“I wish I had your courage,” she said sadly, and the look in her eyes was the one he had seen the first time he met her, the look of sorrow that knew no limit.

“You can't run away from things, Olivia.” But she knew that already. Her two-year-old son had died in her arms. What more courage was there in life than that? He didn't need to lecture her about courage.

“What if your survival depends on running away?” she asked with a serious look at him, and he put an arm around her shoulders.

“You have to be very sure before you do that,” he said, looking at her seriously, wishing he could help her. She was a woman who needed a friend desperately, and he would have loved to be that person, for more than just a few hours. But he also knew that once he left her at the hotel, he'd never be able to call her and talk to her, let alone see her.

“I think I'm getting very sure,” she said softly. “But I'm not there yet.” It was a painfully honest statement. As desperately unhappy as she was, she still needed to make the decision.

“And where would you run to?” he asked as they finally found a cab, and asked for the rue Castiglione. He didn't want to drive her right to the hotel, and they didn't know yet if everyone had been able to go back inside, or if they were still gathered in the square, waiting.

But for Olivia, Peter's last question was easy. She had been there before, and had known even then that it would always be her safe haven. “There's a place I used to go a long time ago, when I came here to study for a year in college. It's a little fishing village in the south of France. I found it when I first came, and I used to go there for weekends. It's not chic, or fashionable, it's very simple, but it was the one place I could always go to think when I needed to find myself again. I went there for a week after Alex died, but I was afraid the press would find me eventually, so I left before they did. I would hate to lose it. I'd love to go back there again one day, and stay for a while, maybe even finally write the book I keep thinking I have in my head, to see if I can do it. It's a magical place, Peter. I wish I could show it to you.”

“Maybe you will one day,” he said almost glibly, pulling her closer to him, but it was a gesture of comfort and support. He made no attempt to make any advances to her, or to try and kiss her. He would have liked nothing in this world more, but out of respect for Olivia, and his wife, he absolutely wouldn't do it. In some ways, Olivia was a fantasy for him, and just having talked to her all night was a gift he would cherish forever. It was like something in a movie. “What's this place called anyway?” he asked, and she smiled at him and gave him the name like a gift. It was almost like a password between them.

“La Favière. It's in the south of France, near a place called Cap Benat. You should go there if you ever need to. It's the best thing I can give anyone,” she whispered as she lay her head against his shoulder, and for the rest of the ride back, he just held her there, sensing without words that it was what she needed. He wanted to tell her that he would always be her friend, that he would be there for her if she needed him, that she should never hesitate to call him, but he wasn't quite sure how to say all of it to her, and instead he just held her. For a mad moment, he even wanted to tell her that he loved her. He wondered how long it had been since anyone had said that to her, how long since anyone had even talked to her as though they cared about her, and had any interest at all in what she was feeling. “You're a lucky man,” she said softly to him as the cab stopped on the rue Castiglione, down the street from the Place Vendome, just as they had told the driver.

What makes you say I'm lucky?” Peter asked curiously. The only thing that seemed lucky to him just then was having been with her all night, emptying their souls in each other's hands and sharing their secrets.

“Because you're content with your life, you believe in what you've done, and you still believe in the decency of the human race. I wish I still did, but I haven't in a long time.” But she hadn't been as lucky. Life had been kind to him for the most part, and extremely hard on Olivia Thatcher. She didn't tell him she suspected his marriage was a lot less fulfilling than he told himself, because she thought he didn't even know that. In some ways, he was lucky because he was still so blind, but he was sincere and caring and he had worked hard, and he was willing to close his eyes to his wife's indifference to him, and her involvement in her own life, and his father-in-law's outrageous invasion of what should have been their life. He was fortunate in Olivia's eyes, because he saw none of the emptiness around him. He sensed it perhaps, but he didn't really see it. And he was basically such a kind, decent, loving person. She had felt so much warmth from him that night, that even now, just before dawn, she didn't want to leave him.

“I hate to go back,” she whispered sleepily into his white shirt, nestled against his shoulder in the back of the cab. After all their talking, they were both spent, and she was beginning to fade now.

“I hate to leave you,” he said honestly, trying to force himself to remember Kate again, but it was this woman he wanted to be with, and not Kate. He had never talked to anyone as he had talked to Olivia that night, and she was so giving and understanding. She was so lonely and so hurt and so starved. How could he make himself leave her? It was hard to remember why he should now.

“I know I'm supposed to go back, but I can't remember why.” She smiled sleepily, thinking of what a heyday the paparazzi would have if they could have seen them for the last six hours. It was hard to believe they had been away for that long. They had talked for hours in Montmartre, and now it was agony going back where they belonged, but they knew they had to. Peter suddenly realized he had never talked to Kate the way he had talked to Olivia that night. Worse yet, he was falling in love with her, and he had never even kissed her.

“We both have to go back,” he said mournfully. “They must be half crazy with worry about you by now. And I have to wait to hear about Vicotec.” If not, he would have loved to run away with her.

“And then what?” She was referring to Vicotec. “Our various worlds fall apart, separately, and we keep on going. Why do we have to be the brave ones?” She looked and sounded like a petulant child, and he smiled as he looked at her expression.

“I guess because that's what we got picked for. Somewhere, sometime, someone said, 'Hey you, get on this line, you're one of the brave ones.' But actually, Olivia, you're a lot stronger than I am.” He had sensed that that night, and respected her a great deal for it.

“No, I'm not,” she said simply. “I never volunteered for all this. This wasn't multiple choice, and I picked it. It just happened. That's not brave, it's just destiny.” She looked up at him silently then, wishing that he was hers, and knowing he never would be. “Thank you for following me tonight …and for the cup of coffee.” She smiled, and he touched her lips with his fingers.

“Anytime, Olivia …remember that. Anytime you want a cup of coffee I'll be there …New York …Washington …Paris …” It was his way of offering her his friendship, and she knew it. Unfortunately for both of them, it was all he was able to offer.

“Good luck with Vicotec,” she said as they got out of the cab, and she looked up at him. “If it's right for you to help all those people, Peter, it'll happen. I believe that.”

“So do I,” he said sadly, missing her already. “Take care of yourself, Olivia.” He wanted to say so many things, to wish her well, to hold on to her, to run away with her to her fishing village near Cap Benat. Why was life so unfair sometimes? Why wasn't it more generous? Why couldn't they just disappear like Agatha Christie?

They stood at the corner for what seemed like a long time, and then after he squeezed her hand for a last time, she finally walked around the corner, and swiftly across the square, a small, lithe figure in a white T-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. And as he watched her go, he wondered if he would ever see her again, even in the hotel. When he followed her, she stood at the door of the Ritz, and waved for a last time, and as he looked at her, he hated himself for not having kissed her.





Chapter Four

Much to his own astonishment, Peter slept till noon that day. He was exhausted after coming home at six o'clock in the morning. And when he awoke, all he could think of was Olivia. He felt quiet and sad without her, and when he looked out the window, it was raining. He sat thinking about Olivia for a long time, over croissants and coffee, and he kept wondering what had happened when she had gone back to her room early that morning. He wondered if her husband had been furious with her, or terrified, sick with worry, or just concerned. He couldn't imagine Katie doing a thing like that. But two days earlier, he couldn't have imagined himself doing it either.

He wished he could have gone on talking to Olivia all night. She was so honest and open with him. And as he finished his coffee, he thought of some of the things she'd said, about her own life, and his. Looking at his marriage through her eyes suddenly gave him a different perspective, and he felt uncomfortable about Katie's relationship with her father. They were so close that he actually felt shut out, and it irked him that he couldn't tell Katie about Suchard, and the reason for the delay in Paris. Even if he didn't want to tell Frank, he would have liked to tell his wife, and he knew with total certainty that he couldn't.

It was strange to think that it had been easier last night, talking about it to a perfect stranger. Olivia had been so sympathetic and so land to him, and she had easily understood how agonizing it was for him, just waiting. He wished he could have talked to her again, and as he showered and dressed, he found that all he could think about was her …her eyes …her face …that wistful look as she walked away, and the ache he'd felt as he watched her. It was all so unreal. It was almost a relief when the phone rang an hour later, and it was Katie. Suddenly, he needed to reach out to her, to bring her close to him, to reassure himself that she really loved him.