Honor Thyself (29 page)

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

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

“Neither did I,” she agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 17

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

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

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

She mentioned it to Stevie when they went upstairs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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