CHAPTER 9
The plane that took them to Paris was large and roomy and its passengers a motley crew. Farah amused herself by speculating about those who looked interesting to her.
"See that little lady across the aisle in the shabby peasant black?" she said to Jason. "I bet she left the old country as a bride and this is her first trip back."
"Bet you're wrong. Haven't you ever heard of Hetty Green, who wore the same black dress for over twenty years? And she was loaded."
"You've got no romance in your soul, Jason."
"I bet you can find romance in that baby that keeps crying."
"Of course. Its mother is unhappy because her marriage is breaking up. The baby senses her mood and that's why it cries." She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes. "Or it's hungry and needs changing."
Jason laughed. "Now who has no romance in their soul?"
She grinned and turned her gaze to the window. This was her first overseas flight and she was savoring every minute of it. But she had work to do, and soon she was poring over the diaries and snapshots she had found in the attic at the farm.
"Look at this, Jason," she said suddenly, handing him a picture. "Do you think it looks like me?"
He took the picture and examine it. "By golly, it does. Farah at sixteen. She could easily have changed in two years to be the spitting image of you as you are now." He looked thoughtful. "These coincidences never cease to amaze me."
"It's the devil's work," said Farah darkly.
"Why the devil's?"
"Because sometimes I feel I've sold my soul to the Devil in exchange for all this." She made a sweeping gesture. "All those lies we've told, all the deception ..."
"And if you're right?" His expression was teasing. "Does that make me the Devil?"
"Oh, Jason, no. What a fool I am. You've been an angel."
"You worry too much, Farah. Who's it going to hurt for you to pretend to be that other girl? It seems to me these are good omens. As if it was meant to be. Like there's a purpose in it."
"I'm sure you're right, Jason. You've opened up a whole new world for me and I'm fretting over trifles. I won't do it again, I promise."
She buried herself again in the diaries while Jason napped.
It was dusk when they landed at Orly airport. After they had retrived their luggage and emerged into the night, the magic of Paris seemed to settle around them. Jason picked up a rental car and they drove to their hotel. He had always traveled in style, and their hotel accomodations, consisted of a suite with two bedrooms, living room and bath, were luxurious.
Farah whistled. "Now I see why Jo insisted I get some dressy clothes. I hope they're equal to all this slendor."
"If not we'll go shopping," Jason said. "Every woman should experience the joy of shopping in Paris."
I thi8nk I'll hang loose until I can look around and see what the women of Paris are wearing. I've an idea young girls dress much the same in cities all over the world."
They had dinner in the hotel dining room, then went for a walk through the streets of Paris, Jason pointed out places of interest. "We'll do some real sightseeing tomorrow," he promised.
For the next few days they explored Paris, not only the tourist attractions but all the parts of the city that tourists seldom see. Jason had spent a lot of time over the years and seemed to know every nook and cranny. They drove out to rural France and visited small towns and the farming area. Jason had a natural ease with strangers, and Farah had many opportunities to practice her French. It delighted her to find her command of the language more than adequate.
Jason, combined business with pleasure, had arranged to attend a two-day seminar in Paris, and Farah was left to entertain herself. She roamed the streets and shops, soaking up atmosphere. She loved Paris; it had cast its spell over her.
On the second day of her lone wanderings she stopped for lunch at a sidewalk cafe. Eating her salad, she glanced idly around at the others diners. Suddenly she froze. Staring at her across the tables was a girl who looked exactly like the photographs of Simone.
She thinks she knows me, Farah told herself. If it's really Simone, I've got to face her. Now. If she rejects me as Farah, then I'll know I can't go on with this charade. If she accepts me, I've got it made.
She paid her tab and, taking a long breath, rose and walked across to the other girl's table. She looked up and smiled at Farah expectantly. Crossing her fingers, Farah said, "Hello, Simone."
There was still a puzzled look on Simone's face. "The moment I saw you I was sure you had to be someone I know. I just can't seem to place you ..."
This was the acid test. "Have I changed so much?" She sat down at the table. "Get ready for a shock, Simone. I'm Farah."
Simone looked puzzled and disbelieving. "You can't be. Farah's dead."
"But I didn't die. The government hid me away. Someone was trying to kill me."
Simone looked at her searchingly, the blood receding from her face. Farah reached for her hand and held it in a tight grip. "I know this is a shock, honey. I meant to prepare you -- I was going to write or something. But when I saw you ... it's been so long ... I just had to say hello."
"I don't understand. I went to your funeral." Simone began to shake.
"It's a long story, Simone. It was a political thing. You remember my parents were killed in a plane crash. The foreign office thought it might be sabotage. And the car accident convinced them they were right. I was only scratched and bruised when the car hit me, but they thought it was an assassination attemp. They snatched me away and gave out the report of my death. All very cloak and dagger. Only Aunt Louise knew the truth."
"But there was a service. And flowers. Lots of flowers."
"The casket was closed, remember? It was all done to protect me. I begged them to let me tell you." She's going to say I don't look like Farah, that I can't possibly be Farah, she thought. But she was wrong. The color was returning to Simone's face, and suddenly she leaned over and threw her arms around Farah, laughing and crying.
"Oh, Farah, it really is you. I'm so glad to see you. I nearly died when they told me you'd been killed." She drew back and looked at Farah in concern. "Is it safe for you now?"
"Yes, I'm sure it is." Farah put her arms around Simone. She felt instant affection for this girl and hated herself for the deceit, but she couldn't back out now. "Those lamebrains at the State Department have now decided the terrorists who blew up the plane were after someone else. The car accident was just that -- an accident. Of course the brass overreacted, but they're so used to intrigue."
Simone's eyes shone with tears and excitement. "It's just like a movie. Oh, Farah, I can't believe you're real."
"You'd better believe it," said Farah. She laughed in relief.
"Are you back to stay?"
"I'm afraid not. Aunt LOuise died and her brother in California took me in. You remember him, Jason Fuller?"
"Of course. He took us skating and to the ballet. He's nice."
"He's arranged to adopt me. I don't have any family, you know."
"Then you'll be living in California?"
"Yes. And going to college, if I can get my school credits straightened out."
"I still can't believe it's you. You're the most woderful looking corpse I've ever seen." She looked at Farah admiringly. "What a knockout you've turned out to be."
"It was always my dream to be as pretty and sexy as you."
"Oh, I've got so much to tell you," Simone said. "Come home with me and spend the night. My folks would be so happy to see you."
"They might die from the shock if I walked in without notice. Anyway, Jason has plans for us tonight." AtSimone's look of disappointment, she added, "Why don't you come over to the hotel with me now? Jason's out for the day and we can have a long talk."
Back at the hotel, Farah let Simone do most of the talking. She kept cueing her with questions about the different boys and girls mentioned in the diary, and the other girl was quick to bring her up to date on all their activities. She parried Simone's questions about what had happened to her during her absence by saying it might be better not to say too much about it. "Just in case, you know ..."
By the time Jason came in, Farah felt as if she had really been a part of this former life and that Simone was her best friend. She hoped nothing would ever happen to shatter this girl's trust in her.
Jason's surprise at seeing them together showed in his face, but a look at Farah reassured him and he greeted Simone warmly. He invited her to dine with them, and after a call home explaining that she had run into some friends, she agreed to join them. Following a leisurely dinner they put Simone in a cab and walked back to the hotel.
"How did you manage that meeting?" Jason asked.
"Purely accidental. She was having lunch where I was and I just took the bull by the horns. Gave her quite a shock. You should have seen her joy at being reunited with her old buddy."
"She accepted you unequivocally?"
"She noticed I'd grown into a sex goddess." Farah grinned. "She really thought she recognized me. After I convinced her I was Farah, alive and kicking, she didn't question it. She's really nice, I like her."
In the morning Simone called to invite Farah to spend the night with her. "If you can come I'll round up the old gang and we'll have a party. I've already called some of them. You should have heard the gasps and squeals when I finally convinced them I wasn't putting them on about your being alive. Everyone's absolutely agog with curiosity. They're dying to see you, so please say you cam come."
"Of course I'll come. I can hardly wait to see everyone."
"Jason," Farah said as she hung up, "Can we leave Paris tomorrow? I don't know how long I can keep up this masquerade. I'm norvous about tonight. It's going to be like juggling balls of fire."
"Do you have to go?"
"Oh, yes, I'm committed. If only i hadn't run into Simone."
"You handled that like a pro. You'll be all right. Just remember all young folks are nervous about doing the right thing. You look so poised and composed no one willl know that inside you're shaking like a dancer."
"Thank you, O all-knowing sage. You're such a comfort to me."
"Do you really want to leave tomorrow?"
It would save me from a sticky situation. After reading that diary I don't know if I could handle these hotblooded French boys. I might end up laughing in their faces. Old forty-year-old Donna's not geared for being wooed by boys still wet behind the ears. Maybe she never will be."
"There are lots of older men not quite my age but just as fascinating who lust after young girls," he said with an exaggerated leer.
"And mostly married."
He made a face at her. "And there are a respectable number of older women who lust after young men."
"But I'm not one of them."
Where would you like to go tomorrow? How about Rome?"
"Fine. I've always wanted to find out if the Italian men really do go around pinching bottoms."
"I hope that activity's not confined to men. I wouldn't mind having my bottom pinched by the lovely Italian girls."
The French boys didn't pinch bottoms, but once they got over their awe of Farah, of all that had happened to her and of the fabulous way she looked, they lost no time in trying to make points with her. She was wearing one of the dresses Jo had helped her choose, a close-fitting cocktail dress in pale pink. Jason thought it a good choice -- it set off her porcelain skin that gleamed smooth and satiny above it, he said.
Jacques, who had been one of the other Farah's closest friends, was particularly smitten. The diary had described him as very good-looking but rather shy. It was clear that in the intervening time he had become aware of how far his good looks could take him, and before the evening was over he became more and more aggressive.
"I've got a friend with this great apartment," he told Farah as they were dancing. His hand kept sliding down over her hips and she kept moving it, wordlessly. "He lets me use it when he's out of town. He's away now, so why don't we ditch this party and slip over there?"
She searched her mind for something to say that wouldn't date her. Maybe the things she said when she was a girl would still work. "I'm not that kind of girl," she said finally.
"Don't give me that crap. A girl as sexy as you?
"I mean it."
"Yeah? You've always had the hots for me." He drew her closer.
She pushed him away. "Maybe I had a school girl's crush on you once, Jacques, but that was a long time ago. I'm not a kid any more."
"That's what I've been telling you, baby. We're not kids any more."
"You're a very attractive young man. But right now I'd rather just be friends. Good friends. Can't we leave it at that?"
"Oh, weel, you know what they say. There'll be another one along in a few minutes," he said crossly and walked away, leaving her alone on the dance floor.
"Is he giving you a bad time?" asked Simone at her elbow.
Farah smiled. "Nothing I can't handle." Things hadn't changed all that much, she was thinking.
It was so late by the time everyone left that both girls were ready for sleep. At breakfast with Simone's parents the conversation was general. Soon afterward, Farah said she had to get back to the hotel and pack, as they were leaving for Rome.
After calling a cab for Farah, Simone said, "You're the best friend I ever had. Let's keep in touch, okay?"
We will, Simone, I promise. Come see me in California. And if we come back to Paris before we go home, I'll call you."
"Good," said Simone, and waved to her as the cab drove away.
Jason was on the phone when Farah came in, calling friends in Rome. Wherever he went he remained the scientist and sought out his colleagues to exchange ideas and information about new discoveries.
"How did it go?" he said as he hung up.
Farah regaled him with an account of her verbal bout with Jacques, and he considered that she had handled it well, on the whole.
"What do you mean, on the whole?" she demanded. "Could you have done any better?"
"Well, no. If those teenage girls tried to proposition me I'd probably head for the hills."
"I've had my first experience with the generation gap," she said. "Heading for the hills may be the only way to handle it."
"And what better hills than the hills of Rome?" Jason waved airplane tickets in the air. "Picked them up this morning and made hotel reservations. Our plane leaves at two o'clock."
Freed from the ghost of the dead Farah that had haunted her in Paris, the counterfeit Farah found Rome delightful. Jason was the perfect companion, with his knowledge of the city, his good humor and sprightly conversation, and his tirelessness.
The weather was perfect. Mellow sunlight beamed its benediction over them as they strolled through the Piazza Venezia with its memorial to King Victor Emanuel II. It warmed them as they visited the Vatican and gazed in wonder at the magnificence of the Sistine Chapel. In the ancient city they viewed the timelessness of the Trojan and Roman Forums and the Arch of Constantine. The Coliseum seemed to echo with the cheers of bloodthirsty crowds and the screams of the Christians as they were thrown to the lions.
In sharp contrast to the glories of ancient Rome, the modern city was bustling with life. Driving there was almost suicidal. The Italians were friendly and proud of their heritage. Jason knew enough of the language to endear himself to them, even though many of them spoke English.
Everywhere they went the Italian men admired Farah openly and volubly. They followed her about, serenading her in the parks, and one young man with liquid dark eyes handed her flowers on the street. And, yes, they pinched bottoms. Farah accepted all this attention with blushes and smiles and warmth, and they loved her for it.
"I think I'll come back here to live," she told Jason. "I've never seen such warm and extroverted people."
"Don't forget what all that passion and volatility can lead to. Remember the Caesars, the Borgias and the Medici. Not to mention the Mafia."
"I got carried away," she said, laughing.
London was chilly after the sunny days in Rome. Not only the weather, but the citizenry lacked the warmth and friendliness of the Italians. An aura of dignity and tradition permeated the city. Farah was impressed by the trappings of royalty. The size of Buckingham Palace stunned her. They watched the changing of the Guard, visited Fleet Street, drove past No. 1 Downing Street and Picadilly Circus, Big Ben, the Tower of London ... all these landmarks seemed by extension to be a part of her own heritage.
She thought she had never seen anything more beautiful than the English countryside. The ever-present dampness was a little depressing, but lent a mistiness to the landscapes that rivaled the art of the French Impressionists.
Farah loved the English people. "They are so proper and civilized,"
she told Jason. "I've always admired that."
"A bit of that goes a long way with me. I like to leave room in my life for a little spontaneity," Jason answered. "You wouldn't want to be the Queen, would you, and have to stand around and be so prim and proper all the time?"
"Heaven forbid! It must be an awful drag to be constantly on display. All that pomp and circumstance. I'm a private person myself."
"I'll remember that. If any kings or princes come wooing you I'll tell them you're not interested."
"Fat chance," she said.
After England they flew home. Jason wanted to get started on his reports. Farah wanted to arrange for an equivalency test so she could apply for entrance to college at the midterm.
As their plane lifted off, Jason said, "We'll come back next summer and see more of Europe, if you'd like."
"I'd like that." From the window London grew smaller and smaller as she looked. "I hope to visit every nook and cranny of the world before I die. And if ever there is a tourist flight to the moon, I'll book the first passage."
"We'll get to the moon in time. And beyond. I wish I could stick around long enough to see real space travel. It'll be a while before that happens, but I for one believe it is inevitable."
"Neither of us will live that long."
"You just might," he said.
Her answer was a hoot of laughter.
"It's good to be back," Jason said the morning after their arrival home. "Traveling and visiting are fine, but I'm happiest when I'm puttering around in my lab."
Farah smiled at this understatement, so typical of Jason. "The miracles you perform are not produced by puttering around, Jason."
He went off to his lab and Farah busied herself around the house. She wondered why she was feeling a vague dissatisfaction, until she realized that she missed having friends she could call or who might call to welcome her home. Up to now she had been too caught up in her new life to give much thought to the totality of her estrangement from her former existence. But there was no longer any Donna Harris, so Donna's friends were dead to her. For a fleeting moment she felt panic. All contact with her previous life had been erased and she felt rootless.
But having identified the cause of her malaise, she was able to shake it off by reminding herself that she now had Jason, Aunt Margaret and her family, and her friends in Paris. And as soon as she started to college she intended to find new and exciting friends of her own age. She was Farah now. She would give Donna Harris a decent burial and go on from there.