“In Central Park. We went to the boat pond, but it was frozen.” Taylor nodded and wondered about the second meeting.

“Did you agree to meet him there?”

“It was coincidence again. His home is just outside the park, at the level of the boat pond.”

“Did you want to meet him there?”

“I never thought about it.” She looked straight at him, and she was still trembling.

“Did you think about him?”

She nodded, her eyes boring holes in his. She had thought about nothing but since she'd seen him at Saint Patrick's.

“Don't you think that two coincidental meetings is a bit much to believe after seven years? You don't see him in seven years, and suddenly there he is twice in two days. Don't you think he was looking for you on purpose?”

“Perhaps.” It was possible. She had asked herself the same questions.

“Did he want anything from you?” Taylor's eyes searched everything about her.

She hesitated, and then nodded. “Yes… he wanted to see me.”

“Why?”

“I'm not sure… to talk… to talk about things that no longer matter. It's all over now…it's gone… it was a long time ago. I've been married to Malcolm…my husband… for six years…” Her words drifted off as she looked sorrowfully at John Taylor. He had come into her life at a terrible time, and she barely saw him. She saw his face and heard his voice but she didn't know who he was, she didn't know anything. She felt numb, and desperately frightened every time she thought of Teddy.

“When were you married to him?” His voice droned on, gentle but ever probing.

“In 1926…when I was eighteen…” She looked at him very hard then, and decided that she had to tell him. “My husband doesn't know about this, Inspector. He believes that I 'misbehaved' in Europe when I was eighteen. I think my father implied to all his friends that I had a 'serious flirtation with an inappropriate suitor.' Nothing more. My father was a dreamer. The truth was, as my father well knew, that I was married for five years, and we lived in Europe. I tried to tell Malcolm that when he asked me to marry him, but he didn't want to hear it. He said we each had a past, and it was better left untouched and undisclosed. What he had heard was the story my father had circulated to save himself embarrassment, I don't think he ever admitted to any of his friends that Charles and I were married. We lived in France…” There was a faraway look in her eyes…”And we were very happy.” She looked even more beautiful as she said it.

“And what changed that?” His voice was deep and husky as he asked, trying not to be distracted by her.

“A number of things.” She was evading him and he immediately sensed it. Only one thing had happened to shatter their dream. One thing. One hideous afternoon, from which neither of them had ever recovered.

“Mrs. Patterson…Marielle… I need to know what happened… for your sake… for Teddy's.” What he said went straight to her heart, and tears filled her eyes as she looked at him.

“I can't talk about it now. I never have…” except with her doctor at the clinic.

“You have to.” He was determined and powerful, but she continued to resist him.

“I can't.” She got up and walked around the room, and for a long time she stood and stared out the window. There was darkness outside, and somewhere out in that darkness, there was Teddy. She turned to look at the inspector then, and he had never seen so much pain in his life. More than ever, he wanted to reach out and touch her.

“I'm sorry. I hate doing this to you.” He had never said that to anyone before, but he had never felt like this about any woman. There was a purity and a gentleness to her, and at the same time a fragility that genuinely scared him. “Marielle.” He allowed himself the use of her first name without even asking her, but he had to do everything he could to bring her closer. “You have to tell me.”

“I have never told my husband…perhaps if he knew… if he had known…” Perhaps there would never have been Teddy, or even a marriage.

“You can tell me.” He wanted her to trust him.

“And then? You tell the press?” Her eyes bored into his, but he shook his head slowly.

“I can't promise you anything. But I give you my word. I'll do my damnedest to keep your secrets, unless they mean Teddy's safety. Is that a deal?”

She nodded in answer, and looked away again out into the garden. “We had a son, Charles and I… a little boy named Andre…” She could feel her throat tighten as she said his name. “He was born eleven months after we were married… he had shining black hair, and big blue eyes. He was like a little angel… a little fat cherub, and we adored him. We took him everywhere.” She turned to look at John again, suddenly she had to tell him the story. “He was so beautiful, and he was always laughing.

Wherever we went with him, people knew him.” John was watching her as she spoke, and he didn't like the look in her eyes, or the way she told the story. “Charles adored him…and so did I…and one year we went to Switzerland for Christmas. Andre was two and a half years old, and we had a wonderful time, playing in the snow. We even built a snowman.” There were tears beginning to slide down her cheeks, tears of pain, and he didn't interrupt her. “One afternoon, Charles wanted to go up the mountain to go skiing, but I wanted to stay in Geneva. So Andre and I took a walk around the lake, we talked and we played, and the lake was frozen, and there was a group of women and children, and we stopped and chatted. And I was talking to one of them, about little boys his age…” She could barely speak now, but she still went on, fighting for air as she struggled with each word. “You know how women are, they love to talk about their children, so she and I were talking about how mischievous two-year-old boys are, and as we spoke… as we spoke…” she touched her eyes with a trembling hand, and without thinking, he reached out to her, as though to help her on, and she clung to his fingers “… while we were talking, he ran out on the ice with some other children, and then suddenly, there was this terrible…terrible…” She could barely go on, the room seemed so airless, but John squeezed her hand as tightly as he could and she continued. She was unaware of him now, she was lost in a time that had almost killed her.

“…There was a terrible crackling noise… almost like thunder…and the ice cracked…three of the children fell in…one of them was Andre… I rushed out on the ice, with the other women, and people were shouting. I was the first one to reach the hole…I got both of the little girls out… I got them,” she sobbed… “I got them…but I couldn't get him… I tried… I tried so hard… I tried everything I could… I even climbed into the water, but he had slipped under the ice, and then I found him…” Her voice was distorted by pain, and as he listened John Taylor was crying… “He was all blue, and he lay in my arms so tiny and cold and so still… I tried everything… I tried to breathe for him, I tried to warm him…the ambulance came and we took him to the hospital, but…” She looked up at John, seeing him again then, and they were both crying for the little boy who had died beneath the ice in Geneva. “They couldn't save him. He had died in my arms, they said, when I first pulled him out…but he wasn't even breathing then…how could they know when he died?” And what did it matter? “It was all my fault… I should have been watching him, and I wasn't. I was talking to those damn women…about him…and then he was gone…one moment of talking to them, and I killed him…”

“And Charles?” He had asked the key words, and he had barely recovered from what he'd just heard, but he could see there was more from her face, still ravaged by the story she had just told him.

“He blamed me of course. They kept me in the hospital, and I wanted to be there anyway…with Andre…they let me hold him for a long, long time. I held him so close to me, I kept thinking that if only I could get him warm again, but of course…” She sounded a little mad, as she went on with the story.

“What did Charles do when he got to the hospital?” His voice was gentle. He had asked an important question, and she looked at John Taylor without seeing him as she answered.

“He hit me…hard…again and again…afterward…they said… I thought… it didn't matter…they said that when I jumped into the ice…”

“What did he do to you, Marielle?”

“He tried to beat me… he said I'd killed Andre, that it was all my fault… he hit me…but I deserved it…and…” She gulped on a terrible sob, and made a sound that he had never heard another human make, it was a keening of pain that was almost like baying. “… I lost the baby…” She looked up at him again, and this time, he put an arm around her and pulled her close to him to let her sob against his shoulders. He held her against his chest, and stroked her hair without thinking.

“Oh my God.” He suddenly understood. “…You were pregnant…”

“Five months… a little girl…she died that night, on the same day as Andre.” She sat then for a long time, in silence, crying quietly, as John Taylor held her.

“I'm so sorry…I'm so sorry for what happened to you…and to put you through this now.” But he had had to. He had to know what she was hiding. He had seen it in her eyes, but he hadn't known it would be like this.

“I'm all right,” she said quietly, and in a way she was, but in another way, she wasn't. She had suddenly remembered that Teddy was gone…and that added to the others made it too much. That was why John Taylor had to find him. “I wasn't all right then. For a long time. I guess… I guess you'd call it a nervous breakdown, or something more. I suppose Charles went more than a little mad too. They had to tear him off me that night, and he collapsed at the funeral, I was told. I don't know…they wouldn't let me go. They put me in a private clinic in Villars, and I was there for twenty-six months. Charles paid for it, but I never saw him. They finally let him come to see me before they let me go, and he asked me to come back, but I couldn't. I knew we both thought that I had killed our child, if not both of them. Not only had I let Andre drown, but I had jumped into the icy water and killed the baby.”