Chapter 3
October 19, 1971 - Tuesday
Collinwood
They were too late.
Kim Jansing presented himself an hour before he was expected, an hour before Elliot, Julia and Barnabas had intended to meet him, and was gone by the time they arrived.
Elizabeth introduced Kim to Hallie and David, then excused herself to phone Roger at the cannery to tell him his guest was early. The teens were interested in getting to know an artist who had studied abroad, and sat talking with him.
David had been watching Hallie rather carefully since her unnerving encounter with Tisa. Spooked at the best of times, this afternoon Hallie had been terror-stricken. Dr. Hoffman had checked on Tisa and informed them the girl had merely fallen against a bureau and hurt herself. David was attracted to Tisa and feeling a little impatient today with Hallie. Suddenly realizing this, he felt ashamed as he watched her smile at Kim. She was his best buddy, and just because he thought her cousin was a knockout was no reason to act any differently towards her. Observing her now, David realized how beautiful Hallie was in her own right. Her profile was perfect, her eyes soft. It hadn't occurred to him how pretty she was. He was relieved to see that she looked normal and relaxed, intrigued by their guest.
David had thought a painter would be crazy-looking, after the fashion of Salvador Dali; Kim Jansing was not. He had a warm, ready smile, was tall, with a splendid physique, and attractive. His eyes were a clear, direct blue, his skin tawny from the sun. His hair was many colors of blonde; light and dark brown, pale gold, wheat, and though shaggy in style, it was nevertheless well-kempt. As they talked, David wondered whether Hallie would develop a crush on the guy.
Kim's light hair was another thing David found startling, having envisioned all Parisian artists as having black patent leather hair shining with lacquer—and he was youthful, probably only ten years older than Hallie.
The painter had declined an alcoholic drink and opted for tea, and after phoning the cannery, Elizabeth went to the kitchen to tell Tish.
"Why'd you pick the cannery to work in?" David wanted to know.
Kim hesitated, and David saw something flash in his blue eyes. Could it have been anger?
"It is on the waterfront," Kim said, "and when I viewed the location, something about it spoke to me."
"What you heard speaking to you was a load of herring," David told him with a faint grin, studying Kim's face. Had he been mistaken a moment ago? What had the guy to be angry about? He continued, "I don't know that that's where I'd choose to paint. If you want to change your mind, maybe you could see Maggie—she's our tutor—about renting her dad's cottage. She owns it, but doesn't live there. It used to be a painter's studio."
Kim remained congenial and easy, but David felt the man's attention sharpen. "Did it? And presently it is abandoned—empty?"
"Yeah, nobody lives there. It's close to shore, too."
"Are there many other abandoned buildings in the town, near the seaside?" Kim asked casually. "I think deserted places have a special charm. They are fantastic fun to render in paint." He gave a strange smile, which struck David as insincere.
He frowned. Either this guy was giving off weird vibes, or David was seeing things.
"What sort of subjects do you paint?" Hallie ventured. "Do you like to paint mostly old buildings and structures, or do you like doing people and animals best, or always the sea? Mr. Collins told us you studied somewhere in Europe."
"That is true," Kim told them. "I'm from Maine originally, but I had been a long time in Europe. I spent years studying art in Saint Petersburg. I do much portraiture, and beasts, and, of course, the still-life. I have painted coasts and many European ports, and then found I was hungry to paint in the Colonies once more."
"Art colonies?" David asked. "Are there art colonies around here, in Collinsport?"
"Nnno, I meant that I wished to return to America."
"Could we see some of your paintings sometime, maybe come to your studio when you're not busy?" Hallie asked with eagerness.
"Ah, yes, and no. My studio abode is splintery and dangerous. But if you like, I could bring a few paintings to the cannery entrance to show you. Or I could bring some of them here."
"Do you draw, too?" Hallie asked.
David was frowning. Where was Saint Petersburg? His father had told him Kim had studied in Paris. From the sunburnt looks of Kim, he'd been in some heavy-duty sunshine. Had he been living in Florida?
He asked Kim the location of Saint Petersburg.
"Why, Russia, naturally," Kim laughed.
David was astonished. "You've been inside Russia?" he cried, moving excitedly in his seat. "Do they play soccer and hockey in Russia?"
"… Er," Kim said, "they—ah, yes, of course they … play that." He blinked.
"But how could you get into Russia without the KGB grabbing you?"
Kim gave an uneasy chuckle, but no answer.
"It probably isn't really like that in Russia, David, the way they show it on TV and in the movies," Hallie protested. "I find it hard to believe that the people there would put up with such a system."
"A lot you know," David retorted. "The Soviet Union doesn't operate in the same way the USA does, Hallie, for heaven's sake. We've got the Constitution and the Bill of Rights, and democracy, and all the rest of it. You'd better check in with Maggie about your social studies! So, you've actually been inside the USSR!" David continued, animation making his eyes sparkle. "Did they let you in because you were a student? Did the KGB know about it and give you permission?"
"Well, why could I not go to Russia if I wanted to?" Kim said, laughing, looking not quite comfortable.
"Holy Moses, comrade!" David laughed, nudging Kim with his shoulder. "Did you sneak in? And how about the girls there, what are they like, back in the USSR? Are they pretty? Do 'Moscow girls make you sing and shout,' the way the Beatles tell us they do?" David's eyes sparkled.
Kim said, "What?"
"Russia!" David told his father. "He's been studying in the USSR. Saint Petersburg, he said."
Roger looked up from the classic novel he had been perusing.
"David," he said, "I highly doubt that any American, or European for that matter, or probably any other nationality, would decide to go and study anything behind the Iron Curtain. It's not feasible, and why would anyone wish to?"
"But that's what he said," David stated doggedly.
"I thought he told me Paris," Roger muttered, frowning.
A bedroom in blue-purple afternoon colors, shades drawn.
"Tisa," Elizabeth whispered, rustling over to the girl's bedside and gently seating herself, "Tisa. How are you, dear?"
Elizabeth was formally dressed for the coming evening. Her rings glittering in the low light, she laid the back of her hand on Tisa's forehead. The girl's gray eyes were dull and empty, but when Elizabeth touched her, the eyes closed, then clenched shut, hard.
Throwing off Elizabeth's hand, Tisa moved her head to one side of the pillow, then the other. Elizabeth gazed on the young woman with compassion.
"Darling, it's all right," she soothed, remembering when she was a young mother and Carolyn was fretful or sick, "It's going to be all right. You're safe here with us. We want you here. Why are you so upset, sweetheart? Can I get you something? What do you want?"
At this, Tisa began to thrash her head back and forth. Elizabeth drew back a little. The girl's face had darkened, and her lips rose in a snarl. Cords stood out in her neck, and Elizabeth felt a little frightened.
"Life!" Tisa cried, her head whipping back and forth.
"I want life! I want life!"
Collinwood, sunset
Hallie had the goosebumps.
Sitting out on the back terrace of Collinwood with a sympathetic Tish Lemon, the teen cupped her elbows and shuddered.
"Dr. Hoffman didn't think it was anything?" Tish asked a second time, still slightly incredulous. "It sounds so strange. You couldn't have been mistaken about her having tried to bite you?"
"I was sure of it," Hallie said miserably. "But I suppose Julia's right, and Tisa was just lightheaded or something. She'd already fallen and hurt herself." She hunched up her shoulders and sighed piteously. "I'm making a big deal out of nothing. I wish I could just forget it, but Tisa scared the heck out of me. I even thought of going to my Uncle Elliot's cottage and begging him to let me sleep there!"
Tish slipped her arm around Hallie's shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "It's going to be okay," she whispered. "I doubt Tisa will stay at Collinwood very long. She doesn't look the type."
"What do you mean?" Hallie asked curiously.
"To me she seems the kind of girl who isn't going to appreciate the quiet, refined tone Mrs. Stoddard sets for Collinwood," Tish said shrewdly. "I think Tisa's going to want to break away, go out on the town. Find men, excitement, and all the rest of it, as soon as she can."
"But Tisa's a nun! Or, she just was a nun," Hallie told her. "Didn't you know she was in a convent?"
"Yes, and now she's out of the convent. Mark my words, that young lady is going to want to make up for lost time. She'll be hunting up some gentlemanly company, and the sooner the better." Tish stood and brushed off her uniform. "I've got to get in and see about the dinner service. Mr. Collins sure loves fiddling with the week's menu." She smiled. "Are you coming in?"
"In a few minutes," Hallie told her.
She sat, musing, and then a subtle rustling sound broke in on her thoughts. The soft noise was coming from the shrubs near the black iron gate at the end of the property. She cast a glance that way. At the same time, she heard a voice.
"You," someone called lightly. In the deepening darkness, Hallie could just make out the figure of a lissome young woman, trim and neat, in faded jeans and a pink work-shirt knotted at her midriff. Hallie saw with envy that the girl wore fringed, knee-high suede boots. Her brown hair was extraordinarily thick and plunged in an outright flood over her shoulders to brush her hips. From behind the bars, she smiled at Hallie.
"Hello, are you living here?" she asked. "I came right up from town, but it seems I arrive at the wrong end of the property! I was seeking you."
Hallie stood, and walked curiously to the gate.
"You're ... looking for me?" she asked. She hesitated. Why would a stranger come looking for her?
As if she'd overheard Hallie's doubts, the woman eagerly explained. "I was speaking to the girls at the high school this afternoon, to get them interested in my shop, you know? And I realized that there are students in town who are tutored at home. So I asked about you, and decided to call. Perhaps you would like to take part in some activities I will be holding downtown."
She reached through the bars to gesture Hallie to come closer.
Up close, Hallie realized with astonishment that the woman's dark eyes were actually blue. Her eyelashes were thick, untouched by mascara. In her hand was a square bit of paper.
"See, I have a bead shop," the woman said encouragingly, extending the card to Hallie. "It is a new shop, and I am trying to get young people interested. I'm going to give classes in macrame, do you know what that is? It is a craft from North Africa, done with thread. Beautiful things can be made. And I have shipments of beads coming in. Beads are extremely popular these days. The shop is going to be a mad scene." The woman smiled.
And Hallie smiled back. The lady was certainly pretty. In her twenties perhaps, with a short nose, neat chin, and those beautiful eyes. Though the woman smiled at her, Hallie noted that her face still seemed stern.
"Are there other young people here who might like to join us?" the woman asked, her voice hopeful. "Perhaps I could come inside for two minutes and talk it over with you? I'll tell you all about the shop. There'll be groovy music, and rugs to sit on, and we can burn incense while I teach you macrame and beadwork."
Hallie looked down at the card she now held in her hands. It wasn't cardstock, just a limp piece of paper on which a shop name had been scrawled in blue pen. It read simply, The Moon in Gemini, Collinsport, Maine. Not a real business card. She hesitated, then realized that she really was interested in hearing about the shop and its bead and macrame groups. She looked up hopefully at the woman behind the gate.
Just then, she felt something softly dip into her soul, like a finger in a satin glove. She felt all of a sudden capable and alert. It was as if a loud clock had abruptly stopped ticking in a shuttered room, and Hallie's soul sat up, as it were, and looked around. Knowing nothing of magnetism or animal attraction, she felt a primitive impulse to put herself at this woman's service. She was important, and it was vital to serve her if she could.
"Yes," Hallie said with conviction, "why don't you come in? I don't know how to open this gate, so I'll have to ask you to go around to the front door, if you don't mind. See? Go this way, and I'll meet you and let you in."
"Thank you for that invitation." The woman laughed breathlessly. "It isn't any trouble?" She looked happy and victorious. It must be hard work, Hallie thought sympathetically, drumming up customers for a new shop. But it sounded as though the place would be sensational and would really take off. It would definitely be the coolest shop on Main Street.
"No trouble," Hallie promised. "I'll be right there to let you in. Go that way."
Hallie hurried onto the terrace and through the French windows, locking them carefully behind her. There didn't seem to be anyone about. She smoothed her dress and went to the front door and tugged it open.
She stood in the slight breeze, waiting, and realized that her exciting new friend had not told her her name.
Rafael Nunes allowed himself a small smile. He was grateful that Veronika's car was of a make and model he actually remembered: a platinum 1966 Pontiac LeMans. He breathed in the clean scents of the car's upholstery.
They were nearly to Collinwood and for some reason, Veronika felt a little nervous. Rafael didn't look any too relaxed himself.
"Forgive me," Veronika said in a low voice, keeping her eyes on the road to ask a question that had been on her mind, "but I wonder whether you've had malaria."
He sighed. "Yeah, I've had malaria. What you probably saw, in your dramatic scrutiny of my eyeballs the other day, is the after-effects of dengue fever. Had that one, too."
"Dengue and malaria, dear God." She shot him a glance, then returned her eyes to the road. He gazed at the pure lines of her profile, and the way passing lights made numberless glimmers in her auburn hair in the darkness. "Rafael, we've got to take care of you. I'll make an appointment for you at my clinic, yes? This is Tuesday, and Wednesday's my long day. I know I have open slots Thursday and Friday—"
Rafael said lightly, "Just can't wait to see me without my clothes on, can you, doc? Seriously, I don't think I'm in such rotten shape that I need to race right down there for a checkup. And anyway, you're so booked up doctoring the good biddies of Collinsport that you won't have time for me." He chuckled.
"Oh, I will make the time," Veronika said in such a determined tone that he glanced at her again.
She continued, "Did the doctors mention uveitis? Does that term sound familiar? I'm talking about your eyes."
"I think they told me I had that. Yeah, I suppose I did."
"Do you remember whether it was anterior uveitis, or posterior?"
"Ah, anterior. They said it wasn't the really serious one."
"Thank God for it," Veronika muttered.
"That's what you get for fooling around in the subtropics," he said with false cheer.
"You were in South America? How far south was this?"
He hesitated.
"There was a time I loved it there, you know," he told her slowly. "I had my start there, made loads of money. Some of the finest people in the world." He shifted uneasily against the soft upholstery.
"But I witnessed something down there that I can't explain and can't forget. I've read stories of places travelers are afraid of, the Pacific Islands, places in India and Africa where weird things happen and if he survives, a man's never the same. For me, it turned out to be the rainforest. I have a theory that the nightmares we have about, let's call them monsters, are really race memories. Our ancestors knew damn well that demons exist, but the padded cushioning of our civilization blunts our animal senses. Why do we have instincts? Because we need them to alert us when evil is close. Because Satan really is there, and every so often, he comes to call."
Helpless to stop it, his mind shot backwards into the past, the humidity and the dark and his fury at being trapped. Filthy, hungry, thirsty. And the thing he had seen. For a second, he relived the pain and stink of infected wounds, the wrenching ache of his shoulders, the terror of scanning the black night for movement as hours passed. Those monumental, unmoving hours.
He opened his hands helplessly. Veronika found those big hands so masculine and attractive, she didn't let herself glance at them often. She saw with concern that Rafael's eyes had widened at whatever he was reliving in his mind, and wondered what memory had hold of him.
He swallowed, and continued.
"This thing shows up," he said in a low voice, "and it shouldn't be able to walk on two legs, but there it is. It's come up right behind you, and you realize that while you were standing around being normal and rational, the bogeyman was close enough to take you by the throat. My God, listen to me. Someone should hire me to write vacation travel brochures."
"Rafael," Veronika asked, troubled, "what happened to you down there?"
He turned his face to the side window, where the landscape coursed by, unseen in the dark.
"Ran into a spook, I guess," he said in a different voice. "I used to have the gall to think that nothing could scare me, but I dropped that idea quick enough."
His eyes roved the dark sky. The car swung into the long, rutted drive of Collinwood, headlights washing over shrubs and trees. He returned his glance frontwards and stared straight ahead.
"Let's just say that there are beasts, doctor, that nobody describes because no one can.
"And they like to bite."
Roger rushed through the front door of Collinwood as his sister was descending the stairs. He pulled his hat off and poked it onto a peg in the entryway, turning to her quickly.
"Has Veronika come?" he asked, working his shoulders out of his overcoat. "Has she brought this Nunes fellow? Have you seen him?"
Roger's thinning hair glinted in the shine of the front hall electric candelabra. Elizabeth could see the frown line between his eyes, and she reached out a hand to him.
"I haven't seen him, no. Hallie let them in and came upstairs to tell me. I imagine Veronika's taken him into the drawing room. Roger, I want to remind you that you owe this man a great deal for helping Veronika after her accident."
He regarded her, his expression not softening. Tension flowed off him in waves. "My God, Liz, I know that. But I had my secretary check all our employment files at the cannery, and we were right. We've never employed anyone by the name of Nunes. Who can this person be?"
Elizabeth had dressed in an elegant gown of navy-blue velvet trimmed at its squared neck with bands of silk, and wore her diamonds. She looked spectacular. "I don't know. We could have met him socially somewhere and simply don't recall. That is possible."
Roger loosened his tie with a yank. "He insisted to Veronika that he knows all of us," he frowned, "you, me, David, and he even mentioned Julia and Barnabas. That means he can't be someone from the very distant past. Liz, I don't like this. I can't place him. Something is wrong here."
"We don't know that yet. Let him explain. All we have to do is go into the drawing room and we'll have our answers."
"I'm ready if you are," he said abruptly. And they faced the closed drawing room doors.
Veronika turned as the doors opened.
She and her guest had been sitting in the lamplight, talking. He held a drink in his hand. Veronika was up in an instant with a happy look. The bruise on her forehead was beginning to turn blue and green at its edges. Elizabeth straightened her shoulders and regarded the guest, who slowly put his drink aside on the table, and rose.
She saw a man who was tall, well-dressed, rangy, with a long face and sharp cheekbones. His chin was rock-firm. He had a ruff of brown hair, long enough that it waved naturally. He looked alert, but weary.
"Roger, Elizabeth!" Veronika said. "Here is Mr. Nunes. This is the man who took such wonderful care of me yesterday. And I believe the three of you know one another." She turned toward Nunes as Liz and Roger approached.
"Rafael," Veronika said, "here is Elizabeth, and my fiancé, Roger."
Elizabeth saw something flicker in Nunes' face. His jaw clenched; she thought she read sorrow in his eyes. He looked as though he were bracing himself for something difficult. A flare of uncertainty touched her. Then whatever she had seen was gone. Perhaps she had been mistaken.
She felt her brother beside her, straining to identify the man.
Elizabeth put out her hand.
"Mr. Nunes, welcome to Collinwood," she said smoothly.
Now she could relax. She was certain that she did not know this man, and the security of this knowledge gave her strength. He might have resembled someone she had once known, but that happened in life. Inwardly, she gathered herself to challenge him. But it must be done deferentially, because they were greatly in his debt for his kindness to Veronika. Very well. They would hear what he had to say; but in claiming that he knew Liz, at least, he was not telling the truth.
Nunes took Elizabeth's hand in his.
"Liz," he said huskily. To her surprise, she saw tears in his eyes. "I never thought to see you again."
" … Mr. Nunes," she said hesitantly, gently withdrawing her hand, "I'm afraid that I don't—"
"Rafael Nunes," Roger interrupted, without offering to shake hands. "I must say I've never heard your name before yesterday. You will really have to invigorate my memory and tell us where we've met. My sister and I talked it over, and we simply cannot place you."
"But Roger," Veronika hazarded, puzzled, her glance boomeranging from one to the other, "I thought that you all … Rafael, I understood that you knew the family."
Nunes gave her a wry, lopsided smile, and shrugged. To her astonishment, she saw that his pupils were dilated, and that he breathed fast. "I thought they'd recognize me. No soap," he said. He was taut with nerves, and she felt a stir of worry.
In the ugly silence there was a movement behind them, and all turned to see Maggie Evans enter the room in a short dress the color of heather.
"Excuse me, Roger," she said, and then, noting the stranger, her brows lifted. "Oh, I am so sorry, Mrs. Stoddard, I had no idea you had a guest. I'll –"
"Maggie," Roger said smoothly, a dangerous undertone of sarcasm now detectable to his sister and fiancée, "do come in and meet Mr. Nunes, a stranger here in town. Rafael Nunes, Miss Maggie Evans."
Maggie came all the way into the room and gave her hand to Nunes with a smile. She looked up at him pleasantly, and then, alarmed, realized that he was staring at her with something like anguish, his eyes passionately probing her face.
He retained her hand. "What are you doing at Collinwood, Maggie? ... you don't remember me?" he asked hoarsely. His mouth moved in a tremulous smile.
Maggie studied him with concentration. "Should I know you? I really am sorry," she began helplessly, looking around at Elizabeth and Roger, "but I don't think we've met before." It was a moment before he released her hand.
Unhappily pressing his lips together, Nunes turned his eyes to Roger, who was delighted to see the man beginning to flounder. "If Mrs. Johnson is here, ask her in," Nunes suggested, in defeat. "Perhaps she'll know me."
"Hey, Maggie, has my father—oh," said David in the doorway.
"By all means," Roger told Nunes coldly. "David, come in here. Shall I bring Harry, and Garvey as well, Mr. Nunes? And Amy and Hallie? Shall we summon Tisa? Perhaps we can phone a few neighbors and invite them to come try to identify you, too. Well! Let's all be seated and get comfortable, shall we?" Roger said, sounding jolly. "David! Come to me."
"Roger," Elizabeth warned.
Roger's temper was beginning to smoke. This man had helped Veronika after the accident, true, but he had also held Veronika in his arms. She had detailed to Roger how this Nunes had carried her out of the street. Roger couldn't get that picture out of his head. And now the man had taken advantage of her, fooling her into thinking he knew the Collins family so that she would bring him to the house. What did he really want? Whatever plans he was hatching needed to be nipped straight in the bud. Knowing that he had a league of attorneys at his beck if he needed them, Roger's spirits began to lift.
The women uncertainly sat. Nunes sat also. David approached and Roger moved behind his son, placing his hands on David's shoulders and practically thrusting him at Nunes.
"My son, David!" Roger announced. "Now, David, Mr. Rafael Nunes here says that you know him. He insists that we all know him, although really," he chuckled, "I would swear I've never seen him before in my life!"
The women looked from one to the other. It was Maggie who noticed that David had gone entirely still. Standing behind him, Roger could not see the expression on his son's face.
Nunes stared at the teen, his eyes intense. "Davey," he said hungrily. "My God, look at you."
David Collins stared. He experienced that giddy sailing feeling he got low in his stomach when riding in a car that goes too fast over a bump. As he gazed, the tectonic plates of reality shifted, and present time was invaded by a shriek from yesterday.
A hot mist hovered in David's eyes. He blinked and swallowed hard, as though he could gulp back emotion. His trembling lower lip was sucked into his mouth.
"David!" Elizabeth gasped, watching her nephew's face.
No longer the insensitive father he had been in former days, Roger gently pressed his son's shoulders. "David?" he asked quietly, concerned, his mood of satire leaving him.
Nunes smiled, exactly the smile that David remembered.
He pulled free of his father. The women realized that David was crying. He stumbled toward Nunes, who ferociously caught the boy, sweeping him hard against him.
Roger, mouth open, held his hands outstretched where David had been. Veronika stared at David, a look of hope breaking over her face. Elizabeth's eyes were also anchored to David. And in the second before David spoke, Maggie brought her hands to her cheeks, realizing at last who this man was.
"I knew," David said harshly, almost angrily, his voice thick with tears. "I knew it wasn't real, I knew you couldn't be dead, I knew you didn't die on my birthday. Burke," David groaned, "Burke. I knew you'd come back."