CHAPTER 7
Farah was learning that without a proper outlet an abundance of energy was not an unmixed blessing. She prowled the house, looking for things to keep her occupied while Jason was busy in his laboratory. He had dismissed his cleaning lady at the start of his long vigil. Now Farah took over the cleaning. But keeping the house spotless took up only a portion of her time, and she found herself wandering to the kitchen for snacks, something she had seldom done before. Usually she left empty-handed, it wasn't food she wanted. She didn't know what she wanted.
At night when the house was still and Jason had gone to bed, old thoughts and fears would come crowding in like unwelcome guests. The "treatment" (she knew no other term for it) had gone deep. She had been altered on the inside almost as much as on the outside. No longer was she depressed, and she could now bear to think of Noel without pain, if not without longing. Donna was dead, she and Jason had killed her. But they had not killed her memories, nor the need to know how much Noel had cared for her. If things between them had been resolved she thought she could forget him. She hoped he would not continue to haunt her the rest of her days.
Jason finished his report on his treatment of Farah and now turned his attention to his household accounts. Working at the kitchen table, he called to Farah to get his checkbook from his desk in the study.
Farah opened a drawer at random, and seeing no checkbook was about to close it when her eye caught a glint of something half-hidden in a corner. Pushing aside some papers, she saw a locket on a chain, the kind a young girl might wear. She picked it up with trembling fingers. Etched on it's surface was the name "Farah." She stared at it, feeling suddenly numb and frozen. What would Jason be doing with Farah's locket hidden away here?
Before she could think further about it she heard him call, "Can't you find it?"
She put the locket back in the drawer and covered it. She found Jason's checkbook and returned to the kitchen, her mind in turmoil. Putting the checkbook on the table beside him, she said quickly, "I think I'll go for a walk," and hurried from the house.
She strode off up the road as if trying to outdistance her thoughts. Little things that had vaguely disturbed her crowded her mind. Why had Jason been secretly conducting experiments outside his work at the University? Wasn't it strange that he should have, ready for use, Farah's identification and credentials? She recalled asking him, on the day he had so glibly told Monica that the report of Farah's death had been false, if he had been rehearsing that story.
And now the locket. It conjured up visions of Jason covertly experimenting on the other Farah, of deliberately running her down when things went wrong and he feared disclosure. Or, under guise of handling the details for his sister, of sneaking the body out of the country without reporting her death, so that there would be no official record of the "accident."
But that would be making Jason out to be a monster. How could she think such things of him? She had never known him to be unkind or meanspirited. He had been open with her about everything. How could she believe there might be something sinister or evil about what he was doing? There might be any number of reasons why he had the locket. Why hadn't she just asked him? She was sure he would have given her a satisfactory explanation.
But of course Jason was very adept at explanations, she thought, remembering again the ease with which he had told and retold Farah's so-called history.
Well, she must put it out of her mind. When the time came he would tell her why he had the locket. She would trust him. She had to trust him.
She retraced her steps. As she neared the house she saw Jason in theyard peering up the road. He looked relieved when he saw her, and she felt a rush of affection for him.
"Are you okay, Farah?" One of the nicest things about him was his sensitivity to her moods.
"I'm fine, Jason> Did you finish your work?" Seeing him so good and kind dispelled her doubts, and she put her arm through his as they returned to the house.
"Tomorrow," Jason said after dinner, "we'll go see my lawyer about filing the adoption papers. Unless you've changed your mind."
Faced with a decision, Farah's doubts returned. But she had to trust him, so she said quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed her hesitation, "I haven't changed my mind. Are you having second thoughts?"
Jason's reply indicated he had no doubts. "No, indeed. And I'd like to get the preliminaries attended to before we fly to Paris."
"Paris! What are you saying?"
"I can't keep you penned up here. You're wearing out the furniture with that eternal cleaning and dusting. I thought you might enjoy a trip to France." He smiled at the excitement on her face.
"You really mean it? I'd love to go."
"Then it's a deal. How's your French?"
"My French?"
"Surely you remember my promise to give you a refresher course in French while you were sleeping."
She nodded.
"Well, how's your French?"
Closing her eyes she concentrated, and there unfolded in her mind a torrent of French words and phrases she had thought long ago forgotten. "You were right," she said in surprise, "I remember everything I learned and I didn't know I knew. With a little practice I think I could get by very well."
"Good. That's one reason we're going to France. Another is that you need to get acquainted with places where you are supposed to have lived."
Something occured to Farah. "You told Hack I was here to go to college. Did you mean it? I'd jump at the chance."
"Then it's settled. We'll have to get you enrolled."
"Won't I have to have a transcript? If Farah died at sixteen, she probably hadn't finished high school. I'd hate to have to go back to high school to get a diploma."
"If you had really been in the government's custody they'd have sent you to school. Probably all you'll have to do is pass an equivalence test. We'll check on her school record in Paris."
Farah thought Jason's lawyer, with his dark-rimmed glasses, short neck and broad shoulders tapering down to narrow hips, looked like a frog in the middle of his huge pond of an office in a Beverly Hills high-rise. His name was Hilary Bryce, and he greeted Jason with affection. After being introduced and hearing Farah's story, he said he could see no obstacle to the adoption, assuring them it would probably be only a formality. He would file the papers at once. Later that week he notified Jason that the hearing was scheduled for a date in mid-December.
This attended to, Jason suggested they call on Hack and ask him to serve as a character witness at thehearing.
The road to Hack's place went winding up the hill, with a breathtaking view of the canyon, the ocean sparkling blue in the distance. The hot August sun had turned the trees and underbrush dry and brittle, and there had been the usual outbreak of fires in the hills, but none so far had come dangerously close.
About a mile up the road they turned right at a mailbox bearing the name "W. Hackaby," and followed a by-road a short distance to a small, unpretentious-looking house with attached garage. The well-kept yard was without flowers, Jason explaining that Hack was away for such long periods, flowers were a luxury he couldn't afford. A tan Volkswagon sat in the driveway.
"He's home," said Jason, and rang the bell.
Hack, wearing swim trunks, looked surprised to see them. His lean body was tanned and muscular. "Come out to the patio," he said, leading the way. "What can I get you to drink?"
"A beer for me," Jason said.
"Farah?"
"Something cold would be nice. A coke, if you have it."
Over their drinks, Hack said to Farah, "I can see you're having a civilizing influence on Jason, to get him out calling on neighbors. Either that or he wants a favor."
Jason grinned. "You're right about the favor. But first I have an announcement to make."
Hack looked startled. He thinks Jason is going to announce our engagement, Farah thought.
Jason explained. "I'm planning to adopt Farah."
She thought she saw relief in Hack's face. There was no doubt about his astonishment. He gaped like a fish. "I'll be damned," he said. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"
Jason looked pleased at Hack's reaction. "Farah's all alone in the world now, Hack. I don't think she's in danger any more, but no use taking chances. She'd be safer with a new name. I'm sure Louise would approve."
Involuntarily, Farah thought he's smooth. He acts the part as if he really believes I'm the real Farah.
It was obvious Hack believed it. "How terrible all this must have been for you," he said to her.
Telling herself that she must be careful not to let such thoughts intrude, she indicated to Hack by gesture that there were more important things to discuss. "I think Jason wants your approval," she said.
Hack looked from one to the other. Then he said slowly, "I think it would be a good thing for both of you." He winked at Farah. "Jason needs a woman's influence." He turned to Jason. "What's the favor?"
"I was wondering if you'd be my character witness."
"You're asking me to stand up in court and perjure myself?" Then he laughed. "I'll be glad to, Jason."
Jason told him the date of the hearing, said he would remind him in advance, and soon afterwards they left.
Arrangements were made for the trip to Paris, with a stopover in Boston to visit Jason's sister Margaret. Over the phone he told her he was planning to adopt Farah, with the usual story explaining her return from the dead, as he put it.
"Better start packing," he told Farah after he hung up. "I'll call Ned and arrange for him to move in while we're gone." Ned was the caretaker-gardener.
This done, he went off to his bedroom to pack. Soon he was back, carrying something in his hand. "Look what I found," he said. He held out Farah's locket.
Farah gasped at the sight of the locket. She took it from him, her look questioning.
"She gave it to me in Paris to have fixed." Regret shadowed his face. "I never had a chance to return it."
Tears stung Farah's lids. She wanted to ask Jason's forgiveness for her secret doubts, but of course she couldn't do that. She opened the locket and looked at the faces of a man and a woman.
"Farah's parents," Jason said.
Farah sighed. "Sometimes I feel so wicked about stepping into her shoes."
"Why should you? It can't hurt anybody and it gives her a sort of immortality. She might be pleased."
She smiled through her tears. "Ill try to remember that," she said.
The Boston stopover brought Farah some unexpected luck. She had rather dreaded this encounter with Jason's family. They would not question her identity, as none of them had ever met the real Farah. But what if they didn't like her? What if they thought she was using Jason, or that Jason was being an old fool? How would she get along with the grandchildren, who Jason said were about her age? That was a laugh. Never mind how she looked on the outside; inside she was still middle-aged. Expecting her to meet these young people on their level was like throwing her to the wolves.
She needn't have worried. Margaret and John accepted her as if she had always been one of the family. She liked them both immediately.
Home for the Alderson's proved to be a luxurious apartment in a fashionable district. Everything she saw spoke of wealth and status. Farah had gathered that Jason was used to wealth, but this opulence surprised her.
When Margaret showed her to her room with its private bath, she stayed for a moment to chat. Jason had warned her that Farah didn't like to talk about her past, so whatever questions she may have wanted to ask she kept to herself.
"I hope you'll look on us as your family," she said. "We don't think of you as a stranger, because of Louise. And now you'll be legally related to us because of Jason."
"I'm so grateful to him< Mrs. Alderson." She hated this pretence.
"Please," said Margaret, "not Mrs. Alderson. What would you like to call me? If you can't bring yourself to call me Aunt Margaret, just plain Margaret will do."
Farah was touched. "Jason was right when he told me I'd like you ... Aunt Margaret."
Margaret hugged her. "You must call my husband Uncle John. It would please him."
The rest of the family, when she met them, accepted her warmly. John Jr., known as Jack, and his wife Sondra lived in the family mansion (which they called the farm because it was outside the city limits) with their son John Richard III, known as Rick, and daughter Josephine, called Jo.
Later in the day Rick and Jo swept Farah off to a beach picnic with their friends. Most of these young people were from well-to-do families, with healthy, tanned bodies and somewhat more sophistication than Farah was used to. The reaction of the young men to her looks rendered her as awkward and uncertain as she had been in her early teens when she first became interested in boys. At the same time she felt more like a chaperone than a contemporary.
She must have acquitted herself satisfactorily, however, for on the drive home Jo looked at her admiringly. "You were great, Farah," she said, "the way you handled all those drooling boys. So sophisticated."
If you only knew, thought Farah. Aloud she said, "I didn't feel sophisticated. Meeting new people always makes me nervous."
"Me, too. You didn't show it."
"So I deserve an Oscar for a great performance."
They grinned at each other. "When I first saw you," Jo told her, "and I saw how pretty you are, I didn't think I'd like you."
"I'd rather look like you. You're so stunning and well-groomed and self-assured you scareme."
They looked at each other with mutual pleasure, and thus was cemented a friendship that was to last their lifetimes.
On the second day of their visit, Margaret said to Farah, "We must take some pictures of you while you're here. I'd like something for the family album. Or maybe you already have a nice picture you could give us."
"I'm afraid I don't have any pictures of myself," Farah told her.
"Oh, my dear, no pictures? Whyever not?"
Farah sighed. What a tangled web she and Jason were weaving. But they had gone too far to back out, so she said, "They took me away so suddenly I didn't have time to pack anything except a few clothes. I left everything else at Aunt Louise's."
Margaret clapped her hands. "But of course, I had forgotten. All your things were still at Louise's when she died. I couldn't bear to go through anything then. I just packed them all away. They're stored in the attic at the farm."