Weep No More, My Lady

Together they walked down the long hall that led to the main house. "You haven't gone through Sammy's desk in the office, have you?" Scott asked.

"No." Elizabeth realized how tightly she was gripping the script. Something was compelling her to read it. She'd only seen that one terrible performance. She'd heard it was a good vehicle for Leila. Now she wanted to judge for herself. Reluctantly she accompanied Scott to the office. That had become another place she wanted to avoid.

Helmut and Min were in their private office. The door was open. Henry Bartlett and Craig were with them. Bartlett lost no time in demanding an explanation for the anonymous letters. "They may very well contribute to my client's defense," he told Scott. "We have a right to be fully briefed on them."

Elizabeth watched Henry Bartlett as he absorbed Scott's explanation of the anonymous letters. His look grew intense. His face was all sharp planes; his eyes were hard. This was the man who would be cross-examining her in court. He looked like a predator watching for prey.

"Let me get this straight," Bartlett said. "Miss Lange and Miss Samuels agreed that Leila LaSalle may have been profoundly upset by poison-pen letters suggesting that Ted Winters was involved with someone else? Those letters have now disappeared?

On Monday night Miss Samuels wrote her impressions of the first letter? Miss Lange has transcribed the second one? I want copies."

"I see no reason why you can't have them," Scott told him. He placed Leila's appointment book on Min's desk. "Oh, for the record, this is something else I'm sending on to New York," he said. "It was Leila's calendar for the last three months of her life."

Without asking for permission, Henry Bartlett reached for it. Elizabeth waited for Scott to protest, but he did not. Watching Bartlett thumb through Leila's personal daily diary, she felt an enormous sense of intrusion. What business had he? She threw an angry glance at Scott. He was looking at her impassively.

He's trying to prepare me for next week, she thought bleakly, and realized that maybe she should be grateful. Next week, all that Leila was would be laid out for twelve people to analyze; her own relationship with Leila, with Ted-nothing would be hidden, no privacy beyond violation. "I'll look through Sammy's desk," she said abruptly.

She was still holding the script of the play. She laid it on Sammy's desk and quickly went through the drawers. There was absolutely nothing personal in them. Spa letterheads; Spa publicity folders; Spa follow-up memos; the usual office paraphernalia.

Min and the Baron had followed her out. She glanced up to see them standing in front of Sammy's desk. Both of them were staring at the leather-bound folder with the bold title Merry-Go-Round on the cover.

"Leila's play?" Min asked.

"Yes. Sammy kept Leila's copy. I'll take it now."

Craig, Bartlett and the sheriff came out of the private office. Henry Bartlett was smiling-a self-satisfied, smug, chilly smile. "Miss Lange, you've been a great help to us today. But I think I should warn you that the jury won't take kindly to the fact that as a woman scorned, you put Ted Winters through this hellish nightmare."

Elizabeth stood up, her lips white. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that in her own handwriting, your sister made the co

"You filthy liar!" Elizabeth did not know she had thrown the copy of the play at Henry Bartlett until it struck him in the chest.

His expression was impassive, even pleased. Bending, he picked up the script and handed it back to her. "Do me a favor, young lady, and stage that kind of outburst in front of the jury next week," he said. "They'll exonerate Ted."

Two

While Craig and Bartlett went to confront the sheriff, Ted worked out with the Nautilus equipment in the men's spa. Each piece of equipment he used seemed to emphasize his own situation. The row-boat that went nowhere; the bicycle that no matter how furiously pedaled, stayed in place. On the surface he managed to exchange pleasantries with some of the other men in the gym-the head of the Chicago stock exchange, the president of Atlantic Banks, a retired admiral.

He sensed in all of them a wariness: they didn't know what to say to him, didn't want to say "Good luck." It was easier for them-and for him-when they got busy with the machines and concentrated on building muscles.

Men in prison tended to get pretty soft. Not enough exercise. Boredom. Pallid skin. Ted studied his own tan. It wouldn't last long behind bars.

He was supposed to meet Bartlett and Craig in his bungalow at ten o'clock. Instead, he went for a swim in the indoor pool. He'd have preferred the Olympic pool, but there was always the chance Elizabeth might be there. He didn't want to run into her.

He had swum about ten laps when he saw Syd dive in at the opposite end of the pool. They were six lanes apart, and after a brief wave, he ignored Syd. But after twenty minutes, when the three swimmers between them had left, he was surprised to see that Syd was keeping pace with him. He had a powerful backstroke and moved with swift precision from one end of the pool to the other. Ted deliberately set out to beat him. Syd obviously caught on. After six laps they were in a dead heat.

They left the water at the same time. Syd slung a towel over his shoulders and came around the pool. "Nice workout. You're in good shape."

"I've been swimming every day in Hawaii for nearly a year and a half. I should be."

"The pool at my health club isn't like Hawaii, but it keeps me fit." Syd looked around. There were Jacuzzis in two corners of the glass-enclosed room. "Ted, I have to talk to you privately."

They went to the opposite end. There were three new swimmers in the pool, but they were well out of earshot. Ted watched as Syd rubbed the towel through his dark brown hair. He noticed that the hair on Syd's chest was completely gray. That'll be the next thing, he decided. He would grow old and gray in prison.

Syd did not hedge. "Ted, I'm in trouble. Big trouble. With guys who play rough. It all began with that damn play. I borrowed too much. I thought I could sweat it out. If Cheryl gets this part, I'm on my way up again. But I can't stall them anymore. I need a loan. Ted, I mean a loan. But I need it now."

"How much?"

"Six hundred thousand dollars. Ted, it's small change for you, and it's a loan. But you owe it to me."

"I owe it to you?"

Syd looked around and then stepped closer. His mouth was within inches of Ted's ear. "I'd never have said this… never even told you I knew… But Ted, I saw you that night. You ran past me, a block from Leila's apartment. Your face was bleeding. Your hands were scratched. You were in shock. You don't remember, do you? You didn't even hear me when I called you. You just kept ru