Tom Savage - Mrs. John Doe

Nora was surprised to see the tears in her friend’s eyes. She’d never seen Vivian unhappy, not once in all the years she’d known her. She was suddenly uncomfortable. She glanced around the room, grateful that it wasn’t very busy at the moment. The tourist couple was at the next table, still bickering over the map they’d had in the lobby, something about an excursion to Hadrian’s Wall. The blond girl with the great legs was at another table across the room, reading a book as she ate. Two men and a woman in one corner were laughing loudly and toasting with red wine. Otherwise, the place was empty, rows of unused plates and gleaming cutlery waiting for the late crowd to return from the tennis courts. And here was Vivian Howard, of all people, weeping on the tablecloth. Nora grasped her hand again.

“I’m so sorry, Viv. If I’d known, I would have slapped his face at the airport today!”

This made Vivian smile, and she dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “Don’t bother, dear. It’ll take more than a slap to knock some sense into that man. And my solicitors have big plans for all our joint property. He may be Her Majesty’s faithful watchdog, but this time he won’t know what hit him! Oh well, you’re the one we should be concentrating on. I was so fond of Jeff; he was such a wonderful man. Shall I meet you here tomorrow afternoon? I can go to the hospital with you and take you to the airport-or is my soon-to-be ex doing the honors?”

“Actually, we didn’t make any plans about-”

“Well, think about it for a few minutes, dear, while I go do something about this face. Be right back.”

Vivian rose and swept out of the dining room. Nora sipped her tea, trying to arrange tomorrow’s itinerary in her mind. Did she want either Bill or Vivian with her when she went to collect the ashes at the hospital? Not really. Better to sleep late, book an evening flight, and stop at the hospital on the way to the airport. She’d rather do it alone…

“Mrs. Baron?”

Nora looked up, startled. The young blond woman was standing beside her chair, smiling politely down at her.

“Yes?” Nora said. She was aware of bright blue eyes, glossy pink lips, and Shalimar. The girl leaned down, placing her hand lightly on the table beside Nora’s saucer.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she whispered.

Then she was moving away, through the door to the lobby. Nora watched her go, and the door swung shut. She scanned the dining room again; apparently, no one else had noticed the incident. The tourists argued; the trio in the corner laughed. She looked down at the table where the girl had briefly rested her hand. A slip of white paper lay there, folded in half. Nora stared at it a moment and then slowly picked it up and opened it. Five words were scrawled across it in black ink. She recognized the handwriting immediately.

Pal-He’s thinking-“Coop” demain

A cold stab of fear nearly paralyzed her as she stared down at the words. The quiet dining room seemed to tilt around her, shifting vertiginously to an impossible angle, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. The panic she’d experienced in the park returned full force. What on earth? she thought. This isn’t part of the plan. Nobody told me about this-

The door swung open again, and Vivian Howard came back into the room. Nora collected herself and stood up from the table. She picked up her shoulder bag, dropping the slip of paper into it, and took Vivian by the arm to lead her back out into the lobby. A swift glance around the place let her know that the mysterious blond girl was no longer there.

“I’m really very tired,” she said now. “Thank you for keeping me company, but I just want to sleep. Tomorrow I’ll stop at the hospital on my way to Heathrow. There’s no need for you or Bill to interrupt any more plans for my sake.”

“Oh, darling, it’s no bother at all-”

“I know, Viv, and you’re wonderful, but I need to get this done and get home to Dana, and I can do it best alone. Please thank Bill for me-if you’re still speaking to him, that is.”

Vivian laughed. “Of course I am, but that’s subject to change.” Now her humor faded. “The last time I saw Dana was five or six years ago. She’s all grown up now. How is she taking it?”

“She’ll be fine,” Nora said, uneasy at the thought of her daughter. She hadn’t told Dana the truth, not yet. That would have to be faced soon enough, she supposed. But first, she had to get rid of her well-meaning friend. “If you let me sneak away this time, I’ll come back as soon as I can for a nice long stay. We’ll see all the shows and hit the sales at Harrod’s. How does that sound?”

“Terrific-as long as it’s a promise. I’m here if you need me, and so is Bill. He’s an absolute bastard, but he loves you as much as I do. You know that.”

“Yes, I do,” Nora said, taking her friend in her arms. “I’ll call you as soon as I’m home.”

“Goodbye, darling,” Vivian whispered. With a final wave, she made a dramatic exit.

As soon as she was gone, Nora went directly over to the front desk. Mr. Tindall’s youngest grandson was doing the honors this evening. He was about Dana’s age, the age of her students at Stony Brook, and she liked him. He was rail thin and freckled, and when she’d last encountered him three years ago his great passion was computers. She hoped that hadn’t changed.

“Lonny, I need an accomplice.”

A sly grin appeared among the freckles. “I’m your man, Mrs. B.”

“Thank you,” she said, “but it’s a secret.”

“Cool. ’Sup?”

“I’ll let you know. Are you here for a while?”

“Yeah, till midnight.”

“Okay. Back in a few.”

In her room upstairs, Nora sat on the edge of the bed and took out the slip of paper. Pal-He’s thinking-“Coop” demain . She studied the cryptic message, translating it again, just to be sure.

Pal: her. Her married name, Nora Baron, was a palindrome, to Jeff’s great delight. She’d been Pal ever since.

He’s thinking: an old private joke. She and Jeff had taken a grand tour of Europe for their honeymoon, a three-month, circular sweep ending with two weeks in Paris and two in London. The private joke was from Paris. They’d spent a wonderful afternoon at the Rodin museum, and they’d gone out into the garden to see The Thinker . They stood before the big bronze sculpture, staring up at the face resting on the fist of the seated figure. Several minutes of worshipful silence went by before Nora could bring herself to speak.

“I wonder what he’s doing,” she whispered, gazing at the features frozen in deep concentration.

Her brand-new husband slowly turned to look at her in amused disbelief. He waited the perfect amount of time to deliver the punch line.

“He’s thinking, ” he said.

When they finally stopped laughing, they went back inside and bought a small reproduction of the statue. They placed it on his desk in the den at home, and they laughed every time they looked at it. From that day on, the punch line was part of their private language, a substitute for Duh!

“Coop”: High Noon . It was Jeff’s all-time favorite film, and he often lapsed into a drawl and pulled an imaginary six-shooter from his belt when something annoyed him. She called him Coop on those occasions. He’d never had any particular use for Gary Cooper aside from that movie, so the nickname in quotation marks clearly referred to that movie’s title.

Demain was obvious-he’d used the French word as a way of deliberately underlining the message in case she thought she’d misunderstood the instructions. But she hadn’t misunderstood; the message was perfectly clear, in a code that only she could decipher.