Stuart Woods: Imperfect Strangers

"Which now, he may not be able to keep." Sandy started on the new drink. "Right. I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

"Can I make a guess about something? The marriage to Joan isn't what it once was."

"Hasn't been for, I don't know, twelve, fifteen years."

"And Jock has a grandson?"

"Our boy, Angus."

"Is he in the business?"

"No, he opted for medicine; he's a resident in cardiology at Lenox Hill Hospital."

"Is Joan in the business?"

"Not up to now," Sandy replied.

"Suppose Jock dies tomorrow? What will Joan do?"

"She and her brother, Laddie, will inherit Bailley and Son. Except for my three percent, of course," he said ruefully. "And then I think it's likely that Joan will divorce me."

"Ahhhhh," Peter moaned softly. "She's got you between a stone and a very firm surface, hasn't she?"

"She has."

"Well, you're not alone, Sandy. I've been building my gallery for eighteen years, and it's become a regular cash cow. However, my wife of three years has just announced her intention to divorce me and marry a painter who I made into a giant of the art world."

"I'm sorry, Peter, that's a tough break."

"Tougher than you know. California is a community-property state."

Sandy let out a short, ironic laugh. "Believe me, if New York were a community-property state, I'd divorce Joan ."

"It gets worse," Peter said. "Her new husband, the painter, will take most of my good artists with him, once the divorce and settlement are final. She'll take half the business, and then, together, they'll gut my half."

The captain came onto the loudspeaker system and announced their approach into Kennedy Airport.

"Sandy," Peter said, "did you enjoy the movie?"

"Strangers on a Train? Loved it. I must have seen it half a dozen times."

"Tell me, what went wrong with Bruno's plan for him to murder Guy's wife and for Guy to murder Bruno's father?"

Sandy thought for a moment. "Two things, I think; first of all, Guy didn't take Bruno's proposal seriously until it was too late, and second, and most important, Bruno was crazy."

"What do you think would have happened if Guy had taken Bruno's proposal seriously, and if Bruno hadn't been crazy?"

"Well, I think they would have pulled off two perfect murders." Sandy stopped talking and looked at Peter with new, if somewhat drunken awareness.

"Sandy, do you think I'm crazy?" Peter asked.

"I don't believe you are," Sandy replied.

"Do you think I'm a serious person?"

Sandy looked at Peter for a long time. "I believe you are," he said, finally.

The airplane touched down and taxied to the gate before anyone spoke again.

Peter stood up and stretched. "Perhaps we should talk again," he said.

"Perhaps we should," said Sandy.

Sandy sat next to the hospital bed and looked into Jock Bailley's clear blue eyes. The two of them were alone.

"Jock, can you understand me?" Sandy asked.

The eyes gazed into his, innocent, childlike, expressionless. Jock's face had relaxed from its usual hauteur into the soft, unwor-ried face of an infant.

"Jock, I just wanted you to know that I'm here, and that we all want you to get well," Sandy said.

A doctor entered the room and walked to the bedside. "I'm Stan Warner," he said, offering Sandy his hand. "You're Mr. Bailley's son-in-law, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm Sandy Kinsolving. Doctor, is he conscious?"

"He is, but he's aphasic."

"What does that mean?"

"He's unable to move very much or communicate in any way."

"Does he understand what I say to him?"

"I'm afraid I can't give you a definitive answer on that. He may very well understand everything, or he may understand nothing; he may not even know who you are."

"Is he likely to recover to any extent?"

"Again, there's no definitive answer. He could improve dramatically over the next few weeks, or he could remain as he is until death."

"Is he out of danger?"

"He's stable for the moment, but at his age anything could happen."

"What is your experience of people his age recovering from something like this?"

"Let's step out into the hall, shall we?"

Sandy followed the doctor from the room.

Warner motioned Sandy to a bench and sat down beside him. "I'm told that Mr. Bailley was an extraordinarily vigorous man before his stroke."

"That's perfectly true," Sandy said. "I know sixty-year-olds who aren't as acute."

"That stands in his favor, of course, but you asked what my experience of this condition was in people of his age."

"That's what I want to know."

"Not good. Of course, few people his age are in as good a condition, so it's hard to apply my experience. I just haven't had a patient like Mr. Bailley before."

"I see."

"I wish I could give you more solid information, but the statistical likelihood is that he will decline over a period of weeks or months, then die peacefully. Of course, he could have another stroke at any moment, and another one would likely kill him immediately However, there's no accounting for the human will. From what I've heard of Mr. Bailley, he could still have the resources to make a significant recovery and live for years more. There's no way to tell how much brain damage he's suffered, so he might need considerable rehabilitative therapy in the event of a partial recovery"

Sandy looked up and saw his wife and son coming down the hallway. He stood up, kissed Joan on the cheek and hugged Angus. "You've both met Doctor Warner?"

"Yes," Joan said. "I came straight here from the airport," Sandy said. "I was I afraid-"

"Have you seen him?" Joan asked.

"Just for a moment. He's awake, but-"

"Aphasic," Angus said.

"Yes, Doctor Warner has been explaining his condition, It seems that it's difficult to predict what will happen."

"His heart's still strong," Angus said. "I'm betting on some kind of recovery."

"I hope that happens," Dr. Warner said. "Well, if you'll all excuse me, I have some patients to see. Page me if you need anything at all." He walked away down the hall.

"He seems like a good man," Sandy said.

"The best," Angus agreed. "Grandad's lucky to have him."

"There doesn't seem to be anything I can do here," Sandy said. "I think I'll go home. Joan, will you come with me? Albert's still downstairs."

"Yes, I think so," his wife replied. "Angus, you'll call us the moment there's any change?"

"Of course, Mother."

Sandy took his wife's arm and walked her to the elevators.

Albert, Jock Barney's longtime servant, stopped the car in front of the Fifth Avenue apartment and opened the trunk for the doorman to collect the bags.

Sandy greeted the doorman and the lobby man, then got into the lift. Joan was silent all the way to their floor. The elevator opened directly into their foyer, and Sandy used his key to let them into the large apartment. It had been bought with money from a trust that Jock had established for Joan when she was born. Although Sandy was well paid at Bailley amp; Son, he never would have managed anything on the scale at which they were now living. There were fourteen rooms in the apartment, and three maid's rooms. Today, the servants were nowhere to be seen.

Sandy followed Joan into the bedroom, undoing his tie and getting out of his jacket.

"You must be tired," she said solicitously.

"Yes, I think I'll sleep for a while."

"You should have taken the Concorde," she said. "You'd have been here earlier and you'd have been a lot fresher, too."

"Tell you the truth, it never crossed my mind. Anyway, Jock would have had another stroke if he'd thought I'd spent that much money on a flight to see him."

She smiled. "You're right about that, I guess."