The Third Twin Page 0,171

broke up. Proust swallowed the rest of his scotch, and Berrington walked the two guests to their cars.

Steve saw an opportunity to call Jeannie and tell her what was going on. He snatched up the phone and called information. They took a long time to answer. Come on, come on! At last he got through and asked for the number of the hotel. He misdialed the first time and got some restaurant. Frantically, he dialed again and at last reached the hotel. "I'd like to speak to Dr. Jean Ferrami," he said.

Berrington came back into the den just as Steve heard her voice. "Hello?"

"Hi, Linda, this is Harvey," he said.

"Steve, is that you?"

"Yeah, I've decided to stay over at my dad's place; it's a little late for a long drive."

"For God's sake, Steve, are you okay?"

"Some business to take care of, but nothing I can't handle. How was your day, honey?"

"We've got him into the hotel room. It wasn't easy, but we did it. Lisa contacted George Dassault. He promised to come, so we should have three, at least."

"Good. I'm going to bed now. I'm still hoping to see you tomorrow, honey, okay?"

"Hey, good luck."

"You too. Good night." Berrington winked. "Hot babe?"

"Warm."

Berrington took out some pills and washed one down with scotch. Catching Steve's glance at the bottle, he explained: "Dalmane. I need something to help me sleep, after all this."

"Good night, Dad."

Berrington put his arm around Steve's shoulders. "Good night, son," he said. "Don't worry, we'll come through all right."

He really loves his rotten son, Steve thought, and for a moment he felt irrationally guilty for deceiving a fond father.

Then he realized he did not know where his bedroom was.

He left the den and took a few steps along the passage that he guessed led to the bedrooms. He had no idea which door led to Harvey's room. Looking back, he saw that Berrington could not watch him from the den. Quickly, he opened the nearest door, trying desperately to do so silently.

It led to a full bathroom, with shower and tub.

He closed it gently.

Next to it was a closet full of towels and linens.

He tried the door opposite. It opened into a big bedroom with a double bed and lots of closets. A pin-striped suit in a dry cleaner's bag hung from a doorknob. He did not think Harvey had a pin-striped suit. He was about to close the door softly when he was shocked to hear Berrington's voice, right behind him. "You need something from my room?"

He gave a guilty start. For a moment he was struck dumb. What the hell can I say? Then words came to him. "I don't have anything to sleep in."

"Since when have you taken to wearing pajamas?" Berrington's voice could have been suspicious or merely puzzled; Steve could not tell.

Improvising wildly, he said: "I thought you might have an oversize T-shirt."

"Nothing that will fit those shoulders, my boy," Berrington said, and to Steve's relief he laughed.

Steve shrugged. "It doesn't matter." He moved on.

At the end of the passage were two doors, on opposite sides: Harvey's room and the maid's, presumably. But which is which?

Steve loitered, hoping that Berrington would disappear into his own room before Steve had to make the choice.

When he reached the end of the passage he glanced back. Berrington was watching him.

"Night, Dad," he said.

"Good night."

Left or right? No way to tell. Pick one at random.

Steve opened the door on his right.

Rugby shirt on the back of a chair, Snoop Doggy Dogg CD on the bed, Playboy on the desk.

A boy's room. Thank God.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him with his heel.

He slumped against the door, weak with relief.

After a moment he undressed and got into bed, feeling very weird in Harvey's bed in Harvey's room in Harvey's father's home. He turned out the light and lay awake, listening to the sounds of the strange house. For a while he heard footsteps, doors closing and taps running, then the place was quiet.

He dozed lightly and woke suddenly. There's someone else in the room.

He caught a distinctive smell of some flowery perfume mixed with garlic and spices, then he saw the outline of Marianne's small form cross the window.

Before he could say anything she was getting into bed with him.

He whispered: "Hey!"

"I'm going to blow you just the way you like," she said, but he could hear fear in her voice.

"No," he said, pushing her away as she burrowed under the bedclothes toward his groin. She