Follow the white pebbles Page 3

  As they walked down the hall Arthur began to make plans for helping her in the only way he knew how. He would employ the most prestigious teachers to instruct her in the art of being a young lady. Beginning today with a lesson in dinner etiquette, for she most probably must be hungry, then with a series of intensive teachings commencing tomorrow. She would start piano and singing lessons, French and Latin courses, as well as a very thorough acquaintance with the subtlety of the English language. Dancing as well, as a side dish.

  “Are we goin’, or you decided you wanna keep oglin’ me all night long?” the subject of his reverie bit out at him.

  Arthur stared at her in silence for a long moment then turned around and closed the distance to his employee in a few brisk steps. “Run another DNA scan, Rockwood.” He leaned forward to whisper to the investigator’s ear. “Then another one. Until you come back with a hundred percent accuracy.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Elisabeth Wilburn’s palms were stuck to the limo’s side window with the fingers fanned out, and her nose was so squashed on the glass, it looked like a pig’s snout from outside. She appeared to be staring in fascination at the corporate headquarters, expensive condos, art galleries and hotels that lined the side of the road. Yet for her the scenery rolled like a blurred image seen through teary eyes from a bullet train in full motion. She wasn’t crying though.

  Her thoughts were winding back to all that had happened since she’d woken up yesterday morning on a hospital bed. One moment blinking hard in confusion while everything spun around her in a crazy merry-go-round. The next, tearing away the intravenous tubes and monitor cables, creating so much chaos that half the Trauma Department staff stormed in as if she was about to push up daisies.

  Then the doctor in charge had a good look at her, blinding her with a handheld device while staring into the depths of her eyes. Wrestled her to hold her still while he fastened the blood pressure cuff around her upper arm, explaining that it was a medical device which had nothing to do with a restraint like those used by the authorities. Although she had no idea why he would say something like that. Once he was done poking at her he rearranged his disheveled lab coat, and the talking began. Or rather the questioning to be more precise, to which she invariably replied with the same couple of words just like a parrot. Only that her voice kept rising like lava in a volcano until it turned into a hysterical screech. “I dunno!” Indeed, the fact that she couldn’t remember a damn thing about her life scared the shit out of her really bad.

  Then the doctor scratched his head, looked at her as if she were mad, and started talking a foreign language saying stuff like “amnesia, but no parahippocampal or entorhinal damage has been found.” She was sure these were the words, because she made him say them about ten times in a row until they were forever branded onto her mind. Parahippocampal and entorhinal. They sounded fun.

  Soon after he left with his herd of nurses, other visitors started pouring in. At first, two police officers from the 70th precinct stopped by. They stared at her with suspicious eyes while asking the same questions as the good doctor. She just stared back at them, saying that she couldn’t remember a damn thing, but she could reassure them that ‘no parahippocampal or entorhinal damage had been found.’ Whatever that was supposed to be.

  Then a twittering chick with six inch stilettos and Crazy Fuchsia painted lips shooed them out of the room and started the ‘counseling’. Which was the biggest bullshit Elisabeth had ever heard in her life. She was about to fall asleep when the chick mentioned the Wilburns. Cautiously.

  There were some more tests to be run, but chances were that her long lost parents had been found. At first, the words ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ made Elisabeth’s eyes feel a bit watery, then a sudden rush of fury blinded her. Who the hell were these people, barging into her life to claim her, when she definitely had a life of her own, she had thought. Too bad she couldn’t remember it just yet, but it would all come back to her, and she would bet her damn ass that someone waited for her to return. A mother, a father, a lover. Or maybe no one? Still, she knew she’d wake up to a life she’s lived without Wilburns in it. How the hell could she call them ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ when she was… How old was she? Damn! She couldn’t even remember her name, and the chatterbox who was sitting in front of her was talking nineteen to the dozen, making her head spin.

  The day had gone by, with no sign of the Wilburns. Oddly, she was hurt by this. So much for eager parents, she thought bitterly. Five times she tried to tiptoe past the hospital’s doors, five times she failed miserably. Of course, she was still wearing a hospital gown and had to walk around fisting together its folds at her butt, somehow looking as if she was in dire need to go to relieve herself and just couldn’t hold it. Security finished by patrolling the corridor in front of her door until the sedatives kicked in. It had been fun after all, because she got to kick one of them in the groin.

  The next day she made another break for freedom but didn’t even reach the elevator’s door. Not by herself, anyway. She was ensconced in one of the private rooms. It was there that she discovered a universal truth; no matter where you were, the hospital food still sucked. Then the visitors started to pour in once more. People from some DNA labs, sticking needles in her and draining blood. Then sedatives again.

  She woke up to the sight of two strange faces slightly leaning over her, groggily realizing that one of them mirrored her own. It was just that her own features were a pallid, shaggy copy of the enchanting beauty standing in front of her, tears streaming down her silky cheeks. So the Wilburns had finally decided to turn up.

  Madeline seemed all right, although she was too damn weepy. The man though, Arthur the dinosaur, was a big pompous rat with an attitude, and Elisabeth took so much pleasure in stinging him, although guilt poked at her when she noticed Madeline’s sorrow. The woman seemed genuinely affected by this whole reunion thing, and was getting the shock of her life both from meeting her long missing daughter and from seeing her arrogant husband behave like a stupid ass.

  Elisabeth… Bah! She hated it. She’d wipe her butt with this damn name and flush it down the toilet. Her real name will come back to her soon enough. Lizzie will do in the meantime. Elisabeth. Only a puffed-up turkey like Arthur could think to call her that.

  And suddenly, Lizzie couldn’t quite remember why she had recoiled in fear at the thunder of Arthur’s voice back at the hospital. There was an agitation that had rattled her in lingering waves, settling stubbornly at the back of her mind. It must be the evil that nestled within the damn man.

  “We are home.” Madeline’s crystalline voice claimed her attention.

  Lizzie peeled her nose from the window to look out the open door at the chauffeur who stood stiff like a stick, staring somewhere ahead in the distance with a blank, unblinking gaze. She stepped out on the footpath, gawking at the luxurious apartment building that rose in front of her.

  “I suppose you are hungry, my dear.” Madeline showed her inside the lobby with an elegant wave of her hand. “William will see that you have something to eat before you go to bed. As for your attire, we did not know your size, so we bought quite a few clothes. They are all stored in the walk-in-robe in your quarters,” she said.

  “Huh?” Lizzie stared at her open-mouthed. “Don’t you people know English? What’s this? A disease or somethin’? It’s happenin’ to everybody, to the damn doctor too. What the hell is ‘attire’? And how can you store clothes in some damn coins?” she asked, following close behind Madeline inside the elevator.

  “Oh, I am sorry, my dear.” Madeline patted her arm, stealing a furtive glance at Arthur’s clenched jaws. “We tend to use a snobbish vocabulary. Attire means clothes, and quarters can also have a different meaning than coins. Quarters also signify an accommodation such as an apartment, or a suite,” she explained. “In other words, what I wanted to say is that you will find quite a few clothes in your apartment, in your walk-in-robe.”

  “So, I don’t live with you
two?” Lizzie looked at her disconcerted.

  “Of course you do,” Madeline replied.

  A frustrated sigh escaped Lizzie’s lips as she rolled her eyes with indolence. “What’s wrong with you people?” she exclaimed. “I have my own damn apartment but I live with you. Can you make up your mind?”

  Madeline looked at her daughter, pained about the life that she appeared to have lived and the world that she was coming from. She wanted to hug her, hold her until she found her feet. But she knew it would be quite some time before Lizzie would start taking her barriers down.

  The elevator’s door slid open and the breathtaking splendor of the Louis XV legacy that filled the first floor of the condo came into sight. No piece of the high-style furniture had escaped the lofty look of the ebony carved in shallow relief, fanciful patterns of tortoiseshell and ivory inlaid on layers of veneer. In his thirst for authenticity, Arthur had also made sure that the taste for secrecy that pervaded society in the early 1700’s was incorporated in this resplendent décor. He had purchased articles of furniture that included hiding places which opened with squeaky springs.

  “Holly crap,” Lizzie uttered. “You live in a damn museum.”

  Arthur felt his temples drum in a savage rhythm. He bit his tongue, hard, tasting blood, knowing that Madeline would never forgive him if he alienated their daughter.

  “Watch your language, young lady,” he warned, trying to keep his voice down. Once again, his tone came out a shrill.

  With the corner of her eye, Madeline saw her daughter flinch as if Arthur’s words had snapped across her skin like a whip. She turned to look at Lizzie in disbelief, only to see a little chin tipped up in defiance, and furious amber eyes staring from behind huge red-framed glasses that poked from underneath the unruly fringe.

  “Come with me, my dear. The table is set.” Madeline sent her husband a dark stare and gently pulled Lizzie by the elbow.

  “Good evening, Madam, sir.” The butler appeared out of nowhere, muting the commotion.

  He briefly looked the newcomer up and down with impassible eyes, not flinching or even blinking at her appearance.

  Madeline blessed him silently.

  William opened his mouth again to speak, bowing slightly. “Welcome home, Miss Elisab…”

  “Don’t you dare to say that name.” Lizzie frowned. “I had enough of this shit. My name isn’t Elisabeth. Get it?” She took two steps toward William, staring viciously at him. “You can call me Lizzie till I remember my name.”

  “I shall do that, Miss Lizzie.” The butler bowed again, his face unreadable.

  “Didn’t you hear me, man? Are you deaf or somethin’?” Lizzie took another step forward. “It’s Lizzie. Where did the ‘Miss’ come from, huh?”

  “My apologies, Miss, but this is the house protocol,” William replied.

  She racked a furious hand through her fringe and sighed heavily. “Damn if I can understand you, people. Where the hell is that food you were talkin’ about? I’m so hungry I could eat a scabby horse.”

  “This way, Miss.” William waved gracefully.

  She shook her head in disbelief and followed him, not once looking back to see if her parents cared to join her.

  There was no scabby horse planted on the middle of the Louis XV dinner table. William had made sure though that the newest member of the family would have a meal worthy of the King of France and of Navarre who had lent his name to the noble furniture on which Lizzie was now resting her elbows. As the tense silence between the trio stretched forward, Lizzie finally reached out and tore the hind leg of a roasted piglet with her bare hands. She devoured it in less than three minutes, leaving a thick coat of grease around her mouth and on her cheeks. She wiped it off with the sleeve of her jacket and went on to attack the hors d’oeuvre, moaning at times with profound satisfaction, eyes half closed, as if this was going to be her last meal.

  Arthur sat across from her as if he were paralyzed. His incredulous gaze continuously shifted from the sides of her face that looked as full and deformed as a hamster’s cheek pouches to the greasy fingerprints that she kept smudging on crystal glass and on the satin cloth that covered the table. Madeline sat next to him, the blush on her cheeks steadily turning to crimson.

  Lizzie stood up out of the blue, her mouth still full with piglet crackling mixed with a bite of strawberry and cream tart. “Omigosh, that was dynamite,” she mumbled almost unintelligibly, squeezing out a soft belch. “Where’s my ‘quarters’?” she asked, heading for the door.

  “That is it, my girl, I have had quite enough and so has your mother.” Arthur stood up. He turned to look briefly at Madeline who stared at him with anger. He shrugged it off. “Since we picked you up you have been rude, ungrateful and ill-mannered. Please go to your room and think about it.”

  Madeline looked at him, her mouth dropped in shock. Her hurt gaze washed over him for long moments before she turned towards Elisabeth. “I will show you to your quarters,” she said, her voice begging for forgiveness on behalf of her rude husband.

  Lizzie’s apartment was on the third floor of the condo, just as hers and Arthur’s, but right now they weren’t going to use the elevator. Madeline relished the chance of being alone with her strange daughter for a couple of minutes before having to go through the embarrassing task of showing her once again a foreign territory. In all fairness, Lizzie’s apartment looked nothing short of a museum.

  Madeline started toward the staircase with small steps. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, her hand clenched on the lacquered balustrade, a deep frown starting to form in between her eyebrows. “Lizzie, I just wanted to tell you how much…” Her words died on her lips as she barely had time to pick up her skirts and almost run up the stairs behind her daughter. Lizzie was already leaping toward the top floor skipping two steps at the time.

  “What?” Lizzie drew up short on the landing of the third floor and turned around, almost colliding with Madeline. She caught her mother by the arms just as she was about to tumble backwards down the stairs. Her gaze briefly met that of the woman who was now standing in front of her, panting hard with exhaustion, exhaustion dwelling in the depths of her eyes too, but of a different kind. Madeline was emotionally drained.

  “Come,” Madeline squeezed the words out. “I will show you your apartment.” She stopped in front of huge double doors, turning to point to others that mirrored them across the hall. “There is Arthur’s apartment and mine.”

  Lizzie just nodded and entered her suite. She skimmed the living room and the study with indifferent eyes as she strolled toward the majestic bedroom at the end of a long corridor. A four-posted, queen-sized bed stood in the middle, covered with satiny bed sheets and a dozen pillows.

  “Here is your walk-in-robe, my dear,” Madeline called from behind.

  Lizzie closed the distance to her mother in a few unhurried steps and peeked through the door. “Omigosh.” Her mouth opened as she stared over her mother’s shoulder at the large room. The walls were lined with racks full of dresses, coats and gowns, shelves filled with shoes and all sorts of accessories. They were all so elegant and expensive, she could swear she’d never seen anything like this in her entire life. For the first time since she had met her parents she was speechless.

  “Damn! This is five times bigger than my…” she said without thinking then stopped. Her brain froze. A faint image of a closet-sized bedroom had just flashed through her mind for the briefest time. She gasped in shock and bewilderment, a part of her struggling to dig deeper to search for it again.

  Madeline flinched. “Bigger than what, my dear?” she asked shakily, catching the fleeting look on her daughter’s face.

  “I…I dunno.” Lizzie frowned. “I thought I remembered somethin’.” Her gaze flew back at the racks of garments and her face contorted with sudden fury. “What the hell do you want me to do with these clothes? I’m not a damn porcelain doll,” she lashed out.

  Madeline’s eyes clouded, unsure of what
had just happened. Then the realization dawned on her. “It is all right, my dear. You do not have to wear them if you do not like them. I will see that they are removed in the morning and you will go shopping for what pleases you. It is that all right?”

  The soft tone of her voice made Lizzie’s heart sink a little. “Yeah.” She nodded. “I’m gonna go sleep now,” she sent out the blunt invitation.

  Madeline stood there in indecision, wringing her hands without thinking. “Lizzie,” she commenced softly, “I do not expect you to care for me and your father any time soon, all the more when your memory will be fully recovered. But I want you to know that ever since…” She stopped to swallow hard, blinking a few times to push back the tears. “Ever since you were kidnapped, we never lost hope. You have been in our hearts day in, day out. I am sure it is hard for you to understand what losing a child means to a parent, but I can only hope that someday you will be able to share our love for you. And Arthur… Arthur is not as bad as he seems. He is arrogant, but inside he is a good man and he loves you just as much as I do. It is just that he needs time too to adjust to who you are, because…” She hesitated a little over her choice of words. “What happened so far goes against the way he wanted to bring you up. He wanted you to be a princess, because of his own upbringing.” She blinked again a few times and moved away, her shoulders drooping. “Good night,” she murmured. Finally she shrugged a little and backed out of the door.

  Lizzie followed her with her gaze, another deep frown settling between her brows. That woman was a monument to kindness and inner beauty. Now, what the hell was she going to do with her? She couldn’t make Madeline suffer, like she was itching to do with her pompous husband. She had deliberately behaved like a pig at the dinner table, just to see him puke in disgust. Yet it was harder and harder for her, only hours into their encounter, to do shocking things just for the sake of annoying him, as it was hurting Madeline as well. How the hell was she going to manage this damn situation? Pull the bastard away and give him a heart attack? She knew damn well it wasn’t going to happen. Madeline will always be around like an overprotective hen. Lizzie shrugged. It had been a long two days and there was more to come. She’d think about new strategies tomorrow.