"Miss DiLauro—a pleasure to speak to you again. May I say you looked very beautiful last night."
"Yes, you may. As often as you wish." As he laughed politely, Gia said, "Wait a second and I'll get Nellie."
Gia was in the third floor hall. Nellie was in the library watching one of those public affairs panels that dominate Sunday afternoon television. Shouting down to her seemed more appropriate to a tenement than a Sutton Square townhouse. Especially when an Indian diplomat was on the phone. So Gia hurried down to the first floor.
As she descended the stairs she told herself that Mr. Bahkti was a good lesson on not trusting one's first impressions. She had disliked him immediately upon meeting him, yet he had turned out to be quite a nice man. She smiled grimly. No one should count on her as much of a judge of character. She had thought Richard Westphalen charming enough to marry, and look how he had turned out. And after that there had been Jack. Not an impressive track record.
Nellie took the call from her seat in front of the tv. As the older woman spoke to Mr. Bahkti, Gia turned her attention to the screen where the Secretary of State was being grilled by a panel of reporters.
"Such a nice man," Nellie said as she hung up. She was chewing on something.
"Seems to be. What did he want?"
"He said he wished to order some Black Magic for himself and wanted to know where I got it. " 'The Divine Obsession,' wasn't it?"
"Yes." Gia had committed the address to memory. "In London."
"That's what I told him." Nellie giggled. "He was so cute: He wanted me to taste one and tell him if it was as good as I remembered. So I did. They're lovely! I think I'll have another." She held up the dish. "Do help yourself."
Gia shook her head. "No, thanks. With Vicky allergic to it, I've kept it out of the house for so long I've lost my taste for it."
"That's a shame," Nellie said, holding another between a thumb and forefinger with her pinky raised and taking a dainty bite out of it. "These are simply lovely."
7
Match point at the Mount Holly Lawn Tennis Club: Jack was drenched with sweat. He and his father had scraped through the first elimination on a tie-breaker: six-four, three-six, seven-six. After a few hours of rest they started the second round. The father-son team they now faced was much younger—the father only slightly older than Jack, and the son no more than twelve. But they could play! Jack and his father won only one game in the first set, but the easy victory must have lulled their opponents into a false sense of security, for they made a number of unforced errors in the second set and lost it four-six.
So, with one set apiece, it was now four-five, and Jack was losing his serve. It was deuce with the advantage to the receiver. Jack's right shoulder was on fire. He had been putting everything he had into his serves, but the pair facing him across the net had returned every single one. This was it. If he lost this point, the match was over and he and Dad would be out of the tournament. Which would not break Jack's heart. If they won it meant he'd have to return next Sunday. He didn't relish that thought. But he wasn't going to throw the match. His father had a right to one hundred percent and that was what he was going to get.
He faced the boy. For three sets now Jack had been trying to find a weakness in the kid's game. The twelve-year-old had a Borg topspin forehand, a flat, two-handed Connors backhand, and a serve that could challenge Tanner's for pace. Jack's only hope lay in the kid's short legs, which made him relatively slow, but he hit so many winners that Jack had been unable to take advantage of it.
Jack served to the kid's backhand and charged the net, hoping to take a weak return and put it away. The return came back strong and Jack made a weak volley to the father, who slammed it up the alley to Jack's left. Without thinking, Jack shifted the racquet to his left hand and lunged. He made the return, but then the kid passed Dad up the other alley.
The boy's father came up to the net and shook Jack's hand.
"Good game. If your dad had your speed he'd be club champ." He turned to his father. "Look at him, Tom—not even breathing hard. And did you see that last shot of his? That left-handed volley? You trying to slip a ringer in on us?"
His father smiled. "You can tell by his ground strokes he's no ringer. But I never knew he was ambidextrous."
They all shook hands, and as the other pair walked off, Jack's father looked at him intently.
"I've been watching you all day. You're in good shape."
"I try to stay healthy." His father was a shrewd cookie and Jack was uncomfortable under the scrutiny.
"You move fast. Damn fast. Faster than any appliance repairman I've ever known."
Jack coughed. "What say we have a beer or two. I'm buying."
"Your money's no good here. Only members can sign for drinks. So the beer's on me." They began to walk toward the clubhouse. His father was shaking his head. "I've got to say, Jack, you really surprised me today."
Gia's hurt and angry face popped into Jack's mind.
"I'm full of surprises."
8
Kusum could wait no longer. He had watched sunset come and go, hurling orange fire against the myriad empty windows of the Sunday-silent office towers. He had seen darkness creep over the city with agonizing slowness. And now, with the moon rising above the skyscrapers, night finally ruled.
Time for the Mother to take her youngling on the hunt.
It was not yet midnight, but Kusum felt it safe to let them go. Sunday night was a relatively quiet time in Manhattan; most people were home, resting in anticipation of the coming week.
The Paton woman would be taken tonight, of that he was certain. Kolabati had unwittingly cleared the way by taking the bottle of rakoshi elixir from Jack and disposing of its contents. And had not the Paton woman eaten one of the treated chocolates as she spoke to him on the phone this morning?
Tonight he would be one step closer to fulfilling the vow. He would follow the same procedures with the Paton woman as he had with her nephew and her sister. Once she was in his power, he would reveal to her the origin of the Westphalen fortune and allow her a day to reflect on her ancestor's atrocities.
Tomorrow evening her life would be offered to Kali and she would be given over to the rakoshi.
9
Something was rotten somewhere.
Nellie had never thought one could be awakened by an odor, but this…
She lifted her head from the pillow and sniffed the air in the darkened room… a carrion odor. Warm air brushed by her. The French doors out to the balcony were ajar. She could have sworn they had been closed all day, what with the air conditioner going. But that had to be where the odor was coming from. It smelled as if some dog had unearthed a dead animal in the garden directly below the balcony.
Nellie sensed movement by the doors. No doubt the breeze on the curtains. Still…
She pulled herself up, reaching to the night table for her glasses. She found them and held them up to her eyes without bothering to fit the endpieces over her ears. Even then she wasn't sure what she saw.
A dark shape was moving toward her as swiftly and as soundlessly as a puff of smoke in the wind. It couldn't be real. A nightmare, a hallucination, an optical illusion—nothing so big and solid-looking could move so smoothly and silently.
But there was no illusion about the odor that became progressively worse at the shadow's approach.
Nellie was suddenly terrified. This was no dream! She opened her mouth to scream but a cold, clammy hand sealed itself over the lower half of her face before a sound could escape.
The hand was huge, it was incredibly foul, and it was not human.
In a violent spasm of terror, she struggled against whatever held her. It was like fighting the tide. Bright colors began to explode before her eyes as she fought for air. Soon the explosions blotted out everything else. And then she saw no more.