Now You See It... Part 7

"He's not a stupid man." (That much Harry had correct at any rate.)

"I hope so," Ca.s.sandra murmured-

She straightened up, a look of grim determination on her face.

"I can do it. Harry," she declared. "I've worked for years!

I'm not saying I'm as good as he is." How modest of her.

"But I can do magic. I can do it."

"Shh. Babe. Easy." Harry was patting her back again.

"Am I arguing with you? I want to see you make it too; you know that. I want to see you playing the best clubs and the- aters in me country-h.e.l.l, in the world! The first really im- portant female magician!"

Using the act that I-then Max-developed over the past half- century, I thought, a bile of angry resentment adding my in- sides.

"It's gonna happen/ babe," Harry told her confidently.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d, I thought

"I can do it. Harry!" she said/ her tone a fierce one now.

Max really had a battle on his hands, I saw.

"Sure you can," said Harry. "That's why I'm here- To make it happen."

Ca.s.sandra visibly calmed herself. She looked at him al- most pleadingly. "You're my last hope. Harry," she said.

'Tf it doesn't happen today..."

What was going to happen mat day was eons beyond what any of us could have imagined in our wildest flight of fancy-

"IfU happen," Harry said though, unaware. "Take my word for it."

She looked hopeful for a moment. "It would be so simple to update me act," she said.

Ah-ha, I thought. So that was it.

Now Yw Sn It.. 39

"The basic effects are there, as good as ever. All they need is modernizing; we could do it easily."

Poor Max, I thought

"We could be on top again," she said. "He could be on top again. Where he belongs." Was she, in fact, sincere then?

"That's what I want-for both of us." No way.

"Come on now, babe," Harry rea.s.sured her. He bussed her lightly on the cheek. "It's in the bag."

She managed a sound of amus.e.m.e.nt. "If you can manage this, I'll toast you with me best champagne in town."

He ran a hand down her back and across the curve of a b.u.t.tock; a Kendal move if mere ever was one- "Well, I might want just a little more," he said.

He had begun to kiss her when she stiffened, looking to- ward the desk chair. My eyeb.a.l.l.s struggled to the task of seeing what she saw.

In pushing me chair she had caused it to stop moving when it was reversed. (Or had it been reversed when none of us was looking?)

A puff of gray-white smoke was rising from the chair now.

Ca.s.sandra jerked away from Harry, looking stricken;

mat's me word.

Noting her expression and the fixed direction of her gaze, he, too, looked toward me chair. (That made three of us.) They stared at it in choked silence.

At last the chair turned slowly to reveal me final princ.i.p.al in me murderous drama about to unfold.

My son, Maximilian Delacorte.

Max was still a very handsome man. His hair, though streaked with gray, was full and dark. His vand.y.k.e beard set off the perfect cut of his features. Like me/ he was tall and well-proportioned, his presence something to behold.

(As in all modesty I say it-mine was too.)

He wore a wine-red smoking jacket over his white shirt and four-in-hand tie. Around his neck hung a gold chain with a pair of gla.s.ses dangling from it. m the fingers of his left hand/ he held the thin cigar he was smoking.

He blew out smoke and smiled at mem. "Good after- noon/' he said. His tone was mild. He must not have heard them plotting, I thought He sounded too benign.

Ca.s.sandra and Harry could only stare (perhaps gape is the word) at him, so caught off guard were they. Uke my- self, they were clearly wondering how long he'd been sit- ting there and what he'd heard. Unlike me, they were (I hope) ridden with guilt and dreading that he'd heard it all.

Max looked across the room at me and signaled, smiling.

"And good afternoon to you. Padre," he said.

Now You See It.. 41

How I wished I could return his smile and signal. Lord above, how I wished I could blow me whistle on those two;

those three if I included Brian with his most suspicious fac- simile of Ca.s.sandra- It now became apparent that Harry, at least, was wonder- ing more man whether Max had heard his plot or no.

He was also wondering where in G.o.d's name Max had come from in the first place. The chair had been empty, and it stood behind me desk with no proximity to any wall Max might have popped from.

It then became evident that Ca.s.sandra was wondering the same thing.

Unlike Harry, however, she meant to use me puzzle as a means to-hopefully-gloss over what Max might have heard of their conversation-or, for that matter, seen of their physical adhesion.

She pointed at the chair. "When did you build tfut?" she asked, her tone indicating a chiding amus.e.m.e.nt she could not possibly have been experiencing.

Max smiled pleasantly. "When you were in Bermuda,"

he said. (Would I ever forget those three lovely weeks of her absence?)

"Well, you really caught us by surprise," she said, trying to retain mat gloss of amus.e.m.e.nt in her voice.

"Did I?" Max sounded almost childlike in his gratifica- tion at having succeeded with me illusion. I knew the feel- ing of course, but I wished mat he didn't feel it at that particular moment.

Ca.s.sandra made a sound of amus.e.m.e.nt again. "You've been saving that for the perfect moment, haven't you?" she accused.