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She thought about Min's speech to her this afternoon, about Ted. She had virtually acknowledged Ted's guilt, then tried to persuade her that Leila had provoked him over and over again. Was that true?
Was Min right-that Leila would never want to see Ted behind bars for the rest of his life? And why did Min sound so positive about Ted's guilt? Two days ago she'd been saying it must have been an accident.
Elizabeth locked her arms around her knees and laid her head on her hands.
"I don't know what to do," she whispered to herself. She had never felt lonelier in her life.
.
At seven o'clock she heard the faint chimes that indicated "cocktail" hour had begun. She decided to have di
At quarter of eight Min called. " Elizabeth, everyone is inquiring about you. Are you all right?"
"Of course. I just need to be quiet."
"You're sure you're not ill? You should know- Ted especially is very concerned."
Hand it to Min. She never gives up. "I'm really fine, Min. Would you have them send a tray? I'll take it a bit easy and go for a swim later. Don't worry about me."
She hung up the phone. Walked around the room restlessly, already longing to be in the water.
"IN AQUA SANITAS," the inscription read. For once Helmut was right. Water would soothe her, turn off her mind.
Twelve
He was reaching for the tank when there was a sharp knock on the door. Frantically he yanked the mask from his face and pulled his arms out of the cumbersome wet suit. He jammed the tank and the mask into the closet, then rushed into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
The knocking was repeated, an impatient staccato. He managed to get free of the suit, dropped it behind the couch and grabbed his robe.
Making his voice sound a
The door was pushed open. "What took you so long? We've got to talk."
It was nearly ten o'clock when he was at last able to go to the pool. He reached it just in time to see Elizabeth walking down the path to her bungalow. In his hurry, he brushed against a chair at the edge of the patio. She turned around, and he barely had time to step back into the bushes.
Tomorrow night. There was still a chance to get to her here. If not, a different kind of accident would have to be arranged.
Like Alvirah Meehan, she had picked up the scent and was leading Scott Alshorne along the trail.
That scraping noise. It had been the sound of a chair grating against the patio tiles. The air had become cool but was very still. There was no breeze to set anything in motion. She'd turned quickly and for just an instant had thought she'd seen someone moving. But that was foolish. Why would anyone bother to stand in the shadows of the trees?
Even so, Elizabeth quickened her steps and was glad to be back in the bungalow with the door locked. She phoned the hospital. There was no change in Mrs. Meehan's condition.
It took a long time to fall asleep. What was eluding her? Something that had been said, something she ought to have seized on. Finally she drifted off…
She was searching for someone… She was in an empty building with long, dark halls… Her body was aching with need… Her arms were outstretched… What was that poem she'd read somewhere? "Is there yet one, oh eyes and lips remembered, who turns and reaches for me in the night?" She whispered it over and over… She saw a staircase… She hurried down it… He was there. His back to her. She threw her arms around him. He turned and caught her and held her. His mouth was on hers. "Ted, I love you, I love you," she said, over and over again…
Somehow she managed to wake up. For the rest of the night, miserable and despairing, she lay numbly in the bed where Leila and Ted had so often slept together, determined not to sleep. Not to dream.
Thursday, September 3
QUOTE FOR THE DAY:
The power of beauty, I remember yet.
– Dryden
Dear Cypress Point Spa guest,
A cheery good morning to you. I hope as you read this you are sipping one of our delicious fruit-juice eye-openers. As some of you know, all the oranges and grapefruits are specially grown for the Spa.
Have you shopped in our boutique this week? If not, you must come and see the stu
A health reminder. By now you may be feeling muscles you'd forgotten you had. Remember, exercise is never pain. Mild discomfort shows you are achieving the stretch. And whenever you exercise, keep your knees relaxed.
Are you looking your very best? For those tiny lines that time and life's experience trace on our face, remember, collagen, like a gentle hand, is waiting to smooth them away.
Be serene. Be tranquil. Be merry. And have a pretty day.
Baron and Baroness Helmut von Schreiber.
One
Long before the first rays of the sun proclaimed yet another brilliant day on the Monterey Peninsula, Ted lay awake thinking about the weeks ahead. The courtroom. The defendant's table where he would sit, feeling the eyes of the spectators on him, trying to get a sense of the impact of the testimony on the jurors. The verdict: Guilty of Murder in the Second Degree. Why Second Degree? he had asked his first lawyer. "Because in New York State, First Degree is reserved for killing a peace officer. For what it's worth, it amounts to about the same, as far as sentencing goes." Life, he told himself. A life in prison.
At six o'clock he got up to jog. The morning was cool and clear, but it would be a hot day. Without a sense of where he wanted to run, he let his feet follow whatever roads they chose and was not surprised to find himself after forty minutes in front of his grandfather's house in Carmel. It was on the ocean block. It used to be white, but the present owners had painted it a moss green-attractive enough, but he preferred the way the white paint used to gleam in the afternoon sun. One of his earliest memories was of this beach. His mother helped him to build a castle; laughing, her dark hair swirling around her face, so happy to be here instead of New York, so grateful for the reprieve. That bloody bastard who was his father! The way he'd ridiculed her, mimicked her, hammered at her. Why? What gives anyone a streak of cruelty like that? Or was it simply alcohol that brought out something savage and evil in his father, until he was drinking so much that the savage streak became his personality, all there was, the bottle and the fists? And had he inherited the same savage streak?
Ted stood on the beach, staring at the house, seeing his mother and grandmother on the porch, seeing his grandparents at his mother's funeral, hearing his grandfather say, "We should have made her leave him."
His grandmother whispered, "She wouldn't leave him-it would have meant giving up Ted."
Had it been his fault? he wondered as a child. He still asked himself the same question. There was still no answer.