Lucy would have never been so forthright back in the States, but it was different here. No one knew her. No one knew that after her mother died she locked herself in her bedroom and didn't eat for a week. She drank water, though, and the water had developed a strong taste after her first three days of not eating. It tasted like wine, or what she imagined wine to be. Sweet and dark and rich. At first she'd thought it was the start of a miracle, water turning to wine and all, and that if she left her room she would discover that her mother was still alive, working in the garden or fixing French toast. But it had only been water in her glass and her mother was gone. Her beautiful mother with the long black hair who wasn't afraid to take off her shoes and wade into a pond in Central Park when she saw a heron.
That was when Lucy stopped believing in anything. She came down from her room and fixed a sandwich and started eating, giving up her diet of pure water. Her father thought her reappearance meant everything was fine again, but he'd been wrong.
The English women wandered over; their names were Daisy and Rose. They were sisters, but also best friends, and they held hands. They were wearing blue pleated skirts and white blouses. “We were looking at you because you look like Katharine Hepburn. She's our favorite actress. She's brilliant. We thought you might be related.”
So it wasn't something horrible, something she'd done wrong. Lucy smiled. Daisy and Rose were grown-ups—Daisy had two little daughters at home—but they spoke to her as though she were an equal. They were so excited to meet her that she suddenly felt important.
“My aunt,” she said. It was an outright lie, but a good one. It was so nice talking to people who thought she was a somebody that she didn't want them to go away disappointed. “Katharine and my mother had the same grandmother. We see her all the time.”
Daisy and Rose wanted to know all about Katharine Hepburn and Lucy kept them in thrall throughout the afternoon. At Kate's house, she told them, there was lemonade and ice cream for breakfast. Kate had a chauffeur who was a magician who could call doves out of the sky. Miss Hepburn asked Lucy to read all her scripts before she made a decision about what part to play next; she depended on Lucy, actually. People didn't wear bathing suits in Hollywood; they all had huge swimming pools and they went swimming at night, in the moonlight, naked as fish. They drank champagne as soon as the sun went down and they wore their party dresses only once, then threw them in the trash.
“I'm going to Hollywood,” Rose announced. “I need to start a new life.”
Her sister looked surprised and said, “You can't go that far away!”
Daisy and Rose walked Lucy halfway back to her hotel; when it was time for them to part, they hugged each other as though they were the best of friends, and Lucy said if they were ever in the U.S.A. they should look her up. She'd have Kate's chauffeur pick them up at the airport and drive them all over town.
When Lucy got back to the Lion Park, her father was in the lobby with a policeman. As soon as Ben saw Lucy he ran over and grabbed her.
“Where on earth were you? The clerk said you were in the restaurant talking to a stranger and then you disappeared.” Lucy's father was so upset he looked as though he might smack her, something he'd never done. He didn't believe in things like corporal punishment or the death penalty and he certainly didn't believe in hitting his own child. He just looked that way, as though he could explode.
“I was just in the park,” Lucy said. “I met some English women who wanted to know about America.”
“Good God, Lucy, you're a little old to be behaving so irresponsibly. Don't you understand how worried I was? I thought you had disappeared. We're in a foreign city and I turn around and you're gone.”
“I'm sorry.” Lucy felt idiotic and small. Now Charlotte would have another weapon to use against her. She was irresponsible. One more flaw that could be added to the list. Unsociable. Unsophisticated. Unappreciative.
“WE SHOULD HAVE left her home,” Charlotte said later when she and Ben were alone in their room. They'd gone out to dinner with Charlotte's family, and Ben had wanted to bring Lucy along, even though she would have sat there reading the entire time. Charlotte had to beg him to leave her at the hotel, and then she had forced Lucy to sign a contract vowing she would not leave the hotel without informing her father. Now Charlotte was brushing her hair, which was long and honey colored. She had brought three suitcases along on the trip, one for purses and shoes.
“For a month?” Ben said. “Lucy will be fine. Kids can adjust to anything. Look at Anne Frank.”
“Do not mention Anne Frank, Ben. I mean it! I can't stand hearing about her all the time. I don't even want to hear the word frankfurter.”
Ben laughed. He was in bed watching Charlotte. He had fallen hard for her. She was ten years younger. He'd been so sick of being alone and she had been so beautiful and that was that, a whirlwind of heat, and then marriage.
“Maybe we should have skipped the wedding,” Ben said. “Gone back to Miami. Had some fun.”
“In August? And Bryn is my sister, despite her mistakes. I was not going to miss her wedding.”
Bryn was set to marry an Englishman she'd met in Paris and her family had come to help celebrate. Everyone was overjoyed, and for good reason. Bryn Evans was only twenty-three, but she hadn't had an easy time. Only a very few people knew the truth about her, and all of them were related by blood. Outsiders, including Ben Green, had no idea that Bryn had a secret history. She had been married before, to a wildly inappropriate and dangerous man of whom everyone had disapproved. No one had actually met him, but they had read the police reports. That was more than enough. He was actually some sort of con man who robbed widows of their fortunes or something like that. Anyway, the family had taken care of things and there'd been an annulment. Bryn had been sent to Paris, where she'd met Teddy Healy, a banker who would surely be a good influence on her. Teddy was a good choice, a man the family approved of. At last, a logical decision, unlike most of what Bryn did. Still, despite having Teddy in her life, Bryn seemed shaky and moody. On top of that, she had begun to drink.
Tonight, for instance, their dinner had quickly gone wrong. There were three nights before the wedding and that seemed a good enough excuse to celebrate at every opportunity. Charlotte's whole family—her parents, Carl and Mary; the eldest sister, Hillary; and her husband, Ian; along with Teddy's brother, Matthew; and his wife, Francie—had joined in for the festivities. Teddy and his brother had been orphaned early on, then raised by an aunt who'd passed away; each boy had been the other's rock, two dependable, serious boys who'd grown to be dependable men.
Halfway through the meal, Matthew started to have his doubts about his brother's choice. Bryn had two glasses of wine before the main course was served. Bryn wasn't only the youngest sister, she was the prettiest as well, and she'd been spoiled. She was stubborn about foolish things; she refused to cut her pale blond hair, for instance, which hung to her waist. That night at the restaurant she wore it up, twisted into a French knot; even so, it was her best feature. She wore a cornflower blue silk dress. Teddy had given her a huge square-cut diamond, set in platinum. On her small pale hand it was impossible not to notice the ring.
“This old thing,” she had said when her sisters complimented it. “It weighs a ton.”
Halfway through the entrée, Bryn was sloshed. Charlotte asked if she'd like to come along with her for a breath of air, which in truth meant taking a cigarette break during which time Charlotte would attempt to sober her up. The two went downstairs to the ladies' room. Bryn nearly fell down the steps.
Charlotte got out cigarettes for them both.
“Stop drinking,” she said. “You look like a fool up there.”
“You always think you can tell me what to do. For your information, I'm not drinking. Not seriously.” Bryn took a drag of her cigarette. Her face was flushed and hot. “Not yet.”
“No one's going to be here in London to watch out for you,” Charlotte said. She had always worried
about her sister, whose bad decisions Charlotte believed were due to youth and naïveté. “You're going to have to start being responsible for yourself.”
Bryn smoked her cigarette and stared at herself in the mirror. When she narrowed her eyes she looked as though she had disappeared. A blur of blue and blond and smoke. All of it fading into the ether. She actually despised her engagement ring. She felt as though she were wearing handcuffs.
“Did you ever hear of love?” Bryn said. “Or are you totally cold-blooded?”
“Love,” Charlotte said dismissively. “That's the way a child approaches marriage. You're as foolish as my stepdaughter.” Charlotte had had enough of such nonsense. It was not a crime to be a realist, was it? It didn't mean you were any less of a person. “Next thing you'll be telling me you're reading the diary of Anne Frank. Grow up, Bryn.”
“At least Anne Frank died for something important and worthwhile!”
“Listen to me: Anne Frank died because there are horrible, awful people in this world and for no other reason. Everything is a botch and a mess, and you have to set your own life straight if you get the chance. She wasn't able to, but you are not in a war. You're in London with a huge diamond on your hand. So just stop it.”
Bryn put out her cigarette. She had already decided that she wasn't going back to the dinner upstairs. She had a particular look when she was about to be defiant, not unlike the expression Lucy had whenever she opened a book. Bryn's lips were pursed and there was a slight tremor beneath one eye, as though she were a bomb set to explode.
“You're going to fuck it up, aren't you?” Charlotte said. “We all came over for this wedding. Teddy is a great guy who's crazy about you. This is your chance to have a real future with a nice, normal man.”
Bryn laughed. She opened her handbag. Charlotte thought she was getting another cigarette; instead, she pulled out a pair of cuticle scissors. When she'd lived her secret life, Bryn had been settled in an apartment in Manhattan right off Ninth Avenue. It was hardly the best address, but she really didn't care. She'd stopped going to classes at Barnard; she'd stopped all contact with her family. She had never known anyone who lived with a man without being married. Because she was uncomfortable with the situation, the man she was in love with married her, down at city hall, even though he didn't believe in society's rules and regulations. He was a socialist and a freethinker, but he did it for her. He would have done anything for her; he never complained or told her she was spoiled and stupid and worthless. Bryn didn't even have sex with him until their wedding night. It was funny to hear him say he would wait, he who had been with a hundred or more women, but he said she was worth it.
A detective had found her. When he and the girls' father jimmied the lock on the apartment door and walked in, they could hear her singing. They followed the sound. They were both practical, wary men who felt as if they'd stumbled into a dream. Bryn had a beautiful voice, sad, a little like Patti Page. Her voice echoed as though she'd fallen down a hole; but actually it was reverberating off the black-and-white tiles. She'd been in the bathtub, in steaming hot water. When Bryn saw her father and the detective, she'd stood up without even bothering to cover herself. “No,” she had cried. “Go away from here.”
Bryn was thinking about that moment as she pulled the pins out of her hair and let it fall down her back. She moved so quickly Charlotte didn't even understand what her sister was doing at first. Later, Charlotte had the sense that it was almost as though someone had committed suicide in front of her, as though Bryn had stood there and pulled the trigger without giving her sister time to react. Charlotte sat there in shock while Bryn began to hack at her hair. She held the length of it in one hand like a snake or a rope. With a few quick clips, she cut it off right there in the ladies' room.
“Jesus, Bryn.” Charlotte rushed over but Bryn just kept snipping, shorter and shorter until the floor was littered with clippings. Charlotte backed off; she wasn't about to fight Bryn for the scissors. She knew how headstrong her sister was. “Are you happy now?” Charlotte asked when Bryn finally stopped. There were pale blond threads all over her blue dress. Bryn was silent; she'd run out of steam. The strange part was, she was even more beautiful.
“If this is how you want to look when you get married, fine. I'm going up to finish my meal,” Charlotte said. “You're your own worst enemy, kiddo. No one's going to feel sorry for you.”
“Then feel sorry for Teddy,” Bryn said. “It's not fair for me to marry him and you all know it. Considering I'm already married.”
The man she had married four years earlier, when she was only nineteen, was Michael Macklin. He was the one who'd taken vows he never thought he'd say and certainly never thought he'd believe. He was now drinking at the bar of the Lion Park Hotel. He'd had dinner there as well, some fairly awful stew and a salad. He was hoping to see the little girl, who he knew was his best chance. Lucy hadn't been invited to the adults-only family dinner. She'd signed that stupid contract Charlotte had shoved in front of her just to shut Charlotte up. Anyone who knew Lucy knew she wasn't the sort to get into any real trouble, and in fact she had fallen asleep while reading a guidebook about London. She dreamed about the ravens at the tower. She dreamed Hyde Park was filled with snow and white rabbits, huge rabbits that were as big as dogs. They would come when called, but you had to ask nicely. You had to say, O rabbit, I beg of you.
Here is a secret, one rabbit said to Lucy. It's all pretend.
When Lucy woke up she didn't know where she was. She had to look out the window at the lights of passing cars on Brompton Road before she remembered. She was relieved not to be at the dinner with the adults. She wished she still had the diary of Anne Frank and hadn't lent it away. When her stomach started growling, Lucy realized she had missed dinner; she came down to the restaurant at nine, famished.
“Hello,” she called when she saw Michael, who was on his second drink.
“Skip the beef stew,” he called back. “I don't recommend it.”
Lucy ordered macaroni and cheese and an apple tart for dessert.
“Oh, and tea,” she told the waiter. She had become a tea fanatic in the short time since she had arrived. In a way she already felt like a different person from the one her friends knew back home. She probably looked a lot older; she probably sounded a little like Katharine Hepburn.
Michael came over and sat across from Lucy. He was wearing a black suit and a blue shirt. He had a lot of style.
“I started the book,” he said. “Anne Frank had courage. I can see why you admire her. You don't find much of that in this world.”
“Most of the time you find crap in this world.” Lucy looked up to see if he was shocked by her language this time. He wasn't.
“I need you to do something for me,” Michael said. “Well, actually, for love.”
Lucy stared at him. “I'm not an idiot,” she said. Her food had arrived and she started to eat. “You want to use me in some way to get something you want. Right? Otherwise you probably wouldn't even bother to talk to me.”
Michael Macklin smiled. “You're smarter than most people.”
“That's exactly what a person would say when he wanted someone to do some dirty work. Do I have to shoot someone and say the gun went off by accident?”
Michael took out an envelope. “It's a letter I want delivered. Simple. That's all you have to do.”
“Did you know there was a rabbit living in this hotel? Her name is Millie. She's actually huge. I've never seen such a big rabbit before.”
“Did you know rabbit is a popular dish in restaurants in France?”
Lucy put her fork down.
“And by the way,” he added, “I would have talked to you anyway. You're the only interesting person in the place.”
Michael Macklin was the handsomest man Lucy would ever meet in her life. She didn't think that's what anyone should look for in a husband, however. They should look for soul. But at the moment she was here, sitting across from him, dazzled. Sh
e realized Michael Macklin was more than handsome. When she looked in his eyes she saw something she didn't usually see. He seemed real in some way adults never did.
“Go on,” she said.
“Ah, the poor rabbit. They call it le lapin and cook it with onions and wine.”
Lucy laughed in spite of the gory details. “Not about the rabbit.”
“It really is love. I want you to take this letter to your stepmother's sister Bryn.”
“The bride-to-be?”
“She can't be engaged. She's already married.” Michael leaned forward and Lucy did, too. “To me.”
“Why should I?” Lucy felt sick to her stomach and a little too young for the conversation. She already knew it was hard to turn Michael down when he wanted something. Still, she was interested in hearing his argument. It was simple and effective.
“Because deep inside you believe in things,” Michael Macklin said. “Just like me.”
AT ELEVEN O'CLOCK Lucy was sitting behind the registration desk feeding Millie the rabbit a carrot that she'd gotten from the hotel cook, who was in love with Dorey, the night clerk. Lucy liked being in a hotel late at night. She was overseeing things while Dorey and the cook had a cigarette together out on the street, or so they said. Lucy noticed that Dorey was right. The rabbit liked to eat wallpaper as much as she liked carrots.
“That's not good for you,” Lucy said, not that the rabbit listened.
After a while the rabbit hopped into Lucy's lap and fell asleep; Millie shuddered. Bad rabbit dreams.
“Thanks for watching over things,” Dorey said when she returned. Her hair was messy and her mouth looked puffy, but she was cheerful and she treated Lucy as though they were friends.
“Are you in love with the cook?” Lucy asked.
“Of course not,” Dorey said. “I need a ring on my finger before it's love. A diamond. And not some little bitty thing.” Dorey got out a packet of chocolates and shared them with Lucy. “I see Millie likes you. She's a good judge of character.”
The Third Angel Page 19
