“Epiphany. Christ, what an awful picture that was,” she said, grinning, and then looked stunned that she had remembered the name, and the movie itself. “Wow, where did that come from?”

“It's all in there somewhere,” Matthieu said gently. “You'll find it. You just have to look.”

“I think I'm afraid of what I'll find,” she said honestly. “Maybe it's easier like this. I don't remember the things that hurt me, the people I hated, or who hated me. The events and people I must have wanted to forget… I don't remember the good ones either though,” she said, looking wistful. “I wish I remembered more about my children, particularly Chloe. I think I hurt her with my career. I must have been very selfish when she and Anthony were children. He seems to have forgiven me, or he says there was nothing to forgive, but Chloe is more honest about it. She seems angry, and so hurt. I wish I'd been smarter then and spent more time with them.” With memory had come guilt.

“You did spend time with them. A lot of time. Too much, I thought sometimes,” Matthieu reassured her. “You took them everywhere with you, and with us. Chloe was never out of your sight when you weren't working, and she was on the set with you when you were. You didn't even want to put her in school. She was a very needy little girl. What ever you gave her, she wanted something different, or more. She was a hard child to please.”

“Is that true?” It was interesting seeing it through the lenses of his eyes, since her own were so cloudy, and she wondered if he was right, or biased by the gender and cultural difference between them.

“I thought so. I never spent as much time with my children as you did, and neither did their mother, and she didn't work like you. You were constantly glued to Chloe and worried about her. And Anthony too. I had an easier time with him. He was older, and more accessible for me, because he was a boy. We were great friends when you were here. And in the end, he hated me, as you did. He saw you crying all the time.” He looked guilty and uncomfortable when he said it.

“Did I hate you?” she asked, looking puzzled. What she remembered, or sensed from the memories she had retrieved, was agony not hatred, or perhaps they had been the same. Disappointment, deception, frustration, anger. Hatred seemed such a strong word. She didn't hate him as he sat next to her. And Anthony had been angry when he saw him, like a child who had been bitterly disappointed, or betrayed. In the end, Matthieu had betrayed not only them, but himself.

“I don't know,” he said, thinking about it before he answered. “Perhaps you should have hated me, if you didn't. I let you down terribly. I was wrong. I engaged in commitments to you that I couldn't fulfill. I had no right to make the promises I did to you. I believed them then, but when I've looked back, and I have a lot, I know that I was dreaming. I wanted to make it real, and couldn't. My dream became a nightmare for you. And for me, in the end.” He was trying to be honest with her, and himself. He had wanted to say these things to her for years, and it was a relief to do so, although painful for both of them. “Anthony wouldn't even say goodbye to me when you left. He felt his father had betrayed all of you, and then I added to it. It was a terrible blow for you and your children and for me as well. I think it was the first time in my life when I truly saw myself as a bad man. I was a prisoner of circumstance.” She nodded, absorbing what he had said. She couldn't confirm or deny the truth of what he said, but it made sense. And as she listened, she felt compassion for him, knowing he must have suffered too.

“It must have been a hard time for both of us.”

“It was. And for Arlette. I never thought she loved me, until you came along. Maybe she only discovered it then herself. I'm not sure it was really love. But she felt I had an obligation to her, and I suppose she was right. I've always thought of myself as a man of honor, and I wasn't honorable to any of you then. Or myself. I loved you, and stayed with her. Perhaps it would have been different if I hadn't stayed in the government. My second term changed everything, and your fame. Having a mistress wouldn't have been such a huge shock, others have done it before and since in France, but because it was you, the scandal would have been incredible, for all of us, and it would have destroyed your career, and mine, I think. Arlette benefited from that,” he said honestly.

“And took full advantage of it, as I recall,” Carole said, looking suddenly tense. “She said she was going to call the studio on me, and the press, and then threatened suicide.” The memory of it came back to her in a rush, and Matthieu looked embarrassed.

“These things happen in France. It is much more common for women to threaten suicide here than in the States, especially in matters of the heart.”

“She had you by the ass, and me too,” Carole said bluntly, and he laughed.

“You might say that, although I would say a different part of the anatomy, in my case. But she had me by my children too. I truly thought they'd never speak to me again if I left her. She had my oldest son talk to me, as a spokesman for the family. She was very clever about that. I can't blame her. I was so sure she'd agree to a divorce. We didn't love each other, and hadn't in years by then. I was naïve in believing she would readily agree to let me go. And my naïveté caused me to mislead you.” He said it with an air of sorrow, as Carole met his eyes.

“We were both in a difficult position,” she said generously.

“Yes,” he agreed, “trapped by our love for each other, and held hostage by her, and the Ministry of the Interior, and my duties there.” Carole realized as he said it that he had had choices, hard ones maybe, but choices nonetheless. He had made his, and she had made hers when she left. She remembered fearing that it was too soon to throw in the towel, she had wondered for years if she should have stayed, if things would have ended differently if she had, if she might have won him in the end. She had finally let it go when she met Sean and got married. Until then she had blamed herself for leaving Matthieu too soon, but two and a half years seemed long enough for him to do what he had promised, and she had become convinced he never would. There had always been some excuse, which wasn't believable after a while. He believed them, but Carole no longer could. She had given up. And his gift to her, when they spoke of it since her accident, was to tell her she had been right. Even with her scrambled memory, it was an enormous relief to hear him finally admit that to her. Before, in conversations on the phone the year after she left, he always blamed her for leaving too soon. It wasn't, she knew now. It was right. Even fifteen years later she was grateful to know that, just as she was for the things Jason had told her about their marriage. She was beginning to wonder if, in some odd way, the tunnel bombing had been a gift. All of these people had come to her from her past, and opened their hearts. She would never have known any of this otherwise. It was exactly what she had needed for her book, and her life.

“You should rest,” Matthieu finally said to her, as he saw her eyes grow tired. The police investigation had drained her, and talking about their past was taxing for her too. And then he asked her a question that had haunted him since he had found her again. He had drifted in to see her several times, seemingly casual and politely concerned, but his interest in seeing her was far less offhand than it seemed. And now that she was fully conscious and remembered what they had once meant to each other, he respected the fact that she had a choice. “Would you like me to come and see you again, Carole?” He held his breath as he asked, and she hesitated for a long time. At first seeing him had confused and unnerved her, but now there was something comforting about having him nearby, like a looming guardian angel who protected her with his wide wings and intensely blue eyes, the color of sky.

“Yes, I would,” she said finally, after an interminable pause. “I like talking to you.” She always had. “We don't have to talk about the past anymore.” She knew enough, she wasn't sure she wanted to know more. There was too much pain there, even now. “Maybe we can be friends. I'd like that.” He nodded, still wanting more, but he didn't want to scare her, and knew he might. She was still fragile after everything that had happened to her, and so much time had passed since their affair. It was probably too late, much as he hated to admit it to himself. He had lost the love of his life. But she had come back now, in a different guise. Perhaps, as she said, it would be enough. They could try.

“I'll come to see you tomorrow,” he promised, standing up, as he looked down at her. She looked frail as she lay beneath the covers. She barely made a ripple in the bed. He bent to kiss her forehead. She smiled peacefully as she closed her eyes and spoke in a dreamy whisper.

“ 'Bye, Matthieu … thank you …” He had never loved her more.





Chapter 14




Stevie showed up at the hospital late that afternoon with a small overnight bag, and asked the nurse to set up a cot in Carole's room. She was planning to spend the night. When she walked in, Carole was just waking up from a long nap. She had slept for hours after Matthieu left, exhausted by the morning she'd had, and then talking to him. It had taken her full concentration to manage both.

“I'm moving in,” Stevie said, setting down her bag. Her eyes still looked watery, and she had a red nose and a cough. But she was taking the antibiotics and said she was no longer contagious. Carole's cold was better too. “So what mischief did you get into today?” Carole told her about the police coming to see her, and Stevie was pleased to see the two CRS guards at her door, although their machine guns looked unpleasant, as they would to any would-be assailants too.