He dreamt of rare butterflies after that, and a woman who kept peeking at him from behind trees, in a lush, tropical forest. He kept thinking that he was lost, and as he would panic and begin to scream, he would always see her, and she would lead him silently to safety. He wasn't entirely sure who the woman was, but he thought it was Olivia Thatcher.

And when he woke in the morning, he was still thinking of her. It was the oddest feeling, more of a delusion than a dream. Seeing her close to him all night, in his dream, had actually given him the feeling that he knew her.

The telephone rang then. It was Frank. It was four o'clock in the morning for him, in Paris it was ten, and he wanted to know how the meeting with Suchard went.

“How did you know I'd see him yesterday?” Peter asked, trying to wake up and gather his wits about him. His father-in-law got up at four in the morning every day. And by six-thirty or seven, he was in the office. Even now, within months of retirement, or so he said, he hadn't altered his routine by so much as a minute.

“I know you left Geneva at noon. I figured you wouldn't waste any time. What's the good news?” Frank sounded buoyant, and Peter remembered only too clearly the shock of everything Paul-Louis Suchard had told him.

“They haven't finished their tests, actually,” Peter said, sounding intentionally vague, and wishing that Frank hadn't called him. “I'm going to wait here for the next few days until they're finished.”

Frank laughed as he listened to him, and for once the sound of it grated on Peter's nerves. What in God's name was he going to tell him? “You can't leave your baby alone for a minute, can you, son?” But he understood. They had all invested so much in Vicotec, money as well as time, and in Peter's case, his life's dreams had gone into backing their new product. At least Suchard hadn't said it was dead, Peter thought to himself, as he sat up in bed. All he had said was that it had problems. Serious ones to be sure, but there was still hope for his dream child. “Well, enjoy yourself in Paris for a few days. We'll hold the fort for you here. There's nothing dramatic happening at the office. And tonight, I'm taking Katie to dinner at '21'. As long as she doesn't mind your cooling your heels there, then I think I can get by without you.”

“Thanks, Frank. I'd like to be here to discuss the results with Suchard when he's through.” It didn't seem fair not to give Frank at least a hint of warning. “There have been a few kinks apparently.”

“Nothing serious, I'm sure,” Frank went on without giving it a second thought. The results in Germany and Switzerland had been just too good to cause them any real worry. Peter had thought so too, until Paul-Louis warned him that Vicotec was a potential killer. He just hoped now that they would all be proven wrong, and that the problems they uncovered by week's end were all minor. “What are you going to do with yourself while you hang around waiting?” Frank sounded amused more than anything. He liked his son-in-law, they had always been good friends. Peter was reasonable and a smart man, and he had proven to be an excellent husband for Katie. He let her do what she wanted to do, and didn't try to interfere with her having things the way she liked them. He let her live where she wanted to, send the boys to the right schools, “right” being Andover and Princeton. He came to Martha's Vineyard for a month every year, and he respected the relationship Frank and Katie had shared since her childhood. In addition, he was a brilliant president for Wilson-Donovan. He was a good father to the boys too. In fact, there was very little Frank didn't like about him, except that occasionally Peter could be stubborn about certain issues, like boarding school or family matters that Frank still sometimes felt weren't really his business.

His marketing ideas had made history, and thanks to him, Wilson-Donovan was the most successful pharmaceutical company in the industry. Frank himself had been responsible for growing the firm from a solid family business to a giant entity, but it was Peter who had helped it grow into an international empire. The New York Times wrote about him constantly, and the Wall Street Journal called him the wonder boy of the pharmaceutical world. In fact, only recently they had wanted an interview with him about Vicotec, but Peter had insisted that they weren't ready. And Congress had recently asked him to appear before an important subcommittee to discuss the ethical and economic issues involved in pharmaceutical pricing. But he hadn't yet told them when he could appear before them.

“I brought some work with me,” Peter said, glancing at the sunlit balcony, and with absolutely no desire to do it, in answer to his father-in-law's earlier question. “I thought I'd do some work on my computer and send it back to the office. I'll keep busy with that and a walking tour,” he said, thinking that he had the whole day before him.

“Don't forget to stock up on champagne,” Frank said jovially. “You and Suchard are going to have some celebrating to do. And we'll celebrate some more as soon as you get back to the office. Should I call the Times today?” he asked casually, as Peter nervously shook his head, and stood up, looking very long and lean and naked.

“I'd wait. I think it's important to wait for the last tests, if nothing else to ensure our credibility,” he said soberly, wondering if anyone could see him through the open window. His dark hair was tousled, and he wrapped the sheet around his waist. The terry cloth robe from the hotel was just out of reach on a peach brocade chair halfway across his bedroom.

“Don't be such a nervous Nellie,” Frank exhorted him. “The tests are going to be fine. Call me as soon as you hear,” he said, suddenly anxious to get going himself, and get to the office.

“I will. Thanks for calling, Frank. Give my love to Kate, in case I don't reach her before you see her. She was out all day yesterday, and it's too early to call her now,” he said, by way of explanation.

“She's a busy girl,” her father said proudly. She was still a girl to him, and in some ways she hadn't changed since college. She still looked almost the way she had twenty-four years before when Peter had met her. She was lithe and blonde, “cute-looking,” her friends still said, and very athletic. She wore her hair short and had blue eyes like his, and there was something pixieish about her, except when she didn't get what she wanted. She was a good mother, and a good wife to Peter, and an exceptional daughter to Frank. They both knew that. “I'll give her your love,” Frank reassured him, and then hung up, as Peter sat in his room, wearing a sheet, and staring out the window. What was he going to say to him if it all blew up in their faces? How were they going to justify the millions they had spent, the billions they wouldn't make, at least not for a while, and not until they spent still more to correct the problems? Peter couldn't help wondering if Frank would be willing to do that. Would he be willing to pursue Vicotec as far as they had to, to make it perfect, or would he insist that they abandon the project? As chairman of the board, the decision was still his, but Peter was going to do everything he could to fight for it. He was always willing to go the long hauls for the big wins. Frank liked the quick, showy wins. Just getting him through the past four years of development had been hard enough, another year or two might be just too much, particularly in view of what it would have to cost them.

He ordered coffee and croissants from room service, and then picked up the phone. He knew he was supposed to wait for Suchard's call, but he just couldn't help it. He called Paul-Louis and was told that Dr. Suchard was in the laboratory and could not be interrupted. They were having a very important meeting. And all Peter could do was apologize, and go back to the agony of waiting. It seemed an eternity of days, waiting to hear from him. It had been less than twenty-four hours since their meeting the day before, and already Peter was ready to jump out of his skin with unbearable tension.

He put his robe on before the breakfast came, and he thought of going swimming again, but it seemed so decadent during working hours. He took out his computer instead, and sat working with it, while munching a croissant and sipping his coffee, but it was impossible to concentrate, and by noon, he showered and dressed and gave up any hope of working.

It took him a long moment to decide what to do. He wanted to do something frivolous, and truly Parisian. A walk along the Seine, or in the Septième, down the rue du Bac, or just sitting in the Latin Quarter, drinking and watching the passersby. He wanted to do anything but work and think of Vicotec. He just wanted to get out of his room and become part of the city.

He put on a dark business suit, and one of his perfectly tailored white shirts. He wasn't meeting anyone, but he hadn't brought anything else, and as he walked out into the brilliant June sun on the Place Vendome, he hailed a cab and asked the driver to take him to the Bois de Boulogne. He had forgotten how much he loved being there, and he sat for hours, in the warm sun, on a bench, eating ice cream, and watching the children. It was a long way from the laboratories wrestling with Vicotec, farther still from Greenwich, Connecticut, and as he sat there lost in his own thoughts in the Paris sun, it even seemed a long way from the mysterious young wife of Senator Thatcher.





Chapter Three

When Peter left the Bois de Boulogne that afternoon, he took a cab to the Louvre, and strolled briefly through it. It was beautifully organized, and the statues in the courtyard were so powerful that he stood and stared at them for a long time, mesmerized, feeling a silent communion with them. He didn't even mind the glass pyramid that had been put right in front of the Louvre, which had caused so much controversy among both foreigners and Parisians. He walked for a while, and then finally took a cab home. He had been out for hours, and he felt human again, and suddenly more hopeful. Even if the tests didn't go well, they would somehow salvage what they already knew, and then press forward. He wasn't going to let an important project like this die because of a few problems. The FDA hearings were not the end of the world, he'd been through them before over the years, and if it took five years instead of four, or even six eventually, then so be it.