Amadoro

CHAPTER TWO-1

CHAPTER TWOAsh bounded up the worn white marble steps to the double mahogany entrance doors with their gleaming silver knobs. Yanked the antique bellpull but, as usual, could hear no response from inside. Turned and looked down into Gramercy Park, holding the large white envelope in his left hand, knowing it would take Miss Cassie several moments to come from wherever she might be in the red brick mansion. Aware of his taxi continuing west on Twenty-first Street toward Fifth. Glanced around the fenced park, across the street, with its four grassy areas and tall elm trees. Children playing on the gravel paths, uniformed nannies watching them, seated on wooden benches beside shiny black prams. A few old men, far apart, dozing in the afternoon sunlight or reading. This was a relic of an earlier, more tranquil Manhattan that had survived among the apartments and office buildings looming on every side.

Before leaving Metropole he had stopped by his own office to check the contents of Mandy’s file folder on Lyli Amadoro. Two typed pages held everything the research department had been able to discover. He would have to start digging for himself, using those two pages as a starting point. His first step would be to arrange a preliminary interview with Amadoro.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hendrie.”

He turned at the sound of the gentle Southern voice and saw that the door had been opened. Miss Cassie stood there in her dove-gray Sunday uniform with white collar and cuffs as well as a starched apron. Her thin figure could have stepped from a novel by Henry James, but then so could this old mansion. “How are you, Miss Cassie?”

“As usual, sir. Does no good to complain at my age.”

He kissed her on the cheek before stepping inside, out of the hot sunlight, into the shadowy entrance hall that always seemed to smell faintly of roses.

“Miss Saunders expects you, sir.”

“But I didn’t tell her I was coming today. Wanted to surprise her.”

“She’s not one you’re likely to surprise. Said it was you when the bell rang. ‘That’s Mr. Hendrie,’ she told me. She’s in the dining room eating lunch.”

“Then I shouldn’t disturb her.”

“Oh, no! She said bring you right in...” Going ahead, through the high-ceilinged hall with its sturdy Colonial antiques, past the closed doors to the parlor and the curving staircase with its row of ascending portraits—severe, unsmiling Early American faces—in carved frames revealed by a spill of daylight from overhead. “Miss Saunders always has a late lunch on Sunday. Usually invites several guests. Today she’s eating alone but I knew she was expecting someone. Guessed it might be you, sir.”

“Miss Saunders isn’t the only psychic in this house.”

“I don’t begin to glimpse what Miss Saunders does but I do have my own moments of clarity.” She swung open one of a pair of tall doors. “Here he is, ma’am! Mr. Hendrie...”

“Come in, lover! You’re in time for dessert.”

“Just had brunch at the office.”

“But you barely touched your food!”

“Oh?” He crossed the sunny dining room toward the smiling woman seated at the end of the long table in a bay window overlooking a brick-walled flower garden. “You were watching me?”

“For a bit.” She held out both arms. “Give us a kiss!” Approaching her he noticed the cordless white phone on the table, always within easy reach, the single yellow rose in a slim crystal vase. Saw the plate of unfinished salad.

“It was a fine brunch, even if you didn’t eat much...”

He bent and kissed her lightly on the lips.

“All those champagne toasts and lovely compliments!”

“Several of those toasts were to you. Our portraits are a tremendous success. Yours on the cover and my written portrait inside.” He placed his envelope on the polished surface of the table. “Here it is.”

“How exciting!” Snatching up the envelope, eagerly, and opening the flap.

He sat at the table, behind her, as she slid the magazine out. “Oh! How nice!” she exclaimed. “How very nice...”

Cassie was removing Sandra’s plate, at the same time trying to see the portrait on the cover.

Sandra held it up. “Look at this, Cassie!”

“Very flattering.” She carried the salad plate toward the kitchen. “A splendid likeness.” Sandra put the envelope aside and studied her painted portrait. “I was afraid the artist would make me look enormous, when you said he worked from photographs, but I do believe he’s made me seem a bit thinner! And I like that antique astrolabe he’s placed beyond my shoulder. A subtle touch! I only wish my hair really did look that attractive.”

“You’re pleased?”

“Absolutely delighted. We’ll have some wine and drink a toast of our own.” Glancing past him toward the pantry door and whispering something.

“What are you saying?”

“Telling Cassie which vintage I want.” She opened the magazine and flipped through the pages. “I’ll read this later.” Setting it on top of the envelope. “May I keep it?”

“Of course.”

“My copy will arrive in the mail on Tuesday and I’ll have Cassie pick up several more copies from the newsstand.”

“No need for that. The magazine will be sending you fifty copies. More, if you wish.”

“How nice! There’s so much I must say to you, Ash. All the things I’ve kept in my heart since that first day you came here. Told me Metropole had selected me for a portrait and you would be writing it. I was dubious, at first, whether such a portrait would be right and proper for me...”

“I knew you were.”

“But as we talked that afternoon, I found that your sign was Sagittarius, so I knew everything would be all right. I’ve been reading Metropole since their first issue and knew they sometimes make a complete fool of their portrait subjects.”

“Only when they are fools.”

“I realized that as we talked, and I know now, without reading what you’ve written about me, how perceptive and kind you’ve been...”

“Better read it before you make a statement like that.”

“I’ll most certainly read every word, but I’ve come to know you these past three months. I respect and love you, Ash. I’m grateful, most of all, that it was you they assigned to write my portrait. And, of course, I’m grateful to Metropole for doing a cover story on me at all. This portrait article will be read around the world! It will further establish my credibility, as well as that of my twin professions—parapsychology and astrology—which haven’t always had the respect and approval of the public or the scientific community. Parapsychology, of course, is fairly recent—an extension of psychology—but astrology is older than most religions. It has been verified by clinical investigations and statistical laws. As you know, the name of the Parastro Society, which I founded, is a combination of both—parapsychology and astrology. Did you ever check those words—their origins—para and astro?”

“That’s in my profile. They both come from ancient Greece. Para means, quite simply, a going beyond, and astro comes from aster—meaning star. So parastro means going beyond the stars.”

“And that’s exactly what parapsychology and astrology attempt to do. Search for unknown forces in those vast distances of time and space. We don’t, as yet, comprehend what’s there, but we’ve been able to reach into the darkness and touch an incredible life force or intelligence beyond present knowledge.”

“I’ve come to understand some of this since I’ve known you.”

“I know you have. Your portrait does me great honor and will, I’m certain, explain to people what I’m attempting to do in my work. Many outside New York—especially in Europe—have never heard of Parastro.”

“They will now.”

“I haven’t sought or wanted publicity but this has been different. I accept it and believe it’s for the good of my future work. I’m grateful to you, Ash. Deeply appreciative of what you’ve done.”

“Here we are, ma’am.”

They looked around as Miss Cassie returned, bearing a bottle of champagne in a silver wine bucket with two glasses on a tray.

“You said you wanted the nineteen forty-nine Cordon Rouge?”

“Yes, Cassie. You can open that for us.”

“Certainly, ma’am.” Setting her tray down. “You haven’t had your raspberries.”

“Couldn’t eat another bite. Much too excited.”

Cassie glanced at the Metropole cover again as she placed a wineglass in front of each. “Fine likeness! Makes you look a bit younger, but no woman could object to that. Remember, ma’am, I told you—first time Mr. Hendrie rang our bell—he was here to offer you a precious gift.”

“I do remember and, of course, you were right. This portrait will change my life in ways I can’t even begin to foresee.”

“You’ll be world-famous now!” Cassie wrapped the wine bottle in a napkin and proceeded to work on the cork. “Of course, you’ve been famous in America for years with your column in the newspapers, your books and lectures. Now Sandra Saunders will be known to everyone!”

“I haven’t wanted such publicity before—which is why I’ve never appeared on television—but this is the time, I believe, to let people know about our Parastro Society.”

The cork came out and Cassie quickly poured a swallow of wine into Sandra’s glass.

She sipped it and nodded. “Lovely!”

Cassie filled the glass, then hurried around the table to fill Ash’s.

Sandra raised her glass. “I wish to propose a toast...”

Ash was aware of Cassie leaving the room as Sandra talked.

“This is an important moment in both our lives. Yours, Ash, as well as mine. Your portrait will influence the future for us both. I never drink a toast to the past or the present. Only the future. This toast is to your future, Ash. And mine. And to the future of our world. As well as those other worlds far beyond this small planet we call Earth. I drink to that waiting golden world which man will, one day, know.” She raised her glass. “To the future of the universe—a peaceful universe!”

“I will, most certainly, drink to that.” He touched his glass to hers.

In the silence, as they drank, the song of birds flooded through the open windows.

“Several things I must tell you today, Ash...” Sandra took another swallow of wine. “After today, of course, we’ll be seeing each other less frequently...”

“Nonsense! At least once a week.”

“That’s impossible, and you know it. We’ll both be much too busy. We’ve been together constantly for three months. Less in the last month, of course, than in the first two, but we’ve talked on the phone every day. Now our collaboration is finished. You have another portrait to research and write.”

“I was given my new assignment this afternoon.”

“I know.”

“You know the name of my next subject?”

“That I wasn’t able to discover. What I’m saying is, you’re about to start questioning and investigating a new subject.” She hesitated. “There were several things I held back when you questioned me.”

“I was aware of that and understood.”

“Deeply personal things I didn’t want you to print.”

“I respect that.”

“For instance, my marriage...”

“You never mentioned it.”

“You didn’t ask. I was married years ago but it was a great mistake. He was an Aries.” She glanced at the magazine resting on the white envelope. “You accepted, from our first meeting, that I was psychic...”

“I did.”

“There’s nothing unusual about being psychic. I didn’t say this before because, for the purpose of your portrait, I wanted you to believe I am unique.”

“And you are.”

“No... Many children are born with psychic powers. Most never realize that. Others do, but without comprehension. Still others, like us, sense there’s something unusual about life. We become conscious of this very young, while those around us—even our parents—do not.”

“Are you suggesting that I, too, am psychic?”

“I was aware of that the first day you came here, sensed you had more than the average person’s knowledge, for instance, of what I do. That was another reason I permitted you to do my portrait. Aware of your understanding. Knowing you’d had personal experience with psychic phenomena.”

“Yes.” He tossed off the last of his wine. “I had.”

“You wish to tell me about it now?”

“I don’t think so. No...”

“Then I’ll tell you something more about myself. Since it’s too late for you to use any of this in the magazine. I was born with a caul over my face. Today that’s believed to be a lucky omen for a child. In ancient times such a child was thought to have supernatural powers. Female babies born with a caul, in some civilizations, were said to be witches and were put to death. Such a child, even today, is thought to have special qualities.” She finished her wine and set the glass down.