The Seventh Sinner - Elizabeth Peters [61]
“I’ll move out today,” she said. “I never meant to stay so long.”
“Jean,” Ann said hesitantly. “You did have a bad shock. If you’re still nervous about being alone, Andy and I would love to have you.”
“Especially Andy,” said that gentleman, with a hideous leer. “No, seriously, honey—Ann is right. You don’t realize how long the effects of shock can last. I know. It happened to Ann once. Suicide—a friend of ours. She went along cool as a cucumber for a couple of months, and then, whammo; it hit her. She was out of this world for a long time.”
Jean didn’t dare look at Ann. The other girl had never referred to this incident, and Jean couldn’t help resenting Andy’s mention of it now, even though his motive for doing so was kind. Ann rallied quickly. She had made one sharp, uncontrolled motion of protest; now she said quietly,
“He’s right, Jean. Though maybe you don’t feel like moving in now, with a—a crazy woman.”
“Don’t put on airs,” Michael said, before Andy could protest. “You aren’t the only one.”
“To have a friend kill himself?”
“Oh, that. Look, honey, they fell like flies in my profession. Unstable artists, you know. No, I mean you aren’t the only one who’s spent time on some shrink’s couch. It’s the in thing nowadays. We’re all a little crazy, one way or the other. Hadn’t you noticed?”
“There’s no need for Jean to make up her mind right this minute,” Jacqueline said. “You might as well wait till Sunday, Jean, and move out when I do. Anyway, you can’t leave before tomorrow. I’m having a party. A farewell party, for me.”
“Great,” Andy said heartily. “When, tomorrow night? Are we all invited?”
“Naturally. Spread the word to the others, will you?”
“Can I bring my daddy?” Andy asked, in a plaintive squawk.
“I hope you will. It’s a costume party. Will Dr. Scoville mind?”
“He’s the biggest ham in Europe. Where do you think I get it? He’ll probably want to come as a Pharaoh; that’s his favorite disguise. Gives him a chance to show off his muscles.”
“But I don’t think we have—” Ann began.
“I’ll think of something,” her brother waved her objections aside. “It’ll be a surprise.”
“Surprise,” Jacqueline repeated. She bent over and began to rummage in the purse, which squatted on the floor at her feet. But Jean had seen her face before she moved to hide it, and its sudden pallor told the younger woman all she needed to know. The conversation, the party, di Cavallo’s visit—all were part of a larger plan. And the consummation of that plan appalled even the woman who had arranged it.
Jacqueline didn’t join them at the pool, but she sat on the balcony watching every move they made. Jean hadn’t been aware of apprehension; but when the actual moment of entering the water came, it took all her willpower to make her body comply. She paddled sedately around the edge, in full view of the balcony, and everyone carefully refrained from commenting on her caution.
They left Jacqueline preparing to go out. Jean wondered with whom she was dining, but of course did not ask. They had been selfish, assuming she had no other friends in Rome.
Their own dinner was a quiet affair. Everyone seemed subdued, and when José joined them, to be informed of Jacqueline’s plans, he received the news with a silent shrug. Somewhat to Jean’s surprise, the idea of a costume party seemed to please him.
“I am thinking,” he said, pressing his fingertips to his temples. “I will invent something.”
“Why don’t you come as Torquemada?” Andy asked. “That would be in character.”
Under cover of the ensuing argument, Jean turned to Michael. He was back to his sketching again. She tried to see what he was doing, but he shook his head and moved the book away.
“Wait till it’s finished.”
“What costume are you going to wear?” Jean asked.
“Dunno.”
“Don’t shave tomorrow,” Andy advised. “Then you can come as a Skid Row bum. In your