Honor Thyself

“What happened to his wife?” Anthony asked, sounding stern.

“She died. Last year apparently.”

“I'm going to be very upset if you get involved with him again. He's just going to hurt you. He did before.” He sounded more like a father than a son.

“I'm not involved with him,” she said, trying to reassure him and calm him down.

“Is it a possibility? Be honest, Mom.” She loved the sound of “Mom.” It still sounded new to her, and filled with love. Every time one of her children said it, it gave her a thrill.

“I don't know. I can't see that happening. That was all a long time ago.”

“He's still in love with you. I could see it the minute he walked in.”

“If so, he's in love with the memory of who I was then. We've all gotten old.” She sounded tired as she said it. So much had happened to her since she got to France. She had so much to recover from, relearn, and digest. It was overwhelming to think about.

“You're not old. I just don't want you to get hurt.”

“Neither do I. I can't even think about something like that right now.” He was comforted by what she said.

“Good. You'll be home soon. Just don't let him start something before you go.”

“I won't, but you have to trust me on that,” she said, feeling like a mother as she said it. No matter how much her son loved her, she had a right to make her own decisions and lead her own life. She wanted to remind him of that.

“I just don't trust him.”

“Why don't we give him the benefit of the doubt, for now. He wasn't a bad man, his situation was just a mess, and as a result, so was mine. I was foolish to get into it, but I was young, hardly older than you are now. I should have realized what would happen. He's French. In those days, Frenchmen didn't get divorced. I'm not sure they do even now. Having a mistress is a national tradition here.” She smiled, and at his end Anthony shook his head.

“If you ask me, it sucks.”

“Yeah, it did,” she admitted. She remembered that clearly now.

They changed the subject then, and he told her it was snowing in New York. And when he said it, the image of snow came to her mind, and she suddenly remembered taking them skating in Rockefeller Center when they were small, when the big Christmas tree was up, and it was snowing. It was just before they went to Paris, and everything was still right in their world. Jason had come to pick them up and had taken them all out for ice cream. She remembered them as the happiest days of her life. Everything had seemed so perfect, even if it wasn't.

“Bundle up,” Carole said to him, and he laughed.

“I will, Mom. You take care too. Don't do anything crazy when you get back to the Ritz, like go dancing.” She hit a blank spot, and didn't know if he meant it.

“Do I like to dance?” she asked, sounding puzzled.

“Like a lunatic. Best dancer on the floor. I'll remind you when I come out for Christmas. We'll put on some music, or I can take you to a club.”

“That sounds like fun.” If she didn't lose her balance and fall over, she thought to herself, dismayed that there were still so many things about herself she didn't know. At least there was someone to remind her.

They chatted for a few more minutes and hung up, after she told him she loved him too. And then Jason called her. He had walked into their son's office just as Anthony was hanging up, and he said his mother sounded pretty good. Carole was touched that Jason called.

“I hear it's snowing in New York,” she said to Jason.

“Like crazy. Four inches in the last hour. They said we'll have two feet of snow by tonight. Lucky for you you're going back to L.A. and not coming here. I heard it's seventy-five degrees there today. I can't wait to come out for Christmas.”

“I can't wait for all of us to be together,” she said with a warm smile that matched the feeling in her heart. “I was just remembering when I took the kids skating at Rockefeller Center and you took us out for ice cream. It was so nice.”

“Now you're remembering things even I don't recall,” he said with a smile. “We used to take the kids sledding in the park. That was fun too.” And the carousel, and model sailboat pond. The zoo. There were a lot of things they had done together, and that she had done with her children between making movies. Maybe Matthieu was right and she wasn't the neglectful mother that she feared she had been. Chloe had made it sound like she was never there. “When are you getting out of the hospital?” Jason asked.

“Tomorrow, I hope. I'm waiting to hear today.” And then she told him a doctor was flying back to L.A. with her, and he sounded relieved.

“That's smart. Don't do anything crazy before you leave. Just take it easy, and eat a lot of pastries at the hotel.”

“The doctor says I should walk. Maybe I'll do some Christmas shopping.”

“Don't worry about that. We all have the only Christmas gift we wanted. You.” It was a sweet thing to say, and she was touched by him again. No matter how hard she dredged in her memory bank, she couldn't come up with any romantic feelings for him, but she loved him like a brother. He was her children's father, a man she had loved and been married to for ten years, and who was forever woven into the fabric of her heart, but in a different way than he once had been. Their relationship and attachment to each other had changed over the years. For her anyway. It was different with Matthieu. She had far fewer comfortable feelings about him, and sometimes he made her uneasy. Jason never did. Jason was a spot of warm sunlight where she felt comfortable and safe. Matthieu was a mysterious garden where she was afraid to go, but she still remembered its beauty, and its thorns. “See you in L.A.,” Jason said cheerily, and then hung up. A little while later, the doctor came in with the results of her scans. They showed that she had improved.

“You're on your way,” the doctor beamed at her. “You're going home… or back to the Ritz for now. You can leave the hospital tomorrow.” They were actually sad to see her go, but happy for her. And so was she. It had been an extraordinary month.

Stevie packed her things for her that afternoon, and notified hotel security that they'd be arriving the next day. The head of security advised bringing her in through the rue Cambon door, on the back side of the hotel. They would open it for her. Most of the press and paparazzi lay in wait in the Place Vendôme. Carole wanted to come in with as little fuss as possible, although she knew that sooner or later they would take photographs of her. She wanted a breather for now. It was going to be her first time out of the hospital in a month, after being at death's door. Stevie wanted to give her time to get on her feet, before the press attacked her. Carole Barber getting out of the hospital in Paris was going to make the front page in newspapers all over the world. There was nothing easy about being a star. And certainly no privacy. Dead or alive, the public thought they owned her. And it was Stevie's job to shield her from prying eyes. The doctors had saved her life. And it was up to the CRS and hotel security to keep her alive. Given that, Stevie figured hers was the easiest job.

Matthieu called her that night to see how she was. He was in Lyon overnight on business for the law firm. He had a case pending there.

“I'm going home!” she chortled happily, and there was a silence at the other end.

“To Los Angeles?” he asked, sounding crestfallen, and she laughed.

“No, to the hotel. They want me here for two more weeks before I fly, to make sure I'm okay. They're sending a doctor home on the plane with me, and I'm taking a nurse to the hotel. I'll be fine. The doctor will come and check on me there. As long as I don't do anything crazy or stupid, and no one tries to kill me again, I'll be fine. I have to walk around to get my legs back. Maybe I can get my exercise at the jewelers in the Place Vendôme.” She was teasing, since she never bought jewelry for herself, but she was in high spirits, and he was relieved to hear that she was only going as far as the hotel, for now. He wanted to spend some time with her before she left. It was too soon to lose her again.

“We can go to Bagatelle and walk,” he said, and when he said the word she remembered being there with him before. And the Luxembourg Gardens and the Bois de Boulogne. There were a multitude of places to go for walks in Paris. “I'll be back tomorrow. I'll call you. Be careful, Carole.”

“I will. I promise. It's a little scary leaving the hospital. I feel like my head is made of glass now.” Not quite, but she was well aware of her fragility and her own mortality as never before. She didn't want to challenge it again. Being away from the doctors who had saved her life was frightening. She was relieved to be taking a nurse to the hotel, and Stevie had gotten an adjoining room to her suite, so she'd be sleeping nearby if Carole had a problem, which no one expected. But they worried anyway, and Matthieu sounded concerned as well.

“Are you sure you should fly so soon?” He had a vested interest in her staying, but he was genuinely worried about her, even as a friend.

“They said it's fine, as long as nothing weird happens in the next two weeks. And I want to be home for Christmas with my kids.”

“They could celebrate it with you at the Ritz,” he said hopefully.

“That's not the same.” Besides, Paris had an unhappy connotation for all of them now. It would be a while before her children would feel comfortable at the Ritz again, without thinking of the agonizing days they had spent there waiting to see if she would survive. It was going to be good to get home, especially for her.

“I understand. If you feel up to it, I'd like to visit you at the hotel tomorrow when I get back.”

“That would be fine,” she said calmly. She was looking forward to seeing him, and even to going for walks with him.

That seemed harmless enough, even for her.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, thinking about her, as he hung up at his end. He was dreading the day she would leave him again, this time perhaps forever.

Chapter 15

Getting Carole ready to leave the hospital was more arduous than Stevie had expected. Carole was tired when she woke up the next day, and nervous about leaving the cocoon they had provided for her. She had to turn from caterpillar into butterfly once again. Stevie helped her wash her hair, Carole put on makeup for the first time, and covered the scar on her cheek surprisingly well. Stevie helped her put on jeans, a black sweater, a pea jacket she'd had at the hotel, and a pair of flat black suede loafers. Her signature diamond stud earrings were on her ears, and her hair was pulled back in the familiar sleek ponytail. She looked like Carole Barber again, instead of a patient in a hospital gown, and even after the ordeal she'd been through, her natural beauty was striking. She looked very thin and a little frail as she got into a wheelchair, and nurses and doctors came to say goodbye to her. The nurse who was coming to the Ritz with them had her coat on and pushed the wheelchair, as the two CRS guards assigned to them walked on either side of Carole with stern looks, holding their machine guns. Stevie was carrying Carole's bag and her own. They felt like a motley crew.

They made their way down in the elevator and across the lobby with hospital security surrounding them, and the head of the hospital came out to shake her hand and wish her well. It was a touching departure. Her own doctor saw them to the car, which the Ritz had sent for her, a long Mercedes limousine. Both CRS guards, the nurse, Stevie, and Carole disappeared rapidly inside. She lowered the window and waved at the crowd of well-wishers on the sidewalk, while Stevie marveled at the good luck that no photographers had been on hand to impede their way. With luck, they would get into the hotel as easily, on the Cambon side, and into Carole's suite without incident. She already looked tired from the shock of being up, dressed, and outside again. It was a big change for her.

The limousine slid easily down the rue Cambon and stopped at the back entrance of the Ritz that had been opened especially for her, and on slightly wobbly legs she stood up, looked up at the sky, and smiled, while the CRS guards stood tightly at her side. She walked toward the hotel entrance under her own steam, smiling, just as four photographers leaped into view between the hotel door and her. Carole hesitated for an instant and then continued walking, smiling. Someone had tipped them off after all. The CRS guards waved them away, and the paparazzi stepped aside, shooting frame after frame of her, shouting her name, as one of them yelled “Brava!” and threw her a rose. She caught it, turned, and smiled at him, and then disappeared gracefully into the hotel.

The manager was waiting inside for her, and escorted her to her suite. Just getting that far was harder work for Carole than she had expected. Security guards lined the halls, and she looked strained by the time she got to her suite, but thanked the manager for the enormous bouquet of roses that stood four feet tall on a table, welcoming her back to the Ritz. A few minutes later he left the room, and the CRS guards positioned themselves outside, as hotel security clustered around them. Stevie set down Carole's bag, and gave her a stern look.

“Sit down. You look beat.” She was worried about her friend. Carole's face was the color of snow.

“I am,” Carole admitted, lowering herself into a chair, feeling about a hundred years old, as the nurse helped her take off her coat, and then removed her own and put it aside. “I can't believe how tired I am. All I did was get out of bed, and ride over here in a car. I feel like I was hit by a bus,” she complained to Stevie, looking exhausted.

“You were, a month ago. Give yourself a break.” Stevie was still annoyed that someone had warned the press that Carole was arriving. It was inevitable, but they would be all over her now, and waiting at every exit to the hotel. Whenever she wanted to get out, she would have to make her way past them. Stevie was contemplating the service exit as an option. It had worked for them before, although it wasn't far from the Cambon door, and they'd be watching it too. It just added more strain to Carole's existence, which she didn't need at the moment. It would have been nice if no one had known she'd made the move from hospital to hotel. That was too much to hope for, with maids cleaning her room, room service waiters bringing her food, and all the internal gossip in a big hotel, even a great one like the Ritz. Someone had been bound to tell the press. They got paid handsomely to do it.

Without asking, Stevie handed her a cup of her tea, and Carole took it gratefully. She felt as though she'd already climbed Everest that morning. And given what she'd been through, she had. “Do you want anything to eat?”

“No, thanks.”

“Why don't you go lie down for a while? I think you just had your morning exercise.”

“Shit, am I ever going to feel normal again? I wasn't this tired in the hospital. I feel like I died.”

“You did,” Stevie confirmed. She could see that Carole was discouraged, but what she was going through was normal. The change from hospital to real world, however gently handled and carefully masterminded, was like being shot out of a cannon for her. “You'll feel better in a day or two, or maybe even before that. You need to get used to your surroundings, and not being wrapped in cotton wool at the hospital. When I had my appendix out two years ago, I felt about ninety years old when I got home. Five days later I was dancing my ass off at a club. Give it time, kid. Give it time,” Stevie reassured her as Carole sighed. It discouraged her to feel so shaken and weak.

Carole walked slowly into her bedroom, and stood looking around with amazement. She looked at the desk and saw her computer and handbag on it. She felt as though she had left the room hours before to go on her fateful walk. When she turned to Stevie there were tears in her eyes.

“It's such a strange feeling knowing that when I left this room, I almost died a few hours later. It's kind of like dying and being reborn, or getting another chance or something.” Stevie nodded and hugged her friend.

“I know. I thought of it too. Do you want to switch rooms?” Carole shook her head. She didn't want to be indulged or babied. She just needed time to adjust to all that had happened, not only physically, but psychologically as well. She lay down on the bed, and looked around, as Stevie brought her the rest of her tea. She felt better already, lying down. It had been stressful for her seeing the press, although it didn't show. It never did. She looked like a queen as she waved graciously, smiled at them, and walked past, with her long blond hair, and diamond studs sparkling on her ears.

Stevie ordered lunch for them eventually, and Carole felt better after she ate. She luxuriated in a hot tub, in the giant bathtub in the pink marble bathroom, and then lay on her bed again in the heavy pink terry-cloth robe provided by the hotel. It was four o'clock when Matthieu called, and by then she'd had a nap, and felt more herself.

“How is it being back at the hotel?” he asked kindly.

“It was harder than I thought it would be getting here,” she admitted to him. “I was wiped out when we arrived, but I'm feeling better now. I can't believe what a jolt it was. And we ran into some paparazzi at the back door. I probably looked like the Bride of Frankenstein getting out of the car. I could hardly walk.”

“I'm sure you looked beautiful. You always do.”

“One of the paparazzi threw me a rose, which was sweet. It almost knocked me down. The expression ‘you could have knocked me over with a feather’ seems to have taken on new meaning.” He laughed at what she said.

“I was going to ask you to take a walk with me, but it doesn't sound like you're up to it. Would you like a visit instead? Maybe we can go for a walk tomorrow. Or a drive, if you prefer.”

“Would you like to come to tea?” she offered. She didn't feel up to having him to dinner, and wasn't sure she should anyway. Their relationship was tenuous, heavily impacted by the sorrows of the past, as well as the love they'd shared.

“That sounds perfect. Five o'clock?” he suggested, grateful that she was willing to see him.

“I'm not going anywhere,” she assured him. “I'll be here.”

He was there an hour later, in a dark business suit, and his gray topcoat. It had gotten bitter cold that afternoon, and his cheeks were pink from the wind. Carole was wearing the same black sweater and jeans she had worn leaving the hospital, the black suede loafers and diamond studs on her ears. She looked exquisite to him, although very pale. But her eyes were bright, and she felt better as they sat down to tea, pastry, and macarons from La Durée, which the hotel had sent her. He'd been pleased to see the guards on duty outside her room, and noticed hotel security in the hall around the floor. They were taking no chances with her, as well they shouldn't. The incident at the hospital had put everyone on warning that she was at risk.

“How was Lyon?” she asked with a quiet smile. She was happy to see him.

“Tiresome. I had a court appearance I couldn't put off. And I almost missed my train back. The trials and tribulations of an ordinary citizen and lawyer.” He laughed at himself, and was obviously happy to see her too.

She seemed to come alive again as they sat and chatted, and became more animated and more herself. She ate half a dozen macarons, he noticed with pleasure, and shared a coffee éclair with him. He hoped her appetite had returned, she was looking very thin, but not quite as pale as when he walked in. Considering how far she had come in recent weeks, it was remarkable to see her sitting there in diamond earrings and jeans. She'd had her nails done in the room that afternoon. They were a clear pale pink, which was the only color she'd worn for years. He silently admired her long graceful fingers as she sipped her tea. Stevie had left them alone, and retired to her own room with the nurse. Stevie was satisfied that Carole was comfortable alone with him. She had looked at her questioningly before she left the room, and Carole smiled and nodded, letting her know it was all right.

“I was afraid I'd never see this room again,” Carole admitted to him, as they sat in the living room of the suite.

“I was afraid you wouldn't either,” he confessed, with a look of relief. He was aching to take a walk with her, and get her out of the hotel, but she was obviously not ready to venture so far afield, although she would have liked it too.

“I always seem to run into trouble in Paris, don't I?” she said with a mischievous grin, as Matthieu laughed at her.

“I'd say this time was a bit extreme, wouldn't you?” he commented and she nodded, and then they started talking about her book.

She'd had some ideas for it in the past few days, and hoped she could get back to work once she was back in L.A. He admired her for it. Publishers were always asking him to write his memoirs, but he hadn't done it yet. There were a lot of things he said he wanted to do, which was why he was planning to retire in the coming year, to do the things he dreamed of, before it was too late. His wife's death had reminded him that life was short and precious, particularly at his age. He was going skiing with his children at Val d'Isere over Christmas. Carole said regretfully that her skiing days were over. The last thing she needed was another bump on her head, and he agreed. It reminded them both of the fun they'd had skiing together during her time in France. They had gone several times, and taken her kids. He had been a fabulous skier, and so was she. He had been on a national racing team in his youth.

They talked about a multitude of things as darkness fell outside. It was nearly eight o'clock when he got up, feeling guilty for keeping her up for so long. She needed rest. He had stayed quite a while, and she looked tired but relaxed. And then she exclaimed as she looked out the long-curtained windows as they stood up. It was snowing outside, and she opened the window and put her hand outside, reaching toward the snowflakes as he watched her. She turned to look at him with the wide eyes of a child.

“Look! It's snowing!” she said happily. He nodded and smiled at her, as she looked into the night and felt gratitude overwhelm her. Everything had new meaning to her, and the smallest pleasures brought her joy. She was the greatest joy of all for him. She always had been. “It's so beautiful,” she said in wonder, as he stood just behind her but didn't touch her. He was basking in her presence and trembling inside.

“So are you,” he said softly. He was so happy to be there with her, and that she was allowing him to spend time with her. It was a precious gift.

She turned to look at him again then, with the snow falling behind her, her face turned up to his. “The night I moved into the house here, it was snowing… you were there with me… we touched the snowflakes, and kissed … I remember thinking I would never forget that night, it was so beautiful … we went for a long walk along the Seine, with the snow falling around us … I wore a fur coat with a hood …,” she whispered.

“…you looked like a Russian princess …”

“That's what you said to me.” He nodded, as they both thought back to the magic of that night, and then standing in the open window at the Ritz, they moved imperceptibly toward each other and kissed as time stood still.

Chapter 16

Carole looked worried when Matthieu called her at the Ritz the next morning. She was feeling better and her legs were stronger, but she had lain awake thinking about him for hours the night before.

“That was a silly thing to do last night … I'm sorry…,” she said as soon as she answered the phone. It had troubled her all night. She didn't want to go there with him again. But the memories of that long-ago night had been so powerful, they had swept her away. It had had the same effect on both of them, just as it had then. They had an overwhelmingly intoxicating effect on each other.

“Why was it silly?” he asked, sounding disappointed.

“Because things are different. That was then. This is now. You can't go backward in time. And I'm leaving soon. I didn't mean to confuse you.” And she didn't want him to confuse her. After he had left, her head was spinning. It wasn't from her injury. It was him, and the re awakening of all she had felt for him before.

“You didn't confuse me, Carole. If I'm confused, it's of my own doing, but I don't think I am.” There was nothing confused about his feelings for her. He knew he was in love with her all over again, and always had been. Nothing had changed for him. It was Carole who had shut the door, and was trying to again.

“I want to be friends,” she said firmly. But nothing more.

“We are.”

“I don't want to do that again,” she said, referring to their kiss. She was trying to sound strong but feeling frightened. She knew the effect he had on her, and had felt it like a tidal wave the night before.

“Then we won't. I give you my solemn word.” He promised, but she knew what promises meant to him. He never kept them. Or never had.

“We know what that's worth.” The words slipped out, and she heard him gasp. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that.”

“Yes, you did. And I deserved it. Let's just say that my word is worth more than it was before.”

“I'm sorry.” She was embarrassed by what she'd said. She didn't have her usual control, but it was no excuse, whether he deserved it or not. He didn't seem to hold it against her.

“It's all right. What about our walk? Do you feel up to it?” The snow had already melted from the previous night. It had just been a brief flurry, but it was cold outside. He didn't want her to get sick. “You'll need to wear a heavy coat.”

“I have one… or actually, I did.” She remembered that she'd been wearing it that night in the tunnel, and along with everything else she'd been wearing, it had disappeared, blown right off her back. She had been wearing rags when the ambulance picked her up. “I'll borrow Stevie's coat.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Bagatelle?” She looked pensive.

“Excellent. I'll arrange to have your guards follow us in another car.” He wasn't taking any chances, which sounded fine to her. The trick would be getting out of the hotel. She suggested meeting him in front of the Crillon, and switching from her car to his. “Sounds like espionage to me.” He smiled. That was familiar to him, they had been cautious in the old days too.

“It is espionage,” she laughed. “What time shall we meet?” She sounded happier and more at ease than a few minutes before. She was trying to set boundaries with him.

“What about two o'clock? I have meetings before that.”

“See you at the Crillon at two. By the way, what does your car look like? I'd hate to get into the wrong car.” He laughed at the idea, although he was sure the driver would have been pleased.

“I have a navy blue Peugeot. I'll be wearing a gray hat, carrying a rose, and wearing one shoe.” She laughed. She remembered his humor now too. She had had fun with him, as well as grief. She was still annoyed at herself for kissing him the night before. They wouldn't do it again. She had made up her mind.

She asked Stevie to make the arrangements for her, for the car, and they had lunch on trays in her room. She ate a club sandwich, which tasted heavenly to her, and the hotel's chicken soup.

“Are you sure you're up to going out?” Stevie was worried about her. She looked better than she had the day before, but going out for a walk was a big step, and possibly too much for her so soon. She didn't want Matthieu to wear Carole out or upset her. She had looked worn out and distracted when he left the night before.

“I'll see how I feel. If I'm too tired, I can come back.” Matthieu was being cautious with her too, and wouldn't let her overdo it.

She borrowed Stevie's coat, and her assistant walked her to the car waiting on the rue Cambon side. She had the hood of the coat pulled up over her head, and dark glasses on. She was wearing the same outfit as the previous day, with a heavy white sweater this time. There were two paparazzi waiting outside, who took her photograph getting into the car. Stevie came with her for two blocks, and then walked back to the hotel, and Carole had both of her guards with her.

Matthieu was waiting outside the Crillon, precisely where he said he would, and she slipped unnoticed from her car into his. No one had followed her. She was breathless when she got into the car with him, and a little dizzy.

“How do you feel?” he asked with a look of concern. She was still very pale, but she looked very pretty, as she pushed the hood off and took off her dark glasses. She still took his breath away.

“Pretty good,” she said in answer to his question. “A little wobbly. But it's nice to get out of the hotel.” She was already getting tired of being stuck in her room, and she said she was eating too many pastries, for lack of something better to do. “It sounds stupid, but it's nice to go for a walk. It's the most exciting thing I've done in a month.” Except kiss him. But she wouldn't allow herself to think of it now. He could see in her eyes that her guard was up, and she wanted to keep him at a distance, although she had kissed his cheek when she got in. Old habits died hard, even after fifteen years. She had a habit patterned in her somewhere of intimacy with him. It was buried, but not gone.

They drove to Bagatelle, and the sun was shining. It was cold and windy, but they were both warmly dressed, and she was surprised at how good it felt to be out in the air. She tucked her hand in his arm to steady herself, and they walked slowly for a long time. She was winded when they got back to his car. The guards had stayed far enough away to give them privacy, but close enough to keep her safe.

“How do you feel?” he asked her again, checking on her. He was afraid they'd gone too far. He reproached himself for it, but her company was too inebriating to give up.

“Wonderful!” Her cheeks were bright, after their walk in the cold, and her eyes sparkled as she answered. “It feels good to be alive.”

He would have liked to take her out somewhere, but he didn't dare. He could see that she was tired, but relaxed. She chatted animatedly on their way back to the hotel. Despite their plans for “espionage,” he drove her back to the Ritz in his car, with hers behind them. They both forgot to stop at the Crillon. They were at the Ritz on the Vendôme side, the main entrance to the hotel. She reminded herself that they had nothing to hide. They were nothing more than old friends now, and both of them widowed. It seemed odd to her that they now had that in common. In any case, they were free and unattached, and he was only a lawyer, not a minister of France.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” she asked, as she turned to him, and put her hood up again. She didn't bother with the dark glasses. She could see no paparazzi waiting for her or anyone else.

“Are you up to it? You're not too tired?” he asked, sounding concerned.

“It'll probably hit me later. I feel fine right now. The doctor said I should go on walks.” He was just afraid they'd walked too far, but she looked very much alive. “We could have tea again, without the kiss,” she reminded him, and he laughed.

“That certainly makes things clear. All right, we'll have tea without the kiss. Although I must admit, I enjoyed it,” he said honestly.

“So did I.” She smiled shyly. “But that's not on the regular menu. It was some kind of one-time special yesterday.” It had been a slip, no matter how sweet it tasted at the time.

“What a shame. Why don't you go up with your guards? I'll park my car and come up in a minute.” That way, if a lurking paparazzo got her, she wouldn't have to explain him.

“See you soon,” she said, and slipped out of his car, as her guards hopped out of hers and fell into step behind her. A moment later there were a series of flashes in her face, and she looked surprised at first, and then smiled and waved. As long as they had her, there was no point looking unpleasant. She had learned that years before. She walked quickly into the hotel, through the lobby, and took the elevator up to her room. Stevie was waiting for her in the suite, although Carole had told her she could go out. Stevie had just gotten back herself. She had worn a windbreaker she had with her instead of the coat Carole had borrowed, and had taken a nice walk along the rue de la Paix. It felt good to get some air.

“How was it?” Stevie asked politely, and Carole nodded.

“It was fine.” She was proving to herself that they could be friends.

Matthieu reached the room a minute later, and Stevie ordered sandwiches and tea for them, which Carole devoured as soon as they came. Her appetite had improved, and Matthieu could see that the walk had done her good. She looked tired but happy as she stretched her legs out and they talked, as they always did, about a variety of things, philosophical as well as practical. In the old days, he had loved talking politics with her, and valued her opinions. She wasn't up to that yet, nor was she current on French politics.

He didn't stay as long this time, and as promised, there was no kiss. The snow of the night before had brought back an avalanche of memories, and with them feelings that had surprised her and lowered her guard. Her boundaries were back in place now, and he respected her for it. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. She was vulnerable and frail, and only newly returned to life. He didn't want to take advantage of her, just be with her, in any way she would allow. He was grateful for what they had. It was hard to believe there was anything left, after the scorched earth of the past.

“Another walk tomorrow?” he asked before he left, and she nodded, looking pleased. She was enjoying the time she spent with him too. She stood in the doorway of the suite, as he looked down at her with a smile.

“I never thought I'd see you again,” he said, savoring the moment.

“Neither did I,” she agreed.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” he said softly, and then let himself out of her suite. He greeted the two guards on the way out, and walked out of the Ritz with his head down, thinking of her, and how nice it had been just to walk beside her, with her hand tucked into his arm.

The next day he met her at three. They walked for an hour, and then drove till six. They parked for a while in the Bois de Boulogne, and talked about their old house. He said he hadn't seen it in years, and they agreed to drive by on the way back to the hotel. It was a pilgrimage she had already made, but now they would make it together.

The door to the courtyard was open again, and with the guards waiting discreetly outside, they walked inside side by side. Instinctively, they both looked up to where their bedroom had been, looked at each other, and held hands. They had shared so much here, hoped for so many things, and then lost their dreams. It was like visiting a cemetery where their love had been buried. And inevitably, she thought of the baby she had lost, and looked at him with damp eyes. In spite of herself, she felt closer to him than ever.

“I wonder what would have happened if we'd had him,” she said softly, and he knew what she meant, and sighed. It had been a terrible time after she fell off the ladder, and all that had happened after that.

“I suppose we'd be married by now,” he said, with a deep tone of regret.

“Maybe not. Maybe even then, you wouldn't have left Arlette.” There were plenty of children born out of wedlock in France. It had been a tradition even with the kings of France.

“It would have killed her if she'd known.” He turned to Carole sadly. “Instead it nearly killed you.” It had been a tragedy for them both.

“It wasn't meant to be,” Carole said philosophically. She still went to church every year on that date, the day their baby died. She realized the date was coming soon, and pushed it from her mind.

“I wish it had been,” he said quietly, and had to fight himself not to kiss her again. Instead, remembering his promise to her, he took her in his arms and held her for a long time, as he felt her warmth next to him, and thought of how happy they had been in that house for what seemed like a long time. In the scheme of a lifetime, two and a half years was nothing, but at the time it had been their entire world.

This time it was Carole who turned her face to his, and kissed him first. He was startled, and hesitated, and then let his own resolve dissolve as he kissed her back, and then kissed her again. Afterward he was afraid she would be angry at him, but she wasn't. She was so overwhelmed by her feelings for him that nothing could have stopped it. She felt swept away by a current.

“Now you're going to tell me that I didn't keep my word,” he scolded her, looking worried. He didn't want her to be angry at him, but he was relieved to see she didn't look it.

“I didn't keep mine,” she said calmly, as they walked out of the courtyard, back toward his car. “Sometimes I feel as though my body remembers you better than I do,” she said in a small voice. And surely her heart did. “Just being friends isn't as easy as I thought it would be,” she said honestly, as he nodded his head.

“It isn't for me either, but I want to do what you want.” He owed her that now at least. But she always took him by surprise.

“Maybe we should just enjoy it for the next two weeks, as a tribute to history, and kiss it goodbye when I leave.”

“I don't like that plan,” he said as they got back into his car. “What would be wrong with seeing each other again? Maybe we were meant to find each other. Maybe this is God's way of giving us another chance. We're both free now, we're not hurting anyone. We don't have to answer to anyone but ourselves.”

“I don't want to get hurt again,” she said clearly, as he started the car and turned to look at her. “The last time hurt too much.” He nodded. He couldn't deny that.

“I understand.” And then he asked her a question that had haunted him for years. “Did you ever forgive me, Carole? For letting you down, and not doing what I said I would do? I meant to, but it never happened the way I wanted it to. I couldn't do it in the end. Did you forgive me for that, and hurting you so much?” He had no right to it, he knew, but hoped she had. He wasn't sure. Why should she? He didn't deserve it.

She looked at him with wide honest eyes. “I don't know. I can't remember. All of that is gone. I remember the good part, and the pain. I don't know what happened after that. All I know is that it took a long time.” It was the best answer he was going to get. It was remarkable enough that she was willing to spend time with him, in these extraordinary circumstances. Forgiveness was too much to ask, and he knew he had no right to that.

He dropped her off at the hotel, and promised to come the next day, to take her for another walk. She wanted to go back to the Luxembourg Gardens, where she had gone so often with Anthony and Chloe while they lived there.

All he could think about was her lips on his, as he drove back to his house. He let himself in with his key, walked through the hallway into his study, and sat down in the dark. He had no idea what to say to her, or if he would ever see her again when she left. He suspected she didn't know either. For the first time, they had no history, no future, all they had was each day as it came. There was no way of knowing what would happen after that.

Chapter 17

Walking in the Luxembourg Gardens with Matthieu brought back a flood of memories for Carole, of all the times she'd been there with her children, and with him. She had come here with him the first time, and a hundred times with Anthony and Chloe after that.

They laughingly remembered silly things the kids had done, and other times that had escaped her until then. Walking around Paris with him was bringing back many things she wouldn't have remembered otherwise, most of them good times, and tender moments they had shared. The pain he had caused her seemed a little dimmer now, in contrast to the happiness that came to mind.

They were still chatting easily and laughing, when they got out of his car at the Ritz. She had invited him up for dinner in her suite, and he had agreed to come. He was handing his car keys to the voiturier, with her arm tucked into his, when a photographer snapped their picture with a flash of light in their faces. Both of them looked up, startled, and Carole smiled the second time, while Matthieu looked dignified and stern. He didn't like having his photograph taken at the best of times, but particularly not by paparazzi for the gossip press. They had always been careful when they lived together, but now they had far less at risk. They had nothing to hide. It was just unpleasant to be photographed and talked about, and not his style. He was complaining about it as they walked into the hotel. They were using the front door these days, it was easier than having the rue Cambon side opened for her every time. She had been wearing gray slacks and Stevie's coat when they photographed her, with her dark glasses in her hand. They recognized her, obviously, but seemed not to know who Matthieu was.

She mentioned it to Stevie when they went upstairs.

“They'll figure it out” was all Stevie said. She was worried about the time Carole was spending with Matthieu. But they looked happy and relaxed, as Carole regained her strength day by day. Spending time with him was not hurting her at least.

Stevie ordered dinner from room service for them. Carole ordered sautéed foie gras, and Matthieu ordered steak. Stevie ate in her room with the nurse. They both commented that Carole was doing well. She was visibly stronger and her color had returned. And more than that, Stevie realized that she looked happy.

Matthieu stayed, talking to her, until ten o'clock that night. They always had a lot to say to each other, and never ran out of topics that interested them both. She had been contacted by the police again, for a further statement about the tunnel bombing. They wanted to know if she remembered anything more, but she didn't. She had been unconscious very quickly, as soon as the car next to her exploded. But they had a mountain of statements from others. The police seemed to feel that, with the exception of the boy who'd come to the hospital, all of the bombers had died. There were no other suspects.

Matthieu told her about the cases he was working on at the law firm, and he still insisted he wanted to retire. She thought it was a poor decision, unless he found something else to keep him busy.

“You're too young to retire,” she insisted.

“I wish I were, but I'm not. What about your book?” he asked. “Have you thought any more about it?”

“I have,” she admitted, but she wasn't ready to go back to work yet. She had other things on her mind, him for instance. He was beginning to fill her head day and night. She was trying to resist it. She didn't want to become obsessed by him, just enjoy him until she left. She realized it was a good thing she was leaving soon, before things got out of hand between them, as they had before.

They kissed again before he left that night. It was as much about the past as the present. It was habit mixed with longing, joy and sadness, love and fear.

The rest of the time they talked of his work, her book, her career, their respective children, and whatever else came to mind. They never seemed to stop talking, and both of them loved their exchanges of ideas. It challenged her to speak intelligently to him, and forced her to stretch her mind to what it once had been. She still had to struggle for a word or a concept sometimes. And she had not yet figured out how to work her computer. The secrets to her book were still locked in it. Stevie had offered to help her, but she insisted she wasn't ready. It required too much concentration.

Stevie brought her the newspapers the next morning over breakfast. She had a stack of them. Carole was on the front page with Matthieu in each one, and all of them had recognized him and identified him by name. He looked grim and startled in the picture. Carole looked lovely, with a wide, easy smile. They had used the second photograph, where she was smiling. She looked pretty, the scar on her cheek showed slightly, but not enough to upset her. And the Herald Tribune had done their homework. Not only had they identified Matthieu as the former Minister of the Interior, but it had obviously sparked the curiosity of some zealous young reporter, or maybe an old one. They had gone back into their archives during the time she had lived in France, and checked to see if there were any photographs of them together then. They had found a good one, taken at a charity event at Versailles. Carole remembered it. They had been careful not to go to the party together. Arlette had been there with him, and Carole had gone with a movie star she had made a picture with, who was an old friend and visiting Paris at the time. They had made a dazzling couple, and had been photographed constantly, and although his fans didn't know it, he was secretly gay. He had been a perfect beard for Carole.

She and Matthieu had met in the garden for a few minutes, late in the evening. They were talking quietly, when a photographer spotted them and took their picture. All it said in the papers the next day was “Matthieu de Billancourt, Minister of the Interior, confers with American film star Carole Barber.” They had been lucky. No one guessed, although his wife had been irate when she saw the papers the next day.

The two photographs, from Versailles, and in front of the Ritz the day before, had a different caption. “Then, and Now. Did We Miss Something?” It raised the question. Carole knew they would never have the answer. They had covered their tracks well. It would have been different if she'd had his baby, if he'd left Arlette for her, filed for divorce, or resigned from the ministry, but none of that had happened. And now they were just two people walking into a hotel, old friends perhaps, or more. He was retired from the ministry, and they were both widowed. It was difficult to make much of it, particularly after her being wounded in the bombing. She had a right to see old friends she had known while she lived in Paris. But the way the Tribune captioned it posed an interesting question, to which no one but Matthieu and Carole had the answer.

He called her as soon as he saw it. He was annoyed, it was the kind of innuendo that bothered him. But Carole was accustomed to it. She had lived with it all of her adult life.

“How stupid of them,” he said, growling.

“No, actually, very smart. They must have had to really dig to find that picture. I remember when it was taken. Arlette was there with you, and you hardly spoke to me all evening. I was already pregnant.” There was an edge to her voice as she said it, of resentment, anger, and sorrow. They'd had a fight afterward, which was the first of many. He had given her a thousand excuses by then, and she was accusing him of stalling. Their life together began to unravel over the next months, particularly after she lost the baby. She had had a rotten evening the night the photograph at Versailles was taken. He remembered it too, and felt guilty about it, which was part of why seeing the photograph in the Herald Tribune had upset him. He hated to be reminded of the grief he'd caused her. And he knew she'd be upset too, unless she had forgotten. She hadn't. “It's not worth getting upset over,” she said finally. “There's nothing we can do about it.”

“Do you want to be more careful?” he asked, sounding cautious.

“Not really,” she said quietly. “It doesn't matter now. We're both free people. And I'll be gone soon.” She was leaving in ten days. “We're not hurting anyone. We're old friends, if anyone wants to know.” Which of course later that morning, they did. People magazine called to ask if they'd ever been involved.

“Of course not,” Stevie answered for Carole, who didn't take the call. She went on to tell them how well Carole was doing, hoping to distract them, and told Carole about it after she hung up.

“Thanks,” Carole said calmly, finishing her breakfast, as Stevie helped herself to a croissant.

“Are you worried about the press figuring it out?” Stevie asked with a look of concern.

“There's nothing to figure out. We really are just friends. We kiss once in a while, but that's about it.” She wouldn't have said that to anyone but Stevie, especially her kids.

“What happens next?” Stevie asked with a look of concern.

“Nothing. We go home,” Carole said, meeting her assistant's eyes. Stevie could see that Carole believed that, but she herself wasn't as convinced. She could see the love in Carole's eyes. Matthieu had brought something magical in her back to life.

“And then what?”

“The book is closed. It's just a gentler epilogue to a story that ended badly a long time ago.” She sounded firm, and as though she were trying to convince herself.

“No sequel to the book?” Stevie asked, and Carole shook her head.

“Okay, if you say so. It doesn't look like that to me though, for what it's worth. He still looks madly in love with you.” And Carole didn't seem indifferent to him by any means, despite what she said to Stevie, and herself.

“Maybe so,” Carole said with a sigh, “but madly is the operative word. We were both crazy then. I think we've grown up and gotten sane. We never had a chance.”

“It's different now,” Stevie pointed out. She had slowly changed her opinion of Matthieu and she saw how much Carole cared for him. He obviously felt just as strongly about her. Stevie liked the way he protected Carole. “Maybe it wasn't the right time.”

“That's for sure. I don't live here anymore. I have a life in L.A. It's too late,” Carole said, looking determined. She knew she loved him but didn't want to step backward in time.

“Maybe he'd be willing to move,” Stevie said hopefully, and Carole laughed.

“Stop it. I'm not going there again. He was the love of my life. That was then. This is now. You can't carry that forward fifteen years.”

“Maybe you can. I don't know. I just hate to see you alone. You deserve to be happy again.” Stevie had felt sorry for her since Sean had died. She had practically been a recluse. And whatever had happened between them before, the time she spent with Matthieu was bringing her back to life.

“I am happy. I'm alive. That's enough. I have my kids and my work. That's all I want.”

“You need more than that,” Stevie said wistfully.

“No, I don't,” Carole said firmly.

“You're too young to fold up the show.”

Carole looked her squarely in the eye. “I've had two husbands and a great love. What more do you want?”

“I want you to have a happy life. You know, ‘Happily ever after’ and all that shit. Maybe the happily ever after took a long time to come in this case.”

“You can say that again. Fifteen years. A very long time. Believe me, it would make a mess. I loved it here then. I don't now. I live in L.A. We have totally different lives.”

“Really? You two never stop talking when you're together. You look more alive than you've been in years. I haven't seen you like this since Sean.” She didn't want to convince her, but she had to admit she liked the guy, even if he was a little austere, and very French. It was obvious that he still loved her. And his wife was gone now. At least he was eligible this time, and single. So was Carole.

“He's an intelligent, interesting man. Brilliant even. But he's French,” Carole insisted. “He'd be miserable anywhere else, and I don't want to live here anymore. I'm happy in L.A. What about Alan, by the way? What's new with him?” It was obvious that she wanted to change the subject, and as soon as she asked, Stevie looked like she had swallowed the proverbial canary along with the croissant.

“Alan? Why?” She looked guilty and vague.

“What do you mean ‘why’? I just was asking how he was.” And then she smiled at Stevie. “Okay. Cough it up. What's going on?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” She was blushing. “He's fine. Great actually. He said to say hi.”

“You are so full of shit you're turning brown,” Carole said, laughing at her. “Something is going on.” There was a pregnant silence in the room. Stevie could never keep a secret of her own. Only Carole's.

“Okay, okay. I didn't want to tell you till I got home. And I haven't made up my mind. I have to talk to him, and see what the conditions are.”

“What conditions?” Carole looked mystified, as Stevie collapsed into a chair like a deflated balloon, with a sigh.

“He asked me to marry him last night,” Stevie confessed with an embarrassed smile.

“On the phone?”

“He couldn't wait. He even bought a ring. But I haven't said yes.”

“Take a look at the ring first,” Carole teased, and Stevie groaned. “Make sure you like the ring.”

“I don't know if I want to get married. He swears he won't screw up my job. He said it will be just like it is now, only better, with papers and a ring. If I do it, would you be my best man, or whatever you call it?”

“I think it's called a matron of honor, if I remember correctly. I'd be honored. I think you should say yes,” Carole volunteered.

“Why?”

“I think you love him,” Carole said simply.

“So? Why do we have to get married?”

“You don't. But it's a nice commitment to make. I felt the same way you do when I married Sean. Jason had dumped me for a younger woman. Matthieu lied to me and himself, and wouldn't leave his wife or his job, and broke my heart. The last thing I wanted was to get married again, or even fall in love. Sean talked me into it, and I never regretted it for a minute. It was the best thing I ever did. Just make sure Alan is the right guy.”

“I think he is,” Stevie sounded glum as she said it.

“Then see how you feel when you go back. You can have a long engagement.”

“He wants to get married on New Year's Eve in Vegas. How tacky is that?”

“Very. But it might be fun. The kids will be in St. Bart's with Jason. I could fly up,” Carole volunteered, and Stevie came over to hug her.

“Thank you. I'll let you know. I'm scared I'm going to say yes.”

“Maybe you're ready,” Carole said, looking at her with affection, trying to reassure her. “I think you are. You've been talking about it a lot lately.”

“That's because he has. He's obsessed with it.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Carole said warmly.

“You'd better be there to hold my hand if I do it,” Stevie said ominously, but she was smiling and looked happy.

“You bet,” Carole promised. “I wouldn't miss it.”

* * *

Carole had dinner with Matthieu again that night. For the first time, they went out. They went to L'Orangerie on the Ile Saint Louis, in the Seine, and she wore the only skirt she'd brought. Matthieu wore a dark suit and had had a haircut. He looked very proper, and extremely handsome, although he was still furious about the comments in the Herald Tribune. He was righteous indignation itself.

“For heaven's sake,” Carole said, laughing at him. “They're right. It's true. How can you be so outraged?” He was like a whore pretending to be a virgin, although she didn't say that to him.

“But no one knew!” He had been so proud of that, and it always irked her. She had hated being hidden and not sharing his life.

“We were lucky.”

“And careful.” He was right, they had been. They both knew they could have turned into a full-blown scandal at any moment. It was a miracle that they hadn't.

They talked about other things over dinner, and the food was delicious. He waited until dessert to open a delicate subject with her. Their future. He had been awake the night before, thinking about it. And the insinuation in the paper did it for him. It was time. They had been clandestine for too long in the past, and deserved respectability at least now, at their age. He said as much to her as they shared a tarte tatin with caramel ice cream that melted in her mouth.

“We are respectable,” Carole pointed out. “Extremely respectable. At least I am. I don't know what you've been up to lately. But I am a very proper widow.”

“So am I,” he said primly. “I haven't been involved with anyone since you left,” he added, and looking at him, she believed him. He had always claimed that she was the only woman he'd been involved with, other than his wife. “The piece in the Tribune makes us look dishonest and sly,” he complained.

“No, it doesn't. You are one of the most respected men in France, and I'm a movie star. What do you expect them to say? Has-been actress and washed-up politician seen going for a walk like two old farts? That's what we are.”

“Carole!” He laughed at what she said, looking shocked.

“They have to sell newspapers, so they tried to make us look more interesting than we are. And they made a lucky guess, or raised a lucky question. Unless you or I tell them, they'll never know for sure.”

“We know. That's enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“Enough to build the life we should have had years ago, and didn't, because I couldn't get out of my own way, and do what I promised.” He admitted it readily now, but hadn't then.

“What are you saying?” She looked worried.

He went right to the point. “Will you marry me, Carole?” He took her hand as he asked the question and looked deep into her eyes. She sat in silence for a long moment, and then shook her head. It took a superhuman effort to do it.

“No, Matthieu, I won't.” She sounded certain, and his face fell. He had been afraid that she would say that, and that it was too late.

“Why not?” He looked sad, but hoped he could change her mind.

“Because I don't want to be married,” she said, sounding tired. “I like my life the way it is. I was married twice. That's enough. I loved my late husband. He was a wonderful man. And I had ten good years with Jason. Maybe that's all you get. And I loved you with all my heart, and lost you.” It had nearly killed her, but she didn't say it. He knew it anyway, and had regretted it for fifteen years. She had gotten over it eventually. He never had.

“You didn't lose me. You left,” he reminded her, and she nodded.

“I never had you,” she corrected. “Your wife did. France did.”

“Now I'm widowed, and retired,” he pointed out.

“Yes, you are. I'm not. Widowed. But not retired. I want to make some more movies, if I get decent parts.” She was excited about that again. “I could be traveling all over the place, just like I did when I was married to Jason, and even when I was with you. I don't want someone at home complaining about it, or maybe even following me around. I want my own life. And even if I don't go back to making movies, I want to be free to do what I want. For me, the UN, the causes I believe in. I want to spend time with my children, and write this book, if I can ever get my computer turned on again. I wouldn't be a good wife.”

“I love you just the way you are.”

“And so do I, love you, I mean. But I don't want to be tied down, or make that kind of commitment. And more than anything, I don't want my heart broken again.” That was the essence of it for her, more than her career and her causes. She was too afraid. She already knew she was in love with him again. It was dangerous for her. She didn't want to abandon herself to him now. It had been too painful last time, although he was no longer married.

“I wouldn't break your heart this time,” he said, looking guilty.

“You might. People do that to each other. That's what love is all about. Being willing to risk a broken heart. I'm not. I've had one. I didn't like it. I don't want another one, particularly delivered by the same man who gave me the first one. I don't want to hurt that much again, or love that much again. I'm fifty years old, I'm too old to start that.” She didn't look it, but she felt it, particularly since the bombing.

“That's ridiculous. You're a young woman. People older than we are get married all the time.” He was desperate to convince her, but he could see he wasn't succeeding.

“They're braver than I am. I lived through you, Sean, and Jason. That's enough. I don't want to do it again.” She was adamant about what she was saying, and he knew she meant it. And he was equally determined to change her mind. They were still arguing about it when they left the restaurant, and he had gotten nowhere with her. This wasn't the way he wanted it to turn out. “And I like my life in L.A. I don't want to live in France again.”

“Why not?”

“I'm not French. You are. I'm American. I don't want to live in someone else's country.”

“You did before. You loved it here,” he insisted, trying to remind her, but she remembered it only too well. That's why he scared her. She was more afraid of herself than him this time. She didn't want to make a bad decision.

“Yes, I did. But I was happy when I got home. I realized then that I didn't belong here. That was part of the trouble with us. Cultural differences, you used to call them. That made it okay for you to live with me and be married to her, and even have our baby out of wedlock. I don't want to live somewhere where they think that differently than I do. In the end, you get hurt trying to be something you're not in a place you don't belong.” He could see now that the pain he had caused her had wounded her so deeply that even fifteen years later, the scars were still raw, even more so than the one on her cheek. The ones he had inflicted had gone too deep. It had even affected how she felt about France and the French. All she wanted was to go home, and live out the rest of her years alone in peace. He wondered how Sean had convinced her to marry him. And then she was abandoned again when he died. Now she had closed the doors to her heart.

They talked about it all the way back to the hotel, and said goodnight in his car. She didn't want him to come upstairs this time. She kissed him lightly on the lips, thanked him for dinner, and slipped out of the car quickly.

“Will you think about it?” he begged her.

“No, I won't. I thought about it fifteen years ago. You didn't. You lied to me, Matthieu, and to yourself. You stalled for almost three years. What do you want from me now?” Her eyes were wide and sad, and he could see that it was hopeless, but didn't want to believe it.

“Forgive me. Let me love you and take care of you for the rest of my life. I swear I won't let you down this time.” She could see that he meant it.

“I can take care of myself,” she said sadly, looking at him through the open car window after she got out. “I'm too tired to take a risk like that again.” She turned away then and hurried up the steps of the Ritz, with the CRS guards behind her. Matthieu watched until she was gone, and drove away. There were silent tears running down his cheeks as he drove home. He knew now what he had feared all this time, and hoped wasn't true. He had lost her.

Chapter 18

Carole was unusually quiet as she sat across the breakfast table from Stevie the next morning, as Stevie ate a chanterelle omelette and several pains au chocolat.

“I'm going to weigh three hundred pounds by the time we go home,” Stevie complained, as Carole read the newspaper in silence. Stevie was wondering if Carole was feeling all right. She had hardly said a word since she got up.

“How was dinner last night?” Stevie asked her finally, as Carole set the paper down. She sat back in her chair and sighed.

“It was fine.”

“Where'd you go?”

“L'Orangerie, on the Ile Saint Louis. Matthieu and I used to go there all the time.” It was one of his favorite restaurants, and had become hers, along with Le Voltaire.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Carole nodded in answer to her question. “Just tired. The walking has been doing me good.” She'd been out with Matthieu every day, and they walked for hours as they chatted.

“Was he upset about the thing in the Herald Tribune?”

“A little. He'll get over it. I don't know how he can be righteous about it. They were right. It's a wonder no one figured it out before, although we were pretty careful in those days. He had a lot at stake, and so did

I. He forgets.”

“It'll probably just slip away,” Stevie reassured her. “No one can prove anything now anyway. It's been way too long.” Carole nodded again. She agreed. “Did you have fun?” This time Carole shrugged. And then looked across the table at her assistant and friend.

“He proposed.”

“He what?”

“He proposed. As in marriage.” Her face was blank. Stevie looked stunned, and then delighted, but Carole didn't.

“Holy shit! What did you say?”

“I said no.” Her voice was painfully calm, as Stevie stared.

“You did? I've been getting the feeling that you two were still in love with each other, and I thought he was trying to get things going again.”

“He is. Or was.” Carole was wondering if he would speak to her again. He was probably hurt by the night before.

“Why did you say no?” Although he had worried her at first, now Stevie was disappointed.

“It's too late. Too much water under the bridge by now. I still love him, but he hurt me too much. It was too hard. And I don't want to get married again. I told him that last night.”

“I can understand the first two reasons, about your being hurt. But why don't you want to get married again?”

“Been there. Done that. Divorced. Widowed. Broken heart in Paris. Why do I need to risk all that again? I don't. My life is easier like this. I'm comfortable now.”

“You sound like me.” Stevie sounded dismayed.

“You're young, Stevie. You've never been married. You should at least do it once, if you love the guy enough to make that kind of commitment.” She was speaking about Alan. “I loved the men I was married to. Jason left me. Poor Sean died, way too young. I don't want to start all over again, especially with a guy who already broke my heart once. Why take the chance?” She loved him, but this time she wanted her head to rule her heart. It was safer.

“Yeah, but he didn't start out to be a shit to you, from what I understand. At least according to what you told me. He got himself tangled up in his own mess. He was afraid to leave his wife, he was a high-up government official, and he got appointed to another term, which complicated things further. But now he's retired from the ministry, and she's dead, he's not likely to make the same mess again. And he makes you happy, or he seems to. Am I right?”

“Yes,” Carole said honestly, “he does. But even if he doesn't make a mess of it again, then what? He dies and leaves me heartbroken again.” She looked bleak as she said it. “I just don't want to put my heart on the line again. It hurts too much.” It had been hard enough losing Sean, and trying to bounce back again. It had been two years. And five years of misery after she left Matthieu in Paris. Every day, she hoped he'd call to say he'd left his wife, and he never did. He stayed. Until she died.

“You can't give up like that,” Stevie said, looking sad for her. She hadn't realized Carole felt that way to that degree. “It's not like you to quit.”

“I didn't even want to marry Sean. He talked me into it. But I was your age then. I'm just too old to do it now.”

“At fifty? Don't be ridiculous. You look thirty-five.”

“I feel ninety-eight. And my heart is three hundred and twelve. Believe me, it's been around the block more than a couple of times.”

“Come on, Carole. Don't give me that. You're tired now because you've been through a terrible ordeal. I saw your face when we came back to Paris to close the house. You loved this man.”

“That's my point. I don't want to feel like that again. I was devastated. I thought I'd die when I flew out of here and said goodbye to him. I cried over him every night for three years. Or two at least. Who needs that? What if he leaves me or dies?”

“What if he doesn't? What if you're happy with him, for real this time, not stolen or borrowed, or hiding out? I mean really happy, in a grown-up partnership and life. Do you want to risk missing that?”

“Yes.” There was no doubt in Carole's voice.

“Do you love him?”

“Yes. I do. Amazing as that is, even to me, after all this time. I think he's wonderful. But I don't want to be married to him, or anyone else. I want to be free to do whatever I want. I know how selfish that sounds. Maybe I've always been selfish. Maybe that's what Chloe's pissed about, and why Jason left me for someone else. I was so busy pursuing my career and being a movie star, maybe I missed the important stuff. I don't think I did, but you never know. I raised my kids, loved my husbands. I never left Sean for a minute before he died. Now I want to do what I want to do, without worrying if I'm offending somebody, letting them down, pissing them off, or supporting a cause they don't like. If I want to get on a plane and go somewhere, I can. If I don't want to call home, I won't. And it won't upset anyone. There's no one at home anyway now. Besides, I want to write my book, without worrying about whether I'm disappointing someone, or they think I should be somewhere else, doing what suits them. Eighteen years ago, I would have laid down and died for Matthieu. I would have given up my career for him, if he'd asked me to. Or Jason for that matter. I wanted to have babies with Matthieu and be his wife. But that's a long time ago. Now I'm not so anxious to give it all up. I have a house I like, friends I like, I see my kids whenever I can. I don't want to sit here in Paris, wishing I were somewhere else. Worse yet, with a man who might hurt me, and already has in the past.”

“I thought you liked Paris.” Stevie looked stunned by her speech. Maybe it really was too late. She hadn't believed that, but Carole had almost convinced her.

“I do like Paris. I love it. But I'm not French. I don't want to be told what's wrong with my country, how obnoxious Americans are, or that I don't understand anything because I come from a different country, which is uncivilized anyway. Matthieu put half our problems down to ‘cultural differences’ because I expected him to get divorced in order to live with me. Call it old-fashioned or puritanical, I just didn't want to sleep with someone else's husband. I wanted my own. I figured he owed me that. But he stayed with her.” It had been more complicated than that, particularly because of his position in the government, but his insistence about it being okay to have a mistress had been typically French, and always upset her deeply.

“He's free now. You wouldn't have to deal with that. If you love him, I don't understand what's stopping you.”

“I'm too chicken,” Carole said miserably. “I don't want to get hurt again. I'd rather walk away before that happens. It always does.”

“That's sad,” Stevie said unhappily, looking at her friend.

“It is sad. It was sad fifteen years ago when I left him. It was sad as hell. We were both devastated. We both cried at the airport. But I just couldn't stay anymore, the way things were. And maybe now it would be something else. His kids, his work. His country. I can't see him living outside France. And I don't want to live here, not full-time anyway.”

“Can't you two compromise in some way?” Stevie asked, and Carole shook her head.

“It's simpler not doing it all. No one will get disappointed, or feel they got less than they deserved. We won't hurt each other, or insult each other, or disrespect each other. I think we're both too old.” She had made up her mind and nothing was going to change it. Stevie knew how she was when she got that way. Carole was stubborn as a mule.

“So you're going to be alone for the rest of your life, with your memories, seeing your kids a few times a year? What happens when they have lives and kids of their own, and hardly have time to see you anymore? Then what? You do a movie every few years, or give it up? Write a book, make a speech now and then for some cause you may not even care about by then? Carole, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard.”

“I'm sorry you feel that way. It makes sense to me.”

“It won't ten or fifteen years from now, when you're lonely as hell and have missed all these years with him. He may even be gone by then, and you'll have missed your chance to be with a guy you've already loved for nearly twenty years. What you two have has already stood the test of tragedy and time. You still love each other. Why not grab it while you can? You're still young, and beautiful, and have some life left in your career. But when that goes, you'll be all alone. I don't want to see that happen to you.” Stevie was deeply sad for her.

“So what am I supposed to do? Give up everything for him? Stop being who I am? Give up doing movies entirely? Give up the work I do for UNICEF? And sit there, holding hands with him? That's not who I want to be when I grow up. I have to respect myself, and honor what I believe in. If I don't, who will?”

“Can't you have both?” Stevie said, looking frustrated. She wanted Carole to have more in her life than her charity work, making the occasional movie, and holiday visits with her kids. She deserved to be loved and happy too, and have companionship for the rest of her days, or however long it lasted. “Do you have to be Joan of Arc, and take a vow of celibacy to be true to yourself?”

“Maybe I do,” Carole said through clenched teeth. Stevie was upsetting her, which was exactly what she hoped to do, but she didn't think she was getting through to her.

The two women went back to reading the news papers, frustrated with each other. It was rare for them to disagree to that extent. Neither of them spoke to each other until the doctor came to see Carole at noon.

She was pleased with Carole's progress, and with all the walking she said she'd done. The muscle tone in her legs was better, her balance was good now, and her memory was improving exponentially. The doctor was confident Carole would be able to go back to Los Angeles when she'd planned to. There was no medical reason why she couldn't. The doctor said she'd come back to see her again in a few days, and told her to continue what she was doing. She said a few words to the nurse, and then left to go back to the hospital.

Stevie ordered lunch for Carole after the doctor left, but she left her alone at the table, and ate lunch in her own room. She was too upset by what Carole had said to her to be able to make chitchat with her over lunch. She thought Carole was making the biggest mistake of her life. Love didn't come along every day, and if it had landed in Carole's lap again, Stevie thought it was a crime to waste it. Worse yet, to run away because she was afraid to get hurt again.

Carole got bored alone at the lunch table. Stevie had said she had a headache, which Carole suspected wasn't true. She didn't challenge her about it, and after pacing around the living room of the suite for a while, she finally called Matthieu in his office. She thought he might be out to lunch, but called him anyway. His secretary put her through to him immediately. He was eating a sandwich at his desk, and had been in a rotten mood all day. He had bitten his secretary's head off twice, and slammed the door to his office after talking to a client who had annoyed him. He was obviously not having a good day. She had never seen him like that. And she was cautious when she told him who was on the phone. He picked up the call immediately, hoping Carole had changed her mind.

“Are you too mad to talk to me?” Carole asked in a soft voice.

“I'm not mad at you, Carole,” he said sadly. “I hope you called to tell me you had a change of heart. The offer still stands.” He smiled. It would stand forever, for as long as he was alive.

“I didn't. I know I'm right. For me. I'm too scared to get married again. For now anyway. And I just don't want to. I talked to Stevie about it this morning, and she tells me in ten or fifteen years I'll change my mind.”

“By then I'll be dead,” he said matter-of-factly as Carole shuddered.

“You'd better not be. What was that? A short-term offer, or a long-term one?”

“ Long-term. Are you playing with me?” He knew he deserved it. He deserved everything she dished out to him now, after what he'd done to her in the past.

“I'm not playing with you, Matthieu. I'm trying to find myself, and honor what I believe in and who I am. I love you, but I have to honor myself, if not, who am I? That's all I have.”

“You always did honor yourself, Carole. That's why you left me. You had too much respect for yourself to stay. That's why I love you.” It was a catch-22 for both of them, for him then, and her now. They were always trapped between impossible choices that had to do with respecting both others and themselves, sometimes both at the same time.

“Will you have dinner with me tonight?” she asked him.

“I'd love to.” He sounded relieved. He'd been afraid she wouldn't see him again before she left.

“The Voltaire?” she asked him. They had been there a hundred times. “Nine o'clock?” It was the standard Paris dinner hour, even a little early.

“Perfect. Do you want me to pick you up at the hotel?”

“I'll meet you there.” She was far more independent than she had been in the old days, but he loved that about her too. There was nothing about her he didn't love. “One condition,” she added suddenly.

“What's that?” He wondered what she had come up with.

“You won't propose to me again.”

“Not tonight. But I won't agree to that long-term.”

“All right. That's fair.” Her answer led him to hope that he might convince her someday. Maybe after she'd recovered fully from her accident, or after she finished her book. He was going to propose to her again one day, and hoped that eventually she'd accept. He was willing to wait, they already had for fifteen years, a little longer couldn't hurt. Or even a lot longer. He refused to give up, no matter what she said.

She arrived at Le Voltaire promptly at nine o'clock, on the Quai Voltaire. The guards were in the car with her, and Matthieu was standing in the doorway of the restaurant when she arrived. It was a crystal clear night with a chill December wind blowing around them. He kissed her on the cheek when she walked up to him, and she looked up at him and smiled. All he wanted to do was tell her he loved her. He felt as though he had waited for her all his life.

They sat in a corner booth, and the restaurant was busy. A waiter brought crudités to the table and hot toasted bread and butter.

They made it all the way to dessert without touching on sensitive subjects for either of them. And after dessert, as they nibbled chocolate mocha candies that she said would keep her up all night, he finally broke down. He had had an idea after he spoke to her that afternoon. If she wasn't willing to agree to marriage, he had another plan.

“Long ago, when I met you, you told me you didn't believe in people living together. You believed in the full commitment of marriage. And I agreed with you. Apparently, you don't feel that way anymore. How would you feel about some sort of loose living arrangement, where you are free to come and go? An open-door policy of sorts.” He smiled at her, as she continued to eat the mocha beans. She had already had enough to keep her awake into the following week, and he had too. But who needed sleep when love was up for grabs? And maybe a lifetime.

“What exactly does that mean?” She looked at him with interest. He was creative, if nothing else, stubborn, and determined, and so was she. It was what had kept them together years ago. That and the fact that they loved each other.

“I don't know. I thought maybe we could come up with something that works for both of us. I'd rather be married to you, to be honest. It fits my notions of propriety, and besides I've always wanted to be married to you. I love the idea of your being my wife, and I know you did too. Maybe we don't need the paperwork or titles now, if that's too restricting for you. What if you live with me in Paris for six months, and I live with you in California for the other six months a year? You could come and go as you please, travel, do your projects, make movies, write, see your children. I'll be waiting for you whenever you want. Would that suit you better?”

“It doesn't sound fair to you,” she said honestly. “What would you get out of it? You'd be alone a lot of the time.” She looked worried as she asked the question, and he patted her hand.

“I get you, my love. That's all I want. And whatever time together you can spare.”

“I'm not sure living together sounds right to me, even now, although we were happy when we did. But it felt too awkward not being married to you, and it still might now.” Besides which, the arrangement he was suggesting wouldn't protect her heart from getting hurt again, or either of them from leaving each other. But there was no way to guarantee that. There were no guarantees. If she was going to risk her heart, she would have to risk it, however they chose to live. But the things Stevie had said to her that morning hadn't fallen on deaf ears.

“What is it you want?” he said simply.

“I'm scared to get hurt.”

“So am I,” he confessed. “There's no way to be sure we won't. Maybe if we love each other, we have to take that chance. What if we just come and go for a while, and see how that works? I could come to visit you in Los Angeles after the holidays.” She knew he was going away with his children, and she wanted to be with hers. And with luck, she'd be going to Stevie's wedding in Las Vegas on New Year's Eve. “I could come out on January first, if that works for you,” he suggested politely. “I could stay for however long you like. And then you could come to Paris to visit me in the spring. Why don't we try to go back and forth for a while, depending on our schedules, and see how that works?” Knowing he had been prepared to marry her, she didn't feel he was “trying her out.” He was doing his best to try to accommodate her, and give her the room she wanted to be herself. “How does that sound?”

“Interesting.” She smiled at him. She wasn't ready to commit to anything. But just looking at him told her she loved him. More than she ever had, just more sanely. She was protecting herself this time. Not doing that created the mess she was in with him last time.

“Would you like to do that?” he pressed, and she laughed.

“Maybe.” She smiled again and ate another handful of mocha beans. He watched her do it and chuckled. She had always been unable to resist their mocha beans. It reminded him of old times. Afterward she had kept him up all night.

“You're going to be awake for weeks,” he warned. He was only sorry she wouldn't be keeping him up that night.

“I know.” She smiled happily. She liked his idea. She didn't feel as though she was selling her soul, or taking too great a risk. She could still get hurt because she loved him, but she wanted to ease into it, and see how it worked for both of them.

“May I come to see you in January?” he asked again, as they smiled at each other. Things were going much better than they had the night before. He realized now that he had moved too fast. After all the pain he'd caused her before, he knew now that he had to move slowly, and win her confidence in him again. He also knew how important it was to her to respect herself. It had always been that way. She wasn't willing to sell herself out this time, for his convenience, or to accommodate his life. She was taking care of herself. And she loved him.

“Yes,” she said softly. “I'd love you to come out. How long could you stay? Weeks? Days? Months?”

“I could probably arrange to stay for a couple of months, but I don't have to stay that long. It's up to you.”

“Let's see how it goes,” she said, and he nodded. She wanted to keep the doors open, in case she wanted to back out.

“That sounds fine,” he said, wanting to reassure her. He didn't want to make any fast moves and frighten her again. He reminded himself too that she had just been through a terrible ordeal and nearly died, which had left her feeling vulnerable and scared.

“I could come to Paris with you in March, after I go to Tahiti with Chloe. And maybe stay here through the spring, depending on what else is going on in my life,” she was quick to add.

“Of course.” She was the busier of the two now, particularly if he retired from his law firm. He was going to take a leave of absence for the time being. The timing was ideal for him. He was finishing most of his projects in the next few weeks, and hadn't taken on any new ones. It was as though he had sensed she was coming back into his life.

He paid the check for dinner, and they were the last to leave the restaurant. It was late, but they had covered a lot of ground. He had suggested something that she could live with. Her heart wouldn't be protected from potential injuries, but she wasn't giving up her life for him. That was important to her now, even more so than it had been then.

He drove her back to the hotel, with her car following them. He almost drove her through the fateful tunnel near the Louvre, and then swerved away at the last minute. It was open again, but he didn't want to take her through it. He had almost forgotten, but she hadn't. Her eyes were wide with terror as he turned away.

“I'm sorry,” he said apologetically, looking at her with loving eyes. He didn't want to do anything to upset or frighten her, in any way.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning over to kiss him. She liked the plans they had just made, and so did he. It wasn't exactly what he wanted yet, but he knew he had to earn her trust again, come to understand what her needs were, and how her life had changed. He was willing to do that for her. All he wanted was to make her happy.

They were back at the hotel five minutes later, and he took her in his arms and kissed her before she got out of the car.

“Thank you, Carole, for giving me a chance again. I don't deserve it. But I promise you I won't disappoint you this time. I give you my solemn vow.” She kissed him again, and he walked her into the hotel, holding her hand.

“See you tomorrow?” She looked at him with a peaceful smile.

“I'll call you in the morning. After I call Air France.”

Her guards accompanied her to her room, and he was smiling as he got back in his car. He was a happy man. And he wasn't going to blow it this time, of that he was sure.

* * *

Stevie woke up at four o'clock, and saw lights in Carole's room. She approached on tiptoe, to check if she was all right. She was startled to see her sitting at the desk, hunched over the computer. She had her back to Stevie and didn't hear her come in.

“Are you okay? What are you doing?” It struck Stevie then that Carole hadn't been able to use the computer since the accident, and she was working fast and furiously on it now.

“Working on my book.” She looked over her shoulder with a grin. Stevie hadn't seen her look like that since before Sean got sick. Happy, working, and alive. “I figured out how to get the computer going, and how to rework the story. I'm going to start all over again and chuck the stuff I had. I know where I'm going now.”

“Wow!” Stevie smiled at her employer. “You look like you're going about a hundred miles an hour.”

“I am. I ate two bowls of chocolate mocha beans at Le Voltaire. I ate enough to keep me awake for years.” They both laughed, and then Carole turned to look at her with a grateful expression. “Thanks for what you said this morning. Matthieu and I figured out what we want to do tonight.”

“You're getting married?” Stevie looked at her excitedly, and Carole laughed.

“No. Not yet anyway. Maybe one day, if we don't kill each other first. He's the only person I know who's more stubborn than I am. We're going to travel back and forth for a while, and see how that goes. Eventually, he'd be willing to live in California half the time. We're going to live in sin for now.” She laughed, thinking of the irony that now she didn't want to get married, and he did. The tables had turned.

“That'll work,” Stevie said happily. “I hope you do marry him one day. I think he's the right guy for you. You must have thought so too or you wouldn't have put up with all that shit years ago.”

“Yeah. I think so too. I just need time. It was a rough ride.”

“Some things are, but they're worth it in the end.” Carole nodded, and Stevie yawned. “How's the book coming?”

“I like it so far. Go back to bed, I'll see you in the morning.”

“Get some sleep eventually,” Stevie said as she padded back to her own room. It didn't look like that was going to happen for a while. Carole was up and running again.

Chapter 19

Carole and Matthieu spent her last night in Paris having dinner at a new restaurant he had heard about and wanted to try. The food was excellent, the atmosphere was romantic and intimate, and they had a lovely time. He had made his plans by then, and was coming to Los Angeles on January second. He was returning from his ski vacation in Val d'Isere with his children the day before. They talked about their respective plans for the holidays, and she told him about spending some extra time with Chloe before Christmas. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

“You really didn't cheat her out of anything, you know,” he reassured her. He still thought Chloe's resentment of her mother was unreasonable, given what he'd seen when she was a child. But Chloe's impressions of that time were different.

“She thinks I did. Maybe that's all that matters. Neglect is in the eye of the beholder, or the heart. I've got the time to spend with her, so why not?” Although they only had a short time before her father and brother arrived.

There was nothing sad about their evening together, because Carole knew Matthieu was coming to California in two weeks. She was looking forward to spending Christmas with her children and Jason. And she was hoping to go to Las Vegas over New Year's for Stevie's wedding. In spite of that, Stevie had already said she would come to Paris with her in March or April. Alan was fully prepared to be understanding. And at some point, Carole intended to try to do without her for a while. Maybe she and Matthieu would take some trips in Italy and France. She was hoping to have made good inroads on her book by then.

When dessert arrived, he pulled something out of his pocket and handed her a Cartier box. It was a Christmas gift that he'd had made for her.

She opened the box carefully, relieved to see that it wasn't a ring box. There was nothing formal about their arrangement yet. They were trying it on for size. When she opened the box, she saw that it was a beautiful gold bangle bracelet. It was totally simple with the exception of three diamonds on it. He had had an inscription engraved inside, which he said was the best part. She held it close to the candle on the table so she could read it, and as she did, tears came to her eyes. It said “Honor Thyself. I love you, Matthieu.” She kissed him and put it on. It was his way of saying that he approved of what she was doing and loved her just as she was. It was a sign of respect as well as love.

She had brought him a present too, and he smiled when he saw that it came from the same store. He opened it as cautiously as she had hers, and saw that it was an elegant gold watch. She had given him one years before that he still wore. Arlette had known it was from her, and had refrained from comment. It was the only jewelry he wore, and she knew it would be meaningful to him. Carole had had her gift to him engraved too. On the back it said “Joyeux Noël. Jet'aime. Carole.” He was as pleased with her gift as she had been with his.

The restaurant was close to the hotel and they walked back to the Ritz slowly, with the guards behind them. Carole was used to them by now and so was Matthieu. They stopped in front of the Ritz and kissed as a flash went off in their faces. They turned, and Carole whispered to him quickly, “Smile.” He did, and then they both laughed and the paparazzi got them again. “As long as they've got you, you might as well smile pretty for the camera,” she said, looking up at him, and he laughed again.

“I always look like an ax murderer when photographers get me by surprise.”

“Remember to smile next time,” Carole said as they walked into the lobby. They didn't care if they were in the papers. They had nothing to hide.

He walked her back to her room and kissed her again in the living room of her suite. Stevie had already gone to bed, after packing up the last of their things. Carole's computer was still on the desk, but she wasn't planning to work that night.

“I'm still addicted to you,” he said passionately, as he kissed her again. He was looking forward to the discoveries they were going to make when he came to California to stay with her. He remembered only too well how wonderful that had been before.

“Don't be,” Carole said softly, in response to his comment. She didn't want the craziness of what they'd shared in the past. She wanted something peaceful and warm, not the agonizing passion they had experienced before. But looking at him, she was reminded that this wasn't Sean. It was Matthieu. He was a powerful, passionate man, always had been, and still was, despite his age. Nothing about Matthieu was quiet or lukewarm. Sean hadn't been either, but he had been a different kind of man. Matthieu was a driving force, and a perfect match for her. Together their energy could light the world. It was what had frightened her at first, but she was growing used to it again.

They were both wearing their Christmas presents from each other, and they sat in the living room of the suite for a long time and talked. It was one of the things they did best, and the rest would come soon enough. Neither of them had dared to brave any greater physical involvement. She had been too recently injured, and the doctor had suggested she wait, which seemed wiser to both of them. He didn't want to do anything to put her at risk, and he was worried about the flight.

Matthieu was coming to take her to the airport in the morning. They were leaving at seven, and she had to check in by eight o'clock for a ten o'clock flight. The neurosurgeon who was traveling with them had promised to be at the Ritz at six-thirty, to check her before they left. He had made the arrangements with Stevie and told her that he was excited about the trip.

Matthieu left her room finally just after one o'clock. Carole looked peaceful and happy as she brushed her teeth and put her nightgown on. She was excited about his coming to California, and everything she was planning to do before he arrived. She had a lot to look forward to in the weeks to come. It was a whole new life.

Stevie woke her at six the next morning. Carole was already dressed and at breakfast when the young doctor arrived. He looked like a kid. She had said goodbye to her own neurologist the day before, and given her a Cartier watch as well, a practical one in white gold, with a second hand. The doctor had been thrilled.

Matthieu arrived promptly at seven. He was wearing a suit and tie as always, and commented that Carole looked like a young girl in jeans and a loose gray sweater. She wanted to be comfortable for the flight. And in case photographers caught her, she had put makeup on. She was wearing his bracelet, and the diamonds on it sparkled on her arm. Matthieu was proudly wearing his new watch, and announced the time to anyone who cared to listen, while Carole laughed. They both looked happy and relaxed.

“You guys are cute,” Stevie commented, as the bellman came to take their bags. As always, she had everything organized. She had left tips for room service and the maids, the concierges who had helped her, and two assistant managers at the front desk. This was what she did. Matthieu was impressed as she shepherded the doctor from the room, carried Carole's computer case and heavy handbag, managed her own hand luggage, dismissed the nurse, and spoke to the guards.

“She's very good,” he said to Carole as they took the elevator to the lobby.

“Yes, she is. She's been with me for fifteen years. She'll be back when I come next spring.”

“Her husband won't mind?” Carole had told him Stevie might be getting married.

“Apparently not. I'm part of the deal.” She grinned.

They went to the airport in two cars, Carole in Matthieu's, Stevie, the doctor, and the guards in the rented limousine. And the now familiar photographers took pictures of Carole as she got into Matthieu's car. She stopped for a minute to smile and wave. She looked every inch a movie star with her brilliant smile, long blond hair, and diamond earrings. No one would ever have imagined that she'd been injured or sick. And Matthieu could hardly see the fading scar on her cheek, with artful makeup.

They chatted easily on the way to the airport, and Carole couldn't help thinking of the last time he had gone to the airport with her, fifteen years before. It had been a devastating morning for both of them. She couldn't stop sobbing on the trip out. She believed then she'd never see him again. In spite of vague assurances she made, she knew she wasn't coming back, and so did he. This time she was all smiles when she got out of the car at the airport, went through security, and went to the first-class lounge with Matthieu, while Stevie checked their bags. Air France had arranged for him to go through security with her, because of who he was.

The doctor took her vital signs discreetly half an hour before the flight. They were fine. He was looking forward to the flight in first class.

Matthieu walked her to the gate when they announced the flight, and she stood talking to him until the last minute and then he took her in his arms.

“It's different this time,” he said, acknowledging what she had remembered that morning.

“Yes, it is.” They were both grateful for a second chance. “That was one of the worst days of my life,” Carole said softly, looking up at him.

“Mine too,” he said, and held her close.

“Take care of yourself when you get back. Don't push too hard. You don't have to do everything all at once,” he reminded her. She had started doing more and moving faster in the past few days. She was beginning to feel like her old self.

“The doctor says I'm fine,” she countered.

“Don't push your luck,” he chided her, as Stevie came to remind her that it was time to get on the plane. Carole nodded and looked up at Matthieu again. His eyes mirrored the same joy that she felt.

“Have fun with your children,” he told her.

“I'll call as soon as I arrive,” she promised. Stevie had given him the details of their flight.

They kissed, and this time there were no photographers to interrupt them. Carole could hardly tear herself away. Only days before she had been frightened to open her heart to him again, and now she could feel herself moving closer day by day. She was sad to leave Matthieu, but happy to be going back to L.A. as well. She could easily have never come home from this trip. They were all aware of it, as she pulled herself away at last, and walked slowly toward the plane. She stopped, turned, and looked back at him with a broad smile, which was the one he had always remembered. It was the movie star smile that made fans swoon all over the world. She stood looking at him for a long moment, mouthed the words “jet'aime,” and then with a wave, she turned and walked onto the plane. It had been a miraculous journey, and she was going home, with Matthieu in her heart. This time with hope, not heartbreak.

Chapter 20

The flight to L.A. was blissfully uneventful. The young neurosurgeon took her vital signs several times, but Carole had no problem whatsoever. She ate two meals, watched a movie, and then turned her seat into a bed, cuddled up under the blanket and comforter, and slept the rest of the way. Stevie woke her up before they landed, so she could do her makeup and brush her teeth and hair. There was a strong possibility that there would be press to meet the plane. The airline had offered her a wheelchair, but she had declined it. She wanted to walk off under her own steam. She much preferred the story of a miraculous recovery to the vision of her return as an invalid, which she wasn't. Despite the long flight, she felt stronger than she had in weeks. Part of it was the excitement of the fresh hope she was sharing with Matthieu, but much of it was simply her own sense of gratitude and peace. She had not only survived the tunnel bombing, but refused to be defeated.

She looked out her window in silence, seeing the buildings, the swimming pools, the familiar sights and landmarks of L.A. She saw the Hollywood sign, smiled, and glanced at Stevie. There was a time when she thought she would never see those things again. There were tears in her eyes. So much had happened in the last two months. It was dizzying to think about as the landing gear touched the runway and the plane taxied to a stop.

“Welcome home,” Stevie said with a broad grin, as Carole looked at her and nearly burst into tears of relief. The young doctor was ecstatic to be in L.A. His sister was picking him up and he was spending a week with her before going back to Paris.

Carole and her two companions were among the first to disembark. A VIP person from Air France was waiting for them to whisk them through customs. Carole had nothing to declare, except the bracelet from Matthieu. And she finally accepted a wheelchair to get her through the long hike to immigration. The walk was too long for her. Customs had already been warned that she was coming through. She had her declaration ready, they told her the amount she owed, and she wrote a check within minutes. And once she handed them the check, an officer checked their passports and waved them through.

“Welcome back, Miss Barber.” The customs officer smiled at her as she stepped out of the wheelchair then, in case there were photographers waiting for her when she came through the doors. She was glad she did, because there was a wall of them there, shouting and calling her name as their flashes went off in her face. There was literally a cheer as they spotted her and she waved, walked steadily past them, and looking radiant and strong.

“How do you feel?… Is your head okay?… What happened?… How does it feel to be back?” They shouted questions at her.

“Great! Just great!” She beamed as Stevie took her arm and helped her push her way through them. They waylaid her for a full fifteen minutes, taking photographs of her.

She looked tired when they got into the limousine waiting for them outside. And Stevie had hired a nurse to stay with her at the house. She didn't need medical care, but it seemed wiser for her not to be alone right at first. Carole had suggested letting her go as soon as the kids arrived, or at least when Matthieu came out. It was just comforting to have someone there at night, and Stevie was going home to her own man, life, and bed. She'd been gone for a long time and was happy to be back too. Particularly given Alan's proposal while she was gone. She wanted to celebrate that with him now.

Matthieu was the first to call Carole, literally as they came through the door. He had been worried about her all day and night. It was ten o'clock at night in Paris when she got home, and one o'clock in L.A.

“Was it all right?” he asked, sounding worried. “How do you feel?”

“Absolutely fine. There was no problem at all, even on takeoff and landing.” Her doctor had been somewhat concerned that the changes in pressurization might do damage or give her a severe headache, but they hadn't. “All the doctor did was eat and watch movies.”

“Good. I'm glad he was there anyway,” Matthieu said, relieved.

“So was I,” she admitted. She had been somewhat worried too.

“I already miss you,” he complained, but he sounded in good spirits, and so was she. They were going to see each other in no time at all, and their life together, whatever form it took, would start again. She had a lot to look forward to.

“Me too.”

“What are you going to do first?” He was excited for her. He knew how much it must mean to her to be back, after all she'd been through.

“I don't know. Just walk around and look, and thank God I'm here.” He was thankful too. He remembered how shocked he'd been when he saw her first, on the respirator at La Pitié Salpêtrière. She looked dead. And nearly was. Her recovery was like being born again. And now they had each other too. It was like a dream for both of them.

“My house looks beautiful,” she said, glancing around, still on the phone with him. “I'd forgotten how nice it is.”

“I can't wait to see it.”

They hung up after a few more minutes, and Stevie settled her in. The nurse arrived ten minutes later, and was a pleasant woman who was excited to meet Carole. Like everyone else who had read about it, she'd been horrified by her accident in France, and said it was miraculous she was alive.

Carole wandered into her bedroom then and looked around. She remembered it perfectly now, and had for a while. She looked out at the garden, and then walked into her office, and sat down at her desk. Stevie had already set her computer up for her. And the nurse went to make lunch. Stevie had asked the cleaning person to order groceries for them. As usual, she had thought of everything, down to the last detail. There was nothing Stevie didn't do.

Stevie sat down and had lunch with her in the kitchen, as they so often did. Carole was halfway through a turkey sandwich when she started to cry.

“What's wrong?” Stevie asked gently, but she knew. It was an emotional day for Carole, and even for her.

“I can't believe I'm here. I never thought I'd come back again.” She could finally admit to the terrible fear she'd experienced. She didn't have to be brave anymore. And even once she'd survived the bomb, the last terrorist had come to kill her. It was more than any one human being should have had to live through.

“You're okay,” Stevie reminded her, and gave her a hug, and then handed her a tissue to blow her nose.

“I'm sorry. I don't think I realized how rattled I was. And even Matthieu … that was so emotional for me.”

“You're entitled,” Stevie reminded her. “You can stand here and scream if you want. You've earned it.”

The nurse cleared away their lunch dishes, and Carole and Stevie sat at the kitchen table for a while. And then Stevie made her a cup of vanilla tea and handed it to her.

“You should go home,” Carole reminded her. “Alan must be anxious to see you.”

“He's picking me up in half an hour. I'll call and let you know what happens.” Stevie looked nervous and excited.

“Just enjoy him. You can tell me tomorrow.” Carole felt guilty for how much of her time and life she had taken. Stevie had always given her way beyond the call of what was normal, or could be considered “duty.” She gave herself body and soul to her employer and her job, beyond what any human being would.

Stevie left half an hour later, when Alan honked twice outside, and as she raced out the door, Carole wished her luck. The nurse helped her unpack, and then she went to sit in her office and stared out the window. The computer was waiting for her, but she was too tired to touch it. By then it was three o'clock, which was midnight in Paris. She was wiped out.

She walked out into her garden that afternoon, and called both her children. Chloe was arriving the next day, and she said she could hardly wait to see her mom. Carole wanted to rest up for her that night, but she wanted to get on L.A. time, so she didn't go to bed until nearly ten o'clock. It was morning in Paris by then. Carole was asleep the minute her head hit the pillow, and stunned that Stevie was already there when she got up the next day at ten-thirty. She woke up when Stevie peeked into her room with a big smile.

“Are you awake?”

“What time is it? I must have slept twelve or thirteen hours.” Carole lay in bed, stretched, and yawned.

“You needed it,” Stevie said as she pulled back the curtains. Carole saw instantly that there was a small diamond on her left hand.

“So?” she said, sitting up with a sleepy smile. She had a headache, and an appointment with both the neurologist and a neuropsychologist that morning. They worked as a team with patients who'd suffered brain injuries. She figured the headache was probably normal after the time change and the flight. She wasn't worried.

“Are you still free on New Year's Eve?” Stevie asked, nearly crowing with excitement, and Carole beamed.

“Are you going to do it?”

“Yes,” Stevie said, looking faintly panicked, and held out the ring for inspection. It was a small but exquisite antique diamond ring that suited her hand. Stevie was thrilled, and Carole was happy for her. She deserved all the joy life gave her, for the love and comfort she gave others, particularly her boss. “We're flying to Las Vegas on the morning of New Year's Eve. Alan booked rooms at the Bellagio for us, and you too.”

“I'll be there. With bells on. Oh my God, we have to go shopping. You need a dress.” Carole started to come alive as she said it. She was excited for her friend.

“We can go with Chloe. You should rest today. You had a long day yesterday.”

Carole got out of bed slowly, and felt better when she had a cup of tea and some toast. Stevie went to the doctor with her, and they talked about the wedding on the way. The neurologist had said she was fine, and told her to take it easy. He was stunned as he glanced through her records, and read the doctor's report from Paris. She had done a final summary in English for him.

“You're one lucky woman,” he told her. He predicted that she would have memory lapses for six months to a year, which was what they had told her in Paris too. She wasn't crazy about the doctor, she liked the one in Paris better. But she didn't have to see him again for another month, just to check in. They were going to do another CT scan then, just to keep an eye on her. And physical therapists were going to continue to work with her.

The doctor who impressed both Carole and Stevie was the neuropsychologist Carole saw in the same office immediately after the neurologist, who had been methodical, precise, and very dry. The neuropsychologist was a woman, who bounced into the examining room to see Carole like a ray of sunshine. She was tiny, elfin, with huge blue eyes, freckles, and bright red hair. She looked like a pixie, and was very sharp.

She smiled at Carole as soon as she walked in, and introduced herself as Dr. Oona O'Rourke, and was as Irish as a leprechaun, with a brogue. It made Carole smile just looking at her, as the doctor hopped up on the table like a sprite in her white coat, and smiled at the two women sitting across from her in chairs. Stevie had been in the examining room with Carole for moral support and to help fill in details she might have forgotten or didn't know.

“So, I hear you did some flying around a tunnel in Paris. Pretty impressive. I read about it. How was it?”

“Not as much fun as it was cracked up to be,” Carole commented. “It wasn't what I had planned for my trip to Paris.” Dr. O'Rourke glanced at her chart then and commented on the memory loss, and wanted to know how it was going.

“Much better,” Carole said openly. “It was pretty weird in the beginning. I had no idea who I was, or who anyone else was. My memory was completely gone.”

“And now?” The bright blue eyes saw all, and her smile was warm. She was an added feature they hadn't had in Paris, but Carole's new L.A. neurologist thought the psychological factor was important, and at least three or four meetings with her were required, although Carole was doing well.

“My memory is much better. I still have some holes, but they're nothing compared to when I first woke up.”

“Have you had any anxiety attacks? Trouble sleeping? Head aches? Strange behavior? Depression?” Carole answered no to all of the above, with the exception of the mild headache she'd had that day when she woke up. Dr. O'Rourke agreed with Carole that she was doing extremely well. “It sounds like you were very lucky, if you can call it that. That kind of brain injury can be very hard to predict. The mind is a strange and wondrous thing. And sometimes I think what we do is more art than science. Are you planning to go back to work?”

“Not for a while. I'm working on a book, and I thought I'd start looking at scripts in the spring.”

“I wouldn't rush it. You may be tired for a while. Don't push. Your body will tell you what it's ready to do, and it may bite back if you push too hard. You could get some memory lapses again if you overdo it.” The prospect of that impressed Carole, and Stevie gave her a warning look. “Anything else you're concerned about?” she asked, and waited for Carole's response.

“Not really. Sometimes it scares me how close I came to dying. I still have nightmares about it.”

“That's reasonable.” Carole told her about the attack in the hospital then, by the remaining suicide bomber who had come back to kill her. “Sounds like you've really been through it, Carole. I think you should take it easy for a while. Give yourself a chance to heal from the emotional shock as well as the physical trauma. You've been through an awful lot. Are you married?”

“No, I'm widowed. My children and ex-husband are coming out for Christmas.” She looked happy as she said it, and the doctor smiled.

“Anyone else?”

Carole smiled. “I rekindled an old flame in Paris. He's coming out right after the holidays.”

“Good. Have some fun, you've earned it.”

They sat and talked for a while, and she suggested some exercises to sharpen Carole's memory, which sounded interesting and fun. The doctor was bright and lively and full of life. And Stevie and Carole commented on it when they left the office.

“She's cute,” Stevie commented.

“And smart,” Carole added. “I like her.” She felt as though she could ask or tell her anything if something unusual came up. She had even inquired about having sex with Matthieu, and Dr. O'Rourke had said it was fine and then warned her to use condoms, which made Carole blush. It had been a long time since she'd had to worry about that. Dr. O'Rourke commented with her impish grin that she didn't need to get an STD on top of everything else she'd been through. Carole agreed and laughed, feeling almost girlish again.

She felt relieved as she left the office that she had a doctor she could talk to, in case she felt the effects of the accident differently now that she was home. But so far she was doing well and felt fine. She was looking forward to the holidays with her family and to Stevie's wedding, both of which sounded like fun.

Carole insisted on stopping at Barney's for Stevie's dress on the way back from the doctor's office. Stevie tried on three dresses and fell in love with the first one. Carole bought it for her as a wedding present, and they found white satin Manolos on the main floor. The dress was long and showed off Stevie's statuesque figure. She was getting married in white. They had found a dark green dress for Carole. It was short, strapless, and the color of emeralds. She said she felt like the mother of the bride.

Chloe wasn't arriving till seven that night, so they had the afternoon to putter around the house and get things ready for her. Stevie was going to pick her up, and at the last minute, Carole decided to go with her. They left the house at six. Her florist had delivered a fully decorated Christmas tree at five, and the house suddenly looked like Christmas.

They talked about the wedding again on the way to the airport. Stevie was so excited, and Carole was too.

“I can't believe I'm doing this,” she said for the hundredth time that day, as Carole smiled at her. They both knew it was the right thing, and Carole said so again. “You don't think I'm crazy, do you? What if I hate him in five years?” Stevie was a maelstrom of emotions.

“You won't, and if you do, we'll talk about it then. And no, I don't think you're crazy. He's a good man, and he loves you, and you love him. Is he okay about not having kids?” Carole asked, looking concerned.

“He says he is. He says I'm enough for him.”

“That'll do,” Carole said.

As they got out of the car, Carole's cell phone rang. It was Matthieu. “What are you up to?” he asked with a happy voice.

“I'm picking up Chloe at the airport. I saw the doctor today, and he says I'm fine. And we found a wedding dress for Stevie on the way back.” It was fun sharing her activities with him. After the night mare in Paris, every minute seemed like a gift.

“Now you have me worried. You're doing far too much. Did the doctor say you could, or are you supposed to rest?”

It was nearly four in the morning in Paris. He had woken up, and decided to call her. She seemed much too far away. He loved hearing her voice. She sounded excited and young.

“He said I don't have to see him again for a month.” As she said it, she was suddenly reminded of when she was pregnant with his baby, and she pushed the thought from her mind. It made her too sad. He had always wanted doctor's reports from her then too, and kissed her belly as it grew. He had come to one of her appointments, to listen to the baby's heartbeat. They had been through a lot together, especially after the miscarriage and when his daughter died. She and Matthieu had history that bound them to each other, even now.

“I miss you,” he told her again as he had the day before. She had been out of his life for fifteen years, and now that she was back, each day seemed interminable without her. He could hardly wait to come. He was leaving the next day to go skiing with his children, and promised to call her from there. He wished that she could join them on the trip, even if she couldn't ski. She had never met his children in the old days and he wanted her to now. She knew it would be bittersweet for her when she did. In the meantime, she was looking forward to spending time with her own.

She and Stevie waited for Chloe to come out of customs. She knew Stevie was coming to the airport, but she looked stunned when she saw her mother.

“You came?” she said, amazed, throwing her arms around her. “Should you do that? Are you okay?” She looked worried, but thrilled, which made Carole doubly happy she had come. It had been well worth the effort to see that look on Chloe's face, of amazed delight and appreciation. She was reveling in her mother's love, which was just what Carole had wanted.

“I'm fine. I saw the doctor today. I can do whatever I want, within reason. This seemed reasonable to me. I couldn't wait to see you,” she said as she put an arm around her daughter's waist, and Stevie went to get the car. Carole wasn't driving yet, and didn't plan to for a while. The doctors didn't want her to, and she didn't feel up to the pressure of L.A. traffic.

The three women chatted on the way back from the airport, and Carole told her about Stevie's wedding plans. Chloe was thrilled for her too. She had known Stevie almost all her life, and loved her like a big sister.

Stevie left them when they got home, and Chloe and her mother sat in the kitchen. She had slept on the flight so she was wide awake. Carole made her scrambled eggs, and they ate ice cream afterward. It was nearly midnight when they went to bed. And the next day they went Christmas shopping. Carole didn't have anything for anyone yet. She had two days to do it. It was going to be a skimpy Christmas this year. But a good one.

By the next day, she had gotten everything she needed at Barney's and Neiman's, for Jason, Stevie, and both her children. They had just come through the door, when Mike Appelsohn called her.

“You're back! Why didn't you call me?” He sounded hurt.

“I just got in the day before yesterday,” she apologized. “And Chloe arrived last night.”

“I called the Ritz and they said you checked out. How are you feeling?” He still sounded worried about her. She'd been at death's door a month before.

“Great. A little tired, but I would be anyway, with jet lag. How are you, Mike?”

“Busy. I hate this time of year.” He made social chitchat for a few minutes, and then got to the reason for his call. “What are you doing next September?”

“Going to college. Why?” she teased him.

“You are?” He was surprised.

“No. How do I know what I'll be doing in September? I'm just happy to be here now. I damn near wasn't.” They both knew how true that was.

“Don't tell me. I know,” he said. She was still touched by his trip to Paris to see her. No one else would have done that but him, on an overnight flight from L.A. “Well, kid, I've got a part for you. A great one. If you don't do this picture, I quit.” He told her who was doing it, and who the stars were. She had a starring role with two major actors and a respected younger actress, and she was getting lead billing. It was a fabulous movie, with a big budget, and a director she'd worked with before and loved. She couldn't believe her ears.

“Are you serious?”

“Damn right I am. The director is starting another picture in Europe in February. He'll be there till July. And he can't start this one till September. He has to wrap up postproduction on the other one in August. So you'd have time off till then to write your book, if you're still doing that.”

“I am. I'm already working on it.” She was thrilled by what he had said.

“There'll be some location shooting in Europe. In London and Paris. They'll shoot the rest in L.A. How does that sound to you?”

“Tailor-made.” She hadn't told him about Matthieu yet. But what he had just said fit perfectly with her current plans, to spend time with Matthieu in Paris, and in L.A. London was the icing on the cake, and she could spend time there with Chloe.

“I'll send you the script. They want an answer by next week. They've got two other actresses lined up behind you, who would kill to do this. I'll messenger the script over to you tomorrow. I read it last night and it's great.” She trusted him. He always told her the truth, and they had similar taste in scripts. They usually liked the same ones.

“I'll read it right away,” Carole promised.

“How are you feeling, seriously? Do you think you'll be up to it by then?” He still sounded worried.

“I do. I'm feeling better every day. And the doctor here gave me a clean bill of health.”

“Don't push,” he reminded her, as Matthieu had. They both knew her too well. She always pushed, it was just her way. She drove herself hard, and had since the beginning of her career, although she had slowed down in recent years. But she could feel her engines revving up again. She'd taken a long enough break. “You'll regret it later,” he warned.

“I know. I'm not that stupid.” She was well aware of what she'd been through and how taxing it had been. She still needed time to convalesce. But she had no major plans for a while. She and Matthieu could take it easy too. And she was going to write the book at her own pace. She had eight months now before she had to go back to work.

“Well, kid. You're going to be back in business on this one.” He was thrilled for her.

“Sounds like it. I can't wait to read the script.”

“You'll go nuts,” he promised. “I'll eat my shoes if you don't.” It was a tall order. He was a big man and wore a size fourteen.

“I'll call you the day after Christmas.” The next day was Christmas Eve, and Jason and Anthony were flying in from New York.

“Merry Christmas, Carole,” Mike said, sounding choked up. He couldn't even imagine it if she were no longer here, if they'd all been mourning her. It didn't bear thinking, and would have been a tragedy to him, and so many others.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Mike,” she said, and hung up.

She told Chloe about the script over dinner, and saw a shadow come over her face. It was the first time she had realized how much her daughter really resented her career.

“We'll be on location in London, if I do it. That would be great, I could spend that time with you. And you can hop over to Paris while we're there.” Chloe's face lightened at the words, she knew how hard her mother was trying, and it meant a lot to her. Whatever her sins of the past were, in Chloe's mind, she was atoning for them now.

“Thanks, Mom. That would be fun.”

They had dinner alone that night. They ordered Chinese takeout, and the nurse went to pick it up. Carole didn't want to waste a minute with her daughter. Chloe slept in her bed that night, and they giggled like two little kids. And the next day Chloe and her mother went to pick Jason and Anthony up at LAX. Mercifully, Stevie was off. It was Christmas Eve, and she'd earned it. She wasn't coming back to work till the day after Christmas.

The script Mike had told her about had arrived that afternoon. She had glanced at it, and it looked great so far, as good as he had promised. She was going to try to read it on Christmas night, after everyone went to bed. But she was already fairly sure she would like it. Mike was right. And the part they wanted her for was fantastic. She had told Matthieu about it on the phone. He was excited for her. He knew she wanted to go back to work. And this sounded like a perfect part for her.

Anthony and Jason were among the first off the plane. Chloe drove them home, and they all talked at the same time on the way back. There was giggling and laughing, and embarrassing stories from Christmases past. They talked about the year Anthony had accidentally knocked over the tree when he was five, trying to trap Santa as he slid down their chimney in New York. There were dozens of stories like that that touched Carole's heart and amused the others. She remembered almost all the stories now.

They ordered pizza when they got to the house, and after the kids went to their rooms, Jason wandered into the kitchen for something to drink and found Carole there.

“How are you feeling, really?” he asked her seriously. She looked better than when he had last seen her, but still pale. She'd done a lot since she got home. Probably too much, knowing her, he thought.

“Good, actually,” she said, looking surprised herself.

“You sure gave us a hell of a scare,” he said, referring to the bombing and its aftermath. He had been wonderful to her then, and she was still touched by all he had said.

“I gave myself a hell of a scare too. It was shit luck, but it turned out okay in the end.”

“Yes, it did,” he said, smiling at her. They talked for a little while, and then he went to bed, and Carole stopped in her office for a few minutes before she went to her room. She liked that time of night, when everything was quiet. She always had, especially when the kids were young. It was private time for her. She needed that.

She glanced at her watch and saw that it was just after midnight. It was nine o'clock in the morning in France. She could have called Matthieu, and she wanted to at some point, to wish him a Merry Christmas. But right now, she didn't. They had time now, lots of it, and he would be in L.A. with her soon enough. She was happy to have him back in her life. He was an unexpected gift. She sat down at her desk, glanced at her computer, and saw the last entries she'd made on her book. She had it sorted out in her head now, and knew what she wanted to write.

She looked out into the garden, with the fountain all lit up, and the pond. Her children were at home, in their rooms. Jason was there, like the loving friend and brother he had become. Their transition from past to present had been smooth. She had a movie to do. Stevie was getting married in a week. She had survived a terrorist bombing, and she had her memory back. Carole closed her eyes and silently thanked God for the blessings she had, and then opened them again and smiled. She had everything she had ever wanted and more. And best of all, she had herself. She hadn't compromised herself in the process or in the course of her life. She hadn't given up her ideals or her values, or the things that mattered to her. She had been true to herself and those she loved. She glanced at the bracelet Matthieu had given her, and read the inscription again. “Honor Thyself.” To the best of her knowledge, she had. She hadn't told her family about Matthieu yet. But when the time was right she would. She knew Anthony would probably object at first, but hopefully he would calm down with time. He had a right to his opinions and concerns for her. And she had a right to her own life, and to make the choices that seemed best for her.

“What are you doing?” a voice behind her asked. It was Chloe, standing in her nightgown in the doorway. She wanted to sleep in her mother's bed again, and it was fine with Carole. It reminded her of when Chloe was a little girl. She had loved sleeping with her mother then too.

“I'm just thinking,” Carole said, turning to smile at her.

“About what?”

“About how much I have to be thankful for this year.”

“Me too,” Chloe said softly, and then came to give her mother a hug. “I'm so glad you're here.” And then she scampered into the hall on her long graceful legs. “Come on, Mom, let's go to bed.”

“Okay, boss,” Carole said, as she turned out the lights in her office, and followed her daughter down the hall to her own room. “Thank you,” Carole whispered, glancing skyward with a grateful smile. It was indeed a merry Christmas that year, for them all.

About the Author

DANIELLE STEEL has been hailed as one of the world's most popular authors, with over 580 million copies of her novels sold. Her many international best sellers include A Good Woman, Rogue, Honor Thyself, Amazing Grace, Bungalow 2, Sisters, and other highly acclaimed novels. She is also the author of His Bright Light, the story of her son Nick Traina's life and death.

Visit the Danielle Steel Web Site at

www.daniellesteel.com.

a cognizant original v5 release october 16 2010

HONOR THYSELF

A Dell Book

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 Catalog Card Number: 2007013851

Dell is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

eISBN: 978-0-307-56651-5

www.bantamdell.com

v3.0

Table of Contents

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

About the Author