With no more than a cursory knock the bedroom door flew open, and a child streaked in, stopping short in the middle of the room. “Hey, Lou,” she said. “What’s Jack doing here?”
The cynical, disapproving expression faded from Jack McGowan’s face as he smiled down at the little girl, and he was suddenly, shockingly handsome. “How’s my best sweetheart?”
“I’m not your best sweetheart, Jack,” she said severely. “Lou is, though she won’t admit it.”
“What’s going on?” Susan demanded weakly, one last time.
The girl looked up at her out of strangely familiar eyes. “What’s wrong with her?” she demanded.
“Your sister seems to have developed a convenient form of temporary amnesia, probably to avoid making the worst mistake of her life.”
“Don’t be stupid, Lou,” the girl said. “If you don’t want to many Neddie just tell him so. I don’t like him, anyway—I think Daddy’s the only one who really approves of him. You’ve got almost three days till the wedding—you can always call it off.”
“Edward,” she said dazedly. “I’m marrying Edward in three days.”
“She’s gotten very formal all of a sudden,” Jack said. “She wants to be called Tallulah rather than Lou, so I guess Edward rather than Neddie is only logical. C’mon, squirt, let’s leave the blushing bride alone, and maybe she’ll remember the mess she’s making of her life.”
“Wait!” Susan cried, as the two of them headed for the door, the tall, tall man and the child. The little girl turned around and looked at her out of Mary Abbott’s blue eyes.
“What’s wrong, Lou?” she demanded, looking worried.
She staggered back a few steps, until she came up against the high, unfamiliar bed. She sank down, dropping her head, and saw the dark curls veil her face.
“I’ll be fine,” she said in her strange voice. “Just give me a couple of minutes.”
“Do you want me to send Mummy up?”
“No!”
“I don’t blame you. Mummy’s not very motherly, is she? I’ll tell them you might not be down for dinner, and I’ll see if Hattie can sneak you something later.”
She looked up. The man stood silhouetted in the doorway, looking at her strangely. Somewhere in the distance she heard Frank Sinatra singing. She shivered in the warm air.
“Just give me a few minutes,” she begged in that unfamiliar, sultry voice. “I’ll be fine.”
She heard their voices trail off behind fire closed door, but she didn’t move, standing completely still in the darkened bedroom, afraid, when she had always done her best to fight her fears. She took a deep, steadying breath and touched her hair again. The long flowing curls that didn’t belong to her.
She pushed herself away from the bed and moved to the dressing table with its triptych mirror. There were two tall lamps on either side, and she sat down on the bench and switched them on, lifting her head to stare at her reflection without flinching.
The woman in the mirror looked a little simple-minded from shock, Susan thought wryly. And who wouldn’t, facing a reflection that was completely foreign.”
Well, not . completely. She’d seen that face, that body in the minor in her mother’s house in Connecticut. And she’d seen that face, that body in one of the few old photographs her mother possessed of her long-dead sister.
The woman in the mirror was Tallulah Abbott. The woman whose body was encasing Susan’s soul was Tallulah Abbott Three days before her wedding day. Three days before her death.
Susan slammed down the panic that suddenly swelled into her throat Maybe if she screamed she’d wake up, or maybe if she screamed all those people would come running again, and she’d have to come up with some sort of excuse. It had to be some crazy dream, brought on by the stress of the past few weeks, topped off by the appearance of Jake Wyczynski and the stranger who might possibly be her father. She was having the mother of all nightmares, and there was nothing to worry about.
She knew about dreams. How they mirrored the deeper concerns of everyday life. How they could teach you a lesson you were unwilling to learn during the day. No dream ever killed you, no matter how bizarre.
She could survive this dream in all its strangeness. She might wake up in a second, or it might take days. But panic would only make things worse.
She looked up at her reflection once more, taking a moment to enjoy it She really did look like a cross between Ava Gardner and Rita Hayworth. The rich dark curls tumbled to her shoulders, her eyebrows were delicately plucked over huge, vibrant eyes, her nose was small and narrow, her mouth painted a lush crimson. For the first time in her life she was astonishingly beautiful, and she might as well enjoy it.
She rose and pulled off the wedding dress. It fitted more tightly than when she’d put it on, and she loosened tire satin lacing in the front to get it off.
Her underwear was absurd. She had to be at least a thirty-six-C bra size, when she’d never been much more than a thirty-four A. She was more rounded, but still not in need of the thick rubber girdle that encircled her hips and held up the dark stockings.
She was about to peel off the girdle when she saw the maroon dress lying across a chair. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out she was supposed to wear that dress, but she wasn’t ready to do that Wasn’t certain she was ready to accept this dream, or nightmare.
