Dear Deceiver(5)

Paul came in to be introduced to 'Scandinavian, meaning flame' and was  as impressed as Brand considered proper. The orange velvet crown  inclined itself for a pat.

Haidee's cat-minder was even more impressed-with Paul.

'Nice work, ladybird!' she approved. 'Alone she did it!'

'Heavens!' Haidee had seen the clock and it was already nearly one.  Again a taxi would be necessary if she were not to be late at the hotel  Paul had suggested for lunch. 'Oh, honestly, I wish he'd said tomorrow.'

For this she was severely reprimanded. 'There's some don't know their luck,' Brand's minder observed.

Not true. Haidee knew hers only too well. She just wished she'd had more  time to do Paul justice. A real scramble this-into tights and  block-heeled black shoes and a dark grey jersey dress with grey and  white striped sleeves. Not in the least exciting, she was sure it  wouldn't grab him, but the best she could do at short notice.

Astonishingly, Paul, waiting in the foyer of one of Dublin's premier  hotels, appeared most gratifyingly 'grabbed' and lunch was a happy  marriage of delightful food-cucumber soup, curried chicken and an  orange-flavoured icecream in butterscotch crust-and gay conversation.  The trouble was that the easier the company the faster went the clock.  In what seemed like no time Haidee saw Paul looking at his watch.

'Are you in a hurry?' she asked guiltily.

'I was just going to ask if you were,' he returned. 'If not, I have to  make a call at the-' He mentioned the name of a city hospital. 'Perhaps  you'd come with me. It won't take long and then we could have tea and go  on talking. That is, of course, if I'm not boring you stiff.' He gave  her again that neat quick smile.

'Oh no. Never. Boot on the other foot, actually,' she stammered.

'Boot on the other foot, my foot!' Paul returned decisively.

They laughed a little longer than, strictly speaking, the witticism  deserved. It was that kind of atmosphere, relaxed, lighthearted and  warm. In fact, just what the doctor ordered. Wasn't there something  about catching each day as it flies and so living-how did it go-in  Eternity's sunrise? Paul was not serious, Haidee knew that, but he was  sweet and kind and gorgeous-especially now in that blue gold-buttoned  blazer. Generous too.                       
       
           



       

'I want to get some flowers,' he said as they walked up the street. 'You  can choose them. I'm sure you're good at flowers.' But in the shop he  brushed aside her modest suggestions and plumped recklessly for two  dozen longstemmed roses. Two things could be deduced. The patient was  female and a close friend.

'Would you mind awfully carrying them?' Paul asked diffidently. 'I don't know why it is, but I always feel such a fool.'

Haidee did not mind in the least. Was his friend seriously ill? She hoped not.

'Oh yes,' Paul answered briefly. 'Yes, love, she's very ill. In fact she-won't recover.'

In any circumstances it would have been sad. The happy-go-lucky mood in  which they had lunched heightened the pathos. Here she was enjoying  herself, having that nice-things-round-the-corner feeling, and for that  other person it must be so different, so dreadfully different.

At the hospital she thought to wait in the hall, but Paul disposed of  this. 'Oh, won't you come up? There are waiting rooms. She's on the  private floor.' The lift was full. In it he stood drawn up to his full  height and gave her, across the heads of their fellow passengers, that  neat almost conspiratorial smile. Four floors up he ushered her out and  straight across the corridor to a closed door. A waiting room, she  supposed, and here she was still carrying the flowers.

'I'd better give you these,' she began, and stopped short. Paul had  stretched across her, the door had been opened and she felt herself  propelled into the room, a room clinically bright with white walls and a  high white bed on wheels. Oh no! Haidee had never meant to intrude at  such a time. She tried to step back, but there was something quite  steely about Paul's arm.

'It's all right,' he whispered. 'She's only semi-conscious.'

Haidee saw now the face on the pillow. It was a face of marble and with  childlike loveliness. The eyes were half closed and no hair showed under  the snowy coif-like bandage.

'What happened?' she asked softly.

'Car crash,' he answered.

She stood pitifully, resisting tears. Not only for the sake of Paul's  friend, whoever she might be, but because another room was now so  vividly before her, another bed, another pillow, another still peaceful  face. It was not, after all, so very long ago, and that face had been so  dear. The tears came nearer and she blinked. At the same moment a  sudden change came over the face on the pillow. The head moved, weakly  but restlessly. The eyes tried to open. There was a moaning sound, at  first almost inaudible and then clearer and more compelling: 'Suzanne  ... I-want-Suzanne...' A hand plucked feebly at the sheet.  'I-want-Suzanne.'

Haidee acted instinctively. She bent over the bed and took the hand in  hers. 'It's all right,' she soothed gently. 'It's all right. She'll  come.'

A footfall sounded and a young nurse hurried into the room. She halted  at sight of them. 'I'm sorry, she's not allowed visitors,' and then her  gaze travelled from Haidee's stooping form to the tears in her eyes and  the sheaf of roses one arm was still holding. 'Unless-you're not...'

Haidee wasn't. She was an interloper and a perfect stranger, and she was  just about to say so and apologize when Paul's mouthed opened.



'Yes, nurse,' he said positively. 'Suzanne at last.'





CHAPTER TWO



'Yes, all right, love. I know I sprang it on you, but what else could I  do? If I'd asked you, you'd have said no.' Paul had brought her to the  hospital's coffee bar. 'Drink up,' he encouraged, tapping her cup.  'Drink up and I'll get you another.'



It spoke for Haidee's state of mind that she obeyed him mechanically.  The coffee scalded her mouth-and shocked her out of her daze. 'Who is  she?' she demanded. 'And who's Suzanne? You said the name to me last  night on the train.'

'Keep your voice down, love,' Paul cautioned. 'One never knows. How long  have you been away? A fortnight?' She nodded. 'Then you won't have seen  the papers. The accident happened about ten days ago just before I went  to Sweden.'                       
       
           



       

'Who is she, though, Paul?' Haidee interrupted. 'Who is she?'

'Sorry, lily maid. You're so like Suzanne I keep expecting you to know. She's Antonia Whittaker.'

'Antonia Whittaker!' That too was a familiar name. And emotive. The  owner of Glenglass, the woman who like Casabianca had stood to her post  and watched her surroundings being ravaged. 'I had no idea.'

Paul filled in-and tragically. Jack Whittaker who had been driving had  died instantly. Clinically Antonia should have died too, but one thing  had kept her clinging to life-her daughter Suzanne and the will to see  her again.

'I still don't understand. Where is Suzanne?'

'Nobody knows,' he said simply. 'She left home fifteen years ago when  she was seventeen. Quarrelled with her stepfather and walked out.  They've advertised, of course, even before the accident, but it's turned  up nothing. I tried a few leads myself in London yesterday, people I  thought might know, but they didn't. And then by the purest chance I met  you.'

'And I'm like her?'

'Very.' The brown eyes, rather close set, seemed to be boring into her  face. 'I don't say I couldn't tell you apart, but it's good enough to  satisfy after fifteen years-and there's pressure or something-Antonia  doesn't see very well.'

'Oh, Paul, I know you meant well, but...' Silly to argue, she supposed.  The damage had been done. She'd spoken, she'd touched and she thought  she'd managed to soothe the sufferer. If she had registered at all in  that poor fuddled brain she could not cold-bloodedly turn her back on  it. And besides, the little nurse had been there as witness. 'What about  relatives?' she asked, collecting herself.

'None. Well, none in this country. There is one, but she's away.' He let  it sink in for a second. 'Antonia's deteriorating fast. They told me  that on the phone. That's what decided me. All right, I pushed you into  it. I'm sorry. But don't make mountains out of molehills. I'm not asking  you to be Suzanne to the world in general. All you need do is repeat  today's performance a few more times.'

'Supposing she asks me questions?'

'She won't. Good heavens, you've seen her. She's only semi-conscious. I  think the most she can say is Suzanne.' Suddenly his face acquired a  black look that turned him alarmingly into a stranger. 'Do you realize  what a mess we'll be in if you don't?'

Oh dear, what a caper! And all because he couldn't resist a lost cause.

'I realize what a crazy soft heart you have, Paul Freeman. Someone must have dropped you on it when you were a baby!'