She watched him drive away toward Vallejo and smiled to herself as she walked the last two blocks toward home. It was extraordinary how much her life had altered in the past seven months since she'd met Alex. It had changed subtly, but it had changed a great deal. She was the mistress of a wonderful, handsome, charming young lawyer; the daughter-inlove, as Charlotte called her, of a novelist she had always admired; she was the stand-in mother for a lovely seventeen-year-old girl; and she felt as though she had a home in the house on Vallejo with the funny little overgrown garden and the brick kitchen filled with copper pots. And yet, at the same time, she was still who she always had been, Mrs. John Henry Phillips, the French-born wife of a celebrated financier, the daughter of the French banker, Antoine de Mornay-Malle. She was going, as she always did, to Santa Eugenia to see her mother, she was doing everything as she always had before. Yet there was so much more to her life now, it was so much richer, so much fuller, so different, so happy. She smiled to herself as she turned the last corner before she reached the house. What she had didn't hurt John Henry, she reassured herself firmly as she put her key in the front door. She still spent several hours in the morning with him, saw to it that the nurses were attentive and careful, that his meals were as he liked them, and she read to him for at least an hour every day. But the difference was that there was so much more now.
After her mornings with John Henry, she spent two or three hours in her room, working on the children's book she was going to try out on the children in Spain. And around four o'clock every afternoon, she walked slowly down to Vallejo, while John Henry took his nap. She almost always managed to be at the house before Amanda, so that the girl came home to someone who loved her and she didn't have to be alone in the house. And often Alex got home just before Raphaella left to go back to her own house. They would kiss and greet each other like married people, the only difference was that then Raphaella had to rush off, to spend another hour or two with John Henry, chat if he felt like talking, tell him some amusing story, or turn his wheelchair so that he could see the boats on the bay. They always had dinner together, only now they no longer used the dining room. John Henry ate in bed, on a tray. And once she was sure that he was comfortably settled, that the nurse was in charge, and that the house was quiet, she waited in her room for half an hour and then she went out.
She was almost sure that the servants had their suspicions about where she went and how long she stayed, but no one ever dared to mention her nightly disappearances, and the sound of a door closing at four or five in the morning was something no one questioned anymore. Raphaella had finally found a life she could live with, after eight years of intolerable loneliness and pain, and it was a life in which no one suffered, no one was hurt, in which she inflicted no pain. John Henry would never know about Alex, and she and Alex had something that meant a great deal to them both. The only thing that occasionally bothered her was that Kay had said so long ago that she was keeping Alex away from someone who could give him more. But he said that it was what he wanted, and by now Raphaella knew that she loved him too much to give him up.
As she ran up the stairs to her bedroom, she mentally prepared what she would wear. She had just bought a turquoise silk dress at I. Magnin's, and with her creamy skin and dark hair it made a sparkling impression as she put it on and clasped diamond and turquoise earrings to her ears.
She was only ten minutes late when she knocked on the door and opened it to see John Henry with the tray set before him as he sat propped against pillows in his bed. As he sat there with his eyes burned deep into their sockets, his face lined, with one side of his face limply hanging down, one eye drooping, and his tall frame and lean arms so bent and so frail, it suddenly stopped her where she stood in the doorway. It was as though she hadn't seen him in a very long time. He looked as if he had slowly begun to lose the tenuous grip on life to which he had clung for almost eight years.
Raphaella? He looked at her strangely as he said the word in the garbled fashion he had said it for the past eight years, and Raphaella looked at him almost in astonishment, remembering once again to whom she was married, what were her duties, and how far she was from ever being Alex's wife.
She turned to shut the door softly behind her, brushing the tears from her eyes with one hand.
Chapter 22
Raphaella said her good-byes to Alex at five o'clock in the morning, when she left him to go home to her own house. She had already packed her bags the night before, and now all she had to do was go home, leave a few memos for the servants, dress, have breakfast, and say good-bye to John Henry before she left. Her leave-taking would be simple and solemn, a kiss on the cheek, a last look, a touch on his hand, and always the vague guilt that she shouldn't be leaving, that she should be with him and not going to Spain. But it was a ritual that they were both used to, and it was something that she had done every year for fifteen years. It was leaving Alex that was so much more painful, it was wrenching just to know that she wouldn't see him for a day. But the next weeks seemed almost unbearable as they clung to each other before the first light of dawn. It was almost as though they were afraid that something would come between them forever, as though they would never find each other again. Raphaella clove to him like a second skin as they stood there and she made no move to leave him at the foot of the stairs. She looked at him sorrowfully then, her eyes filled with tears, shaking her head with a small girlish smile.
I can't make myself leave you.
He smiled and pulled her still closer to him. You never leave me, Raphaella. I'm with you always, wherever you go.
I wish you were coming with me to Spain.
Maybe someday. Always someday' someday' but when? It was a line of thought she never liked pursuing because it always made her think that when their someday came, John Henry would be dead. It was almost like killing him just to think it, so she didn't, and lived in the present instead.
Maybe. I'll write to you.
May I write to you? She nodded in answer.
Don't forget to remind Mandy about the extra suitcase and her tennis racket.
He smiled at her then. Yes, little mother. I'll tell her. What time do I have to get her up?
At six thirty. The plane leaves at nine. He was going to take Mandy to the airport, but it was unlikely that he would even see Raphaella there once they arrived. She would as usual be deposited by the chauffeur and spirited onto the plane. But they had ordered Mandy's ticket for the same flight, and at the other end Raphaella was giving Mandy a lift to the Carlyle in her rented limousine. It was there that Charlotte would come to get her and accompany her to Kay's apartment. Amanda had flatly stated that she wasn't going to face her mother alone. She hadn't seen her since the explosive exchange after Christmas, and she was feeling very skittish about going home at all. Typically her father was at a medical convention in Atlanta and he wouldn't be there to cushion the blow. Alex. Raphaella looked at him longingly for a last time. I love you.
So do I, babe. He held her close. Everything's going to be all right. She nodded silently, not sure why she felt so uneasy about the trip, but she hated leaving him. She had lain awake beside him all night. Ready to go? She nodded, and this time he walked her almost all the way home.
She did not see him at the airport, but it was like finding a piece of home as she saw Mandy get on the plane, wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, a white cotton dress, and white sandals they'd bought together and carrying the tennis racket Raphaella had been afraid she'd forget.
Hi, Ma. Mandy grinned at her and Raphaella laughed at the pretty young girl. Had she been taller and looked a little less elfin she might have looked more like a woman. But as it was, she still looked like a girl.
It sure is good to see you. I was already getting lonely.
So is Alex. He burned the eggs, spilled the coffee, forgot the toast, and almost ran out of gas on the way to the airport. I don't think his mind was on what he was doing, to say the least. The two exchanged a smile, it w
as comforting to Raphaella just to hear about Alex, as though it brought him a little closer, as they made their way across the country to New York. Five hours later they finally got there in the heat and the confusion and the fetid furor of a New York summer. It was as though San Francisco didn't exist, and they would never find their way back. Raphaella and Mandy looked at each other with exhaustion and longed to go home.
I always forget what it's like here.
Mandy looked around the airport in amazement. Christ, so have I. Jesus, it's awful. But with that, the chauffeur found them, and in minutes they were ensconced in the back of the air-conditioned limousine. Maybe it's not so bad after all. She grinned happily at Raphaella, who smiled and took her hand. She would have given anything to be riding in the Porsche with Alex and not sitting in the back of a limousine in New York. For months now the trappings of her life with John Henry had irked her, the servants, the protection, the enormous house. She wanted something so much simpler, like the little house on Vallejo and her life with Amanda and him.
When they got to the Carlyle, there was a message from Charlotte that she had been delayed at a meeting with a publisher and she was going to be late. Amanda and Raphaella went up to the suite, took off their shoes and their hats, sat down on the couch, and ordered lemonade.
Do you believe how hot it is out there? Mandy looked at her miserably and Raphaella smiled. Amanda was already finding every reason to hate New York.
It won't be so bad on Long Island. You'll be able to go swimming every day. It was like reconciling a child to the prospect of camp, but Amanda did not look reconciled for a moment as the bell rang at the door of the suite. It must be our lemonades.
She walked quickly to the door with her handbag in her hand, the bright red silk suit she had worn on the plane only slightly wrinkled, and she looked very beautiful in the rich red with her white skin and dark hair. It always startled Amanda how beautiful Raphaella was. It was something one never quite got used to, that breathtaking face and those enormous dark eyes. Alex certainly didn't take her for granted, she had noticed, he looked nothing less than dazzled every time she walked in the door. And she was always so beautifully put together, impeccably chic. Now, as Amanda watched her, she pulled open the door with a small impersonal smile and an air of authority, prepared to see a waiter with a tray bearing two long, cool lemonades. What she saw instead was Amanda's mother standing in the door of the suite, looking hot and rumpled in an ugly green linen suit and a strange self-satisfied little grin. As though she had won. Amanda felt a ripple of fear rush through her and Raphaella looked polite but strained. The last time they had seen each other was at the Fairmont bar six months before, when she had threatened to reveal the affair with Alex to John Henry.
My mother couldn't make it, so I thought I'd pick Mandy up instead. She stared for a moment at Raphaella and stepped into the suite.
Raphaella closed the door after Kay entered, and watched as she crossed the room to her only child, who stood staring nervously at her mother, making no move toward her and saying nothing, her eyes opened wide.
Hello, Mandy. Kay spoke to her first as she approached her, and still Amanda said nothing. Raphaella noticed that Amanda looked more than ever like a frightened child. She looked desperately unhappy as she stood there and the tall redhead approached. You look fine. Is that a new hat? Amanda noticed and Raphaella invited Kay to sit down just as the bell rang again and the lemonades arrived. She offered one to Kay who declined it and handed the other one to the girl, who accepted it mutely, with eyes that pleaded with Raphaella, and then she lowered them into her lap as she sipped her drink. It was a strange, awkward moment, and Raphaella was quick to fill the gap with small talk about the trip. It was nonetheless an awkward half hour as they sat there, and Raphaella was relieved when Kay rose to go.
Will you be going straight to Long Island? Raphaella asked, wishing she could comfort Mandy.
No. As a matter of fact Mandy and I are going to be taking a little trip. At this she instantly caught her daughter's attention, and the girl watched her with hostile eyes.
Oh, really? Where?
To Minnesota.
Something to do with your campaign, Mother? The words were her first to her mother and an accusation filled with scorn.
More or less, it's a county fair, but there are some things I should go to. I thought you'd enjoy it. Her face said she was angry, but she didn't dare let it show in her words. Raphaella glanced at Amanda, who she noticed looked tired and miserable. All the child wanted was to be back in San Francisco with Alex, and Raphaella had to admit that it would have been a lot more pleasant for her as well. Only her manners and breeding had induced her to be more than civil to Kay.
Amanda picked up her single suitcase and her tennis racket and faced Raphaella. They stood for just an instant like that, and then Raphaella folded her rapidly into her arms. She wanted to tell her to be patient , to be gentle, yet to be strong and not let her mother hurt her; she wanted to tell her a thousand things but it was no longer the place or the time. Have a good time, darling. And then more softly, I'll miss you.
But Amanda said it openly, with tears in her eyes. I'll miss you too. She was crying silently as she fled into the hallway of the Carlyle, and Kay paused for a moment in the doorway, seeming to take stock of every inch of Raphaella's face.
Thank you for bringing her in from the airport.
There was no mention of the rest of what Raphaella had done for her, the six months of loving and motherly care, as she helped Alex with the niece they had both come to love so much. But Raphaella wanted no thanks from this woman. All she wanted was her assurance that she wouldn't hurt the girl. But there was no way to get that, no way to admonish Kay to be kind to her own child.
I hope it's a good month for you both.
It will be. Kay said it with a curious little smile as she watched Raphaella. And then, almost grinning over her shoulder, she tossed back at the dark-haired beauty, Have a good time in Spain. With that, she stepped into the elevator with Amanda, and Raphaella, feeling suddenly empty and bereft, found herself wondering how Kay knew that she was going to Spain.
Chapter 23
The next morning as Raphaella boarded the plane to Paris she wasn't even looking forward to seeing the children. All she wanted was to go home. This leg of her journey only carried her further away from where her heart was, and she felt tired and lonely. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend that she was on her way to California and not to France.
It was a flight that she was certainly used to, and from sheer boredom she slept halfway across the Atlantic. She did a little reading, ate lunch and dinner, and thought smilingly of when she had met Alex on the trip to New York the previous fall, but it seemed inconceivable now to her to speak to a stranger, as inconceivable as it had seemed to her before. She couldn't help smiling to herself as they prepared to land in Paris. He certainly wasn't a stranger anymore. And how did you two meet? She could imagine her father asking. On a plane, Papa. He picked me up. He what? She almost laughed openly as she fastened her seat belt and prepared to land. She was still amused at the idea as she was taken off the plane before the others and whisked through customs, but she was no longer amused by anything as she reached the gate and saw her father's face. He looked stern and almost angry and he stood like a statue, watching her come toward him in an outfit that would have brought an appreciative smile to any man's eyes. She wore a black suit with a white silk shirt and a little black straw hat with a veil. As she saw him her heart suddenly fluttered. It was obvious that something had happened. He had bad news for her' perhaps her mother' or John Henry ' or a cousin' or'
Bonjour, Papa. He barely bent as she reached up to kiss him, and his substantial frame seemed more rigid than rock. His face was old and lined, and the eyes looked at her coldly as she peered into his ice-blue eyes with a look of fear on her face. Has something happened?
We will discuss that at home. Oh, God' it was John Henry. And
he didn't want to tell her here. Suddenly all thought of Alex left her mind. All she could think of was the elderly man she had left in San Francisco, and as always she reproached herself for leaving him at all.
Papa' please' . They stood in the airport looking at each other. Is it is it her voice sank to a whisper John Henry? He only shook his head. After not seeing her for an entire year, he had nothing to say to her. He remained a wall of granite as they climbed into his black Citro+1/2n. He nodded to the driver, and they started home.
Raphaella sat frozen in terror for the entire drive into Paris, her hand trembling when at last they stopped outside his house. The chauffeur held open the door for them, his black uniform suiting her father's expression and Raphaella's mood. There was an odd kind of feeling as she walked into the enormous foyer filled with gilt mirrors and marble-topped Louis XV tables. There was a magnificent Aubusson tapestry hanging on one wall, and a view of the garden through the French windows beyond, but the overall feeling was one of arctic splendor and it somehow made things worse as her father glared at her in displeasure and waved in the direction of his study up a tall flight of marble stairs. It was suddenly like being a child again, and as though somehow, in some way, unbeknownst to her, she had erred.
She merely followed him up the steps, carrying her handbag and her hat in one hand, waiting until her private audience to discover what was so upsetting to him. Perhaps it was something to do with John Henry after all. As she walked hurriedly up the stairs she couldn't imagine what it could be, unless it was something that had occurred while she was in New York. Perhaps another stroke? But it didn't seem like bad news he was going to share with her. But rather some terrible censure over something she had done. She remembered that particular expression on his face from her youth.
He marched solemnly into his study and Raphaella followed suit. It was a room with enormously high ceilings, wood paneling, walls covered with bookcases, and a desk large enough for a president or a king. It was a handsome example of Louis XV furniture, dripping with gilt, and highly impressive, and he took his chair behind the desk.
a Perfect Stranger (1983) Page 19
