Superstition

54

She took the subway from Grand Central and emerged on Sixty-eighth Street. Minutes later she was on the street that she had walked along the day before with Sam. The house they had seen then had been neglected, closed up and uninhabited. Tonight its windows blazed with light, and its door, painted in a green so dark that it was almost black, bore the number 139 in plain brass characters.

Filled though she was with an apprehension bordering on terror, she stepped up and rang the bell. She heard a lock turn, and the door opened. There was no recognition in Ralph Cazaubon's face when he saw her.

“Ralph?” She spoke his name uncertainly, her voice caught somewhere in her throat.

A look came into his eyes. Not recognition, but understanding of some kind.

“Do you know me?” he asked her.

“Yes. Don't you know me?”

He shook his head slightly, then checked himself. “Yes, I think I know who you are.”

There must have been some change in her face, some expression of relief or gratitude for the tiny crumb of comfort he had offered her, because she saw it reflected in his. There was a sympathy in the way he looked at her, a kindness that had become in so short a span of time quite alien to her.

“Do you? Do you really know me?”

There was a pleading in her eyes and voice that touched him. He could not believe that this poor disturbed creature meant ill toward anyone.

“I think you'd better come in,” he said.

As she stepped into the light, he saw that her hair was dank and tangled from the rain that had been falling earlier. There was a red mark on her cheek where she'd been scratched by something. Her clothes were creased and dirty, and her shoes caked with mud that had splashed up her legs.

She looked around, then turned to fix her gaze on him as he closed the door behind her. The words began to tumble out of her.

“Nobody knows who I am anymore. Only you. And this morning I was so afraid of you I ran away. I went to my parents’ house and they locked me out, they didn't know me…and then I heard someone say their daughter's name was Cazaubon, Joanna Cazaubon…”

“Come through, in here…”

He took her arm and steered her gently through into the drawing room where he had sat with Sam two hours earlier.

“Sit down. Don't be afraid, don't worry about anything. I'll do all I can to help you.”

“But do you know what's happening? Do you understand?”

“I think I do.”

She became agitated suddenly. “I have to talk to somebody. His name's Sam Towne. I must find Sam, we must call him…”

“Sam Towne was here earlier.”

She seemed both surprised and reassured to hear this.

“He was here…?”

“Two hours ago. He was looking for you.”

“We must call him now…Please, I must see him…Sam will know what to do…we must get him here…”

“Yes, of course, I'll call him.”

Just then, distantly, he heard his wife call “Ralph…?” She was coming down the stairs.

The woman with him reacted instantly. “Who's that…?” she asked abruptly, as though the voice she had heard belonged to someone with no right to be there, an intruder whose presence was both an affront and a threat to her.

He didn't answer her question. All he said was, “Wait here a moment, please.”

“But I have to see her…”

“You will. But just sit down a moment, please.”

She sat obediently on the edge of the sofa that Sam had occupied earlier. Ralph started out of the room. At the door he glanced over his shoulder; she was still there, tense and ready to get up and follow him if he gave the word.

“One second,” he said. “I'll be right back.”

He slipped out and closed the door behind him, then ran up the stairs to intercept Joanna. They almost collided at the first landing.

“I heard the bell,” she said. “Who was it?”

“It's her,” he said in a whisper, “the woman who was at your parents’ earlier.”

“Where is she-?”

“The sitting room.”

She made a move to pass him, but he blocked her.

“No-I think it's better you don't.”

“But I have to see her. I want to find out who she is.”

“Darling, let me handle it-please.”

“Maybe I know her. Like you said, it could be somebody I went to school with…”

“She's obviously disturbed, I don't think we should risk provoking some kind of crisis.”

“There's already a crisis if she's going around pretending to be me. I want to see her.”

He didn't argue further, just let her pass and followed her down the remaining stairs and into the hall. He made sure he was right behind her as she pushed open the door into the drawing room.

They both stopped and looked around. The room was empty.

She turned to him. “She doesn't seem to be here now.”

He looked around again, bewildered. “She was right there, on the sofa.”

“Well, she must have left.”

Ralph quickly checked the room. There was no hiding place.

“She can't have left,” he said. “We'd have heard the door.”

“Maybe not if she didn't want us to.”

“For God's sake,” he said, “this is ridiculous. Who is she?”