John Saul - Faces of Fear

And after that, nothing had been the same again, and now, tonight, she could no longer pretend that it was.

She just couldn’t do it.

Feeling Conrad’s warm hands on her shoulders, she opened her eyes and saw his reflection in the mirror, concern in his eyes. “We have to go,” he said softly, as if feeling every agony she was going through.

“I can’t.”

His grip tightened, as though merely by touching her he could transfer his own strength and character into her. “Of course you can,” he urged, his voice gentle. “You must. I need you with me. You look wonderful, you know — that dress is perfect.” His lips curled up into a playful smile and he lifted a single brow in a comical leer. “Shows just the right amount of your exquisite cleavage.”

Margot turned from the mirror to look up into his soft eyes. “Conrad, stop lying. You can’t be seen with me looking like this. Not tonight. Your father would turn over in his grave.”

“My father loved you, Margot, and he would want you to be there, adding at least a little class to what has always been nothing more than our family begging for money with the unspoken threat of not keeping the women looking as young and beautiful as they like if they don’t cough up enough money so our real work can go on. My father would have wanted you there, and I do want you there. You belong with me.”

“But—”

“But nothing. I’m going to fix your face. You know that. I made you perfect once, and I can do it again. You know I can, and you know I will.”

Margot turned back to the mirror and dabbed at the moisture that continually leaked out of the sagging lid of her ruined right eye. “I am the worst possible advertisement for a plastic surgeon,” she said.

“Think of yourself as the ‘before’ model,” Conrad said, keeping his voice as light as he could. “Next year, you’ll be the ‘after’ model, and knock them all dead. Think what they’ll cough up when they see what I can do! Now just put on your other earring, my darling, and let’s go.” He gave her shoulders another reassuring squeeze, and Margot, knowing that his will that she accompany him was stronger than her will to stay at home and hide, found the strength to add the other diamond to her right ear.

Conrad took her hand and drew her lightly from the vanity stool. He turned her to face him, and she flinched as he touched the terrible scars that had destroyed her once flawless face.

“You will always be beautiful to me,” he said, and kissed her gently on the forehead. “Now come on, let’s head for the banquet and make the grandest entrance anyone’s ever seen.”

Margot closed her eyes and nodded. She had a job to do tonight. She was Conrad Dunn’s wife, and she would not fail him. She took a deep, determined breath, and let her husband lead her from her room.

Somehow, she would get through the evening.

AS FAR AS RISA SHAW — AND PRACTICALLY EVERYONE ELSE IN LOS Angeles — was concerned, any excuse to go to the Hotel Bel-Air was a good one, and as she gave her Lexus to the valet and she and Alexis Montrose crossed the small stone bridge onto the perfectly groomed hotel grounds, she decided that the air in Stone Canyon smelled sweeter than it did anywhere else.

Discreet signs bearing the Dunn Foundation logo directed them past the gracefully floating swans and through a courtyard with a bubbling fountain to the Garden Room, where members of the Dunn Foundation staff waited, offering each guest a small card bearing their table number, and directing them toward the bar if they wanted more than the champagne the waitstaff was deftly carrying through the throng that had already gathered. For half an hour Risa followed Lexie though the crowd, then found her seat at a table only three away from the one at which Conrad Dunn and his wife were sitting.

An hour later, as the staff cleared the empty plates with quiet efficiency, Corinne Dunn introduced the mother of the last recipient of her brother’s expertise and her family’s generosity. As Rosa Alvarez spoke, so softly that everyone in the room had to strain to catch her words, images flashed on the huge screen behind her.

First came photographs of the tiny baby that had been born to her only ten years ago. José was born with a cleft palate so severe that he couldn’t nurse from his mother’s breast; he was fed through a tube until he was two years old. For years after his birth, his life had been lived in the shelter of his home and his mother’s love, the rest of the children in his village unwilling even to look at him, let alone play with him. But then, by the grace of the Dunn Foundation and “St. Conrad,” as Rosa called Conrad Dunn, her son’s defect had been repaired, until all that remained was a tiny scar from his nose to his lip.

Now, even that small mark was quickly fading away.

As the photos on the screen dissolved from the baby’s twisted face to that of a beautiful, smiling, brown-eyed ten-year-old, Risa saw that she wasn’t the only one who took out her checkbook to divert or mask the tears glistening in eyes at every table. Then José Alvarez himself appeared, his face illuminated by both a spotlight and an enormous smile. Running to his mother, he threw his arms around her.

“It is a miracle,” Rosa said, gathering her son to her. “Thank you. Thank you all for making this possible.”

As Corinne Dunn rose to lead the applause for her and then led Rosa toward the garden where the party would continue, Conrad Dunn and his wife rose to follow his sister and their guest of honor. Responding to that cue, the crowd quickly began drifting from the Garden Room into the garden itself, and Risa quickly wrote out her check, adding an extra thousand dollars to the sum she’d initially decided to contribute.

Lexie Montrose, leaning over her shoulder to peer at the check, whistled softly. “Wow! Really? That much?”

“If ever there was a good cause,” Risa said, “this is it. Let’s go find the Dunns — I want to give this to Conrad personally.”

The two women followed the flow of people until they spotted Conrad, standing next to an extravagant dessert buffet. Rosa Alvarez was at his side, and they were surrounded by his guests. Risa and Lexie joined what had become a simple reception line, as tuxedoed waiters circulated with trays filled with yet more champagne glasses. The garden glowed with subtle lighting that made it seem as if the huge old oak trees were illuminating the evening.

Conrad Dunn managed to greet each guest by name, find a few words for every one of them, accept their checks with an appreciation that was heartfelt but not cloying, and keep the line moving as if by some kind of social magic. He also managed to keep shaking hands while simultaneously passing the checks to Margot, who seemed intent on staying in the deep shadows behind her husband as she discreetly slipped each check into a silk wallet. Even in the soft and flattering light, Risa could see not only how unhappy Margot Dunn was about being on display, but also the scars that no doubt were the cause of her unhappiness.

“Risa?”

The soft voice came from behind her, and Risa turned to see Danielle DeLorian. “Danielle! How nice to see you!” Risa kissed the air just far enough from Danielle’s cheek so the gesture wouldn’t disturb the perfect makeup that was not only Danielle’s hallmark, but her trademark as well.

A year ago, even Risa had begun using DeLorian cosmetics, despite their outrageous price. “What the hell?” Lexie had told her. “So it costs a million to look like a million — the way you’re selling these days, you can afford it.”

Drawing back from Danielle’s cheek, Risa introduced her former client to her best friend.