Fatal Flowers. V. J. Banis

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СКАЧАТЬ hearts to me, told me how important I was to them, how much they needed me in order to forget about their bleak reality, if only for a short time. Yes,” she said, nodding her head gravely. “I have always been known as a hard, ruthless woman, but I have had to be hard and ruthless because I had to exist. Not for myself, but for them, my public.”

      I stood there staring at her. For a moment I thought she was merely play-acting, but when I looked closely into her face I saw something that told me otherwise. Dedication was written all over her. Her eyes gleamed and sparkled when she said, “...for them, my public.”

      She made a humble little gesture with her hands, turned and pushed open the door to my room. She stood back and let me enter before her.

      I crossed the room without seeing it and went directly to the windows and looked out over the sea beyond the forest. I could feel her presence at my back. I knew without turning that she was standing in the open doorway, one hand holding on to the knob.

      “Alice,” she said softly. “Please try not to hate me too much. I only did what I thought was best for you.”

      I whirled around. “Best for me,” I said sharply, feeling the tears begin to form at my lids. “How could you possibly know what was good for me? You don’t know me at all. You never tried to know me. You could have sent for me after Daddy died, but no, you chose to keep me hidden away in private schools.”

      She didn’t flinch. “And what kind of a life would you have had if I had sent for you? Your schooling would have been seriously neglected, your life would have been one of constant moving about, losing friends, change, change, change. How would a little girl of six cope with a life like that?” Her voice wasn’t raised, it was calm and well under control. “I know only too well how that type life can harm a little girl. No, Alice. I believe I did the right thing. You may not agree with that, but my conscience is clear. I know I did the right thing.”

      “The right thing for you, perhaps,” I said in a choked voice. I turned back to the windows so that she wouldn’t see the tears.

      She said nothing for a while. I thought she was going to close the door and leave the discussion right there. She didn’t. “I admit that your life wasn’t all it should have been, but I am convinced that I did what was best for both of us.”

      I put my head down and tried to keep my shoulders still.

      “Get some rest, Alice. I’m afraid this conversation is only upsetting us both. I shouldn’t have started it, but it was inevitable. It’s best that we both know where we stand.”

      I heard the door click shut and the silence of the room overpowered me. The emptiness that engulfed me was awesome. I spun away from the windows and threw myself across the bed. Whether or not Diana heard me crying I didn’t know, and I didn’t care.

      How could she expect me to believe her? I asked myself, pounding my fists into the coverlet. Even after our long, unnecessary separation, she still didn’t want me. She still made it clear that I was not welcome to stay on in this house with her. She didn’t want me as a child and she didn’t want me as a woman. She could make all the pretty little speeches she wanted to, but the fact remained that I was not welcome here. She’d send me away, just as she’d sent me away years and years ago.

      I wouldn’t think kindly toward her—I wouldn’t, I kept telling myself. Yet there was an ache deep inside me which I couldn’t ignore. Despite all the hurt, all the disappointments I’d suffered at her hands, I still looked upon her as my mother. I still considered myself her daughter and I wanted her to love me as much as I wanted to love her.

      What will crying accomplish? I asked myself, purposely brushing away the tears and sitting up on the bed. I’d cried enough.

      “At least I’ll have privacy here,” I said as I looked around.

      I got up and went back to the windows. I sighed. Outside the sun shimmered on the distant water. I tried not to look down at the thick tangle of woods that was immediately beneath my window. They had put me in the north wing of the house, I noticed, glancing up at the direction of the sun.

      I pushed open the window and let the cool sea breezes dry the tears on my cheeks. I heard what I thought was a motorboat and glanced back toward the sea. I was right. A small power launch skimmed across the waters. It was headed toward Falcon Island. It didn’t look like the same boat Martin had taken; this one was painted a bright yellow. It looked like a sunbeam dancing over the waves. I saw it swerve and turn inward toward the beach. It disappeared but I could hear its motor continue to purr in the distance. Then the motor stopped.

      The thought of a speedboat—of Martin—brought back my determination to get to the root of my mystery. I pushed Diana out of my head and glanced around the room. A telephone sat on the nightstand next to the bed. I went to it and picked up the receiver.

      “May I help you?” an operator asked after I dialed.

      “Would you connect me with the Police Department in Gulf Point, please?”

      “There is no Police Department there, Miss. Will the Sheriff’s Office do?”

      “Yes, thank you.”

      My hand felt clammy as I clutched the receiver tight to my ear. I wondered if anyone could possibly know I was using the telephone. I felt guilty about not having asked permission, and yet I didn’t care.

      “Sheriff’s Office.”

      “Yes. My name is Alice Whelan, I’m Diana Hamilton’s daughter.”

      The man on the other end must have smiled. He sounded pleased. “Oh, yes, Miss Whelan. Some of my men were down at the station when you arrived this morning. How’s your mother?”

      I scowled. Always the same question. Never once did anyone ask about me. After all, I was the one who was almost killed in that plane crash.

      “She’s fine, thank you,” I said, trying hard to keep my voice controlled. “What I’m calling about is something I saw in Gulf Point this morning. It’s been bothering me terribly.”

      “And what might that be?” he asked with a chuckle. “Did the local reporters give you a bad time?”

      “No, nothing like that.” I screwed up my courage. “I saw a girl knocked unconscious and carried away.”

      There was a dead silence on the other end of the line. I just heard him breathing. Then he said, “And just where did you see this happen, Miss Whelan?”

      “Just as the train was pulling into the station. I saw it out of my compartment window.”

      “I see.” He sounded as though he were making notes. But then he put his hand partially over the mouthpiece and started to talk to someone in the background. “It’s that Whelan girl,” I heard him say. “The one who was in the plane crash.”

      I heard someone mutter an answer.

      The hand slipped a little from the mouthpiece. “She claims she saw a girl abducted at Gulf Point station.”

      Laughter. “Her stepfather was right then,” I heard the voice in the background say, most clearly. “He called and said we might be hearing from her with some cock-and-bull story. Shock from the accident, he said.”

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