A Good Woman

Annabelle had just come back from seeing a patient in the hospital when Hélène told her there was a woman waiting for her. She had been there for two hours and refused to say what it was about. Annabelle assumed she probably had some kind of embarrassing problem. She put her white coat on, sat down at her desk, and told Hélène to let her in.

Two minutes later, Hélène was escorting in a dowager of impressive proportions. She was a large woman with a big voice, wearing an enormous hat, about six long strands of huge pearls, and she was carrying a silver cane. She looked as though she were going to hit someone with it as she marched into the office. Annabelle stood up to greet her, and had to force herself not to smile. The woman ignored Annabelle’s extended hand and stood glaring at her. She did not look sick and Annabelle had no idea what she was doing there. She got right to the point.

“What is all this nonsense about a granddaughter?” she barked at Annabelle in English. “My son had no children, no encumbrances, no important women in his life when he died. And if you’re claiming that you had a child by him, why exactly have you waited six years to write to me about it?” As she said it, she sat down in the chair at the other side of Annabelle’s desk and glared at her some more. She was as pleasant as her son, and Annabelle was not amused once she realized what this was about, and that instead of responding to her letter, his mother had just shown up and barged in.

“I waited six years to contact you,” Annabelle said coldly, “because I didn’t want to contact you at all.” She could be just as blunt as Lady Winshire was herself. She looked to be about seventy years old, which seemed roughly the right age, since Harry would have been in his early thirties by then. She had guessed him to be about her own age the night that she was raped. “I wrote to you because my daughter was upset about not having a grandmother. She couldn’t understand why we’d never met you. And I said her father and I were married for a short time, at the front, and then he was killed. So you and I never had time to meet. This is very awkward for me too.”

“Were you married to my son?” Lady Winshire looked appalled.

Annabelle quietly shook her head. “No, we were not. I only met him once.” Saying that gave his mother a very poor impression of her, but she didn’t think that the woman, however disagreeable, needed to know that her son was a rapist. It seemed to Annabelle that she and Consuelo both deserved to keep their illusions, so she was leaving Lady Winshire’s intact, at her own expense. “I’d rather my daughter continue to believe that we were married. I’d like to at least give her that.”

“Were you a doctor then?” Lady Winshire asked with sudden interest.

Annabelle shook her head again. “No, I wasn’t. I was a medic, attached to the ambulance corps.”

“How did you meet him?” Something in her eyes softened. She’d lost both her sons in the war and was no stranger to loss or pain.

“It’s not important,” Annabelle answered quietly, wishing she hadn’t come. “We never really knew each other. My daughter was an accident.”

“What kind of accident?” She was like a dog with a bone. And Annabelle was the bone.

Annabelle sighed before she answered, trying to figure out how much to say. Surely not the truth. “He had a lot to drink.”

Lady Winshire didn’t look surprised. “He always did. Harry always drank too much, and did a lot of stupid things when he did.” Her eyes bored into Annabelle’s. “How stupid was he with you?”

Annabelle smiled, wondering if his mother thought she was trying to blackmail her, and decided to reassure her again. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“That’s not the point. If that’s the case, then I have a right to know how badly my son behaved.”

“Why? What difference does it make?” Annabelle spoke with quiet dignity.

“You’re a very generous woman,” Lady Winshire said calmly, sitting back in the chair. She looked like she was there to stay, until she had the truth. “But I also knew my son. My son Edward was nearly a saint. Harry was the devil in our lives. Adorable as a child, and badly behaved as a man. Sometimes very badly behaved. It didn’t improve when he drank. I think I know most of the stories about him.” She sighed then. “I wanted to come and see you, because no one has ever said to me that there was a child. I was very suspicious of you when I read your letter. I thought you wanted something. I can see now that you’re an honest woman, and you’re as suspicious of me now, as I was of you.” The old woman smiled a wintry smile and ran a hand down her many pearls. “I hesitated to come,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to get embroiled with some dreadful vulgar woman, who has some gutter brat she pretends was spawned by my son. But clearly, that’s not the case with you, and I have the strong feeling that your entire encounter with my son was unpleasant, or worse, and I don’t want to be a reminder of that for you.”

“Thank you,” Annabelle said, appreciating everything she’d just heard. And then Lady Winshire stunned her with what she said.

“Did he rape you?” she asked bluntly. Apparently, she knew her son well. There was an endless hesitation in the room, and finally Annabelle nodded, sorry to tell her the truth.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” the older woman said more gently. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard that,” she continued, with motherly regret. “I don’t know what went wrong.” Her eyes were filled with sorrow as she and Annabelle looked at each other. “What do we do now? I have to admit, I was afraid of what I would find here, but I also couldn’t resist seeing my own grandchild, if there truly was one. Both my sons are dead. My husband died of pneumonia last spring. And neither of my sons ever married, nor had children. Until you.” There were tears in her eyes, as Annabelle looked at her with compassion.

“Would you like to meet Consuelo?” She warned her then, though it didn’t matter, since she was making no claims on his estate, “She doesn’t look like him. She looks like me.”

“I’d say that could prove to be a great blessing,” the old woman said, smiling. She stood up with some difficulty and used her cane.

Annabelle rose too, came around her desk, and led Lady Winshire out of the office, after telling Hélène where they were going. Fortunately, she had a break in her scheduled patients. The two women walked through the courtyard toward the main part of the house. She knew that Consuelo would be home from school by then, and she let herself in with her key, still wearing her doctor’s coat. Lady Winshire marched up the steps, outside the house, and stood looking around the front hall as they walked in.

“You have a very pretty home,” she said politely. She was impressed by everything she saw. Annabelle had good taste, and an obvious history with fine things.

“Thank you,” Annabelle said, and led her into the main living room. She then ran up the stairs to get her daughter. She told her they had a guest and she wanted her to say hello. But she didn’t want to say more.

As Annabelle and Consuelo came down the stairs, they were chatting animatedly with each other, and holding hands. At the bottom Consuelo stopped, smiled shyly at their guest, curtsied, and went to shake her hand. The child was obviously extremely polite and well behaved, and Lady Winshire glanced approvingly at Annabelle over Consuelo’s head.

“How do you do, Consuelo,” she said, as the child took in the huge hat and many strands of pearls.

“Your hat is very pretty,” the little girl said, staring at it as the older woman smiled.

“That’s a very nice thing to say. It’s a bit of a silly old hat, but I like it. And you’re a very pretty girl.” She had never had a grandchild before, and hadn’t spoken to a child in years. “I came all the way from England to see you,” she went on as Consuelo stared. “Do you know who I am?” she asked gently, and Consuelo shook her head. “I’m the grandma you’ve never met. I’m your father’s mother.” Consuelo’s eyes grew wide as she looked over her shoulder at her mother and then back at her grandmother. “I’m sorry we’ve never met before. That won’t happen anymore,” Lady Winshire said solemnly. She had never seen such an enchanting child, and her manners were exquisite. “I brought some photographs with me of your father when he was a little boy. Would you like to see them?” Consuelo nodded and sat down next to her on the couch, as Lady Winshire took a stack of faded photographs out of her bag, while Annabelle quietly went to ask Brigitte to make tea.

Lady Winshire stayed with them for over an hour, and when Consuelo went back upstairs with Brigitte, she congratulated Annabelle for having such a lovely child.

“She’s a wonderful little girl,” her mother agreed.

“My son didn’t know how lucky he was to run into someone like you, and leave such a sweet little girl in the world.” She was looking at Annabelle with gratitude and compassion. She had fallen in love with Consuelo at first sight. It would have been hard not to, and for the first time Annabelle was glad she’d come, instead of just writing back. It had been a lovely gift for Consuelo too. “I’m sorry he was so bad to you. There was a sweet side of him. I’m sorry you never knew it. This must have been very hard for you at first.”

Annabelle nodded. “I stayed at the hospital as long as I could, and then I went to Antibes. Consuelo was born there.”

“And your family is in the States?” It seemed odd to her that Annabelle was practicing medicine in Paris instead of at home, although the child had obviously complicated things for her.

“My family is gone,” Annabelle said simply. “They all died before I came here. It’s just Consuelo and I.” Lady Winshire was alone in the world now too. And in an odd way, now they had each other.

She finally stood up, and took Annabelle’s hand in her own. “Thank you for this most extraordinary gift,” she said with tears in her eyes. “It’s a little piece of Harry I can hang on to, and Consuelo is a very special child on her own.” And with that, she hugged Annabelle and kissed her on the cheek. Annabelle helped her down the stairs to the car and driver waiting for her outside. She suddenly looked even older than she had when she arrived. And she smiled at Annabelle again before she left, and gently slipped something into her hand. “This is for you, my dear. You’ve earned it. It’s a very small thing.” Annabelle tried to resist, without even looking at it, but Lady Winshire insisted. The two women hugged again, and Annabelle felt as though they had a new friend, a kind of wonderful old eccentric aunt. She was glad she’d written to her now. It had been the right thing to do, for them all.

She waved as Lady Winshire drove away, and only after she had left did Annabelle look at the object in the palm of her hand. She had sensed that it was a ring, but she was in no way prepared for the kind of ring it was. It was a beautiful old emerald of enormous proportions, in an antique diamond setting. Annabelle was stunned. It looked like the rings her own grandmother had worn, which were still in the vault at the bank in New York. But she slipped the ring on her finger with the wedding ring she had bought herself. She was deeply touched by the gesture. She would give it to Consuelo one day, but in the meantime she was going to wear it. And as she walked back into her office she thought to herself that they had a grandmother now. She and Consuelo were no longer alone in the world.

Chapter 22

There was a mild outbreak of influenza in Paris that summer, some thought from the heat, and Annabelle had several patients in the hospital. She visited them twice a day, but she was hoping to go away with Consuelo and Brigitte in August. She couldn’t decide between Dordogne, Brittany, or the South of France. As it turned out, they never got to any of those places. She had too many sick people to tend to. They went to Deauville, at the seashore in Normandy, instead for a few days, when her patients recovered.

And after they got back, two more of her patients were hospitalized with pneumonia. She was leaving the hospital late one afternoon, thinking about the patient she’d just visited, an elderly woman who wasn’t doing well. Annabelle was trying to come up with some new solutions for her many problems, when she bumped into someone on the steps of the hospital, coming up as she was going down. They hit each other with such force that he almost knocked her over, and made a quick save to grab her before she fell down the stairs.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said apologetically. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Neither was I.” He was equally apologetic and had a dazzling smile. “Were you visiting a friend?” It was an honest mistake and she laughed.

“No, I’m a doctor.” At least he hadn’t asked if she was a nurse.

“What a happy coincidence,” he said, laughing back at her. “So am I. Why have I never been fortunate enough to meet you before?” He was very charming, and she wasn’t used to bantering with men that way. For years now, she had hidden behind her role as a doctor, widow, or Consuelo’s mother. Men never flirted with her, but he seemed full of mischief and fun and was undeniably very goodlooking. “What’s your specialty?” he asked with interest, not in the least bothered that they had had no formal introduction. He told her his name was Antoine de St. Gris, and asked for hers, which she gave him. He refused to believe she was American, since she spoke such flawless French.

“I’m in general medicine,” she said simply, embarrassed to be talking to a stranger.

“I’m an orthopedic surgeon,” he said with visible panache. She knew that most of the orthopedic surgeons had big egos, except during the war when they had been humbled, like everyone else, by what they saw, and how little of the damage they could repair.

He walked her back down the steps of the hospital, to ensure that she didn’t fall, he said, and saw her to the car that she drove herself.

“Will I be fortunate enough to see you again?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye, and she laughed.

“If I break my leg, I’ll call you.”

“Don’t wait until then. Or I’ll have to develop pneumonia and call you. And it would be such a shame. I would much prefer to see you while we’re both healthy.” He waved as she drove away and hurried back up the hospital steps. It had put a little spark in her day to have a man chat with her. It happened to her so rarely, almost never.

She spent a quiet evening reading to Consuelo and put her to bed. And the next day in the office, she was in the midst of seeing patients when Hélène told her that there was a doctor in the waiting room, demanding to see her immediately. He said he had to consult her about a case. She finished with her patient, and walked out, puzzled. She couldn’t imagine who it was. And there was Antoine de St. Gris in a handsome blue topcoat, creating havoc in her waiting room, entertaining the patients, most of whom were laughing. He had been telling them jokes, and she took him into her office for a moment.

“What are you doing here?” she asked with an embarrassed smile. It pleased her to see him again, but she was working. “I’m seeing patients.”

“I’m very impressed. I think I caught a severe cold last night. I have a very bad sore throat.” He stuck his tongue out for her to look at when he said it. And she laughed at him. He was outrageous, irreverent, and embarrassingly charming.

“It looks fine to me.”

“How’s your leg?” he asked.

“My leg? Fine. Why?”

“It looks broken to me. Let me have a look at it.” He made as though to reach for the hem of her skirt, and she stepped away from him, laughing.

“Doctor, I must ask you to leave. I have to see my patients.”

“Fine, if you’re going to be that way. Then see me tonight for dinner.”

“Uh…I don’t…I can’t…”

“You can’t even think of a decent excuse.” He laughed at her. “That’s truly pathetic. I’ll pick you up at eight.” And with that, he went back to the waiting room, waved at her patients, and left. He was completely overwhelming, very improper, and in spite of that, or maybe because of it, very appealing, almost irresistible in fact.

“Who was that?” Hélène asked with a look of disapproval, before ushering the next patient in.

“He’s an orthopedic surgeon.”

“That explains everything,” Hélène growled, and noticed the girlish expression on her employer’s face. She had never seen her look that way before. “He’s a lunatic,” Hélène added, and then smiled in spite of herself. “A good-looking lunatic though. Are you going to see him again?”

Annabelle blushed. “Tonight. For dinner.”

“Uh-oh. Watch out for him,” Hélène warned.

“I will,” Annabelle reassured her, and then went back to seeing patients.

She got to the house after seven that night, after her last patient and closing the office. Consuelo was in the bathtub, laughing with Brigitte. Annabelle looked at her watch and realized that she had less than an hour to dress for dinner with the slightly outrageous Dr. St. Gris. She went in to kiss Consuelo, who wanted to play cards with her mother after the bath.

“I can’t,” Annabelle said apologetically. “I’m going out.”

“You are?” Consuelo looked shocked. It was a most unusual occurrence. In fact, it never happened, except once in a great while if Annabelle went to a meeting of physicians, or a conference for women doctors. Other than that, she never went out, and had no social life, not since leaving New York nine years before. So her announcement had the effect of a bomb dropped in their midst. “Where are you going?”

“To dinner with a doctor,” she said innocently.

“Oh. Where?” Consuelo wanted to know everything, and her mother looked slightly embarrassed.

“I don’t know. He’s picking me up at eight.”

“He is? What does he look like?”

“Just a person,” Annabelle said vaguely. She didn’t want to say that he was very good-looking. She left the bathroom then, and went to get dressed. It was a warm night. She wore a white linen suit she had bought in Deauville, and a very pretty hat she had found with it. She felt a little silly getting all dressed up, but it wasn’t every day she got invited out to dinner, and she couldn’t have worn the suit or hat for work.

Antoine de St. Gris arrived promptly at eight, and Brigitte let him in. She seated him in the drawing room, and having been unattended for five minutes, Consuelo came bouncing down the stairs in her nightgown and dressing gown. She walked into the living room and smiled at him, as Brigitte attempted unsuccessfully to shoo her back upstairs.

“Hello,” she said cheerfully. “Are you the doctor having dinner with my mother?” She was missing her two front teeth currently, which made her look particularly cute.

“Yes, I am. What happened to your teeth?” Antoine asked, looking right at her.

“I lost them,” she said proudly.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said seriously. “I hope you find them soon. It could be very annoying to grow up without teeth. How would you ever eat an apple?”

She giggled at what he said. “No, I won’t find them. A fairy took them and left me candy instead. I’m going to get new ones soon. I can already feel them… see?” She turned her head at a funny angle, half upside down, and showed him the little white edges peeking through her gums.

“Oh, I’m so glad,” he said with a broad grin as Annabelle walked into the room, and saw her daughter conversing happily with the doctor.

“Have you two met?” she asked, looking a little nervous.

“Not officially,” he confessed, and then bowed elegantly to Consuelo. “Antoine de St. Gris,” he said formally. “I am honored to meet you, particularly now that I know you’re going to get new teeth.” She giggled again. Annabelle introduced her daughter, who curtsied properly to Antoine. “Ready?” he asked Annabelle, and she nodded. She kissed Consuelo, told her to go upstairs and get ready for bed, since she had had dinner before her bath. Consuelo scampered up the stairs with a wave at their guest, as Annabelle followed him out of the house. “I’m sorry,” he said seriously, as he led her to the beautiful blue Ballot Open Tourer he had left outside. It was a very elegant car and suited him to perfection. Everything about him was stylish, smooth, and assured. “I shouldn’t be taking you out at all. I’m spoken for. I’ve just fallen madly in love with your daughter. She must be the most adorable child I’ve ever seen.” Annabelle smiled at what he’d said.

“You have a nice way with children.”

“I was one, a long time ago. My mother insists I still am and never grew up.” Annabelle could see why she would say that, but his boyishness was part of his charm. She wondered how old he was, and guessed him to be around thirty-five, which would make him four years older than she was. They were very close in age, but Annabelle had a far more serious, reserved demeanor. He was a little bit of a handsome, charming clown. She liked how lighthearted he was, and he had a nice sense of humor. The patients in her waiting room had loved it too. So did his.

They chatted easily as he drove her to Maxim’s. She had never been there, and knew that it was one of the best restaurants in Paris, and a very fashionable place. It had been there forever.

When they arrived, it was obvious that he was well known to them. The headwaiter acknowledged him, and he was well acquainted with people at several tables and introduced Annabelle to them proudly. He introduced her as Dr. Worthington, which always made her feel important. She had worked hard for her title.

He suggested what she might like to eat, and ordered dinner for them, with a bottle of champagne. She very rarely drank, but the champagne made the evening feel like a celebration. She hadn’t been out with a man for an evening like this since Josiah, ten years before. Her life had been entirely different here in France, at the front, in medical school, and now as Consuelo’s mother, and suddenly here she was at Maxim’s with Antoine. It was entirely unexpected and a treat.

“How long have you been widowed?” he asked her gently over dinner.

“Since before Consuelo was born,” she said simply.

“That’s a long time to be alone, assuming you have been,” he asked, prying a little. He was curious about her. She was an unusual woman—beautiful, distinguished, clearly well born, and a doctor. He had never met anyone quite like her, and was very attracted to her.

“I have been,” she confirmed, and in fact, she had been alone for a lot longer. Nine years, since Josiah had left her, but she couldn’t tell him that.

“You couldn’t have been married for long,” he said, looking thoughtful.

“Only a few months. He was killed at the front, right after we were married. We met where I was working at Villers-Cotterêts, at the hospital Elsie Inglis set up, with female medical units.”

“Were you already a physician then?” He looked confused, as that would have made her older than she looked. She appeared very young to him.

“No.” She smiled. “Just a medic. I left medical school to work there. I worked at L’Abbaye de Royaumont before that, in Asnières. I went back to medical school after Consuelo was born.”

“You’re a very enterprising woman, and very brave,” he said, sounding impressed, as they ate dinner, which was delicious. He had ordered lobster, and she was having a delicate veal dish. “What made you want to become a doctor?” He wanted to know everything about her.

“Same thing as you probably. I’ve loved science and medicine since I was a child. I just never thought I’d get the chance to do it. What about you?”

“My father and both my brothers are physicians. And my mother should have been. She tells us all what we do wrong. And I hate to admit it, but sometimes she’s right.” He laughed. “She’s been helping my father in his office for years. But why are you practicing here and not in the States?” He still couldn’t get over the fact that she wasn’t French, she spoke the language like a native. He would never have suspected she was American.

“I don’t know. It didn’t happen there. I came here to volunteer for the war effort. And then I just fell into a series of circumstances. One of the surgeons in Asnières helped me get into medical school in Nice. And I could never have done it while my parents were alive. My mother was never happy about my fascination with medicine. She thought I’d wind up catching a disease. I worked with immigrants in New York.”

“Well, lucky for me that you came over here. Do you think you’ll go back to the States one day?”

She shook her head solemnly. “I have no one left there. All my family are gone.”

“That’s very sad,” he said sympathetically. “I’m very close to mine. I would be lost without them. We’re something of a tribe.” She liked that about him. It seemed warm and friendly, and if they were all as much fun as he was, they must have been a lively group. “What about your late husband’s family? Do you see them?”

“Very little. They’re in England. Although Consuelo’s grandmother came over recently. She’s a very nice woman.” But she didn’t tell him it had been the first time they’d ever met.

There was so much about her history that she couldn’t tell him. That her real husband had left her and was in love with a man. That she was divorced because of that. That she’d been raped and never married to Consuelo’s father. The truth was far more shocking than the version she told. The worst of it was that she was paying for sins she hadn’t committed, and would all her life. He was so easygoing that she could almost imagine he wouldn’t be as shocked by the truth as some might be. But she wouldn’t tell him anyway. The history she told was one of complete respectability, and he had no reason to suspect otherwise. Everything she said was eminently believable, and she looked so proper that no one would ever expect anything less of her.

He commented during dinner that he had never been married. Specializing in orthopedic surgery had kept him in medical school for a long time, which he had attended in Paris at the Faculté de Médecine. He had trained at the Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital, and the war had interrupted his studies for a while. He somehow let it slip out that he had been decorated twice during the war. Despite his joking style, he was an impressive person, and it was obvious that he thought the same of her. As she talked to him over dinner, she felt as though he had been dropped into her life like a gift from heaven. She was glad he had almost knocked her down the stairs at the hospital, otherwise she would never have met him. And he seemed equally pleased to have found her.

When he drove her home he asked when he could see her again. She had no other conflicting engagements, for the rest of her life in fact, except dinner and evenings with Consuelo, and he promised to call the next day and make a plan. And much to her amazement, he did.

She was sitting at her desk, filling out files on the patients she had seen that morning, when Hélène told her he was on the line. He invited her to dinner the coming Saturday, in two days. He was suddenly an unexpected pleasure in her life. And he asked if on Sunday, she and Consuelo would like to have lunch with his two brothers and their children, at his parents’ home. It was a very appealing invitation. And she mentioned it to Consuelo that night. She was delighted. Consuelo thought he had been very funny about her teeth. She looked at her mother thoughtfully then and volunteered that he was nice. Annabelle agreed that he was.

On Saturday, he took her to La Tour d’Argent for dinner, which was even more elegant than Maxim’s. She wore a very simple well-cut black dress, and Lady Winshire’s emerald ring. Annabelle had no other jewelry in France, but she looked very stylish nonetheless. Her natural beauty was more striking than anything she wore. And they had a wonderful time again, talking until almost midnight about a great many things—the war, surgery, medicine, the reconstruction of Europe. He was a fascinating dinner partner and fun to be with.

The day they spent with him on Sunday was even better. As it turned out, his parents’ home was only a few blocks from her house. His brothers were as entertaining as he was, and their wives were very sweet. Their children were around the same age as Consuelo, and the whole family talked medicine constantly, which Annabelle loved. His mother was a benevolent tyrant who ruled them all. She scolded Antoine frequently, and rolled her eyes in disgust that he still wasn’t married, and said so. She seemed to approve of Annabelle, and refused to believe that she wasn’t French and had grown up in New York. She let Consuelo sit on her lap, and all the others, and then chased them all out into the garden to play. By the time he took Annabelle and Consuelo home, they were all pleasantly exhausted and had had a wonderful day.

“Thank you for putting up with my mother,” he said with a smile. “I don’t usually take people home for Sunday lunch. Most women would run screaming out the door.”

“I loved it,” Annabelle said honestly. She missed her own family so much that she found his an enormous blessing, and it was wonderful for Consuelo to be around families like that, with aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents. It was everything they lacked. And Consuelo had enjoyed every minute of it, even more than her mother did. “Thank you for taking us.”

“We’ll do it again,” he promised. “I’ll call you and we’ll organize some dinners for this week.” Not just one. Several. Suddenly, Antoine had become a major feature in her life, and she had to admit, he made her very happy. And his family was an added bonus in her eyes.

He called her on Tuesday, and invited her to dinner on Friday night, and he suggested that they have lunch at La Cascade, one of the oldest and nicest restaurants in Paris, on Saturday, and with his family on Sunday again if she could stand it. He was giving her a major rush.

And every one of their dates was absolute perfection. Dinner on Friday at the Ritz was exquisite, just as the two previous dinners had been. Lunch at La Cascade was sumptuous and relaxing, and they went for a walk in the gardens of Bagatelle afterward and admired the peacocks. When he brought her home later, she invited him to stay for an early dinner with her and Consuelo in their kitchen. And after that, he played cards with Consuelo, and she screamed with glee when she beat him, which Annabelle suspected was fixed.

Their Sunday with his family was even better than the first one. His family was a classic example of the French bourgeoisie, with all its opinions, political views, unspoken rules and etiquette, and solid family values, all of which she loved. She was as traditional as they were, and enjoyed talking to both his sisters-in-law before lunch, chatting about their children.

After lunch she fell into medical discussions with his brothers, one of whom had been a surgeon in Asnières, although they had never met, since she was already in medical school when he was assigned there. They all seemed to have a great deal in common, and Annabelle fit right in.

The following weekend, Antoine invited her to Deauville with Consuelo. He had booked separate rooms for them, and there was no question of anything being less than circumspect. Consuelo was over the moon at the prospect, and so was she. They stayed at a wonderful hotel, walked on the boardwalk together, gathered seashells, looked in all the shops, and had delicious meals of seafood. Annabelle said she didn’t know how to thank him when they got back. Consuelo went upstairs sleepily with Brigitte after the long drive, and Antoine and Annabelle stood in her courtyard as he looked tenderly at her. He gently touched her face with his long surgeon’s fingers, and then he kissed her, and afterward pulled her into his arms.

“I’ve fallen in love with you, Annabelle,” he said softly, sounding shocked himself, and she was equally shaken by what he said. But she felt the same way. She had never known anyone as wonderful as he was, or as kind to her and her daughter. She hadn’t felt this way about anyone, not even Josiah, who had always been more of a friend, and was less romantic. Antoine had totally swept her off her feet, and she was as madly in love as he was. And it had all happened so quickly. He kissed her again then, and felt that she was shaking. “Don’t be afraid, my darling,” he reassured her. And then he added, “Now I know why I’ve never married.” He looked down at her with a long, slow smile. He was the happiest man on earth, and she the happiest woman. “I was waiting for you,” he whispered as he held her.

“So was I,” she said, melting in his arms. She felt totally, completely safe with him. The one thing she already knew about Antoine, and trusted completely, was that he would never hurt her. She had never been as sure of anyone in her life.

Chapter 23

The ensuing weeks and months with Antoine were like a dream for both of them. He spent time on the weekends with her and Consuelo. He let Annabelle watch some of his surgeries. She consulted him on several of her patients, and respected his diagnostic skill and opinions, sometimes even more than her own. He invited her to all the best restaurants in Paris, and took her dancing afterward. As the weather got colder, they went for long walks in the park. He took her to the gardens of Versailles, and they were there holding hands and kissing as the first snow came down. Every moment they shared was magical, and no man had ever been as kind and loving to her in her life, not even Josiah. Her relationship with Antoine was more mature, far more romantic, and they had their profession in common. He made constant thoughtful gestures, showed up with flowers for her, and he gave Consuelo the most beautiful doll she’d ever seen. He couldn’t do enough for them. And they spent every Sunday with his family. Annabelle felt as though she and Consuelo had been adopted and embraced in every way.

She prepared a real Thanksgiving dinner for him, with all the trimmings, and tried to explain the holiday to him, which he said he found touching. They spent Christmas Eve with his family, and everyone gave them presents. She had picked a gift for each of them as well, a warm cashmere shawl for his mother, handsome gold pens for both his brothers, a rare first-edition book on surgery for his father, pretty sweaters for both his sisters-in-law, and toys for all their children. And they had been equally generous with her.

On Christmas Day she invited them all to her house, to thank them for the many Sundays she and Consuelo had shared with them. Antoine hadn’t said anything official yet, but it was obvious that he was thinking long term. He was already making plans with her for the following summer. And Hélène teased her about it all the time.

“I hear wedding bells!” she said, smiling. She had decided that she liked him, and he was so good for Annabelle. She looked blissfully happy.

On New Year’s Eve he took her dancing at the Hôtel de Crillon. He kissed her tenderly at midnight, and looked into her eyes. And then, without warning, he got down on one knee and gazed imploringly at her as she stood there in a white satin evening gown embroidered with silver beading, and looked down at him in amazement. He spoke solemnly, with great emotion in his voice.

“Annabelle, will you do me the honor of marrying me?” There was no one else to ask for her hand, and with tears in her eyes, she nodded and then said yes. He stood up and swept her into his arms, and people around them in the nightclub cheered. They were the golden couple everywhere they went, beautiful people who were talented, intelligent, stylish, dignified. They had never disagreed on a single thing, and he was always loving and kind.

They announced their engagement to his family on New Year’s Day. His mother cried and kissed them both, and everyone drank champagne. They told Consuelo that night. He was going to move into the house with them when they married, and they had already talked about having children. It was what he wanted most, and so did she. And this time, it would be right, and she wouldn’t be alone. It was the marriage she always should have had, but had been cheated of till now. This time, everything about it was perfect. They hadn’t slept with each other but he was so sensual and passionate with her, that she had no concern about it.

The only thing that bothered her was that Antoine still did not know about her past. She had never told him about Josiah, their marriage, why he had divorced her, or the reason she had left New York, that if she hadn’t she would have been shunned and run out of town on a rail for being a disgrace, since no one knew Josiah’s dark secrets, and she had never told, and never would.

He knew nothing about Consuelo’s conception, the rape at VillersCotterêts by Harry Winshire. At first she had seen no reason to share it all with him. As they grew closer, she wanted him to know all of it, and thought he should. But there had never been a right time. And now that he had asked her to marry him and she’d accepted, it felt awkward explaining it to him and seemed almost too late. But Annabelle was a woman of honor and thought she should tell him. There was a good chance that he would never know, but even if he never found out, she still felt she owed him the truth. She had been married to one man, and raped by another. And the truth that he couldn’t have imagined was that other than the rape, she had been a virgin all her life. She was thirty-one years old, had been married for two years, and had never been made love to by a man, only brutalized for a few minutes on stone steps in the dark. And somehow, it seemed important to Annabelle that he should know it. What she had lived and experienced was part of who she was. And although both stories were upsetting, she had no doubt that he would be compassionate about it.

The day after New Year’s they talked about their wedding. Since he had never been married, he wanted a big wedding, and he had many friends. She would have preferred a small one, since she was officially a “widow,” and she had very few friends, and no family of her own except Consuelo. But she wanted to do what made him happy, and whatever he thought best.

They were talking about guest lists and locations, and how many children they wanted, while finishing lunch at Le Pré Catalan in the Bois de Boulogne, and afterward they went for a walk. The day was crisp and clear. And suddenly, as she walked with her hand tucked into his arm, she knew that it was the right time, whether she liked it or not. They couldn’t talk about the details of their wedding, and how many babies they wanted, without his knowing the details of her life. She knew it wouldn’t change anything between them, but she felt honor-bound to tell him.

There was a moment of peaceful silence as they walked, and she turned to him with a serious expression.

“There are some things I have to tell you,” she said softly. There was a small butterfly fluttering in her stomach, but she wanted to get it over with, and get the butterfly out.

“What about?” he asked, smiling at her. He was the happiest man on earth.

“My past.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. To pay your way through medical school, you were a dancer at the Folies Bergère. Correct?”

“Not quite.” She smiled. It was nice to know that he would make her laugh for the rest of her life.

They walked past a bench, and she suggested that they sit down. They did, and he put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She loved it when he did that. For the first time in years, she felt loved, protected, and safe.

“There are some things about my past I haven’t told you,” she said honestly. “I’m not sure if they’re important, but I still think you ought to know.” She took a breath and started. It was harder than she thought. “I was married once before.”

He smiled broadly. “Yes, my love, I know.”

“Well, not exactly the way you think, or to whom.”

“That sounds mysterious.”

“In some ways, it is. Or it was to me. For a long time. I was married to a man named Josiah Millbank, when I was nineteen. In New York. He worked for my father’s bank. I think in retrospect, he probably felt sorry for me when my father and Robert died. He was really more of a friend, nineteen years older than I was. And a year after they died, he asked me to marry him. He’s from a very respected family or rather he was. At the time, it all made sense. We got married and nothing ever happened.

“To be blunt, we never made love. I always thought there was something wrong with me. It never happened, he always put it off. He said that we ‘had lots of time.’ ” Antoine was not saying a word, and Annabelle had tears in her eyes at the memories of her long-forgotten disappointment and grief. She went on. “Two years after we were married, he told me that he had thought he could be married to me and lead a double life. As it turned out, he couldn’t. He was in love with a man, a very dear old friend of his who was always with us. I never suspected anything. And finally, Josiah told me he was in love with him, and had been for twenty years. They were going to go to Mexico together, and he was leaving me. What finally made the decision for him was that he had discovered they both had syphilis. I never saw him again. He died earlier this year. And I was never at risk, because he had never slept with me. I was a virgin at the end of our marriage, just as I had been when it began. To be honest, I wanted to stay married to him anyway. I loved him, and I was willing to give up any kind of life or future for myself. But he refused. He said he owed it to me to free me, and that I deserved better than that—a real husband, and children, and everything he promised me and couldn’t give.” There were tears running down her cheeks by then at the memory.

“He filed for divorce, because I refused to. He thought he was doing the right thing for me. And in New York, the only grounds he could do it under were adultery. So he divorced me for adultery. Someone sold the story to the newspapers, and I became a pariah overnight. No one would speak to me, not even my best friend. If I had stayed, I would have been shunned by everyone I had ever known in New York. I was an outcast and a disgrace. So I left and came to France. I felt I had no other choice. And I went to work at the Abbaye de Royaumont. That’s how I wound up there.”

“And then you married again?” Antoine was looking stunned. The only reaction on his face that she could read was astonishment.

She shook her head. “No, I didn’t marry again. I never got involved with another man. I was too shell-shocked by everything that had happened in New York. I just worked, day and night. I never looked at another man.”

“And Consuelo was a virgin birth?” he asked, looking confused.

“More or less,” she admitted, took a deep breath and said the rest. “I was raped one night at Villers-Cotterêts. By a drunken British officer, who turned out to be from a decent family, though he was a very, very black sheep. I only saw him for those few minutes, and never again. He was killed shortly afterward. I found out I was pregnant. I worked until I was almost seven months pregnant, by binding myself.” They were painful details too, and hard to admit to him. But she had no other choice. Once he knew all of it, she would never have secrets from him again. And this was all there was. “I was never married to him. I didn’t even know him. All I knew was his name. And he left me with Consuelo. I never contacted his family until this year. His mother came over to see us, and she was very kind. She was very sweet to both of us. Apparently he had done things like it before. She wasn’t surprised.” She turned to look at Antoine then, her face awash with tears. “So I was married, but not to him. Technically, Consuelo is illegitimate. I gave her my name. And I’m not a widow. I’m a divorcée, from a marriage to another man. That’s it,” she said, finally relieved.

“That’s all?” he said, looking tense. “You haven’t done time in prison or killed a man?” She smiled at the question and shook her head.

“No.” She looked lovingly at him and wiped her eyes. It had been hard to tell him but she was glad she had. She wanted to be completely honest with him. And as she looked at him, he sprang to his feet and began to pace. He looked upset and as though he were in shock. And even Annabelle had to admit that the story was shocking.

“Let me get this straight. You were married to a man with syphilis, but you claim you never slept with him.”

“That’s right,” she confirmed in a small voice, worried about the tone of his.

“He divorced you for adultery, which you claim you never committed, although he never slept with you. You became an outcast in New York society, for the adultery you did not commit, but he divorced you for, because you refused to divorce him, although he cheated on you with a man. So you ran away after the divorce. And once here, you became pregnant out of wedlock, by a man you claim raped you. You never married him. You never saw him again. You gave birth to his bastard, while pretending to be a widow, instead of a divorcée, cast off by her husband for sleeping with another man. And then you brought your bastard to my parents’ house to let her play with my nephews and nieces, while pretending to be a widow to my parents and me, which is also a lie. For God’s sake, Annabelle, has anything you’ve said since the beginning been the truth? And on top of it, you claim that other than the convenient rape, which led to your bastard, you’re nearly a virgin now. How big a fool do you think I am?” His eyes were blazing at her, and his words were stabbing her in the heart. She had never in her life seen anyone so upset, but so was she. She started crying again as she huddled miserably on the bench, and he paced more and more furiously. She didn’t even dare reach out to touch him—he looked as though he might have hit her. What he had said to her was unforgivable.

“You’ll have to admit,” he said icily, “it’s all a little hard to believe. Your saintly innocence in all of it, your lack of responsibility, when in fact I suspect you cheated on your husband, probably have syphilis, and thank God I haven’t slept with you. I wonder when you were planning to let that little secret out. You were treated like the whore you obviously were in New York, and then you have a bastard child with someone you’ve claimed is British nobility, and who gives a damn for God’s sake? You’ve behaved like a trollop from beginning to end. And spare me the story of your virginity,” he raged on. “Given the risk of syphilis, I don’t plan to put it to the test.” If he had beaten her with his fists, he couldn’t have caused her more pain. She stood up to face him then, trembling from head to foot. He had just proven everything she had feared most, that she was branded forever with other people’s sins and no one would ever accept her innocence, not even a man who claimed to love her, and didn’t believe her when she told him the truth.

“Everything I’ve just said to you is true,” she said miserably, “from beginning to end. And don’t ever call my daughter a bastard. It’s not her fault that I was raped, nor mine. I could have gotten an abortion, but I was too afraid, so I decided to have her anyway, and cover it as best I could, so people didn’t say about her what you just did. Syphilis may be contagious, but illegitimacy isn’t. You don’t need to worry about your nieces and nephews catching it from her. I can assure you there’s absolutely no risk.”

She was angry now, and hurt by the cruelty of his words.

“I can’t say the same about you!” He spat angrily at her again, his eyes like fire on ice. “How dare you think that you could trick me into marrying you by pretending to be a widow, and failing to mention all this to me. Everything from syphilis to adultery and bastard children. How could you present yourself to my family as something you’re not? And try to convince me now of all these outrageous lies. At least have the guts to admit what you are.” He was in a white rage. He felt as though she had stolen something from him, his faith, his trust, and the sanctity of his family. What she had told him was unthinkable, and he would never believe another word she said, and he certainly didn’t believe the way she was trying to clean it up now.

“And what is it that you think I am, Antoine? A whore? What happened to love and faith in me if you love me? I didn’t have to tell you any of this. You would probably never have found out. But I wanted to tell you the truth because I love you, and you have the right to know everything about me. The bad things that have happened to me were mostly done to me by others, and I’ve paid a high price. I was left by a husband I loved in a marriage that was a fraud, and was then shunned by the only world I knew as a result. I lost everyone I loved and came here alone at twenty-two. I got raped when I was still a virgin. And I had a baby I didn’t want, alone. How much worse does it have to get for you to be a human being and have a little compassion and faith in me?”

“You’re a loose woman, and a liar, Annabelle. It’s written all over you.”

“Then why didn’t you see it before?” she said, crying through her words. They were shouting at each other in the Bois de Boulogne, but there was no one else around.

“I didn’t see it before because you’re a damn good liar. The best I’ve ever known. You had me totally convinced. You’ve contaminated my family and violated everything I hold dear,” he said, looking pompous and sounding cruel. “I have nothing more to say to you,” he said, standing as far away from her as he could get. “I’m going home, and I’m not driving you. Maybe you can pick up a soldier or a sailor, and have a little fun on the way back. I wouldn’t get near you with the toe of my boot.” He turned away from her then and strode off, as she stood and stared at him and shook from head to foot, unable to believe what she’d just heard or what he’d done. A moment later, she heard his car drive off, and she walked slowly out of the Bois de Boulogne. She felt as though her world had ended, and she knew she would never trust anyone again. Not Hortie. Not Antoine. Not anyone she knew. From now on, her secrets were her own, and she and Consuelo didn’t need anyone. She was so devastated she was almost hit by a car when she finally reached the street.

She hailed a cab and gave the driver her address. She was frozen to the bone, and sat sobbing in the back seat. The kindly Russian who was driving her finally asked her if there was anything he could do to help. And all she did was shake her head. Antoine had just proven all her worst fears, that no one would ever believe her innocence, and she would be condemned forever for what everyone else had done. Whatever had been left of her heart was in a million pieces at her feet. He had just proven to her that there was no such thing as love, or forgiveness. And the idea that Consuelo could contaminate anyone’s family, or be accused of it, made her feel sick.

When they reached her house in the sixteenth arrondissement, the gentle old White Russian refused to take the fare from her. He just shook his head and put it back in her hand.

“Nothing can be as bad as that,” he said. He had had hard times of his own in recent years.

“Yes, it is,” she said, choking on a sob. And then she thanked him, and ran into the house.

Chapter 24

Annabelle roamed her house like a ghost for the next three days. She canceled her appointments, didn’t go to her office, and told everyone she was sick. She was. She was heartsick over everything Antoine had said to her, and all that he had utterly destroyed. If he had stoned her in the street or spat on her, it wouldn’t have hurt as much. And in fact, he had done both. And worse. He had broken her heart.

She had Brigitte take Consuelo to school, and to the park, and she told them she was sick as well. Only Hélène at her office didn’t believe her. She could sense that something terrible had happened, and she was afraid it involved Antoine.

Annabelle was lying in bed thinking about all of it, and everything he had said, when the doorbell rang. She didn’t want to get up to answer it, and Brigitte was out. There was no one she wanted to see, and after everything Antoine had said to her she had nothing left to say to anyone, especially to him. She hadn’t heard a word from him since he walked out on her in the park. And she didn’t plan to ever speak to him again. She doubted she’d hear from him in any case.

The doorbell persisted for at least ten minutes, and finally, she put on her dressing gown and went downstairs. Maybe it was an emergency and someone in the neighborhood needed a doctor. She pulled the door open without even bothering to look to see who it was and found herself staring up at Antoine. She had no idea what to say. And for the fraction of an instant, neither did he.

“May I come in?” he asked solemnly. She hesitated, not sure if she wanted him in her house again, and then slowly she stepped aside. She took a moment to close the door, and didn’t invite him to sit down. She stood looking at him standing near the front door. “Could we sit down for a minute?” he asked cautiously. Fortunately, he hadn’t given her an engagement ring yet, so she had nothing to return to him.

“I’d rather not,” she said in a dead voice. “I think you said more than enough the other day. I don’t think there’s much point saying any more.” He was startled by the look in her eyes. She looked as though something in her had died.

“Annabelle, I realize I reacted severely. But what you said to me was extremely hard to swallow. You’ve had marriages you never told me about, babies out of wedlock. You lied about being a widow. You owed me better than that. You’ve even been exposed to a fatal disease you could have transmitted to me once we were married.” What he said to her was yet another slap in the face, and proved yet again that he hadn’t believed a word she’d said. His words tore at her already battered heart again.

“I told you I was never exposed. If I had been, I would never even have had dinner with you. I wouldn’t have taken the risk of falling in love with you, if I had been exposed to a disease that could kill you. I love you, Antoine. Or I did. I told you. I never slept with Josiah.”

“That’s a little hard to believe. You were married to the man for two years.”

“He was sleeping with his best friend,” she said in a dead voice. “I just didn’t know it. I thought there was something wrong with me. As it turns out, there was a lot wrong with him. And all you did is prove to me that I shouldn’t have told you at all.” She was devastated as she met his eyes.

“Would you rather have continued to lie to me, as you did from the beginning? You would have been marrying me under false pretenses. I might remind you that that’s fraud.”

“That’s why I told you. What I meant just now was that I shouldn’t have bothered to tell you. I should never have gotten involved with you at all.”

“How can you say such a thing? I love you,” he said, looking pompous. She wasn’t charmed by him anymore.

“That’s no longer believable, given everything you said to me the other day. You don’t treat someone you love that way.”

“I was upset.” She didn’t comment, and looked away. He didn’t go near her. He was afraid that if he did, she might hit him. There was murder in her eyes.

“What you said about Consuelo is unforgivable. I would never let you near her again. It’s not her fault that she’s illegitimate. It’s mine because I gave birth to her, and chose to, in spite of everything. And it’s not even my fault. It’s the fault of some drunken lunatic who threw me on the ground and raped me. And you would blame me for it forever, instead of believing me.” Her eyes were wounded and cold.

“That’s why I came to talk to you. I’ve been thinking about it,” he said cautiously. “I’ll admit, this isn’t what I expected. And it’s not really what I wanted in a wife. But I love you, and I’m willing to overlook and forgive you for your past mistakes. All I’d want from you is that you take a syphilis test and prove to me that you’re not carrying the disease.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said, pulling the door open again, and shivering in the chill wind of the January afternoon. “You don’t need to forgive me for my mistakes or anyone else’s, or even overlook them. Consuelo won’t contaminate your nieces and nephews or family gatherings, because we won’t be there. And I don’t need to take a test, because you won’t ever be getting that close to me.”

“That means you have it then,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her.

“May I remind you that you told me you wouldn’t touch me with the toe of your boot. I remember that distinctly. In fact, I remember everything you said, and I always will. You may be able to forgive me, but I won’t be able to forgive you.”

“With everything you’ve done, how dare you?” He suddenly raged at her again. “You’re damn lucky I’d be willing to put up with you at all. A woman like you, who’s had God knows how many men in your life, syphilitic husbands, illegitimate children, and who can even guess or know who else you’ve been with between the two and since.” She wanted to slap him, but he wasn’t worth it. Not anymore.

“I heard everything you said, Antoine. I’ll never forget it. Now get out of my house.” They were both shivering in the chill breeze, and he stared at her in disbelief.

“You must be joking. Who else do you think would have you after everything you’ve done?” He looked very grand as he stood there, and very handsome. But what she didn’t like anymore was the man inside the well-cut suit.

“Maybe no one,” she said, answering his question. “And I don’t really care. I’ve been alone since Josiah left me nine years ago, nearly ten. I have Consuelo, my ‘bastard,’ as you put it. I don’t need anyone else. And I don’t want you.” She pointed to the open door again. “Thank you for your generous offer, doctor, which I am graciously declining. Now please leave.” She had drawn herself up to her full height, and he could see in her eyes that she meant it. It was impossible for him to believe.

He stood inches away from her then and looked down at her in contempt. “You’re a fool. No one will ever want you if you tell them the truth.”

“I don’t plan to be in that position again. You taught me that lesson. Thank you very much for that. I’m sorry this has been a disappointment to us both, and that the truth was so hard for you to believe, and to accept, once I told it to you.”

“I told you,” he said again, “I would be willing to forgive you, or tolerate it at least, as long as you have the test I require. You have to admit that’s only fair.”

“Nothing about this is fair. It never was, not before you, or now. And I don’t want to be tolerated. I wanted to be loved. I thought I was. Apparently, we both made an enormous mistake.” He stood there staring at her, shook his head, and without another word, he walked out. She shut the door behind him, leaned against it, and trembled from head to foot. No man had ever been as kind to her as he had been in the beginning, or as cruel at the end.

She went to sit in the living room all by herself, staring into space. She still couldn’t believe the things he had said to her about Consuelo being a bastard and contaminating his family, or his insistence that she was some kind of trollop because she’d been divorced, and his refusal to believe that she’d been raped.

She was still sitting there, when Brigitte and Consuelo came back from the park. Consuelo climbed onto her lap, looking worried about her, and put her arms around her mother’s neck. That was all Annabelle needed now. Her daughter was the only person she could trust, or ever would again.

“I love you, Mama,” she said as tears filled her mother’s eyes. “I love you too, sweetheart,” she said, holding the child close.

And even though she still felt terrible, and looked like she’d been beaten up, and felt it, Annabelle went back to work the next day. There was no other choice. She had to go on with her life. She had learned a terrible lesson with Antoine about how small-minded people were, and the assumptions they made. She had learned that lesson in New York, when everyone believed the worst about her. Antoine had violated her trust and destroyed her faith in the human race once and for all.

Hélène looked worried about her at work, and she was concerned about her for weeks. Annabelle never heard from Antoine again. He had thought Annabelle a fool for not being willing to be “tolerated,” and “forgiven” for sins she claimed she didn’t commit. He had been entirely willing to believe only the worst.

Annabelle went back to concentrating on her patients and her daughter, and forgot about men. She looked grim for the next few months, but by March she was feeling better. She was actually smiling again, and spending Sunday afternoons in the park with Consuelo. The little girl had been disappointed at first not to go to the de St. Gris Sunday lunches anymore—she had had fun with Antoine’s nephews and nieces. Her mother told her that she and Antoine felt they’d made a mistake and weren’t friends anymore. And every time Annabelle thought about what he had said about Consuelo contaminating them, and being unworthy of them, she remembered why she was alone, and intended to stay that way for good. All he had done in the end, other than disappoint her and shatter any hope she had left in the decency of humanity, was convince her of what she already knew—that she would never escape the fate that Josiah had condemned her to, and Harry Winshire had confirmed. All anyone would ever see of her were the labels others had put on her, and what they assumed was her guilt. She was convinced now that no one would ever believe her innocence, trust her, or love her, no matter what she said. Antoine had confirmed every one of her worst fears.

Chapter 25

Annabelle received two letters in the early days of spring. Both gave her food for thought. One was from Lady Winshire, who was inviting her and Consuelo to come for a visit for a few days. She said that she thought it would be good for Consuelo to see where the other half of her family came from and how they lived, that it was part of her ancestry. She was hoping that they would come over as soon as they could. Annabelle thought about it, but wasn’t sure. Harry Winshire was a terrible memory for her, and yet what his mother said was true. This wasn’t about Harry, it was about Consuelo and the grandmother she had finally met. And she had a feeling that Consuelo would enjoy visiting her.

The other letter was from the man at her father’s bank who still managed her affairs. She always had money sent over to live on in France, but the bulk of her fortune had remained in the States. He was asking her, for the first time in a long time, what she wanted to do about the house in Newport. She hadn’t been there in ten years, but she had never had the heart to part with it. She had too many memories in that house, and yet she couldn’t see herself going back, even for a visit. And that was part of Consuelo’s heritage too, far more than Lady Winshire’s estates, since Consuelo’s father had never been part of their lives.

The man at the bank had written to tell her that he had had a very reasonable offer for the cottage. Blanche, William, and the other servants were still there, maintaining it, and they had lost all hope of seeing her again. She couldn’t say that they were wrong. She had had no desire to go back in all these years. She missed it occasionally, but she also knew the miseries of ostracism that she would experience if she went back, even for a visit. There was no one left for her to see. And she was afraid that if she went back, it would open all the old wounds of missing her family again, and all that she had lost, even Josiah. She didn’t want to relive that pain. But she didn’t feel ready to sell it either, although her banker was right, the offer they had in hand was good. She didn’t know what she wanted to do.

She thought about Lady Winshire’s offer first, and talked to Consuelo about it at dinner that night. The little girl was instantly enthusiastic and said she wanted to go. And in an odd way, Annabelle did too. She thought it might do them good to get away. Consuelo had been begging to go back to Deauville again, but Annabelle didn’t want to go there, after her bitter experience with Antoine. It seemed as though she had bad memories everywhere, and was constantly hiding from her own ghosts.

She answered Lady Winshire’s letter the next day, and said they would like to come. Lady Winshire wrote back immediately, offering a choice of dates. In the end, they chose Consuelo’s birthday weekend. She would be seven years old. The weather would be a little better by then. Annabelle had Hélène at her office get the tickets and make the plans. They would take the train to Calais, cross the Channel to Dover, and Lady Winshire said she would have someone meet them there. It was only a two-hour drive to their estate.

When the appointed weekend came, Consuelo was so excited she could hardly sit still. They were leaving Brigitte in Paris, where she was planning to spend time with her new boyfriend. Annabelle boarded the train, carrying their two suitcases, and guiding Consuelo along, and they settled into the first-class compartment Hélène had reserved for them. It was the biggest adventure Consuelo had had since they came to Paris two years before, and the weekend in Deauville with Antoine. They no longer spoke about him. Even at her tender age, Consuelo had understood that the subject was painful for her mother and stayed away from it. Annabelle had seen him at the hospital once, and the moment she caught a glimpse of him she had turned away and run up the back staircase to see her patient. She never wanted to speak to him again. His betrayal had been too great.

As the train pulled out of Gare du Nord station, Consuelo was looking at everything with fascination, and Annabelle smiled. They had lunch in the dining car, “like big ladies,” as Consuelo said, and then they watched the scenery drift by, until the child finally fell asleep on her mother’s lap. Annabelle lay her head back against the seat, thinking of the past few months. They had been hard. It was as though Antoine had taken back not only the dream he had offered her but her hope that things would ever be different in her life.

It seemed now as though she would always be punished for the past. She had been a victim of other people’s decisions, weaknesses, and lies. It was depressing to come away from that feeling as though the truth would never come to light and she would never clear her name. No matter how much she had done since, or what she had achieved, what seemed to linger on forever, like a tattoo she could never remove, were the sins she had been branded with, even though they were someone else’s. She was a good mother and a fine doctor, a decent person, and in spite of that, she would be labeled by her past, and Consuelo worse than that, forever. Only Antoine had dared to say the word. It was a cruel label for an innocent child.

Just over three hours later, they reached Calais, and boarded the boat. Annabelle was dreading it. She was a decent sailor, but the Channel was always rough and she was afraid that Consuelo would be seasick. As it turned out, it was indeed a rough trip, and Consuelo loved every minute of it. The more the ferry pitched and rolled in the bouncing seas, the more she giggled and squealed and was totally delighted. By the time they reached Dover on the other side, Annabelle was beginning to feel ill, and Consuelo was happier than ever. She bounced right off the boat, holding her mother’s hand, and her favorite doll in the other.

Lady Winshire’s chauffeur and ancient Rolls were waiting for them on the dock, as promised. The two-hour drive was through gently rolling countryside, with farms and cows and enormous estates, and the occasional ancient castle. As far as Consuelo was concerned, it was a great adventure. And now that they were off the boat, Annabelle was enjoying it too.

But neither of them was prepared for the magnificence of the Winshire estate, and the splendor of the enormous house. There were huge ancient trees bordering the long driveway, and due to Lady Winshire’s fortune, independent of the late earl’s, the house itself, built in the sixteenth century, was in impeccable condition. The stables were bigger, cleaner, and more beautiful than most homes. Lady Winshire had been a notable horsewoman in her youth, and still liked keeping a stable of fine horses, which half a dozen grooms rode every day.

She came out to greet them on the front steps, looking grander than ever, wearing a deep blue dress, stout walking shoes, the familiar pearls, and another enormous hat. She brandished her silver cane like a sword, pointing it at their suitcases and asking her driver to see to it that the bags got to their rooms. And with a broad smile, after she had hugged both Annabelle and Consuelo, who was looking wideeyed at everything she saw, she motioned them to follow her inside.

There was an endless gallery lined with serious-looking family portraits, a gigantic living room with a magnificent chandelier, a library lined with miles of ancient books, a music room with two harps and a grand piano, a dining room with a table long enough to seat forty people for the dinner parties they used to give. The reception rooms seemed to go on forever, until they finally reached a small, cozy drawing room where her ladyship liked to sit and gaze out at the gardens. As Annabelle looked at the surroundings, and the splendor of the home, it was hard to believe that anyone who had grown up here could rape a woman, and then threaten to kill her if she told. There were photographs of both the Winshire sons on the mantelpiece in the room where they were sitting. And after they had tea with scones and clotted cream and jam, Lady Winshire asked one of the maids to show Consuelo the stables. She had arranged for a pony to be brought around, if she wanted to try and ride it, and Annabelle thanked her for her kindness to them, and her warm welcome as Consuelo disappeared to see the pony.

“I have a lot to make up for,” the older woman said simply, and Annabelle smiled. She didn’t hold her responsible for her son’s crimes. And how could they be considered crimes when they had resulted in Consuelo, no matter how she had happened. She said as much to Lady Winshire, who thanked Annabelle for her generosity of spirit, and said her son didn’t deserve it, much as she had loved him. She confessed sadly that he had been wild and spoiled.

They chatted for a while and strolled in the gardens, and in a little while, one of the grooms appeared, leading Consuelo on the pony. She looked ecstatic. It was clear that the child was having a ball, thanks to her newfound grandmother. Lady Winshire asked if Annabelle would like to ride too. She said she hadn’t in years, but might do so the next morning. All of those luxuries and indulgences had gone out of her life when she left the States. It would be fun, Annabelle thought, to ride again. She had done a lot of it in her youth, mostly in Newport in the summer.

After Consuelo and the groom went back to the stables, Annabelle mentioned that she was thinking of selling her house in Newport.

“Why would you sell it?” the older woman asked, with a look of disapproval. “You said it had been in your family for generations. You need to preserve it, if it’s part of your history. Not sell it.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever go back. I’ve been gone for ten years. It’s just sitting there, unloved and empty, with five servants.”

“You should go back,” Lady Winshire said firmly. “That’s part of Consuelo’s history too. She has a right to that, yours, ours, it’s all part of who she is, and who she’ll become one day. Just as it’s a part of you.” Clearly, all of that hadn’t helped Harry, Annabelle thought to herself, but she wouldn’t have said it to his mother, who knew it anyway, and had said as much herself. “You can’t run away from who you are, Annabelle. You can’t deny it. And Consuelo should see it. You should take her back to visit sometime.”

“That’s all over for me,” Annabelle said, looking stubborn as Lady Winshire shook her head.

“It’s only beginning for her. She needs more than Paris in her life, just as you do. She needs all our histories blended together, and offered to her like a bouquet.”

“I’ve had a very good offer. I could always buy a property in France.” She never had, though. All she had was her very modest house in the sixteenth arrondissement. She had nothing in the country, and she had to agree, seeing Consuelo here, it was doing her good.

“I suspect you can do that anyway,” her ladyship guessed correctly. Annabelle had inherited a very large fortune from her father, and an only slightly smaller one from her mother, and she had hardly spent anything in years. It was no longer in keeping with her lifestyle, or her life as a doctor, and she had been careful not to let any of that show for the past ten years. It spoke well of her, but now, at almost thirtytwo, she was old enough to enjoy it.

Lady Winshire turned to her with a smile then. “I hope you’ll both come to visit often. I still go to London once in a while, but most of the time I’m here.” It had been her late husband’s family seat, which had brought her to another thought she had wanted to mention to Annabelle, when Consuelo wasn’t around. She wasn’t sure if it was too soon to mention it, but it had been much on her mind. “I’ve been thinking a great deal about Consuelo’s situation, because you and her father were never married. That could be a heavy burden for her to carry in a few years, as she gets older. You can’t lie to her forever, and one day someone may figure it out. I spoke to our attorneys, and it makes no sense for me to adopt her, and she’s your daughter. Harry can’t marry you posthumously, which is unfortunate. But I can officially recognize her, which would improve things somewhat, and she could add our name to yours, if that would be acceptable to you,” she said cautiously. She didn’t want to offend the child’s mother, who had been so brave about shouldering all her responsibilities alone. But Annabelle was smiling at her. She had become more sensitive to it herself, ever since Antoine’s outrageous insults, especially calling Consuelo a bastard. The thought of it still hurt her now.

“I think that’s a lovely idea,” Annabelle said gratefully. “It might make things easier for her one day.”

“You wouldn’t mind?” Lady Winshire looked hopeful.

“I’d like it very much.” She associated Lady Winshire with the name, and not her evil son. “That would make her Consuelo WorthingtonWinshire, or the reverse, whatever you prefer.”

“I think Worthington-Winshire would do very well. I can have our attorneys draw up the papers whenever you like.” She beamed at Annabelle, who leaned over and hugged her.

“You’ve been very kind to us,” Annabelle said gratefully.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she said gruffly. “You’re a good woman. I can see what a wonderful mother you’ve been to her. Somehow, in spite of everything, you’ve managed to become a doctor. And from what I’ve been told, you’re a good one.” Her own physician had discreetly checked, through connections he had in France. “In spite of what my son did to you, you’ve recovered, and you don’t hold it against the child, or even against me. I’m not even sure you hold it against him, and I’m not sure I could have done that in your place. You’re respectable, responsible, decent, hard-working. You worked like a Trojan during the war. You have no family behind you. You’ve done it all on your own, with no one to help you. You were brave enough to have a child out of wedlock and make the best of it. I can’t think of a single thing about you not to respect or like. In fact, I think you’re quite remarkable, and I’m proud to know you.” What she said brought tears to Annabelle’s eyes. It was the antidote to everything Antoine had said.

“I wish I could see it the way you do,” Annabelle said sadly. “All I see are my mistakes. And all people seem to see, except for you, are the labels others have put on me.” She confessed one of her darkest secrets then, and told her she had been divorced before she left the States, and told her why. It only made Lady Winshire admire her more.

“That’s quite an amazing story,” she said, thinking about it for a moment. She wasn’t easily shocked, and the story of Annabelle’s marriage to Josiah only made her feel sorry for Annabelle. “It was foolish of him to think he could pull it off.”

“I think he believed he could, and then found he couldn’t. And his friend was always close at hand. It must have made it even more difficult for him.”

“People are such fools sometimes,” Lady Winshire said, shaking her head. “And it was even more foolhardy of him to think that divorcing you wouldn’t blacken your name. It’s all very nice to say he was trying to free you up for someone else. Divorcing you for adultery in order to do it only threw you to the wolves. He might as well have burned you at the stake in a public place. Really, men can be so ignorant and selfish at times. I don’t suppose you can undo that very easily now.” Annabelle shook her head. “You just have to tell yourself that you don’t care. You know the truth. That’s all that matters.”

“It won’t stop people from slamming their doors in my face,” Annabelle said wistfully. “And Consuelo’s.”

“Do you really care about those people?” Lady Winshire asked honestly. “If they’re mean-spirited enough to do that to you, and to her, then they’re not good enough for either of you, rather than the reverse.” Annabelle told her about her recent experience with Antoine then, and she was outraged. “How dare he say things like that to you? There is nothing more small-minded and downright vicious than the self-righteousness of the so-called bourgeoisie. He would have made you miserable, my dear. You were quite right not to let him come back. He wasn’t worthy of you.” Annabelle smiled at what she said, and had to agree. She was sad about what had happened, but once she had discovered who Antoine was, she didn’t miss him. She just missed the dream of what she had hoped they would have, but clearly never would. It had been an illusion. A beautiful dream that turned into a nightmare with his ugly words and assumptions. He was far too willing to believe the worst of her, whether true or not.

Consuelo came bounding into the room then, excited about all the horses she had seen in the barn, and the ride on the pony. And she was even more so when she saw her room. It was a big, sunny chamber, decorated in flowered silks and chintz, and it adjoined her mother’s room, which was more of the same. And that night at dinner, they told her about her new double name.

“It sounds hard to spell,” Consuelo said practically, and both her mother and grandmother laughed.

“You’ll get used to it,” her mother said. She was more grateful than ever for Lady Winshire’s legal acknowledgment of her child. It might avoid her ever being called a bastard again, by someone as cruel as Antoine.

They played cards after dinner, and eventually all three of them went up to bed. Consuelo was already half asleep and leaning against her mother. In the end, she slept in Annabelle’s bed. And she headed straight out to the barn again the next morning as soon as she was dressed.

The two women talked easily all day, about assorted topics, everything from politics to medicine to novels. Her ladyship was intelligent and extremely well read. Their exchanges reminded Annabelle of the ones she had shared with her own mother, and she had given Annabelle much to think about with their conversation on the first day, about Annabelle not being daunted by the labels people had put on her unfairly. She kept reminding her throughout the weekend that she was a good woman. It made Annabelle feel proud of herself, and not like the pariah she had been when she left New York. Antoine’s words had just been more of the same, and worse because they came from someone she loved, and whom she had believed loved her.

On the last day, at lunch in the garden, Consuelo’s grandmother had a surprise for her. She had one of the grooms join them at dessert, when they served Consuelo’s birthday cake, and he was holding a hatbox tied with a big pink bow. Both Consuelo and her mother thought she was being given a riding hat to wear when she came back. And then Annabelle saw the box shake slightly and began to suspect what was in it. The groom held the box firmly while Consuelo undid the bow and cautiously took off the lid. And as soon as she did, a small black face was peering at her and leaped out of the box into her hands. It was a little black and fawn pug puppy, just like Lady Winshire’s own dogs, and Consuelo was so excited she could hardly speak as the little dog licked her face. Both women were smiling at her, and Consuelo turned to her grandmother and threw her arms around her neck.

“Thank you! She’s so wonderful! What shall I name her?”

“That’s up to you, my dear.” Lady Winshire was beaming. This unexpected grandchild had become a great joy in her life.

They were all sad to leave each other when Consuelo and her mother got back in the car to return to Dover, for the long boat and train trip back to Paris. Lady Winshire reminded them to come back soon. Consuelo thanked her again for the puppy, who still didn’t have a name, but was very excited to be going on the trip. And Lady Winshire reminded Annabelle discreetly that she’d be sending her the papers about Consuelo as soon as they were drawn up.

She stood on the front steps waving as they drove away, and Consuelo played with the puppy all the way back to Paris. She told her mother it was the best birthday she had ever had, and it had been good for Annabelle too.

The day after they got home, Annabelle wrote to the attorneys and told them not to sell the cottage in Newport. And in her office the next morning, she asked Hélène to book passage on a ship to New York in June, with a return to Paris in July. She had taken all of Lady Winshire’s advice to heart.

Chapter 26

In the third week of June, Annabelle, Consuelo, and Brigitte set sail on the Mauretania. It was the same ship her parents and Robert had sailed on, going to Europe, on their final, fateful voyage. Knowing that was poignant for Annabelle. They left Le Havre on a brilliantly sunny warm day, and had two beautiful staterooms side by side on an upper deck.

The Mauretania was one of the largest, fastest, most luxurious ships afloat. Annabelle had also sailed on her sixteen years before with her parents. And she had reserved two of the magnificent ship’s largest staterooms. Frequent travelers loved her for her spacious cabins, even in second class, which was rare, and particularly in first.

Consuelo was beside herself with excitement. Brigitte was nervous about the crossing. She had had a distant relative in steerage on the Titanic, who didn’t survive. And she started crying and crossing herself almost the moment they came on board, talking about the earlier disaster, which annoyed her employer. Annabelle didn’t want her frightening Consuelo, and reminding her of how her grandfather and uncle had died. Brigitte was sparing them no details, of all she’d heard and read about at the time, including the screams from dying people in the water.

“Is that true, Mama?” The child looked up at her with wide eyes. She couldn’t even imagine a ship this big going down. Consuelo knew the story, but not the details.

“Some of it,” Annabelle said honestly. “Sometimes bad things happen, but not very often. That was a long, long time ago, and many, many, many ships have gone back and forth across the ocean since then without a problem. This one has been traveling safely for eighteen years, and there won’t be icebergs in our path on this trip. Look how beautiful and sunny it is, and how big the ship is. I promise you, we will be fine,” she said gently, and flashed a warning look at Brigitte over the child’s head.

“The Titanic was bigger… and what about the Lusitania?” Brigitte insisted, and Annabelle wanted to strangle her for frightening her child.

“What’s the loofamania?” Consuelo asked, getting the name garbled.

“Brigitte is just scared and being silly. I promise you, we’re going to have a fantastic trip. And we’re going to do lots of fun things in New York, and see my old house in Newport.” For different reasons, she was as nervous as Brigitte. She wasn’t worried about the ship sinking this time, particularly in peacetime, but it was going to be her first time back in New York in ten years, and she was anxious about what it would feel like, and about facing the ghosts and traumas she had left there. But she agreed with Lady Winshire. It was all part of Consuelo’s ancestry, and she had a right to see it, and learn more about it, just as she did about the Winshire side. And Annabelle couldn’t hide from it forever. It had taken her a long time to go back. The war had been a good excuse not to for a long time, and medical school later. But the war had been over for nearly seven years, Consuelo’s entire lifetime. It was long enough. But she didn’t need to hear the details of the sinking of the Titanic, courtesy of Brigitte, complete with dying screams from the water, thank you very much. And she told her so in no uncertain terms when Consuelo stepped away to pet someone’s dog. There were many traveling on the ship. And children for Consuelo to play with.

She asked Brigitte to start unpacking, to keep her busy, and Annabelle took Consuelo to see the swimming pool, the spectacular dining room, the game rooms, and the dog kennels on another deck. They had left her pug at home with Hélène, who adored her. Consuelo had named her Coco.

As the ship pulled out of the harbor, all three women stood on deck and watched France disappear slowly behind them. Consuelo was begging to go play shuffleboard, and Annabelle had promised her they would that afternoon. And that night, she and her mother dined in the stately dining room. This was a very different trip from the one Annabelle had made coming to Europe ten years before, when she had rarely left her stateroom, and she had no idea what lay in store for her when she reached her destination. All Annabelle had wanted then was to flee the people who had blackballed her in New York. And now, at last, ten years later, she was going back.

Everything went pleasantly, until on the third day out, Annabelle saw an older couple standing near the shuffleboard game, with a younger couple who were obviously their married children. They were staring at her, but she pretended not to recognize them, as she and Consuelo drifted past. Annabelle instantly began an animated conversation with her daughter, so she didn’t have to acknowledge the people she had recognized at once. They had been acquaintances of her parents. As she and Consuelo walked past them, she heard the older woman speak to her husband in an undervoice that carried clearly across the deck.

“… married to Josiah Millbank…don’t you remember…Arthur Worthington’s daughter… some dreadful scandal… she had an affair and he divorced her… she ran off with the other man to France…” So that was what they thought, Annabelle realized with a shudder. And they still remembered. She wondered if they all did. It had truly been a life sentence, and she was never to be paroled or pardoned. She was an adulteress forever.

It shocked her to realize that some people thought she had gone to France with a man. Just hearing it made her want to run to her room and hide. And then she thought of Lady Winshire’s words to her. “Hold your head high, Annabelle. You’re a good woman. You don’t care about them.” And as she listened to her words echo in her head, she realized that Lady Winshire was right, to some extent. She did care, she didn’t want to be a pariah, she hated the labels they used on her… adulteress being the worst of all… but she wasn’t an adulteress and never had been. She had been faithful to her husband, she had been a good woman then, and still was now. Nothing had changed, divorced or not. And after all these years, what did they care about why she had gone to Europe, or with whom? None of them had been there for her, to support her, console her, or embrace her in the losses she had sustained. Her life might have been different if they had. But if so, she would never have gone to Europe, become a doctor, or had Consuelo at her side. So she was the winner in the end.

On their way back from another visit to the dog kennels, to visit with a sweet black pug, Annabelle strolled past them again, holding Consuelo’s hand. And this time she looked the woman in the eye, and acknowledged her with a nod. Annabelle was wearing a chic cloche hat that matched the gray silk suit she had purchased for the trip, and she looked very stylish, and no longer American, but French. The moment Annabelle nodded at her, the woman rushed forward with a broad, false smile, gushing words of greeting.

“My goodness, Annabelle, is that you? After all these years! How are you, and what a beautiful little girl. She must be yours, she looks just like you…is your husband on board?”

“No,” Annabelle said, shaking hands politely with both of them, “I’m a widow. And this is my daughter, Consuelo WorthingtonWinshire.” Consuelo curtsied politely in the pretty dress she’d chosen to wear that day, with white gloves and a hat.

“Ahh…how dear…you’ve named her for your mother. Such a wonderful woman. Are you still living in France?”

“Yes, in Paris,” Annabelle said coolly.

“Do you never come to New York? We haven’t seen you there in dogs’ years.”

“This is my first time back, since I left,” because of two-faced people like you, she wanted to say, who kept the rumors going forever and ever, had slapped the labels on her, and would never let anyone forget.

“That’s hard to believe. And the cottage in Newport?”

“We’re going up in a few weeks. I want Consuelo to see it.” The child spoke English with just a hint of a French accent, which was very sweet. “And we have lots to see in New York,” she said, smiling at her daughter, as they were about to walk away. At least the woman had talked to her. That was something of an improvement. Ten years before, she wouldn’t have. She would simply have turned her back, and not spoken to her at all. At least now she pretended to be pleasant, no matter what she thought of her or said behind her back.

“Perhaps we’ll see you in Newport,” the older woman said, still curious about her, as she looked at Annabelle’s expensive suit and hat and Consuelo’s pretty dress. “What do you do to keep busy in Paris?” she asked nosily, clearly wanting more details about Annabelle’s life, so she could gossip about her when she went back. It was written all over her. She had also noticed Lady Winshire’s handsome emerald along with the wedding band Annabelle still wore. It was the one she had bought herself, before Consuelo was born, and never taken off, just a narrow gold band.

“I’m a physician,” Annabelle said, smiling at her, remembering Lady Winshire’s words again, and this time she almost laughed. These people were so small and unimportant, so petty, like scavengers, looking for things that sparkled in the rubbish so they could carry them to others, or trade them for the reputations of good people, who were worth ten of them.

“You are? How amazing!” The woman’s eyes almost fell out of her head. “How ever did you do that?”

Annabelle smiled benevolently at her. “I went to medical school in France, after my husband died.”

“Was he a doctor as well?”

“No,” she said simply. The husband who had died did not exist. “Consuelo’s father was the Viscount Winshire. He was killed in the war, at Ypres.” All of that was true. She had not told a lie about Consuelo’s father. And it was none of her business, and never would be, that they hadn’t been married. It didn’t diminish her accomplishments, or the good she had done in the world.

“Of course,” the woman said with a sniff, far more impressed than she wanted to admit, but she could hardly wait for Annabelle to leave so she could tell her daughter, whom Annabelle scarcely recognized she had gotten so fat, and had hardly known before she left. She was playing shuffleboard with friends.

And a moment later, Annabelle and Consuelo walked on.

“Who was that?” Consuelo asked with interest.

“Just someone my parents knew in New York,” she said, feeling better than she had in a long time. Antoine had struck hard. And those who had come before him had taken their toll as well. But suddenly all of them seemed to be losing their effect on her.

“She has mean eyes,” Consuelo said wisely, and her mother laughed.

“Yes, she does. And a mean mouth. I used to know a lot of people like that.”

“Is everyone in New York like that?” Consuelo looked worried.

“I hope not,” Annabelle said brightly. “But we’re not going there for them. We’re going there for us.” And she was no longer willing to stay away and hide from them either. They didn’t own Newport and New York. She had her own world now, with her life in Paris, her patients, her practice, and her child. The only thing missing in her life was a man, but if she had to be belittled, humiliated, and “forgiven” by men like Antoine, who didn’t believe or respect her, then she preferred to be alone. She was fine.

The crossing passed uneventfully. They had a lovely time. Annabelle and Consuelo ate in the dining room together every night, and when the captain invited her to join his table one night, Annabelle politely declined. She preferred to dine with her daughter, than amid the nonsense and hypocrisies of people like the friends of her parents she had met on board.

As they steamed into New York harbor, assisted by tugs, Annabelle felt a lump in her throat as she saw the Statue of Liberty, standing proudly with her torch aloft. It was a moving moment, as though she had been waiting just for them. She pointed out Ellis Island to her daughter, and explained what she had done there, before she was a doctor, and that it had been an impossible dream for her then.

“Why, Mama? Why couldn’t you be a doctor here?” She didn’t understand. Her mother being a doctor seemed the most natural thing in the world to her, and she wanted to be one too, and might well be one day.

“Because women didn’t do that very often. They still don’t. People think they should be married and have babies and stay home.”

“Can’t you do both?” Consuelo looked at her with a puzzled expression.

“I think you can,” she said, looking at the Statue of Liberty again. It was a reminder to all that the light of freedom never dimmed. Even if you closed your eyes, she was still there, lighting the way for all, men, women, rich, and poor. Freedom belonged to everyone, and to Annabelle now too.

Consuelo was looking pensive then. “If we were married, like to Antoine or someone like him, would you stop being a doctor?”

“No, I wouldn’t.” She offered no comment about Antoine, who had called her child a bastard. She would never forgive him for that. And hadn’t been able to forgive him for the rest.

When they tied up at the dock and cleared customs, they found two cabs to take them and their luggage to the Plaza Hotel. It had a lovely view of the park, and was in walking distance of her old house. Annabelle was shocked at how New York had changed, how many new buildings had appeared, how much more crowded it seemed. Consuelo was fascinated by it, and as soon as they settled in and had lunch, she and her mother set out on foot to explore the city.

It was inevitable that they went to her old house first. Annabelle couldn’t help herself. She had to see it. It was in good repair, although the shutters were closed and it looked unoccupied. She supposed that the new owners were away for the summer. Annabelle stood staring at it for a long time as Consuelo held her hand.

“That’s where I lived as a little girl.” She was about to say “until I was married” but stopped herself. She had never told Consuelo about Josiah, although she knew she would one day.

“It must have been very sad when your papa and brother died,” Consuelo said solemnly, as though visiting their grave, which in a way it was. And her mother’s. She had died in that house. And Annabelle had been born there.

“Your Grandmother Consuelo lived there too.”

“Was she nice?” Consuelo asked with interest as her mother smiled.

“Very. And she was beautiful, just like you. She was a wonderful, kind person. And I loved her very much.”

“You must miss her very much too,” Consuelo said softly.

“Yes, I do.” Standing there, Annabelle remembered the morning she learned that the Titanic had gone down, and the day her mother died. But she remembered the happy memories too. The days of her childhood when everything had been so simple and easy for her. She had had a golden life among loving people who protected her from all harm. And in the years after, she had paid her dues for everything she had now.

They walked away slowly, and Annabelle took Consuelo to see other landmarks in her life. She told her about her debut ball. And they visited her grandfather’s bank, where Annabelle introduced Consuelo to the manager and several employees she still knew. Consuelo politely curtsied and shook hands. At the end of the afternoon, they came back to the Palm Court at the Plaza for tea. It was very impressive, and they saw beautifully dressed, stylish women wearing extravagant hats and jewels, chatting and enjoying teatime under the enormous skylight.

Consuelo loved New York, and Annabelle was happier than she had expected to be. It was nice to come back, and fun to show it all to her daughter. Lady Winshire had been so right, it was a piece of her own history and her daughter’s, and it was important for Consuelo to see where her mother had grown up. They stayed for a week, and Annabelle saw no one she knew. There wasn’t a soul she wanted to see. By the end of the week, she was anxious to get to Newport and the cottage. She knew Consuelo would love it there, just as she had as a child. Independent of the social life that was so essential to the residents, the ocean and the beach and all the natural beauty were even more appealing than the cottages that were so vital to their owners and all who knew them.

They checked out of the Plaza and took the train to Boston, and her parents’ old butler William was waiting at the station for them with one of her parents’ old cars that they still kept in Newport. He began to cry the moment he saw her, and bowed when he met Consuelo, who was very impressed by how old he was, and how respectful to her. And she felt so sorry for him when he cried that she stood on tiptoe to kiss him. He and Annabelle both had damp eyes when they greeted each other. The staff knew about Consuelo from Annabelle’s letters to Blanche, but they were not entirely clear on who her father was or when the marriage had happened. From what they could gather, he had been killed shortly after he and Annabelle were married. William looked at Consuelo with misty eyes and a nostalgic expression.

“She looks just like you at her age. And there’s a little bit of your mother.” He helped them settle into the car, and they set off on the seven-hour drive to Newport, with Consuelo observing and commenting on everything along the way. William explained it all to her. And here again, Annabelle found that much had changed, though not in Newport itself. As they drove into town, it looked as venerable as ever. And Consuelo’s eyes grew wide when she saw the cottage and the vast expanse of land it sat on. It was an imposing estate, and they had kept it in perfect condition.

“It’s almost as big as Grandmother’s house in England,” Consuelo said, in awe of the enormous home, and her mother smiled. It looked just as she had remembered, and brought her back to her own childhood with a sudden pang.

“Not quite,” Annabelle assured Consuelo. “Your grandmother’s house is bigger. But I had some wonderful summers here.” Until the last one. Coming back here brought up so many memories of Josiah, and the terrible end to their marriage. But it made her think of their happier beginnings as well, when she was young and all was hopeful. She was thirty-two years old now, and so much had changed. But it still felt like home to her.

As soon as the car stopped, Blanche and the others came running out of the cottage. She wrapped her arms around Annabelle and couldn’t stop crying. She looked much older, and when she saw Consuelo, she hugged her too. And like William, she told Annabelle that her daughter looked just like her.

“And you’re a doctor now!” Blanche still couldn’t believe it. She could believe even less that she had finally come home. They had thought she never would. And they had been deathly afraid she would sell the house. It was their home too. And they had kept everything in pristine condition for her. It looked as though she had left the day before, not ten years ago. Those ten years seemed like an entire lifetime, and yet when she saw the house again, the time since she’d last seen it melted away to nothing.

It made Annabelle miss her mother again, as she walked past her bedroom. She was staying in one of the guest rooms and had given Consuelo and Brigitte her old nursery for Consuelo to play in. But most of the time, she would be outdoors, as Annabelle had been at her age. She couldn’t wait to take Consuelo swimming, which they did that afternoon.

Annabelle told her that she had learned to swim here, just as Consuelo had learned in Nice and Antibes.

“The water is colder here,” Consuelo commented, but she liked it. She loved playing in the waves, and walking down the beach.

Later that afternoon, when they went back to the house from the beach, Annabelle left her with Brigitte. She wanted to go for a walk by herself. There were some memories she didn’t want to share. She was just leaving the house, when Consuelo came running down the stairs to join her, and Annabelle didn’t have the heart to tell her she couldn’t come. She was so happy there, discovering her mother’s old world, which was so different from the one they lived in now, with their tiny, comfortable house in the sixteenth arrondissement. Everything in her old world seemed huge to her now, and to her child.

The house she had wanted to see was not far, and when she got there she saw that the trees were overgrown, the shutters closed, and it was in disrepair. Blanche had told her it had been sold in the past two years, but it looked like no one lived there, and it hadn’t been used in a decade. It appeared deserted. It was Josiah’s old house, where she had spent her married summers, and where he and Henry had continued their affair, but she didn’t think about that now. She only thought of him. And Consuelo could see that this house had been important to her mother too, although it was small and dark, and looked sad.

“Did you know the people who lived here, Mama?”

“Yes, I did,” Annabelle said softly. She could almost feel him near her as she said the words, and she hoped he was peaceful now. She had long since forgiven him. There was nothing left to forgive. He had done the best he could, and loved her in his own way. And she had loved him too. There was none of the raw disappointment and betrayal she still felt at Antoine’s hands, more recently. The scars of what had happened with Josiah had faded years before.

“Did the people die?” Consuelo asked sadly. It looked that way, judging by the condition of the house.

“Yes, they did.”

“A nice friend?” Consuelo was curious why her mother looked so far away and shaken by being there. And Annabelle hesitated for a long moment. Maybe it was time. She didn’t want to lie about her history to her forever. The lie that she’d been married to Consuelo’s father was enough, and one day she would tell her the truth about that too, not that she’d been raped, but that they hadn’t been married. Now that Lady Winshire had acknowledged her, it wouldn’t be quite as onerous, though still hard to explain.

“This house belonged to a man named Josiah Millbank,” she said quietly, as they peeked into the garden. It was completely overgrown, and looked entirely deserted, which it was. “I was married to him. We got married here in Newport when I was nineteen.” Consuelo looked at her with wide eyes, as they sat down on an old log. “I was married to him for two years, and he was a wonderful man. I loved him very much.” She wanted her to know that part too, not just that it had gone wrong.

“What happened to him?” Consuelo asked in a small voice. So many people had died in her mother’s life. Everyone was gone.

“He got very sick, and he decided that he didn’t want to be married to me anymore. He didn’t think it would be fair to me, because he was so sick. So he went to Mexico, and he divorced me, which means that he ended our marriage.”

“But didn’t you want to be with him even though he was so sick, to take care of him?” She looked shocked, and Annabelle smiled as she nodded.

“Yes, I did. But that wasn’t what he wanted. He thought he was doing a good thing for me, because I was very young. He was a lot older. Old enough to be my father. And he thought I should marry someone else who wasn’t sick and have lots of children.”

“Like my father,” she said proudly, and then a cloud passed her eyes. “But then he died too.” It was all very sad, and made her realize, even at seven, all that her mother had been through, and come out the other end, whole, and alive, and even a doctor.

“Anyway, he divorced me, and went to Mexico.” She didn’t tell her about Henry. She didn’t need to know. “And everyone here was very shocked. They thought he divorced me because I did something wrong. He never told anyone he was sick, and neither did I. So they thought I had done something terrible, and I was very sad. I went to France, and went to work in the war. And then I met your father, and had you. And everyone lived happily ever after,” she said with a smile, as she took Consuelo’s hand in her own. It was a highly edited version, but it was all Consuelo needed to know. And her marriage to Josiah was no longer a secret. It seemed better that way. She didn’t want to keep secrets, or tell lies to cover them anymore. And she had been fair to Josiah in the story. She always had been.

“But why was everyone so mean to you when he went away?” That seemed horrible to Consuelo, and so unfair to her mother.

“Because they didn’t understand. They didn’t know what had really happened. So they told bad stories about it, and about me.”

“Why didn’t you tell them the truth?” That part made no sense to her at all.

“He didn’t want me to. He didn’t want anyone to know he was sick.” Nor why, which was far more understandable. Not to mention the part about Henry Orson.

“That was silly of him,” Consuelo said, glancing over her shoulder at the empty house.

“Yes, it was.”

“Did you ever see him again?”

Annabelle shook her head. “No. He died in Mexico. I was in France by then.”

“Do people know the truth now?” Consuelo asked, still looking pensive. She didn’t like that part of the story at all, when they’d been mean to her mother. She must have been very sad at the time. She even looked sad talking about it now.

“No, they don’t. It’s been a long time,” Annabelle answered.

“Thank you for telling me, Mama,” Consuelo said proudly.

“I was always going to tell you one day, when you were older.”

“I’m sorry they were mean to you,” she said softly. “I hope they won’t be anymore.” The only one who had been recently was Antoine. Not just mean, but cruel. It had been the worst betrayal of all, and had reopened all her old wounds. Talking to Lady Winshire about it had helped her. She saw now what a small, petty person Antoine really was, if he couldn’t love her, even with her past. She wouldn’t have done the same to him. She was a far bigger person.

“It doesn’t matter now. I have you,” Annabelle reassured her, and it was true. Consuelo was all she needed.

They got up and walked back to their cottage then, and for the next three weeks they played and swam and did all the things Annabelle had done as a child and loved there so much.

It was during their last week there that Annabelle took Consuelo to the Newport Country Club for lunch. It was one of the few grown-up things they had done. Other than that, Annabelle had avoided all the places where she might run into old friends. They had stayed mainly on their own grounds, which were large enough. But this one time, they had decided to go out, which was brave of Annabelle.

And just as they were leaving after lunch, Annabelle saw a portly woman walk toward the restaurant. She looked flustered, red-faced, there was a nanny with her, and she was leading six young children and had a baby on her hip. She was snapping at one of them, the baby was crying, and her hat was askew. And it was only when they were inches from each other that Annabelle saw that it was her old friend Hortie. Both of them were shocked and stopped walking, and stood staring at each other.

“Oh… what are you doing here?” Hortie said as though Annabelle didn’t belong there. And then she tried to cover the awkward moment with a nervous smile. Consuelo was frowning, looking at her. Hortie hadn’t even noticed her, she was just staring at her mother as if she’d seen a ghost.

“I’m here with my daughter for a visit.” Annabelle smiled at Hortie, feeling sorry for her. “I see the baby factory is still producing,” she teased her. Hortie rolled her eyes and groaned, and for an instant looked like the friend Annabelle had loved so dearly, and would never have abandoned.

“You’re remarried?” Hortie asked with interest, and then glanced at Consuelo.

“Widowed.”

“And she’s a doctor,” Consuelo piped up proudly, as both women laughed.

“Is that true?” Hortie looked at Annabelle, impressed if it was, but she knew that Annabelle had loved medical things as a young girl.

“It is. We live in Paris.”

“So I heard. I was told you were some kind of hero during the war.”

Annabelle laughed. “Hardly. I was a medic, riding ambulances to field hospitals to pick up wounded men. Nothing very heroic about that.”

“It sounds heroic to me,” Hortie said as her gaggle of children swirled around her, and the nanny tried to keep them in control with little success. Hortie didn’t apologize for the betrayal or say she’d missed her, but you could see it in her eyes. “Will you be here long?” she asked wistfully.

“A few more days.”

But Hortie didn’t ask her to come over, or say she would drop by the Worthington cottage. She knew that James would never have allowed it. He thought Annabelle would be a bad influence on her. Divorcées and adulteresses were not welcome in his home, although the stories about him had been far worse.

For a minute, Annabelle wanted to tell her that she’d missed her, but she didn’t dare. It was too late for both of them. And seeing her had made her sad. Hortie looked blowsy, tired, and overwhelmed, and wasn’t aging well. The pretty young girl she’d been years before was gone. She had become a middle-aged woman with a flock of children, and had turned on her best friend. Annabelle would miss her always. Running into her was like seeing a ghost. They said good-bye without embracing, and Annabelle was quiet as they left the restaurant.

Consuelo didn’t speak until they were driving home and then turned to her mother and spoke in a soft voice. “Is that one of the people who said mean things about you?”

“Sort of. She was my best friend when we were growing up, and until then. People do silly things sometimes,” Annabelle said, smiling at her. “We were like sisters when we were your age, and even when we grew up.”

“She’s ugly,” Consuelo said, crossing her arms and frowning. She was angry in her mother’s defense. “And fat.” Annabelle laughed and made no comment.

“She was very pretty as a young girl. She’s had a lot of children.”

“They’re ugly too, and they make a lot of noise,” Consuelo said in disapproval and snuggled up to her mother.

“That they do,” Annabelle commented. Hortie had never been able to control her children, even when she only had one or two. It looked like James had kept her pregnant ever since.

The rest of their stay in Newport was everything they had both hoped it would be. It was a real homecoming for Annabelle and warmed her heart. And as they packed to leave, Consuelo asked her mother if they could come back again. Annabelle had been thinking the same thing, and was glad she hadn’t sold the house. Once again, Lady Winshire had been right. She was, about many things. And her emerald never left Annabelle’s hand. It was a gift she cherished, particularly now that they were friends.

“I was thinking that it might be nice to come back every summer for a few weeks. Maybe even a month. What do you think?” Annabelle asked Consuelo, as Brigitte closed her charge’s bags.

“I’d like that.” Consuelo beamed at her mother.

“So would I.” It would keep her connection to the States, and would establish one for her daughter. With time, all things healed. She had felt it while she was there. Even if they still talked about her, and remembered the scandal of years before, if you held your ground for long enough, people forgot. Or at least the ugly labels faded so people didn’t bother to read them quite as often anymore. It didn’t matter as much to her now. And so much had happened since. She had a whole life of her own somewhere else, a home, a profession, and a child she loved. But she also felt that an old part of her had been returned to her. And it was a part of an old life that she had missed.

William drove them back to Boston, and they took the train to New York. They were only planning to spend two days there this time, and do the few things they had missed when they arrived.

“Take good care of yourself, Miss Annabelle,” William said with tears in his eyes again. “Will you be back soon?” They could all see what a good time she’d had. There had been times, at the beach, or running on the lawn with Consuelo, when she looked like a girl again herself.

“Next summer. I promise.” The farewells with Blanche had been tearful too, but she had made her the same vow.

William hugged and kissed Consuelo and Annabelle, and stood waving from the platform for as long as they could see him.

And then mother and daughter settled into their compartment for the trip to New York. They had had a wonderful time in Newport. It had exceeded all of Annabelle’s hopes.

Chapter 27

Their last two days in New York were hectic but fun. Annabelle took Consuelo to the theater to see a musical and she loved it. They had dinner at Sardi’s and the Waldorf Astoria, in grand style. They took a ferry around Manhattan, and Annabelle pointed out Ellis Island to her again, and told her more about it. And on the last afternoon they walked past her old house again, just to say good-bye. Annabelle stood there for a long moment, paying tribute to it, and all of those who had lived there, even the innocent part of herself that had been lost. She no longer had anything in common with the girl she had been then. She had grown up.

She and Consuelo walked away quietly hand in hand. Consuelo had learned much about her mother during this trip, and her grandparents, her uncle Robert, and even some of her mother’s friends. She hadn’t liked her friend in Newport, the one with all the children. She hated knowing that she had been mean to her mother and made her sad. And she was sorry about the man who had died in Mexico. She could tell that her mother loved him.

This time, Brigitte was slightly less nervous as they boarded the Mauretania to go back. The ship had been so comfortable and luxurious on the way over that she had calmed down considerably. It was an odd feeling for Annabelle as they slipped past the old White Star piers, and Cunard. It reminded her suddenly of when she had gone to pick up her mother thirteen years before, after the Titanic sank. But she didn’t mention it to her daughter, and surely not to Brigitte, who managed to bring it up anyway. Annabelle scowled at her and she stopped.

Annabelle felt herself leaving a piece of her heart behind as they glided past the Statue of Liberty again. She hadn’t felt this tied to her own country for a long time and it was a comfort knowing that they’d be back next summer. Consuelo had talked of it constantly in New York. She loved the cottage and couldn’t wait to return.

There was no one they knew on the ship this time; Annabelle had checked the passenger list. But she wouldn’t have cared. She had nothing to fear. She had braved Newport and New York without incident, and had no more secrets to protect. And even if someone found out about her past, what could they do to her? They couldn’t take away her house, her life, her work, her child. All they could do was talk about her, and she had lived through it before. They had nothing that she wanted. Even Hortie’s painful betrayal had shrunk in size on this trip when she saw her. All the people who had once hurt her so badly were gone, and they had nothing she wanted anymore. They could take nothing from her. She had her own life, and it was a good one.

Annabelle and Consuelo visited the dog kennels again, as they had on the last trip. There was no pug this time but several Pekingese and poodles. Consuelo had missed Coco, her pug, and couldn’t wait to get back to her. Her mother had promised her a weekend in Deauville when they were home. Even Antoine’s impact on Annabelle had faded during this trip. He was a nasty little small-minded man, who lived in a tiny world full of people with narrow ideas. There was no room for her in that world. And no place for him in hers.

They were walking back from the dog kennel, and stopped at the rail to look out at the sea. Consuelo’s long blond hair was blowing in the breeze, and Annabelle’s hat blew off her head and rolled like a wheel down the deck as they chased it, laughing. Annabelle’s hair was still as blond as her child’s, and the hat stopped finally at the feet of a man who picked it up and handed it to them with a broad grin.

“Thank you,” Annabelle said breathlessly, with a girlish smile. The hat had led them a merry chase. Her face was brown from the sun in Rhode Island. She put the hat on again, at a slightly cockeyed angle.

“I think it will blow off again,” the man warned her. She agreed and took it off, as Consuelo struck up a conversation with him.

“My grandfather and uncle died on the Titanic,” she announced, to open the conversation, and he looked at her soberly.

“I’m very sorry to hear that. So did my grandparents. Maybe they met each other.” It was an intriguing idea. “That was a very long time ago. Before you were born, I think.”

“I’m seven,” she said, which confirmed it. “And I’m named after my mother’s mother. She’s dead too.” He tried not to smile at the conversation, and it sounded as though their family had been decimated. “So’s my father,” she added for good measure. “He died before I was born, in the war.”

“Consuelo!” Annabelle scolded her, startled. She had never heard her give out so much information, and she hoped she didn’t do it often. “I’m sorry,” she turned to the man who had retrieved her hat. “We didn’t mean to give you our death rolls.” She was smiling at him, and he smiled back.

“You must have known that I’m a journalist,” he said to Consuelo kindly.

“What’s that?” She was interested in what he had to say.

“I write for newspapers. Or actually, I publish one. The International Herald Tribune in Paris. You won’t have to read it till you’re older.” He smiled at them both again.

“My mother is a doctor.” She was conducting the conversation with him entirely on her own, as Annabelle looked slightly embarrassed.

“Really?” he said with interest, and introduced himself, and said his name was Callam McAffrey, originally from Boston, and now Paris.

Annabelle introduced them as well, and Consuelo volunteered that they lived in Paris too, in the sixteenth arrondissement. He said that he lived on the rue de l’Université, on the Left Bank. It was near the college of Beaux Arts, and Annabelle knew the area well.

He invited them both to tea, but Annabelle said they had to get back to their stateroom to dress for dinner. He smiled as they walked away. He thought the little girl was adorable, and the mother very pretty. She didn’t look like his vision of a doctor. He had interviewed Elsie Inglis several years before, and Annabelle didn’t look anything like her, to say the least. He was amused at how liberal her daughter had been with their family information, somewhat to her mother’s dismay.

He saw them in the dining room that night, but didn’t approach. He didn’t want to intrude. But he noticed Annabelle on deck alone the next day, walking quietly by herself. Consuelo had gone swimming with Brigitte. And this time Annabelle was wearing a hat that tied under her chin.

“I see you’ve anchored your hat on solidly,” he said, smiling at her, as he stopped for a moment to stand by the rail next to her. She turned to him with a smile.

“It’s breezier now than it was last month when we came over.” It was the end of July.

“I love these crossings,” he volunteered, “in spite of our respective losses at sea and family tragedies. It gives you a chance to catch your breath, between two lives and two worlds. It’s nice to have some time out to do that sometimes. Have you been in New York all this time?” he asked with interest. He was pleasant to talk to.

“Some of it. We’ve been in Newport for the past few weeks.”

He smiled. “I was in Cape Cod. I try to get back every summer. It takes me back to my childhood.”

“This was my daughter’s first visit.”

“How did she like it?”

“She loved it. She wants to come back every summer.” And then she volunteered a small piece of information about herself. “I hadn’t been back in ten years.”

“To Newport?” That didn’t surprise him.

“To the States.” That piece of information did.

“That’s a long time.” He was a tall, spare-looking man with salt and pepper hair, warm brown eyes, and a chiseled face, somewhere in his early forties. He appeared more intelligent than handsome, although his appearance was pleasant. “You must have been busy to stay away for so long. Or angry about something,” he added, in the spirit of good journalism, and she laughed.

“Not angry. Just finished. I made my life in France. I went over to volunteer at the front, in a hospital, and I never went back. I didn’t think I missed it. But I have to admit, it was nice to go home, and show old landmarks to my daughter.”

“You’re widowed?” he inquired. It was an easy assumption to make, since Consuelo had told him her father was dead, and had been for the whole seven years she’d been alive. Annabelle started to nod her head, and then stopped herself. She was tired of the lies, especially the ones she didn’t have to tell, to protect someone else, or even herself from the unkind.

“Divorced.” He didn’t react to it, but looked puzzled. To some, it would have been a startling admission. But he didn’t seem to care.

“I thought your daughter said that her father died.” Annabelle looked at him for a long moment, and decided to throw caution to the winds. She had nothing to lose. If he was shocked and walked away, she didn’t care if she never saw him again. She didn’t know the man.

“I wasn’t married to her father.” She said it quietly, but firmly. It was the first time she had said that to anyone. In the circles she had grown up in, it would have been cause to end the conversation immediately, and ignore her from then on.

He didn’t answer for a moment and then nodded, and looked at her with a smile. “If you’re expecting me to fall over in a faint, or jump overboard rather than talk to you, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. I’m a reporter. I’ve heard a lot in my day. And I live in France. It seems to be a pretty common occurrence there, although they don’t admit it. They just have children with other people’s wives.” She laughed, and he wondered if that was the case and the cause of her divorce. She was an interesting woman. “I suspect it happens more often than we know or want to believe, even at home. People have children with people they love but don’t marry. As long as no one gets hurt, who am I to say they’re wrong? I’ve never been married myself.” He was a very open-minded man.

“I didn’t love him,” she added. “It’s a long story. But it turned out all right. Consuelo is the best thing in my life.” He didn’t comment, but seemed fine with what she’d said.

“What kind of doctor are you?”

“A good one,” she said with a smile, and he laughed in response.

“I would assume that. I meant what specialty.” She knew what he meant, but enjoyed playing with him. He was nice to talk to. He was open and warm and friendly.

“General medicine.”

“Did you practice at the front?” He didn’t think she was old enough to have done so.

“As a medic, after a year of medical school. I finished after the war.” It was interesting to him that she didn’t want to practice in the States, but he could see why. He loved Paris too. He had a much richer life there than he had had in New York or Boston.

“I went over to be a reporter for the British at the beginning of the war. And I’ve been in Europe ever since. I lived in London for two years after the war, and I’ve been in Paris now for five years. I don’t think I could ever go back to live in the States. My life is too good here in Europe.”

“I couldn’t go back either,” Annabelle agreed. And she had no reason to go back. Her life was in Paris now. Only her history was in the States, and the cottage.

They chatted for a little longer, and then she went to find Consuelo and Brigitte at the pool. They saw him again that night, as they left the dining room after an early dinner. He was just going in, and he asked Annabelle if she’d like to have a drink later on. She hesitated, as Consuelo watched them both, and then she agreed. They made a date at the Verandah Café for nine-thirty. Consuelo would be in bed by then, so she was free.

“He likes you,” Consuelo said matter-of-factly, as they walked back to their cabins. “He’s nice.”

Annabelle didn’t comment. She had thought that about Antoine too, and she’d been wrong. But Callam McAffrey was a different type, and they had more in common. She wondered why he’d never married, and he told her that night, as they sipped champagne at the Verandah Café, which was open to the sea air.

“I fell in love with a nurse in England during the war. She was killed a week before the armistice was signed. We were going to get married, but she didn’t want to until the war was over. It took me a long time to get over it.” It had been six and a half years. “She was a very special woman. From a very fancy family, but you’d never know it. She was very down to earth, and worked harder than anyone I’ve ever known. We had a good time together.” He didn’t sound maudlin about it, but as though he cherished the memory still. “I visit her family from time to time.”

“Consuelo’s father was British. But not a very nice man, I’m afraid. His mother is terrific though. We’ll probably visit her in August.”

“When the British are great, they’re fantastic,” he said generously. “I don’t always get along as well with the French.” Annabelle laughed ruefully, thinking of Antoine, but said nothing. “They’re not always as straightforward, and tend to be more complicated.”

“I think I’d agree with that, in some cases. They make wonderful friends and colleagues. Romantically, that’s another thing.” He could tell just from the little she said that she’d been burned, presumably by a Frenchman. But Consuelo’s British father didn’t sound like a peach either. It seemed to him as though Annabelle had had more than her fair share of lemons. And in his day, so had he, other than Fiona, the nurse he’d been in love with. And he had been alone now for a while. He was taking a break from romance. His life was simpler that way, which was the same conclusion Annabelle had come to.

They talked about the war for a while, politics in the States, some of his experiences in journalism, and hers in medicine. And if nothing else, she thought he’d make a nice friend. He walked her back to her stateroom eventually, and said a friendly but polite goodnight.

He invited her for a drink again the next day, and they had a very nice time. He played shuffleboard with Annabelle and Consuelo on the last day of the trip, and she invited him to dinner with them that night. He and Consuelo got along very well, and she told him all about her dog, and invited him to come and see her, while Annabelle made no comment.

They had a last drink that night, and out of the blue, as he walked her back to her cabin, he said that he’d like to come and see the dog. He had a Labrador himself. Annabelle laughed at what he said.

“You’re welcome to come and see the dog anytime,” she said. “You can even come and see us.”

“Well, my main interest is actually the dog,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye, “but I guess it would be all right to see both of you too, if the dog doesn’t mind.” He looked gently down at Annabelle then. He had learned a lot about her on the trip, more than she knew. That was his job. He could sense the pain and trials she’d been through. Women of her upbringing didn’t leave their homes at twenty-two, and volunteer to go three thousand miles from home, to serve in a war that wasn’t theirs. And they didn’t stay there afterward, and take on the profession she had, unless some pretty bad things had happened to them at home. And he had a feeling a few more had happened since. She wasn’t the kind of woman, he felt sure, to have a child out of wedlock, unless she had absolutely no other choice. And she had clearly made the best of it, and everything that had happened to her. She was a good woman. It was written all over her, and he was hoping to see her again.

“I’d like to call you when we get back,” he said properly. She wasn’t stiff, but she was always ladylike and correct, and he liked that about her too. She reminded him of Fiona in some ways, although Annabelle was younger and prettier. But what he had liked most about Fiona, and now Annabelle, was what was inside. You could tell she was a woman of determination and integrity, high morals, with an enormous heart, and a fine mind. A man couldn’t ask for more than that, and if a woman like Annabelle crossed your path, you didn’t miss the opportunity to get to know her better. Women like her didn’t come around often in a lifetime. He’d already been lucky enough to have one in his life, and he knew that if he ever had the good fortune to meet another, he wasn’t going to miss the chance.

“We’ll be in Paris,” Annabelle said to him. “We might go to Deauville for a few days. I promised Consuelo we would. And maybe to England to see her father’s family for a bit. But we’ll be around. I have to get back to work, before my patients forget that I exist.” He couldn’t imagine anyone doing that who had ever known her. And he didn’t intend to lose track of her.

“Maybe the three of us could do something this weekend,” he said pleasantly, “with the dog of course. I wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings.” Annabelle smiled in answer. The weekend was only a few days away, and she liked the idea. In fact, she liked everything she had learned about him on the trip. And she had a good feeling about him, of solidity, integrity, warmth, and kindness. Their respect for each other was mutual so far. It was a good start, better than most she’d had. Her brotherly friendship with Josiah should have told her something she didn’t understand at the time. And Antoine’s dazzling fancy footwork right from the beginning covered an empty heart. Callam was an entirely different kind of man.

They said goodnight outside her cabin. And the next morning she got up and dressed early, just as she had when she arrived in Europe ten years earlier, when she had left New York in despair. There was no despair this time, no sorrow, as she stood at the rail and watched the sun come up. She could see Le Havre in the distance, and they would dock there in two hours.

As she looked out over the ocean, she had an incredible sense of freedom, of finally having shed her shackles at last. She wasn’t burdened by the yoke of other people’s opinions, or their lies about her. She was a free woman, and a good one, and she knew it.

As the sun rose into the morning sky, she heard a voice next to her and turned to see Callam.

“I had a feeling I’d find you here,” he said quietly, as their eyes met and they both smiled. “Nice morning, isn’t it?” he said simply.

“Yes, it is,” she said, her smile deepening. It was a nice morning. They were both good people. And it was a fine life.

A GOOD WOMAN

A Delacorte Press Book / November 2008

Published by Bantam Dell

A Division of Random House, Inc.

New York, New York

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are

the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any

resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely

coincidental.

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2008 by Danielle Steel

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Steel, Danielle.

A good woman / Danielle Steel.

p. cm.

eISBN: 978-0-440-33910-6

1. Upper class women—Fiction. 2. Married women—Fiction. 3. Rich people—

Fiction. 4. New York (N. Y.)—Fiction. 5. World War, 1914–1918—France—

Fiction. 6. Americans—France—Fiction. 7. Military nursing—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3569.T33828G66 2008

813′.54—dc22

2008006626

v3.0

Table of Contents

Cover

Other Books By This Author

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Copyright