The Kiss

“Do you think I should stay here with him?” Cindy asked the doctor. She hadn't come all the way from Connecticut to sit at Claridge's and not be with Bill. Besides, she wasn't entirely sure yet if she trusted them with him. She wanted to watch what they were doing. But at least she was impressed by the care he was getting, from all she could tell.

“I think you should go to the hotel. We'll call you if there's any change in his condition,” the doctor said firmly. He could see that this was a woman he would have to be direct with. There was no messing around, no hiding the facts from her. She wanted to know it all, and would settle for nothing less than that from him. “I promise you, we'll call you.” It had taken another half hour to convince her to leave. Their driver was waiting downstairs for them, and by then, it was nearly four o'clock in the morning. And Cynthia and the girls were exhausted when they left.

She had reserved a room at Claridge's for Olivia and Jane, and she was planning to stay in Bill's room. And as she opened the door with the key they'd given her, she had the same eerie feeling Gordon had had when he walked into Isabelle's room. She felt as though she were intruding. His briefcase was there, there were papers on several tables around the room, and a bunch of brochures from art galleries and museums, which seemed odd to her. When did he have time to visit museums? There were half a dozen American Express receipts too, and she saw that there was one from Harry's Bar, and another from Annabel's. But she also knew that he went there with friends and business acquaintances whenever he was in London. She didn't find that unusual, and it made her cry again when she put on his pajamas. She was suddenly terrified of losing him, and when she called the girls to see if they were all right, they were both crying. It had been an emotional day for all of them, and seeing their father had frightened them even more than it had their mother. It was hard to hold on to hope after seeing him. He looked so severely broken, and nearly dead.

Cynthia couldn't get the sound of the girls crying out of her head, so she put on a bathrobe over Bill's pajamas and walked down the hall to see them. She just wanted to give them a hug, and reassure them. And in the end, she sat down and spent a half hour with them. It was nearly five A.M. when she finally left them and went back to Bill's room. She lay there and cried into the pillow that still smelled of him, and she didn't fall asleep until six o'clock Friday morning.

When Cynthia awoke later that morning, she called the hospital to check on Bill, and they told her nothing had changed during the night. His vital signs were a little more stable than they had been, but he was still deeply unconscious. It was eleven in the morning by then, and Cindy felt as though she had been beaten with lead pipes all night. She checked on the girls, letting herself quietly into their room, and she found that they were still asleep. She went back to her own room, bathed and dressed, and shortly before noon, she was ready to go back to the hospital. She hated to wake the girls, and left them a note instead. She left it in their room, and told them she'd call from the hospital to let them know how their father was doing. She went downstairs to the car they had waiting for her, and gave the driver the address. And he talked about the accident on the way. The driver who had been killed had been one of his best friends. He told Cynthia how sorry he was about her husband, and she thanked him.

She found things much the same once she got to the hospital, and settled into the waiting room after talking to him for a while. She was waiting to see one of Bill's doctors. And as she sat there, she saw a man walk by. He was tall and distinguished looking, wearing a well-cut suit, and he had an aristocratic air of command that instantly caught her eye. He stopped to speak to the nurses at the desk, and she saw them shake their heads and look at him with a discouraged expression. His mouth set in a grim line, and he disappeared down the hall then, in the direction of Bill's room.

Cynthia couldn't help wondering what had brought him here. And later, she saw him come out of a room across the hall from Bill's, and come back to speak to one of the doctors in the hall. And then he left again, but Cynthia had the impression that he was locked in the same agonizing waiting game she was trapped in, waiting to see what would happen to someone severely ill. And she didn't know why, but she thought there was something odd about him. He seemed extremely uncomfortable in the intensive care ward, and she sensed both resistance and anger in him, as though he was deeply resentful that he had to be there at all. He seemed restless and awkward and ill at ease. She commented on it to one of the nurses when she went back into the room to see Bill.

What Cynthia didn't know then was that Isabelle had taken a turn for the worse, and they had just told Gordon that his wife's situation had become markedly less hopeful. Her numerous injuries were getting the best of her, and she was slipping deeper into the coma. They had decided not to operate again, they were certain that she couldn't withstand further trauma to her system. And he had gone back to the hotel, to call his office and wait for further news. He told his secretary he was staying in London over the weekend, without saying why, and then he called Teddy's nurses to check on him. Suddenly, he felt extraordinarily burdened by the responsibility of his son. He had never had to deal with any of that before. And he said nothing to Teddy, or the nurse, about his mother's situation. But Gordon was not pleased that these responsibilities had suddenly fallen on him.

He told the boy he'd be gone for the weekend, and that he was in London with his mom.

“Mommy said she was coming home yesterday,” he said, sounding disappointed. “Why is she staying?”

“Because she has things to do here, that's why,” Gordon snapped at him, but his brusqueness didn't surprise Teddy. His father had never had any interest or patience to offer him.

“She didn't call me. Will you ask her to call me?” Teddy sounded faintly plaintive, and Gordon was irritated. His nerves were suddenly on edge, and he had no satisfactory explanation for Teddy about why his mother hadn't called him.

“She'll call you eventually. She has things to do with me,” he lied to the boy, but he felt he had no other choice. And right now, lying to him was far kinder than telling him the truth. Teddy was too frail to even hear the truth about what had happened, particularly at this distance. If he had to be told eventually, Gordon intended to do so in person, with the boy's doctor present. And Gordon hadn't called Sophie yet either. He wanted to see how things developed. There was no point terrifying them, and if she was going to die without regaining consciousness anyway, he didn't think Sophie should see her. He had made that decision that morning.

“Tell Mommy I love her,” Teddy said as his father rushed him off the phone. He was not enjoying the conversation. He didn't like lying to the boy, nor did he want to tell him what had happened to Isabelle.

And shortly after that, Gordon went back to the hospital himself to see her. When he arrived, he stood in the farthest corner of the room, looking agonized, and observed a variety of things they were doing to her. And unlike Cynthia Robinson with Bill, he did not approach, didn't speak, and never touched her. His revulsion was so great, he simply could not deal with it.

“Would you like a moment alone with your wife?” one of the nurses asked him gently. He looked so uncomfortable that she felt sorry for him.

But Gordon didn't hesitate when he answered. “No, thank you. She can't hear me anyway. I'll be in the waiting room, please call me if anything changes.” And with that he escaped, and went to sit in the waiting room with Olivia and Jane. Cynthia came to check on them after a while, and Gordon had no idea who they were, nor did he care. And he was surprised when Cynthia smiled at him. She looked tired and pale. And she had spilled something on her T-shirt, but the look in her eyes was sympathetic to him.

“I'm sorry about your wife,” she said, she had heard the nurses talk about her, and knew only that she was in a situation even more critical than Bill's. But they had said very little about it to her.

“Thank you,” Gordon said tersely. He had no desire to develop friendships in the waiting room of the intensive care ward. But he didn't want to sit in the horror of Isabelle's room either. He had nowhere else to go except back to Claridge's, which he'd been contemplating when Cindy spoke to him. And then much to his surprise, she held out a hand to him and introduced herself. She could hear that he was American, and felt a strange bond to him. They were both far from home, trapped in desperate situations.

“I'm Cynthia Robinson,” she said simply as one of her daughters dozed, and the other was engrossed in a magazine she had bought in the lobby of the hospital. Neither of them seemed to be paying attention to Cynthia or Gordon. But Gordon's eyes widened in obvious recognition the moment he heard her name, and Cynthia noticed it. “I'm here with my husband. He had a car accident two days ago. We just flew in last night.” He wondered, as he listened to her, if she had a full grasp of their situation. If she did, it didn't seem to upset her. All she seemed to be worrying about was her husband's condition, which Gordon thought was gracious of her. He was far more concerned about what might have brought them together than she was. And Gordon decided to be frank with her.

“I assume you're aware of the fact that my wife was in the car with your husband when the bus hit them.” As he said it, she looked as though the bus had just hit her. And he suddenly realized from the look on her face that no one had told her about Isabelle. She was rendered speechless by what Gordon had just said to her.

“What do you mean?” If it was at all possible, she looked even paler than she had at first.

“Exactly what I just said. They were in the limousine together. I have no idea why, or how they knew each other. I met your husband several years ago, in Paris, but I have no recollection if my wife was even with me. Apparently, they had tea together on Wednesday, and she was in the limousine with him. She is now in critical condition, in a deep coma, and we may never know what they were doing together. I assume your husband is in no condition to explain it to you either.”

Cynthia sat down across from him, in a chair, and looked as though someone had slapped her. Hard. “No one told me. I thought he was alone, with the driver.” Cynthia looked puzzled.

“Apparently not, I'm afraid. She came over from Paris to see some art exhibits. She has a passionate interest in art. And I have no idea what else she did while she was here in London.” Cynthia stared at him as she remembered the art brochures in Bill's room from assorted galleries and museums. “Has your husband ever mentioned her? Her name is Isabelle Forrester.” It embarrassed him to discuss it with her, and it was certainly awkward, but there were questions to which he now wanted answers, and this woman was, at the moment at least, his only way to get them. But she shook her head at the question. She knew even less than he.

“I've never heard her name before. I didn't even know he was in London. The last time I talked to him, he was in New York. But we don't stay in very close contact,” she said quietly.

“Are you divorced?” Gordon asked, intrigued, and she was stung by the question.

“No, but he travels a lot, and he's very independent.” She didn't want to tell him that their marriage had been limping along for years.

“My wife isn't. We have an invalid son whom she has cared for, for fourteen years, and she rarely leaves the house. This trip is the first one she's taken in years, and I think it was quite innocent. I was thinking that she may have just met your husband at Claridge's, in the lobby perhaps. I don't think we should jump to any conclusions. But it seems odd that they were together in a car at two o'clock in the morning.” He seemed almost to be talking to himself.

“Yes, it does seem odd,” she said, looking pensive. There was more than adequate reason to think that Bill might have been having an affair. She had had several herself in recent years, and she and Bill hadn't been physically involved with each other in years. But the woman Gordon Forrester described hardly seemed like a likely candidate for a romantic weekend in another city. Cynthia couldn't even imagine how he'd met her. And she didn't love the idea of their being together. And as she and Gordon talked, she realized that both of her daughters had been listening to the conversation with interest. “It's a shame we can't ask them,” Cynthia said, but she couldn't get the art brochures out of her head now. And then she remembered the receipts from Annabel's and Harry's Bar. Maybe this woman was far less innocent than her husband thought, in spite of her invalid son and the fact that she was married.

“If they die, we'll never know the answer,” Gordon said bluntly.

“If they hadn't had the accident, we would probably never have known anyway. Maybe we just have to accept that,” Cynthia said softly. She wasn't even sure she wanted to know, there were questions she wouldn't have wanted him to ask her, and others she wouldn't have asked him. Particularly now, as he fought for his life after the accident, there were dark corners of their lives that she didn't want to look into. But Gordon was holding up an investigative light and shining it brightly on them both. It was obvious that the mystery disturbed him.

“I don't suppose anyone else will ever tell us,” Gordon said thoughtfully.

“If they're smart, and they were involved in some way, hopefully no one knows,” Cynthia said practically.

“One would hope not. The driver might have been able to tell us.”

“Maybe what we need to do is put it behind us, and not look for the answers. They're both fighting for their lives, and if they survive, maybe that's all we need to know. What happened before may be none of our business.”

“That's very generous of you,” Gordon said, looking less than satisfied with her suggestion. If Isabelle had been cheating on him, he wanted to know. He was far less convinced of her innocence than he had been.

“My husband is a very discreet man. Whatever happened will never come to light. It wouldn't be like him to behave inappropriately or cause a scandal, for you or himself.”

“It wouldn't be like my wife to get involved with another man,” Gordon said somewhat fiercely, more in defense of his pride than her reputation, and Cynthia sensed that. “And I don't think she was involved with him. I'm sure there's some very sensible, innocent explanation.”

“I hope so,” she said quietly, and then looked Gordon in the eye. She wanted him to know where she stood on the situation. “I think you should know that I don't intend to ask.”

“I do however intend to ask my wife if she comes out of the coma. I think they owe us that much.”

“Why? What difference would it make?” she asked, much to her daughters' amazement. “What would it change? And if they die, we don't need to know that.”

“I do. If she was dishonest with me in some way, I think I deserve to know that, and so do you. If not, it would be nice to absolve them.”

“Absolving my husband is none of my business. He's a grown man. I wouldn't like it if he was involved with your wife, but there are some things in life one is better off not knowing about.”

“I don't share your point of view, Mrs. Robinson,” he said tersely, and he couldn't help wondering what kind of marriage they had. In fact, hardly different than his own, but he would never have admitted to anyone that his marriage to Isabelle was a sham, and had been for years. In fact, it wouldn't have been so remarkable if Isabelle was having an affair, she was young and loving and human. Gordon knew better than anyone how very lonely she was, thanks to him. Which was why he wanted to know what she'd been up to, if she had betrayed him, or was simply very foolish and had had dinner with a strange man. But it was late to be out under any circumstances. He couldn't even begin to imagine where they'd been at that hour, or what they'd been doing. At any other hour of the day, he'd have been willing to believe they were at an art show, but not at two o'clock in the morning.

Cynthia went back in to see Bill then, and the girls stared at Gordon in silence after she left. And after a few minutes he went back to the desk to tell them he was going back to Claridge's, and they could call him there if there was any change. He had had enough of the hospital waiting room, and he didn't like Cynthia Robinson, or her liberal attitude about her husband. He probably cheated on her regularly, and she seemed perfectly willing to accept it. And he had no doubt that she cheated on him too. But in fact, as Cynthia stood at Bill's bedside, watching him, knowing what she did now from Gordon Forrester, she felt her heart sink as she looked at Bill. Maybe Gordon could tell himself that they had been together at that hour in all innocence, but with her entire heart and soul, Cynthia didn't believe it. And as she stood looking at Bill with tears running slowly down her face, she wondered if she had finally lost him after all these years. She had been so indifferent to him for so long, and so unkind at times, she knew how cold and distant she had been, how critical of the life he led. She hadn't wanted to be part of his life in years, and now that she had possibly lost him forever, all she wanted was to tell him that she still loved him. She didn't know if she'd ever get the chance again, but all she wanted was to tell him one last time how much she loved him. She hadn't even known that she still did until the night before, but she knew it now, and she wanted Bill to know it too. She couldn't help wondering what Isabelle Forrester meant to him, or if he was in love with her.

And Cynthia knew that if she had lost him finally, because of her own stupidity, she deserved it. She had no doubt about that. She realized suddenly, in the face of losing him, how foolish she had been for so many years.

Chapter 5

Gordon spent Friday night at Claridge's reading a book he had bought on the way back from the hospital. He had nothing else to do. He could have called friends in London, but he wasn't ready to tell people what had happened. He wanted to see what happened to Isabelle first. And he was distracted as he read the book. He called the hospital late in the evening, before he went to bed, but there was no change. It had been forty-eight hours since the accident, and she was hanging on, but that was about it. There had been no improvement yet, she just wasn't any worse. It occurred to him that he could have gone back to the hospital, but he couldn't bear the thought of seeing her in that condition again. He wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, but the sight of her frightened him. He detested hospitals, the patients, the doctors, the nurses, the sounds, and the smells.

When Gordon called, Cynthia was still sitting with Bill. The girls had gone back to Claridge's at dinnertime, but Cynthia had decided to stay. She went to the nurses' station to help herself to a cup of tea from time to time, and they were pleasant to her. But Cynthia had a lot to think about, and she was happy keeping to herself. She was wondering, as she watched her husband fight for his survival, if she would ever get the chance now to tell him the things she wanted to say. She had a lot of explanations and apologies to make for a lot of years. She knew that, although he had never said as much to her, he was probably well aware of all her affairs. Some of them had been fairly obvious, although others had been more discreet.

After a while, once she gave up on their marriage, she just didn't care. And she wasn't even sure now why she had turned away from him with such determination. Jealousy maybe, she thought, for the interesting life he led, and the people he met. She had never liked being dependent on him, and she wondered now if she had wanted to prove to him that she didn't need him. It had always annoyed her that, as a wife on the political scene, she had to behave like an appendage to him, and emotionally at least, she had walked away from him. And he had been so busy and traveled so much, she felt rejected at times. She hated the image of being a suburban mother with two kids, she wanted to be more glamorous and exciting than that. She realized now that she had tried to put excitement in her life in the wrong ways. She knew that now, but her greatest fear was that she had figured it all out too late.

She was still thinking about it at midnight, as she sat in a chair, in the corner of Bill's room, and for just a fraction of an instant, she thought she heard him stir.

“Bill?” She got up and looked at him more closely, the nurses had just left the room to get a fresh IV for him, and she thought she could see his eyelids move as though he were having a dream. She was standing next to him when they returned. They glanced instantly at the monitors, but all was well.

“Is everything all right, Mrs. Robinson?” one of the nurses asked as she switched IV bags, and smoothed the covers over his legs.

“I think so… I'm not sure… for a minute, I thought… it sounds ridiculous … but I thought something moved.” The nurses looked at him more closely, but there was no sign of life, and they took his vital signs again. He had stabilized somewhat that day. It had been almost exactly forty-eight hours since the accident, and Cynthia had been there for twenty-four. It felt like an eternity to her.

The nurse in charge was adjusting his heart monitor, and this time she felt a faint movement in one of his hands, she watched him carefully, and then checked his eyes. She shone a thin beam of light into them, as Cindy watched, and this time there was no mistaking it, he made a small muffled sound, like a soft groan of pain. It was the first sound he had made, and Cynthia's eyes filled with tears as she looked at him.

“Oh my God,” she whispered as he made the same noise again. It was almost an animal sound, and his eyelids trembled as she touched his fingers. The nurse pushed a buzzer that would summon the doctor on duty in charge of the case. A light went on at the desk, and within seconds the attending doctor was there.

“What's up?” he asked the nurse as he strode into the room. He had been on duty for hours, and he looked as tired as Cynthia felt. “Any change?”

“He groaned twice,” the nurse said.

“And I think I saw him move his hand a minute ago,” Cynthia added as he shone the beam of light into Bill's eyes again. And this time Bill made the sound in response to the light. Cynthia was sure of it, and the doctor glanced up at the nurse. There was a question in his eyes, and she nodded at him. They didn't want to say it prematurely to his wife, but he was coming around. It was a major sign, and the first encouragement they'd had in two days.

“Bill, can you hear me? It's me, I'm here…. I love you, sweetheart. Can you open your eyes? I want to talk to you. I've been waiting for you to wake up.” He tried to shift his shoulders then, and this time he groaned louder, presumably in pain.

“Mr. Robinson, I'm going to touch your hand. If you can hear me, I want you to squeeze my finger as hard as you can.” The doctor spoke directly into his ear, leaning close to his face, and then he put a finger into Bill's hand, and waited to see if there was any response. There wasn't at first, and then slowly, ever so slowly, Bill's fingers curled around the finger the doctor had pressed against his palm. There was no other visible sign of recognition from him, but he had clearly heard the doctor's voice and understood his words.

“Oh my God, he heard,” Cynthia said, with tears pouring down her face. “Can you hear me, sweetheart? I'm here … open your eyes, please….” But nothing moved on his face, and then ever so slowly, with his eyes closed, he frowned, and his lips parted, as he ran his tongue around his parched lips. It was like watching a miracle occur as he started to come around.

“That's very good, Mr. Robinson,” the doctor said close to Bill's face. “I want you to squeeze my finger again.” Bill groaned in protest this time, as though they were annoying him, but he did it again, this time with the other hand. Both nurses and the doctor looked at each other victoriously. He was coming back. It was impossible to determine how much he could hear or understand, but he was definitely responding to them. Cynthia felt as though she were going to jump out of her own skin, and she wanted to shove them aside and throw her arms around his neck. But she didn't move from where she stood. She wouldn't have dared risk hurting him.

“Do you think you could open your eyes, if you try very hard, Mr. Robinson? I would like it very much if you could.” The doctor urged him on, and there was no sign from Bill for a long time, and Cynthia was afraid he had slipped into the coma again. He looked like he was asleep. The doctor touched both of Bill's eyelids then, as though to remind him of the command, and his brain of where his eyelids were. Bill let out a small sigh, and then without a sound, he opened both eyes and looked at him.

“Well, hello,” the young doctor said with a smile. “That was jolly good. It's nice to see you, sir.”

Bill let out a small “Hmmm …” and then closed his eyes again, but he had looked right at the doctor for a second or two. It was the best he could do for now. And Bill drifted slowly back into the place where he had been. He had been dreaming of Isabelle.

“Would you like to try that again?” This time there was a sharp groan that clearly meant “no,” but after another minute, he did it anyway. “We've been very anxious to see you,” the doctor said with a smile, and as he said it, Bill's eyes seemed to sweep the room, and he saw Cynthia standing at the foot of his bed, and he looked confused.

“Hi, baby, I'm here. I love you. Everything's going to be okay.” And with that, his eyes closed again, as though it was all too much for him, and he didn't want to see any of them. And a moment later, he went back to sleep. But it had been a major event, and all of them were beaming as Cynthia followed the doctor out of the room.

“Oh my God, what does that mean?” she asked, trembling from head to foot. She had never been as shaken by anything in her life, and the doctor was happy for her.

“It means he's out of the coma, although not entirely out of the woods. But I think it's an enormously hopeful sign.”

“Can he talk?”

“He will eventually, I'm sure. His head injury wasn't such that his speech should be affected. He's just been very badly traumatized.” Bill's neck and spine were his worst injuries, although even the minor concussion he had sustained had kept him in a coma for two days. “His brain needs to adjust to what happened to him. I'm sure he'll speak when he wakes up again. His body has experienced a tremendous shock. It's like getting the wind knocked out of you, multiplied by ten thousand possibly. I'm not worried about his speech.” He was worried about everything else. The real problem in the long run was going to be his spine and the use of his legs. But the fact that he could use his hands was a good sign. He was obviously very weak, but it meant that he would be able to move his hands and arms, particularly once his neck had healed. “I think we can assume he's going to sleep for several hours, and tomorrow we should see some forward movement again. You might want to go back to the hotel and get some sleep, Mrs. Robinson. Tomorrow will be another long day.” But she was so excited, she hated to leave.

“You don't think he'll wake up again? If he does, I want to be here.”

“I think it's far more likely that he's exhausted from the effort he just made. It must have been like climbing Everest for him. He just made the first base camp, and he's got a lot more climbing to do in the next few weeks.” And possibly the next few years, but he didn't want to say that to her. This was just the beginning, and they had a long way to go, but the entire medical team was enormously encouraged by what they'd just seen.

“All right,” Cynthia agreed. “Maybe I'll go back to the hotel.” She hadn't seen her daughters in hours. They had been planning to order room service and watch TV until she got home. She had promised to call them as soon as she got back to her room. And she could hardly wait to tell them what had just happened. When she did, when she got back to Claridge's, Olivia let out a scream of joy, and Jane did a little dance.

“God, Mom, that's so great! Did he say anything?”

“No, he just opened his eyes a couple of times, and moaned. He squeezed the doctor's finger twice, and he saw me standing there. But then he went back to sleep. The doctor thinks he might talk tomorrow. And the nurse said that once he's regained consciousness, he should be alert pretty quickly after that.” Cynthia was hoping he would talk to her the next day.

The next morning, when she got back to the hospital, he was lying in bed with his eyes open and looking around the room, as though he still wasn't sure where he was. He seemed half asleep, as though he'd just woken up, which he had.

“Hi, sleepyhead,” Cynthia said gently as she approached his bed. “We've been waiting forever for you to wake up.” He blinked his eyes at her as though to say “yes,” but he looked sad, almost as though he were disappointed to see her, and had expected to see someone else. She had the feeling that he would have nodded at her, if he could, but he couldn't move his head in the brace around his neck. “Do you feel better today?” He blinked again. And then she ever so gently touched his face. “I love you, Bill. I'm so sorry this happened. But you're going to be okay.” He didn't take his eyes from hers, and then she saw him wet his lips as he had the night before, and close his eyes again. She wanted to offer him something to drink, but she didn't dare. The nurses had left him alone with her for a few minutes. The monitors would warn them if anything went awry. “Can I get you anything you need?” she whispered as he opened his eyes and looked at her face. He looked as though he was worried about something, and she stood next to him so she could hear him if he had anything to say to her. His mouth opened then, but no sound came out. “What do you want, sweetheart? Can you say the words?” She spoke to him as she would have to a child. And he looked frustrated at the difficulty he was having at making himself understood. He lay there in silence for a long time, and then tried again, as though he had been gathering strength while Cynthia talked. “The girls are here,” Cynthia chatted on. “They came to London with me.” He blinked as though to acknowledge her, and then frowned again, as he fought to unlock his jaw. She wondered if the brace on his neck was hurting him. It didn't look comfortable, but he didn't seem to be in any particularly acute pain.

“Where…” he finally whispered at her, as she strained to hear and waited patiently. But he seemed to take forever with the next word.“… is Izzz… ahh … bell?” It had been a huge effort for him, as he stared at his wife. She wasn't even sure Bill recognized her. His entire focus seemed to be on the woman who'd been in the car with him. She also suspected he wanted to know if Isabelle was alive. And his words, so agonizingly formed, and at such effort and cost to him, struck Cynthia like a blow. Asking for Isabelle had been his first words to his wife, and told her all she needed to know.

“She's alive,” she said quietly. “I'll ask the nurse how she is.” He blinked twice then, as though to say thank-you to her, and then he closed his eyes. A moment later, Cynthia walked outside, and her daughters pounced on her as soon as she did. She didn't tell them what he had just said.

“How is he, Mom? Did he say anything?”

“I think he's better. He's trying to talk a little bit. And I told him you were both here.” Cindy was shocked by what he had said to her. His first words had been for Isabelle, and she couldn't help wondering how much Isabelle meant to him. It was surely more than just chivalry that had caused him to ask for Isabelle the moment he woke up.

“What did he say?” They were thrilled. They were ecstatic that their father had survived.

“He blinked twice,” she said, with a smile, covering her own pain.

“Can he talk?” Jane asked, looking like her mother's mirror image. It was Olivia who was the portrait of Bill. They were both like two clones of Bill and herself.

“He said a couple of words, but it's still hard work for him. I think he's resting now.” She sounded strangely subdued as she promised the girls she'd be back in a minute, and then walked to the desk and spoke to the nurse. “How is Mrs. Forrester?” she asked quietly. If nothing else, she could tell Bill what he wanted to know. He had a right to that, if he cared about her, and even if they were just friends. They had been to hell and back together. The least she could do for him was give him news of Isabelle, since he had struggled so hard to ask about her.

“She's not doing very well, I'm afraid. She's about the same. She had a fever again last night. Her husband is with her now.”

“Has she regained consciousness?” Cynthia asked dutifully.

“No, but that's not surprising given her injuries and the surgery the other night.” Cynthia nodded, and thanked her, and then walked back into Bill's room to see if he was awake. But he was snoring softly as she stood next to him. And then as though he sensed her, he stirred and opened his eyes. He had been dreaming of Isabelle again. He had been for two days.

“I asked about Isabelle for you. She's about the same. She's been in a coma, and she hasn't come out of it yet, but I hope she will.” He blinked his eyes as though he wanted to nod at her. And after a long time, he started working on another set of words.

“Thhh … ankk … youuu, Cinnn … I thought… you … were her,” he said, closed his eyes again, and drifted back into a dream about Isabelle. He had no desire to see his wife, or talk to her.

“Do you want to see the girls?” Cindy interrupted his dream again, and this time, he blinked three times, and she smiled. “I'll go get them, they're just down the hall.” And a moment later, they were in his room, chattering at him, and Cynthia actually saw him smile. And when he talked to them, it took less effort than it had before. His ability to speak was coming back, it was just a little slow, but his mind was obviously clear.

“I… love … you, girls….”

“We love you too, Dad,” Olivia said as Jane leaned down and kissed his hand. He had an IV running into it, and another one in the other arm. He was still covered with monitors and tubes, and IVs. But the girls were just happy he was alive.

“Greatt… gggirlsss,” he said to Cynthia when they left.

“You're pretty great yourself” was all she said, and he looked surprised. “You scared us for a while,” she went on. “Do you know what happened to you?” she asked. It had occurred to her that he might not know.

“No.” He had no memory of it at all, only of the evening he'd spent with Isabelle before the accident.

“Your limousine got hit by a bus. It took them a couple of hours, I gather, to get both of you out.”

“I… was … afraid … she … died.” He struggled with the words, and Cynthia couldn't help thinking how odd it was that he was talking about Isabelle to his wife, but he didn't seem to mind. His eyes filled with tears as he looked at her.

“I think she came very close to it.” Cynthia didn't tell him that she still might die. “Her husband is here with her now.” As Cynthia said it to him, it was almost like a warning to Bill that he also had to return to real life. Isabelle had a husband. And he had two daughters and a wife. It was their turn now. He knew that, no matter how much he loved Isabelle, he had a responsibility to them. But he had been dreaming of Isabelle for days.

The nurses came back into the room then, they had things to do to him, and Cynthia went back outside to join the girls. She had to digest what had just happened with Bill. There was no question in her mind. Isabelle Forrester was important to him, she was no stranger, as her husband had hoped, or even a casual friend. Asking about her had been Bill's first words. And his eyes were full of anguish and concern for her. He had even thought he was seeing Isabelle when he woke up, and not his wife.

And as she sat in the waiting room, waiting for the nurses to finish their tasks with him, Cynthia picked up a copy of the Herald Tribune, and saw that there was an article about the bus accident in it, and she was startled to see a photograph of Bill and a woman, next to the photograph of the badly mangled bus. The article said that eleven people had died, and well-known political power broker William Robinson had been in the limousine that had been hit by the bus. The caption under the photograph said that the picture had been taken just moments before. It said that he and an unidentified woman had been at Annabel's, their car was hit only blocks away, and their driver had been killed. But it didn't mention Isabelle's name, or whether or not she'd been injured in the crash. But Cynthia knew as she looked at her face that it had to be her. She looked attractive and young, with long dark hair, and she'd obviously been startled by the photographer as she stared at him with wide eyes. And in the photograph, Bill was smiling with an arm around her shoulders. It made Cynthia catch her breath as she saw them together that way. They looked happy and relaxed, and Bill looked as though he were about to laugh. It brought the potential seriousness of the situation home to her again. She wondered if Gordon Forrester had seen it too. Whatever it was that his wife and her husband had shared, it was unlikely, as far as she was concerned, that it was inconsequential to either of them. Particularly now.

The girls exchanged a glance as they saw her reading the article. They didn't say anything, but they had seen it too. But they couldn't even be angry at their father now, for whatever he had done with her. What had happened was so much more serious that they could forgive him almost anything. And Cynthia felt the same way. What worried her was not what he had done, but the possibility that he really cared about Isabelle. The look in his eyes when he asked about her had told Cynthia that this was no casual affair. She found it hard to believe that they were just good friends. She and Gordon would have been even more stunned to know that they had been confidants for more than four years.

One of the nurses came back to get them then, and Cynthia followed her daughters into Bill's room. She noticed just before the door closed that Gordon Forrester was leaving Isabelle's room. She didn't dare, but she would have liked to ask him if he'd seen the Herald Tribune. But he looked as if he had bigger things on his mind.

Isabelle was showing no sign of recovering, and although the doctor said she could remain in a coma for a long time, Gordon was increasingly worried that she would be brain-damaged if she survived. In addition, they had just told him that her heart was beating irregularly, and she was developing fluid in her lungs. There was a growing risk of pneumonia, and Gordon knew that if that happened, Isabelle would die. The situation seemed to be worsening. He had been there for an hour, talking to the doctors about further surgery, and he was on his way back to the hotel when Cynthia saw him leave Isabelle's room.

It was only after Cynthia and the girls left late that afternoon that Bill asked about Isabelle again. His speech had come back to him through the day. The girls hadn't stopped talking to him, and he had been forced to respond. This time Bill asked his nurse how Isabelle was, and she was cautious about what she said.

“She's about the same, she's still comatose, and her damage is more internal than yours.” He had broken more bones, but all of her internal organs had been compromised. It would have been impossible to decide which was worse. But he had survived, and would now for sure, while Isabelle's life still hung in the balance, her survival unsure. All he could think of was that he didn't want her to die, and would have given his life for hers.

“Can I see her?” he asked quietly. It was all he could think of all day, when he wasn't being distracted by Cynthia and the girls.

“I don't think that's possible,” the nurse said. She was sure his surgeon would object. He had to lie as still as possible. There was no way to get him out of bed with his back and neck injuries, and Isabelle wouldn't be aware of his visit anyway.

But Bill asked his doctor the same question that night. “Just for a minute. I just want to see her, and see how she is.”

“Not very well, I'm afraid,” the doctor said honestly. “Her entire system has been traumatized. I was explaining that to her husband today. He wants her moved to France. I told him that's impossible. In the delicate state she's in, it would kill her to move her now.” Bill felt the doctor's words like a knife through his chest. He didn't want Isabelle taken anywhere, at least not until he saw her again. And certainly not if it put her at greater risk. Forrester was crazy to even think of moving her so soon. The doctor had said as much to him. It wasn't hard to figure that out. “I don't think it's wise for you to see her, Bill,” the doctor said sympathetically. They were on a first-name basis, and he was struck by how pleasant and personable Bill was now that he could talk. He thought him a very nice man. Unlike Gordon Forrester, who had been terse and arrogant, and offended everyone on the floor. He had started out the day by demanding to have her moved. No one would hear of it, and he had backed down when the head of the intensive care ward told him in no uncertain terms that he was out of his mind for suggesting it. And then he explained very bluntly to him that it would kill his wife, so Gordon agreed to leave her there. But the entire staff was sure he would try it again. He was obviously far too stubborn to give up.

“Can't you roll my bed into her room when no one else is there?” Bill asked plaintively, in full possession of his verbal capacities again, and obviously upset. “I want to see her for myself.” The doctor was thoughtful for a long time, and Bill was agitated. The doctor knew nothing of their relationship, and he didn't want to ask, but clearly it meant a great deal to Bill to see Isabelle, and it couldn't do either of them any harm. He just didn't want Gordon Forrester to be angry if he found out.

“They could take me in tonight, couldn't they? I don't have to be there long.”

“Why don't we wait and see how you feel tomorrow? And how she is, as well. Neither of you is going anywhere.” It was driving Bill crazy knowing she was right across the hall. If he could have, he would have wheeled himself in, but he was entirely at their mercy to do that for him. He was trapped in his bed in a neck brace and a full body brace, and he was unable to move. He couldn't even lift his head, and his arms were extremely weak. He had no sensation or mobility from the waist down. And no one had any idea for the moment if it would return. He was as helpless as a baby lying in his bed, but he had a calm but forceful way of convincing the doctor that it was a good idea. “I can see I'm not going to be able to talk you out of it,” the doctor said finally with a smile. It was after midnight by then, and there were no visitors left in the halls. He disappeared then to find Bill's nurse and send her in with some medication, and when she came back into Bill's room, she was followed by two men. Bill looked anxious for a moment, worried about what they were going to do to him, but without saying a word they took their places at the head and foot of his bed and the nurse stood aside as they began rolling his bed slowly toward the door.

“Where are we going?” he asked, looking concerned, and then as the nurse smiled, he understood. The doctor had granted his wish, he was waiting for them in the hall, and he spoke to Bill as he rolled by.

“If you breathe a word of this, I'll put you back in a coma myself,” he said softly, and Bill laughed. “This is highly irregular.” But he thought it would do Bill good, and it wasn't likely to do Isabelle any harm. She would never even know he was there.

It took a little maneuvering, but they got his bed next to hers. He moved his eyes sharply to see her, and he could just see her head swathed in bandages out of the corner of his eye. But if he moved his left arm as far as he could, he could touch her fingers with his hand. The two nurses assigned to her were watching what was happening, and the doctor had instructed them to turn a blind eye. It was obvious to all of them why Bill was there. He held her fingers in his hand for a few minutes, and then he spoke to her, totally impervious to whoever heard him in the room. Tears filled his eyes as he touched her hand.

“Hello, Isabelle … it's me … Bill…. You've got to wake up now. You've been asleep for long enough … you have to come back….” And then in a soft voice, “I love you…. Everything's going to be fine.” They let him stay a few more minutes, and then rolled him back. He was exhausted and pale when he got back to his own room. And as he lay there, thinking about her afterward, he suddenly remembered a dream he'd had, and wondered when it had been. They had both been walking toward a bright light, and just before they reached it, he had forced her to turn back, and she had been very annoyed. Their children had been there, and he had wanted to go back to them. But Isabelle had wanted to go on. And he wanted to tell her the same things now that he had then. She had to come back. He wanted her to wake up. And all he could think of was seeing her again. It panicked him thinking of Gordon trying to take her back to France. It was obvious even to Bill that she was in no condition to be moved. But at least the doctor had reassured him that they wouldn't let that happen. Bill was relieved for her sake, but he also liked knowing that she was nearby.

He drifted off to sleep that night thinking of Isabelle, and there was a smile on his face. Lying in his bed at Claridge's, Cynthia was also thinking of her. And in the room Isabelle had occupied only days before, Gordon Forrester was lying awake in his bed, and thinking of Bill. They all had a lot to ponder that night, and the only ones who knew the answers to their questions were Bill and Isabelle.

Chapter 6

The nurse was feeding Bill when Cynthia arrived the next day. It was Sunday, four days after the accident, and he still looked utterly worn out. But they were both grateful that he was awake, and alive.

“How's it going, babe?” Cynthia asked, looking cheerful and fresh. It was warm outside, she was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, and a pair of sandals she had borrowed from one of the girls. Olivia and Jane were going to spend some time walking around London, and they wanted to go to a flea market. The hours Cynthia spent at the hospital were too long for them, and they were planning to come by later that afternoon.

“How do you feel?” Cynthia inquired as she approached his bed. Because of the angle of the brace on his neck, it was hard for him to see very far. And as she came into his field of vision, he smiled.

“I thought I'd play a couple of sets of tennis today,” he said. He sounded hoarse, but he was able to speak clearly now.

They had just shaved him for the first time, and he felt a little more human again, but he still had a long way to go. He had told the doctor that his vision was blurred, which came as no surprise. The impact to his head had been considerable, and he was going to be feeling the effects of the coma for a while. A specialist was due in to examine his legs and his spine again, and the attending physician had told him they might want to operate, depending on what the specialist found. It was obvious to everyone by then that Bill's recovery was going to take a very long time. And the extent of that recovery hadn't been determined yet. Whether or not he would ever walk again still remained a question in everyone's mind. Bill was aware of it, but it was a subject he and Cynthia had avoided so far, although they both knew that given the damage to his spinal cord, there was a real possibility that he'd be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.

Cynthia was in no rush to discuss it with him, he had enough on his mind. But for the past four days, she had thought again and again about what it would be like to be married to him now. She had no idea if he would ever go back to work, or what his life would be like if he was forced to retire. She couldn't even imagine it, and neither could Bill when he tried. But it could have been far worse, they both knew. He could have been completely paralyzed. And they were both relieved to realize that he would eventually have full use of his upper body and arms. Although whether or not he could use his lower body was an open question that was terrifying him.

“How are the girls?” he asked as Cynthia pulled up a chair and sat down. She could see that he was anxious and tense.

“They're fine, they're going to a flea market today.

They said they'd come to see you after that.” Both girls were immensely relieved that their father had survived. And Cynthia had encouraged them to go out for a change of scene.

“They should go home this week, Cyn. There's nothing for them to do here.”

“We were coming to Europe anyway in a couple of weeks. I don't think they'd want to leave you now.” His wife smiled at him, and for a moment he avoided her eyes. “Maybe I'll take them to Paris for a few days, if you feel better in a couple of weeks. You'll be coming home soon anyway.” But she wasn't as sure of that as she wanted him to think. The doctor had warned her that Bill would be hospitalized for months, and she had asked about flying him to the States in an air ambulance, but all his doctors agreed it was far too soon for him to be moved.

“I don't know when I'll be able to go home, Cyn. And they can't sit here all summer waiting for me. Neither can you.”

“I've got nothing better to do,” she said easily, and he smiled.

“Things must have changed a lot then in the last few weeks. You never stop, Cyn. Aren't you in some tennis tournament, or going somewhere, or giving a party for someone? You're going to go crazy if you just sit around here, watching me.”

“I'm not leaving you here, Bill,” she said quietly. “I'll send the girls back eventually, unless they want to go somewhere on their own. ‘For better or worse,’ remember that part? I do. I'm not going home and leaving you all alone.”

“I'm a big boy,” he said, looking unusually serious, and she saw something ominous in his eyes. It worried her, she was trying to keep things light, but she couldn't stop him from what he wanted to say to her. “I was going to talk to you about that. The ‘better or worse’ thing, I mean. We've had a lot of the ‘worse’ in recent years. It's my fault, I was gone all the time, and I've been so caught up in politics for so long, I haven't been around much for you and the girls.” He felt guilty about it, and had for a long time, but they had established a pattern of distance between them, and eventually it became impossible to turn things around.

“We got used to it. No one blames you for it. I have a life, I have things to do. I'm not complaining about our marriage, Bill.” She looked serious as she spoke to him. The nurse had left them alone when they started to talk.

“You should be complaining, Cyn. You should have complained a long time ago, and so should I. We don't have a marriage anymore. We haven't in years. We don't do the same things, have the same friends. I don't even know what you're doing most of the time, and lately I even forget to tell you where I am. To be honest, I'm not even sure you care. I'm surprised you came over here. I figured by now you'd be just as happy if I got lost one of these days.”

He wasn't feeling sorry for himself, it was all true, and he didn't mention to her that he knew about her many affairs in recent years, although they had talked about the one he had had years before. Cynthia had been furious over it, and said it had humiliated her. But he had been a gentleman and never pointed out to her that her brief flings with her tennis instructors and golf pros and the husbands of her friends had humiliated him for years. Fidelity was no longer an aspect of the marriage she offered him. At first it had been her revenge for feeling rejected by him when he became obsessed by politics, and at times he thought it was a way of getting attention from him, but it had been the wrong way to go. Eventually, he had just detached and forced himself not to care anymore. He didn't say anything to her when he did, because it was easier to close his eyes to what was happening, but he was certainly aware of it, and eventually it had killed his love for her. What he had once felt for her, thirty years before, had been dead for a long time. All that was left was friendship, and he was grateful that she was there with him, but he wasn't in love with her, and that was no longer enough for him. He had realized it during the hours he had spent with Isabelle days before.

“That's a mean thing to say,” Cynthia said, looking hurt. “How could you think I wouldn't come over here after you had an accident? You must think I have absolutely no heart at all.”

“No, baby, I know you have a heart,” he smiled sadly at her, “it just hasn't been mine in a very long time. I wish it had been, and sometimes I wish it still were, but it hasn't been, and I think we have to face that now. I was going to talk to you about it when I got home.”

Cynthia looked at him in pained silence for a long time, with tears in her eyes. She couldn't believe he was saying this to her. It was ironic, just as she had realized that she was still in love with him, or maybe in love with him again, he was telling her that he didn't love her anymore, and that it was over. She wasn't even sure what he was telling her. But so far, the preamble didn't sound encouraging.

“Is this about Isabelle Forrester?” she asked, trying to sound calm. “You're in love with her, aren't you?” This was no time to hide behind words. She wondered if he'd been planning to marry her. It wasn't like Bill to just go off and have affairs, he had only done that once, and never again, as far as she knew. And the affair with the congressman's wife had gotten very serious before he ended it. He had put a stop to it because he knew that if he stayed involved with her, he would have left Cynthia and the girls.

“This isn't about Isabelle,” he said, honest with her. He had to be, for all their sakes. “It's about me. I don't know why we've stayed married this long. Habit, I guess. Or laziness, or some illusion that things would get better, or a willingness to settle, or maybe because the kids were young. But is this the way you want to live? Married to a guy you never see? We never talk anymore, we have no common ground at all except the girls. You have your own life, and I have mine. You deserve a lot better than that, and so do I.” It was true, Cynthia knew, but they were words she didn't want to hear.

“We could still make it work, if we wanted to. I realized once this happened to you, that I still love you. I'm the one who's been stupid for all these years,” and they both knew how and why, she didn't need to spell it out for him. “I think at first I was angry that you had so much fun, and such a big part of your life that didn't include me. So I decided to have some fun too. I did it in all the wrong ways, and I wound up feeling like shit, about myself, and about you. But that could change. I see now how much we still have, how much we love each other.” The tears that were brimming in her eyes suddenly spilled onto her cheeks, and she leaned over and touched his hand. “I was terrified when I thought I'd lose you. I love you, Bill. Don't give up on us now. It's too soon.”

If he could have, he would have shaken his head, but his eyes said the same thing. “It's too late, Cyn. There's nothing left, all we really have are the girls and the fact that we're good friends. That's why you're here. I'd do the same for you. You're not losing me, Cyn. You can't. That's why I want to end it now, so it stays that way. If we hang on, if we keep doing this, we'll wind up hating each other eventually, and I don't want that to happen, for us, or the girls. If we give it up now, we'll always be friends.”

“I'm your wife.” She was fighting for her life now, but she wasn't winning with him, she could see that too. “I don't want to just be your friend.”

“It's better than the alternative. One of these days, you're going to get involved with the wrong guy, maybe one of my friends, or someone I care about, and I'm going to get seriously pissed off at you and him. It won't be pretty between us after that.” He was also amazed that she hadn't caused some real scandals for him, but at least she'd been careful about that.

“I won't do that anymore.” She cried and blew her nose, it was humiliating to have him speak so openly of her indiscretions to her. It was embarrassing to hear that he had known about them all along, she had always told herself that he never knew. And she liked to tell herself that he was probably doing the same thing. But he was too serious for that, too loyal, and too deep, and she knew she should have realized it then. It was why he probably was in love with Isabelle. Because he was a profoundly decent man, and what he felt was far more dangerous. When he loved someone, it was the real thing. “I won't have any more affairs. I'll stop. I swear. I'm not involved with anyone now.” She had broken off her last liaison only four weeks before, after three months, with a man she'd met at their country club. He had a wife and three kids, and he drank too much. He'd been great in bed, in spite of it, but she was afraid he would talk about their affair when he was drunk. And she didn't want to risk the embarrassment he might cause.

“You'll do it again. We both know you will. And maybe you're right. We're both lonely as hell. We're a million miles apart, even when we're together. That's not what either of us wants, or what we deserve.” As he spoke to her, he thought of Isabelle again. He was haunted by worry about her in the daytime, and dreams, where he wandered aimlessly, looking for her, all night long.

“Are you going to marry her?” She ended the question on a sob, and he hated what he was saying to her, but it was time. He had realized it when he was with Isabelle, and in spite of the accident, he wanted to end it with Cynthia now. It was only going to get worse, and it wasn't fair to be dependent on her. She would come to hate him eventually. She wasn't the kind of woman who could spend years, and surely not the rest of her life, nursing a man. And if he wound up in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, that was the last thing he wanted to inflict on her. He had only one choice, he knew, and that was to get out and take care of himself.

“No, I'm not going to marry her. She won't leave Forrester, if she lives. He's a son of a bitch, and he's rotten to her. But she has a very sick child. I told you, this isn't about her. It's about us. You'll thank me for this one day, when you find the right guy. I never was. We had a hell of a good time at first, but we never wanted the same things. And I don't believe in all that ‘opposites attract’ crap anymore, not at our age. At this point in life, we both need people who want the same things we do. You've always wanted a very different life than I. I didn't think it mattered when we were kids, but I was wrong. You need some fun-loving, happy-go-lucky guy who wants to go to parties and has lots of time to spend with you. You don't need a maniac who's obsessed with his work and gone all the time, and worries more about who's going to be the next president than he does about his own kids.” He knew he would feel guilty forever for the time he had missed with the girls, no matter how close he felt to them now.

“You're a great father, Bill. You've always been wonderful to the girls. And they couldn't love you more.” She meant it too, both his daughters worshiped him, even if they were used to his not being around. They had a deep respect for all he did, and were proud of him.

“I wasn't around enough,” he said guiltily. “I know that now. I'll never be able to make it up to them. But I'm going to try one of these days. Maybe I'll slow down a little, for a while.” But it was almost too late. They were both in college, and had their own lives, and he knew that too. In many ways, he had already missed the boat, and those opportunities, once lost, would never come again. All he could do now was be there for them, to the degree they would allow him to be, as adults.

“What are you saying to me?” she asked, blowing her nose again. She looked panicked and distraught.

“I think we should get divorced. It's the only way we'll manage to preserve whatever we've got left. Cindy, I want to be your friend.”

“Go fuck yourself,” she said, and then smiled through her tears. “I never thought you'd walk out on us.” She couldn't believe this was happening to them, particularly now. All she had wanted three days ago was for him to live, and then for a flash of an instant, she could remember thinking that morning in Connecticut, when they first called her about the accident, that if he was going to be crippled for the rest of his life, he should die. She hadn't wanted that to happen to him, or to her, and now it had, and he was leaving her. And she couldn't help wondering if he was just depressed and reacting to the accident in some hysterical way. “Are you sure this is what you want? You've had a terrible shock. It's natural for you to … “

He cut her off before she could say the rest, and he looked calm as he spoke to her. “We should have done this years ago, Cyn. I just never had the balls.”

“Well, I'm sorry you do now. I've been falling in love with you again all week. And now you want out. I'll tell you one thing, Bill Robinson. Your timing stinks,” and then she started to cry harder again, and looked at him with heartbroken eyes. “Why didn't you stop me if you knew what I was doing for all those years? Why didn't you say something?” It was horrifying to realize that he'd known about her affairs. But they both knew it hadn't been his responsibility to stop her, it had been hers.

“I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to face it myself. I told myself a lot of stories at first, that it wasn't really happening. And then I just got used to it. I don't know, Cyn … maybe I didn't want to be that honest with myself. But now I have no choice. It's too late in the day for me to be anything else. I don't have the energy to tell myself a lot of fairy tales anymore. And maybe I'll never have anyone in my life again, after all this, but at least neither of us will be living a lie. That's got to be better. Don't you think?”

“No, I don't,” she said honestly. “I'd rather live a lie than lose you. And we don't have to live a lie. We could try to do it right this time, if you give me another chance.” As she said it, she looked like the girl he had married, and seeing that broke his heart. He almost did wish that he'd confronted her years ago, but he hadn't been ready to then, and it was over for him now.

“It's too late. For both of us. You just don't know it yet.”

“What am I going to tell people?” It hit her like a blow. The whole idea of his divorcing her was so humiliating, she wanted to run away and hide.

“Tell them you finally got smart, and kicked my ass out. You probably should have when I went nuts and started working a hundred-and-forty-hour week. We both did a lot of stupid things. This isn't just your fault.” As always he was being decent, and kind, and fair, which only made it hurt more. She knew what she was losing, and that she'd never find anyone like him again. Men like Bill were very rare.

“What'll I tell the girls?”

“That's another story. That's going to be hard. I think we should both think about it. They're old enough to understand, but they probably won't. No one likes change.”

“Neither do I,” she said in a choked voice. She didn't think about it, but it was going to be hardest for him. He had a long, tough road ahead of him, and he had chosen to face it alone. He had no illusions about his recovery, he knew there was an excellent chance he'd never walk again, and rehabilitation even to the degree he was capable of was going to be agonizing for him, particularly alone. But he also knew that Cynthia wouldn't have been able to tolerate it. Whatever nurturing abilities she'd once had had long since been spent on the girls. She would have gone crazy living with him if he was impaired in any way. Cynthia was not Isabelle. She could never have done, or lived, what Isabelle did for her son. And Bill was willing to face his new burdens alone.

Cynthia stood up and walked to the window then, she was staring into space, looking heartbroken, when the American ambassador walked in. He had heard about the accident, and read about it in the Tribune. He was devastated, and he looked somber and worried when he walked in. And when Cynthia turned, with red swollen eyes, he could see that she was devastated by it too. He had no idea what they'd been talking about, and it never occurred to him that he had walked into a domestic drama, as he hurried to the bed and took Bill's hand with a look of profound concern.

“My God, Robinson, what happened to you? I was supposed to see you last week.” He hadn't been able to believe the news when he heard, and he saw Cynthia and Bill exchange an odd look.

“I got in a fight with a bus moving at high speed. And the bus won. It was a damn fool thing to do,” Bill said with a smile, but he looked tired. The exchange with Cynthia had worn him out, and then he said to her, “Cyn, why don't you hang out with the girls for a while? It'll do you good to get out of here.” She nodded, unable to speak. She didn't want to cry in front of the ambassador, and she knew she would if she stayed. She didn't want to see her daughters either, she thought it would be better to go back to the hotel and cry for a while, on her own.

“I'll come back tonight,” she said, tears brimming in her eyes again as she kissed his cheek. “I love you,” she whispered, and then hurried out of the room, as the ambassador watched her go.

“Poor Cynthia, she's had a hell of a shock,” the ambassador sympathized. He'd known them for years. He was from New York, and had thought of running for the presidency once, and Bill had discouraged him. He'd never have won, but he was doing a great job at the embassy, and he was loving it. He'd already been there for three years, and Bill knew that the president was going to ask him to stay for another term.

“Are you doing all right?” he asked Bill with a worried frown.

“Better now.” In spite of the morning he'd just had. He hadn't been looking forward to talking to her, but he knew he'd done the right thing. He had been planning to do it when he got home. And he knew he couldn't let the accident change his mind. If anything, it had solidified his resolve. And he hadn't wanted to leave her any illusions about him, painful as that was.

“Do you need anything?” the ambassador asked as he sat down. His wife had told him not to stay long.

“Nothing much. New neck, new spine, a good solid pair of legs, the usual stuff.” Bill tried to make a joke of it, but his eyes looked sad, as the ambassador smiled. If nothing else, Bill Robinson was the consummate good sport, and a good man.

“What are they saying to you?”

“Not much. It's too soon to know. I figure if FDR could run the country from a sitting position, it shouldn't make too much difference to me.” But they both knew it did. His entire life had changed in the blink of an eye, not only his political life, but very probably his life as a man. The full implications of the accident were impossible to assess at this point, but aside from not being able to walk, he had no idea if he'd ever be able to make love to a woman again. He had been cognizant of that too when he told Cynthia he wanted a divorce. She would have been absolutely incapable of adjusting to that. But there were even more compelling reasons for them to get divorced, which was what had motivated him. His infirmities were just icing on the cake.

“Do you have any idea how long you'll be here?”

“Probably a long time,” Bill said, sounding depressed. He was very tired. The morning hadn't been easy for him either, and it saddened him deeply to be ending his marriage. He had not only lost his wife, and chosen to, but with the accident, he appeared to have lost Isabelle, his closest friend. When he thought about it, his horizon was looking pretty bleak. He had nothing to look forward to, except a very hard year ahead of him, trying to get healthy again. But at least he was alive.

“Well, you can count on us,” Ambassador Stevens said jovially. “Grace was going to come to visit you too, but she said she'd come another day. She didn't want to wear you out, and she was afraid I would. If you need anything, anything at all, I want you to call the embassy. Just have Cynthia call Grace. I assume she'll be staying with you.” The poor woman had looked distraught when she left. But facing the fact that he might be an invalid forever now, Jim Stevens thought, couldn't be easy for her. “I'll have Grace call her in a few days.” Bill didn't tell him that he was going to tell Cynthia to go back to Connecticut with the girls. He just smiled and let him talk. They were old friends, but he didn't want to share the news of the divorce with him. It was still too fresh. He didn't want to tell anyone till they told the girls, out of respect for them.

The ambassador looked at his watch then, and at Bill, and decided he had stayed long enough. Grace was right. He looked terrible, and within five minutes he left. And to Bill suddenly, the older man who had seemed like his father only days before, now seemed vital and young and full of life, and all because he could walk out of the room under his own steam.

The hours seemed to drag by after that. Bill slept for a while, and the specialist came in late that afternoon. Bill hadn't heard from Cynthia, but he suspected she was at Claridge's, licking her wounds. He was still certain that, however painful this was, she'd be better off in the end.

The specialist didn't have anything very encouraging to say. He spelled all the possibilities out for Bill, from worst case to best. From the X rays he'd seen, and the documentation of the surgery, he thought it unlikely Bill would ever walk again. He might regain some sensation eventually, but enough damage had been caused to his spine that he would most probably never regain full control of his legs. Even if he could feel them eventually, he would not be able to stand. They could fit him for braces, and with training, he might be able to use crutches and drag his legs, but he thought Bill would have more mobility and greater ease if he used a wheelchair. That was the good news. The bad news was that if the nerves degenerated further, combined with the damage to his neck, he might not regain any sensation at all below his waist. Arthritis could set in, and cause further deterioration to the bones, and coupled with what he already had, he could endure a lifetime of pain as well. But at fifty-two, he thought Bill had a good chance of recapturing at least some use of his legs, even if he never walked again. The doctor estimated that Bill's neck would take four to six months to heal, and the rehabilitation work on his legs would take a year or more. There were one or two additional surgeries they could do, but he felt that the benefits would be minimal, and the risks far too great. If they tried to improve on what he was left with now, he could end up fully paralyzed from the neck down, and he strongly urged Bill not to take that risk. He warned Bill that some surgeons might want to experiment with him, and promise him improvements they couldn't guarantee, but he was very outspoken in saying that any surgeon who took it on would be a fool to take the risk, and listening to him, Bill agreed. The picture he painted was a livable but not an easy one, and it took immense courage to face. He told Bill honestly that he would have to work like a dog for the next year to achieve some degree of use of his legs, and he would have to strengthen his upper body to compensate, not to mention the work he had to do on his neck. But with time, and hard work, he felt certain that Bill could lead a good life, if he was willing to make the psychological adjustment to the limitations that had befallen him in the accident. He said bluntly that it was a damn shame, but it was not the end of the world.

And then, reading Bill's mind easily, he answered the question that Bill was still too afraid to ask. It was clear that he would never walk again, and he would be wheelchair bound. But he had no idea whatsoever of what was in store for him in terms of a sexual life, if he would have any at all, and he was silently panicked over it. The doctor explained practically and openly that there was a good possibility that Bill would regain sensation sexually and be able to lead a relatively normal life, although it was still a little too early to tell. He told Bill that it was difficult to predict. But he was hopeful and encouraging, and anxious to relieve Bill's mind, as best he could. Eventually, Bill would have to try it out, but he hadn't progressed far enough in his recovery yet. It was bad enough to never walk again, but the doctor didn't want Bill to lose hope entirely about the rest.

“If your wife is patient for a while,” the doctor said, smiling at him, “things could go very well.” Bill didn't explain to him that in a short time, he would no longer have a wife, and he couldn't imagine experimenting with women he tried to date. But at the very least, he wanted to know that if he chose to experiment sexually, it would work. But no one could promise him that. He would just have to wait and see, which was agonizing. What he was planning to do, once he recovered, was what he had always done, throw himself full tilt into his work. More than ever now, it was all he had left.

After the doctor left, Bill lay in bed and thought for a while. He was severely depressed. A lot had happened in a few hours, and it was a great deal to absorb. It was hard to wrap his mind around the idea that he would never walk again … never walk again … he kept saying the words in his head. But he knew it could have been worse. He could have been totally paralyzed, or dead, his head injury could have left him permanently impaired mentally. But in spite of the mercies he knew he should be grateful for, the possible loss of his manhood seemed to outweigh them all, and he lay in bed, worried and depressed. And as he thought about it, his mind wandered to Isabelle again. He lay there and closed his eyes, thinking of the time they had spent together earlier that week. It was hard to believe it was only four days before. Four days ago, he had been dancing with her at Annabel's, feeling her close to him, and now he would never dance again, and she was hovering near death. It was impossible to believe that he might never talk to her again, might never hear her voice, or see her lovely face. Thinking about it, and everything that had happened to him, brought tears to his eyes. He was thinking about her, with tears running down his cheeks, when the nurse walked in. She knew the specialist had been with him for a long time, and that the news hadn't been good, and she thought he was disheartened over that, and gently tried to cheer him up. He was a handsome, vital man, and she could only imagine what it must mean to him to know that he would never walk again. The nurses had guessed it would turn out that way almost from the first day. His injuries had just been too severe.

“Would you like some pain medication, Mr. Robinson?” she asked, as he looked at her.

“No, I'm fine. How is Mrs. Forrester? Is there any change?” He asked every time he saw one of them, and none of them could figure out if he felt responsible for the accident in some way, because she'd been out with him, or if he was in love with her. It was hard to tell. The only one who knew was the one nurse who'd been there when he visited her the night before, and she had sworn to the doctor she wouldn't say a word about whatever she heard.

“She's about the same. Her husband was here for a little while, and he just left. I think he's going back to Paris for a few days. There's nothing he can do here.” Except be with her, and talk to her, and beg her to come back. Bill hated Gordon as he thought of him. He was so icy cold, and so rotten to her. And then it occurred to him, if Gordon had left the hospital, then he could visit her again, and he mentioned it to the nurse. She knew he'd been in to see her the night before, and their mutual physician had allowed him to, but she had no idea what he'd think about Bill doing it again. But when she saw the look in his eyes, she could see what a hard day he'd had, and how affected he was by it, and her heart went out to him.

“I'll see what I can do,” she said, and disappeared. She was back five minutes later with two orderlies, who unlocked the brakes on his bed, and rolled him slowly toward the door. She had to unhook some of his monitors, but he was well enough now to be without them for a little while, and she knew how determined he was to go across the hall and see Isabelle.

Her nurse held the door open for them, and the orderlies rolled his bed gently across the hall into the room, and placed it next to hers. The shades in her room were drawn, and the respirator was making its familiar whooshing sound, as the nurses backed away into a corner of the room to leave them alone. Bill turned toward her as best he could, which was extremely limited, and took her fingers in his hand again, just as he had the night before.

“It's me, Isabelle … you have to wake up, my love. You have to come back. Teddy needs you, and so do I. I need to talk to you, I miss you so much.” Tears rolled freely down his cheeks as he talked to her, and after a while, he just lay silently holding her hand. The nurses were about to suggest that he go back, as he lay quietly in his own bed next to her, and he looked strangely at peace. He almost seemed about to drift off to sleep, when the door opened, and Gordon Forrester stood looking around the room. Both nurses gave a start, and the orderlies were right outside, as Gordon spoke sharply to his wife's nurse.

“Please take Mr. Robinson back to his room immediately.” It was all he said, and Bill said not a word as they wheeled him from the room. There was no mistaking what was happening there, or why he had been brought to her, and as he rolled past Gordon, Bill felt a ripple of fear. He was sure that Gordon would insist that Bill not visit her again. But if he was leaving for Paris soon, Bill would see to it that he was brought to her again. He was lying in his room, thinking about it, and how lifeless she looked, when Gordon Forrester strode into his room.

“If I find you in her room again, Robinson, or hear that you've been there, I'll have you removed from this hospital. Is that clear?” He was shaking with rage, and his face was pale. Bill was poaching on his territory, and he wasn't going to tolerate it. As far as he was concerned, he owned Isabelle, and he was going to make it impossible for Bill to get anywhere near her, whatever the nature of their relationship was. She belonged to him.

“I'm not impressed, Mr. Forrester,” Bill said quietly, looking him firmly in the eye. “I think Ambassador Stevens would have something to say about my being removed. But I don't need him to fight my battles for me. Isabelle and I are friends, we have been for a long time. She's never done anything you'd disapprove of, I can assure you of that,” other than one kiss that night in the car, but Gordon didn't need to know that, it was only between them. “I'm concerned about her. You're a lucky man. She's a wonderful woman, and I want her to survive just as much as you do, maybe more. Teddy needs her, even more than you do. If talking to her, or being there, or simply willing her to live because I give a damn about her, can possibly help her now, then it's at least something I can do for her.”

“Stay away from her. You've done enough. You damn near got her killed with you. What did you think you were doing, out at that hour? Didn't you have any idea how it would look? You got yourselves photographed by the paparazzi, made fools of yourselves, and of me. I suppose you thought you'd get away with it. Well, you didn't obviously. And now the best thing you can do is stay the hell out of her room, and our lives. We don't need a scandal, involving you.”

“You don't have a scandal involving me,” Bill said, sounding fierce.

“I'm not so sure of that. And whether I do or not, I forbid you to enter her room. Have I made myself clear?”

“Why do you hate her so much?” Bill asked as Gordon reached the door, and then froze and slowly turned at his words.

“Are you insane? I don't hate her. She's my wife. Why do you think I'm here?”

“What other choice do you have? Could you actually not be here and still pretend that you care about her to anyone? Hardly. We both know why you're here. You're here for appearances, and because you have no choice. You're responsible for her. You don't give a damn about her, Forrester, and I doubt if you ever did.”

“You're a son of a bitch,” Gordon spat at him, and then walked out the door. But he couldn't help wondering as he did if that was what Isabelle had said to him, that her husband hated her, and he wondered how much Bill knew about their domestic life. It sounded to Gordon as though he knew far too much.

Bill was still thinking about their exchange when Cynthia and the girls came back to see him that afternoon. The girls had been to the flea market and bought a pile of silly things they loved, and Cynthia had gone for a long, thoughtful walk, thinking of everything he'd said. But neither of them mentioned any of it, or their legal plans, in front of the girls. It was too soon. They stayed until dinnertime, and Olivia fed him with a spoon. He tried to feed himself, but with the cumbersome neck brace on, he spilled his food everywhere, especially the soup.

“What did the doctor say?” Cynthia asked him quietly before they left.

“That you'll be better off,” he whispered to her, and she looked weepy again. “I'm just kidding. He said I could regain some of the use of my legs, with a lot of hard work. It's an interesting challenge. Who knows?

Maybe they'll manage a miracle, and get me walking.” He still wanted to believe that, although according to the doctor, it was by no means sure. “I start therapy and rehab in earnest in three weeks. They want to give everything a little more time to heal before they start.”

“You can come home for that,” she said softly. She was still feeling overwhelmed by his decision, and hoped he would relent in time.

“Maybe. We'll see,” he said noncommittally. He didn't want to say too much in front of the girls. “What about you? When are you going home? Have you thought about it?” Bill asked her, looking subdued. It had been a tough afternoon for him.

“The girls want to stay for the week. I thought I might take them to Paris in a few days, if you're okay, and then I can come back to see you.” She was still hoping he'd change his mind after everything he'd said, but his voice was firm. He had no regrets. He knew he was doing the right thing, for both of them.

“Don't,” he said gently. “I'll be fine. You should go back with the girls. I know you have plans to go to see your parents in Maine.” She had already decided not to come back to Europe again, and after Maine, she was going straight to the Hamptons. “I'll be back in the States soon.” There was a lot he had to do. If he went back, he had to find a rehab facility where he could stay for a while, and then he needed to find an apartment and move out of their house. But it was early days for all that yet. And first, they'd have to tell the girls what they'd decided. He wasn't looking forward to that, and he wanted to tell them with her, so the girls would understand that he and Cynthia would still be friends. That mattered a lot to him, and would to them eventually too. He was sure of it.

Cynthia and the girls went back to the hotel to have dinner, and he lay in his room quietly all night. He would have liked to see Isabelle again, but he didn't want to push his luck, in case Gordon was still in town, and he was tired anyway. It had been a big day. He had been told he would most probably never walk again, “might” have sex again eventually although not certainly, had seen Isabelle, locked horns with her husband, and told Cynthia he wanted a divorce. Except for the accident that had changed all their lives irreversibly, that was about as big as it got.

Chapter 7

Gordon Forrester left London for Paris early Monday morning. He called the hospital before he left, was told nothing had changed, and left for the airport. He was carrying with him all of Isabelle's belongings that she'd left in her hotel room. There was no point leaving her anything at the hospital, he decided. In the state she was in, she didn't need it. And as he flew over the English Channel, he knew nothing more than he had when he'd come. The doctors still had no idea if she'd live, or recover. Her internal organs seemed to be mending slowly, but there was considerable concern over her heart and lungs, and her liver would take a long time to heal. And the blow to her head, although less severe than the rest of the damage, was keeping her in a deep coma. They were sedating her to allow all her injuries to heal. But whether or not she would wake up, or die, or remain in a coma interminably, was a story yet to be told. There were still too many questions, to which no one had any answers. It was a hopeful sign that she was still alive five days after the accident, and certainly each day counted. But she was still in extremely critical condition. And Gordon knew, as he landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Roissy, that he could not put off telling the children any longer. He had waited from one day to the next, hoping for some improvement, but there had been none. And it seemed dangerous to him to wait any longer. Sophie was old enough to know the truth, that she might lose her mother, and whether he was ill or not, Teddy simply had to face it. Gordon was sure that Sophie would be of some comfort to him. He was going to wait until she returned from Portugal to tell Teddy, so that she could deal with her brother. It was not a scene Gordon was looking forward to, or the kind of situation he was good at. And particularly in this case, he had almost no relationship with his son.

As he put his bag and Isabelle's into a cab at Roissy, he thought of Bill Robinson again and their unpleasant encounter. He was still infuriated by the audacity and arrogance of Bill's question, about why he hated Isabelle. It was an outrageous suggestion, and he couldn't help wondering if that was what Isabelle had said. He didn't hate his wife. He had simply lost her in the chaos and abysmal years after Teddy's birth. He could no longer separate her in his mind from the horrors of the sickroom, and all that represented to him. In his eyes, she was no longer his wife, she was Teddy's nurse, and nothing more.

He wondered if perhaps in her mind, thinking that Gordon hated her justified the affair he suspected she'd had with Bill, or at the very least, the flirtation. If they had been to Annabel's together as the papers said, and the photograph indicated, clearly their alliance was not as innocent as Bill Robinson suggested.

Gordon still had a thousand questions in his mind about it, but unless Isabelle recovered, he knew he would never have the answers. Bill Robinson was certainly not going to tell him anything. It bothered Gordon in principle, but in truth he had not thought of her romantically or sexually in years.

Gordon had left instructions at the hospital desk when he left, that Bill was not to be allowed in her room again. The nurse had written it all down very formally, but Gordon had had the uneasy feeling that none of his wishes were going to be followed. They seemed to have an inordinate amount of sympathy for Bill, and none for Gordon. Not to mention a huge amount of respect and admiration for who he was. Bill Robinson was a very important man.

When Gordon left the airport, he went straight to the office and made several phone calls. He explained the situation to his secretary, which he had not done previously, and she did not mention to him that she had seen the photograph of Isabelle and Bill in the International Herald Tribune. She knew better. And at his request, that afternoon, she handed him Sophie's number in Portugal. Isabelle had left it with her when she left for London, just in case.

Sophie was staying at a rented house with friends in Sintra, she was out, so all Gordon could do was leave a message for her. She called him back at six o'clock, just as he was about to leave the office. He took a sharp breath as he picked up the phone, and braced himself for what he had to tell her.

“How was London?” she asked cheerfully. “Did you and Mom have fun?”

“How did you know I went to London?” He had told virtually no one, except Teddy and his nurse.

“I called home over the weekend, and talked to Teddy. Didn't he tell you?”

“I haven't seen him yet. I came straight to the office from the airport this morning,” Gordon said coolly. He was stalling, groping for words.

“I'll call home then. I have to ask Mom something.”

“She can't talk to you,” he said cryptically, dreading this moment. It was a nightmare from which he could not wake. Instead he had to pull his children into it with him.

“Why not? Is she out?”

“No, your mother is in London.”

“That's funny. She stayed?” It was unlike her mother to leave Teddy at all, let alone for six days. Sophie knew her mother had gone to London on Tuesday. “When is she coming back?” She sounded confused.

“We don't know yet.” He took a final breath then and dove in. “Sophie, your mother had an accident.” There was dead silence at the other end of the phone, as she waited, and her heart was pounding. Something about the way he said it was terrifying. “A very serious accident. I think you should come home.”

“What happened? Is she all right?” She was so breathless, she could hardly squeeze out the words.

“She was in a car that was in an accident with a bus.” There was no avoiding the truth now. “She's in a coma. They don't know what's going to happen. She has very serious internal injuries. She may not survive. I'm sorry to tell you on the phone. But I want you to make arrangements to come back to Paris as soon as possible.” In spite of his feelings for Sophie, and allegedly for Isabelle, he sounded as though he were planning a business meeting. Gordon was doing everything he could not to feel his daughter's pain. It was an indulgence he could not allow himself.

“Oh my God … oh my God …” Sophie sounded on the verge of hysterics, which was unlike her. She was normally cool and calm and sensible and relatively unemotional, like her father. But what he had just said to her exceeded her worst nightmares. All her life she had been preparing to lose her brother, but never her mother, whom she loved more than she'd ever wanted to admit to herself. This had been the farthest thing from her mind when her father called her. “Oh my God, Daddy, do you think she'll die?” He could hear that Sophie was crying, and for a moment, he didn't know what to say.

“It's possible,” he said, looking uncomfortable as he sat in his office staring into space. He was thinking back to when his own mother had died, and doing all he could to push the memories away. “It's a hopeful sign that she's still alive, but she's in very critical condition, and there's been no improvement,” he said honestly as Sophie cried harder, and could not stop sobbing while he waited, and he could think of nothing to say to reassure her. He didn't want to lie to her and hold out false hopes, and the truth was that Isabelle could die at any moment. Sophie had to face that, as would Teddy.

And then she thought of something with a ripple of fear. “Does Teddy know?” He had sounded fine on the weekend, and he had never lied to her before. Sophie couldn't imagine Teddy keeping that kind of secret from her, or sounding as cheerful as he had when she called.

“No, he doesn't know. I want to wait and tell him when you get home. I think you should get off the phone now and make the arrangements. Can someone there help you?”

“I don't know,” she said, sounding disoriented. “I want to go to London to see Mommy.” She sounded like a five-year-old, and suddenly felt like an orphan.

“I want you to come home first,” he said firmly. He wanted her with him when he told Teddy. He did not intend to shoulder that burden alone.

“All right,” she said, still crying uncontrollably.

“Call me when you know when you're arriving. I'll have someone pick you up.” It never dawned on him to do it himself, even under these circumstances. Being distant and aloof was so natural to him that he found it impossible to break through his walls, even for his daughter, but she had always known that about him. They all did, although she was the closest to him.

“I'll try to come home tonight,” she said, sounding distracted. She was two hours from Lisbon, but she might be able to catch a late flight out, if she hurried. Otherwise, she'd have to wait till the next morning.

They hung up a moment later, and Gordon had his driver take him back to the house. It was the first he had seen of Teddy in four days, and the boy seemed in good spirits, but he asked for his mother the moment he saw Gordon in the doorway of his room.

“Where's Mom? Is she downstairs?” His eyes filled with light as he said her name.

“No, she's not,” Gordon said vaguely, trying to stall him by looking austere. “I think Sophie's coming back from Portugal tonight.”

“She is?” The boy looked surprised, but the diversion had worked, for an instant. “Mommy said Sophie would be gone for two weeks. Why is she coming back early?” She hadn't mentioned it on the phone on Saturday, and instinctively he sensed something. And then, like a dog returning to a bone, he asked the same question again. “Where's Mom?” Gordon didn't dare tell him she was still in London, he'd know something was wrong. Teddy was too bright and sensitive to fool for long. All Gordon could hope was that Sophie would be home soon to help him tell the boy.

“I'll see you in a little while,” Gordon said, without answering him. “I have to make some calls.” And with that, he left Teddy's room and disappeared. But it was obvious that his son was worried. Gordon looked grim as he strode down the hall to his own room.

“Where's my mother?” Gordon heard him ask the nurse, as he closed the door. It was going to be a long night until Sophie got home. He decided to solve the problem by staying downstairs, in the library, and was stunned an hour later, when he looked up and saw Teddy walk slowly into the room. He had insisted on coming downstairs himself, and the nurse had been unable to stop him. He looked agitated and very pale.

“Something's wrong,” Teddy said quietly, leaning breathlessly against a chair as he looked his father in the eye. Gordon had been dismissive of him all his life, but this time he was not going to be put off. He had a determined look that reminded Gordon of Isabelle. He had never seen Teddy look that way before. And for the first time, he noticed that Teddy no longer looked like a child. “I want to know where my mother is,” he said as he sat down. He was prepared to wait all night, if he had to, for an answer. They would have had to drag or carry him from the room.

Gordon looked irritated to cover his own fright. The boy had always made him uncomfortable, he was so ephemeral and so frail, but he was looking better than he had in a long time. Six months before he would have been unable to come downstairs. But there was no avoiding him now, as Gordon sighed.

“Your mother is in London,” he said honestly, and prayed he wouldn't have to say more. But that was almost too much to hope for as he met his son's eyes.

“Why?”

“She went there to see an art exhibit,” Gordon said, looking away, and trying to will him into silence.

“I know. That was six days ago. Why didn't she come back with you?” With that, Gordon raised his eyes and felt as though he were seeing his son for the first time. He had spent a lifetime shutting him out and trying to resist him. And now he couldn't avoid Teddy's intense gaze.

He was a beautiful boy, but everything had always been wrong with him. And his infirmities had terrified his father. And now, in spite of himself, seeing the look of anguish in Teddy's eyes touched Gordon. He couldn't put off telling him the truth anymore, but he didn't want to be responsible for impacting his health. Teddy's existence always seemed to hang by a thread, and Gordon didn't want to be the one to sever his lifeline with disastrous news about the mother he adored.

“She had an accident,” Gordon said in a low voice, and he could hear Teddy catch his breath, without looking at him. He couldn't bear the sight of what he knew he would see in the boy's eyes.

“Is she all right?” Teddy's voice was the merest whisper. He already knew something was wrong, but was terrified of what his father would say to him.

“She will be all right, I hope. We don't know yet. She's very ill. I'm sorry,” Gordon said stiffly, but at least Teddy didn't cry. He just sat there breathing carefully and watching his father, as he waited for more.

“You can't let her die,” he said in a whisper, as though Gordon had some power to change it.

“It's not in my control. You know I don't want anything to happen to her.” But the look in Teddy's eyes spoke volumes. He knew too much about his mother's unhappiness, although she had never explained it to him. It was the second time in two days that someone had accused Gordon of being unkind to Isabelle, and he didn't like it.

“Is that why Sophie is coming home?” Teddy asked, and Gordon nodded. He sat across the room from the boy. It never dawned on him to walk across the room and put his arms around him. It would have been totally foreign to him to do anything like that, unlike Isabelle, who would have been holding Teddy close to her then, if Gordon had had the accident instead. Even Gordon knew that. “I want to go to London with Sophie, or with you,” Teddy said with a determined look. “When are you going back?” He was sure he would. He couldn't bear the thought of his mother being there alone.

“I don't know,” Gordon said honestly. “I thought I should come home to you.” Teddy didn't acknowledge what he said. He was still trying to absorb and assimilate what his father had just told him. Gordon was stunned and impressed that the boy wasn't crying. Teddy was braver than he'd thought.

“I want to talk to her. Can we call her now?” Teddy asked, and his father shook his head.

“No, we can't. She's been unconscious since the accident. She's in a coma, from a blow to her head.”

“Oh, no!” Teddy said, suddenly envisioning her as desperately injured as she was, and he started to cry finally. The full impact had suddenly hit him. “I want to go now,” he said, looking agitated.

“She won't know you're there,” Gordon said practically, “and it wouldn't be good for you. You're not strong enough to make the trip.” It was a reality of Teddy's life, no matter how sick his mother was, or how dire her condition. A trip to London was not an option for Teddy.

“Yes, I am strong enough,” Teddy said ferociously, wiping his eyes bravely. “She needs us at the hospital with her. She's always there for me. We can't leave her alone, Papa. We can't do that to her.” He suddenly looked like a child again as he cried, feeling helpless.

“Let's wait until Sophie gets home,” Gordon said, looking tired. “Why don't you go upstairs and rest? This isn't good for you,” he told him, as though he were an adult, but Teddy didn't care. All he wanted now was to go to his mother's side. Nothing was going to stop him. He was still talking about it as he walked to the little elevator they'd mounted for him at the side of the stairs. It had been there for years. And as Teddy lay on his bed, talking to the nurse, once he got back to his room, his eyes were wild. He couldn't stop talking, and after dinner, the nurse took his temperature and he had a fever. He had gotten too excited, which was dangerous for him. It was precisely the kind of reaction Gordon had expected Teddy to have when he heard the news.

Teddy was still wide awake when Sophie came home late that night. She had managed to catch an eight o'clock flight, and by midnight, she was back in Paris.

Gordon was waiting up for her, and he met her in the front hall when he heard the car outside. She catapulted into his arms the moment she saw him and started crying.

“Oh, Papa … please don't let her die….” He had never seen her so upset, understandably, and as soon as she'd calmed down a little bit, she went upstairs to see Teddy. He was waiting for her in his bed. And the two embraced as though they hadn't seen each other in years. The most terrible, unthinkable thing had happened to them. Neither of them could imagine it. It was beyond bearing, beyond thinking. They cried for a long time in each other's arms, until their father finally walked into the room, looking exhausted. The emotions of the day had taken a toll on him, as well as his children.

“I'm coming to London with you to see Mom,” Teddy said to Sophie quietly, as their father stood watching them, looking grim. Their reaction had been even worse than he'd feared.

“I don't think he should,” Gordon said somberly. “It'll just make him sicker than he is.” He spoke of Teddy as though he couldn't hear him.

“Mom wouldn't like that,” Sophie said, smoothing her brother's tousled hair, and just touching him, she could feel he was too warm. “She'd be very upset if you got sick, and that won't be good for her when she wakes up,” Sophie said sensibly, stressing the word “when” and not “if.” Teddy looked at her with huge eyes.

“I want to see her anyway, even if she's in a coma. She'll know I'm there.” It was the same theory Bill had, but their father didn't agree. He thought that Teddy's seeing her was pointless.

“She doesn't know anyone's there,” Gordon said calmly. He was sure of that, he didn't believe that people in comas heard things, or sensed what was happening. Especially after seeing her, he was convinced that was nonsense, and he was not going to allow the boy to go. It would be insane, and too great a risk for anyone to take him there, he was much too frail to travel, or even leave the house.

“Then why are you going if she won't know you're there?” Teddy asked Sophie pointedly.

“She's not sick,” Gordon said sensibly. “And I think she should. I'll stay here with you.”

“You're not going back, Papa?” Sophie looked shocked, but didn't say anything when he shook his head.

“Not yet. I'll wait till you come home. You can go tomorrow for the day if you want, or spend the night, whatever you prefer.”

“I thought I'd stay a little while, maybe a few days.”

“We'll see how she is, but don't stay too long,” Gordon said, and then left the room. He had no intention of being alone in the house with his son for an extended period of time. He wanted Sophie to take over his care, and she couldn't do that if she was in London with her mother.

Sophie slept in Teddy's bed that night, with her arms around him, and she got up early the next day while he was still asleep. She showered and dressed, and she was ready to leave for the airport by the time he woke up.

“Are you going now?” he asked sleepily. “I want to come.” But he was too tired and weak to move. The night before had taken a toll on him, and he looked less well than he had in a long time.

“I'll be back soon,” Sophie whispered, and then left his room. She went to say good-bye to her father, but he had already left for the bank. A ticket had been arranged for her the night before, and she had a reservation at Claridge's. She knew the name of the hospital where her mother was. St. Thomas' Hospital. And she still had money left over from her trip. Her father's driver was waiting for her outside, and half an hour later she was at Roissy There had been no traffic at all. And Sophie looked far calmer and more mature than she felt.

Her flight landed at noon local time, and a car from Claridge's drove her straight to the hospital. She felt very grown up going there, in a simple navy dress and a pair of shoes her mother had bought for her. Her hair was pulled back, and she was well dressed, but to anyone who saw her, even at eighteen she looked like a child, with huge frightened eyes filled with sorrow.

The nurses smiled at her when she spoke to them at the desk. She explained who she was, and one of them took her straight to her mother's room. The door across the hall was open, and she saw a man watching her. He had no other choice, they had turned him on his side, and he was looking toward the door, unable to move.

Cautiously, she stepped into her mother's room and was instantly shocked by what she saw there. Her mother looked deathly pale, with a huge bandage on her head. A respirator was breathing for her, and there were monitors and tubes coming from every part of her. Sophie's eyes filled with tears as she approached the bed, and she stood there for a long time just looking at her and touching her hand, and then finally a nurse pulled a chair up to the bed for her, and Sophie sat down. Instinctively, Sophie started talking to Isabelle, hoping that somewhere, somehow, she could hear her. She told her how much she loved her, and begged her to live. There was no sign of life from Isabelle. The only thing that moved was the respirator, and the little lines of light on the monitors. There was no other sound or movement in the room. Her mother looked even more terrifying than she'd expected. It was hard to believe she'd survive it.

Sophie sat there for a long time, and then finally, around four o'clock, she walked out of the room. The same man who had watched her go in was looking at her again. The nurses had told him who she was, but he would have known anyway. She looked like a very young Isabelle.

“Sophie?” he called out, and she started at the sound of her name, surprised that he knew who she was. And she slowly approached and stood in his doorway.

“Yes,” she said hesitantly, she was deeply upset by what she had just seen. He wished he could put his arms around her, for Isabelle's sake, and his own. There was so little he could do for her.

“My name is Bill Robinson. Your mother and I are friends. I was in the car with her,” he said, as though to apologize for her being there at all. “I'm so sorry about what happened.” She nodded, looking at him. She didn't remember her mother ever mentioning his name, but he looked like a nice man, and he was also obviously very badly hurt, but, unlike her mother, he was awake and alive.

“What happened to you in the accident?” Sophie asked carefully, she was afraid to enter the room. And she still didn't fully understand who he was, or why he had been with her mother.

“I fractured my neck, and hit my head. But your mom is in a lot worse shape than I am,” he said, looking sad. “I'd give anything to change places with her, Sophie. I hope you know that. I'd give my life for her if I could.” Sophie was touched by what he said, he seemed like a nice man. And she wondered how he and her mother had come to be friends. Her mother never went anywhere, because of Teddy.

“How is Teddy taking it?” he asked. “Does he know?”

“My father told him last night,” she said, feeling strange. It was odd the way he seemed to know them all, without their knowing him. “He's very upset. He had a fever last night, but he wanted to come. I have to go home to take care of him tomorrow. I'd rather stay, but I think he needs me there.” She was stepping into Isabelle's shoes, and Bill wished he could reach out and touch her, she looked so like her mother.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Bill asked, feeling as helpless as she did. There was nothing anyone could do at this point. They couldn't change what had happened to them, and whether Isabelle came out of the coma or not was in the hands of God.

“No, I'm fine,” she said. But she looked unspeakably sad.

“Where are you staying?”

“At Claridge's.”

“My wife and daughters are there. If you have any problem tonight, give them a call.” And just as he said it, Cynthia and the girls walked down the hall, and saw Sophie talking to him from the doorway of his room. He introduced everyone, and then Sophie said she should go. She didn't want to intrude. She thought his daughters looked nice, and guessed correctly that Jane was about the same age she was. Sophie said good-bye politely to all of them, and then walked away down the hall. She was going to come back later that night, to see her mother again. It was all she wanted to do.

“Is that her daughter?” Cynthia asked quietly.

“Yes, it is. She has a son too, but he's very ill.” Cynthia made no comment, and started to straighten up his room, for lack of something better to do. And the girls chatted with him.

They had decided to leave the next day. They were going to Paris for a week, and they were going to come through London to see him on the way home. He thought it was a great idea, and wanted them to have some fun. He and Cynthia had agreed to tell them about the divorce on the way back, and then they could adjust to the idea of it once they went home. He didn't want to spoil Paris for them. And Cynthia was taking them out to dinner that night. They were going to use his membership at Harry's Bar. And just hearing that made him think of Isabelle, and going there with her.

Bill was lying quietly on his back, thinking about her that night, when Sophie came back to see her mother. And this time, she stopped and walked into the room to see how he was.

“How do you feel, Mr. Robinson?” she asked politely as he smiled at her.

“About the same. How are you?” She shrugged, and her eyes filled with tears. It broke her heart to see her mother like that, and there was no sign of her making any progress toward consciousness at all. She was suspended in a faraway, distant place, from which no one knew if she would ever return. The nurses had told him that she could live for years like that, and never come out of the coma before she eventually died. It was a hideous thought and a terrible waste of an extraordinary woman, and it seemed so desperately unfair. Ever since the accident, Bill had wished that he had died and she had been spared.

“How did you meet my mom?” Sophie asked, standing next to his bed. She had been wondering about it ever since she'd met him that afternoon. Her father hadn't said she was in the car with anyone, and Sophie had been surprised when Bill spoke to her.

“We met a long time ago, at the American Embassy in Paris.” He suddenly needed to talk about her, and he was glad Sophie had asked. “We have lunch a couple of times a year, and we talk on the phone sometimes. And she tells me all about Teddy and you.” Sophie wanted to ask him if he was in love with her, or her mother with him, but as they were both married, she thought it would be rude. But it seemed odd to her that she had never heard about him. Her mother had never mentioned his name.

“Do you know my father too?” she asked, and he smiled, and then invited her to sit down, which she did.

“Yes, I do. I think he's very angry at me since the accident. I think he believes that it would have never happened to her if we hadn't gone out to dinner. I would feel that way too in his shoes.”

“It's not your fault. The nurse said your driver was killed. It's all so terrible. I don't understand how something like that can happen,” and then tears filled her eyes again, “My mother is such a good person, this seems so wrong.”

“Yes, she is a very good person.” There were tears in his eyes too, and he stretched out a hand and held hers. In an odd way, it was like touching Isabelle, and for Sophie, this man who was a friend of hers was like a way of reaching out to her. They shared an unusual bond through Isabelle.

“I wasn't always nice to her,” Sophie confessed after a while. “I used to get angry at her. She spent so much time with Teddy, when I was younger, I thought she didn't have enough time for me.” It was a way of confessing her sins and the things she regretted now, and he understood.

“She loves you so much, Sophie. She never said anything about you except that you're a wonderful girl.” All he wanted was to reassure her now. It was all he could do for her.

“Was she happy that night?” Sophie asked sadly. “Was she having fun?” It was an odd question to ask him, and all he could think of as she questioned him was their first and last kiss.

“Yes, she was. We went to see a wonderful art exhibit that afternoon, and she was excited about it. And then we went out to dinner. I was here to see the American ambassador,” he stretched the truth a bit for both their sakes, “and we ran into each other at Claridge's and decided to have dinner.” He had no reason to tell this child that they had met in London intentionally and he was in love with her. Isabelle wouldn't have wanted her to know, nor would he. “We hadn't seen each other in a long time.”

“My mother never has much fun. She's always taking care of Teddy, and stays at home.”

“I know. That's what she wants to do. She loves you both very much.” Sophie nodded, and they sat there in silence next to each other for a while, and then finally Sophie stood up. She still didn't really know who he was, but felt she had found a new friend. She stood smiling at him for a moment before she left, and all he could see as he looked at her was Isabelle, and the woman Sophie would be one day.

“I'll come to see you tomorrow,” Sophie promised him. “I'll be here in the morning before I leave.”

“I'd like that very much. Thank you for talking to me, Sophie.” It had been a moment of comfort in a terribly lonely time for him, more than she knew, or he even understood. Life, as he had known it, was about to change forever. He would never again walk, or jump, or dance, or stroll down the street. His movements, like his life, would be complicated from now on. He had given up his marriage, and lost the woman he loved. He had nothing to hang on to at the moment, and was lost in an open sea with no sign of land around him. It was comforting to spend a few minutes with Isabelle's daughter as they tried to guess where their lives would take them now. Even if he never saw her again, which he knew was a distinct possibility, he was grateful that they had met.

Cynthia and the girls came to say good-bye to him the next morning, on the way to the airport. And Sophie arrived just after they left. She sat with her mother for over an hour, and then came to say goodbye to him. And she noticed that he looked depressed, she assumed because his family had left and he was alone again. She had no idea that it was far more because of her mother. She had no way of knowing that he was in love with her, although she suspected it.

“Good-bye, Mr. Robinson,” Sophie said politely as she prepared to leave. “I hope you'll be better soon.” He didn't ask her if she would be back again, it seemed inappropriate since neither of them knew yet if Isabelle would live.

“Take good care of yourself … for your mom's sake, Sophie. I know she'd be very worried about you now. Be good to yourself, and take care of Teddy,” he said, with tears in his eyes. He sounded like her mother, as though she'd been leaving on a trip. “I'll be thinking about you.”

“I'll say a prayer for you when I go to church,” she said softly. She felt sad leaving him, as though she were leaving a piece of her mother. He was so nice, she was glad they'd been friends, and that she'd had a nice time with him.

“I'll say one for you too.” He reached out and took her hand and kissed it gently, because he couldn't kiss her cheek in the contraption he was in. And then with a shy smile, she left him, and he lay there in his bed, with his eyes closed, thinking of her.

And a little while later, he had himself wheeled into Isabelle's room. She was as silent and removed as ever, but he lay in the bed they rolled next to hers, and he talked to her about his visit with Sophie.

“She's a wonderful girl. I can see why you're proud of her,” he said, as though she could hear him, but he still hoped she did. And then he lay there for a long time, thinking strong thoughts for Isabelle, willing her to reach out and live again. He was tired when they wheeled him back to his room. His frequent visits to her had ceased to cause comment among the nursing staff. They had come to accept it as a loving gesture he made. No one asked the reason for it, or wondered what had happened between them, and there were a number of nurses who believed that if anything could bring Isabelle back, Bill could.

Chapter 8

Sophie thought a lot about Bill on the way back to Paris, and she could understand why her mother had liked him. He seemed like such a decent man, and she felt so sorry for him. One of the nurses had told her he would never walk again. He seemed to be very philosophical about it, and he was devastated that Isabelle had gotten injured while she was out with him.

As they landed in Paris, Sophie's thoughts shifted to her mother and brother again. She felt torn now as to where she should be. She had decided to go home for a few days, and then she wanted to go back to London again to see her mother.

She took a cab from the airport, and the house was strangely quiet when she arrived. There was no sound in the house, and as she walked upstairs, she saw that it was dark in her father's rooms. And when she walked into Teddy's room, she was shocked by the condition he was in. He was running a high fever, seemed nearly delirious, and the doctor had just been there, Teddy's nurse explained. She said that if the fever didn't come down that night, the doctor would put Teddy in the hospital the next day. Just thinking about it, after seeing her mother, was almost more than Sophie could bear.

“What happened?” Sophie sat down in a chair, looking drained, she felt as though she had grown up overnight. Teddy didn't even know she was there. He had been sedated, and was in a deep sleep.

“I think he's upset about your mother,” the nurse said in a whisper. “He hasn't slept properly in days. He won't eat, he won't drink.” She and the doctor had discussed starting him on an IV, but he had objected and cried so much when he heard them, that they had agreed to let it go another day, if he would promise to at least try to eat and drink. He looked as though he had lost weight to Sophie.

“Where's my father?” Sophie asked, running a hand through her hair, looking more than ever like Isabelle. She seemed to be resembling her more and more in the last few days.

“He's out for the evening,” the nurse said, without comment. She hadn't seen him since the previous day, but she didn't say that to Sophie. “How was your mother?” the nurse asked, looking worried.

“Still the same,” Sophie said, and thought about Bill. “No one knows what will happen. They said she could be in a coma for a long time, and still recover.” Sophie looked hopeful as she said it, but they had also told her that Isabelle could die at any time. All they could do was pray and wait. “I'm going to go back in a few days.” The nurse nodded, and then took Teddy's pulse again. It was fast and thready, and she frowned as she made a note for the doctor of what it had been. It seemed almost certain to her that they were going to be obliged to hospitalize him. And Sophie agreed. It seemed safest for him.

Sophie waited up for her father that night, to discuss Teddy's condition with him, and she was surprised at midnight when he wasn't home. She asked the nurse if he knew Teddy was ill.

“I spoke to him this afternoon in his office,” she said without expression. “I'm sure he'll be home soon.” But at three o'clock, Sophie was still awake and he wasn't in. She had called the hospital in London earlier, to check on her mother, and there was nothing new there either. For a moment, she'd almost asked to speak to Bill, just to say hello, but she was embarrassed to call him, and hung up without asking for him.

Sophie woke up, still dressed and sitting in a chair in Teddy's room the next morning, just as she had seen her mother do so often when he was ill. She hadn't even intended to, she'd been waiting for her father, and finally fallen asleep. She thought he had probably been careful not to wake her, and didn't know she was waiting in Teddy's room.

The boy was awake as she left the room to find her father, and he looked a little better. The nurse said the fever had broken, but he still didn't seem at all well to Sophie. And as she walked down the hall to talk to her father, she was surprised to see that his doors were open, and when she looked in, there was no one there.

She turned to the maid with surprise. “Did my father sleep here last night, Josephine?” The woman shook her head and disappeared down the stairs. It was not an answer she thought appropriate to give his daughter at her age. But Sophie could see for herself that he hadn't. The shades and curtains were drawn, the lights were off, and the room was undisturbed. No one had been in his bed. And for an instant, she panicked. What if something had happened to her father? They would be orphans, she suddenly realized. She couldn't imagine where he'd been. An hour later she called his office, and he sounded perfectly calm when he answered. He hadn't seen her since she left for London, and she was astonished he hadn't been home with Teddy. It seemed irresponsible to her.

“Teddy has been sick,” she said with a tone of accusation, as though it was his fault, but he seemed unconcerned.

“I know. I spoke to Marthe yesterday afternoon. The doctor came to see him, and I spoke to him today.” He was not about to accept a hint of reproach from an eighteen-year-old girl.

“You didn't come home last night,” Sophie said tersely, and he almost laughed at the tone of her voice, but she was not amused.

“I'm well aware of that. I was with friends out of the city, it got late, and I thought it more prudent to stay there than drive home.”

Sophie assumed he'd been drinking, and given what had just happened to her mother, she had to agree with him about driving home when he was tired.

“I just spoke to London,” he said quietly, “there's no change.”

“Oh.” Sophie's spirits were further dampened by that news. But she was still upset that her father hadn't come home the night before. If something terrible had happened to Teddy, they would have needed him there. And no one knew where he had been. But he wasn't the least apologetic, and Sophie suddenly found herself wondering if he stayed out all night regularly. She'd never been aware of it before. And she couldn't help asking herself if there were things about her parents she didn't know, particularly since she'd met Bill. It still seemed odd that she had never heard of her mother's friendship with him, and it occurred to her that she never ventured into her father's rooms at night or in the early morning. Maybe there were other times when he hadn't been there. He went out a great deal in the evenings for business, and her mother rarely went with him anymore. Sophie suddenly had a sense of her whole life unraveling, not just because of what had happened to Isabelle, but because of what it had exposed. Sophie had always thought her father was godlike, and now she was wondering if he had secrets of which she was unaware. Perhaps there were more reasons than just Teddy that had kept her mother at home, and her parents sleeping in separate rooms.

“Will you be home tonight?” she asked her father, sounding nervous, feeling more like his wife than his daughter, but she was feeling very insecure. There were too many frightening things going on.

“Yes, I will. I'll be out for dinner. But I'll be home before you go to bed,” he reassured her.

“If Teddy has to go to the hospital, I'll need you to be there,” Sophie explained.

“The doctor seems less worried. I think Teddy's just had a shock and he needs time to recover from it.”

“We all have,” Sophie said sadly. “When are you going back to London?”

“In a few days. There's nothing I can do there. They'll call us if there's any change.” But if she died, Sophie thought, no one would be with her, and if something happened to warn them of it, it would take them hours to get from Paris to London. Sophie wished she could just stay there, but she knew Teddy needed her too. And now that she realized that her father stayed out all night at times, she didn't feel she could leave. It was hard to know what was the right thing to do. Her father seemed far less troubled by it than she was.

Her father left for a meeting then, and Sophie spent the day with her brother, reading to him, telling him stories, and talking to him about their mother. She was doing the best she could, but they both knew she was no substitute for Isabelle. She felt like a zombie by the time her father came home after dinner. He seemed in good spirits, and sat down in the library to smoke a cigar. Sophie had heard him come in and found him there. She was surprised he hadn't come to find her upstairs. He had always been so pleasant to her and so interested that she was surprised by how distant he was being these days, particularly with her mother so ill. But suddenly, as she watched him, she wondered if his previous interest in her had been more show than real, and perhaps even to annoy Isabelle, and make her feel less important to him. Sophie had always been treated as his little darling, and he had been as cool and distant with his wife as he was now with Sophie.

“How was your day, Papa?” she asked cautiously.

Hers had been pretty grim, between worrying about her mother and caring for a sick boy.

“Long. How was yours?”

“I was with Teddy all day.” She expected him to ask more about it, but at the mention of her brother, her father looked instantly bored as he poured himself a glass of port.

“What else did you do?” he asked, focusing on his cigar, and it felt strange sitting there talking to him as though nothing had happened. Her mother was in a coma in a hospital in London, and her brother had been failing since he heard. And her father seemed astonishingly unconcerned. And as she looked at him, all she could think of was the look of devastation on Bill Robinson's face when he talked about her mother. She saw none of that in her father's eyes. He seemed distant and cool whenever he referred to her.

“That's all I did today, Papa. I stayed with Teddy. He's very upset.” Gordon nodded, and didn't answer her. He seemed to almost forget she was there, and then the phone rang. And he told whoever it was that he'd call back. Sophie's heart had nearly stopped when she heard it. Every time the phone rang now, she was terrified that it was a call from London to tell them the worst.

“You should go to bed,” Gordon said as he sipped his port, dismissing her. “You've had a long day.” It was obvious he didn't want to talk, and Sophie was hurt. She had never felt as alone in her life as she did now.

“When are you going back to London?” she asked quietly before she left.

“When I think I should,” he said tersely, frowning at her. She was annoying him. She had turned into her mother overnight.

“I want to go back with you,” she said, aware of the fact that he wasn't pleased with her, but for the moment, she didn't care.

“Your brother needs you here.”

“I want to see Mom again.” She sounded young and stubborn, and he wasn't amused.

“She won't even know you're there. I need you here. I can't worry about that boy and his nurses all day. They call me at the office all day long, I don't have time for that, Sophie. You need to take care of him.” He didn't ask her, he just told her what she had to do, and expected her to do as he said.

“‘ That boy’ is your son, Papa. And he needs you too, not just me or Mom. You never talk to him.” She was too tired to hold back anymore.

“He has nothing to say,” Gordon said harshly, pouring himself another glass of port. “And it's not up to you to tell me what to do.” It was a conversation Isabelle had had with him many times over the years, and she had given up long ago. For reasons of his own, based on past history among other things, Gordon was determined not to have a relationship with his son. And in her naïveté, Sophie could not change that. If Teddy had been healthy and strong and able to participate in things that interested his father, it would have been a different story. But as he was, as far as Gordon was concerned, the boy didn't exist and was of no interest to him. If anything, he was an irritant to him, although he felt sorry for him now. All Teddy was was an annoyance and a burden to his father. And as far as Gordon was concerned, he was Isabelle's job, not his. And in her absence, he was Sophie's.

Just hearing the way her father spoke of him made Sophie sad as she went to her room. She and Teddy had talked about it over the years, and he always said things like that about their father, and she had argued about it with him. But now she saw it was true. Teddy said their father was mean and selfish and cold and hated him. And now she could see that Teddy knew a side of him she had never wanted to see. As far as Gordon was concerned, having a son like Teddy was no credit to him. He preferred to shut him away and forget him, just as he had his wife.

Sophie put her nightgown on in her own room, and then went back to Teddy's room. The nurse said he had a fever again, and Sophie climbed into his bed and cuddled up next to him. She felt as though they were two children who had lost their mother for the time being, and she had never felt as sad or as lonely in her life. And all she could hope, as her tears ran into her pillow, was that their mother would wake from her coma soon. She couldn't begin to imagine what their life would be like if she died.

Chapter 9

Things moved along at the hospital in London. Physical therapists came to assess Bill and plan a rehabilitation program for him. They were turning him frequently in his bed to keep his circulation moving, and prevent pneumonia, but the days were boring for him. And once or twice a day he had his bed wheeled into Isabelle's room. The nurses had paid no attention to Gordon's instructions, and several of them hoped it would do her good to be visited by Bill. It did no harm in any case, and it raised Bill's spirits noticeably. He always felt better when he visited her. He missed their late-night talks terribly. And he lay in his hospital bed for hours, thinking about her just across the hall. He looked forward all day to the few minutes he could spend at her side.

His own injuries were starting to heal a little bit. His neck and spine still caused him a lot of pain, but he was able to move more than he could before, and he had some vague phantom sensations in his legs. But in spite of that, the prognosis for him had not changed. He was trying to keep his spirits up, and think about what he was going to do when he got back to the States, but the changes he was facing now were unspeakably hard.

He had become a favorite with the nursing staff, and there were whispered exchanges as people tried to guess what his relationship with Isabelle was, but there was no easy explanation for what they saw. Most of them guessed that he'd been having an affair with her, and one of the nurses had overheard him telling his wife that he wanted a divorce, but whatever his situation was, or had been, with Isabelle, they knew that they liked him, and thought him a very nice man.

“I'll take him!” one of the nurses said while talking to a group of her co-workers in the cafeteria. “He's a good-looking guy.” But he hadn't made advances toward any of them, he was never fresh, rude, ungentle-manly, and everyone who talked to him genuinely admired him. They also noted that the American ambassador had come to see him several times.

“What does he do?” another nurse asked, looking confused, she couldn't remember what she'd heard, although they knew that he was an important man.

“Something in politics,” one of Isabelle's nurses said. “He must have been crazy about her. It's such a shame.” They were all in full agreement on that.

Gordon hadn't been back to see his wife yet, and neither had Sophie when Cynthia and their daughters came back after their Paris trip. They were in high spirits when they arrived, and they looked sobered when they left, after Cynthia and Bill told the girls that they were getting divorced. Olivia and Jane were shocked.

“Why?” Olivia sat in her father's hospital room and cried. “You guys love each other… don't you? Mom? … Dad?? …” The girls had always thought that they did, but Bill tried to explain that they had drifted apart over the years, and he thought it was better for both of them if they parted ways. He didn't want to tell them about their mother's affairs, or how unhappy they'd both been. They'd kept it to themselves for years. And he had to admit, he thought things were better in some ways since he'd told her it was over for him. He felt more honest and open with her now. But Cynthia made it clear to him before they left that if he changed his mind, she would prefer to stay married to him. But Bill was gentle but firm. He no longer wanted to be married to her. All his dreams now were of Isabelle.

“It's better this way,” he insisted, but Cynthia was very upset by the reaction of the girls. He didn't want to explain that he couldn't see her married to an invalid, or someone handicapped at best. But more than anything, he just wasn't in love with her anymore. What he had felt for Isabelle had told him many things about himself and what he didn't have. He didn't want to live a lie anymore. He knew he would never have a life with Isabelle, whether she recovered or not, but the fact that he was and had been in love with her was enough to tell him that it was time for him to get out of a loveless marriage he'd been willing to settle for, for too long.

He was quiet and pensive after they left. And he had promised to call the girls often when they got home. They asked their mother on the way back to the hotel if they thought their father was a little crazy from the accident, or the bump on his head, and if she thought he might change his mind. She smiled sadly and shook her head.

“He's not crazy. I guess I was for a long time. I wasn't a very good wife to him,” she confessed. “I took him for granted, and I resented his success and independence, which was lousy of me.” They had seen none of it, which was something at least, and they were crushed at the thought that their parents would live in separate homes.

“How's Daddy going to take care of himself now?” Jane asked, looking worried. His injuries were serious, and they had been told that he might not be able to walk again.

“I don't know,” Cynthia said with a sigh. “He's very proud, and very capable. He'll figure something out. But in answer to your question, Jane, no, I don't think he'll change his mind. He never does. Once he gets an idea in his head, he usually sticks with it, no matter what. He won't even admit it if he's made a mistake, he'll just live with it. But as much as I hate what he's doing, I don't think it's wrong for him.” In a way, he had done what he wanted to, he had preserved their friendship by ending their marriage, and in spite of her regrets, Cynthia admired him for it. She just felt sorry for the girls, it was a real blow for them, and she was frightened for herself. She knew she'd never find another man like Bill.

“Do you think he was having an affair with Isabelle Forrester?” Olivia asked her honestly, and Cynthia thought about it. She had pondered it a lot herself.

“I just don't know. He says not, and he's never lied to me, that I know of anyway. I think he's in love with her, but I don't think they did anything they shouldn't have. She's very much married to Gordon Forrester, from what your father says. I think maybe they were infatuated with each other, or just friends.”

“Do you think Dad would ever marry her, if she survives?” Jane asked, looking concerned.

“I don't think that's an issue now,” Cynthia answered, the poor woman was almost dead, “but no, I don't, even if she lives. Your father says she'll never leave Forrester, and her whole life revolves around an invalid child.”

“What do you think Dad's going to do now, after he gets home … I mean, back to the States …” Olivia looked sad as she asked.

“I don't know. Get an apartment, I guess. Go back to work. He's going to be in rehab for a long time. I don't think he'll even come back for a couple of months. They want to work with him here.” The girls nodded and were quiet the rest of the way back to the hotel. They still couldn't believe what they'd just heard. And Cynthia still couldn't quite believe the decision he'd made.

It was so like Bill to do what he thought was the right thing, no matter how difficult it was. She had come out of their marriage with a deep respect for him, and she knew there would never be another man like him in her life. She just wished now that she'd figured that out before. She knew that most of the responsibility for the divorce was hers, no matter how much of the blame he was willing to take himself.

They left for the States the next day, so early that they didn't have time to stop and see him at the hospital before they left. Cynthia and the girls called him from the airport to say good-bye, and both girls were crying when they hung up. And he didn't say it to anyone, but after they were gone, he was sad. It was lonely for him, and he was beginning to understand the long hard road he had ahead of him. He was facing at least a year of excruciating rehabilitation work, maybe more. But he had no choice. He made some business calls from time to time, and a few people had heard about the accident and called him. But for the most part, he felt as though he were living in a cocoon, surrounded by nurses and doctors, and Isabelle still in a coma across the hall. It was not an easy time for him.

By two weeks after the accident, Bill was making a reasonable recovery, and Gordon Forrester still hadn't been back to see his wife. Bill had developed his own little routine of being rolled in to see her morning and night. He would lie there in his bed and talk to her for a while, in the hope that she could hear him in her deep sleep, and then he would go back to his own room.

The nurses had told him that Forrester couldn't come because their son was ill, and Bill worried about Teddy all the time on her behalf. He hoped the situation wasn't too bad. And he thought about Sophie frequently too, and hoped she was all right.

He had almost given up any hope of Isabelle coming out of her coma by the third week after the accident, and he wondered if Gordon was just going to leave her there, forgotten and unloved. There was no way to move her back to Paris, on the respirator, it was too dangerous for her, and Bill had started worrying about what would happen to her when he went back to the States. The doctors thought he might be able to go back in another month or so. He couldn't bear the thought of leaving her, with no one to visit her, talk to her, comfort her, care what happened to her. He couldn't imagine how Gordon could abandon her now, but he had. Bill was thinking about it one night as he lay in his bed next to her, talking to her and holding her hand. The nurses no longer found it unusual anymore. They just smiled and chatted with him, when he visited her, as though they expected to find him in her room several times a day.

He was telling Isabelle how beautiful she was, and how much he missed talking to her on a warm, balmy night in July. The windows were open, and they could hear sounds from outside. And he found himself thinking of the night they'd gone to Harry's Bar, and then Annabel's afterward. All he wished now was that he could turn back the clock, and step backward in time to that night.

“Do you remember what a good time we had?” he murmured to her, stroking her fingers and then kissing them as he held her hand. “I love dancing with you, Isabelle,” he said. “If you wake up, we can go dancing again someday.” But for him, that was only a memory, and a distant dream. He was still talking to her and reminding her of that night, when he felt a gentle pressure in the palm of his hand. He thought it was a reflex at first, and went on talking to her, and then he felt the same gentle pressure again. Distracted by it, he stopped talking for a minute, and glanced at the nurse when she walked in. He didn't want to say anything, but his conversation with Isabelle continued in a slightly more determined way, and then he stopped, and tried to position himself so he could look at Isabelle.

“I felt you squeeze my hand just then,” he said clearly to her. “I want you to do it again.” He waited for what seemed like a long time, as the nurse watched them both, but nothing happened, and the nurse looked away. “Do it again, Isabelle. Squeeze my hand, just a little bit…. I want you to really try.” And then, as though she were reaching back toward him from another world, she did, almost imperceptibly. His face broke into a broad smile, and there were tears in his eyes. “That was wonderful,” he encouraged her, overwhelmed by what he had just felt. “Now I want you to open your eyes. Just a tiny bit… I'm looking at you, Isabelle. And I want you to look at me.” There was no sign of life in her face, but then her fingers moved again, and he wondered now if it was just a random reflex after all. And just as he was getting discouraged again, she wrinkled her nose, but her eyes were still closed. He could feel his heart race. She was coming back. “What was that? That was a funny face, but it was very good. How about a little smile?” There were tears rolling down his cheeks as he spoke to her, and all his efforts and strength and love were concentrated on her. The nurse in the room stood frozen in place as she watched. But she had clearly seen the quick grimace Isabelle had made. That was definitely not a reflex. “Can you smile for me, my love? Or just open one eye…. I've missed you so much….” He was begging her, willing her to come back to him, he wanted to just reach down into the abyss where she'd been and pull her back safely to him. He lay there talking to her for another half hour, with no results, and he looked exhausted and spent, but he refused to give up. “Isabelle… all right, make that funny face again … come on … wrinkle your nose.” But this time instead she lifted one hand several inches off the bed and then let it fall, as though the effort it had taken was simply too great. “That was very, very good. And very hard work. Rest a minute, sweetheart. Then we'll do it again.” He wanted to gather all the signs from her he could, to keep her engaged until she came back to him, and to life. He talked to her endlessly, trying to get her to blink, to move some part of her face, to open her eyes, or squeeze his hand again. And for a long time nothing moved, and then he saw the faintest fluttering of her eyes.

“Oh my God …” he whispered to the nurse, and she hurried out of the room to find one of the doctors to see what was happening. After three weeks of hovering near death, Isabelle was coming back. It was Bill who was lovingly, painstakingly bringing her home.

“Isabelle,” Bill said more firmly then. “You have to open your eyes, my love. I know it's hard. You've been asleep for a long time. It's time to wake up. I want to see you look at me. I want to see you, and I know you want to see me. Just open your eyes a little bit,” and a moment after he said it, she did. He hadn't even been expecting it. After all this time, he was willing to be satisfied with any sign she would make. But she had gone all the way this time, and the long-sleeping eyes opened just a crack. “That's it… that's right… can you open them more now… work at it, my darling … open those beautiful eyes….” The doctor had joined them in the room by then, but he stood back and did not interfere. Bill was doing fine on his own, and the doctor didn't think he could do as well. “Isabelle,” Bill tried again, “I'm waiting for you to look at me. I've been waiting a very long time,” and as he said it, there was a long, graceful sigh from the bed, and with only a slight flutter, she opened her eyes, and without looking at him, she closed them again, as though the effort was too much. “Come on, sweetheart, keep them open long enough to look at me. Please, my love …” Watching her come to life slowly as he talked to her was like watching her float slowly to earth from a distant place. And then finally, finally, she opened her eyes again, turned her head, and looked straight at him as she gave a small moan. He suspected the movement had made her head hurt. But then she smiled, with her eyes closed again, and seemed to struggle with a single word. She worked at it for a long time, and then finally, as she opened her eyes again, she said his name in a voice that was barely more than a croak.

“Bill…” He kissed her hand as she said it, and had to choke back a sob so he could talk to her. He wanted to reward her for what she'd done.

“Isabelle, I love you so much…. What a good girl you are. You worked so hard to come back.”

“Yes,” she whispered to him as her eyes closed again, and this time she opened them on her own. “I love you …” she whispered, and then said his name again, as though she were savoring the word.

“I think this is where we left off,” he said, smiling through his tears. It had been a lifetime and more since the night they'd kissed and been hit by the bus. “You've been gone too long, my love. I missed you so much.”

“Talk to me …” she said softly, with a smile, as Bill, the nurse, and the doctor laughed. He had been talking to her for three weeks, and for hours that night. It was as though he had known all along that he could bring her back. He had never given up, although recently he had gotten discouraged, but he had never stopped. “Like … to hear you … talk,” she said, as though she was immensely tired, which Bill realized she probably was. She had worked hard.

“I like to hear you talk. I've waited a long time to hear you talk to me. Where have you been, my love?” he said softly, still holding her hand.

“Gone,” she said, and smiled again, and then looked at him with a thousand questions in her eyes. She knew he had the answers she did not. “How long?”

“Three weeks,” he answered her honestly, and she looked surprised.

“So much?” She seemed to be struggling to find the words, but she was doing fine, and the doctor watching her thought so too.

“So much.” There was so much to tell her eventually, so much to share, but it was still too soon. She had just landed from a very distant place.

And then she thought of something and looked at him with worried eyes. “Teddy … and Sophie?”

“They're fine.” He hoped he wasn't lying to her, since he didn't have recent news, and he knew Teddy hadn't been well. But he was sure that once he knew his mother had come back, the boy's condition would improve. “Sophie was here. She came to visit you. She's a wonderful girl, and she looks exactly like you.” Isabelle smiled and closed her eyes, and when she opened them, there was another question in them. Bill knew what the question was, he could almost read her mind. “He was here.” She nodded, and then quickly winced.

“My head … hurts.”

“I'll bet it does.” That was easy to believe.

“Other … things … too.” The doctor was interested in hearing about that, and he asked her a few questions then, but he was enormously pleased, and suggested that they should both get some rest, they had had a big night. Isabelle looked worried by what the doctor said, as the orderlies came to take Bill away. “No … don't go….” She held his hand more tightly than she had been till then. And Bill looked at the doctor questioningly.

“Could I stay here?” There was a long pause while the doctor considered it. There was no real reason why they couldn't do that. They were adults, and friends, and the nurses could keep an eye on both of them. It seemed a suitable reward for what Bill had done for her that night, and there was something about it that felt right to him.

“I think that's a fine idea.” Bill wasn't on the monitors anymore, all he needed was his IV pole next to his bed, and pain medications if he asked for them, which he seldom did.

“I want you to sleep here,” Isabelle said, clinging to his hand, as Bill beamed at her. She was back, she was alive, she had come back to him. It was the happiest night of his life. They were both smiling as the nurses settled them. The doctor examined Isabelle carefully, and he was satisfied. He asked her a few more questions, and she talked to him about how her head felt. She said her body felt too small now, everything inside felt too tight, and he explained that she was feeling her internal injuries and would for a while. There was plenty of time to examine her further the next day. What they both needed now was rest.

The nurse turned off all but one small light, and another nurse came to help turn Bill onto his side. He was pleased because he could see her better that way. He didn't want to sleep, he just wanted to look at her all night, and see her face, touch her hand. She was still holding his hand, as they lay facing each other, and she looked like a child as she smiled at him. It struck him that she was the image of Sophie.

“You're so beautiful,” he whispered to her, “and I love you so much.” She'd been worth waiting for, for the past three weeks, and a lifetime before that.

“I missed you while I was gone,” she whispered to him.

“How do you know?” he whispered back, while the nurse smiled from the corner of the room.

“I just do.” They were like two children at a slumber party, whispering in the dark, as the doctor and the other nurse left the room. They were both smiling and exchanged a long look outside. They were a beautiful sight to see. None of them had expected Isabelle to survive.

The doctor called Paris that night to tell Gordon that his wife was no longer comatose, he felt he owed him that. But Gordon was out, and the doctor told the woman who answered the phone, Teddy's nurse, to tell Mr. Forrester that he'd called. He didn't want to leave any further message, and Bill and Isabelle would have been grateful to him if they'd known.

It felt as though they had always slept together, as they lay there facing each other. Isabelle tried to turn on her back once, but it hurt too much to move her head, so she turned back again toward Bill, and he was wide awake, watching her.

“What happened to you?” she asked, she had just noticed the enormous brace around his neck, she hadn't seen it before. There had been too much going on, but now she looked worried about him.

“I hurt my neck, and my back. I'll be fine,” he said, smiling at her. He would now. This was all he had wanted for three weeks.

“Are you sure?”

“I'm sure. I've never felt better in my life than I do right now.”

“Me too.” And then she looked at him pensively. “I don't remember anything … how did we get here?”

“That, my love, is a very long story we can talk about tomorrow. We got hit by a bus.” He wasn't going to tell her for a while that eleven people had died, and she had very nearly made it twelve. “The last thing I knew I was kissing you, and then I was here.”

“I remember that too,” she smiled sleepily, as she yawned. He would have liked to kiss her again, but he couldn't move. He could only lie as he was, and all he could do was touch her face or her hand. “One of these days, I'd like to kiss you again,” she said dreamily, and Bill didn't respond. There was a long pause as he contemplated the possibility that, in his own eyes, he might no longer be a man. And he quietly held her hand. It was all he could offer her now. “I hope the children are all right,” she said, thinking about them, and unaware of Bill's terrors about his ability to perform.

“They will be when they hear about you,” he reassured her.

But for an instant, she looked sad, and tightened her hold on Bill's hand. “And then he'll come back again, won't he?” He didn't want to tell her that her husband hadn't been back to see her in two weeks. He didn't think it was his place, and he had come to hate the man, for everything he didn't do for her, and the ugly things he did.

“Let's not think about that now,” Bill whispered to her. “Why don't you close your eyes and try to sleep.” He wished he could stroke her hair.

“I thought you wanted me to wake up,” she teased. She was definitely going to be all right, after three weeks in a coma, and an accident she almost hadn't survived, she hadn't changed. Her spirit was still strong. In the end, that and his love were what had brought her back.

“Go back to sleep, you talk too much, you're going to wear yourself out.” He couldn't stop smiling as he looked at her. She seemed even more beautiful to him than she had before.

“I want to talk to you all night,” she grinned, and then remembered something else. “I want to go dancing with you again.” He smiled at her, he felt as though he were.

“We will one day.”

“And I want to go back to Harry's Bar.” She was making a wish list for him, and he smiled.

“Now?” he teased, happier than he'd ever been. He loved lying next to her and talking to her.

“All right. Tomorrow. And then Annabel's. We have to make up for lost time. I haven't been dancing in weeks,” she said with a contented sigh.

“You'd better behave yourself, or the doctors are going to put you to sleep again.”

“I just want to lie here with you.” And then she laughed softly in the darkened room. “Now we can say we've slept with each other, can't we?”

“You're very badly behaved for a woman who's been very sick for three weeks. I don't think you should be thinking about things like that,” he scolded her, and wished he could put his arms around her, but in his heart, he was. In his heart, she would always be his. She had become his that night, and whatever came now, he knew that would never change. She had walked through the darkness to come back to him, and whatever happened, wherever they went, he knew he would never lose her again.

“I walked into a very bright light with you … we were going somewhere, on a narrow path … and the children started calling us, and you made me turn back.” He felt as though he'd been struck by lightning when she said those words. He had had the same memory, precisely as she had just described, when he woke from unconsciousness himself.

“What was it like?”

“Very bright… and I was very tired … I sat down on a rock. I didn't want to come back, but you kept pulling me. You said we could go there another time…. I didn't want to, but I let you pull me back.” And he had again, that night. The first time he had brought her back from death, and the second time from the deep darkness where she slept endlessly. But what she was describing about the rock and the bright light was exactly what he had seen himself.

“Isabelle, I was there too.” He looked thunderstruck, and she didn't know why. “I had the same dream you did. Exactly the way you described.”

“I know, you were there,” it seemed normal to her, “I saw you, and I held your hand, and I came back with you.”

“Why?” He was searching his own memory, and he wanted to understand what had happened to them. He didn't think this was any ordinary thing. People talked of these experiences, but most people didn't share the same bright light in the same dream, the same rock, the same path, the same memory. He realized then that somewhere, in some deep, meaningful way, their souls had met and joined. In another life, they had met and become one.

“I came back because you told me to,” she said quietly. “But then I got lost again after that. I think I fell asleep next to the path.”

“You certainly did, and if you ever do that again, Isabelle, I'm going to be seriously angry at you. Don't you ever get lost on me again.”

“I won't,” she said, and kissed his fingers and hand. “Thank you for waiting for me, and for bringing me back.” She was getting sleepy then, and yawned several times, and before he could say anything more to her, she had fallen into a peaceful sleep holding his hand. And as he looked at her, he had a perfect memory of what she had described, their walking toward the bright light, with Isabelle just ahead of him on the path. It had taken all the strength he had to bring her back from that light, and tonight she had come back to him again. He wasn't sure what any of it meant, but he knew that something extraordinary had happened to them, and as he lay watching her sleep, he knew that in spite of everything that had occurred, he was a very lucky man.

Chapter 10

The doctor called Gordon Forrester at eight o'clock the next day to tell him the news, but the same voice told him he was out again. And he finally reached Gordon in his office at ten. He sounded startled to hear the news, and said he was very pleased. He asked if he could talk to her, but as yet she had no phone. The doctor said he would have one put in for her, and Gordon could call her in her room that afternoon.

“I'm sure the children will want to talk to her,” he said, looking distracted as he sat at his desk, thinking about her. He had already made his peace that she would never come out of the coma, and he was amazed to hear that she had. Although he was certainly relieved for her, it took a little readjustment on his part.

“How did it happen?” Gordon asked innocently, and there was a moment's pause at the doctor's end. He didn't want to tell him about Bill Robinson, he didn't think they'd want him to, and he was right.

“She did it on her own,” he said. It was all Gordon needed to know.

“Well done,” Gordon said as though talking about a golf tournament or a tennis match. In sharp contrast to Bill's tears of joy the night before, Gordon sounded dispassionate, as though he were talking about a distant friend. It was hard to believe she was his wife. But perhaps that explained her relationship with Bill. There were questions the doctor didn't want to ask, and after seeing them together the night before, he didn't need to now. He could see it all. He wondered how long it would be before Gordon came back to London to see her again. For Bill and Isabelle's sake, he hoped it wouldn't be too soon. He had fallen in love with them, it was impossible to resist a love like that, that had gone to the edge of death and beyond and back again. It was something the doctor knew few people ever shared, and it was infinitely precious when they did. “Tell her I'll call her this afternoon when I get home” was all Gordon said, and the doctor assured him he would.

The nurse passed the message on to Isabelle when they plugged in her phone. She was looking forward to talking to the children, but not to him.

“What are we going to do now?” she said to Bill that afternoon, as he sat in his bed in her room, and he kept her company while she ate her first lunch. They had brought her Jell-O and a bowl of very thin soup. It had been a long time since she'd seen food, and it had no appeal at all.

“What do you mean?” Bill asked. “You mean croquet or golf, or a stroll in the park?” He was teasing again, but this time she didn't smile.

“Gordon is going to want to take me back to Paris when I get well.” She wanted to see her children, of course, but she didn't want to leave Bill.

“I don't think that'll be for a while,” Bill said, trying to stay calm himself. “I don't think you can just hop out of bed and run out the door.” She still had a lot of healing to do internally, and they wanted to be careful about her head. The doctor had told her that morning that he expected her to be there for roughly another four weeks. It was about as long as they planned to keep Bill.

“And after that?” she asked him as the nurse fed her the soup. Her hands weren't strong enough to do it yet. She was amazingly weak, which surprised no one but Isabelle.

“We'll figure it out.” He hadn't told her yet that his legs were permanently compromised, and he wasn't sure he would ever walk again. He wanted to think about it. He wasn't sure she needed to know. Unless things had changed radically while she was comatose, he knew that she would go back to Gordon, to take care of her sick child. He could of course still call her, and see her from time to time, but he didn't want her pity, if he was in a wheelchair. All he wanted was her love. He was thinking now that if he could truly never walk again, perhaps he wouldn't see her after they left the hospital, and they would continue their relationship on the phone. He wasn't sure yet what he would do, or how often he could see her after she left. For the moment, she thought his situation was temporary, and he was inclined to keep it that way. She wouldn't worry about him, she couldn't pity him, and he also hadn't told her about his divorce. He didn't want her to think he was putting pressure on her. He fully understood that she had to go home to her family eventually. All he wanted was to enjoy the time they had.

She was in her room that afternoon, and so was Bill, when Gordon called. He told her that he was very relieved to know that she was getting well. He made it sound as though she were recovering from a sprained ankle, or a bad fall. In fact, he felt as though she had returned from the dead. By the time she woke up, he hadn't expected her to live, or to come out of the coma. He had begun to think of himself as a widower, and he had to mentally turn the clock back again, to resume his marriage to her. He sounded very strange, and she correctly guessed that he was angry about Bill, and punishing her for it. He sounded awkward to her, but there was no awkwardness when she talked to Teddy and Sophie. Sophie cried when she heard her mother's voice, and all Teddy could do was gasp for air and sob. Isabelle thought he sounded terrible, and she asked Gordon about it when her children got off the phone. She was still crying from the overwhelming emotion of hearing them. She had been so worried about both of them.

“Teddy will be much better now,” Gordon said casually. Sophie had said she wanted to come to see her, but Gordon said her mother would be home soon enough. “How soon will they let you leave?” he asked matter-of-factly. There was no point in his going to see her, he said, if she was coming home.

“They said in about four weeks, depending on my liver, my head, and my heart.” They were hardly small things to contemplate, but Gordon didn't seem impressed. Now that she was out of the coma, he was dismissive of the rest.

“Four weeks sounds a bit long, doesn't it? I'm sure they'll let you go sooner if you ask.” He sounded faintly suspicious of her, and wondered if she was dragging her feet, because Bill was still there. Gordon was not going to tolerate that. “I'll talk to the doctor myself. You can get all the medical attention you need here.” She felt panicked when she got off the phone, and she told her doctor that Gordon was going to call to press him into sending her home.

“Is that what you want, Isabelle? We could probably transfer you to a hospital in Paris in a week or so. You're not ready to be at home yet.”

“I want to stay here,” she said, looking worried. They both knew why.

“I'll take care of it,” he said reassuringly. He was willing to do that for her and Bill, he liked them both. They'd been to hell and back, and her children could wait. But later, she admitted to Bill how worried she was about Teddy. He hadn't sounded well on the phone, and it was the one thing that made her feel she should try to go home sooner than planned. It drove her crazy knowing how badly he needed her and how long she'd been gone, although she knew he was in good hands. Bill was sympathetic, as always, when they spoke of it later on.

“I'm sure this has been terribly traumatic for him. God knows what Gordon said to him about the condition you were in. But now that he's heard your voice, and knows you'll be home in a few weeks, I'm sure he'll improve every day.” She felt reassured by what Bill said.

“I hope so,” she said fervently. “Thank God Sophie is there. She wanted to come to see me, but I don't think she should. Teddy needs her there, more than I do here.” And she had Bill. She wanted this time with him before they left each other and she went back, but not at her children's expense. “What about Cindy? Do you think she'll come back to see you here?”

“No,” he said simply, without explaining why. And the girls would be busy all summer. “I told them I'd see them when I get back.” He had also told the doctor not to tell Isabelle how extensive the damage was to his spine, and that he wouldn't be able to walk. It was the one thing, other than the divorce, that he didn't want her to know. He wanted time to see how much better he could get. She thought it would take him a long time to heal, like six months or a year, so she wasn't surprised that he couldn't walk.

If she had been willing to leave Gordon, it could have been different for him. He might have told her the truth then about his legs. But since she was determined to go back to Gordon, Bill didn't want her worrying about him. She had enough on her plate with her sick child. And now that he'd seen Gordon at close range, he knew what she was up against, and it made him sick to think of her with him. Gordon seemed to have no regard for her, no love, no kindness, no respect, no warmth. As far as Gordon Forrester was concerned, his entire world revolved around himself, and all Isabelle was was a convenience and a pawn, and a caretaker for their sick son. He had no appreciation whatsoever, as far as Bill was concerned, of the gem he had. And he was worried that she was going to have a hard life with him, perhaps even harder than before. Gordon was suspicious of her now, and angry about Bill, and Bill was worried that Gordon would punish her for the sins he thought she had committed behind his back. She was going to have to be careful of him now, and stand up for herself, or he would turn her life into a nightmare of torment and disrespect. He couldn't even be bothered to stay with her in London, when she appeared to be comatose and dying, for more than a few days, and he hadn't returned since. And now that she was awake, and she and Bill were together again, that was just as well.

When the doctor spoke to Gordon on the phone later that afternoon, he insisted again that Isabelle could not be moved for at least another four weeks. Her husband was not pleased. He thought they were being unreasonable and overly cautious about it, but in the end the doctor frightened him with hideous complications he claimed she could develop, and even suggested she might slip into a coma again. “I should lose my license over this,” he laughed as he told Isabelle and Bill later on. But he thought they deserved some small chance for happiness at least, and a reward for the agony they'd survived. And Bill's torments weren't over by any means. The doctor knew only too well how long and hard his rehabilitation was going to be. He had already set it up for him to go to a hospital in New York, where they would help him regain as much use of his legs as he could. Neither Isabelle nor Bill had any real idea of what was in store for Bill there.

For now, they had four weeks, to sit together, and laugh and talk and revel in the love and comfort they derived from each other. The hospital was a safe haven for both of them, after the trauma they'd been through, and before they both went back to their own lives. Reality was going to hit them both soon enough.

They slept together cautiously in her room again that night, and they tried his after that. They were both free of monitors, and they spent long hours throughout the afternoon talking about their lives and hopes and dreams. The time they were sharing was a rare gift, and for both of them, it had been hard won.

They played cards, they read books, he taught her to play liar's dice. They sat and talked for hours, they took their meals in the same room. Her liver was getting better, and healing slowly on its own. Her heartbeat was still irregular, though less so than it had been. And she had ferocious headaches sometimes. She tired easily, and slept a great deal, most of the time lying in bed next to him. His neck was still locked in the terrible brace he had to wear, and as his spine healed, he had pains in his back sometimes, and she would gently rub his shoulders and his arms. She had noticed how little use of his legs he had, but Bill kept assuring her that he would be walking by the next time they met, and she believed him, because she wanted to. It seemed reasonable to her that he still couldn't walk. It had only been a month since the accident, which wasn't very long. They talked very little of their assorted aches and pains. Most of the time, they shared confidences, talked endlessly, and made each other laugh.

She had been out of the coma for a full two weeks when they were lying on his bed on a sunny afternoon in July. The windows were open, and the day was warm, and they were telling stories about their childhoods, as she lay on his bed with him. She was careful not to bump into him, or touch anything that still hurt. She was particularly careful about his spine. And as she told him about her time with her grandparents in Hampshire, she was running her fingers lazily down his arm. She had scratched the back of his neck for him, and after his arm, she ran her fingers lazily across his shoulders and down his back where she knew they wouldn't do any harm, and as she did, he looked at her with an air of longing, and then smiled, looking like a mischievous little boy.

“Why are you looking like that?” she asked, wondering if he was laughing at her. “I was being serious about my grandfather. He was a very nice man.”

“I'm sure he was. I stopped listening to you about five minutes ago,” he said honestly. “Wanting you is driving me insane.”

“What did you have in mind? Liar's dice again?” He beat her constantly, and refused to tell her how he could tell when she lied. She was a terrible liar, which he liked. Unlike his former wife.

“Better than that,” he said, kissing her gently on the lips. He had figured out how to lean forward just enough so that they could kiss, and they had done a lot of it, particularly at night, lying side by side. “Isabelle,” he said quietly, “I'm not sure how this is going to work, but I want to make love to you.” He had been having overpowering sensations for the past half hour. And he was so comfortable with her now, he was willing to try. They were both still pretty fragile, but he had wanted to make love to her for a long time. Since long before the accident, and he would never have asked her then, but there was a hopeful look in his eyes that went straight to her heart.

“It's all right, my love.” It was something she wanted to do for him, even if all they did was lie in each other's arms. She understood perfectly now what he had in mind. “What do you say we lock the door?” There were locks on their doors that no one ever used, but this seemed an excellent time to start.

“Do you suppose they'll throw us out of the hospital?” he asked with a grin, as she got up and locked the door. He could hardly move, but he had had an irresistible desire for her for the last half hour, and it was all he could think of now. He had been so worried about it for so long, and he was nervous about trying it out with her, but neither of them could resist. Their relationship was tender and passionate and solidified by mutual trust.

“I'm not sure this is what they had in mind when they let us sleep in the same room,” Isabelle said cautiously with a mischievous smile.

“That was silly of them,” he said, looking more than a little nervous. “This is the best part.” Or at least he hoped it would be. But what if it was not? He quivered at the thought.

She stopped him for a moment then, looking serious, and she gently kissed him on the lips. “I just want to tell you that the best part is what we already have … loving each other, being together … holding each other … I love everything about you, Bill. Whatever comes now is just an added gift, but it's not the best part. You are.”

He had no idea if he could make love to her, but he wanted so badly to try. The doctor had told him it was possible, and Bill hoped he was right. And if it was, he wanted to share that with her. If not, he felt sure it would be a huge disappointment to both of them, and a failure on his part. But he did not voice his fears to Isabelle. He was afraid she'd worry or feel sorry for him. It was the latter he feared most.

She was infinitely gentle with him as she removed his hospital gown, he had a beautiful body, and he was aching for her. There was no shame between them, no modesty, they had been through so much, it was as though they had always been together, as she stroked and caressed him and he looked concerned. He felt everything she did emotionally, but he was not yet sure of the rest. She took her own nightgown off as he held her breasts in his hands. The bodies that had been so badly broken and abused suddenly forgot all their pain, and ever so gently, she began kissing him, first on the mouth, and then she worked her way artfully down. They knew how much they loved each other, and this was the last secret garden where they hadn't been, they discovered it slowly together, and he was overwhelmed by his feelings for her. She was infinitely careful as she tried to arouse him, careful not to put any weight on him, just enough in the right places, and he felt the exquisite pleasure she intended for him, but the desired effect did not take place, much to his dismay.

Even as he felt it, Bill was aware that what he felt was muffled somehow. And although he felt overwhelming passion for her, at the same time he had a sense that he was not in control of himself. Something was disconnected in him, and he wasn't sure if it was his brain or his spinal cord. And in spite of the intensity with which he wanted to make love to her, he felt raw fear slowing him down. He began to realize as she lay poised over him that it wasn't going to work, and he felt not only foolish, but insane for having tried.

Isabelle was remotely aware of what was happening to him, but she was so in love with him that all she wanted was to make him happy and feel loved. She had been well aware herself that it might not work, ever, or certainly the first time. He had been severely traumatized, and it was reasonable to expect that it might take patience to bring his sexual abilities back to life again. She hadn't wanted to present a challenge to him, but to give him hope, and life. But instead of hope, she could see despair in his eyes, as his efforts to consummate their passion failed.

“It's all right, my love … it's all right… give it time,” she whispered as he clung to her, and then she felt him pull away from her and turn away. He was devastated by not being able to make love to her. All Bill could think as he lay next to her was that he had failed, and nothing she could say altered that fact. He vowed to himself, as he held her close to him, that he would never try again. Despite her tenderness and her love for him, he felt humiliated and more despondent than he had since the accident. It was the worst day of his life. He was no longer a man. And nothing on earth, he told himself, would induce him to try again. And surely not with her.

“Put your clothes on,” he whispered to her, and she hesitated, wanting to do anything she could for him. But she could see how depressed he was, and any effort to please him, or comfort him, or caress or fondle him would only have upset him more. She slipped under the covers with him, and covered herself with the sheet as she lay close to him.

“It's all right, Bill,” she whispered tenderly. “It will happen eventually,” they both knew how deeply he felt for her, but he had wanted more than that, for both of them. “This is only the beginning,” she said, kissing him gently on the cheek and trying to take his hand in hers, but he pulled it away. He was fighting back tears, and all he wanted was to run away, and there was no chance of that.

“No, it's not the beginning,” he said angrily. He was furious with himself, not with her. “It's the end.” The end of his life as a man, as far as he was concerned.

“It's not the end of anything,” she said as she would have to a child. “The doctor told you it could take time to get things going again.” But Bill was terrified his failure to perform was permanent. It would have been hard for any woman to imagine what his failure to make love to her represented to him. It was not something she could simply kiss away. All he could see ahead of him was a terrifying future without sex, and knowing that he could no longer function as a man. Like any other man, it had happened to him from time to time in his life, when he had been too tired, or too upset, too worried about politics, or when he had had too much to drink. But this had been his watershed, his epiphany, the first time he had ever made love to Isabelle. And after the accident, it had been, in his eyes, his one chance to prove that he was still a man, whether or not he could walk. What he had discovered changed everything for him, if not for her. Isabelle was understanding and decidedly calm about it. She was certain that it would work eventually. And even if not, she was prepared to accept whatever limitations he had, and love him anyway. It changed nothing for her, but it changed Bill's entire world. He was certain if he didn't recover his manhood, if not his legs, there was no way he could remain in her life. He had lost a lot that night, his self-respect, his self-esteem, his sense of his own masculinity, and all hope of any kind of a future with Isabelle, if his abilities were gone for good, which he feared they were. It would have seemed insane to her to come to those conclusions because of one failed attempt to make love to her. But Bill's fears were overpowering. He was terrified it would mean the end of the road for them, although his inability to make love to her meant nothing to Isabelle. If anything, as a result, she loved him more, and felt infinite tenderness for him.

Chapter 11

Bill's spirits took a hard hit after their failed attempt at making love. And although they continued to sleep in the same room, he was adamant about not trying again. He had risked all the humiliation he could bear, and Isabelle tried to encourage him to be optimistic, but she didn't force herself on him. She was careful not to, in fact. She was quiet and calm and supportive, and insisted, when he allowed her to talk about it, that with time and patience, his sexual abilities would very probably return. He had felt far too much, even during their brief attempt, to suggest that he would be forever numb. But Bill refused to accept even the remote possibility that there was hope for him. As far as he was concerned, the door to his life as a man was closed. He and Isabelle remained close to each other, and derived enormous comfort from each other, but he had no intention of trying to make love to her again.

As Bill and Isabelle grew even closer to each other emotionally, time seemed to move at an ever faster speed. The physical therapists were beginning to work with Bill, and Isabelle underwent a battery of tests, which covered everything from EEGs for brain function to sonograms for her heart. Little by little, they were advancing in their recoveries, and they were increasingly aware that their days together would soon end. The accident had been a high price to pay to spend nearly two months together, but as time went on, they were almost beginning to feel married.

They sat in each other's rooms all day, he accompanied her for her tests, they read the newspaper and had breakfast together in the morning, and at night they slept in two hospital beds that had been placed side by side. The only thing missing from their conjugal life was sex, still a sore subject for him. Although even without a physical side to their relationship, Isabelle had never been happier in her life.

“I feel like I'm running a beach resort here,” one of the nurses teased amiably as they came back from sitting in the sun. Isabelle had had a headache that day, and they had done a brain scan on her before lunch, but the doctor said it looked fine. They were following her progress carefully, and she had done remarkably well. Gordon was pressing her about when she was coming home. She knew, as Bill did, that her return to Paris was only weeks away. She wasn't hoping for complications for either of them, but she dreaded leaving Bill, not knowing when she would see him again.

She talked to her children every day, and she thought Sophie sounded incredibly stressed, which worried her. The full responsibility for Teddy was on her shoulders, and although Isabelle talked to him constantly, the boy was not doing as well as he had been before his mother left. Isabelle felt guilty for staying away from them for so long, but at the moment, she had no other choice, other than to be in a hospital in Paris. But she knew that as happy as she would be to see her children again, it was going to be excruciatingly painful to leave Bill.

They talked about it sometimes, and she said that perhaps in the future they could continue to meet somewhere, as they had in June. She didn't know how she'd get away, but she thought she could. What she shared now with Bill was not something she was willing to give up easily, even if they only met a few times a year. Bill was vague when she talked about meeting him every few months. He couldn't even think about it now, although he was making steady progress, his recovery had been far slower than hers, and his spirits had been flagging. He didn't want to commit to seeing her until he saw how his rehabilitation went. He continued not to want to be a burden to her. Nor did he want to give up seeing her. And after what they'd shared in the hospital, and the time they'd spent, it was hard to imagine that phone calls would still be enough, for either of them.

“I'm not sure you're being realistic about our meeting in Paris,” Bill said once quietly. “Gordon doesn't know what happened here, but he does know we were together that night. He told me to get out of your room, in no uncertain terms, when he was here. I don't think he's going to just sit by while you go wandering off. I think he's going to be highly suspicious of us, and of you.” Bill realized he might even monitor her calls. Gordon had been shocked to realize that she had developed a friendship with a man right under his nose.

And Bill didn't say it to Isabelle, but he had made a decision weeks before that if he was to be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life, he refused to be a burden to her, or anyone else. It had been a factor, although not the most important one in their case, in his divorcing Cynthia. And if in addition, he could not be a man with Isabelle, in every sense of the word, he was going to end it between them.

If he could learn to walk again, he would meet her quietly somewhere in France when she could get away. But the sexual issue remained a question mark for him. If the rehabilitation center in the States was no more successful at getting him on his feet again than the doctors in England thought it would be, he was not going to see her again. Sex would not even be an issue then. He was not willing to burden her with his limitations if he was wheelchair-bound for the rest of his days. He was tormented by both issues in their final days in the hospital, whether he would ever walk again, and whether time would restore his manhood. He was not willing to inflict either problem on Isabelle, and she had no idea how intensely and how hopeless he felt about it. Bill was careful not to express to her how pessimistic he was, although at times she sensed it without words.

He admitted to his doctor once that he had attempted to make love to her, and how devastating his failure had been, and the doctor had reassured him as best he could.

“I'm not surprised, you know,” the surgeon said to him, with uncharacteristic understanding. “It actually sounds fairly hopeful, for the first time, after such an extensive trauma. Give it time, I think you may be encouraged by what happens. It is still very reasonable to expect that you would achieve both erection and orgasm within the first year. I think you may have been a little too enthusiastic and optimistic a little too soon. It's still very early days.” But in spite of the potential comfort of the doctor's words, Bill didn't believe him. He continued to cling to his terror that the situation was hopeless, and it would never work. And he was absolutely determined not to try it again anytime in the near future, although Isabelle was more than willing to be creative with him, but Bill was not. He had abandoned all thought of a physical relationship with Isabelle for the time being, and maybe forever. And he had no idea when, or if, they'd have the opportunity to try again.

But in spite of the torture Bill was putting himself through, he and Isabelle were still sharing a room, and she was contemplating what to do with her life. She knew she would never leave her marriage, because of Teddy and Sophie, but nor was she willing now to give up Bill. Being his lover was a life she had never envisaged for herself, but it was what she wanted now and all she could have. She and Bill shared something that she had never known before. She often felt as though they were two bodies with one soul. And nothing on earth was going to make her give that up.

She spoke to Gordon every few days. He had his secretary call the nurses' station every day to check on her condition, but more often than not she called him, usually at the office, out of respect for him, and to check how Teddy was. Usually, Sophie called her about him. And Isabelle called Teddy herself every day. And when Isabelle spoke to Gordon, as always, he sounded distant and cool. Most of the time, she had the feeling that she had interrupted him and had called at an inopportune time. He had very little to say to her, since the accident. And she could sense that he no longer trusted her, although he never said as much. She felt as though he were punishing her, and she knew that once she was back in Paris with him, she would have some serious explaining to do. The fact that she and Bill had been to Annabel's and Harry's Bar, and had been together at that hour when the bus hit their car, spoke for itself. He said only once to her, during one of their calls, “You're not the woman I married, Isabelle. In fact, I'm not sure I know who you are.” She felt guilty about it at times, and she knew it wasn't right to pursue her relationship with Bill, and yet it was like a drug to her now, her life depended on it, and she didn't want to give it up.

She was talking to Bill about it one night, as she massaged his legs for him. He said they still felt mostly numb, but he had some sensation, as he did elsewhere, and they ached sometimes, almost as though he'd been walking for a long time. She was telling him about the conversation she'd had with Gordon that day. He had been particularly short with her, and she sighed when she hung up the phone.

“I don't think he'll ever trust me again,” she said to Bill. “And he's right, of course. I can't even imagine what it's going to be like going home. What about you? How angry is Cynthia?” Isabelle had noticed that he never talked about her, only the girls. But their relationship had been very different than hers and Gordon's was, they led far more separate lives, and there was little if any pretense of a relationship between them anymore. He still had not told Isabelle about the divorce. It was the only secret he had kept from her. He didn't want her to know he was soon to be free. He didn't want her to feel pressured. He knew she was staying in her marriage, and it seemed best to him if she believed he was married too.

“I don't think she was happy when she left,” Bill said honestly. “I was honest with her about my feelings about you. And I didn't have to be. But she knows me, and she knew how worried I was about you.”

“That didn't bother her?” Isabelle asked, looking surprised.

“I'm sure it did, but she knows better than to make a big fuss. She has enough secrets in her past.” He smiled at Isabelle. “You can't put a man in jail for being in love. And Cynthia has led her own life for a long time. She hasn't let the grass grow under her feet for the last ten years.”

Isabelle was pensive as she listened to him. “I don't think Gordon has ever cheated on me,” she said quietly. “He's far too conservative and proper and sensible to do anything like that.” From what Bill knew of their marriage, he wasn't as sure, but he didn't want to say that to her. It seemed odd to him for a man to be as cold and even cruel to her as her husband was, and not be finding comfort and consolation somewhere else. On the contrary, when he'd met him, he didn't think Gordon looked like the kind of man to be faithful or loyal to anyone. He was entirely out for himself. And Bill thought a mistress hidden somewhere would have explained Gordon's appalling behavior to his wife.

“What makes you think that?” Bill asked cautiously, he didn't want to stir things up, particularly since she was going back to him. He wanted her to have a peaceful life, not assist her in waging war on a man who could far too easily be cruel and damaging to her.

“Affection isn't important to him, neither is sex,” she said very openly. “We haven't slept in the same room for years.” He knew what she meant by that, and he smiled at her. She was very proper and shy in some ways, verbally at least. But she was very open and comfortable with him. And she was also naive about her husband, he felt sure.

Bill and Isabelle were happy together in every way, but by the following week, they were both beginning to look strained. She had a battery of tests scheduled, and if her doctors were pleased with the results, she was going home. It was late August by then, and they had been in the hospital for two months. Gordon was getting angrier every day, and accusing her doctors of dragging their feet in releasing her. And the rehab center where Bill was scheduled for the next several months was waiting for him. She had to go back to Paris, and he was due to return to the States. Their strange idyll was about to end. It wasn't easy for either of them to face.

“Do you swear you'll call me every day?” she asked, looking sad one night as they lay in bed. She was due to have her last brain scan the next day. Her liver was healing, her heart had looked normal on the last sonogram, and her lungs had finally cleared.