsteps at the other end of the pool. She had reached the north end and was starting back. For some reason she began to swim furiously, as though sensing danger.

The shadowy figure edged its way along the wall. He coldly calculated the speed of her swift, graceful progress. Timing was essential. Grab her from behind as she passed, lie over her body, hold her face in the water until she stopped struggling. How long would it take? A minute? Two? But suppose she wasn't that easy to subdue? This had to appear to be an accidental drowning.

Then an idea came to him, and in the darkness his lips stretched in the semblance of a smile. Why hadn't he thought of the scuba equipment earlier? Wearing the oxygen tank would make it possible for him to hold her at the bottom of the pool until he was certain she was dead. The wet suit, the gloves, the mask, the goggles were a perfect disguise, if anyone happened to see him cutting across the grounds.

He watched as she began to swim toward the steps. The impulse to get rid of her
now
was almost overwhelming. Tomorrow night, he promised himself. Carefully he moved closer as she placed her foot on the bottom step of the ladder and straightened up. His narrowed eyes strained to watch as she slipped on her robe and began to walk along the path to her bungalow.

Tomorrow night he would be waiting here for her. The next morning someone would spot her body at the bottom of the pool, as the workman had spotted Leila's body in the courtyard.

And he would have nothing left to fear.

QUOTE FOR THE DAY:
A witty woman is a treasure; a witty beauty is a power.

—GEORGE MEREDITH

GOOD MORNING, DEAR GUESTS.

We hope you have slept blissfully. The weatherman promises us yet another beautiful Cypress Point Spa day.

A little reminder. Some of us are forgetting to fill out our luncheon menu. We don't want you to have to wait for service after all that vigorous exercise and delicious pampering of the morning. So do please take a tiny moment to circle your choices before you leave your room now.

In just a moment, we'll be greeting you on our morning walk Hurry and join us.

And remember, another day at Cypress Point Spa means another set of dazzling hours dedicated to making you a more beautiful person, the kind of person people long to be with, to touch, to love.

Baron and Baroness Helmut von Schreiber

ELIZABETH WOKE LONG BEFORE DAWN ON MONDAY MORNING. Even the swim had not performed its usual magic. For what seemed most of the night, she had been troubled with broken dreams, fragments that came and went intermittently. They were all in the dreams: Mama, Leila, Ted, Craig, Syd, Cheryl, Sammy, Min, Helmut—even Leila's two husbands, those transitory charlatans who had used her success to get themselves into the spotlight: the first an actor, the second a would-be producer and socialite. . . .