Read Online Weep No More My Lady by Mary Higgins Clark - Free Book Online Page B

the mirror. Today she was no ad for this place. Shadows under her eyes—how long since she’d had her eyes done? Five years? Something hard to accept was happening. She was fifty-nine years old. Until this last year she could have passed for ten years younger. No more.
    Helmut was smiling at her in the mirror. Deliberately, he rested his chin on her head. His eyes were a shade of blue that always reminded her of the waters in the Adriatic Sea around Dubrovnik, where she had been born. The long, distinguished face with its picture-perfect tan was unlined, the dark brown sideburns untouched by gray. Helmut was fifteen years her junior. For the first years of their marriage it hadn’t mattered. But now?
    She had met him at the spa in Baden-Baden, after Samuel died. Five years of catering to that fussy old man had paid off. He’d left her twelve million dollars and this property.
    She hadn’t been stupid about Helmut’s sudden attentiveness to her. No man becomes enamored of a woman fifteen years his senior unless there’s something he wants. At first she had accepted his attentions cynically, but by the end of two weeks she had realized that she was becoming deeply interested in him and in his suggestion that she convert the Cypress Point Hotel into a spa. . . . The cost had been staggering, but Helmut had urged her to consider it an investment, not an expenditure. The day the Spa opened, he had asked her to marry him.
    She sighed heavily.
    â€œMinna, what is it?”
    How long had they been staring at each other in the mirror? “You know.”
    He bent down and kissed her cheek.
    Incredibly, they’d been happy together. She had never dared tell him how much she loved him, instinctively afraid to hand him that weapon, always watching for signs of restlessness. But he ignored the young women who flirted with him. It was only Leila who had seemed to dazzle him, only Leila who had made her churn in an agony of fear. . . .
    Perhaps she had been wrong. If one could believe him, Helmut had actually disliked Leila, even hated her. Leila had been openly contemptuous of him—but then, Leila had been contemptuous of every man she knew well. . . .
    The shadows had become long in the room. The breeze from the sea was sharply cooler. Helmut reached his hands under her elbows. “Rest a little. You’ll have to put up with the lot of them in less than an hour.”
    Min clutched his hand. “Helmut, how do you think she’ll react?”
    â€œVery badly.”
    â€œDon’t tell me that,” she wailed. “Helmut, you know why I have to try. It’s our only chance.”

9
    AT SEVEN O’CLOCK, CHIMES FROM THE MAIN HOUSE ANNOUNCED the arrival of the “cocktail” hour, and immediately the paths to the main house became filled with people—singles, couples, groups of three or four. All were well dressed, in semiformal wear, the women in elegant caftans or flowing tunics, the men in blazers, slacks and sport shirts. Blazing gemstones were mixed with amusing costume pieces. Famous faces greeted each other warmly, or nodded distantly. Soft lights glowed on the veranda, where waiters in ivory-and-blue uniforms served delicate canapes and alcohol-free “cocktails.”
    Elizabeth decided to wear the dusty-pink silk jumpsuit with a magenta sash that had been Leila’s last birthday present to her. Leila always wrote a note on her personal stationery. The note that had accompanied this outfit was tucked in the back of Elizabeth’s wallet, a talisman of love. She’d written: “It’s a long, long way from May to December. Love and Happy Birthday to my darling Capricorn sister from the Taurus kid.”
    Somehow, wearing that outfit, rereading that note made it easier for Elizabeth to leave the bungalow and start up the path to the main house. She kept a halfsmile on her face as she finally saw some of the regulars.