Mrs. John Doe

Chapter 6

“Who was that character?” Craig Elder asked her.

Nora looked over at him. They were at the corner of Gower Street, turning in the direction of the hotel, and this was the first time he’d spoken since they’d left the park. She thought of her acting training, arranging her features in what she hoped was blank surprise.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

“Oh, come on.” He stopped walking, pressing his left hand against his damaged right sleeve, checking that the makeshift bandage was still in place under it. “I saw your face when you looked at him, and later, when he took off. You recognized him.”

Yes, I did, she thought, but she merely shrugged and said, “I thought I recognized him for a moment, but I was wrong. I never saw him before. I have no idea who he is.” At least that last sentence was true. She wasn’t going to go into it all here, now, with this stranger.

“Okay,” he said, and they began walking again, “but be careful with that purse.”

She smiled. “I will. What do you do, Mr. Elder? I mean, when you’re not saving ladies in distress.”

“Student,” he said. “In, um, Dublin. I’m here on summer hols, um, bunking with a mate who lives just off Russell Square. I run in that park every day, to stay in shape.”

“Lucky for me that you do,” she said. “Dublin-would that be City University, University College, or Blanchett College?”

He blinked. “Um, Blanchett. And you?”

“I’m an actor,” she said, “and now I teach acting at a university in the States.” She didn’t add that she was enough of an actor to know that he’d just lied to her. He was too old to be a student, for one thing. He was in his late twenties, possibly early thirties. He was stammering, and he clearly didn’t know Dublin. There was no Blanchett College-she’d made it up on the spot and named it after her favorite movie star. The other two schools were real, but liars always went for the final choice in multiple choices. Jeff had told her that.

She gave her champion a covert once-over. Six two, lanky but powerfully muscled, strong features dominated by intelligent gray eyes, full lips and good teeth, short brown hair that came close to being a buzz cut, and a two-day shadow on his tanned skin. He had one of those Irish grins, all encompassing and startlingly masculine, and his voice was a resonant baritone. Nora the drama teacher always noticed these things. Something about him reminded her of the military. Whatever he did, she didn’t think he spent a lot of time behind a desk. Definitely an outdoors type.

“Here we are,” she said as they arrived at the Byron Hotel. He held the door for her and followed her inside. She stopped next to the bust of Lord Byron on a table in the entryway and turned to face her new friend. He looked at the bust, then up at a portrait of the poet in a gilt frame behind it. On the wall beside the print were framed poems, “She Walks in Beauty” and “So We’ll Go No More A-Roving” among them. Nora pointed to her favorite, a framed line from the play Don Juan, which was probably Byron’s most famous quotation:

’Tis strange-but true; for truth is always strange;

Stranger than fiction.

“Words to live by,” she said. “If you want to wait here a moment, I’ll ask the manager for a first aid kit, and we can do something about that arm.”

“Don’t bother,” he said. “My, um, my mate has stuff back at-at his flat. He’s a med student.”

At Blanchett College? she thought, but she didn’t say it. She said, “I’m meeting a friend for dinner; she should be here any minute. Will you join us?”

He didn’t answer her immediately. He was staring past her, into the lobby. Nora turned around and looked. Wimbledon had apparently not been called for fog tonight, and there were only three people here. An elderly American couple in one corner argued over a map of England. In another corner sat a pretty young blond woman in a low-cut blouse and a short skirt, with beautiful legs crossed at the knee that ended in a pair of spiked heels. Craig was staring at the girl. Nora smiled.

“Oh, no thank you,” he murmured, tearing his gaze from the vision. “I really must be going now. Will you be all right here until your friend joins you?”

“Please don’t worry about me anymore,” Nora said. “You’ve done enough of that for one night. Thank you again, Mr. Elder the younger.” If that’s really your name, she thought.

“Well, good night, then,” he said. “And be careful.” With a smile and a last, swift glance at the fabulous legs in the armchair, he strode quickly out into the fog.

Be careful, Pal.

It was the second time in an hour that a strange man had instructed her to be careful. In the case of Craig Elder, that final warning hadn’t been the tip-off, not by a long shot. She’d begun to have her suspicions about him as far back as the park, when he appeared so conveniently to spring into action. He’d told the boy, Gary, and the security guard exactly what to do, and they’d automatically obeyed him. When the thief escaped, he’d spoken into his cellphone-but no police had arrived. Someone else, somewhere else, had been alerted. Craig Elder was not a student; Nora was certain of that. She wondered again about a possible military background. Still, all this evidence hadn’t decided it for her. It was something he’d said outside, on the way here just now: Be careful with that purse. That had been the dead giveaway.

What is it? she wondered. What on earth do I have in my purse?

“Nora, darling!”

Nora looked at the front door, and a genuine smile came to her lips. Vivian Howard was the only non-actress she’d ever met who could always make an entrance worthy of a star. She stood there in a tasteful black suit that complemented her glossy black cap of hair, an expression of concern on her handsome, immaculately painted face, holding out her arms.

“Hello, Viv,” Nora said, and the two women embraced.