sidneysheldon.astrangerinthemirror-第2节
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and hurriedly made his way to Jill Temple's suite。 There was no response to his knock。 He knocked again； this time a little more loudly。
〃Madame Temple。。。 This is Claude Dessard； the chief purser。 I was wondering if I might be of any service。〃
There was no answer。 By now； Dessard's internal warning system was screaming。 His instincts told him that there was something terribly wrong； and he had a premonition that it centered； somehow； around this woman。 A series of wild； outrageous thoughts danced through his brain。 She had been murdered or kidnapped or He tried the handle of the door。 It was unlocked。 Slowly； Dessard pushed the door open。 Jill Temple was standing at the far end of the cabin； looking out the porthole； her back to him。 Dessard opened his mouth to speak； but something in the frozen rigidity of her figure stopped him。 He stood there awkwardly for a moment； debating whether to quietly withdraw； when suddenly the cabin was filled with an unearthly； keening sound； like an animal in pain。 Helpless before such a deep private agony； Dessard withdrew； carefully closing the door behind him。 Dessard stood outside the cabin a moment； listening to the wordless cries from within。 Then； deeply shaken； he turned and headed for the ship's theater on the main deck。 A porter was mopping up a trail of blood in front of the theater。 Mon Dieu； Dessard thought。 What next？ He tried the door to the theater。 It was unlocked。 Dessard entered the large； modern auditorium that could seat six hundred passengers。 The auditorium was empty。 On an impulse； he went to the projection booth。 The door was locked。 Only two people had keys to this door； he and the projectionist。 Dessard opened it with his key and went inside。 Everything seemed normal。 He walked over to the two Century 35…mm。 projectors in the room and put his hands on them。 One of them was warm。 In the crew's quarters on D deck； Dessard found the projectionist； who assured him that he knew nothing about the theater being used。 On the way back to his office； Dessard took a shortcut through the kitchen。 The chef stopped him； in a fury。
〃Look at this；〃 he manded Dessard。 〃Just look what some idiot has done！〃 On a marble pastry table was a beautiful； six…tiered wedding cake； with delicate； spun…sugar figures of a bride and groom on top。 Someone had crushed in the head of the bride。
〃It was at that moment；〃 Dessard would tell the spellbound patrons at his bistro； 〃that I knew something terrible was about to happen。〃
BOOK ONE
In 1919； Detroit； Michigan； was the single most successful industrial city in the world。 World War I had ended； and Detroit had played a significant part in the Allies' victory； supplying them with tanks and trucks and aeroplanes。 Now； with the threat of the Hun over； the automobile plants once again turned their energies to retooling for motorcars。 Soon； four thousand automobiles a day were being manufactured； assembled and shipped。 Skilled and unskilled labor came from all parts of the world to seek jobs in the automotive industry。 Italians； Irish； Germans … they came in a flood tide。 Among the new arrivals were Paul Templarhaus and his bride； Frieda。 Paul had been a butcher's apprentice in Munich。 With the dowry he received when he married Frieda； he emigrated to New York and opened a butcher shop； which quickly showed a deficit。 He then moved to St。 Louis； Boston and； finally； Detroit； failing spectacularly in each city。 In an era when business was booming and an increasing affluence meant a growing demand for meat； Paul Templarhaus managed to lose money everywhere he opened a shop。 He was a good butcher but a hopelessly inpetent businessman。 In truth he was more interested in writing poetry than in making money。 He would spend hours dreaming up rhymes and poetic images。 He would set them down on paper and mail them off to newspapers and magazines； but they never bought any of his masterpieces。 To Paul； money was unimportant。 He extended credit to everyone； and the word quickly spread： if you had no money and wanted the finest of meats； go to Paul Templarhaus。
Paul's wife； Frieda； was a plain…looking girl who had had no experience with men before Paul had e along and proposed to heror； rather； as was properto her father。 Frieda had pleaded with her father to accept Paul's suit； but the old man had needed no urging； for he had been desperately afraid he was going to be stuck with Frieda the rest of his life。 He had even increased the dowry so that Frieda and her husband would be able to leave Germany and go to the New World。 Frieda had fallen shyly in love with her husband at first sight。 She had never seen a poet before。 Paul was thin and intellectual…looking； with pale myopic eyes and receding hair； and it was months before Frieda could believe that this handsome young man truly belonged to her。 She had no illusions about her own looks。 Her figure was lumpy； the shape of an oversized； uncooked potato kugel。 Her best feature was her vivid blue eyes； the color of gentians； but the rest af her face seemed to belong to other people。 Her nose was her grandfather's； large and bulbous； her forehead was an uncle's； high and sloping； and her chin was her father's； square and grim。 Somewhere inside Frieda was a beautiful young girl； trapped with a face and body that God had given her as some kind of cosmic joke。 But people could see only the formidable exterior。 Except for Paul。 Her Paul。 It was just as well that Frieda never knew that her attraction lay in her dowry； which Paul saw as an escape from the bloody sides of beef and hog brains。 Paul's dream had been to go into business for himself and make enough money so that he could devote himself to his beloved poetry。
Frieda and Paul went to an inn outside Salzburg for their honeymoon； a beautiful old castle on a lovely lake； surrounded by meadows and woods。 Frieda had gone over the honeymoonnight scene a hundred times in her mind。 Paul would lock the door and take her into his arms and murmur sweet endearments as he began to undress her。 His lips would find hers and then slowly move down her naked body； the way they did it in all the little green books she had secretly read。 His organ would be hard and erect and proud； like a German banner； and Paul would carry her to the bed （perhaps it would be safer if he walked her to it） and tenderly lay her down。 Mein Gott； Frieda； he would say。 I love your body。 You are not like those skinny little girls。 You have the body of a woman。
The actuality came as a shock。 It was true that when they reached their room； Paul locked the door。 After that； the reality was a stranger to the dream。 As Frieda watched； Paul quickly stripped off his shirt； revealing a high； thin； hairless chest。 Then he pulled down his pants。 Between his legs lay a limp； tiny penis； hidden by a foreskin。 It did not resemble in any way the exciting pictures Frieda had seen。 Paul stretched out on the bed； waiting for her； and Frieda realized that he expected her to undress herself。 Slowly； she began to take off her clothes。 Well； size is not everything； Frieda thought。 Paul will be a wonderful lover。 Moments later； the trembling bride joined her groom on the marital bed。 While she was waiting for him to say something romantic； Paul rolled over on top of her； made a few thrusts inside her； and rolled off again。 For the stunned bride； it was finished before it began。 As for Paul； his few previous sexual experiences had been with the whores of Munich； and he was reaching for his wallet when he remembered that he no longer had to pay for it。 From now on it was free。 Long after Paul had fallen asleep； Frieda lay in bed； trying not to think about her disappointment。 Sex is not every she told herself。 My Paul will make a wonderful husband。 As it turned out； she was wrong again。
It was shortly after the honeymoon that Frieda began to see Paul in a more realistic light。 Frieda had been reared in the German tradition of a Hausfrau； and so she obeyed her husband without question； but she was far from stupid。 Paul had no interest in life except his poems； and Frieda began to realize that they were very bad。 She could not help but observe that Paul left a great deal to be desired in almost every area she could think of。 Where Paul was indecisive； Frieda was firm； where Paul was stupid about business； Frieda was clever。 In the beginning； she had sat by； silently suffering； while the head of the family threw away her handsome dowry by his softhearted idiocies。 By the time they moved to Detroit； Frieda could stand it no longer。 She marched into her husband's butcher shop one day and took over the cash register。 The first thing she did was to put up a sign： No credit。 Her husband was appalled； but that was only the beginning。 Frieda raised the prices of meat and began advertising； showering the neighbourhood with pamphlets； and the business expanded overnight。 From that moment on； it was Frieda who made all the important decisions； and Paul who followed them。 Frieda's disappointment had turned her into a tyrant。 She found that she had a talent for running things and people； and she was inflexible。 It was Frieda who decided how their money was to be invested； where they would live； where they would va
