Weep No More, My Lady

'What do you mean?'

'I mean that just before Leila died, Ted was considering putting a Cypress Point Spa in all his new hotels. What happened to that plan?'

'Ted has not gone ahead with plans for new hotels since his indictment.'

'Exactly. So there are a couple of reasons why you want Ted acquitted. Min, who is Clayton Anderson?'

'I have no idea. Elizabeth, I am very tired. Perhaps we can talk later.'

'Min, come on. You're not that tired.' The sharper tone in her voice made Min open her eyes and pull herself up on the pillows. I was right, Elizabeth thought. She's not so much sick as afraid. 'Min, I just read and re-read that play Leila was in. I saw it with all of you that last preview, but I didn't pay attention to it. I was too worried about Leila. Min, someone who knew Leila inside and out wrote that play. That's why it was so perfect for her. Someone even used Helmut's expressions in it-'a butterfly floating on a cloud.' Leila noticed it too. She had a notation in the margin: 'Tell the Baron someone is stealing his thunder.' Min…'

They stared at each other as the same thought struck them. 'Helmut wrote the ads for this place,' Elizabeth whispered. 'He writes the daily bulletins. Maybe there is no wealthy college professor. Min, did Helmut write the play?'

'I… don't… know.' Min struggled out of bed. She was wearing a loose caftan that suddenly seemed too large, as if she were shriveling inside it. ' Elizabeth, will you excuse me? I have to make a call to Switzerland.'

Eight

With an unfamiliar sense of worry, Alvirah walked reluctantly down the hedged path that led to treatment room C. The instructions the nurse had given her were re-confirmed by the note that had been on her breakfast tray this morning. The note was friendly and reassuring, but even so, now that the time had come, Alvirah still felt squeamish.

To ensure absolute privacy, the note said, patients entered the treatment rooms by the individual outside doors. Alvirah was to go to treatment room C at three P.M. and settle herself on the table. In view of the fact that Mrs. Meehan had an aversion to needles, she would be given a special-strength Valium and allowed to rest until three thirty, at which time Dr. von Schreiber would perform the treatment. She would continue to rest for an additional half-hour to allow the Valium to wear off.

* * *

The flowering hedges were over six feet high, and walking between them made her feel like a young girl in a bower. The day had become really warm, but in here the hedges held moisture, and the azaleas made her think of her own azalea plants in front of the house. They'd been really pretty last spring.

She was at the treatment-room door. It was painted a pale blue, and a tiny gold C confirmed that she was in the right place. Hesitantly, she turned the handle and went in.

The room looked like a lady's boudoir. It had flowered wallpaper and a pale green carpet, a little dressing table and a love seat. The treatment table was made up like a bed, with sheets that matched the wallpaper, a pale pink comforter and a lace-edged pillow. On the closet door was a gilt-framed mirror with beveled edges. Only the presence of a cabinet with medical supplies suggested the real purpose of the room, and even that was finished in white wood with leaded glass doors.

Alvirah removed her sandals and placed them, neatly, side by side under the table. She had a size nine foot and didn't want the doctor tripping when he was giving the collagen injections. She lay down on the table, pulled up the comforter and closed her eyes.

They sprang open a moment later when the nurse came in. She was Regina Owens, the chief assistant, the one who had taken her medical history. 'Don't look so worried,' Miss Owens said. Alvirah liked her. She reminded her of one of the women whose houses she cleaned. She was about forty, with dark short hair, nice wide eyes and a pleasant smile.

She brought a glass of water and a couple of pills to Alvirah. 'These will make you feel nice and drowsy, and you won't even know you're getting made gorgeous.'

Obediently Alvirah put them into her mouth and swallowed the water. 'I feel like a baby,' she apologized.

'Not at all. You'd be amazed how many people are terrified of needles.' Miss Owens came behind her and began massaging her temples. 'You are tense. Now, I'm going to put a nice, cool cloth over your eyes and you just let yourself drift off to sleep. The doctor and I will be back in about a half-hour. By then you probably won't even know we're here.'

Alvirah felt the strong fingers press against her temples. 'That feels good,' she murmured.

'I'll bet it does.' For a few minutes Miss Owens continued to knead Alvirah's forehead, the back of her neck. Alvirah felt herself drifting into a pleasantly dreamy state. Then a cool cloth was placed over her eyes. She barely heard the click of the door when Miss Owens tiptoed out.

There were so many thoughts running through her head, like loose threads that she couldn't quite pull together.

A butterfly floating on a cloud…

She was beginning to remember why that seemed familiar. It was almost there.

'Can you hear me, Mrs. Meehan?'

She hadn't realized that Baron von Schreiber had come in. His voice sounded low and a little hoarse. She hoped the microphone would pick it up. She wanted everything on record.

'Yes.' Her own voice sounded far away.

'Don't be afraid. You'll barely feel a pinprick.'

He was right. She felt hardly anything, just a tiny sensation like a mosquito bite. And to think, she'd been worried! She waited. The doctor had told her he'd be injecting the collagen in ten or twelve spots on each side of her mouth. What was he waiting for?

It was getting hard to breathe. She couldn't breathe. 'Help!' she cried, but the word wouldn't come out. She opened her mouth, gasping desperately. She was slipping away. Her arms, her chest, nothing moved. Oh, God, help me, help me, she thought.

Then darkness overcame her as the door opened and Nurse Owens said briskly, 'Well, here we are, Mrs. Meehan. All set for your beauty treatment?'

Nine

What does it prove? Elizabeth asked herself as she walked from the main house along the path to the clinic. If Helmut wrote that play, he must be going through hell. The author had put one million dollars into the production. That was why Min was calling Switzerland. Her nest egg in a numbered account was a standing joke. 'I'll never be broke,' she had always bragged. Min had wanted Ted acquitted so that she could license Cypress Point Spas in all his new hotels. Helmut had a much more compelling reason. If he was 'Clayton Anderson,' he knew that even the nest egg was gone.

She would force him to tell her the truth, Elizabeth decided.

The foyer of the clinic was hushed and quiet, but the receptionist was not at her desk. From down the hall, Elizabeth heard running feet, raised voices. She hurried toward the sounds. Doors were open on the corridor as guests in the process of treatment peeked out. The room at the end of the hall was open. It was from there that the sounds were coming.

Room C. Dear God, that was where Mrs. Meehan was going to have the collagen treatment. There wasn't anyone in the Spa who hadn't heard about it. Had something gone wrong? Elizabeth almost collided with a nurse coming out of the room.