Chapter 4
"Mrs. Johnson, you may not think that Burke is going to come back alive, but you don't know Burke."
Vicky Winters, October 20, 1967
October 19, 1971 - Tuesday
Collinwood, post-sunset
Legs suddenly watery, Roger dropped abruptly to the sofa.
"Davey," Burke murmured against the boy's neck, patting him hard on the back. "Davey. Davey. It's okay, pal. Hey. I'm so glad to be home, so glad." He shut his eyes, caressed David's hair.
"Where were you?" David moaned, his voice muffled against Burke's collar. He clung fast to Burke. "Something must've happened to you, something got you, but you escaped. You got away."
Burke gave a slightly strangled laugh of amazement. "My God, Davey, you hit it on the head. That's exactly what happened, in a nutshell."
Smiling delightedly, Veronika leaned over and touched Maggie's hand. "You recognize him as well?" she whispered. Unable to speak, Maggie nodded, trying to process what she was seeing. "Roger," Veronika whispered next, but Roger simply shook his head without meeting her eyes.
Elizabeth sat transfixed, one hand to her face. Years fell away before her, irretrievable years, time gone that could not be relived. Her thoughts went to Vicky, then slammed to a stop. There was no Vicky, not any longer. Her heart wrenched within her.
"Of course it's you," Roger said faintly. He sounded almost uninterested; he was in shock. Hands in his lap, he uselessly stared at his son in the other man's arms, then lowered his gaze. "We knew it was you, Burke, I think all of us knew. I … I didn't recognize you, not at all, not at first—but it's you to the life. Except that you're what, maybe twenty pounds thinner, and there's something different in your face, you haven't changed one iota."
"Burke, what happened?" Maggie suddenly burst out, so much pain in her tone that Roger's head lifted. "It's been years and years! Where have you been?"
Burke let go of David, who straightened and violently wiped his face on his shirtsleeve. "It's a long story, Maggie. You know me now?" He lifted his winning smile.
Maggie had no voice to answer, and anyway, it wasn't necessary.
"Why didn't any of us recognize you?" Elizabeth cried. "It screams to heaven that you are Burke. I suppose perhaps our minds were so set, we had accepted years ago that you were deceased … I couldn't see what was before my eyes. Yet David knew at once. That's youth, I suppose; the clarity to see without being blindfolded by so-called facts. When I met you just now, I was reminded of Burke Devlin, but … Burke, I apologize that I didn't know you at once. But why are you calling yourself Rafael Nunes?"
Veronika kept her eyes unwaveringly on the man she had come to know as Rafael.
Burke smiled at Elizabeth, that game, honest smile, and Liz's heart turned over. Nobody in the room mentioned the visible changes Burke now wore; Roger seemed not to have detected them. Burke was thinner, his face bracketed with lines of pain that had not been there four years earlier. Whatever he'd undergone, he had suffered. He did not look the action-packed powerhouse he once had. But he was still as manly, still as handsome as ever. Just somehow altered. She shook her head.
"I've been living as Nunes for four years and still haven't shaken the habit. Liz, if I started in on the whole story now, we'd be here til five in the morning. Maybe this isn't the right time. But I'll tell you everything later. I'm a little shaky just now, the same as some of you, perhaps."
"Of course," Elizabeth faltered. She leaned forward and made her voice warmer, stronger. "Burke, of course. There's all the time in the world before us—now."
"I'd like to take Rafael to dinner," Veronika put in, turning to him. "You need something to eat, and perhaps a respite from all this emotion. It looks as though everyone else does, too."
He glanced at her with relief. "I am hungry, doc. I'm in your hands. Do whatever you want with me."
At that, Roger raised his eyes to stare at Burke.
"I'm not going to the skating rink," David blurted.
"Oh, David, why not?" Elizabeth asked. She looked at her nephew with renewed concern. "You were so excited. Isn't tonight when the boys and girls register for the program?"
"I'm not leaving this house, ever! I'm staying here with you, Burke." David's eyes were urgent.
"But David," Maggie said, "Barnabas and Julia will be here any minute to take you down there, and Elliot was going to go as well. Remember, they asked specially to go with you on your first night? Think this through." She threw a glance at Elizabeth. "Perhaps he just needs to calm down a bit and eat something. We've all had quite a—an experience."
"Davey." Burke had been studying the boy, who'd never taken his eyes off him. He spoke softly. "I'm not leaving again. I promise I won't disappear. I've had enough traveling for a good long time, and I want to stay home. I'm up at the Collinsport Inn anytime you want me."
David stood irresolute.
"I'm going to settle down here and live my life, and you need to live yours," Burke continued. "There are folks depending on you. I'll take you out to lunch one of these days and tell you the whole story of what happened. I'm right here in town whenever you need me, and that's a promise."
"A clear enough statement," Roger observed drily, as though the other man had issued a challenge.
"Well—" David said uncertainly, looking haunted. He never took his eyes from Burke.
Maggie stood shakily. "C'mon, David, let's find Hallie and see what's in the kitchen before you go."
Biting his lip, David allowed himself to be led away, but twisted in the doorway to shoot one more look at Burke Devlin. "I'm grateful you're home," he said.
Burke winked at him.
Roger's heart tumbled into the pit of his stomach.
"May I return tonight?" Burke asked Elizabeth. "I need to ask you—well, I know everyone wants a short break, but I had come here principally to ask you about Vicky."
They were standing in the foyer, saying their goodbyes. Roger had vanished up the stairs. At Burke's statement, Elizabeth blanched. Secretly, she drew herself up. Of course Burke would ask for Vicky.
"Yes, please," she told him, looking directly into his dark eyes. "Had we only known it was you—we would have done this better, invited you to dinner—but Veronika is right, you need a chance to recoup and refresh yourself after all this. But you are welcome to come back tonight, and there will be many other evenings too, please God."
A smile touched his lips. "That means a lot to me, Liz. Thank you. See you in an hour or so, then."
He and Veronika left.
Coming down the stairs fifteen minutes later, Roger answered a knock at the front door and was surprised to be handed a telegram. He took it to Elizabeth, to whom it was addressed. They read it together, Liz shaking her head delightedly at the coincidence.
Cable Service 38 Office Issue Glamorgan WALES UK
SAA 6/2PM tz9H2bu
ZK782/EQF892 Glamorgan 19 Oct 1971
DARLING LIZ
INFORMED BY MALLOY ESTATE ONE BURKE DEVLIN RETURNING TO COLLINSPORT
UNDERSTAND DEVLIN POSSIBLE BUSINESS RIVAL
DROVE TO WALES TO SEND THIS AS POWER OUTAGE ENGLAND
FILL ME IN WHEN I GET HOME
WITH YOU SATURDAY ALL MY LOVE CARY
"Imagine," she laughed, her eyes wet with tears, "what we'd have felt on receiving this telegram had Burke not already been here tonight. He's been in touch with his bankers and the estate, I see; he really is back."
"Imagine," said Roger.
Collinsport Skate Rink
"B-Barnabas," Julia chattered, "It's after sunset, is D-David going to be s-s-safe?"
Inside the skating rink, the deep cold clawed at their vitals. Elliot had apparently been the only one to anticipate this. He wore gloves and a giant warm, furry coat. Barnabas wrapped his arms around Julia to share his heat with her.
They were closed off from the ice rink by a thick, curved plywood barrier known as "the boards," which prevented them from coming onto the ice unless they could locate one of the scattered doors cut in the barrier for skaters to enter. There didn't seem to be such an opening anywhere near. The place stank of polyurethane, probably recently applied to the plywood. Elliot, perhaps the only one of the three conversant with the game of hockey, realized that the yards of protective plexiglass that should have shielded viewers from flying pucks were absent.
"So much for refurbishments," he muttered to himself, his breath coming out in an explosion of cloud.
"We had no choice but to let David go," Barnabas fretted, blaming himself, a crease of worry slicing between his brows as the fog from his breath smoked around his head. "What could we do? He wants to suit up with the others, get himself registered, hear the announcements and whatever. We three can't all just troop into the boy's locker room, and we couldn't hold him back with us here. There looked to be at least a dozen boys heading over there, so he should be safe. Then they'll be skating for Castlewold so that he can see who needs to train on what, I imagine."
Julia nuzzled against him as the cold pressed down hard on them. It was going to be a challenge to remain here any length of time with the rink's refrigeration set at polar freeze. Elliot nodded at the further end of the rectangular skating surface.
"They've got a folding table on the ice and some folding chairs," he noted. "I suppose this first night the boys are going to sit through a class or lecture. Or perhaps the table serves as registration headquarters. Can that man over there be Castlewold?"
Shivering, they all examined the table and makeshift chairs. A nondescript young man was seated there in a thick jacket, reading papers.
"I have no idea," Julia said in despair. "How do we get over there to talk to him? Oh, there's another man coming onto the ice, too. I imagine Castlewold has people to assist him with sign-up and training, if he really is affiliated with the NHL as a scout. There will be paperwork, parental permission papers, recordkeeping, and so on." They watched as the second man began setting out brightly-colored practice cones at various intervals on the ice.
Just then, a third man exited the locker room environs—a muscular, athletic figure in hockey pants and a black sweater. He strode forward, stepped onto the ice, and skated away from the boards like a shot, using hard, fast strokes along the frozen surface.
"See how fast he is!" Julia cried as the figure raced at a frightening speed along the far side of the rink.
"That's got to be him, what do we think?" Elliot asked.
They watched the figure tear along the ice with effortless power, strong legs expertly pushing the blades. His midnight-black hair was parted in the middle and combed back, carelessly feathered, longish, so that it flew over his sweater's collar. From this distance the observers couldn't see his face other than to note its dark tan. Their eyes followed him admiringly. His physique was magnificent, his speed unbelievable. He was fluent and easy on the ice.
"I'd say that's C-Castlewold," Julia said as her teeth chattered.
Barnabas turned his face towards Elliot. "How stupid this is," he said. "We ought to have thought this out a little better. We could've had Julia wear a necklace with a big silver cross, and were we to get anywhere near Castlewold, we could have watched him for a reaction."
"All I want around my neck is one of those s-seventeen-foot mufflers Bob C-Cratchit always wore in the Scrooge film adaptations," Julia shivered.
Elliot leaned toward them as the striking figure continued to blast its way around the rink. "You've given me an idea. What if we secretly place a cross or two in the cushion of a chair at Collinwood or the Old House, and then invite our suspects over, one by one? A cross hidden in a seat? The seat cushion, or the backrest? We could make a tiny slit in the fabric and hide a cross there. Would not its very proximity resonate with our vampire? I should think that a monster would instantly detect such an annoyance."
"Well, no, Elliot, I'm none too sure—" Barnabas began.
"Look," Julia cried, "here come the k-kids!"
Straining their attention toward the far left side of the rink where the table and chairs sat on the ice, they never sensed what was bearing down on them from the other direction until, braking his skates in a murderous stop which spat a hail of ice bits into their faces, the irate Lars Castlewold was upon them.
"You people aren't allowed in here!" Castlewold hollered. At the volume of this shout, the three of them jerked as one body.
Lars Castlewold was ruddy with the exertion of his madcap skating. His face was handsome, his lips sculpted and perfect, if colorless and thin, his cheeks hard-planed and firm. He had a widow's peak over a good, open expanse of forehead and a strong straight nose with chiseled nostrils. Outrage made his black eyes leap. He breathed hard before them, and they noticed his hulking shoulders and fine, broad chest.
"Who are you?" Castlewold challenged them in a slightly lower tone. "It's young people only. Dammit, we told the kids no guests! For the safety of my kids, I'm asking you to leave, but first I want your names."
"Young man," Elliot expostulated, but Julia cut him off.
"We're here with David Collins," she said peremptorily, stabbing Castlewold with an acid glare. "We brought him here. We didn't mean to hang around this ice locker, we only wanted to see that he got where he needed to be."
"Collins is one of my boys," the skater muttered, still breathing heavily. Elliot saw a pulse beating frantically in the man's throat. Castlewold swept his electric stare from one to the other of them. "Look, I'm sorry, but for the safety of my kids, I can't have strangers all over the building. Please wait in the front lobby where it's much warmer, or go wait in your cars. We'll be dismissing everybody between eight-thirty and nine this first evening. Tell me your names and I'll doublecheck with Collins."
"We're Barnabas, Julia and Elliot," Barnabas said hastily. He was thinking to himself: this man couldn't be a vampire, could he? A man so vital, so obviously bursting with health? Then again, if Castlewold were in such a blissful state from nourishing on the blood of innocent children, it would be entirely possible. That dizzying speed on the ice, that enormous power. The mesmerizing stare! He realized that he didn't like Castlewold. He secretly admitted to himself that this was his favorite candidate for vampire, perhaps because Lars was the first of the four strangers that Barnabas had been aware of.
"Please tell your friends," Lars said in exasperation. "Nobody comes in here but the kids on the list. I don't want distractions, and I sure as hell don't want people I don't know hanging around all over the place. Those kids are under my protection while they're at this rink, and while they're here, they're mine." A sudden, beautiful smile broke through, bringing dimples like divots and displaying the glorious white of his teeth. Immediately, he was boyish and appealing. "We understand one another, eh?"
Blinking impossibly long eyelashes at them, he turned and skated off.
Julia nearly wept with relief as they exited the building, extending her arms in the comparatively tropical air of the parking lot. "God, that was COLD!" she cried.
Elliot took Barnabas by the coat-sleeve and whispered to him.
"He's safety-oriented," he breathed. "Did you notice? He mentioned 'safety' and 'protection' again and again, and in the circumstances, I find that concerning. He is the stranger here, not the parents of the children, and yet the parents are strenuously to be kept from observing. And it may be nothing," he chuckled, "but did you see his teeth? Those are the longest incisors I've ever seen on anyone in my life."
"By the way," David said in the darkened car on their way home from the rink, "Burke Devlin was at the house tonight. You should have seen my father, he looked like somebody had dumped ice water in his lap."
Julia half-turned in her seat, a protest on her lips. Barnabas demonstrated his attention to the conversation by helplessly flooring the accelerator and sending the car over the yellow dividing line into the opposing lane.
"Keep us on the road, my good man!" Elliot bellowed, striking Barnabas on the shoulder. "You do not want to lose your learner's permit again."
"I wasn't going to tell you," David continued in a strange voice, leaning forward from the back seat where he was squashed in with Elliot as the car lurched back into its rightful lane. "Four years ago on my birthday, so, that's tomorrow, we heard that his plane went down in the jungle. They told us he was confirmed dead, burned up with the other passengers. They counted the bodies, but I thought maybe it was some sort of kidnap coverup. I have an old map of the Amazon River in my room that I used to take to bed with me, with a flashlight, and try to figure out where Burke was so that I could go out and find him. I spent weeks figuring out who I'd interrogate, where I'd go, how I would force information out of people. But now I never have to think of it ever again, because he's home. Vicky took me down to Boston right then, and we visited landmarks and tried our best to have a good time, but sometimes we wouldn't speak for hours. We were trying not to hurt one another by bringing it up—talking about Burke. I didn't believe he was dead, and neither did she, and we had it right all along. We were the ones who knew him best."
"David, David," Julia said in a strangled voice, "You're certain? Burke Devlin?"
"It was him. At the house they were trying to pretend they didn't know who he was. He had them completely fooled. Maybe they really didn't recognize him at first, maybe they'd believed for such a long time that he was gone that even when he was standing in front of them they couldn't figure it out. People aren't supposed to come back from the dead, so I guess it really wasn't their fault. But I knew right away. He looks older, like he got hurt, but it's absolutely Burke."
"Dear God," Barnabas cried, while Elliot leaned forward and said with asperity, "Eyes on the road."
"I didn't want to run around screaming about it, because it's too important a thing for me to act like that." David slumped back against his seat. "Do you know what I mean? I haven't even told Hallie about it yet. I just feel so shocked to have been proven right."
"Someone please tell me who Devlin is," Elliot entreated.
"I almost didn't come to the rink tonight because I was scared he'd disappear again, but he isn't going to," David said, his voice now rather husky. "He's come home, and he's going to stay. If he ever has to go somewhere again, I'll make him take me with him, and if he says no, I'm going anyway. I'm old enough now."
"Barnabas," Julia cried, "where can he have been all this time? What can Burke have been doing?"
"Do not speak to the driver until we're in the driveway of Collinwood, I beg you," Elliot warned her.
"Burke grew up with Roger Collins, I think," Barnabas explained from the front seat. "I remember that they were business rivals and not fond of one another. Burke was a self-made millionaire. Then he proposed marriage to Vicky, and for her sake the family tried to heal the rift. They were going to have the couple living right in Collinwood with them."
"The west wing!" Julia cried. "I remember that."
"Oh, Julia, what times those were," Barnabas said. "Do you remember the days we spent, scrabbling around with mismatched pieces of crystal, trying to match them to the original chandelier?"
Julia remembered more than that, and so did Barnabas; the hatred he had cherished for Julia then, and his murderous rage towards Burke. Barnabas had wanted Vicky for himself. Julia put her hand on Barnabas' sleeve.
"No touching the driver, please, Dr. Hoffman," Elliot bleated from the back seat.
When Burke and Veronika returned to Collinwood after a good dinner at the Collinsport Inn, Elizabeth accompanied Burke into the drawing room to be welcomed by Julia and Barnabas, but Roger held Veronika back.
"You didn't think of having dinner with me," Roger told his fiancée quietly. He looked as though he were bravely trying to rein in his hurt. "You took Devlin and walked right out of here without speaking to me."
She studied him with grave eyes. He looked haggard and worn. "Roger, my darling," she said softly, cupping his face in her hands, "I don't remember seeing you anywhere around. The moment we all left the drawing room, you went directly upstairs without even saying goodnight."
Roger was aggrieved. In a thick voice he said, "Veronika, you don't know him. I grew up with Devlin. That man … he nearly ruined my life. You have no idea what you're doing, no notion of the devastation he caused our family a few years ago."
"Well," she said slowly, lowering her hands from his face and searching his eyes, "I don't understand. Apart from your marriages, you've never mentioned somebody having almost destroyed your life. I thought we'd told one another everything."
"We have," he said hurriedly, "we have." He looked over her head, distracted, hearing warm exclamations as Julia and Barnabas reunited with Burke. "I've no secrets from you," he lied. "But that incident was—inordinately galling, and I didn't want to revisit it."
Veronika leveled her blue eyes at him. "Be the gracious man I know you are," she requested. "Try to put yourself in Rafael's place. In Burke's place. He must have had a bad time, whatever happened—something that interrupted the plans he had for his life. Imagine that, Roger. Perhaps years taken from him that he can never have back."
Roger's muscles locked. Though Veronika couldn't have known, evoking the thought of years stolen from Burke Devlin only made him feel more pursued and paranoid; it was a little too close to home.
Veronika had no idea that in 1956, he and his former wife Laura had framed Burke for manslaughter. Burke had served his time, later become a millionaire in the South American oil fields, and ultimately returned home to Collinsport to take down the Collins family. He'd come close to doing so but had backed off, finally, out of pity and disgust for Roger.
Roger cleared his throat. Everything was spinning out of control; inwardly, he fought an urge to weep. "I can tell you everything he did, later, every word of it," he promised Veronika. "But just for the present, please remember where your loyalties lie. They lie with me."
He gripped her wrist.
Veronika's gaze hardened infinitesimally. She leaned close to him.
"Listen here," she whispered, "Rafael is my patient. Burke is, I mean. I took him out for food tonight, not dancing and drinks. He is under my care. You haven't exactly been kind to him this evening, Roger, and now I understand that the two of you have a past. But please remember that this man helped me when everyone else was content to stand around staring at me lying in the street. I should think you'd be grateful. I like him, and I expect you to be welcoming and dignified when dealing with him, if only for my sake. Yes?"
Meanwhile, an appropriately confounded Julia and Barnabas met Burke Devlin once more.
He walked into the drawing room with Elizabeth on his arm. She let him go, and he stopped, expressionless, before them.
It was Julia who came forward first with her hands outstretched, as Barnabas regarded the other man in astonishment.
"Burke," Julia said warmly, her face open with wonder, "it really is you. David told us about it in the car." Burke captured her hands in his.
"We all thought—" she continued, "that is, we thought—we were told that you had died."
"Burke Devlin," Barnabas interrupted, stepping forward at last, "if Vicky had only known. But she did know. She never would admit the fact that you were dead. Never."
Finally, Burke relaxed a little and allowed them a tiny smile. "You two and I weren't the best of friends back in the day," he commented, "but I will admit that it's pretty nice being home again."
Julia gave a laugh that held a sob in it. This was unquestionably Burke Devlin. The same strong features, firm chin, the same force of personality. He was lean and beleaguered-looking now. Julia searched his face with the eyes of a physician. She saw exhaustion and endurance. New lines of experience had been cut into the rugged, handsome face. He had a sunburn that was starting to fade, and his dark eyes now held the reflection of untold experience. She had the impression that he'd been to hell and back, but there was still that hint of devil-may-care, the flame of vitality burning furiously in him. Yes, that was it—fury. It was all over him, as though he had had to call on every fragment of his strength to withstand whatever had happened to him, and wasn't entirely certain that the threat was gone. But still handsome, still perfectly groomed. Still himself.
"Oh, Burke," Julia blurted, overcome.
"Devlin, Julia is my fiancée, " Barnabas said softly, coming closer to them.
The other man blinked, then darted something of a smile at Julia. "Wonders never cease," he said. He pressed Julia's hands. "Congratulations. I couldn't have predicted that in '67." He swept his eyes toward Barnabas.
To Burke, Barnabas looked younger and fresher than he once had. He wasn't so objectionably pale, and those preposterous zigzag bangs were gone. He seemed more at ease in his body, though still a formal dresser. It would seem that his association with Julia Hoffman had done wonders.
And Julia. Gone was the immovable bouffant hairstyle of yesteryear; her hair, redder now than he remembered, fell in burnished curls about her shoulders. She wasn't ordinarily a beautiful woman, but when hit with strong emotion, her face was transformed. He liked what he was seeing.
"I don't know if you remember the Old House," Barnabas continued, "but we're living there. If you would like to come and stay—if you're at a hotel somewhere—we have more than enough room, and it's very comfortable."
"We have electricity and a phone, so don't worry," Julia laughed, letting go of Burke's hands to wipe at a tear on her face.
"I mean it," Barnabas whispered.
All his former hatred and ill-wishing for Burke was suddenly erased. How he had exulted four years ago to learn of Burke's purported death! Looking on him now, Barnabas was ashamed. All of the ill-will between them over a beautiful woman that neither was fated to have.
He appraised the other man. Burke hadn't been exactly happy to see them, but was softening under Julia's authentic gladness at his return. Barnabas could see him beginning to relax. He wondered what on earth the man had gone through. Burke stood arrow straight, as if defying some force to knock him down. He had the aura of a hero who has been embroiled in an inferno and come out whole on the other side.
Silently and wholeheartedly, from his soul, Barnabas sent out an olive branch to the other man, wondering if Burke would sense this. A second later, Burke looked into his eyes and offered his first real smile.
Elizabeth returned with coffee and whiskey. Everyone was seated and ready to talk.
"I thought Vicky would have married you," Burke admitted gruffly, nodding his head at Barnabas, "when I realized that a full four years had actually passed me by. I hardly expected … I didn't expect her to have waited for me. Why would Vicky wait for me? I know now that I was declared dead."
Burke continued speaking, but that statement caught Barnabas' attention. When he'd realized four years had passed? How could he not have known that four years were going by? He fetched back his attention as Elizabeth spoke.
"I phoned Belém that evening," Elizabeth told them, "after Mrs. Johnson came running to tell me that the radio said your plane had gone down. Burke, we phoned Brazil over and over, and waited hours by the phone for news. The authorities were searching for your plane. Let me try to think," she said, squeezing her eyes shut, reliving that awful night and morning. Her diamonds twinkled in the low light. As he observed her, Burke realized that Elizabeth had aged slightly. Not badly, but subtly. She was still very beautiful. Her complexion was still white and peach, but her jawline was not as firm. Her marvelous eyes were unchanged, as was her black hair, still thick and beautifully coiffed. Looking at her now, being in this house again, in this drawing room, he was suddenly starved for a sight of Vicky. His heart lurched within him. He must forever fight such longings. It was evident that Vicky was gone somewhere, impossibly gone, unreachable, and he needed to learn the fact by heart. Why else would these people be laboring so hard over an explanation? It was obvious that they were trying to spare him. Swallowing what felt like a golf ball-sized lump in his throat, he tried for a deep breath.
Elizabeth passed her hand lightly over her hair and clasped the back of her neck as she forced recall.
"It was around five in the evening. My God, it was David's birthday—that day was dreadful. All we knew was that your plane had gone down over the Amazon River. And then Vicky came into the room, delighted about plans for renovating the west wing for you both to live in. She walked right in on us, Mrs. Johnson and I, rapturous that you were on your way home. But she immediately knew something was wrong. We had to tell her. Burke, she was … destroyed. She refused to believe you were gone. For days, for weeks, she persisted. I think I finally sent her to Boston with David for a while."
"I remember that time," Barnabas whispered. Julia gazed compassionately from Burke to Barnabas, and reached down to tenderly grasp her fiancé's hand. Barnabas fixed his dark eyes on Burke as he spoke.
"She loved you beyond reason, Burke. Elizabeth chose the right word: destroyed. Vicky was desolate. It was as though she'd been … hollowed out. But she wouldn't give up, would not accept that you'd died. She had herself under control, but would flare up if one of us challenged her. So we humored her for weeks and let her press the narrative that you'd be back. And all along, she was right."
Burke shifted on the sofa, looking from one person to the other.
"Well," he finally burst out hoarsely, "where is she? Go ahead, tell me she married the Marlboro Man, moved to Hawaii and has triplets—I can stand it. I've accepted it. Where is she?"
Julia hesitated, wetting her lips. Her grip on Barnabas' hand tightened. How to explain where Vicky had gone?
"Burke, she's left us," Julia finally ventured. He turned his full attention on her. "She finally fell in love with someone else, married him, and went away."
Burke's hands moved in helpless half-gestures, appealing for more information.
"All right, yes," he told Julia, "but is she happy? How often do you hear from her? … Don't tell me that none of you has ever heard from her again! She loved David so much, and Carolyn, and you, Liz. I know she wouldn't have merely written off everybody in this house."
There was a guarded silence.
"We no longer hear from her," Barnabas said hesitantly.
Elizabeth bit her lip, looking bereft. "She's fine, Burke," she told him. "She was very happy."
Burke remained still for a long time.
"Then she'll never know I made it," he said, almost to himself. "Maybe it's just as well. All right, let's not tell her."
And he bowed his head.
Burke Devlin was back, and Mrs. Johnson still didn't know a thing about it, so she took it upon herself to break the news.
He'd stunned them tonight with his appearance at Collinwood, then gone out to dine with Dr. Liska, saying he'd return. And he had returned, just as he'd said. She'd seen him walk back into the drawing room herself half an hour ago.
Entering the kitchen, Maggie felt a little wobbly and stopped for a moment to lean on the doorframe. The effort not to cry was making her face ache. Her cheeks were hot. Perhaps she was in shock, but something else was happening, too, something she could not name so readily.
When she felt slightly steadier, she continued into the kitchen and turned in at the alcove. Mrs. Johnson was there with a cup of tea and half of a crumbled muffin on a plate. She glanced blandly at Maggie.
"Mrs. Johnson," Maggie began, and her voice sounded to herself as if it had been scorched in fire, "I don't know how to tell you this, but there's someone in the drawing room."
Mrs. Johnson chuckled. "Well, you told me. Do they need tea in there? Coffee? Does Mrs. Stoddard want me? God knows where the almighty kitchen staff went." She touched her mouth with a paper napkin and stood up from the table.
Maggie's heart trip-hammered; she had to stop the woman.
"Wait, it's …"
"It's what? Maggie, is something wrong?"
"Please, please sit down again," Maggie begged, and when Mrs. Johnson looked at her closely, she complied. Maggie watched her go faintly pale.
"What is it?" she asked uncertainly. "Not some monkey business of Harry's?"
In the enormity of what she was feeling—stupefaction, awe, concern—Maggie nearly laughed in Mrs. Johnson's face. A feeling was simmering inside her, pressing to be released.
She clasped her hands together. "No, it's not about Harry. This will be a shock, so please—"
"What is it?" Mrs. Johnson whispered. Her dark eyes had gone wide with alarm.
"Oh, Mrs. Johnson. There's a visitor in the drawing room—Burke Devlin is in the drawing room," Maggie finally managed. "Burke Devlin has come home from Brazil. He's alive. It's him."
She heard, rather than saw, Mrs. Johnson leave her seat and push past her, out of the room. She felt, rather than heard, the other woman's choked exclamation. Lingering in the kitchen and sagging against the counter, Maggie finally recognized the enormous pressure pushing beneath her lungs.
It was joy.
Mrs. Johnson came from the kitchen into the foyer and saw all of them together in the lamplight. Barnabas and Julia—and Mrs. Stoddard with a man. She helplessly clenched her apron into tight balls against her hips, her eyes searing the stranger, scouring him for some resemblance …
He turned in her direction and met her gaze.
And it was him.
Burke saw the woman staring like a deer in headlights. Even before he could associate her form to her name, his heart softened. They knew one another.
Mrs. Johnson came forward stiff-legged, as though shock had robbed her of her balance. He felt her eyes actually pulling him.
"Mr. Devlin," she said harshly, "My God. It really is you. God has brought you home." Her face crumpled.
Besieged with stress, fighting his tiredness, his memory chose that moment to extend to him the benediction of her name.
"Sarah," he said, and smiled his signature smile.
Mrs. Johnson splayed all her fingers and shook them at him, arms extended, then approached and enfolded Burke in a hug.
The group talked quietly around the center foyer table. Mrs. Johnson wept into a handkerchief. Turning away, Barnabas unobtrusively took up the telephone and rang the Old House. He told Willie the news. Before he had finished his explanation, he realized that Willie was no longer on the line. And before he could have believed possible, Willie was beating on the doors of Collinwood, breathless from the half-mile run from the Old House.
He walked in on the loosely gathered group. On seeing him, everyone drew back slightly from Burke in order to allow him to approach. Willie did so, then stood still, eyes locked on Burke.
Burke recognized the man, and mentally fumbled for his name. The guy had not changed at all; the same tumbled, slightly greasy hair, the same terrifically expressive eyes. But hadn't he been a bad character in the past? Burke tensed, but realized that all he saw in the other's face was amazement and welcome.
"Devlin," Willie said unsteadily. "I, I can't believe it." He put his hand out and shook Burke's, pumping his arm up and down in slow motion, staring impossibly at Burke all the while. Then Willie cried out, "Welcome home, where the hell have you been?" and threw his arms around the other man in a hard hug.
Everyone chuckled in delight at this display, and Barnabas experienced a stir of surprise. Willie was demonstrative and open, yes, but never had he and Burke Devlin been on one another's list of favorites. Everyone without exception seemed to be emotionally bowled over by this reappearance. He felt bowled over himself.
After a moment Burke separated himself from Willie by grasping the other's shoulders and laughing. He gazed down at the smaller man, memory straining. "Loomis," he pronounced. "You're Loomis. … I remember you. Didn't you and I have a battle once in the Blue Whale? … Willie Loomis?"
Willie laughed roughly, eyes dim with tears. "Absolutely right," he whispered, "but all that garbage is past. It's awful damned good to have you back."
Elizabeth moved past Veronika and touched Burke's wrist. "Please feel free to stay here tonight. Would you like to? You're more than welcome, I think you're very tired."
At Liz's words, Veronika's heart soared.
Elizabeth continued on a little gasp of laughter. "We're so astonished to have you back that we're a little stupid with it, I'm afraid. Stay tonight, please? We'll get a room ready. And we have a splendid food service now, so you won't be sorry. To be absolutely honest," she concluded in a whisper, her eyes alight, "it would be an honor to have you."
Touched, Burke smiled and caught her hand in his. "Liz, I appreciate your kindness, but I do have digs of my own."
Veronika interposed, "Oh, please accept their invitation to stay. I'd feel better knowing you were here. You're exhausted. Your friends want you."
"David will be delirious to know that you're here with us," Maggie chimed in, still fighting down her feelings, "but I promise I'll keep him clear of your room until at least daybreak."
There was a round of laughter in the group.
And Roger said sternly from the stairway, "I want you out of this house, Burke. Right now."
Maggie cried out.
Hesitantly, Veronika placed herself before her fiancé. In her eyes was a new wariness, evidence of the betrayal she felt, that cut into Roger's heart like a blade. "Sweetheart," she said in a low voice, "I do think it would be a good idea to ask Rafael to stay, I mean, Burke, if he'd like to. He's quite tired; this has been a very emotional evening, and if everyone—"
"No, Veronika," Roger said. He turned frigid eyes to the other man. "Thank you very much for coming, but now you are leaving."
"Roger!" Elizabeth exploded.
"Mr. Collins!" Willie exclaimed. "What the hell?"
Barnabas regarded Roger in disbelief. He opened his mouth, shut it, and wheeled past Julia as though meaning to mount the stairs to where Roger stood.
Stung, gazing upwards at Roger on the steps, Burke regarded his old enemy. Except for hair that had further thinned, Roger had hardly aged at all. Those same lightless, cold eyes, the same merciless mouth, that Roman emperor expression. Had he not been so exhausted, Burke might have gone up the stairs to him and thumped him on the head.
"Thank you, Roger," he said in an easy voice, his eyes narrowed, "but I never asked to stay."
"Mr. Collins," Mrs. Johnson choked out, "I don't think you ought to behave like this. Mr. Devlin has come a long way! All the way from Brazil!"
Veronika had quickly turned to Burke. "Please do stay," she asked, shooting a glance of appeal at Elizabeth. "David will be overjoyed. He's terrified you're going to disappear."
"It's been wonderful, seeing him," Burke said.
Elizabeth glowered at her brother. "If you will stay with us, it won't take ten minutes to prepare a room for you. I'll help Mrs. Johnson—"
"Yes," breathed Mrs. Johnson.
Roger took a further step down the stairs.
"I won't have it," he declared flatly. "I won't have him in the house. Leave, Burke. You've caused enough distress for one evening."
Veronika drew a jagged breath. Roger turned away from the hurt confusion in her eyes and fixed his glare on the other man. "I mean it!" he cried. "Out!"
"Roger!" Barnabas snarled. "How can you?"
"Don't you start with me, Barnabas!" Roger lashed out. "This is hardly your affair!"
The women shuddered in anger. Burke turned to Veronika with a lopsided smile. "Himself has spoken. Call a cab for me?" he said unsteadily.
"I will not," Veronika gasped, her breath coming with difficulty. Color flooded her cheeks. Burke saw behind her eyes a strange, spinning effect as she struggled to come to grips with her fiancé's shocking rudeness. He was sorry for her pain, but her rage on his behalf gave him an unexpected lift in his stomach. Gratitude for her siding with him; appreciation for her clean, decent anger, and something else, too. Sexual arousal. For her.
"You'll stay—" Veronika said wildly, clasping Burke's arm.
"Burke, please stay tonight, as my guest," Elizabeth asked, locking deadly eyes upon Roger. "This is my house—"
Roger gritted his teeth and descended another step toward them.
In the end, Veronika drove Burke back to the Collinsport Inn.
Night.
At Collinwood, the entire household had gone to bed with disrupted feelings.
When Elizabeth did not appear that next morning, Mrs. Johnson went to her room. She was not allowed in. Elizabeth spoke to her through the closed door with uncharacteristic harshness.
Perplexed, Mrs. Johnson mentioned this to Maggie, and asked her to tap on Elizabeth's door. Maggie did, but was also denied entry. As the morning wore on, the women approached Roger.
Julia Hoffman happened to stop by, and Roger, concerned at his sister's odd behavior, asked her to please come upstairs with him to check on Elizabeth. They managed to surprise her and gain entry before she could secure the room against them, and were dumbfounded when she unleashed a torrent of abuse on them. They were ordered to leave.
But the brief time they spent in that bedroom had been enough for Julia. She had registered Elizabeth's haggard face, her shouts that the blinds remain closed, her faltering faintness.
And the lurid puncture wounds on her throat.