The Third Angel Page 2

  A curse had been placed upon their mother. That was why she was so distant and sad. That was why her husband had left her during her treatment. No one rational would have done that. No one whose wife hadn't been under a spell. The girls decided that they were the only ones who could break the curse. There was only one way to combat an evil spell: blood for blood, skin for skin, ashes for ashes. They would call to the heron who was bound to watch over them. They'd make a sacrifice to his spirit. The sisters crept out to the backyard after bedtime. It was very dark, and Maddy tripped over a stone. Allie had to grab on to her to keep her from falling. They were in their nightgowns. No one had done the wash for two weeks and the hems of their nightgowns were dirty. Their feet were bare. Things in the house were falling apart. There was no food in the refrigerator and they had run out of clean clothes. No one took out the garbage and moths flitted around the boxes of pasta and rice in the cabinets. That was the way illness appeared in a house, in the corners, in between floorboards, on the hooks in the closet, along with the sweaters and coats.

  Maddy hung back as they approached the end of the lawn. Curses, after all, were powerful things. It was impossible to see beyond the hedge. There seemed to be no one else alive in the world. If they went forward, would the earth still be there? If the heron came when they called to him, what would they do next? Maddy didn't even like birds. A blue heron was almost as big as she was; she knew that from reading the Audubon guide. They were territorial and would fight any interlopers.

  “Come on,” Allie said. “There's nothing to be afraid of.”

  Allie had gotten the shovel from the garage. When she started digging, the earth puddled with water. Maddy stood close to her sister. Allie smelled like soap and sweat and mud. She seemed to know exactly what she was doing.

  “You're getting in the way,” Allie said. “I can do this myself.”

  When the shoveling was done, Maddy handed Allie the razor they'd stolen from the bathroom.

  “It won't hurt a bit,” Allie promised. “He'll come to us then. He'll protect us.”

  She was always saying things wouldn't hurt in order to get Maddy to do what she didn't want to do. Sometimes it was true and sometimes it wasn't.

  “The best thing to do when something hurts is to say one word over and over in your head,” Allie whispered. “Something comforting.” Their father was gone. Their mother might soon be in the hospital or locked into a high tower by mysterious forces or dead. The word Maddy chose to say was rice pudding. Technically that was two words, but it was her favorite dessert, and it always brought her comfort. Allie was quick when she dragged the razor across Maddy's hand. She'd been right about the pain. It didn't so much hurt as it burned.

  “Okay,” Allie said. “Good job.” Once she was done with Maddy, she cut herself. One deep gash across her palm. She didn't even wince. “Now we hold our hands over the dirt.”

  They let their blood trickle onto the earth, then Allie shoveled the dirt back over the place where their blood had fallen. Their nightgowns were filthy by now, not that they cared. Their hair was tangled down their backs. They climbed up into the sycamore, the biggest tree for miles around.

  “Something should happen,” Allie said. But nothing did. They waited and waited, but not a thing changed. Allie was hugely disappointed. She was the protector, the one who made all the decisions, the dependable one. She never cried, but now it seemed she might. “He's never coming back,” she said. “He can't save her.”

  For Maddy, the thought of Allie crying was the most terrifying part of the night. “Just because we can't see him doesn't mean he's not there.”

  Allie looked at her sister, surprised. Frankly, Maddy had surprised herself.

  “It's dark out there,” Maddy went on to explain. “And the human eye is limited.” Her science class had been studying the human body, and they had just learned about the eye. The sisters looked out over the marsh. They couldn't tell where the land stopped and where the water began. The silvery reeds looked black as coal. Maddy whispered, and for once she sounded sure of herself. “I'll bet he's there right now, only he can't reveal himself. We have to just trust that he's there.”

  The girls' mother seemed to feel better the next day. She sat in a lawn chair in the pale sunshine with her knitting beside her. At noon she went into the kitchen and fixed Allie and Maddy their lunch. They heard her laugh later in the day. The sisters had made something happen through blood and faith. They never spoke of that night again. It seemed like a dark secret. Families such as theirs didn't believe in such nonsense. They didn't sneak out in the middle of the night and cut themselves with razor blades. Still, Maddy couldn't help but wonder if the curse hadn't somehow been shifted onto her when she lied to her sister. She continued to cut herself. She chose places no one would notice: the back of her knees, the soles of her feet, her inner arm. Her sister was right. After a while, it no longer hurt.

  ON MADDY'S SECOND night in London, Allie cooked an Indian curry that caused the entire flat to smell like cumin. It made sense that Allie would have learned to be a great cook. She practiced until she was perfect. She didn't give up the way Maddy did when it came to her personal life. Maddy stayed out of the kitchen. She didn't even ask if she could set the table. Surely it would never be good enough.

  Paul came over at seven. Maddy had curled up on the couch, drinking a glass of wine, painting her toenails, ready to be unimpressed. Allie's friends and beaus never interested her. They were studious bookworms, not Maddy's type. Maddy was more concerned with her toenails; she had chosen a silvery color of polish that looked like gunmetal. She hated London. The shops were expensive and everyone spoke down to her, even the yoga instructor. She wished she could sneak away. She'd prefer to be in Paris by herself. She'd never even been there. She'd stay at a room at the Ritz that had green silk wallpaper and locks on all the doors. She could walk through the Tuileries, have coffee in a place where no one spoke her language. This whole wedding preparation was a joke. Maddy had heard that half of all marriages ended in divorce. It might even be 75 percent. Why would anyone take on odds like that?

  Allie went to open the door when the bell rang. Maddy heard the murmur of voices. Frankly, she didn't much care what they said. Other than discussing wedding details, Allie hadn't talked about Paul. She wasn't the sort to confide in her sister. All Maddy knew was the same old story of their first meeting: Kensington Palace. Diana. White roses. He was probably the most boring man in the world. Now, at the door, Allie said something about Paul not being late for once, and he said that he was always on time, she was always early. They sounded tired and annoyed, not the lovebirds Maddy had expected.

  “Here's my little sister,” Allie said as she brought Paul inside.

  Maddy looked up. Allie had been right about one thing—Paul was ridiculously handsome. He was tall, in his early thirties, but boyish, the sort of man who would probably always seem young. He had very short blond hair, his head was nearly shaved, and a sort of effortlessness about him that seemed both dangerous and charming. Paul came over, leaned down, and kissed Maddy on either cheek. She could tell he'd already had a drink. Strike one. She didn't trust people who drank alone, even though she often went to bars by herself after work, just to relax and calm down from her day.

  “Welcome to the family,” Paul said.

  “Shouldn't I be saying that to you?” Maddy also didn't trust good-looking men. She'd been through quite a few of her own.

  “Either way. We're family. Now that's a bad color for you,” he said of her nail polish. “You look like an android. You're far too pretty for that.”

  “Don't listen to him,” Allie said as she dragged Paul into the kitchen to taste the curry. It was shrimp with coconut milk. When they'd gone, Maddy looked down at her toes. Paul happened to be right. Anyone would think she was made of titanium or steel. They would guess she had no feelings at all.

  Dinner was fine. The curry was excellent, not too spicy. Allie was flushed from the heat of
the kitchen. Maddy was surprised to see her sister have several whisky and sodas. Allie wasn't much of a drinker and she certainly wasn't a cheerful drunk. With every whisky she grew more silent and moody. Forget running off to Paris. Maddy wished she was back in her apartment in New York, eating a yogurt out of a container for her supper, joyfully and blessedly alone.

  “So what do you do?” Paul asked.

  “Not this again,” Maddy said. “Is this all people talk about in this country?”

  “I told you,” Allie reminded Paul. “Maddy is an attorney, an important one. She works for an investment firm in Manhattan. She specializes in real estate.”

  “Right. You make money.” Paul was actually sneering. He seemed angry, ready to argue about anything.

  “Is that a crime?” Maddy felt her back go up. So she invested money for rich people; was she supposed to apologize for being good at what she did?

  “Who am I to judge?” Paul said.

  “Exactly.” Maddy poured herself another glass of wine. She would need it. She saw now why Allie was drinking. This was a difficult man. “You're nobody.”

  Paul stared at her, taking her in, then he grinned. Maddy had the distinct impression that for some odd reason he thought he knew exactly who she was; that he might even know something she didn't.

  “He's not exactly a nobody. He's a film editor,” Allie said.

  “He's the one who told the film company about The Heron's Wife. I told you that, too, Maddy. You both don't listen. You have that in common.”

  Allie cleared the plates and refused any help. They could hear her washing up in the kitchen.

  “She always does it all on her own, doesn't she?” Paul said. “Never needs the least bit of help.”

  “Of course. She has to control everything. No one else can do it as well as she does, can they?”

  Paul finished his wine and poured them both some more. “I don't know why your sister is marrying me. I'm not sure what she's told you, but she's making a terrible mistake. Has she talked about me much?”

  “I'm sure you'll make her delirious with joy. And you can relax. She doesn't talk about you at all, so you're safe from my prying.” Maddy was dismissive. She'd known his type before, and was surprised that her sister, usually so practical and smart, had fallen for him. One of those too-handsome men who always thought he was the most important person in the room. Someone who had to be coddled, the center of attention; most likely he had very few friends.

  “She hasn't told you anything?”

  “Is there something to tell?”

  “There's always something to tell, my girl. Everyone has a story.”

  Maddy looked him over more carefully. He wasn't quite what she expected. Once he dropped the arrogant attitude he was surprisingly nice.

  “Most probably I'll ruin everything,” he said humbly, which further surprised Maddy. “I haven't been very successful at this.”

  “I didn't know you'd been married before.”

  “Not marriage. Love. I was raised to be self-centered, not that I fault my mum. She's the best, really. I'm just a selfish bastard. It must be in my DNA. What's in yours other than beauty?”

  Madeline felt something go through her. Just like that, sitting there at the table. Attraction was a very strange thing; it had a life of its own. Paul was looking at her very oddly, considering who they were and what was happening.

  “I'm selfish, too. I'm the opposite of Allie.” Maddy could feel herself flush. This wasn't supposed to be about her. “I'm sure you'll do just fine by my sister.”

  “Right,” Paul said. “We'll live happily after ever. What are the odds of that?”

  For some reason they both laughed. Maybe they could tell they had an equal disability in the love department, losers both. Maddy hadn't managed to keep a boyfriend for more than a year. She grew bored easily and she was demanding. She told people she'd been ruined by her placement in the family. She'd always been babied, always followed Allie's lead.

  “I'm glad you're getting along,” Allie said when she came in with dessert. There were berries and ice cream and a bowl of Cream Chantilly, along with a bottle of cherry brandy.

  They could have answered in many different ways. Instead they looked at each other across the table. That was when Madeline knew there'd be trouble. The moment of doubt, the thud of the pulse, the quick image of the disaster to come. It was all right there, laid down like a road map across the tabletop. Spoon, fork, knife, heartbreak.

  “Did you make this whipped cream yourself?” Maddy asked her sister. “It's delicious.”

  But she wasn't thinking any of that. She couldn't care less about the sundae. She didn't even like desserts anymore. She was thinking of a time when she was seven years old and was terrified of a storm; she'd run down to the cellar to hide. She remembered what it was like to hear the rest of her family looking for her, calling her name, frantic in their search, and how it felt not to answer. For once she had power over them. She who was no one, Miss Second-Best. She felt that way now. As though she was the only one in the room who truly knew what was going on. She looked at Paul again, just to make sure she wasn't imagining this. He was staring right at her.

  She wasn't imagining anything.

  That night Maddy brushed her teeth in her sister's small, cluttered bathroom. She wanted to go straight to bed and stop thinking. Her heart was pounding like mad. Too much wine. Too much caffeine. She was only in London for a few days and wouldn't be back until the wedding at the end of August, so how much damage could she actually do? It was just a game, nothing more. A little flirting behind Allie's back, minor misbehavior she equated with stealing the hair ribbons and trinkets that Allie had never even noticed were missing. Once, on impulse, Maddy had poured a glass of milk over Allie's bed. It was so mean she couldn't believe she'd actually done it. She never confessed. She acted surprised when the room started to smell.

  Maddy didn't understand her own envy, it was so deep inside her. Their mother said it must have been mold that caused the odor; the house was damp, after all, surrounded by the saltwater marsh. Lucy spent an entire day washing their clothes, along with the sheets and blankets. She hung everything out on the line. Maddy saw her mother in the yard at the end of the day, sitting beneath the sycamore tree, exhausted from her work. There were still piles of more laundry to do, most of it clean. Maddy could have stepped in then; she could have said there'd been an accident and saved her mother all that trouble. But she didn't. She stood by the reeds without saying a word.

  MADDY WAS A fool for checking into the Lion Park at the height of summer. The rooms were stifling, there was no room service, and the plumbing was ancient. Her mother had had a white ceramic ashtray decorated with a green lion from this hotel that she kept on her night table for years. “It was once my favorite place in the world,” Lucy told the girls. “I was twelve and I thought it was so elegant.”

  Maddy had always imagined a real live lion in a hotel room, and maybe that was why she'd made the reservation. Her mother had seemed so fond of the place. But the hotel was second-rate. As for the lion, it was made of stone; it sat out in the courtyard, covered with moss.

  “Oh, that,” the desk clerk said of the lion when Maddy had checked in. “It was taken from a monastery in France and it's been in the garden for several hundred years. It was there before the hotel was built. There's a crack running down his back and we don't know what we'll do if he ever splits apart. We'll have to find a new name!”

  There was only one person who knew Maddy had arrived early, and she was actually counting the minutes until he appeared. She'd sent him a registered letter and he'd signed for it, so he clearly was well aware that she expected him to show up. There were pigeons on the window ledge and Maddy could hear the traffic from Brompton Road. The rest of the family, Maddy and Allie's parents, Lucy and Bob, the aunts and uncles and first cousins, along with several of Allie's friends from the States, would all be staying a few blocks away at the Mandarin Oriental. M
addy had told her parents her firm had an arrangement with the smaller hotel around the corner; she would practically be staying for nothing. She said she was writing a brief for a client who might have to do jail time because of his potentially shady investments and she needed peace and quiet. Her hotel had no cable or movies to rent; it had no fancy spa, only a small lounge where guests could have dinner and drinks.

  The Lion Park was seven floors tall, but squat; it took up most of a block. It was not the sort of place from which Maddy would have expected her mother to keep a memento. The hallways were long, with door after door painted blue, each with a room number embossed in gold and a fluted glass knob. Every floor looked the same; it was possible to get thoroughly lost because the hallways followed the angle of the street outside and bent back upon themselves. Very confusing for most guests.

  The lift fit only four people and the staircase curved upward with smaller and smaller stairs, until at the very top one had to take baby steps or risk a fall. Maddy's room was at the far end of the hotel, on the street side. Inside there was a bed with a white bedspread, a dresser, a television that received four grainy channels, and an air conditioner on a stand, vented through the window via a plastic hose, a contraption that actually seemed to make the room hotter. All through the hotel the carpet was wool, a dark murky green. The bathroom was small, with a dreadful tub that only had a handheld showerhead; the sink was in the room itself. There was an overhead light and one lamp on an old-fashioned desk. Maddy didn't really mind; all she had cared about since her visit in the spring was coming back. She wished that her stay was for fifteen days, or thirty, or more. Ten thousand days would not be long enough. When he didn't arrive that afternoon, she called him and left a message on his answering machine.