As she sat there, thinking about him, she began to wonder if it was a mistake trying to see him that night. Maybe she should try and see him in the office, or call him on the phone. She knew he must be crazed, with the election only three days away. She could wait until afterward, she told herself, but he might leave town, or disappear. She didn't want to wait. They had waited long enough.

She couldn't eat that night, she tried to take a nap and was wide awake. In the end, she took a bath and dressed, and at nine-thirty she was in the limousine, speeding toward the Kennedy Center, and then panicked when they reached the side entrance. What if he had already left? She was numb with worry by the time she got out of the car, and went to stand off to the side, where she could watch the entrance, and see him when he came out. It was freezing cold, but she didn't care, and then like some kind of terrifying omen, it started to snow.

Big lacy flakes began drifting down from the sky. They were the kind that stick to your clothes and your lashes and your hair. They came with no warning, and there was a brisk wind that seemed to blow them everywhere. By ten-fifteen there was no sign of him, and she was sure he had left by some other door. Maybe there had been a change of plan. Isabelle was wearing a big heavy black coat and a sable hat, warm black suede boots, and gloves. She was still freezing cold anyway, and covered with snow.

By ten-thirty, she had lost hope. She knew she would have to find some other way and try again. She'd have to attempt some other ploy the next day. She told herself she'd stay until eleven o'clock, just so she could tell herself she had, but she was sure that Bill and the senator would be long gone by then, to their next event.

But at ten to eleven, there was a flurry of activity near the door. Two off-duty policemen came out, looking fairly obvious, a uniformed security man with a wire in his ear, and then a good-looking man with his head down against the wind who strode out of the building and headed toward a waiting car that had appeared from nowhere. Isabelle hadn't seen it before. He looked vaguely like the senator to her, but she wasn't sure from the angle of his face. She watched him for a moment, and no one else came out. She was wondering if Bill hadn't come at all, or had decided to stay. And as she watched, she saw a wheelchair roll slowly out. There were people talking intently to him, and he was nodding, listening to what they said. He was wheeling the chair himself. He was wearing a thick scarf and a dark coat, and she saw instantly that it was Bill. She could feel her heart pound as she watched him wheel himself toward the steps, and then take a ramp down toward where she stood. He hadn't noticed her, and the others left him and ran back inside to escape the snow. The senator and his men were already in the limousine, and they were waiting for him.

And feeling as though she were taking her life in her hands, she walked to the ramp, and began walking up to where he was. She met him halfway, standing squarely in his path. His head was down against the wind, and all he saw were her coat and her legs, and he muttered “excuse me” absentmindedly, but she didn't move away.

Isabelle looked at him, and he heard her voice before he saw her face. “You lied to me,” she said in the voice he had dreamed of for five months, and told himself he would never hear again. His eyes rose to hers, and he couldn't say a word. He just looked at her, stunned, and tried to regain his composure as quickly as he could.

“Hello, Isabelle. What a coincidence to see you here.” He assumed instantly that Gordon had come to town on business and she had accompanied him. He made no explanation as to why he was in the wheelchair, in spite of what he'd told her months before.

“Actually, it's not a coincidence,” she said honestly. It was far too late for more lies. “I flew here from Paris to see you.” He didn't know how to answer her, as the wind whipped their faces, and the snow collected on her hat. She looked like a Christmas card, or a Russian princess to him. She looked so beautiful, it broke his heart, but nothing showed in his face. He forced himself to look dispassionate and unconcerned, and to hide everything he felt. He had become a master of that.

“I have to go. Cynthia is waiting in the car for me.” It was the only excuse he could think of for a rapid escape. He knew he needed to get away from her as quickly as he could, before he lost his resolve.

“No, she's not,” Isabelle said, pulling her coat tightly around herself. “You're divorced. You lied about that too.”

“I guess I lied about a number of things. Except that it was over for me. That part was true.” Everything about him resisted her, but his eyes gave him away.

“Why was it over for you?” She was relentless in her pursuit of the truth, and if he could tell her he didn't love her, she would walk away forever. But she had had to see him this one last time. She had taken this chance when she came. But if he was going to send her away again, she at least wanted him to look her in the eye.

“It happens that way sometimes. How's Teddy?” he asked, to break the tension between them, and put her off the scent, but he wasn't prepared for what came next.

“He died three months ago. He caught a very bad flu. I'm sorry you never met him,” she said sadly, fighting to keep her composure. She had no intention of burdening him with her grief, but she thought he should know.

“I'm sorry too,” he said softly, looking stricken for her. For a moment, he was overwhelmed by the blow he knew it must have been for her, and his own guilt for not being there for her at the time. “Are you all right?” He wanted to reach out to her, and put his arms around her, but he didn't dare. It was embarrassing too to have been caught in his lies, and to have her see him in his chair. He had been so convinced their paths would never cross again, and she would never know.

“Not yet, but I will be eventually. I miss him a lot. I miss you too.” Her voice was soft and sad. “How are you?” She wanted to ask if he missed her, if he regretted what he'd done, but he seemed anxious to move on. She knew that the senator was waiting for him. But this was her only chance.

“I'm fine. Better than ever. I'm back at work. The election is three days away.” He glanced at his watch then. They were an hour late for their next stop, and he looked at Isabelle apologetically, but there was no sign that he wanted anything from her. “I've really got to go.”

“I still love you, Bill,” she said, feeling desperately vulnerable, but this was why she had come. She wanted him to know. “I don't give a damn that you can't rollerblade or dance. I'm not a great dancer anyway, I never was.”

He smiled at her nostalgically for what seemed like an eternity, and then reached out and touched her hand. “Are you serious that you came here to see me?” His voice was gentle, it was the voice she remembered too well, and had for a long time. All she could do was nod as tears filled her eyes, and then she recovered, as a few stray tears slid down her cheeks and she wiped them away with a gloved hand.

“I saw you on CNN yesterday, and I thought I knew why you lied to me. I wanted you to know I don't care.”

“I know you don't,” he said softly, “you never did. But I do. That's what matters. I would never let you do that to yourself. I love you too much to let you destroy your life by being saddled with this,” he glanced down at his chair. “Even if you left Gordon one day, especially then. Is he treating you decently?” He had looked around for him at first, and realized he wasn't there. She had obviously eluded him somehow, or left him at the hotel.

She smiled at his question. “I used the ammunition on him, as you told me to, when Teddy died. He threw me out. Sophie and I have an apartment on the rue de Varenne.” A great many changes had happened in both their lives. But it didn't change the way he felt, or the decision he'd made. In fact, seeing her strengthened it. She was free now, and she deserved a lot more than he had to give, or so he thought.

“I'm glad you're okay.” But he refused to say more.

“I know you have to go,” she said, brushing the snowflakes away from her eyes, “I'm at the Four Seasons Hotel. If you'd like to talk, give me a call.”

All he did was shake his head. There were snow-flakes all over his hair, and she realized he must be cold. “I won't call you, Isabelle. We did the right thing five months ago. I did the right thing. For both of us. We have to live by it now.”

“I don't agree with you, it was entirely the wrong thing. For both of us. We have a right to love each other, Bill. And even if you stay out of my life, I won't stop loving you. I never will.”

“You'll forget eventually,” he said, and she shook her head and stepped aside. He looked at her long and hard. “Take good care of yourself.” He wanted to tell her again he was sorry about Teddy, but he didn't. There was nothing more he could say. He just wheeled himself the rest of the way down the ramp, without looking back at her, and got into the car. He apologized to the senator for the delay, and said he had run into an old friend. He didn't say another word all the way to their next stop, and the senator sensed the somberness of his mood. He seemed a million miles away.

It was after midnight when Bill got home, and he didn't call her. It was too late, and he had told himself again that he never would. He believed in what he'd done for her and knew it was the loving thing to do. If he had loved her any less, he would have inflicted himself on her, but he loved her far too much to do that, and knew he always would. He was heartbroken for her about her boy, he knew how much Teddy had meant to her, and he could only imagine how devastating his death had been to her. He was relieved at least to know that Gordon was out of her life. He felt certain she'd find someone else soon. He had never seen her look as beautiful, or as sad, as she had standing there in the snow. It was all he could think of as he lay in his bed that night.