Truth

empire. We have no reason to assume he is a flight risk.”
     
    Claire exited the current stories and began searching New Jersey records -- nothing on Marie Rawls. She remembered Nathaniel was incarcerated in 1987. Claire wasn’t sure when he married Marie. However, if he married her while in prison, that would have been in New York. Claire entered Marie Rawls into the data base of Marriage Licenses - New York State . She narrowed the search to 1986 – 1989.
    Claire held her breath as the small sentence surfaced:
     
    February 25, 1988, Nathaniel Rawlings and Catherine Marie London- license of marriage .
    Claire stared at the screen... Catherine Marie London .
    She wasn’t sure how long she stared; a minute, an hour, a day, maybe ten? Claire’s world once again swayed from its axis. Catherine is Marie! Marie is Catherine! What does that mean?
    She closed her eyes and reviewed. The nausea from her early pregnancy returned. The stress at the bank was nothing compared to the mayhem in her mind. It meant Catherine killed Samuel and Amanda Rawls. It meant Tony paid Patrick Chester yearly for Catherine’s freedom. It meant Catherine loved Nathaniel. According to Tony, Nathaniel loved her, too.
    Despite the damn gray contacts, Claire’s tears of fear, rage, and sadness swelled behind the pigmented disks. She didn’t want to believe the thoughts and theories flooding her mind. She loved Catherine. The woman sustained her during the time of Tony’s domination. Claire reassured herself: Catherine is protecting me again .
    However, she had to wonder, was this truly protection?
    Catherine knew Claire’s greatest fear -- her biggest terror. She knew it was isolation. Catherine provided money – lots of money. However, suddenly Claire questioned -- how was this kinder than thirteen days sequestered in her suite? She and her baby would have every need met. Yet, when all was said and done, Claire’s need for love and companionship would remain unsatisfied for the rest of her life.
    She laid ten Swiss Francs on the counter and stepped out into the bustling cosmopolitan city. Her hotel was only blocks away.
    Claire, no Isabelle, entered the Hotel d'Angleterre in a mental fog. Her mind whirled with new and old information. The concierge’s greeting caught her off guard. “B uon pomeriggio, Seniora Alexander . Senior Alexander è qui, ti aspetta .” (Good afternoon Mrs. Alexander, Mr. Alexander is waiting for you.)
    Mr. Alexander? She thought. “ Grazie, dove ?” (Thank you, where?)
    “ Egli è nella vostra suite , seniora .” (In your suite, ma’am)
    Claire nodded and tried to smile. Panic from years before bubbled from the depths of her soul. The past few months with Tony held no hint of domination, yet she knew it existed. And now, if he were upstairs in her suite, what did that mean? Did he think she’d left him for his money? Did Catherine tell him? Was this all just a set-up, a test? Had she just failed? Claire decided company would be beneficial, “ Mi sembra di aver smarrito la mia chiave, potreste aiutarmi ?” (I seem to have misplaced my key, could you help me?)
    “ Si, seniora .” The concierge accompanied Seniora Alexander to the third floor suite. As they rode the elevator in silence, Claire’s mind spun with questions. When the doors opened, anticipation prevailed. She prayed, Please let Tony be here, and let us work this out.
    She foresaw anger. But she’d seen it before. Claire squared her shoulders and stiffened her neck. Once his impending tirade was complete, she’d explain. She wanted to face the man she’d just left.
    The concierge inserted the key and penetrated the lock on the polished wooden door.
    Before he pulled the opulent lever, the door opened. Instead of brown darkness she saw intense hazel. Flecks of gold shimmered within her husband’s gray-green eyes while his white hair lay casually over his forehead. Claire sighed as Phil beckoned her into the suite.
    “ Il mio amore!” (My love) He pulled her hand toward him; her body followed. Instantly his lips were on hers. She fought her urge to fight, knowing the concierge was watching their show.
    Claire lifted her hands to Phil’s shoulders and pushed, “Lei mi sorprende.” (You surprise me)
    In English, “Didn’t they tell you I was here? I didn’t mean to surprise you.”
    The concierge stood faithfully near, in the open door. Phil immediately reached into his pocket, removed some Swiss Francs, and thanked him for his