Final Paradox

Chapter 18

Does anyone know what love is? For Norma Dinnick it is a strange puzzle.

Above Norma’s apartment the banging was accompanied by low moaning sounds, as frightening to her as the wind behind Mama’s house. Up the dark stairwell, she climbed to find the safety of Arthur’s study within the empty apartment. Lowering herself onto the purple velvet sofa, she waited.

David stepped out of the kitchen, looking very angry.

“David, you’ve come,” she began.

“Why did you do it, Norma?”

He looked so fierce, she cringed. “What do you mean, darling?”

“Archie! You had him executed, all because of those cursed shares.”

“But David!” she cried. “I had absolutely nothing to do with it. You must believe me.”

With a disgusted expression, he flopped down beside her. “You pitted Archie and George against each other in the litigation. What other result could there be?”

“Please, David, you must believe me. I did not intend that. I thought that court would be a safe and proper place to settle the matter,” she sniffed. “Can I help it if George went overboard?”

David appeared to relent. “George sometimes goes a little crazy.” He chuckled, then kissed her cheek. “Anyway, no great harm done.”

Relieved, Norma squeezed his hand. “Let’s have a really nice visit, David.”

He seemed to catch her mood. “All right. Let’s talk about our time in London, just after Arthur died. I was terribly in love with you, but I guess I was a bit premature.”

David always puzzled Norma. She could not understand his enduring protestations of love. But she enjoyed his company immensely, and he was very handsome. Was that love, she wondered?

Somewhere, in a cemetery on a sunny hill overlooking Florence, she had buried Arthur. Then, after a brief trip to Venice, she left for London. Her small hotel in Kensington was light and airy, not like the Hotel Ponte Vecchio in Florence. The carnations, mums, and azaleas cramming every corner of the lobby and dining room had sickened her. Flowers were for funerals.

Her tension eased slightly in the warm glow of her room, decorated in gold and white. She set her suitcase on the bed and telephoned the concierge to find the nearest photocopy shop. Her plan was sound. She ordered tea and began hanging her two suits, two dresses, and a raincoat in the closet. When the tea arrived, she sipped it as she looked out onto the drizzle of Plimpton Close. She could not eat the tiny sandwiches and cakes.

When the rain cleared, she walked to the photocopy service two blocks away and requested three copies of all the documents Arthur had left her. Back in her room, she telephoned David.

“Hello?” he answered on the first ring.

“I’m in London,” she said.

“You poor darling! What an awful time you’ve been through.”

She could not bear his heartiness. After a lengthy silence she said, “Yes. Thank you. He should not have died.”

“I want to see you. I’ll come to your hotel right away.”

“No, please, David. Not now. I’m terribly tired and just want to sleep.”

“Of course you do. Why not have a nap, and I’ll pick you up for dinner?”

He was hard to resist. She longed for company, but she had work to do. “I think I’ll just turn in early, David.”

“All right,” he said carefully.