“How close were you when she died?”
“We were friends, I guess, but I wouldn’t say we were all that close—she never shared anything about herself, she was mostly just obsessed with the book—but she had no one else so I?—”
“I mean at the moment of her death. Were you there?”
“At the hospital, yes, but not in the room, not right at the end. I’d sat with her all night, and for several days before that, but then her ex-husband arrived. She’d been asking for him, in her slightly more lucid moments—which I thought was her minddrifting again, but she was so insistent. And then he turned up! So I left the room, left him to his grief, and that’s when it happened, when she died… Carter, what’s the matter? You’ve gone kind of white.”
“He definitely introduced himself as her ex-husband?”
“I think so. I mean, I guess it’s possible he said ‘ex’ and I put the rest together. She’d once told me she’d briefly been married, but it seemed a painful memory, so I didn’t press her on it. Why, what’s wrong?”
“When she was asking for her ‘husband’, did she use his name?”
“She might have but she was so hard to understand. I definitely caught the words ‘my husband.’ And she said something like, ‘I need to see him. I need to give it to him.’ But I couldn’t get anything more from her. I took the liberty of searching her things to see if I could find any indication of his identity, but there was almost nothing personal there. Just a U.S. passport, and a few photos that I figured were of her family, back when she was a kid—not on display, mind you. Tucked away in a drawer. No wedding photo, though I found a couple of rings that could have been engagement and wedding rings. I called immigration authorities but they wouldn’t help, so I called the Russian embassy and they said they’d look into it, but I didn’t hear back. And then this guy showed up at the hospital and I guessed someone had gotten in touch with him. Why are you looking at me like that?”
He’d paused eating, mid-bite, then frantically swallowed. “You called the Russians?”
“I didn’t know what else to do.”
“She was a former American asset and you called the Russian embassy.”
“I didn’t know she was a spy! Like I say, she hadn’t told me much about her life. Well, I guess she had, but I didn’t know it was real.”
“The Russians,” he said, shaking his head.
“The woman was in her final days. All I wanted was to give her a little comfort. It was her last wish to see this guy. I felt so helpless sitting at her bedside just watching. She was dying before my eyes and… Oh God, what did I do? Who was he? He seemed genuinely upset. I didn’t think to question it.”
“I have no idea, butI’mher ex-husband—well, my alias was. Her only ex-husband, as far as I know.”
“You married her? Omigod, you married her to save her, to get her out of Russia.”
“Wasn’t quite like that—but you already knew all that, it’s in the book.”
“I didn’t know it actually happened. That was one of the parts I made up. Of course, she may have tried to tell me. I disregarded so much that was on those last few tapes because it made no sense. But that … that makes perfect sense.”
“How so?”
“She was obviously in love with you. But you were… Sorry. Forget it.”
“I was what?”
“I … didn’t get the impression that the feeling was mutual. Or that you were available, emotionally.”
He raised his eyebrows.Note to self, she thought,you don’t actually know this guy.
“But you were noble,” Alice said, after some thought, “so I figured it was the kind of thing you’d do.” And again with the eyebrows. “He’ddo,” she clarified. “Anderson Holt. I did think of ending the book with a proper wedding but I decided it wouldn’t fit. I’d have to change too much of the story to make itseem genuine. And I’d already changed so many things from her original vision.”
“What did he look like, this ‘husband’?”
“Slender. Short dark hair, pale. He was only in the room a few minutes and then he came out and gave me a nod as if to confirm she’d passed. I checked on her and called out to the staff and by the time they called the time of death, he was nowhere to be found.”
“How do you know he didn’t finish her off?”
“Why would he do that? She had days to live, at most. She was barely conscious, had hardly spoken for a week. And if that guy wasn’t genuinely heartbroken, he was an excellent actor. He came by the house the next day, saying he wanted to see where she’d spent her last days, to get some closure.”
“And you let him in?”
“Why wouldn’t I? I told him about the funeral, but he didn’t come. Well, no one came but Kimberly and me and a few people from the cancer support group.”
