"Phyllis_A._Whitney_-_Feather_On_The_Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Whitney Phyllis A)

"I'm not going to be sick," I said, and stood up.
"Then come along," Alice ordered. "I haven't had breakfast yet either, and I'm hungry." She went skipping off ahead of me.
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I followed more slowly, trying to get myself in hand. A smile meant nothing, I told myself-it wasn't proof. Yet my heart went right on thumping against all reason. A heart was for hoping, and that was what I'd begun to do.
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By the time I reached the dining room I'd recovered something of my outward control, though I was still churning with uncertainty. I paused in the doorway before going in. If that flash of recognition meant anything, then these were the people who had taken my child, and I wasn't sure I could face them without giving myself away. Nor was I convinced that they wouldn't recognize me, in spite of the years and the changes in my appearance.
The man stood at the sideboard helping himself to food, while the woman sat at the table staring at her plate. In a moment they might look around and recognize me, so-be on guard! In this one moment, while they were still unprepared, I must watch intently for any reaction that might give them away.
Alice bounced into the room and went to the sideboard to serve herself, and both of them looked at me. The man seemed interested, the woman indifferent. She returned her attention to her plate after a single glance, and there seemed no betrayal of recognition in either of them.
I moved toward the woman, watching for any detail that would remind me of the moment in the store seven years ago. But that woman had worn dark glasses and her hair had been hidden by a kerchief tied under her chin-to add to the difficulty of identification. I could recall only an impres-
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sion of someone rather young who had seemed nervous and helpless. If Debbie had been chosen because of some resemblance to Edward Aries, finding her must have been happenstance. Planning could have been only a general sort of thing. They must have been ready to improvise when an opportunity opened. As far as I knew, To! never seen the man. For all that was really known, it might have been another woman instead of a man.
If this was the woman I had seen, she had added several pounds of flab that gave her a rather blowsy appearance. Her blond hair, frizzed to a bush around her face, had been bleached to the thinning point, so that it looked brittle and dry. Her eyes were a paler blue than Alice's. While she must have been in her mid-thirties, she already looked older. Her first glance in my direction seemed furtive, though that was probably because of the man who stood at the sideboard, helping himself to breakfast. She wasn't interested in me, but she would take her cue from him. Perhaps she was the rabbit the magician had pulled out of his hat. She seemed about as self-assertive.
The man spoke to me first. "Ah, Mrs. Thorne, isn't it? Mrs. Aries's new guest? Good morning. I am Farley Corwin, and this is my wife, Peony."
He was considerably older than his wife, tall and rather lanky, with the once carved but now blurring profile of an actor who was losing his youth and liked his liquor. His long fingers continued to move gracefully as he served himselfthe hands of a man whose sure movements were his livelihood. Only when he turned toward me full face did I note the impact of his eyes-large and very dark, with long lashes, and fierce black brows. Compelling eyes that he used j to good effect, so that for just a moment 7 was the rabbit, [fixed under his penetrating gaze.
I managed to say, "Good morning," to them both. Peony J Corwin responded with a listless "Hi," and continued to push scrambled eggs around on her plate.
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"May I serve you, Mrs. Thorne?" Farley Corwin asked gallantly, quite aware of the effect his look had had on me. Though he couldn't have known that what I felt was nausea.
"Thank you, I'll manage." I dropped bread into a toaster, and when the toast was ready and buttered, I poured coffee and sat down beside Alice, who shoved a container of marmalade toward me.
"It's English," she said. "They get lots of English things here in Victoria." She had filled her plate generously and began to eat with a good appetite.
"Are you Canadian or American?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
Farley, who had seated himself at the head of the table, as if by right, said, "She's Canadian," and Peony, without looking up, said, "American," and winced when Farley scowled at her.
Alice waved a piece of toast, explaining, "I was born in a jungle in Brazil, wasn't I, Ma? So I could be anything."
"On the Amazon," Peony Corwin added as though by rote.
"Only I don't remember that," Alice said. "I wish I did. My mother's Canadian, but he's American, so they never know what I am. I guess I must be Canadian, because that's what my real father was."
"You must have had an interesting life." I was still trying to speak with an ease I didn't feel. "Do you remember anything about when you were little?"
"Not much," Alice said, and I was aware that they were both watching her. "It's mixed up because we moved around all the time. Whenever he"-she seemed reluctant to call her stepfather by name-"whenever he got jobs, that's where we stayed."
"Where are you from, Mrs. Thorne?" Farley broke in smoothly.
I didn't want to give anything away, though in the short
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time that had passed since my first shock of recognition in the garden I was becoming less sure about Alice all the time.
"I'm from Vermont," I said, and named the town where Larry had been killed in the climbing accident. That shouldn't give them any clues.
"A beautiful state," said Farley sociably. "I've traveled through it when I was young."
He seemed curious about me, but not particularly suspicious. Peony seemed watchful of her husband, but nothing more. I had the feeling that there had been a quarrel just before I walked into the room, and that Peony was still sullen as a result. Perhaps not wholly a rabbit, though Farley didn't strike me as a man who would lose many arguments with his wife.
I was relieved when Dillow appeared in the doorway.
"If you are finished with breakfast, Mrs. Thorne," he reminded me, "Mrs. Aries would like to see you in her room."
"I've just finished, so I'll come now." I rose from the table. "Excuse me, please."
No one said anything, and Alice went right on eating. With that sort of hunger, it was remarkable that she stayed so thin.
I went ahead of Dillow down the hall to the library. Once more, he appeared the proper butler, but I remembered the moment last evening when I'd sensed some clash of wills ! between Mrs. Aries and this man who served her. Certainly, I he'd gone behind her back in hiring Kirk, and I didn't trust I him at all.
This morning Mrs. Aries sat before her dressing table, | while Crampton's stubby hands moved with surprising agility, pinning up silvery strands with the same amber combs I'd noticed last night. Her mistress had changed her garnet robe for one of old gold, and again I was aware of her unlined face, with only her dark eyes hinting at a depth of emotion carefully held in check.
She looked at me now in the mirror. "Good morning, Mrs.
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Thorne. Please sit down, and we'll talk for a few moments. I've made some plans for you today-I hope you won't mind. Crampton, help me to my chair, will you? Then go and see that Alice is made presentable."
Crampton was a woman of few words, and apparently of implicit obedience. She helped Corinthea Aries to her wheelchair, positioned her near an open french door that overlooked the garden, and went silently away. I found myself wondering how she got along with Dillow. The two seemed mostly to ignore each other.
Bright morning sunlight poured in, and Mrs. Aries breathed deeply several times, as though this was her usual ritual. The room looked less gloomy than it had last night, with light flooding through. Again there was stained glass beside some windows, turning shafts of light into a gemlike glow. This morning no fire burned in the grate.