A Perfect Stranger Read online

  This time he shook his head and turned away from her. Don't.

  Darling' . She had to leave him to go to the airport but somehow she didn't feel right leaving him like this. She never did. Was it right to leave him? Should she stay?

  John Henry' . She touched his hand and he turned to face her again. I must go now.

  It's all right, little one. It's all right. The look in his eyes absolved her, and this time he took her firm young hand in his gnarled, worn fingers that had once seemed so gentle and so young. Have a good trip. He tried to fill the words with every ounce of meaning he could give them, and he shook his head when he saw her eyes fill with tears. He knew what she was thinking.

  Just go, I'll be fine.

  You promise? Her eyes were bright with tears, and his smile was very gentle as he kissed her hand.

  I promise. Now be a good girl and go, and have a good time. Promise me you'll buy yourself something outrageous and absolutely beautiful in New York.

  Like what?

  A fur coat or a wonderful piece of jewelry. He looked wistful for a moment. Something you would have liked me to buy you. And then he looked into her eyes and smiled.

  She shook her head as the tears rolled down her cheeks. It only made her look more beautiful, and the little black veil added further mystery to her eyes. I'm never as generous as you are, John Henry.

  Then try harder. He tried to bellow it at her, and this time they both laughed. Promise?

  All right, I promise. But not another fur.

  Then something that sparkles.

  I'll see. But where would she wear it? At home in San Francisco, sitting by the fire? The futility of it all almost overwhelmed her as she smiled at him from the doorway and waved at him.

  Chapter 4

  At the airport the chauffeur slid the car to the curb at the section marked DEPARTING FLIGHTS and showed the policeman his special pass. John Henry's drivers had gotten special passes from the governor's office, and they were renewed every year. It allowed them to park where they wanted to, and now it would allow the chauffeur to leave the limousine at the curb while he took Raphaella inside to put her on the plane. The airline was always warned that she was coming, and she was always allowed to board the plane before everyone else.

  Now, as they walked sedately down the huge bustling hallway, the chauffeur carrying her tote bag, strangers glanced at the startlingly beautiful woman in the mink coat and the veil. The hat added an aura of drama and there were gaunt hollows beneath the perfectly carved ivory cheekbones that framed her splendid dark eyes.

  Tom, would you wait here for me for a minute, please? She had touched his arm gently to stop him as he marched dutifully along the airport corridor beside her, bent on getting her to the plane as quickly as he could. Mr. Phillips didn't like her lingering in airports, not that reporters or photographers had bothered them for years. Raphaella had been so totally kept away from public attention that even the reporters no longer knew who she was.

  She left the chauffeur standing near a pillar and walked rapidly into the bookstore, glancing around as the driver took up his post against the wall, holding her large leather tote bag tightly in one hand. From where he stood, he could admire her striking beauty as she wandered between the shelves of magazines and books and candy, looking very different from the other travelers wandering past in parkas and car coats and old Jeans. Here and there you'd see an attractive woman, or maybe a well-dressed man, but nothing to compare with Mrs. Phillips. Tom watched her take a hardcover book off a shelf, walk to the cash register, and reach into her bag.

  It was then that Alex Hale came hurrying through the airport, his briefcase in his hand, and a suit bag draped over the other arm. He was distracted. It was early, but he still had to call his office before he got on the plane. He stopped at a bank of telephones just outside the bookshop, put down his bags, and dug into his trouser pocket for a dime. He dialed his office number quickly and inserted the extra coins the operator requested as his receptionist picked up the phone. He had several last-minute messages to leave for his partners, there was a memo he wanted to explain to his secretary before leaving, and he was anxious to know if the call he was expecting from London had come, and just as he asked the last question he happened to turn around and with amusement he saw a copy of his mother's latest book changing hands at the counter of the bookstore. A woman was buying it, wearing a mink coat and a black hat with a veil. He stared at her with fascination as the secretary on the other end put him on hold while she took another call. And it was then that Raphaella began to walk toward him, her eyes only slightly concealed by the veil, and the book carried in her gloved hand. As she passed near him he was suddenly aware of the lure of her perfume, and then suddenly it dawned on him that this was not the first time he had seen those eyes.

  Oh, my God. The words were a whisper as he stood there staring. It was the woman on the steps. Suddenly there she was, disappearing into the crowd at the airport, with his mother's latest book in her hand. For an insane moment he wanted to shout Wait! but he was trapped on hold and couldn't move until the secretary returned with the answer to his question. His eyes desperately combed the constantly moving crowd. In a moment, despite his attempts not to lose sight of her, she had passed beyond him and once again disappeared. The secretary came back on the line a moment later, only to give him an unsatisfactory answer to his question and tell him that she had to return to another call. And for this I waited on the phone all this time, Barbara? For the first time in a long time, the receptionist noted, he sounded angry, but she only had time to mutter Sorry and then had to answer two more calls.

  And then, as though he could still find her if he hurried, he found himself rushing through the crowd, looking for the fur coat and the black hat with the veil. But it was obvious within a few moments that she was nowhere in sight. But what the hell difference did it make anyway? Who was she? No one. A stranger.

  He chided himself for the romanticism that made him chase some mystery woman halfway through an airport. It was like looking for the white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, only in this case he was looking for a beautiful woman with dark eyes, wearing a mink coat and a black hat with a veil and of course carrying Lovers and Lies by Charlotte Brandon. Cool it, he told himself softly as he passed through the crowd to the airport desk, where people were already lining up for their seat assignments and boarding passes. There seemed to be mobs ahead of him, and when at last he got to the counter, the only seats they had left were in the last two rows of the plane.

  Why not just put me in the bathroom while you're at it? He looked ruefully at the young man at the counter, who only smiled.

  Believe me, whoever gets here after you will be, and after that we'll be sticking them in the cargo hold. This one is filled to the gills.

  That ought to be pleasant.

  The airline's representative smiled disarmingly and held out both hands. Can we help it if we're popular? And then they both laughed. Suddenly Alex found himself looking around for her again, and once more to no avail. For an insane moment he wanted to ask the man waiting on him at the counter if he had seen her, but he recognized that that temptation was more than a little mad.

  The airline rep handed him his ticket, and a moment later he took his place on line at the gate. He had enough on his mind as he stood there: the client he was planning to see in New York; his mother; his sister; and Amanda, his niece. Still, the woman in the mink coat once more began to haunt him, just as she had the night he had seen her crying on the stairs. Or was he totally crazy and it wasn't the same woman at all? He grinned to himself, his fantasies even bought his mother's books. Maybe it was all very psychotic and he was finally losing his mind. But the prospect seemed to amuse him as the line moved slowly forward and he pulled his boarding pass out of his pocket. Once more he pushed his thoughts ahead to what he had to do in New York.

  Raphaella took her seat quickly as Tom stowed the tote bag under her seat and the stewardess quietly t
ook the beautifully cut dark mink coat. All of the personnel on board had been warned that morning that they would be carrying a VIP on the trip to New York, but she would be traveling in coach instead of first class, which was apparently her standard choice. For years she had insisted to John Henry that it was much more discreet. No one would expect to find the wife of one of the richest men in the world lost among the housewives and secretaries and salesmen and babies in the coach section. When they preboarded her as they always did, she settled quickly into the next to the last row, where she always sat. It was discreet almost to the point of being invisible. Raphaella also knew that the airline's personnel would make every effort not to place any other passengers in the seat beside her, so that it was almost certain that she would sit alone for the entire flight. She thanked Tom for his help and she watched him leave the plane just as the first passengers came on board.

  Chapter 5

  Alex stood with the throng of others, inching his way along the narrow gangway to the door of the plane, where one by one they were funneled into the mammoth aircraft, their boarding passes checked and taken, their seats pointed out by the flock of smiling stewardesses who stood ready to greet them. The passengers in first class had already been seated, and they sat hidden in their private world, two curtains drawn to protect them from any curious gaze. In the main body of the plane the masses were already settling in, shoving too big pieces of hand baggage into the aisle or stuffing briefcases and packages into the overhead racks, so that the stewardesses were rapidly obliged to cruise up and down, urging passengers to put everything except hats and coats beneath their seats. It was an old litany for Alex, who searched for his seat mechanically, knowing already where it was. He had already surrendered his suit bag to a stewardess at the entrance, and his briefcase he would slide beneath his seat after selecting one or two files that he wanted to read during the first part of the trip. It was of this that he was thinking as he made his way toward the rear of the plane, attempting not to bump other passengers or their children as he moved along. For an instant he had thought again about the woman, but it was futile to wonder about her here. She had been nowhere in the crowd that had waited to board the aircraft, so he knew that she would not be on this plane.

  He reached the seat they had assigned him and quietly stowed his briefcase underneath it, preparing to sit down. He noticed with only mild annoyance that there was already a small piece of luggage stowed under one of the seats beside him, and he realized with dismay that he would not be sitting alone for the flight.

  He hoped it would be someone with as much work to do as he had. He didn't want to be bothered with conversation on the trip. He settled himself quickly, pulled the briefcase back out from under his seat, extricated the two files he wanted, glad that his seatmate had momentarily disappeared. It was several moments later when he felt a stir beside him and he instinctively shifted his gaze from the page he was reading to the floor. And as he did so he found himself staring down at a pair of very graceful and expensive black lizard shoes. Gucci, he registered without thinking, the little gold clips embedded in the throat of the shoe. He then noticed, all in a split second, that the ankles were even more attractive than the shoes. Feeling faintly like a schoolboy, he found himself looking slowly up the long elegant legs to the hem of the black skirt, and then up the interminable expanse of fine French suit to the face looking down at him, her head cocked slightly to one side. She looked as though she were going to ask him a question, and as though she were perfectly aware that he had just looked her over from her shoes to the top of her head. But as he looked up to see her a look of total astonishment overtook Alex and, without thinking, he stood up beside her and said, My God, it's you.

  She looked equally startled as he said it and only stared at him, wondering what he had meant and who he was. He seemed to think he knew her, and for a terrified instant she wondered if it was someone who had long ago seen her photograph somewhere or read of her in the press. Perhaps he was even a member of the press, and for a long moment she had the urge to turn and run away. But on the plane she would be his prisoner for hours. Anxious, she began to back away from him, her eyes wide and frightened, her handbag clutched beneath her arm. She was going to find the stewardess and insist that this time she had to be moved to first class. Or perhaps it was not too late for them to deplane her. She could make the next flight to New York. I' no' . She murmured softly as she turned away, but before she could take one step from him, she felt his hand on her arm. He had seen the terror in her eyes and was horrified at what he'd done.

  No, don't.

  She turned to face him then, not quite sure she did it. All her instincts were still telling her to flee. Who are you?

  Alex Hale. I just' it's that ' He smiled gently at her, pained at what he saw in the beautiful woman's eyes. They were eyes filled with sorrow and terror. Perhaps injured too, but that he did not know yet. All he knew was that he didn't want her to run away, not again. I saw you buy that in the airport. He glanced toward the book that still lay on her seat, and to Raphaella it was a non sequitur that made no sense at all. And I I saw you once on the steps, at Broderick and Broadway about a week ago. You were How could he tell her now that she had been crying? It would only make her run from him again. But his words seemed to jar her, and she looked at him long and hard this time. She seemed to be remembering, and slowly a faint blush overtook her face.

  I She nodded and looked away. Perhaps he was not a paparazzo. Perhaps he was only a madman or a fool. But she didn't want to travel five hours sitting beside him, wondering why he had held her arm or said My God, it's you. But while she stared at him, immobile, wondering, as his eyes held her tightly, standing where she was, the final announcement to take their seats came over the loudspeaker in the airplane, and he moved slowly around her, to clear the way for her to her seat.

  Why don't you sit down? He stood, looking very strong and tall and handsome, and as though unable to escape him, she silently walked past him and took her seat. She had put the hat in the overhead rack before Alex had found his seat, and now her hair shone like black silk as she bowed her head and turned away. She seemed to be looking out the window, so Alex said nothing further to her and sat down in his own seat, leaving a vacant seat between them.

  He felt his heart hammering inside him. She was as beautiful as he had at first thought the night he saw her sitting on the steps, surrounded by the cloud of lynx, her haunting black eyes looking up toward him and the rivers of tears pouring silently down her face. This was the same woman sitting only inches away from him, and every fiber of his being wanted to reach out to her, to touch her, to take her in his arms. It was madness and he knew it. She was a perfect stranger. And then he smiled to himself. The words were apt. She seemed perfect in every way. As he gazed at her neck, her hands, the way she sat, all he could see was her perfection, and when he saw her profile for an instant, he could not tear his eyes away from her face. And then, aware of how uncomfortable it made her, he suddenly grabbed the two files and stared into them blindly, hoping to make her think that he had forgotten his fascination with her and had turned his mind to something else. It wasn't until after takeoff that he saw her glance toward him, and from the corner of his eye he saw her stare at him long and hard.

  Unable to play the game any longer then, he turned toward her, his eyes gentle on her, his smile hesitant but warm. I'm sorry if I frightened you before. It's just' I don't usually do things like this. The smile broadened, but she didn't smile in return. I I don't know how to explain it. For a moment he felt like a true crazy trying to explain it all to her as she sat there staring, with no expression on her face other than the look in her eyes that had so touched him when he had first seen it. When I saw you that night on the steps, when you he decided to go ahead and say it when you were crying, I felt so helpless when you looked up at me, and then you disappeared. Just like that. You just vanished. And for days it bothered me. I keep thinking of the way you looked, with the
tears running down your face. As he spoke to her he thought he saw something soften in her eyes, but there was no trace of anything different in her face. He smiled again and shrugged softly. Maybe I just can't resist damsels in distress. But you've bothered me all this week. And this morning there you were. I was watching some woman buy a book while I called my office. He grinned at the familiar book jacket, without telling her just how familiar it was. And then I realized it was you. It was crazy, like something in a movie. For a week I'm haunted by a vision of you, as you sit crying on the stairs, and then suddenly there you are, looking just as beautiful.

  This time she smiled in answer, he was sweet and he seemed very young; in a funny way he suddenly reminded her of her brother, who had been in love every other week when he was fifteen. And then you disappeared again, he went on despairingly. I hung up the phone and you had vanished into thin air. She didn't want to tell him that she had stepped into a private office and was taken by several secluded corridors to the plane. But he looked puzzled for a moment. I didn't even see you board the plane. And then he lowered his voice conspiratorially. Tell me the truth, are you magic? He looked like an overgrown child and she couldn't surpress a grin.

  Her eyes began to dance as she looked at him, no longer angry, no longer afraid. He was a little mad, a little young, and a lot romantic, and she could sense that he didn't wish her any harm. He was just sweet, and somewhat foolish. And now she nodded to him with a small smile. Yes, I am.

  Aha! I thought so. A magic lady. That's terrific. He sat back in his seat with a broad smile and she smiled back. It was an amusing game. And no harm could come to her, after all she was on the plane. He was a stranger, and she would never see him again. The stewardesses would whisk her away almost instantly when the plane reached New York and she would be safe again, in familiar hands. But just this once it was amusing to play this game with a stranger. And she did remember him now from the night when she had been so desperately lonely and had fled the house and sat, crying, on the long stone steps that led down the hillside. She had looked up and seen him, and before he could approach her, she had fled through the garden roof. But as she thought of it she noticed that Alex was smiling at her again. Is it difficult being a magic lady?