Intimate Strangers (19 page)

"I'll look through the keys and bring the set up to you," Martha said over her shoulder as she walked out of the room.

"I think I'll come down with you. You never know, maybe going through the keys will jog something in my memory. I'll dress and be right down." Sara didn't wait for Martha to leave the room before she pulled out a pair of jeans and a shirt from the closet, dressed quickly, and ran downstairs.

Standing beside Martha in the kitchen, she watched with building excitement as Martha pulled a huge ring of keys from one of the cabinet drawers. "Let's see, these are extra car keys, this is an extra key to the house…" Martha was ticking off each key on the ring. "This is to the town house in Annapolis…"

"The town house in Annapolis?" Sara asked incredulously.

"Yes, Mr. Roarke bought it for your second anniversary because you fell in love with Annapolis. You two spent lots of weekends there during the summers." Martha smiled at fond memories of long ago. "Here's the key to the apartment." She held up her discovery.

Sara took the key from Martha's extended hand. She had another idea, but she had to think of a way to get Martha out of the kitchen immediately. "Martha, could you please find Bradley and tell him I'd like to leave as soon as possible."

Martha nodded her head and went out the kitchen door. Sara moved over to the window. She wanted to make sure she had enough time to carry out her idea. She watched Martha walking through the yard toward the garage. Going back to the drawer, she removed the key to the Annapolis home from the ring. Luckily Martha hadn't wasted any time in leaving the kitchen, Sara breathed a sigh of relief. She was so afraid she would forget which key was the right one, only having a moment to observe the position of the key on the ring. She replaced the key ring in the drawer and closed it. Quickly slipping the keys into her pocket, she looked around, then left the kitchen and went up to her room.

Once again in her bedroom, she knew she couldn't take anything with her. Her heart turned over with sadness because her life, the part she could remember, was coming to an end. She stood out in the hall sighing, and closed her bedroom door firmly, hoping she could close out her longing for Roarke just as firmly, just as finally.

Bradley was waiting for her at the front door of the house. "Do you want me to wait for you and bring you back home, Miss Sara?"

"No, Bradley, I'll call Roarke," Sara said with a sigh.

On the ride into town she sat quietly in the corner of the back seat of the huge car. Bradley didn't break through her thoughts with any chatter as he was concentrating on the traffic. The sunlight flickered through the window and across her pensive face. Sara's thoughts were tumultuous and occasionally she would give her head a shake as though to clear her mind.

After he told her the apartment number, Bradley pulled away from the curb. Sara stood in front of the tall double doors of the high-rise building. As she looked up at the balconies towering over her, she shuddered with apprehension.

People were brushing by her, singly and in groups, each seeming to know where they were going and where they had been. Sara wanted to call Bradley back; she wanted to retreat to her room at the house. It was her security and now she was on her own, there was no place else she could go. She knew she could call Ted Maxwell but hesitated to involve him. Sara knew if Roarke would try to find her he would go to Ted, feeling that he was the only outsider Sara would go to for help.

Bracing her shoulders, she pulled the huge door open and walked through it with her chin held high. As she walked through the lobby, several people smiled and said hello to her. None of their faces were familiar, but she did manage a weak smile in return. She tried to act nonchalant as she waited for the elevator, gazing up at the floor indicator panel as each number flashed. The elevator doors opened and she silently rode the cab to the floor the apartment was on. Walking down the long corridor, she found the correct door, unlocked it, and timidly slipped in. A sigh-escaped her lips; the apartment seemed empty.

Sara went from room to room. There was no one in the apartment and nothing she saw brought back any memories to her. The closet in the bedroom, like the one at Roarke's home, was filled with beautiful clothes. Another door off the hall was closed and locked and Sara fleetingly wondered what secrets were behind it. There were photographs in the different rooms. Surprised Sara examined them closely. They were all of Roarke.

The furniture looked comfortable and the kitchen had every conceivable modern appliance. It puzzled Sara that the apartment was spotless. It didn't have the air of a place that had been unoccupied for several months. Was Roarke staying here occasionally or had he lent the apartment to someone? On the other hand, she thought, he probably hadn't let anyone else stay here because there were only women's clothing hanging in the closets. It could be that someone came in and cleaned it once in a while.

Sara sat in the living room drinking a cup of tea, trying to soothe her jangled nerves as she watched the sunset behind the Kennedy Center through the huge wall of windows. It was getting late and Roarke would be coining home. When she wasn't with him, they'd worry and start a search. Naturally he would come here first, so she had to think fast. She didn't want a confrontation with him until she had a plan for her future. She had the key to the town house in Annapolis, but she had no idea how to get there or where it was. She couldn't just go around Annapolis trying the key in every door.

Hopelessness was beginning to overwhelm her again. She couldn't escape Roarke if she didn't know where she was going to stay. She had looked at every photo in the apartment and had gone through every paper she could find, but there was nothing to give her a hint of the address of the town house. All her reading and searching hadn't brought any recollection of any of her past. She was caught in a trap. The trap of not being able to remember, the trap of her love for Roarke and Roarke's antagonism toward her.

The sound of the telephone shattered the silence and Sara gave a start. She stared at the phone. She didn't hear the ringing, instead she was listening to the snap of the trap as it clamped shut on her. She couldn't answer it, couldn't go near it. The search for her had begun. It would be only a matter of time before Roarke came to the apartment looking for her.

She got to her feet and started pacing the room, her eyes darting around like a cornered animal seeking escape. The phone rang several times and each time it rang Sara felt surer than ever that Roarke was on his way. Slumping into a chair, she put her head in her hands. Where could she go to escape him? If only he loved her, she wouldn't have to run away from him. But he didn't love her, didn't believe in her, and she couldn't live with her suspicions and his unfair accusations.

Sara gasped as she heard a key being fitted into the lock of the front door. She bolted out of the chair, expecting Roarke to come in and order her back home. Forcing herself to turn and face him, the front door opened slowly, and Suzanne entered the foyer. Sara felt the breath rush from her lungs.

Suzanne stopped abruptly when she saw Sara standing in the middle of the living room. She closed the door and leaned against it, twirling the keys in her fingers. "May I ask what you're doing here?" she asked, looking puzzled.

Attempting to pull herself together, Sara turned and sat back down in the chair. Suzanne's unexpected appearance made Sara very apprehensive. She knew that Suzanne could mean only more problems for her in achieving her freedom. Taking the time to verbally spar with this woman meant precious moments wasted in her flight from Roarke.

"I could ask you the same thing, since this is my home. Why are you here? Roarke's not here, and I know it's not concern for me that brought you here." She crossed her legs, trying to look relaxed.

Suzanne sauntered into the room, threw the keys she had in her hand into a little bowl on a small table, kicked off her shoes, and gracefully sank down on the sofa. "You're mistaken, Sara, this used to be your home. It's mine now," she drawled. "I see you've made yourself quite comfortable," she commented, glancing at Sara's teacup.

"Your home! It's not your home; it's Roarke's and mine. You have no business being here," Sara said indignantly.

Suzanne languidly rose from the sofa. "All right, Sara, since we're both dropping our little poses, let's get down to brass tacks. I knew once Roarke wasn't around you'd drop your lost little girl act. That's why I had to come to the house the other night. I wanted to see how well you played your role. And I must say, Sara, your talents are lost on painting. You should have been on the stage. Poor Roarke, he's such a sucker where you're concerned. He always lets pity overcome his better judgment when you're in the picture. I'm tired of you using Roarke; it's time that it stopped. Roarke and I are going to marry, and there's not a thing you can do about it." Suzanne stood in front of Sara, her hands on her hips, tapping her stockinged foot with impatience.

Sara couldn't meet the other woman's eyes. She was totally confused. What was she talking about? Had Roarke really moved Suzanne into this apartment? On those nights he supposedly worked late, were they spent here with Suzanne?

Suzanne sat down again on the sofa. "When it was made clear to Roarke how badly injured you were and when you were released from the hospital you would need constant care, he made the decision to move you back into the house. I moved out and moved in here. Of course it was only to be a temporary move, but you just couldn't resist using the situation to your advantage. You know how responsible Roarke feels for you since you have no family. I'm sick of you taking advantage of that fact; you're a big girl now. It's time for you to stand on your own two feet. Roarke and I are eager to put the past behind us and start our new life together." Suzanne sat with her hands folded in front of her face, her nose covered by the apex of her fingertips. The only feature of Suzanne's face Sara could see were her glowing catlike eyes that were locked onto Sara's face with an imperious gleam.

"What are you talking about? I don't understand. If you're telling me the truth, why wouldn't Martha tell me you were living here? She gave me the key," Sara gasped.

Suzanne threw her head back in deep soft laughter that purred through the room. "Darling, why would Roarke have to ask permission from a servant to do what he wants, when he wants? You're more naive than I thought." Her laughter ceased suddenly and her eyes pierced Sara's. "Yes, that's it. It's all part of the role you're playing. The helpless child with no memories."

"Suzanne, what do you mean, my role as a helpless child with no memories. I can't remember—"

"This is beginning to bore me, Sara," Suzanne interrupted. "What are you doing here? I know Roarke doesn't know where you are because he would have stopped you from coming here. For some reason he has this big-brother protectiveness where you're concerned." She chuckled. "I can just see the expression on Roarke's face if you had told him you were coming to this apartment. He's so sure that you've really lost your memory that he wanted to keep you from finding out that he's in the process of divorcing you to marry me. Your doctor told him some nonsense that if he told you of our plans, it would be more than you could stand. He feels that the accident has put you in such a state of shock that any more emotional strain might put you over the edge. What nonsense. We both know how strong you are!"

Sara watched Suzanne pull a dark cigarette from her purse. Suzanne was very calm and very sure of herself. Someone in this room was insane, and Sara's insides began to shake.
Is everything Suzanne telling me the truth? Is she living here? Are she and Roarke in love
? It had to be true.
I saw the photo in the magazine with my own eyes. Suzanne thinks that I don't have amnesia and can remember everything. I don't recognize anything here, so how can I be positive she's not living here? It must be true!

Suzanne's slight smile as she exhaled the smoke stabbed at Sara's heart. "Give up, Sara. Roarke put you out of his life long ago. Why do you insist on torturing the man? You know how responsible he feels for you. Why do you persist in continuing this charade and reinforcing his feeling of obligation? If he felt any love for you, it died long ago. Why can't you step gracefully out of his life? You certainly haven't been an asset to him, I can tell you that! Your antics over the past two years have brought him so much unwanted attention. How do you think he felt with you going out with different men all the time? Poor Roarke, the talk he had to put up with behind his back about his wife having round heels!"

Sara stared at Suzanne in stunned disbelief. "Other men? I couldn't have been like that!"

Suzanne leaped to her feet. "Why are you keeping up this lost-memory ploy?" she cried heatedly. "I told you, you can fool your doctor, you can try to fool Roarke, but you can't fool me. Roarke doesn't love you. How can you want to keep a man tied to you who doesn't want you? He has bitterly regretted his marriage to you and yet you won't let go. You keep him hanging around for your sick pleasure and drag him through all your escapades with you." Suzanne was shouting and Sara winced at the fury in her eyes. "I hate you, Sara. I hate you because of what you've done to Roarke. You've single-handedly almost ruined his business, made him the laughing stock of his friends and business associates, and just when he was going to put you out of his life forever, you have this automobile accident. It wouldn't take much convincing for me to believe you had that 'accident' on purpose." Suzanne was calmer and stood towering over a shocked Sara still riveted in her chair. "It does seem ironic that you'd have an accident the very day you were to be served with Roarke's divorce papers." Suzanne leaned down, placing her hands on the arms of the chair on either side of Sara, trapping her in the seat, forcing her to look up at Suzanne. "Give up, Sara, you've lost!"

Sara stared into Suzanne's feline eyes and what she saw convinced her Suzanne was telling her the truth. She didn't see hate or anger in Suzanne's eyes. Sara saw pity. Suzanne pitied her!