Weep No More, My Lady

QUOTE FOR THE DAY:

To the best, to the most beautiful who is my joy and well-being.

– Charles Baudelaire

Good morning. Bonjour, to our dear guests.

It is to be a bit brisker this morning, so brace yourselves for the exciting tingle of the fresh sunlit air.

For the nature lovers, we offer a 30-minute after-luncheon walk along our beautiful Pacific coast, to explore the native flowers of our beloved Monterey Peninsula. So if you are of a mind, do join our expert guide at the main gate at 12:30.

A fleeting thought. Our menu tonight is especially exquisite. Wear your prettiest or handsomest outfit, and feast on our gourmet offerings knowing that the delicate taste treats are balanced by the delicate amount of calories you are consuming.

A fascinating thought: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but when you look in the mirror, you are the beholder.

– Baron and Baroness Helmut von Schreiber

One

The first hint of dawn found Min lying wide awake in the canopied king-size bed she shared with Helmut. Moving carefully to keep from disturbing him, she turned her head and pulled herself up on one elbow. Even in sleep he was a handsome man. He was lying on his side, facing her, his one hand outstretched as though reaching for her, his breath now quiet and soft.

He had not slept like that all night. She didn't know what time he'd come to bed, but at two she'd awakened to the awareness of agitated movement, his head shaking, his voice angry and muffled. There had been no more sleep for her when she heard what he was saying: 'Damn you, Leila, damn you.'

Instinctively, she had laid her hand on his shoulder, murmured a soft shushing sound, and he had settled back. Would he remember the dream, remember that he had cried out? She had given no indication of having heard him. It would be useless to expect him to tell her the truth. Incredible as it seemed, had something been going on between him and Leila after all? Or had it been a one-sided attraction on Helmut's part toward Leila?

That didn't make it any easier.

The light, more golden than rosy now, began to brighten the room. Carefully Min eased out of bed. Even in her heartsick distress, she felt a moment of appreciation for the beauty of this room. Helmut had chosen the furnishings and color scheme. Who else would have visualized the exquisite balance of the peach satin draperies and bedding against the deep blue-violet tone of the carpet?

How much longer would she be living here? This could be their last season. The million dollars in the Swiss account, she reminded herself. Just the interest on that will be enough…

Enough for whom? Herself? Maybe. Helmut? Never! She'd always known that a large part of her attraction for him was this place, the ability to strut around with this background, to mingle with celebrities. Did she really think he'd be content to follow a relatively simple lifestyle with an aging wife?

Noiselessly, Min glided across the room, slipped on a robe and went down the stairs. Helmut would sleep for another half-hour. She always had to awaken him at six thirty. In this half-hour it would be safe to go through some of the records, particularly the American Express bills. In those weeks before Leila died, Helmut had been away from the Spa frequently. He'd been asked to speak at several medical seminars and conventions; he'd lent his name to some charity balls and flown in to attend them. That was good for business. But what else had he been doing when he was on the East Coast? That was the time Ted had been traveling a great deal. She understood Helmut. Leila's obvious scorn for him would be a challenge. Had he been seeing her?

The night before Leila died, they'd attended the last preview of her show; they'd been at Elaine's. They'd stayed at the Plaza and in the morning flown to Boston to attend a charity luncheon. He'd put her on a plane to San Francisco at six thirty in the evening. Had he gone to the dinner he was supposed to attend in Boston, or had he taken the seven-o'clock shuttle to New York?

The possibility haunted her.

At midnight California time, three A.M. Eastern time, Helmut had phoned to make sure she was home safely. She had assumed he was calling from the hotel in Boston.

That was something she could check.

At the bottom of the staircase, Min turned left and, key in hand, went to the office. The door was unlocked. Her senses were assaulted by the condition of the room. The lights were still on; a dinner tray was on a table at one side of Dora's desk; the desk itself was piled with letters. Plastic bags, their contents spilling on the floor, bordered the desk. The window was partly open, and a cold breeze was rustling the letters. Even the copy machine was on.

Min stalked over to the desk and flipped through the mail. Angrily she realized that everything was fan mail to Leila. Her lips tightened ominously. She was sick to death of that mournful look Dora got whenever she answered those letters. At least till now she'd had the brains not to mess up the office with that silly drivel. From now on, if she wants to do that mail, she'll do it in her apartment. Period. Or maybe it was time to get rid of anyone who insisted on canonizing Leila. What a field day Cheryl would have had if she'd come in here and started going through the personal files. Dora had probably gotten tired and decided to wait to clear up the office this morning. But to leave the copy machine and the lights on was unforgivable. In the morning she'd tell Dora to start making plans for her retirement.

But now she had to get about the reason she had come here. In the storage room, Min went to the file marked 'Travel Expenses, Baron von Schreiber.'

It took less than two minutes to find what she wanted. The phone call from the East Coast to the Spa the night Leila died was listed on his telephone credit-card bill.

It had been made from New York.

Two

Sheer fatigue made Elizabeth fall into sleep; but it was a restless sleep, filled with dreams. Leila was standing in front of stacks of fan mail; Leila was reading the letters to her; Leila was crying. 'I can't trust anyone… I can't trust anyone.'

In the morning, there was no question in her mind of going on the walk. She showered, pulled her hair into a topknot, slipped on her jogging suit and after waiting just long enough for the hikers to be on their way, headed for the main house. She knew Sammy was always at her desk by a few minutes after seven.

It was a shock to find the usually impeccable receptionist's office cluttered with stacks of mail on and around Dora's desk. A large sheet of paper with the ominous words See me and signed by Min clearly revealed that Min had seen the mess.

How unlike Sammy! Never once in all the years she'd known her had Sammy left her desk cluttered. It was unthinkable she'd have chanced leaving it this way in the reception area. It was a surefire way of bringing on one of Min's famous rages.

But suppose she was ill? Quickly Elizabeth hurried down the stairs to the foyer of the main house and rushed