Читать книгу Fatal Flowers - V. J. Banis - Страница 5

CHAPTER ONE

I first saw Sarah from the window of a train—a train taking me to a house where I was not welcome.

I had been in a nearly fatal airplane crash and now I was coming to visit the mother who had abandoned me years ago. I no longer thought of her as my mother. She was just a woman I didn’t know and hadn’t seen in almost twenty years.

But there was something about the brightness of the early morning sun that did wonders for my low spirits. Even the food tasted better and the plaster cast on my leg felt less weighty.

The waiter put my check discreetly at the edge of the table and refilled my cup.

“We’ll be arriving at Gulf Point in about five minutes, Miss Whelan,” he said.

I smiled. “Thank you. I’m all ready.”

He bowed slightly and left me to my thoughts.

The dining car was practically deserted. Not very many people came to this part of Florida at this time of year. I’d been warned that it would be hot and muggy and swarming with insects. That didn’t bother me half as much as the thought of having to live under the same roof with her—the great Diana Hamilton of stage, screen, radio, and television.

Who would, of course, prefer to forget the radio part of that. It was her obsession with staying young that had meant keeping my existence a secret. Diana Hamilton couldn’t afford to have a grown daughter. Her public might lose interest, especially her young public.

“There is a very obvious generation gap, and rightfully so,” she had said in a teenage fan magazine interview. “And the young among us want to be free of the old ways and old ideas....”

I shook my head. She had to be forty at least, but she deceived herself so much that I think she actually believed herself to be young.

Daddy used to tell me about her—how beautiful she was, how talented, how impossible to live with. He likened her to a little girl who refused to grow up. She couldn’t accept the fact that she was aging.

When I was three, she abandoned us. At nine I found myself an orphan and it was then that I’d had my last contact with her, of an indirect sort—a letter from a law firm informing me that I would be amply provided for financially. I was to be placed under the supervision of guardians, and it was made plain enough that Diana Hamilton wanted no further association with me.

The woman across the aisle rattled her newspaper and began to eye me. I could tell by her look exactly which page of her paper she was reading. My picture was on that inside page, and the picture of Diana Hamilton was next to mine. And I knew the caption well. I’d seen it often enough of late. It read: “Long lost daughter of actress lone survivor of plane crash.”

When I chanced a glance toward my dining companion, she looked at me over the edge of the paper and gave a faint smile. I looked away immediately in order to discourage any conversation. Everyone who recognized me said the same things. “Wasn’t it lucky for you that they found out your true identity? You must be so happy.”

I wasn’t happy—I’d always known my identity—and I wasn’t a long lost daughter. I wanted to tell them all just how the great Diana Hamilton really had abandoned me, refused to recognize me as her own flesh and blood, because a grown daughter might tarnish her youthful image. She didn’t want me now any more than she ever had. She’d been forced to accept me when fingerprints taken while I was unconscious had identified me. My birth certificate came to light. Sharp reporters were quick to put names together.

It was only then that the talented Diana played her most dramatic scene. Her poor, dear, lost daughter, she had told the reporters. Her first husband had disappeared, taking their little child with him. She didn’t want a scandal. She searched as thoroughly as she dared, but then her studio sent her to Europe on location and her search had to be interrupted. Eventually that search was tearfully abandoned when Phil Whelan’s trail grew too faint and too cold to follow.

I suddenly smiled to myself. I could see her ranting and raving behind closed doors. She was forced to send for me. Her public demanded that...and I knew that it infuriated her.

Why hadn’t I spoken up and given my account of the true story to the newspapers? I had sat and kept quiet. What would it have accomplished, after all, to ruin Diana Hamilton’s image? So, yes, I had gone along with her charade, with this reunion put on for the benefit of the press and her public.

The woman across the aisle rattled her paper again, trying to catch my attention. I quickly finished my coffee, left money on the table, and hurried out of the dining car on my crutch, being careful not to look in the woman’s direction.

I heard her mumble an “Excuse me, Miss Whelan,” when I passed her table, but I pretended not to hear. I made my way back to my compartment, determined to hold my low spirits at bay. I could get through this well enough, and in no time at all I’d be back in Hilsborough, teaching school. Diana would tire of playing the part of the happy, munificent mother within a week and I’d be free to go back to the life I knew.

The conductor tapped on my door. “We’re coming into Gulf Point, Miss Whelan.”

“Thank you.” I began stacking my suitcases on the seat.

It was at that moment that I saw Sarah Braddock. The train was slowing, its bell clanging as we started toward the station. I saw a girl running across a field just outside my window, running as though the devil himself were chasing her. And the man pursuing her might well have been the devil by the look of him in his black chauffeur’s uniform, the visor of his cap flashing in the sunlight like flames from Satan’s fires.

He overtook her and grabbed hold of the girl. She fought to get free of him. I might have passed the whole incident off as merely some wayward, wealthy young lady who was rebelling against her established family, or her chauffeur, for some capricious reason. But he struck her.

I stiffened with revulsion. She went limp and he scooped her up into his arms and carried her toward a long, sleek car which I hadn’t noticed before, an old-fashioned limousine from the forties.

Just then the door to my compartment opened and the porter came in. He started to collect my baggage.

“Quick,” I said, pointing out the window. “A girl is being abducted.”

The porter merely stared at me.

“Look. There in the field.”

Unfortunately, the train was still in motion. First a line of trees obscured the view, then a billboard, then more trees. Before I realized it the train was clanging to a halt alongside the station.

I completely forget about Diana Hamilton, my broken leg, my luggage, my supposed recuperation. I grabbed up my crutch and hobbled quickly past the porter and started off the train. I didn’t give a thought about anything except that poor unfortunate girl. I had to do something. I couldn’t just let her be dumped into a limousine and spirited away to heaven knows what fate. Perhaps if I acted quickly enough, the authorities might overtake the limousine and confront the driver before he had a chance to get the girl too far away.

I hobbled down the length of the passageway, down the metal stairs of the coach.

“Watch your step, Miss,” the conductor said, when I almost tripped and fell. He grabbed my arm.

“I just saw what I think was an abduction,” I said breathlessly. “Where is the station master’s office?”

He just looked at me rather blankly. “Beg pardon?”

“Which way to the station master’s office? A man is abducting a young girl. I saw them from my window.”

“But....”

And then they descended upon me.

“Darling,” Diana Hamilton called, advancing toward me with her entourage of newspaper men, photographers, well-wishers.

My heart sank. “Oh, no,” I moaned and turned a pleading eye to the conductor. “I saw a girl knocked unconscious and put into a limousine. You must do something.”

He gave me a suspicious look, a faint smile, and then eased by me and got back up on the steps of the train.

Seconds later I found myself completely surrounded. I looked for help, but it was useless. I was trapped.

“Darling,” Diana said again, her voice high and affected. I could barely make out the exaggerated smile behind the heavy veil she wore. She hugged me to her and I cringed inwardly. “Alice. How simply marvelous to have found you at last.” She turned me—forcefully—toward the newspaper men and photographers. Everyone started speaking all at once.

“Please,” I managed to say to the woman who was hugging me and smiling at the photographers—the woman called Diana Hamilton. “I must find the police. I saw a girl being abducted.”

One would have thought I made a comment on the weather. Diana kept smiling. If she heard me she didn’t show any evidence of it. She was too intent upon posing for the photographers and reporters swarming about us.

She forced me about to face another bank of flashing cameras and, turning me toward a distinguished-looking gentleman directly beside her, she said with a regal wave of her hand, “Your stepfather, my dear.”

“Alice,” the man said, reaching his hand to me. “We’re so happy you’ve come to stay with us.”

My mind was a complete blur. I didn’t really see him or feel the touch of his hand. If she had said his name I wouldn’t have heard it. People were smiling, talking, laughing. I was looking past all of them—or trying to. My frustration grew.

The conductor called, “All aboard,” and the train began to chug out of the station. Too much time had passed. The girl was gone by now. There would be no way of pursuing her or her captor at this point in time. It was too late. I found myself glowering at Diana Hamilton.

With a toss of her head she tucked my arm in hers and said, “Come, my dear.” My stepfather took my other arm and between them they led me toward a line of automobiles parked outside a small, dilapidated waiting room. People were still scurrying around asking questions, taking pictures.

It confused me terribly, but Diana Hamilton was in her element, calm and aloof and very much in control of the situation. She answered the reporters slowly and clearly. She did not let the constant flashing of the bulbs disturb or distract her. She smiled. She hugged me from time to time as we walked along.

I said absolutely nothing. She chattered on. I heard not a word of it. Whatever questions were asked of me, Diana chose to answer on my behalf. How useless I felt.

When we reached the cars Diana nodded toward an older model Town Car. “I do apologize, my dear. I’m afraid the chauffeur had a bit of trouble with the limousine at the last minute so we were obliged to take Leland’s car. Alice and I will sit in the back, Leland.”

Leland got behind the wheel after Diana and I were seated in the back seat. Suddenly I remembered my baggage.

“My luggage,” I said as the crowd of faces peered into the car at us, still shouting questions, still taking flash pictures. Diana was pretending they weren’t there, but her expression said otherwise.

“We’ll send Martin for it later. It will be safe at the station. In a place like Gulf Point there is little fear it will be lost.”

Leland carefully backed the car out of the parking area and turned westward toward the Gulf. It was only after we were well away from the newspaper people that Diana allowed herself to relax. She fumbled in her purse for a cigarette, but she merely toyed with it without lighting it.

“Now, what is this you said about seeing a girl abducted?” Her voice was cold as ice. There was obvious disbelief in her tone.

“Yes, I saw it from the window of the train. The girl was racing across a field. A man in a chauffeur’s uniform caught up her and knocked her unconscious.”

“Perhaps you imagined it,” Diana said. “The plane crash and all....”

“No, I saw it. I did not imagine it. I couldn’t have imagined it.”

Leland glanced over his shoulder. “The sun and shadows at this time of morning can be quite deceptive.”

“No, I saw it all quite clearly,” I insisted. I glanced at Diana and at once I understood.

She lived in a world of fantasy. She was used to imagining things and being surrounded by people with very active imaginations. For all I knew, Leland was part of that world too.

Diana gave a little laugh. “Well, if you think it will make you feel better, we’ll telephone the authorities when we reach home.”

“Do you honestly think that’s necessary, my dear?” Leland asked.

“We must humor Alice,” she said in a condescending voice. “I see no harm in Alice’s reporting whatever it is she thinks she saw.”

Leland sighed and shrugged. “I suppose not,” he agreed.

“You honestly feel that it is something you should report?” Diana asked me.

“Yes, I do,” I said firmly.

Of course I had to report it. I had to do something. I just couldn’t witness the abduction of a poor unconscious girl and say nothing.

I bit down on my lower lip. On perhaps it was nothing at all. Maybe the girl was merely some rich, precocious brat who was making a rebellious stand against her parents. It might well be very innocent.

But the man had hit her. Regardless of how precocious the girl might be, I could see no earthly reason for a grown man knocking a defenseless child unconscious. Surely the man’s employer didn’t condone such treatment of his daughter—if he knew.

Diana sighed. She said no more; there was nothing to say. And we were both well aware of that fact. We may have been mother and daughter, but we were total strangers and lived in entirely different worlds.

She leaned into the far corner of the seat and threw back the veil of her hat. My quick glance turned into an open stare. She was old, much older than I had thought. The skin was loose and sagging. Her eyes were bright, but the skin surrounding them was dark and wrinkled, although carefully camouflaged by eye make-up. The lines at the mouth were etched deep into the corners. The cheeks were shallow under the bright rouge. Her hat did a thorough job of hiding her hair, but I imagined that it was very evenly colored with that flat, solid look dyed hair takes on.

My surprise at seeing the real Diana Hamilton did not go unnoticed. She smiled a slow, careful smile and chuckled softly. There was something sad in her laugh. She tried to stare me down. I couldn’t let her do that. I had to show her that I was as strong as she. I refused to let her intimidate me.

Finally she relented. She lifted the cigarette to her lips and brought the lighter to it, exhaling noisily. She leveled her eyes on me again. “You didn’t realize how old I am,” she said bluntly. “I was thirty-three when you were born. I have more or less retired from public life. The camera can be both friend and enemy, both kind and malicious. In the past few years I came to realize how much it disliked me. I decided it was time for our relationship to come to an abrupt end. I am Mrs. Leland Braddock now. Diana Hamilton has ceased to exist. Unfortunately, your untimely appearance forced Diana Hamilton back into the public’s eyes for a brief time.” She waved her cigarette as though it were a magic wand. “But that will change very soon.”

“I had no hand in what happened,” I said evenly. “I was unconscious during those days they tried to find out who I was. I am just as displeased with this whole affair as you are. You needn’t have sent for me, you know.”

“Of course I had to send for you. I had no other alternative.” She stabbed out her cigarette.

Then suddenly her face went soft and her eyes turned more gentle. She reached out and patted my hand. “But let us not quarrel, Alice. I realize none of this could have been avoided. It was time we met anyway. As it is, I’ve put off meeting you for too long a time.” She smiled and for a moment I thought the smile was genuine. “I am really quite pleased that we can be together again.”

I almost believed her for a second.

I saw her eyes move to the back of her husband’s head. Her expression suddenly changed again. “Of course Falcon Island is an isolated spot. I’m afraid you will tire of it quickly and want to return home.”

I got the message clearly enough. “I have no intentions of staying very long,” I said.

She nodded and said nothing.

Of course I’d known that I wasn’t welcome at Falcon Island...wherever that was. I looked about at the landscape to see if I could get my bearings. I didn’t want to talk any more. I hadn’t really paid any attention to the scenery when we first started away from the train station at Gulf Point. We had since left that little town far behind us.

Now I looked around and reveled in the beauty of the place. Summer had just given spring an impatient nudge, and everywhere I looked evidence of summer’s reasons for that impatient nudge could be seen. I could almost feel the yellows and blues, the purples, the reds, the greens, the colors of summer. Already the days seemed brighter, hotter, although this was only the second day of the new season. The trees all looked so smooth and lush, so filled with shade and beauty, so young and alive. The land was flat and spacious and teeming with life and the vitality of nature.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Diana studying my face. “You know,” she said, “you look very much like your father.”

How like her, I thought. My father used to tell me precisely the opposite. He said I was the spitting image of my mother. I used to compare myself to her magazine pictures. I could never convince myself, however, that I was or could ever be as beautiful as the famous Diana Hamilton. Yet there was definitely a resemblance. I had Diana’s eyes, her delicate nose, the regal chin. I had very few of my father’s features, except that I’d inherited his straight brown hair and his inquisitive nature.

Her gaze moved over me very slowly, very carefully. I could feel disdain radiating from her. She didn’t like me any more than I cared for her. I could see both our reasons and understood them readily enough. To her, I represented proof of her maturity. To me, she represented a woman who had never wanted me. And she still did not want me. I could tell by the way she looked at me that she wanted me to go away and stay away.

There was something else, though. There was fear in her eyes. I couldn’t really tell why she was afraid. There was something she was hiding and it was much more important than simply her true age. She lit another cigarette and exhaled the smoke in a heavy puff. “You don’t like me much, do you Alice?”

“Should I?” I asked, careful to keep my eyes focused on the scenery outside. I didn’t want her to see the moisture that suddenly threatened to become tears.

I heard her sigh again. “No, I guess not.”

We drove in silence. After a mile or two the trees that separated the road from the open fields fell back and the land opened up briefly, but no more than a mile later we were again engulfed in tall oaks and magnolias, red cypress and yellow pines, gums and hickories. Low tangles of Carolina yellow jasmine, Cherokee rose, trumpet creepers made it difficult to see the ground itself.

“You’ve fully recovered from the plane crash, I presume,” Leland said over his shoulder.

“Yes, thank you, except, of course, for my leg. The doctor said the cast will have to stay on for quite a while.”

“I had a broken leg once, Leland,” Diana said, taking his attention immediately away from me. “Did you know that?”

“No, dear, I didn’t.”

“Yes. I broke it during the filming of that Bronte picture. Uhhh...you know....” She snapped her fingers impatiently.

“Wuthering Heights,” Leland provided.

“Yes, that’s the one. I fell from a rock.” Suddenly she laughed. “It cost the studio a fortune. The way they carried on, one would have thought I broke the bone on purpose.” She turned suddenly to me. “Did you enjoy me in Wuthering Heights?” she asked with her usual imperious smile.

Of course I’d seen the picture. Diana Hamilton had received an Academy Award for it Yet, in spite of myself, I said, “I don’t recall seeing it.”

The look she gave me would easily have frozen water.

Again silence took over inside the car.

We passed through a patch of tropical forest. Cattleya orchids flourished everywhere, it seemed, their velvety vibrant petals drooping in sad dejection. Giant rafflesia measuring at least three feet across stretched out to catch whatever light they could in their massive circular raspberry-colored leaves. I saw marshmallow flowers with their rounded, pale pink petals and notch-edged leaves that came into sharp points. Magnolia and red-bud, and flame vines grew in tangles; lichens struggled to reach the sky. The whole place was exotic and yet frightening and oppressive.

As suddenly as the dark, dank forest had swallowed us up, it cast us out. The road widened, the bright sunlight poured down over us as Leland picked up speed. We were, I saw, on a coastline. Open water stretched out before us as far as the eye could see. Interrupting the expanse of water was a large island situated a mile or two from shore. The coastline itself was completely flat and bare, except for a low slung building hugging the water’s edge. Which turned out to be a combination garage and boat house.

Leland nodded out toward the sea. “Falcon Island,” he said. “It’s been in my family for generations.”

I could see nothing but a blur in the distance. I saw no house, just the dark colors of trees and undergrowth. It looked most foreboding.

Leland slowed the car and headed toward the boat house. Its doors suddenly opened automatically. Just as we started into the garage I gasped. There, parked in the adjacent parking stall, was an old-fashioned limousine—the type usually associated with stars of the silent screen. It was lavishly ornamented, shiny and polished and dripping with chrome plate.

I had seen it before. It was the car into which the brutish chauffeur had recently carried the unconscious girl.