Читать книгу The Mistress - Tiffany Reisz, Tiffany Reisz - Страница 18

Grace walked down the third-floor hallway, leaving the men of the house to their own devices. They were all terrified—Wesley, Griffin, who’d let her in the house, even Kingsley, although she could see he had much more practice at hiding his fears than the rest of them.

Nora … Grace prayed her name as she neared the bedroom she’d been warned away from. She could put together no other words for a prayer. All the possibilities she could pray against were too terrible to imagine. Wesley said Kingsley’s sister had Nora. His sister … a woman. Better a woman than being taken by a man. A woman kidnapped … surely his sister had help, had men around her. Impossible to think any lone woman could get the better of Nora Sutherlin. Dear God, Nora. It turned Grace’s stomach to even consider what might be happening to Nora right now.

Outside the door to Kingsley’s bedroom, Grace paused and wondered for a moment what she was doing. She merely wanted to see him … this man, this priest, the one person her usually fearless husband ever admitted to being afraid of. Nora seemed the ultimate free spirit to Grace—she trod across the world in leather boots with black sails flying. And yet when she spoke of Søren she called him the man who owned her. Owning Nora sounded as dangerous as owning a nuclear bomb. Valuable and powerful it may be, but who would want that sort of thing under one’s own roof?

Grace turned the knob on the door and peered inside. A small lamp had been left on and pale gold light filled the room. On the floor at the end of the grand red bed sat a man with his blond head bowed as if in prayer. The door made the slightest squeak as it opened but the man on the floor didn’t move. Whatever Kingsley had drugged him with clearly hadn’t worn off yet.

Shutting the door behind her, Grace moved closer to get a better look at the man. Her heart contracted with sympathy. He’d be in agony when he came to. Sitting on the floor had to be uncomfortable, and far worse, when he woke up it would be to a world where Nora was still gone. Kneeling on the floor at his side Grace studied his face.

Good God, Nora hadn’t been exaggerating at all. Is he handsome? Calling this man handsome would be like saying Einstein was fairly decent at his sums. He was so handsome she wanted to demand an apology from him. He had blond hair long enough to run one’s fingers through but still short enough to give him a civilized air. Nora had called him dangerous but Grace couldn’t see the threat at all. He was tall, definitely. Even sitting on the floor with his hands cuffed behind his back, Grace could tell he must have stood well over six feet. But no, certainly not dangerous. In fact, he looked rather kind, especially around his eyes. Nora often extolled his virtues as a priest to her—how he treated everyone at the church with equal respect, how he listened without judging, how he treated the children like adults and forgave the adults like they were children, how he gave and gave and gave of himself to them and asked nothing in return, only that they remember all blessings come from God, even the ones in disguise.

No, he certainly wasn’t dangerous. Perhaps only to someone who tried to harm Nora. But it was madness to have him locked up in this bedroom like some sort of wild animal. Surely she could find the key somewhere. She’d unlock the handcuffs, let his arms relax into a more natural position.

Grace stood up and looked around. There it was, the key to the cuffs hanging on a blue ribbon off the back of the door. When he’d woken up he would have seen the key staring right at him. Cruel of Kingsley to do that if he, in fact, had done it on purpose. And something told her he’d most certainly done it on purpose.

Once more she knelt at his side and reached behind him. It would be awkward getting the key in the lock from this position. She’d practically have to wrap her arms around the man. But he slept on, oblivious to her presence. So Grace turned toward the bed and pressed close to his body. She couldn’t resist breathing in the scent of him. He smelled cool, clean, like a new fallen snow on a deep winter’s night. Nonsense. What was she thinking? The fear and panic were clearly getting to her. Who on earth smelled like winter?

She took a deep breath, shook off her poet’s musings and started to bring the key around his hip. She found the cuffs on his wrist and felt the slight depression of the keyhole.

“Almost there,” she whispered to herself. “We’ll get these off.”

At that he raised his head and Grace found herself staring at the hardest eyes in the most dangerous face she’d ever seen in her life.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Gasping, she dropped the keys and scrambled back a few feet on the floor.

“Father Stearns,” she said, almost panting from the sudden scare. “I’m so sorry. I only wanted—”

“Welsh accent … you’re Mrs. Easton, yes?” Father Stearns raised his chin an inch higher and waited for her answer. She felt like an utter fool sitting on the floor trying to keep her skirt from riding up her legs while a Catholic priest studied every line of her face.

“Yes. I’m Zachary’s wife. I was on holiday and called Nora. Wesley answered …” The words poured out her in a wave of nervous energy. “He told me what happened, where he was going. I came straightaway.”

“Have we heard anything about Eleanor?”

Grace’s stomach sank. She would have given anything to be able to tell him any news.

“Nothing anyone’s told me.”

Father Stearns nodded and leaned his head back against the bed with his eyes closed.

“I’m so sorry,” Grace whispered. “Nora, we care about her, Zachary and I.”

“That’s very kind of you to say, Mrs. Easton.”

She smiled. “Please call me Grace. Nora’s told me a great deal about you.”

“No wonder you’re so nervous.”

Grace laughed nervously, proving his point.

“She’s only told me good things, I promise.”

He opened his eyes again and stared at her for a long silent moment, searching her face for something. For what, she couldn’t imagine. But she didn’t quite mind his gaze on her. It felt intimate without being inappropriate.

“I refuse to believe that,” he finally said. “I know Eleanor too well.”

“Well, perhaps it all wasn’t good per se. But nothing bad. Fascinating definitely. She did seem to imply you were the one usually putting the handcuffs on, not ending up in them. I could take those off if you’d like.”

“I would like. But as I said, I don’t recommend it.”

“Why not?” She moved a little closer to him, feeling a bit more comfortable now that they’d started talking.

“I’m a pacifist. I don’t believe nonconsensual violence is ever justified. I am trying to remember that I’m a pacifist so I don’t murder Kingsley where he stands.”

Grace laughed again, less nervously this time.

“I don’t think murder will help the situation.”

“It might not hurt it.”

The words should have been a joke but Grace heard no mirth in his tone.

“I’ll go now if you like.” Grace started to stand. “I didn’t mean to be so nosy, but I saw you on the floor and—”

“No. Don’t go. Please.”

He sounded so humble that Grace couldn’t help but sink to her knees again.

“Of course.”

“Stay and talk to me. Distract me from all the thoughts in my head.”

She heard a note of desperation in his voice.

“I’ll stay. I’ll stay as long as you want me to.” Grace moved a little closer to him on the floor. “Do you want to talk about the thoughts in your head?” she asked, as if she were talking to one of the children in her class. “If they’re half as awful as mine, it might help to get them out.”

He said nothing at first, only opened his eyes and stared at something only he could see.

“We’re all terrified,” Grace whispered. “I’ve never been so scared in my life. This doesn’t happen to people you know. This happens in movies, or in foreign countries and the stories get turned into movies, and it’s all madness. I almost died when I was nineteen having a miscarriage, and I’m telling you now, I’ve never been this frightened.”

“I was eleven years old when I looked death in the face the first time. In my early twenties I spent a few months in a leper colony. I have dug my fingers into a teenage boy’s sliced-open wrists to try to stop him from bleeding to death on the floor of my church. I thought I knew terror before today. I was wrong.”

“I keep telling myself to stay strong, that Nora would be strong for me so I have to be strong for her. Falling apart won’t help her. We can’t despair.” Brave words but all Grace wanted to do was dissolve into tears.

“Don’t despair? That’s usually my line.”

“I imagine even a priest needs words of comfort sometimes.”

“All the time, Grace.”

He fell silent after that and she feared the thoughts in his head as much as she imagined he did.

“I don’t want to know what’s going on in your mind, do I?”

“Terrible thoughts. Vengeance. Brutality. What I want to do to anyone who hurts my Little One.”

“You call her Little One?”

“I always have. She was a teenager when we met. A very ill-mannered teenager. She demanded to know why I was so tall. She insinuated I had grown this tall simply for attention.”

“Only Nora could be rude and flirtatious at the same time.”

“I explained to her that I was tall so I could hear God’s voice better. And since I was taller and could hear Him better, she should always listen to me. That didn’t sit very well with her. She retorted the next day with a verse from Psalm 114. ‘The Lord keeps the little ones.’ Her biblical proof that God prefers short people. I started calling her Little One after that. It helped us both remember she belonged to God first.”

“And you second?”

“A close second,” he said, giving her a quick but devilish grin.

“These are good thoughts. Keep telling me good thoughts. Maybe we can get you over your murderous inclinations and out of the handcuffs.”

“I have no good thoughts right now.”

He fell silent and closed his eyes. Grace knew that whatever was going on in his mind right now was nothing she wanted to know.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his eyes still closed. “It’s not safe here. You should be with your husband.”

“Zachary’s at a conference in Australia. And I’m not going anywhere, not until Nora’s back. I don’t care if my husband divorces me, Kingsley has me arrested and I get fired for missing school, I’m staying.”

“Missing school?”

“I’m a teacher. School starts next week. But it will start with or without me.”

“What do you teach?”

“Year 11 English Lit. Teaching Shakespeare to seventeen-year-olds is not unlike herding cats.”

He smiled then and opened his eyes.

“I used to be a teacher,” he said. “I taught Spanish and French to ten- and eleven-year-old boys.”

“Sounds like hell.”

“It was. I rather liked it, though.”

“It is rewarding in its own way. If you get through to one student a year, see that spark of understanding, see that little hint of the adult they’ll become and you know you’ve somehow helped him or her along that path … it’s worth all the work, all the sacrifice.”

“It was like that with Eleanor when she was a girl. The moment I saw her at age fifteen, I saw exactly who she would become.”

“No wonder it was love at first sight.”

“Love, lust, fear, wonder and joy—such joy. I considered it my mission in life to make sure she survived her teenage years to become the woman I saw in her.”

“Survived? I recall being a teenager as rather difficult, but certainly not life-threatening.”

“Eleanor’s were not the typical teenage years.”

“I don’t believe Nora has had a typical anything her entire life.”

“That would be an accurate statement.”

“If it helps any, I think you did a good job with her. She’s a rather impressive person.”

“I tried not to fail her. Everyone else in her life had—her father was a criminal, her mother considered Eleanor a mistake. It gave me great pleasure to take her from them. More pleasure than I should admit to.”

“You smiled. Would you like me to take the handcuffs off now?”

“I would like that, but I’m still picturing Kingsley in the morgue. And of course, I’m only focusing my anger at him because he’s here. I know I’m not actually angry at him. I keep trying to tell myself that.”

“He was trying to save you from yourself. You are a priest, after all. Can’t be telling the police and the FBI and the whole wide world that someone has your lover.”

“I couldn’t begin to care less what the whole world thinks of my relationship with Eleanor. All that matters is getting her back.”

“Of course,” she said, smoothing her skirt over her knee. “But will the police help? I’m asking a genuine question. If you think they could help, I’ll call them myself and Kingsley be damned.”

Father Stearns turned his eyes from her and exhaled.

“No, they won’t help. They can’t. It’s been thirty years, but I haven’t forgotten what Marie-Laure was like. Obsessive nature. Clearly she wants revenge. On me. On Kingsley. Eleanor will be that instrument of revenge. She’s not trying to steal a jewel and abscond in the night. She wants to hurt us. She’s died before. I don’t think she’s afraid to die again. My fear is that she plans to take Eleanor with her. Police involvement will only put Eleanor’s life at greater risk.”

“Marie-Laure … Kingsley’s sister was your wife?”

“Was … is my wife apparently. Kingsley missed her terribly back when we were in school. After their parents died, he and Marie-Laure had little but each other and even then they were separated by an ocean—she in Paris, he in America. I thought it would make him happy to see her again.”

“She came to your school?”

“I arranged to bring her over. It had been over a year since they’d seen each other—brother and sister. And yet less than a week after being reunited, Marie-Laure simply announced that she was in love with me.”

“That must have been something of a shock. For you and Kingsley.”

“It was an unpleasant shock. My heart was very much elsewhere, but I didn’t want to hurt the girl. Kingsley seemed so happy to have her back with him. I remember that day like yesterday. I’d gone for a walk alone. Marie-Laure followed me, asked if she could join me. We’d barely gone a mile when she stopped and confessed she’d fallen in love with me. I tried to stay calm, rational. I said to her that I was sorry, but I didn’t feel the same. But she shouldn’t take it personally. I told her I wasn’t capable of loving her like someone else could. She said she didn’t care.”

“She cared. I promise, she cared.”

“I told her that if she wanted, we could be married, but it would be a marriage in name only. I told her about the trust fund I’d receive if I married. She and Kingsley could have every penny of it. God knows I didn’t want a cent from my father. I would ask nothing in return from her. She could be as free as she wanted to be with anyone she wanted. All I asked was that she let me finish out the school year at Saint Ignatius. For legal reasons I thought it would be best if we at least lived together for a few months.”

“She agreed to that?”

“Readily. She said she understood, and that it was kind of me to offer. Kind, she said. More like stupid and foolish. I’m not stupid very often, Grace. That was stupid.”

“You were in love, not stupid. They’re two very different diseases with identical symptoms.”

“I was in love. I’d never felt anything like that before. I wanted to tell her but Kingsley wanted to wait. I thought she’d understand eventually.”

“But she didn’t understand.” It wasn’t a question. If Marie-Laure had kidnapped Nora, clearly the woman didn’t understand.

“I didn’t even allow us to kiss at our wedding. That was one of the conditions. I knew it would hurt Kingsley too much to see. And yet, on our wedding night, as soon as we were alone, she threw herself at me. Everything I told her, everything she’d agreed to, she pretended like it hadn’t happened. She acted as if the only words I’d said to her that day in the woods were ‘We can be married.’“

“Love can give you tunnel vision. I know I had it with Zachary. I only saw the possibilities, never the danger.”

“Love made Marie-Laure very dangerous. She touched me constantly. I hated it. Especially being touched in my sleep.” Something flashed across his eyes—an old memory, perhaps, and a very bad one at that.

“Was it difficult to rebuff her advances? After all, if she looked anything like Kingsley, she must have been beautiful.”

“Many thought her so. Some who saw her declared her the most beautiful girl they’d ever seen. But she held no interest for me. None whatsoever. All her beauty was on the outside. I cared for her because Kingsley did. That was all.”

“I’m sure she thought you’d change your mind eventually. Women do that, convince themselves men will change when they won’t. If Marie-Laure believed in the power of her own beauty, I’m sure she thought she could change your mind. Must have been a great blow to her ego when she couldn’t.”

“She was less than pleased, obviously.”

“I’ve known my fair share of women like that. Beautiful, dangerous girls. Any man who didn’t fall at their feet … they considered it an insult and a challenge.”

“You speak of beautiful women as if you weren’t one. I assure you, you are. The freckles are an especially nice touch.”

Grace hoped the low light in the room masked the blossoming blush on her face.

“I’m not sure I agree with you. My husband would, but Zachary’s a freckle fetishist, if there is such a thing.”

“Your husband and I have excellent taste in women.”

The blush deepened at the insinuation. Grace took a deep breath. Show no fear, Nora had cautioned. Now she knew why.

“Nora was right about you.”

“About what?” Father Stearns asked. “Or do I not want to know?”

“She told me you’d play with me, play with my mind. You intimated that you know my husband has slept with Nora. Trying to gauge my reaction?”

“Perhaps. It’s not typical wifely behavior to show such concern over a woman who her husband has been with.”

“You can play all the mind games you want with me. I do care about Nora. My marriage is better than it’s ever been because of her. It’s the two of us in our marriage for the first time ever. Me and Zachary. Not me and Zachary and his guilt.”

“Doth the lady protest too much?” Father Stearns narrowed his eyes at her and Grace found herself squirming under the intensity of the gaze.

“No, I’m simply speaking the truth. I love Nora. She’s a dear friend, and considering I slept with someone even before Zachary had his night with your Nora, I think all is forgiven between us and then some. And Nora was absolutely right about you.”

“Was she?”

“She told me to show no fear around you. Said you’d play with it like a cat with a catnip toy.”

At that, a laugh filled the room, warm, rich and masculine. It made every nerve in Grace’s body want to stand at attention and salute someone.

Then the laugh died and Father Stearns closed his eyes again. Once more he leaned his head back against the bed. He seemed to be in prayer.

“Forgive me, Grace,” he exhaled his apology. “I try not to—” he paused as he seemed to search for the right word “—inflict this side of myself on the unwilling or unsuspecting. I’m afraid it simply comes out at times.”

Grace scooted a little closer to him again so that their legs were mere inches apart. She reached out and laid a hand on his thigh right above his knee. She wasn’t sure what possessed her to do that other than she’d touched Zachary a million times that way when offering support or comfort.

“The woman who you’ve loved for almost twenty years has been taken. You were drugged and handcuffed to a bed. You’re a Catholic priest and if any of this gets out, your reputation and career will be ruined. Please …” Grace squeezed his leg and felt muscle hard as steel under her hand. “Please do not apologize to me. God knows I can’t do anything to help this horrible situation at all. If at the very least I can be a sympathetic ear, then please, inflict whatever you need to on me.”

Father Stearns raised his eyebrow at her, and Grace sensed even the shadows in the room scuttling into the corners and pressing their backs to the wall.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, removing her shaking hand from his leg.

“Are you sure about that?”

“You are terrible. Seriously,” she said, trying to laugh off her nervousness. “I’m going to take the handcuffs off you now, but I can tell I’m going to regret it.”

“You will.”

“How on earth can anyone concentrate with you being … you?” she teased as he reached behind the bed and found the keys again. “You must delight in scaring women.”

“Men, too. Ask your husband.”

“Oh, he’s told me.”

“I should apologize to him. When we met I was feeling unnecessarily territorial. Eleanor never brought outsiders into our world. I knew he had to be very special to her to show him that side of her. I took my irritation out on Zachary.”

“Don’t apologize. He’s shredded the egos of so many writers I’ve lost count. It’s only poetic justice you shredded his a bit.”

“You have no sympathy for the male ego, do you?”

“Of course not. I’m a wife. I’m rather glad you terrified him a little.”

“You don’t seem terrified.”

“I am, I assure you. But Nora warned me how terrifying you are. I’d prepared myself.”

He smiled then, a genuine smile entirely devoid of guile or artifice.

“Eleanor is not even remotely afraid of me.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Grace came up to her knees and reached behind Father Stearns. Here she was a grown woman married for twelve years and she felt as awkward as a schoolgirl around her secret crush.

“I assure you it’s true. I learned long ago that it was for the best that I erect a very high wall between myself and the rest of the world. She and Kingsley are the only two people I’ve ever met who simply ignored that wall as if it didn’t exist.”

Grace’s hands fumbled to find the keyhole. She found it with a fingertip and pushed in the key.

“Kingsley and Nora ignored your wall. I have to ask … what is the reward for getting past that wall of yours? Or is it a punishment?”

“Both reward and punishment.”

“How so?”

Father Stearns turned his head to her and the handcuffs popped open. At that moment their faces were so close together if she leaned in an inch they’d be kissing.

“I fucked them.”

Grace sat back on her knees, the keys falling from her hand.

Father Stearns brought his arms around and removed the cuffs. He massaged his wrists and Grace could see purple bruises peeking out from underneath the black cuffs of his clerics. Even drugged he’d clearly put up a fight.

“Thank you, Grace.” Father Stearns came to his feet. “I no longer wish to kill Kingsley. No more than usual, anyway.”

“You’re welcome, Father.” Grace’s voice quivered but Father Stearns was polite enough not to point it out. Perhaps he’d had enough playing with her mind tonight. Pity. She already rather missed it. At least it had distracted her from the gnawing terror for a few minutes.

He reached a hand down to her, a hand she took with more pleasure than she felt comfortable admitting to herself.

“You’re welcome to call me Søren. I’d prefer it if you did.”

“Of course … Søren. That’s what Nora always calls you. She says she can’t call you ‘Father Stearns’ without wanting to giggle,” she said, coming to her feet. She straightened her clothes, which had gotten rumpled while sitting on the floor. “Søren’s a Danish name, yes? What does it mean?”

“It means ‘stern.’ A good name for me, I’ve been told.”

“I beg to differ. I don’t think you’re quite as stern as you’re letting on.”

“Careful, Grace … it’s dangerous behind the wall.”

His tone was teasing but she heard a real warning in his words, a warning she decided to heed.

“So, what now?” she asked, deciding a change of subject might be for the best. “What should we do?”

“The only thing we can do is wait. For a week now she’s been playing a game with us. Sending photographs, breaking into homes—my sister’s, Eleanor’s … She stole a file from Kingsley’s office. This is a woman who wants to play a mind game with us. Eleanor will stay alive as long as Marie-Laure enjoys playing the game.”

“She will be fine. Nora will,” Grace said again, more for her sake than his. “I mean if any woman can get through this, it’s Nora. Isn’t it?”

“She’s strong, intelligent and cunning. She’s well-trained. If forced to defend herself, she can. She knows how to hurt people and hurt them badly. As a teenager she got into a few fights, but as an adult, she’s never hurt anyone without their consent. She may have to now.” He paused and Grace watched as his large hands curled tight into fists before he relaxed his fingers once again. “I would pay any price to save her from this.”

She took his hand in hers and held it a moment.

“I know you would. I’d give anything to know something … anything. What is Marie-Laure waiting for?”

“I don’t know. But surely she knows the silence and the waiting are the worst of tortures.”

“It has to end. It’s been a day already. Something has to—”

The sound of heavy footsteps in the hallways cut off the end of Søren’s sentence. She heard doors opening and slamming shut. She and Søren stepped into the hall. The man who’d escorted her to Kingsley’s office, Griffin, exhaled with relief at the sight of him.

“Søren,” the man said, almost panting in his panic. “There’s a girl here asking for you.”

“A girl?”

“She’s down in the front room.”

He looked at Grace and she knew it had happened. Finally. Marie-Laure had started the game.

“Did she tell you her name?” Søren asked as they strode down the hall, Grace following close behind.

“Nope. But she’s looks about eighteen, she’s blonde, she sounds foreign and she’s fucking gorgeous. You got a daughter you never told anyone about?”

“No,” Søren said, his pace quickening. “But I have a niece.”