“Then where were you tonight until six o'clock?” That again. Alexandra only shook her head, and stared out the window, and then looked back at him again.

“I told you. I was at my mother's.”

“Was anyone else there?” He had never been suspicious of her before, and it hurt her deeply.

“Of course not. My God, what do you suspect me of?” She wanted to tell him that she didn't engage in the same sports as he, but she didn't want to open a Pandora's box that would cause even greater problems. She reached out and touched his hand then, but he showed no inclination to soften. “Henri, please …”

“You disgraced me tonight.”

“I'm sorry. I had a terrible headache.”

He never said another word to her, but when they reached the house on the Avenue Foch, he courteously opened the door to her, and then went to his own rooms, and firmly closed the door behind him.





Chapter 22




As soon as Henri had left for the office the next morning, Alexandra looked up the number of the Hotel Bristol, and dialed the number. She asked for John Chapman, feeling her hand tremble on the phone, and her voice cracked as she identified herself to him. It was like high espionage, and she was extremely nervous. If Henri had any idea what she was doing, or what she had learned, he would very probably divorce her.

“You've spoken to your mother?” Chapman had a calm, smooth voice, and she found him easy to talk to.

“Yesterday … I … I had forgotten everything.” Even that she was adopted. She had allowed herself to deny it to herself for all these years … not to mention the fact that she'd been adopted once before … and Hillie … and the woman with red hair … But Chapman didn't seem to condemn her.

“Maybe it was easier for you not to remember. There was no reason to.” He paused for a moment, and then spoke to her gently. “Could we meet sometime today? … er … uh … I'm terribly sorry, I don't know your married name. All I know is your mother's name now.” He sounded very polite and well-bred and well educated. She had been nervous that he might be one of those seedy investigators one saw in B movies.

“De Morigny. Alexandra de Morigny.” She didn't bother with the title. It seemed very unimportant.

“Thank you. I was hoping we could meet. Perhaps later this morning. I'd like to show you the files I have. Perhaps you have something to add to them … or in any case, you have a right to know as much as we do.”

“Thank you very much. I could meet you at your hotel …” She glanced at the clock on her desk, and made a rapid calculation. She had to bathe and dress, and leave instructions for the help. Henri was having guests for dinner. “At eleven. Would that be all right?”

“Perfect.” And with luck, he could catch a flight to New York that night. He had a lot of work to do, and he didn't want to cool his heels in Paris forever. “I'll meet you in the lobby. I'm six feet two, I have blond hair parted on the side, and I'll be wearing a tweed jacket, a blue shirt, and gray trousers.” He sounded more like a college student than a private eye, and she smiled as she imagined the outfit. He sounded like one of her American cousins. And then she realized that he didn't know what she looked like.

“I have blond hair too. I'm one meter sixty …” And then she laughed. “I'm sorry. I always forget what that is in English. Five feet five, I think. And I'll be wearing a gray suit.” She had a gray silk suit in mind, one that Henri liked, not that it mattered. And when she dressed, she wore it with a pink silk blouse, and a pink Hermès scarf and the Bulgari coins on her ears that she wore when she didn't want to wear anything flashy. She looked respectable and chic, as she walked slowly into the Bristol, feeling her heart pound as her heels clicked on the marble floor and she glanced around the lobby. She was about to go to the desk and have him paged, but she saw him instantly, sitting quietly in a chair, holding a copy of the Paris Herald Tribune, and he stood up and smiled at her, walking toward her on long legs, and with a smile that left her a little breathless. He had perfect teeth, and gentle eyes, and she liked him instantly. He looked as though he would have made a good friend, and she shook hands with him solemnly, trying not to look at the briefcase he carried in his other hand. She knew that within it lay the secrets of her past, and that of her sisters.

“I'm sorry I'm late.” She spoke barely above a whisper, and he sensed easily that she was frightened. “I drove myself, and I had a terrible time finding a parking place. I finally just gave the car to the doorman.” He nodded, and they sat down in a corner, in two large red velvet chairs that seemed perfectly suited to the occasion.

“Would you like a drink? Or a cup of tea?” But she was too nervous to eat or drink, and she shook her head as he pulled the file out of his briefcase. It was much thicker than it had been when Arthur Patterson first gave it to John. There was what he knew of Hilary's life in it now. And soon there would be Alexandra's.

“Thank you, I'm fine.” Her eyes looked deep into his. “Are you close to finding the others?”

“We hope so.”

“The last trace we have of Hilary was when she went to see Arthur Patterson about twenty years ago, to find you and your younger sister, and she was furious to discover that he hadn't kept track of any of you. I suppose she tried to find you herself, and obviously couldn't. In any case, she held him responsible for the breakup of your family, and I imagine she hates him. And that is not difficult to understand, from what we know of her early life.

“I don't know what's happened to Megan yet, but certainly compared to you, Hilary got the worst deal possible.” He told her what he knew and Alexandra's eyes filled with tears as she listened, thinking of what a terrible fate a life like that would be for anyone. She tried to imagine it happening to her own two little girls, and the very thought made her ill. No wonder Hilary was bitter. She had every right to be. Abandoned, beaten, forgotten. “I gather that when she went to New York, she went to see Patterson, and after that we've lost her. But I have a very intense investigation going on this week, and I imagine there will be more recent information on Hilary when I get back. We already thought we'd found her once, but it was a mistake.” He was referring to the woman at CBA. But wherever she was, he would find her. “But next time it won't be.”

“My God, what an awful life.” Alexandra discreetly wiped the tears away and he offered her the file for her own inspection. She could hardly bear what she read, and looked up at him finally with anguish on her face. “How could she survive it?” Alexandra felt a wave of guilt wash over her as she thought of her own life in comparison to her sister's. “Why did this happen?”

“I don't know that. The turns of fate are not always kind, Mrs. de Morigny.”

“I know.” She spoke softly, but she had never seen it quite so clearly. It was like one of the kaleidoscopes she gave to her children, you turned it just a fraction, and all of the same pieces fell into a totally different pattern. One moment they were flowers, and the next moment they were demons breathing fire. It seemed so wrong to her that Hilary would have been left to the demons. With effort, she turned her thoughts back to John Chapman. “What can I do to help you find them?”

“Nothing at the moment, unless you remember anything specific that might help us. But your knowledge would have ended a long time ago, I don't think it's of much use now. I'll call you as soon as I've found the others, and Mr. Patterson would like you to come to his home in Connecticut to meet them. It's the one thing he wants to do before he dies.” It seemed a noble wish, but less so if you thought of the pain he had caused them.

“What's he like? It's odd, but I don't remember him at all.” Nor did she remember her father. She had glanced at the clippings of Sam in John Chapman's file, and had been struck by how handsome he was, and how successful. There were only two photographs of her mother, one of a smiling young woman with cascading shafts of bright red hair, and in a funny way, she looked a little bit like Alexandra's youngest daughter. And the other photograph showed the three little girls, Alexandra and Hilary in matching white dresses and shiny black shoes, and the baby in a long ruffled gown in her mother's arms, taken just after Megan was born, on the last Easter their mother was alive. It was taken outside their house on Sutton Place, but it didn't look familiar to Alexandra.

Chapman tried to answer her question. “Mr. Patterson is very old, and very sick. I don't think he'll live much longer. He's very anxious to get the three of you together before he dies. It means a great deal to him.”

“And if he dies before you find them?” Alexandra asked bluntly.

“He's made provisions to continue the investigation and bring you together. But he would like to be around to see it.” She nodded. He had thought of everything. It was only a shame he hadn't thought of it thirty years sooner. It would have made a big difference to Hilary. And she said as much to John Chapman. “If he was so close to my parents, why didn't he take us, and keep us together?”

John Chapman shook his head. “I don't know. He said something about his wife not feeling able to cope with it. I think he regrets it now. Sometimes we make terrible mistakes, but we only see it in hindsight.” He dared to ask her then what Arthur wanted to know. “Are you happy, Alexandra? Forgive me for asking …” But it meant a great deal to Arthur. And she smiled at John.

“I have always been very happy. I have been blessed with wonderful parents whom I have loved deeply. Pierre de Borne was a remarkable man, and I'm only grateful he lived as long as he did. He was the joy of my life,” she blushed, “and I of his.” And then she smiled more broadly. “And you met my mother yesterday. She's wonderful, isn't she? She's my closest friend and greatest ally. This has been very hard for her.” Alexandra's face sobered as she thought of her mother's tears the day before. “It was terribly hard for her to remind me of the past. I don't suppose it will be easy for anyone to dredge all this up, particularly given the way it all happened.” She sighed and looked hard at him. “Does anyone really know why he killed her?”