The overseas operator put the call through quickly, and the familiar purring of the French phone was instantly in her ears. For years it had sounded to her like a busy signal, but now she was used to it and she knew. “It may take them a minute to answer, I’m awfully sorry.”

“That’s quite all right.” The operator sounded Californian and unhurried and Deanna smiled. Then she heard her mother-in-law’s voice on the line.

“Allo? Oui?”

“Mamie?” The term of affection had never come easily to Deanna. After nearly twenty years she was still tempted to call her mother-in-law Madame Duras. “Mamie?” It was not a very good connection, but Deanna could hear, and she raised her own voice to make herself heard. Madame Duras sounded neither sleepy, nor pleasant. She never did. “It’s Deanna. I’m awfully sorry to call so late, but I thought that…”

“Deanna, il faut que tu viennes.” Oh, Jesus, not in French, with a connection like that! But the older woman went on in a rush of French. Deanna could barely hear.

“Wait, wait. I can’t hear you. I don’t understand. Please say it in English. Is something wrong?”

“Yes.” The word was a long mournful wail, and then there was silence while Deanna waited. What had happened? It was Marc. She knew it! “Pilar… She had… an accident… on the moto-”

Deanna felt her heart stop. “Pilar?” She was shouting into the phone now, and she didn’t hear Margaret come into the room. “Pilar?” The connection was fading, and she shouted louder. “Mamie? Can you hear me? What happened?”

“Her head… her legs…”

“Oh, God! Is she all right?” The tears were pouring down her face and she was desperately trying to control her voice. “Mamie? Is she all right?”

“Paralysées. Les jambes. Her legs… paralyzed. And her head… We don’t know.”

“Where is she?” Deanna was shrieking.

“At the American Hospital.” The old woman was sobbing now.

“Have you called Marc?”

“We can’t find him. He’s in Greece. His société is trying to locate him. They think he will be here tomorrow. Oh, please, Deanna… you will come?”

“Tonight. Right now.” Her whole arm was trembling as she looked at her watch. It was ten minutes to four. She knew there was a flight at seven-thirty. Marc took it all the time. With the time difference, she would be there at four-thirty Paris time, the next day. “I’ll be there… in the afternoon… I’ll go directly to the hospital. Who is her doctor?” She hastily scribbled his name. “How can I reach him?” Madame Duras gave her his home number.

“Oh, Deanna. The poor child… I told Marc that the moto was too big for a child. Why didn’t he listen? I told him…”

So did I. “Mamie, is anyone with her?” It was the first thing that had come to her mind. Her baby was alone in a hospital in Paris.

“We have nurses, of course.” That sounded more like the Madame Duras Deanna knew.

“No one else?” There was horror in her voice.

“It is after midnight here.”

“I don’t want her alone.”

“Very well. I’ll send Angéline down now, and I shall go in the morning.” Angéline, the oldest maid on the face of the earth. Angéline. How could she?

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Tell her I love her. Good-bye, Mamie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Desperate, Deanna flashed the operator. “Doctor Hubert Kirschmann, person to person. It’s an emergency.”

But Docteur Kirschmann was not answering his calls. And a call to the American Hospital did not yield a great deal more. Although still critical, Mademoiselle Duras was resting comfortably, she was conscious, and there was a possibility that they might operate in the morning. It was too soon to tell. She had been flown in from Cannes only that evening, and if Madame would be good enough to call the docteur in the morning… Oh, go to hell. Pilar was not able to take phone calls, and there was nothing more Deanna could do. Except get on a plane.

She sat very still for a moment, fighting back tears, holding her head in her hands, until a sudden sob escaped her, wrenching its way free from her heart. “Pilar… my baby. Oh, my God!” The blue uniform was around her then, and Margaret’s comforting arms held her tightly.

“Is it very bad?” Her voice was a whisper in the too silent room.

“I don’t know. They say her legs are paralyzed, and there’s something wrong with her head. But I couldn’t get intelligent answers from anyone. I’m going to take the next plane.”

“I’ll pack a bag.”

Deanna nodded and tried to marshal her thoughts. She had to call Ben. And Dominique. Instinctively, her fingers dialed Dominique at the office. The voice she disliked was quick to answer the phone. “Where is Monsieur Duras?”

“I have no idea.”

“The hell you don’t. Our daughter just had an accident, and they can’t find him. Where is he?”

“I… Madame Duras, I’m very sorry… I’ll do my best to locate him by morning and have him call you.”

“I’m leaving for Paris tonight. Just tell him to be there. And call his mother. Pilar is at the American Hospital in Paris. And for God’s sake, do me a favor, will you please, Dominique, and find him?” Her voice trembled on the words.

“I’ll do my best. And I’m really very sorry. Is it serious?”

“We don’t know.”

She called the airline and the bank. She glanced at what Margaret had put in her bag and quickly dialed Ben before he left the gallery. She had an hour before she had to leave for the airport. He was quick to come on the line.

“I have to leave town tonight.”

“What did you do this afternoon? Rob a bank?” His voice was full of mischief and laughter; he was looking forward to the evening ahead. But he was quick to sense that something was wrong.

“Pilar had an accident. Oh, Ben…” And then the tears came, sobbing, aching, frightened, and angry at Marc for letting her have the bike.

“Take it easy, darling. I’ll be right there. Is it all right if I come to the house?”

“Yes.”

Margaret opened the door to him seven minutes later. Deanna was waiting in her room. She was still wearing the suit she had worn at lunch and the earrings Ben had given her. She was wearing those to France. He looked at her quickly as he walked in, and took her into his arms. “It’s all right, baby, it’s all right. She’ll be all right.”

She told him then about the paralyzed legs.

“That could just be a temporary reaction from the fall. You don’t know the details yet. It may not be nearly as bad as it sounds. Do you want something to drink?” She was dangerously pale, but she shook her head. All he saw was her face and the heartbreak written there. She began to cry again and took refuge once more in his arms.

“I’ve been thinking such awful things.”

“Don’t. You don’t know. You just have to hang in till you get there.” He looked at her again with a question. “Do you want me to come?”

She sighed and gave him a glimmer of a smile. “Yes. But you can’t. I love you for asking though. Thank you.”

“If you need me, call, and I’ll come. Promise?” he asked. She nodded.

“Will you call Kim and tell her where I’ve gone? I just tried to reach her and she’s out.”

“She won’t find it suspicious if I tell her?” He looked worried, but he was worried about Deanna, not Kim.

“No.” Deanna smiled. “I told her about us today at lunch. She had already guessed, don’t ask me how. At the opening. But she thinks you’re a very special man. I think she’s right.” She reached out to him again and held him close. It would be the last time for a while that she could do that, hold him and be his. “I wanted a chance to go home again… just to be there… it gives me so much peace.” She meant his house, not her own, but he understood.

“You’ll be home again soon.”

“Promise?” Her eyes found his.

“Promise. Now come on, we’d better go. Do you have everything you need?” he asked. She nodded and closed her eyes again. For just a fraction of a moment she had been dizzy. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She followed him down the stairs and hugged Margaret as she left. They had an hour to get to the airport. Forty-five minutes later she would be on the plane. Twelve hours after that, she’d be in Paris-with her baby. Pilar.

During the drive to the airport Deanna found herself silently praying that she’d find her alive.

15

“Quoi? Oh, mon Dieu! Dominique, are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I also spoke to your mother. And the doctor.”

“What’s his name?” She passed the information on to Marc as he gestured frantically for a pen. Chantal handed him hers. “When did they operate?”

“This morning, Paris time. Three hours ago, I believe. She’s a little better, they think, but she hadn’t yet regained consciousness. They’re mainly worried about her skull, and… and her legs.”

The tears had started to pour slowly down Marc-Edouard’s cheeks as he listened to Dominique. “I’ll send a wire. I’ll be there tonight.” He flashed the concierge. His orders were terse. “This is Duras. Get me on a plane. Paris. Immediately.” He hung up and wiped his face, looking strangely at Chantal.

“It’s Pilar?” she asked. He nodded. “Is it very bad?” She sat down on the couch next to him and took his hands.

“They don’t know. They don’t know…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words, or to tell her that the motorcycle had been a gift from him, as the sobs began to convulse him.


* * *

Deanna got off the plane at Charles de Gaulle Airport in a cloud of exhaustion, terror, and nausea. She had spent the night staring straight ahead and clenching her hands. She called the hospital from the airport, but there was no news. Deanna hailed a taxi just outside the airport and sat silently as they sped along. She had given the driver the address of the American Hospital and told him only, “Aussi vite que possible.”