Chapter One
I came back because I wanted to, of my own free will. No
one forced me to return. But now -that I am here, I want
to take flight, to hide again in obscurity, to put this
vast ocean between myself and this place. It bodes me no
good.
As these thoughts, for hours nebulous and unformed,
finally took shape, assumed troubling proportions, and
jostled for prominence in her mind, the woman's fine
hands, lying inertly in her lap, came together in a clench
so forceful the knuckles protruded sharply through the
transparent skin. But there was no other outward display
of emotion as her internal distress evolved. She sat as
rigid as stone on the seat. Her face, pale and somewhat
drawn in the murky morning light, was impassive as a mask,
and her gaze was fixed with unwavering intensity on the
Pacific.
The sea was implacable and the color of chalcedony on this
bleak and sunless day, one that was unnaturally chilly for
Southern California, even though it was December, when the
weather was so often inclement. The woman shivered. The
dampness was beginning to seep through her trench coat
into her bones. She felt icy, and yet, conversely, there
was a light film of moisture on her forehead and neck and
between her breasts. On an impulse she rose from the seat,
her movements abrupt; and with her head bent against the
wind and her hands pushed deep into her pockets, she
walked the length of the Santa Monica pier, which was now
so entirely deserted it looked desolate, even forbidding,
in its emptiness.
When she arrived at the outermost tip of the pier, where
the turbulent waves, whipped by the wind, lashed at the
exposed underpinnings, she paused andleaned against the
railing. Once again her eyes were riveted in rabid
concentration on the ocean curling out toward the dim
horizon. There, on that far indistinct rim, where sea and
sky merged in a smudge of limitless gray, a great liner
bobbed along like a child's toy, turned into an object of
insignificance by the vastness of nature.
We are all like that ship-the woman mused inwardly-so
fragile, so inconsequential in the overall scheme of
things., Yet, do any of us truly believe that, blinded as
we are by our selfimportance? A faint ironic smile
flickered on her lips, and she thought: In our arrogance
we all think we are unique, invincible, immune to
mortality and above the law of nature. But we are not-and
in the final analysis, nature is the only law, inexorable
and unchanging.
She blinked as if to rid herself of these thoughts, lifted
her head, and looked up. The winter sky, curdled and
ominous, was littered with ragged ashy clouds which were
slowly turning black and extinguishing the meager light
trickling along their outer edges. A storm was imminent.
She ought to return to the waiting limousine and make her
way back to the Bel-Air Hotel before the rain started. But
to her amazement she discovered she was unable to move. In
point of fact, she did not want to move, for it seemed to
her that only out here on this lonely pier was she able to
think with a degree of clarity, to pull together her
scattered and disturbing thoughts, to make sense out of
the chaos in her mind.
The woman sighed with weariness and frustration. She had
known, even when she had first made her decision, that to
return would be foolhardy, maybe even dangerous. She was
exposing herself in a manner she had never done before.
But at the time-was it only a few weeks ago? she thought
wonderingly -- it had seemed to be the only solution, in
spite of the obvious hazards it entailed. And so she had
made her plans, executed them efficiently, and embarked
for America with confidence, eminently sure of herself.
I took a voyage toward the unknown, she mused. She felt
herself tensing, and a flash of comprehension flew across
her face. Was that it? Was it the unknown which was the
source of her distress? But the unknown had always tempted
and beckoned to her, had been the spur because of its
inherent excitement and the challenge it invariably
offered. But that was in the past, she told herself. I am
a different person now.
An unexpected wave of panic rose in her like a swift tide,
dragging her into its undertow, and she gripped the
railing tighter and drew in her breath harshly as another
truth struck at her: If she stayed, she would be risking
so much. She would be endangering all that she had gained
in the past few years. Far better, perhaps, to go-, and if
she was to go, it must be immediately. Today. Before she
changed her mind again. In reality it was so easy. All she
had to do was make a plane reservation to anywhere in the
world that took her fancy and then go there. Her eyes
sought out the liner, so far away now that it was a mere
speck. Where was it bound? Yokohama, Sydney, Hong Kong,
Casablanca? Maybe its final destination was Cairo or
Istanbul or Marseille. Where would she go? It did not
matter, and no one would care; and if she left today,
whilst it was still safe, no one would be any the wiser,
no harm would have been done, least of all to her.
The idea of disappearing into oblivion, as if she had
never set foot in the country, suddenly appealed to some
deep-rooted instinct in her, to her innate sense of drama,
and yet ... She hesitated again, wracked by her own
ambivalence, floundering, and on the horns of a dilemma.
Would it not be juvenile to run away? she asked herself.
For most assuredly that was exactly what she would be
doing. You will know you lost your nerve, and you will
live to regret it, a small voice at the back of her mind
insisted...
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