First Sight (12 page)

Timmie showered as Jean-Charles had told her she could, ordered lunch from room service, checked her messages, read some faxes Jade and David had sent her, none of them earth-shattering, just informative. And then Timmie happily got into her bed, between exquisitely pressed sheets. Being there again felt like the height of luxury to her. Although everything at the hospital had been efficient, comfortable, and pleasant, there was no place on earth as wonderful as the Plaza Athénée, in her opinion.

She was happily tucked into her bed there late that afternoon, eating her favorite chocolates and sipping tea, when the concierge called to announce that Docteur Vernier had come to see her, and five minutes later, he came up. He looked relaxed and happy to see her as he strode into the room and told her she looked better already.

“It must be the chocolates,” she said as she offered him one, and he resisted, with more willpower than she felt capable of. “How was Périgord with your kids?” she asked, without adding that she had missed him, but she was surprised to find she had. She’d had no one interesting to talk to since the previous morning when he came to see her at the hospital before he left.

“Excellent,” he commented. “And how do you feel being back here? As well as you did in the hospital yesterday, or have you already exhausted yourself?” He looked almost stern as he questioned her, and she laughed at him, which made him smile again. Her laughter was always infectious, and he was satisfied to see she had regained her mischievous look. She looked very well to him, and he was pleased.

“I haven’t done a thing. All I’ve done since I got back this morning was lie in bed and eat.”

“That’s just what you need.” He had already told her several times he thought she was too thin, which didn’t entirely surprise him, given the business she was in. All American fashion people looked anorexic to him, although Timmie’s slimness wasn’t quite that extreme. But he could see that she had lost some weight that week, which was to be expected after her surgery. He could see easily that she was delighted to be back at the hotel, in the comfortable bed and surroundings, with her own nightgown on. She had even put on a pair of diamond earrings, and done her nails that afternoon. She was back in the lap of luxury again, and felt more herself than she had at the hospital in Neuilly. Now, as soon as he gave her permission to do so, she was going to fly the coop entirely. He hated to admit it to himself, but he knew he would miss her when she left. She was excellent company, and wonderful to talk to. Her anxieties that had been aroused the night of the surgery had dissipated days before, and she was confident and smiling again. She was now a woman of power back in her element. There was no question that after twenty-three years of remarkable achievement, elegant opulence suited her to a tee. He teased her about it as she offered him a glass of champagne, and he laughed and shook his head.

“I rarely drink,” he said easily, not in the least bothered about it. The bottle of Cristal she held out to him held no appeal at all. “And I’m on call tonight.”

“You don’t drink?” She seemed surprised. He was a man of good habits, a fine mind, warm heart, and was devoted to his wife and children. One couldn’t ask for more. She couldn’t help thinking again that his wife was a lucky woman. Men like Jean-Charles Vernier were rare, and didn’t come on the market often. Not in her experience anyway. They almost always stayed married to their wives. She couldn’t even imagine Jean-Charles single, or involved with one of the young women the men she knew hung out with. Most of them were starlets, models, or bimbos. The thought of it was laughable. He wouldn’t have put up with a woman like that for ten minutes. His standards were obviously so much higher, and he was truly a nice man.

She offered him a cup of tea, which he also declined. He didn’t expect her to entertain him. He wasn’t a guest, he was her doctor, as he pointed out to her with a smile.

“I thought we were friends too,” she said, looking disappointed, as he laughed.

“That’s true. I think we are. I enjoy our conversations very much,” he admitted to her, and then he surprised her by what he said next. “I’m going to miss you when you’re gone.”

He liked their philosophical discussions about the human race, their frailties and predilections, the politics of their respective countries, and he had been deeply touched by her confidences about her previous life. He had been greatly moved by the stories of her childhood at the orphanage and in and out of foster homes, which would have destroyed most people and had only made her stronger. And he was deeply saddened for her about her son. Given his love for his own children, he couldn’t imagine anything worse than losing a child. Yet she had managed to survive that too, and the betrayal by her husband. She had been through so much, and was still whole. She had won his profound respect in the days since her surgery, and he agreed with her that they had become friends, however odd that seemed at first. It no longer did now, even to him. He wasn’t in the habit of becoming friends with his patients. But there was something warm and unusual about her, which drew him to her, and made him want to share his thoughts with her. He was entirely comfortable sitting in the living room of her suite and chatting with her. She had gotten out of bed to sit with him, among the profusion of flowers that had been sent to her by acquaintances in the fashion world who had heard of her surgery. Word of it had spread like wildfire, with Jade and David in New York.

“So what are your plans?” he asked her, looking relaxed. He seemed happier than he had before the brief weekend he’d spent with his children in Périgord.

“You tell me, doctor. How soon can I fly home?”

“Are you in a great hurry?”

“No,” she said honestly, “but I should get back. I have a business to run,” she reminded him, but he was well aware of it, and of how busy she was, and was likely to be when she went back.

“How does Thursday sound to you? Can you live with that?” He didn’t want to rush her departure, but he knew he couldn’t keep her at the Plaza Athénée forever.

“It sounds about right.” And it would give David and Jade a day to organize things for her after they got back. “Can I go out a little bit before that? At least for a short walk.” She had something in mind, which he didn’t suspect.

“I think you can. Don’t walk too far or do too much. Don’t carry anything heavy. Be sensible, and you’ll be fine.”

“That’s good advice about life,” she said, and he smiled. “I’m always sensible unfortunately. I’m too old to be otherwise.” That was not entirely true, but for the most part it was.

“Age has nothing to do with it. And you’re young enough to be foolish if you want. It might do you good from time to time.” He could only imagine the pressure she was under, with her work, and the stress when things went wrong. Fashion was a tough business, and he suspected she had to work hard and fight well to stay on top, which was where she’d been for twenty-three years. Right at the very top, always trying to outdo herself. It was no easy task.

She noticed, or had the impression, that he was reluctant to leave that afternoon, as night began to fall. And then she decided to ask him a random question, which was perhaps too personal. But she decided that if he didn’t want to answer it, he wouldn’t. He was a big boy, well able to defend himself, and she was curious to know.

“Did your wife go to Périgord with you and your children?” she asked, out of the blue, and he looked startled and instantly uncomfortable.

“What made you ask that question?” He was intrigued by her intuitiveness. She seemed to know many things, and accurately guessed the rest. She trusted her own instincts more than most.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “You didn’t mention her. That seemed odd.”

“No, she didn’t go. My brother and she don’t get along.” To say the least. He said that in fact, they had been feuding for years, over a house Jean-Charles and he had inherited together, and eventually had to sell because neither of them could agree on who would use it and when. Jean-Charles’s wife hadn’t spoken to her brother-in-law since, and refused to join her husband on visits to him and his wife in Périgord.

“I thought it was something like that.” Timmie nodded. Her guess had been correct. It was a family disagreement of some kind.

“We don’t always go places together,” Jean-Charles said, as a muscle tightened almost imperceptibly in his jaw. There was something he wasn’t saying, and Timmie watched his eyes, trying to sense what it was. “We’re both very independent people, with widely diverging interests. Whenever I take the children there, she always stays home.”

“Did you go to the dinner party alone the other night in Neuilly?” She was being frankly nosy now, and was aware that she had no right to know. She wondered what he’d answer, when he recovered from his surprise at the question. He was once again impressed by how astute she was.

“I did, actually. She doesn’t like those people either. We rarely go out together, or enjoy the same friends. What made you ask?”

“Just a feeling I had. It’s none of my business. I’m sorry I asked,” she said politely, totally intrigued by the arrangement they had.

In some ways it was very French. People in France seemed to stay married forever, and resolved their differences by leading separate lives, rather than getting divorced as frequently as people did in the States.

“You’re not sorry at all,” he teased her. “You wanted to know. Now you do.”

“Isn’t it hard having separate social lives and weekend plans?” She wondered if he had a mistress, or saw other women, but she would never have dared ask him. She didn’t get the feeling that he did. He didn’t look the type to run around. And he had been circumspect with her. He was clearly not a flirt, with his patients anyway.

“If a marriage is difficult, and two people are very different, having separate lives can keep the marriage alive. After nearly thirty years, one can’t expect things to be the same as they once were,” he explained calmly. It was obvious that he had made peace with how he lived, and it worked for him.

“I suppose not,” Timmie said politely. “I never got that far, I wouldn’t know.”

“Five years is respectable too. I think it’s a shame the way people don’t work things out, and just give up,” Jean-Charles said, and then went on, “I think people should stay together for their children’s sakes. They owe it to them, no matter how unpleasant things get.”

“I don’t know about that,” Timmie said honestly. “I’ve never been convinced that people who don’t get along and stay together make their children all that happy. They always wind up blaming their kids for the sacrifices they made. I think that takes a toll in the end. And why spend the rest of one’s life with someone one doesn’t like, or can’t stand, or doesn’t get along with? I can’t imagine kids get a lot out of that, except the opportunity to share their parents’ stress, which doesn’t seem fair to the kids.”

“We don’t always get what we want in life,” Jean-Charles said cryptically, “or what we thought we would. But that’s no excuse to run away. People owe each other more than that, and their children certainly.”

“That sounds like a hard life to me. I believe in making a serious effort, but not being miserable for the rest of your life. Sometimes it’s better to admit you’ve made a mistake, or things have changed. I think now I respect my ex-husband for doing that, although it was hard for me. If he hadn’t, we would have lived a lie forever. I’d rather be alone than do that.” Jean-Charles obviously disagreed with her. He was defending a way of life, and the choices he’d made, for better or worse. In recent years, mostly worse.

“Sometimes you have to resign yourself,” he said, helping himself to a chocolate, while Timmie watched his eyes with interest. She sensed easily that there was much he wasn’t telling her.

“I don’t agree with you,” Timmie said quietly. “Resignation is a miserable way to live.” She would have hated staying married to Derek, once she knew he was involved with another man. In the end, painful as it had been, Derek had done the right thing leaving her. It had been cleaner in the end, although devastating at the time. And she respected him for it now.

“There is a certain nobility in sacrifice,” he said philosophically as she thought about what he was saying.

“They don’t give prizes for that,” Timmie said staunchly. “You just get old and sad and tired before your time, while you watch your dreams die. And why do that? There should be more to life than that.”

He didn’t answer her, and looked as though he was thinking about it. She had raised a number of interesting questions for him that week, and always gave him much to think about in the course of their conversations. In spite of everything that had happened to her, she was a woman who still believed that love was possible, for others, if not for herself. She too had resigned herself, and no longer believed in dreams. But she liked the theory, especially for others. The reality for both of them was actually similar, although he was married and she wasn’t. They had each made their peace with what they didn’t have in their lives, as many people did, and led their lives as best they could, filling their time by working too hard. He had his children, and she filled her nights occasionally with men like Zack.

They chatted for a while, and finally he got up regretfully. He was comfortable at the Plaza, talking to her, and would have happily continued to sit there for hours. But he had other things to do. Before he left, he promised to come and check on her the following afternoon. She had three days left in Paris.

When she got up and dressed the next day, she felt shakier than she wanted to admit, even to her doctor. She was feeling better, but still not herself yet. In spite of that, she forced herself to go out. The errand she wanted to do was in a shop only a few yards from the hotel on the Avenue Montaigne, which provided some of the best shopping in Paris. She wanted to buy a gift to give Jean-Charles before she left. He had been exceptionally nice to her, and taken excellent care of her, and she wanted to give him something to thank him for it, although she knew he didn’t expect it. It was a gesture of gratitude and friendship she wanted to make to him.