“We had no choice,” Matthieu said simply. “We were too much in love with each other not to.”

“I don't believe that,” she said firmly. “I think people always have choices. We did. We made the wrong ones, and we paid a high price for them. I'm not sure, but I don't think I ever forgot you. I didn't get over you for a long time, until I met my last husband.” She remembered that clearly now.

“I read that you got married, about ten years ago,” he said, and she nodded. “I was happy for you”—and then he smiled ruefully—“and very jealous. He's a lucky man.”

“No, he isn't. He died two years ago of cancer. Everyone says he was a wonderful person.”

“That's why Jason was here. I wondered why.”

“He would have come anyway. He's a good man too.”

“You didn't think that eighteen years ago,” Matthieu said, looking irritated. He wasn't sure she would have said the same about him, even today, that he was a good man. In her eyes, he hadn't been. She had said so at the time. She said he had lied to her and misled her, and was a dishonest, dishonorable person. It had cut him to the quick at the time. No one had ever accused him of that in his life, but she was right.

“I think he's a good person now,” Carole said about Jason. “We all pay for our sins in the end. The Russian girl left him by the time I left Paris.”

“Did he try to come back to you?” Matthieu was curious about it.

“Apparently, he did. He says I didn't want him. I was probably still in love with you at the time.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Yes, I do,” she said honestly. “I wasted two and a half years of my life with you, and probably another five getting over you. That's a long time to give to a man who wouldn't leave his wife.” And then she thought about it and wondered what had happened. “Where is she now?”

“She died a year ago, after a long illness. She was very sick for the last three years of her life. I'm glad I was with her. I owed her that. We were married forty-six years in the end. It wasn't the marriage I would have wanted, or the one I thought I'd get when I married her at twenty-one, but it was the one we had. We were friends. She was very elegant about you. I don't think she forgave me, but she understood. She knew how in love with you I was. I never felt that way about her. She was a very cold person. But she was a decent, honest woman.” So he had stayed, just as she'd always thought he would. And even he had said she'd done the right thing by leaving. She had the answers now, the ones she'd come to Paris for. That it had been too late for her with Jason, by the time he came back. She no longer loved him, and she couldn't have stopped him from marrying the Russian supermodel. She had no choice there, and by the time she did, she didn't want him. She didn't even want him now. It was too late. And all she would ever have been to Matthieu was his mistress. He would never have left his wife until she died. Carole felt she understood that when she left Paris, which was why she had. But it was only now that she knew it was the right decision. He had confirmed it to her, which was a gift of sorts, long after the fact.

A lot of it had come back now, some of the events, and too many of the feelings. She could almost taste her disappointment and despair when she had finally given up and left him. He had very nearly destroyed her, and her career. He had even disappointed her children. Whatever his intentions had been in the beginning, or his love for her, he hadn't been honorable with her. At least what Jason had done, no matter how awful it had been for her, had been up front and honest. He had divorced her and married the other woman. Matthieu never had.

“What are you doing now? Are you still in government?” she asked.

“I was until ten years ago, when I retired and went back to my family law firm. I practice with two of my brothers.”

“And you were the most powerful man in France. You controlled everything then, and you loved it.”

“Yes, I did.” He was honest about that at least, and he had been honest about the rest of it now too. It proved her right finally, but hearing it even now was painful. She remembered too well how much she had loved him, and how badly he had hurt her. “Power is like a drug to men. It's hard to give up. I was addicted to it. But I was even more addicted to you. It nearly killed me when you left me. But I still couldn't divorce her, or give up my job.”

“I never wanted you to give up your job. That wasn't the issue. But I did want you to divorce her.”

“I couldn't.” He hung his head as he said it, and then looked her in the eye again. “I didn't have the courage.” It was an enormous admission, and Carole didn't answer for a minute.

“That's why I left you.”

His voice was a whisper. “You were right.” She nodded.

They sat together in silence for a long time, and then as he looked at her, her eyes closed, and she drifted off to sleep. For the first time in a long time, she was at peace. He sat there, watching her, and then he finally stood up, and left the room on silent feet.





Chapter 12




Carole awoke again that night, feeling better after a long sleep. She remembered then that Matthieu had visited her, what he'd said, and she lay in bed, thinking about him for a long time. Despite her spotty memory, he had exorcised a lot of ghosts for her. She appreciated that he'd been honest with her, finally, and told her that she'd been right to leave. It was a gift of freedom to hear that from him. She had always wondered what would have happened if she'd stayed—if she should have waited longer. He had confirmed to her now that it wouldn't have made a difference.

There was a nurse in the room with her when she woke up, and two guards outside her door, thanks to the fuss Matthieu had made. She had called Jason and her children to tell them about the attack. She assured them she was fine, and had been lucky once again. Jason had offered to come back to Paris, but she assured them the police had the matter well in hand. She was still shaken, but told them she was safe. All of them were horrified that she had been the victim of a terrorist incident on the heels of the first one. And Anthony warned her about Matthieu again. He was threatening to come and protect her himself, but she told him all was well.

She lay in bed thinking about all of it in the middle of the night. The terrorist, Matthieu, and the pieces of their history he'd shared. It all left her feeling anxious and unnerved.

She called Stevie then at the hotel, feeling foolish for bothering her, but desperate for a familiar voice, despite the late hour. Stevie had been asleep.

“How's your cold?” Carole asked her. She felt better herself although she was still sick, and shaken by the events of the day. It seemed more frightening now in retrospect.

“Better, I think, but not great,” Stevie said. “What are you doing up at this hour?” Carole told her then what had happened, when the boy with the knife had gotten into her room. “What? Are you kidding? Where the fuck was the security guy?” Stevie was horrified, as Carole's family had been. It was beyond belief, and would be on the news the next day.

“Out to lunch. They said his relief never came.” Carole heaved a long sigh and lay in her bed, thinking how lucky she had been. “It scared me to death.” She still shook when she thought about it. She was glad Matthieu had arrived right afterward.

“I'm coming over there right now. They can put a cot in your room. I'm not leaving you alone again.”

“Don't be silly. You're sick. I'm okay. They won't let something like that happen again. Matthieu was here, and he raised hell. He must still have some clout. The head of the hospital was up here bowing and scraping in about five minutes. And the police were around for hours. They won't let anything happen now. It just scared me to death.”

“No wonder.” It was hard to believe she had been the victim of two incidents.

The police had said they would come to take a detailed report from her the next day. They hadn't wanted to upset her further by pressing her right after it happened. And her assailant was in custody, so she was safe.

“I remembered him from the tunnel,” Carole said, still sounding shaken, so Stevie changed the subject to distract her, and asked about Matthieu.

“Did the mystery man shed any further light on your affair?” Stevie was still curious about him.

“Yes. I remembered a lot of it myself. I remembered the boy with the knife too,” she said, going back to the attack. “He was in the cab next to me in the tunnel, and he ran away. The suicide bombers must have told him he was going to die. Apparently, he wasn't ready for the seventy-seven virgins he was going to get in Heaven.”

“No, he would rather have killed you. Christ, I can't wait till we get home.”

“Me too,” Carole said with a sigh. “This has been one hell of a trip. I think I got my answers though. If I ever get my memory back, and can learn how to use a computer again, I think I'm ready to write the book. I'll have to add something about all this. It's too good not to use.”

“You think maybe you could do a cookbook next time, or a children's book? I don't like the research you've been doing for this book.”

But the answers she'd gotten about Jason and Matthieu were what she had needed for herself. She knew that now. And better yet, she had heard it from them, instead of guessing and figuring it out on her own.

“What are you hearing from Alan?” Carole asked as they chatted and she started to unwind. It was nice to have someone to talk to late at night. She missed that with Sean. She was starting to remember now, just little bits. Stevie telling her things about him had brought some of it back.