The Other Side - J. D. Robb [94]
“Yes. And I knew you’d know it, too—that it’s the worst thing. But I didn’t do it.”
She tried to laugh. “Why would I believe that?”
“Because it’s true.”
“That one thing is true?”
“Yes.”
“How convenient.”
“Could I explain? Will you listen to me?”
“No,” she decided quickly. “I’ve listened to you enough. I’m afraid all you know how to do is tell lies.”
“Well—hang on a second.” He shifted his stance, moving from defense to offense. “Aren’t you being a little selective all of a sudden?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you were fine when I was telling lies for you; that didn’t bother you a bit. And what about all the lies you told me?”
She opened her mouth, but then couldn’t think of anything to say. “Very well. You’re right, I’m a hypocrite. Does that make you feel better?”
“No.”
“Henry, I can’t do this anymore.”
“Wait.”
“I wish you luck. I bear you no ill will,” she said with difficulty, and turned away.
“Angie, wait, don’t leave. You must know—I’m in love with you.”
Well, that was the final straw. Tears stung behind her eyes like vinegar; if she didn’t go now, she would humiliate herself. “No, you’re not. You just want me to not stop loving you.”
He looked stunned. “You—you—”
“But it’s too late. I already have.”
“Angie!”
“Good-bye, Henry.”
In the hall, Norah took one look at her face and said, “You’re coming home with us.”
Twelve
Henry woke up in his chair with a stiff neck and the bright sun in his eyes. Groaning, stiff-legged, he got up and walked to the bed, where he’d thrown his clothes last night, fumbled in his trousers until he found his watch, and cursed. How could it be ten thirty? Then he remembered: he hadn’t fallen asleep till dawn. That was when he’d given up on a light ever coming on in Angie’s room, or her shadow ever passing behind the drawn shade. Either she wasn’t there or she preferred darkness. He couldn’t decide which was worse.
He got dressed mechanically, without interest. Stared at himself in the mirror while he shaved and thought, You look hungover. Interesting. Who knew you could teetotal all night and still wake up resembling the corpse of a bloodhound.
Speaking of hounds, where was Astra? There, he saw through the window, curled up in the sun on the landing of the outside steps. His usual spot. Since he’d fallen in love, he’d taken to staying out all night, sleeping all day.
Henry’s luck stayed bad when he encountered Smoak in the lounge, tidying up with a feather duster. At least the landlord didn’t know anything yet, either that or he’d acquired tact overnight; all he said was, “You’re up mighty late,” and “Afraid you’ve missed breakfast by a mile,” to which Henry responded with grunts. And Smoak wouldn’t leave. Now he was running a damn carpet sweeper over the rug. Nothing for it: Henry would have to telephone Angie with an audience.
“She’s not here,” Mrs. Mortimer informed him, chilly-voiced.
“She’s not?”
“Nope. She didn’t come home last night.”
That explained it. In the pause that followed, he heard all the disappointment, disgust, and condemnation with which he’d punished himself last night. But then Mrs. Mortimer said, “I expect you’ll find her over at the Hershes’.”
His emotions were raw; he couldn’t speak for a second. “You’re a very kind woman.”
“Just a silly one,” she said and hung up.
Norah Hersh was neither kind nor silly. “Yes, she’s here. No, she won’t come to the phone. Because she doesn’t want to talk to you. No, I won’t give her a message. Write her a letter, why don’t you, and then go away.”
He’d run out of choices. He took her advice.
Dear Angie,
I worked at the Sun with a man named Finster. It’s true he was engaged to the lady your cousin spoke of. I won’t talk about her, but I promise that what passed between us was as much of a “love affair” as the one Astra’s conducting with Lulu. But I take all the blame for it. Not my proudest moment, and it seems we reap what we sow. That