Miracle (61 page)

“I’m fine,” he lied.

“You sound tired. Was it another long day at the office?”

“Yes. Chaos. I suppose it’s always like this when a corporation cleans house.”

“I bet you wield a mean broom.”

“Of course. I’m a dictator. All surgeons are, by their nature. I belong in the operating room. And will be returning there within the next few months. Ah! I have so much remedial study to do to catch up!”

“Doc, you’ll be fine. Most heart surgeons would give their right aortas to know as much as you’ve
forgotten.
”

“Such wonderful faith. Now I know why I love talking to you.” He paused, then added gruffly, “Why I love you.”

She made a soft, broken sound. “Love you, too. Miss you. Wait.” She took a moment to get herself under control. He heard her clearing her throat and sniffing. Her loneliness merged with his and made him rub the ache in his eyes.

“Only a few more days,” he reminded her.

“I woke up kissing my pillow this morning. I was on a plane at the time. The flight attendants were staring at me. It was embarrassing.”

He smiled. “You’re in Kansas City tonight?”

“Yep. I’ll be at a club called Happy’s tonight through Sunday.” She paused. “And then I’ll be on a plane to Paris.”

He shut his eyes, anticipating her arrival. “I have a surprise for you. I’ve arranged for you to take another flight when you arrive there. To Rennes.”

“Rennes?”

“I’ll meet you there, and we’ll drive through the countryside. I’ve reserved a cottage in Beg-Meil. It’s one of the prettiest seaport towns in Brittany.”

“Brittany—the province your mother was from?”

“Yes.”

“I’d love to go there! But … one favor. Instead of meeting me at the airport in Rennes, could you meet me at a hotel there?”

“You sound so mysterious.”

“No, I just want everything to be
perfect
when I see you. I want to meet you in private.” Her tone became teasing.
“I’ve got a list of lewd things I want to do the second I get my paws on you, and I can’t do ’em at an airport. Not without drawing a crowd, anyway.”

“I like your impatience, love. All right. I’ll make the arrangements. Lewd, hmmm? I can’t wait.”

“Oh, I’m gonna shock you.” Her voice went on one of its whimsical flights upward, as it did whenever she was tense. “You can
count
on it.”

Sebastien worried about the nervousness in her voice. “Yesterday you said that your movie was in the editing process. Any more news?”

“Oh, yes! I nearly forgot! My part didn’t get cut! I have a good ten minutes of screen time.”

“Marvelous!”

She sighed. “Careers are not made on ten minutes of goofy lines like, ‘Hon, your duck just ate the laces out of my tennis shoes.’ This
ain’t
art.”

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy it. I’ve always preferred Jerry Lewis over François Truffaut.”

“Yeah,” she said drolly, “but that’s because your idea of entertainment is playing Simon Says with cadavers.”

“What is Simon Says?”

“It’s a game. I’ll show you how to play it when we meet in Rennes.”

“I’m counting the days.”

“Four. Plus six hours and forty-seven minutes that are left in today.”

“Amy?”

“Hmmm?”

“After you arrive, let’s discuss wedding plans.” The silence that settled over the phone bewildered him. “Amy?”

“Yes. Yeah. It’d be a very good idea. Very good.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Of course not. I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Oh, that I hope you like the way I look. I’ve gained a little weight.”

He exhaled in relief. Women and their vanity. “Is that all? Miracle, I hold nothing against a woman who likes to eat.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. That you might not want to hold anything against me.”

Smiling, he shook his head. “Never fear. Whatever you’ve added, I’ll love it.”

She made a garbled sound and changed the subject. Later, after he hung the phone up and lay in bed frowning into space, Sebastien realized that he was the one who felt afraid.

One night when he returned from the office he found Marie visiting Annette. They were in the enormous drawing room in the villa’s lower level. Annette lay on a couch bundled in pale yellow blankets; Marie sat on the edge of a Louis XVI chair upholstered in tapestry as colorful as she was dark. She looked crisp and formal in a black sheath dress. Gone was all sign of her earth-mother phase. She even wore her trademark pearls.

She stiffened as Sebastien walked into the room and scowled when he kissed her hand. “I hear that you plan to marry again. An American actress.”

“She’s first and foremost a comedienne, then an actress. And yes, I do plan to marry her.”

“We’ve been divorced less than a year. I never expected that you would miss married life enough to take it up again so soon.”

“I amaze myself, sometimes. And how are you?”

“Busy, very busy. I’m starting a chain of bookstores.”

“I wish you very good luck.”

She dismissed luck with an elegant wave of one hand. “When has luck meant more than serious work and the ability to put aside sentiment while one achieves a goal?”

Sebastien laughed softly and went to a marbled fireplace, where he leaned against the mantel and lost his thoughts in the crackling orange flames. Marie had just given a neat summation of her attitude toward life. It was certainly the attitude she had applied to their marriage. He didn’t resent her for it—in fact, he had shared her view of life for many years—but he was damned glad that Amy had saved him from it.

“… please pardon Sebastien,” Annette was saying. Sebastien lifted his head and saw that both she and Marie were watching him, Annette with amusement, Marie with cool puzzlement. “His mind wanders these days. He’s not suited for business. Too much pressure.”

He smiled. “Yes. I’ll give it all to you, willingly. A few months and I’m sure you’ll be taking my place.”

“I’ll hold you to your word.”

Sebastien was still distracted by pleasant thoughts of the future. It occurred to him that he had no emotional investment in Marie anymore, and he regarded her as if she were a stranger rather than the woman who had shared so much tragedy with him. He went to her quickly, bent down, and kissed her forehead. “I’m glad to see you again,” he said sincerely. “Please excuse me for not visiting longer, but I have some paperwork to do. Good night.”

She gaped at him. “What has come over you? You’ve changed. I hardly know you.”

“A blessing, wouldn’t you say?” He kissed her forehead again and left the room, feeling contented and free. Tomorrow he would meet Amy in Rennes. Nothing mattered except spending a few precious days with her. More than ever she was the center of his self-discovery and the reason that he liked what he was learning about himself.

Rennes was as old and imposing as the granite that composed nearly all of its eighteenth-century buildings. It was a handsome though somewhat pompous neoclassical city, with a few large boulevards and the distinguished Palais de Justice, where once the regional parliament had met. The newer areas bustled with modern industries and crowded suburbs.

Sebastien drove through the city without noticing it. His mouth was dry with excitement. He pulled a sterling pocket watch from the trousers of his pinstriped black suit and checked the time. He had not wanted to be dressed so formally for her arrival, but business had kept him an hour late. He hadn’t wanted to waste minutes changing clothes. It was a long drive from Paris.

When he reached the hotel he pressed his suitcase and several francs into a porter’s hands and called the suite number to him as he strode through a plush lobby. He had no patience for the ancient elevator with its heavily ornamented cage; instead he went to the wide staircase at the lobby’s back and ran the four flights to the top. The porter, panting for breath, scrambled after him. By the time he caught up, Sebastien was halfway down the hall on the fourth floor, searching for the suite’s door.

“Four-fifteen. There, sir.” the porter said, pointing. “The lady arrived an hour ago.” To Sebastien’s dismay, the overzealous man leapt ahead of him and knocked on the heavy door. “Porter, madame!”

Exasperated, Sebastien put a restraining hand on the man’s arm. “No need to carry on, thank you. You may go.”

“Come in!” Amy called from somewhere inside the suite. The porter pushed the door open and Sebastien forgot everything except the desire to see her. He stepped inside and halted, his gaze going immediately to where she sat, smiling at him over the back of a brocaded couch, one arm artfully draped along the top. Her auburn hair was a mass of soft waves pulled back on one side with a gold comb. What little he could see of her was covered in a silky black jacket over a matching blouse that scooped low on her breasts. Her green eyes crinkled with amusement.

Her pose and her appearance were so purposefully dramatic—and so effective—that he felt frantic with a mixture of pride, arousal, and love. She had gone to some trouble to please him.

“This is the one you told me to look out for, isn’t he, madame?” the porter asked.

She nodded. “He is, indeed. Thank you.” Her French was charming with its eccentric American drawl. Sebastien craved the sound of her voice.

He pushed more money into the porter’s hand, then led him to the door. The porter grinned and waved as he shut it behind him. Sebastien pivoted and walked toward her, his hands held out, but she didn’t leap up and run to him, as he’d expected. Instead she stood with elegant slowness, swirling the long silk jacket around her and holding it
closed in front of her stomach. He saw that she wore a slender black skirt and delicate black pumps. Around her neck was the Celtic cross, and on her left hand was the ring he had given her.

The girl he had fallen in love with more than ten years before had become a woman of style and beauty, and he had never been more aware of the fact than now. But there was something new about her, too—a reserve, a mystery. Sebastien frowned a little as he circled the couch and reached for her. “No,” she said, stepping back and grasping both of his hands. “Just let me look at you for a minute.”

Bewildered, he stood still and gazed down at her, noting now that he was close that her face had a pallor but her cheeks were flushed, and the makeup on her eyes failed to disguise their fatigue or anxiety.

“I love you,” she said, staring at him with an anguish he couldn’t fathom.

Sebastien squeezed her hands. “What is it? What’s wrong?” He glanced down and saw the slight thickening around her abdomen, revealed now that she’d let the jacket fall open. He stared at it, not wanting to believe what it might mean.

“I didn’t want to tell you before now,” she said, her voice troubled. “You were overcome with your family’s problems. I wanted you to have time to get them under control a little.”

The sharp kick of truth made his breath short. She was pregnant. He stepped back from her and dropped her hands. “When did this happen?”

“In Paris. When I was staying with you at your sister’s home.” He listened through the roar in his ears as she reminded him of her flu and explained how it might have affected her birth control pills. “You know I wouldn’t have done this deliberately,” she told him. “I wasn’t careless. Please believe that.”

He knew before he raised his eyes to her wretched expression that he believed her. “How it happened is not the problem. Why didn’t you tell me as soon as you suspected?”

Tears glistened on her lashes. “I wanted the baby, and I was certain that you didn’t.” She hesitated, her eyes searching his. “That you don’t.” Her shoulders slumped.

He struggled not to shout at her. “Of course I don’t! I have every reason to believe that you and I have no better chance of producing a healthy baby than Marie and I had!” He swallowed convulsively and forced a calmer voice. “I told you I couldn’t go through that again. You betrayed my trust by not telling me about this pregnancy immediately.”

“I was trying to make it easier for us both. So many first pregnancies miscarry during the first three months … I was afraid I’d lose the baby. If I had, you never would have known.”