Mary Clark - Weep No More, My Lady

Cheryl's eyes narrowed. "Ted could be talked into financing a movie for me. I know he could. He told me it wasn't fair that I was stuck with the play last year."

"Get this straight: Craig is a lot more cautious than Ted. If Ted goes to prison, he'll run the show. And another thing. You're crazy if you think Elizabeth has the hots for Ted. If she did, why the hell would she be putting a noose around his neck? All she has to do is say she was wrong about the time and how wonderful Ted was to Leila. Period. Case dismissed."

Cheryl finished her drink and imperiously held out her empty glass. Silently, Syd got up, refilled it and added a generous splash of vodka to his own. "Men are too dumb to see," Cheryl told him as he placed the drink in front of her. "You remember the kind of kid Elizabeth was. Polite, but if you asked her a direct question, you got a direct answer. And she never made excuses. She just doesn't know how to lie. She'd never lie for herself, and unfortunately she won't lie for Ted. But before this is over she's going to look under stones to try to find some sort of positive proof of what happened that night. That can make her very dangerous.

"Something else, Syd. You heard that nutty Alvirah Meehan say she read in a fan magazine that Leila LaSalle's apartment was like a motel? That Leila gave out keys to all her friends in case they wanted to stay over?"

Cheryl got up from the couch, walked over to Syd, sat beside him and put her hands on his knees. " You had a key to the apartment, didn't you, Syd?"

"So did you."

"I know it. Leila got a kick out of patronizing me, knowing I couldn't afford one room in that building, never mind a duplex. But when she died, the bartender in the Jockey Club can testify I was lingering over a drink. My dinner date was late. You were my dinner date, Syd, dear. How much did you put up for that goddamn play?"

Syd felt his knuckles harden and hoped that Cheryl could not feel the instant rigidity of his body. "What are you driving at?"

"The afternoon before Leila died, you told me you were going to see Leila, to beg her to reconsider. You had at least a million tied up in that play. Your million or borrowed money, Syd? You shoved me into that disaster as a replacement, just the way you'd send a lamb to slaughter. Why? Because you were willing to risk my career on the faint chance that maybe the play could still work. And my memory has improved a lot. You're always on time. That night, you were fifteen minutes late. You came into the Jockey Club at nine forty-five. You were dead white. Your hands kept trembling. You spilled a drink on the table. Leila had died at nine thirty-one. Her apartment was less than a ten-minute walk from the Jockey Club."

Cheryl put her hands on the sides of his face. "Syd, I want that part. See that I get it. If I do, I promise you, drunk or sober, I'll never remember that you were late that night, that you looked terrible, that you had a key to Leila's apartment and that Leila had virtually driven you into bankruptcy. Now get the hell out of here. I need my beauty sleep."

Min and Helmut kept their smiles fixed and warm until they were safely in their own apartment. Then, wordlessly, they turned to each other. Helmut put his arms around Min. His lips brushed her cheeks. With practiced skill, his hands massaged her neck. " Liebchen ."

"Helmut, was it as bad as I think?"

His voice was soft. "Minna, I tried to warn you it would be a mistake to bring Elizabeth here, yes? You understand her. Now she's furious at you, but beyond that, something else has happened. Your back was to her at dinner, but I could see the way she was observing us from her table. It was as if she were seeing us for the first time."

"I thought if she just saw Ted… You know how much she cared about him… I've always suspected that she was in love with him herself."

"I know what you thought. But it hasn't worked. So, no more about it tonight, Minna. Get into bed. I'm going to make a cup of hot milk for you, and give you a sleeping pill. Tomorrow you'll be your usual overbearing self."

Min smiled wanly and allowed him to lead her toward the bedroom. His arm was still around her; she was half-leaning against him. Her head fitted into the crook of his shoulder. After ten years she still loved the scent of him, the hint of expensive cologne, the feel of his superbly tailored jacket. In his arms, she could forget about his predecessor, with his cold hands and his petulance.

When Helmut returned with the hot milk, she was propped up in bed, the silken pillows framing her loosened hair. She knew the rose-tinted shade on the night table threw a flattering glow on her high cheekbones and dark eyes. The appreciation she saw in her husband's eyes when he handed her the delicate Limoges cup was gratifying. " Liebchen ," he whispered, "I wish you knew how I feel about you. After all this time, you still don't trust that feeling, do you?"

Seize the moment. She had to do it. "Helmut, something is terribly wrong, something you haven't told me. What is it?"

He shrugged. "You know what's wrong. Spas are springing up all over the country. The rich are restless people, fickle… The cost of the Roman bath has exceeded my expectation-I admit it… Nevertheless, I am sure that when we finally open it-"

"Helmut, promise me one thing. No matter what, we won't touch the Swiss account. I'd rather let this place go. At my age, I can't be broke again." Min tried to keep her voice from rising.

"We won't touch it, Minna. I promise." He handed her the sleeping pill. "So. As your husband… as a doctor… I order you to swallow this, immediately."

"I'll take it, gladly."

He sat on the edge of the bed as she sipped the milk. "Aren't you coming to bed?" Her voice was drowsy.

"Not yet. I'll read for a bit. That's my sleeping pill."

After he turned out the light and left the room, Min felt herself drifting off to sleep. Her last conscious thought became an inaudible whisper. "Helmut," she pleaded, "what are you hiding from me?"

At quarter of ten Elizabeth saw the guests begin to stream from the main house. She knew that in a few minutes the whole place would be silent, curtains drawn, lights extinguished. The day began early at the Spa. After the strenuous exercise classes and the relaxing beauty treatments, most people were more than ready to retire by ten o'clock.

She sighed when she saw one figure leave the main path and turn in her direction. Instinctively she knew it was Mrs. Meehan.

"I thought you might be a little lonesome," Alvirah said as, uninvited, she settled herself on one of the deck chairs. "Wasn't dinner good? You'd never guess you were counting calories, would you? Buhlieve me, I wouldn't weigh one hundred and sixty-five pounds if I'd eaten like this all my life."

She rearranged the shawl on her shoulders. "This thing keeps slipping." She looked around. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it? All those stars. I guess they don't have as much pollution here as in Queens. And the ocean. I love that sound. What was I saying? Oh, yes-dinner. You could have knocked me over when the waiter-or was he a butler?-put that tray in front of me, with the spoon and fork. You know, at home we just kind of dig in . I mean who needs a spoon and fork to get at string beans, or an itsy-bitsy lamb chop? But then I remembered the way Greer Garson helped herself from the fancy silver platter in Valley of Decision , and I was okay. You can always count on the movies."

Unwillingly, Elizabeth smiled. There was something so genuinely honest about Alvirah Meehan. Honesty was a rare commodity at the Spa. "I'm sure you did fine."