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eyes, exquisitely soft, contrasted startlingly with her
hard body. She was fit and athletic, her black tights and
oversized white shirt nearly hiding the fact that she was
about six months pregnant. The commotion I d heard
had been a little girl, about three, scampering to the
door. Her halo of curly hair was lighter, but she had her
mother s eyes.
 Alexa. The mother collared the little one.  Stay in
here with Mommy, you can t go out now. Her voice
was throaty, her words warm, with the faintest trace of
an accent.
 Dallas Suarez?
YOU ONLY DIE TWICE 193
 Svenson. She smiled.  Dallas Svenson. I ve been
married for some time.
Her eyes widened slightly at my name.  Can I talk to
you about what happened ten years ago? I asked.
She stepped back, took a deep breath, and glanced
away for a moment, blinking, as though my appearance
was painful.  I was afraid of this, she murmured. Her
Bambi eyes refocused on me.  I was afraid the press
might look me up.
 I have no plans to rehash old news, I assured her.
 I m just trying to piece things together, to find out
where Kaithlin was all this time.
Polite but wary, she let me in. We sat in a sunny
breakfast room, her little girl busy nearby with a color­
ing book and crayons.
 I almost didn t recognize you, I said.
She smiled and patted her stomach.  I m not sur­
prised. I guess it s obvious I m not doing much skydiv­
ing, flying, or skiing these days. Life changes when you
have kids, you know.
 But you look happy, as though you have no regrets.
 Happy? Yes, she said.  Regrets, sure. Have you seen
him? She lowered her eyes.  Have you seen R. J.?
I nodded.
 How is he?
 Older, I said.  Bitter.
 Who could blame him? she said.  Even I didn t
believe him. Oh, I did at first. But the police kept ques­
tioning me. They were so sure. Everybody believed he
did it. So, eventually, I believed it too. I should have
known better.
 Why did he prefer you to his wife?
194 EDNA BUCHANAN
 That was the hell of it, she said, smile rueful.  He
didn t. He loved her. I knew he d never get her out of
his system, no matter what he said.
 What was she like?
 Stupid, she said, without hesitation.  She had to be
the world s most stupid woman. He craved attention,
needed love and affection, tender loving care. He didn t
get it from her.
 His reputation and his press clippings seem to indi­
cate that he never lacked attention.
She clasped her hands, taking a deep breath. An im­
pressive diamond-studded wedding band and an oval
amethyst winked on her long slender fingers.  I thought
the same thing when we met. That facade of his masked
a great many insecurities. He looked like a Greek god,
larger than life, with a roguish, wild-Indian sort of
charm. He never lied about being married. He had to
qualify when he bought the plane. I was his flight in­
structor. We both loved to fly. What started as a harmless
flirtation became serious for me once I got to know the
man. When I saw his sensitive, vulnerable side, I fell.
She sighed, soft eyes caressing her little girl.
 He hated the family business, she said.  It was all
his parents thought about when he was growing up.
They gave him everything except what all kids crave;
that s why he ran wild. Ironically, he finally married a
woman he loved and she rejected him too, by becoming
involved with the same rival, the family stores.
 But it all would have been his eventually.
 He wanted no part of it. She stopped to praise a
picture colored by little Alexa.  They insisted he study
business administration, she continued, lifting the
YOU ONLY DIE TWICE 195
child onto her lap.  He hated that. Did you know he
wanted to study architecture?
 No, I said.  I never heard that.
 You should see his sketches. He was so talented,
absolutely wonderful. He talked about it all the time.
He dreamed of designing buildings, timeless structures
to shelter people and their children. He had no interest
in operating retail stores, selling cosmetics, clothes,
and jewelry.
 It was a crazy time, she reflected, smoothing her
little girl s hair.  It was the usual thing. The same sad
story. You always hear it. I loved him, he loved her and
she loved. . .  her voice trailed off  who knows?
Her picture was always in the newspaper. She was a
community activist, she helped women, was involved
in civic projects that were good public relations for the
company, but what did she ever do for him? She [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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