F. Paul Wilson - The Tomb

"Yes," Gia said to the mirror. "This is the one."

The dress needed no alterations, so it was boxed up and Gia walked out with it under her arm. She hailed a cab for them on Third Avenue.

"I want to ask you something," Gia said sotto voce as they rode back to Sutton Square. "It's been bothering me for two days now. It's about the… inheritance you're leaving Vicky; you mentioned something about it Thursday."

Nellie was startled for a moment. Had she spoken of the terms of her will? Yes… yes, she had. Her mind was so foggy lately.

"What bothers you?" It wasn't at all like Gia to bring up the subject of money.

Gia smiled sheepishly. "Don't laugh, but you mentioned a curse that went along with the Westphalen fortune."

"Oh, dearie," Nellie said, relieved that that was all that concerned her, "that's just talk!"

"You mean you made it up?"

"Not I. It was something Sir Albert was heard to mutter when he was in his dotage and in his cups."

"Sir Albert?"

"My great-grandfather. He was the one who actually started the fortune. It's an interesting story. Back in the middle of the last century the family was in dire financial straits of some sort—I never knew the exact nature and I guess it doesn't matter. What does matter is that shortly after his return from India, Sir Albert found an old diagram of the cellar of Westphalen Hall, which led him to a huge cache of jewels hidden there since the Norman invasion. Westphalen Hall was saved. Most of the jewels were converted to cash, which was carefully invested and the fortune has grown steadily for a century and a quarter."

"But what about the curse?"

"Oh, pay no attention to that! I shouldn't even have mentioned it! Something about the Westphalen line ending 'in blood and pain,' about 'dark things' that would come for us. But don't worry, my dear. So far we've all lived long lives and died of natural causes."

"Gia's face relaxed. "That's good to know."

"Don't give it another thought."

But Nellie found her own thoughts dwelling on it. The Westphalen curse… she and Grace and Teddy used to joke about it. But if some of the stories were to be believed, Sir Albert had died a frightened old man, mortally afraid of the dark. It was said he spent his last years surrounded by guard dogs, and always kept a fire going in his room, even on the hottest nights.

Nellie shivered. It had .been easy to make jokes back then when they were young and there were three of them. But Teddy was long dead of leukemia—at least he hadn't gone "in blood and pain"; more like fading away—and Grace was who knew where? Had some "dark thing" come for her? Could there possibly be something to—

Rubbish ! How can I let myself be frightened by the rantings of a crazy old man who's been dead for a century?

Still… Grace was gone and there was no explaining that. Not yet.

As they neared Sutton Square, Nellie felt anticipation mounting within her. There had been news of Grace while she was out—she was sure of it! She hadn't budged from the house since Tuesday for fear of missing word from Grace. But wasn't staying in the house like watching a pot? It wouldn't boil until you turned your back on it. Leaving the house was the same thing: Grace had probably called as soon as they left Sutton Square.

Nellie hurried up to the front door and rang the bell while Gia paid the driver. Her fists clenched of their own volition as she waited impatiently for the door to open.

Grace is back.' I know it! I just know it!

But the hope shriveled and died when the door opened and she saw Eunice's grim face.

"Any word?"

The question was unnecessary. The sad, slow shake of Eunice's head told Nellie what she already knew. Suddenly she felt exhausted, as if all her energy had been drained off.

She turned to Gia as she came in the door with Victoria. "I can't go tonight."

"You must," Gia said, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "What happened to that British stiff-upper-lip-and-all-that attitude? What would Sir Albert think if you just sat around and moped all night?"

Nellie appreciated what Gia was trying to do, but she truly did not give a damn about what Sir Albert might have thought.

"And what am I going to do with this dress?" Gia went on.

"The dress is yours," Nellie said morosely. She didn't have the will to put on a façade.

"Not if we don't go tonight, it isn't. I'll take it back to La Chanson right now unless you promise me we're going."

"That's not fair. I can't go. Can't you see that?"

"No, I can't see that at all. What would Grace think? You know she'd want you to go. "

Would she ? Nellie thought about that. Knowing Grace, she would want her to go. Grace was always one for keeping up appearances. No matter how bad you felt inside, you kept up your social obligations. And you never, never made a spectacle of your feelings.

"Do it for Grace," Gia said.

Nellie managed a little smile. "Very well, we shall go, although I can't guarantee how stiff my upper lip shall be."

"You'll do fine." Gia gave her one last hug, then released her. Victoria was calling from the kitchen, asking her mother to cut an orange for her. Gia hurried off, leaving Nellie alone in the foyer.

How will I do this? It has always been Grace-and-Nellie, Nellie-and-Grace, the two as one, always together. How will I do it without her?

Feeling very old, Nellie started up the stairs to her room.

8

Nellie had neglected to tell her whom the reception was for, and Gia never did find out. She got the impression it was to welcome a new high-ranking official to the Mission.

The affair, while hardly exciting, was not nearly as deadly dull as Gia had expected. The Harley House where it was being held was convenient to the U.N. and a short drive from Sutton Square. Even Nellie seemed to enjoy herself after a while. Only the first fifteen minutes or so were rough on the old woman, for immediately upon her arrival she was surrounded by a score of people asking after Grace and expressing their concern. All were members of that unofficial club of wealthy British citizens living in New York, "the colony within the Colonies."

Buoyed by the sympathy and encouragement of her fellow Britons, Nellie perked up, drank some champagne, and actually began to laugh. Gia gave herself a pat on the back for refusing to allow her to cancel out tonight. This was her good deed for the day. The year !

Not such a bad crowd after all, Gia decided after an hour or so. There were numerous nationalities, all well dressed, friendly, polite, offering a smorgasbord of accents. The new dress fit her beautifully and she felt very feminine. She was aware of the admiring glances she drew from more than a few of the guests, and she enjoyed that. She was nearly finished with her third fluted glass of champagne—she knew nothing about champagne but this was delicious—when Nellie grabbed her by the arm and pulled her toward two men standing off to the side. Gia recognized the shorter of the pair as Edward Burkes, security chief at the Mission. The taller man was dark, dressed all in white, including his turban. When he turned she noticed with a start that he had no left arm.

"Eddie, how are you?" Nellie said, extending her hand.

"Nellie! How good to see you!" Burkes took her hand and kissed it. He was a burly man of about fifty with graying hair and a moustache. He looked at Gia and then smiled. "And Miss DiLauro! What an unexpected pleasure! You look wonderful! Allow me to introduce you both to Mr. Kusum Bahkti of the Indian delegation."

The Indian made a small bow at the waist but did not extend his hand. "A pleasure to meet you both."

Gia took an instant dislike to him. His dark, angular face was a mask, his eyes unreadable. He seemed to be hiding something. His gaze passed over her as if she were an ordinary piece of furniture, but came to rest and remain avidly on Nellie.