Lost and Found

by Danielle Steel

  Her mother gave her a quelling stare to warn her she was on thin ice again, with a bad rap for it historically.

  “I don’t date. I haven’t in a long time. But who knows? Strange things happen in life when you don’t expect them,” she said cryptically.

  “Oh my God, you are dating him!” Deanna was shocked. She hated thinking of her mother in that context. She much preferred the image of her in an old-age home, with an alarm around her neck in case she fell out of her wheelchair. She was less of a threat that way.

  “What difference would it make, Dee? Really? Wouldn’t you rather see me happy than alone and sad?” Maddie said, and Deanna didn’t know what to answer. William came back to the table, mission accomplished. He could see something had happened, but he couldn’t tell what, and Maddie seemed calm and in control.

  The meal came to a friendly close, and David gave William his card and told him to call if he had time for lunch before he left town. William promised he would, although he hadn’t been impressed by him. It was obvious that he let his wife run the show. And he saw Deanna studying him intently as they left the restaurant together. Deanna and David both thanked him, and so did Maddie.

  “It was supposed to be my treat,” she reminded him.

  “I can’t let you pay for my dinner, can I?” He teased her and Deanna watched them with a stunned look on her face. Maddie kissed her and David, the men shook hands, William kissed Deanna on the cheek, and then David hailed a cab while William and Maddie headed down the street to walk for a while on the warm July night.

  “What happened when I went to pay the check?” he asked Maddie.

  “She asked if we were dating.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Basically I said, ‘Why not,’ not no or yes, but I left her all the leeway to figure it out for herself. I didn’t deny it. David nearly peed in his pants at the thought, if it helps him get you in his stable of authors.”

  “It won’t. I don’t like the house, and they never come up with the big bucks.” He laughed. “I could see that something had gone on, but I couldn’t figure out what. I thought it might be that. Does she object?”

  “Based on what? What could she object to?”

  “Women like her can always find something. She’s tough, Maddie. I understand her better now that I’ve seen her. I’m not sure she wants you to be happy.”

  “Neither am I. My other two kids are much sweeter.”

  “I wouldn’t describe Deanna as sweet. But I enjoyed the evening, and I’m glad I met her. He’s a bit of a buffoon.” Maddie didn’t disagree. But she’d done it. They’d met him, and as things developed between them, Deanna couldn’t complain that she hadn’t.

  “Very smooth delivery about how we met, by the way. Now you’ll have to use one of my pictures of you on the next book, so you don’t look like a liar.”

  “I’d like that anyway.” He smiled at her and kissed her. They went back to the house, and he slid down the fire pole twice, just for the hell of it, and then raced up the stairs to her bedroom and grabbed her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, startled as he kissed her passionately and pushed her onto the bed.

  “I’m having withdrawals! Quick! Save me! You’re the only one who can! You haven’t made love to me since this morning!”

  “You’re crazy,” she said, laughing at him as he took her dress off and fondled her breasts and she unzipped his pants.

  “Crazy about you,” he said, as their clothes landed in a heap on the floor, and he made love to her. He was more in love with her than ever, even after meeting Deanna.

  * * *

  —

  Deanna called Ben as soon as she got home. He and Laura were about to leave for a dinner party.

  “I think Mom has a boyfriend,” she said darkly, as though telling him their mother had been arrested for shoplifting or drunk driving.

  “Oh? What makes you think that?” He sounded neutral. Deanna sounded panicked. Not furious, but scared.

  “We just had dinner with some guy she invited us to dinner with, and they look suspiciously cozy together.”

  “Is he some kind of derelict or something?” It would have surprised him of their mother.

  “He’s English, a writer. Some famous biographer.”

  “And the problem is? Is he a drunk? A drug addict? Recently out of prison?”

  “Don’t be an ass. I just think it’s weird if she’s dating again at her age.”

  “What is your obsession with her age these days? Leave the poor woman alone. I don’t think she’s had a guy in her life for years. She’s a beautiful woman, and if she’s found someone, more power to her.”

  “She doesn’t need someone. She has us.”

  “Really? Me, three thousand miles away who sees her twice a year and calls her twice a month if she’s lucky? And you, who never sees her at all, and wants to shove her into assisted living in her fifties? Or Milagra, who hasn’t called her since she threw up at school when she was six? What part of that picture do you think is such great company for her? I hope she does have a guy. At least she’d have some fun for a change instead of working her ass off all the time. Is he nice?”

  “I don’t know…yes…maybe…he paid for dinner.”

  “At least he’s not a deadbeat. So what’s your complaint?”

  “Nothing. I just think she doesn’t need that. It’s unnecessary. What if she marries him?”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Laura was screaming at him by then that they were late. “I think you need to get off Mom’s back. For all you know, they’re just friends. Did she say she was dating him?”

  “No, but I could tell.”

  “Get over it, Dee. She’s not just your mommy anymore. She’s a grown woman, and she needs a life. Maybe more than she needs children who don’t pay attention to her. Maybe next time, she’ll run away with this guy. It might be good for her. Where does he live?”

  “In Big Sur.”

  Ben stopped and smiled then. “That’s interesting. That was the last stop on her big driving trip. Maybe she met him there. Or maybe he was the last man on her list she was checking out. Either way, he doesn’t sound like a bad guy to me. If she introduces me to him, I’ll let you know what I think.”

  “I bet she will,” his sister said conspiratorially.

  “We’ll see. Good night, big sis. Go watch TV and leave Mom in peace.” He hung up and hurried out to Laura who was waiting in the car and annoyed with him.

  “I like the guy,” David said to Deanna when she hung up. He couldn’t help overhearing.

  “You just want him as an author,” she snapped at him.

  “True. But I like him anyway. He’d be nice for your mother. It would be good for her to have a man in her life.”

  “Why?” Deanna said to him coldly.

  “Because everyone needs someone to love and be loved by, Deanna. You forget that sometimes.”

  “She’s my mother, not some twenty-five-year-old floozy.”

  “She’s a woman, and she’s not as old as you like to think. And you’re lucky if she is dating him. He’s not some thirty-year-old gigolo. He’s a great guy.” Deanna didn’t answer him. She went upstairs to her bedroom to get undressed, thinking about her mother, and wondering if she knew her at all. It seemed unlikely to her, but maybe Maddie had been as lonely as Ben said when she ran away. But if so, she seemed happy now. Her mother had always been a mystery to her.

  Chapter 17

  William stayed with Maddie for a week. He did his editing in the bedroom upstairs every day, and they had dinner at night and made love. She was busy planning her next projects, and her trip to Pakistan had taken shape. It was going to be a story about women for The New York Times Magazine, and she was leaving for Islamabad in two weeks. He didn’t want to crowd her, although th
ey were surprisingly comfortable living together. Deanna hadn’t called to inquire further about him, and everything was going well. But he thought he should go back to Big Sur for a while and write another chapter of his current book. It was easier for him to do that at home, with his usual routine and research material, although he could write elsewhere if he had to.

  “I thought I’d go back to California on Monday,” he said over the weekend.

  “Is something wrong?” She looked surprised.

  “Quite the contrary. It’s very right.” He smiled at her and leaned over and kissed her. “I don’t want you to get tired of me.” It was working out better than either of them had hoped. They had been together for nearly three weeks. “I’ll come back after your trip to Pakistan if you want me.” It would give him three weeks at home, which seemed like a good balance for now. And Theo was due to arrive soon too. William planned to have time with him in California, and then come to New York for a week to stay with Maddie before Theo went back to England from New York. “Will you be upset if I leave?” He looked worried. He didn’t want her to feel abandoned.

  “Desperately,” she answered and kissed him again. “Actually, I have a lot to do in the next two weeks before I go.”

  “I just want to say one thing for the record. I know I have no right to interfere in your work, or give you unsolicited advice, but I’m not comfortable with that trip. The piece you want to do is a great opportunity to piss someone off. And Pakistan isn’t the safest place these days. I’d feel better if you were going to Paris or Rome or Madrid.”

  “Nowhere in the world is safe anymore,” she said calmly.

  “True, but some places are safer than others. That’s my two cents for what it’s worth, and I know it won’t change anything.”

  “I’ll think about it.” But he knew she wouldn’t.

  “You have so many great subjects and clients. People are lining up at your door. You don’t need to take on the dicey assignments.”

  “They’re always the best stories. I can’t just shoot beautiful people all the time, or presidents and movie stars.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I want to make a difference in the world, and stories like this one are what do it.” It had the weight of The New York Times behind it to give it credibility and gravitas. And they had assigned a very well-known, serious journalist to go with her and write the piece.

  “People who make a difference get hurt. You’re not alone anymore. You have me and I love you. Take care of yourself, please.” She nodded, and he didn’t mention it again. They had a nice weekend, and on Monday, he left for San Francisco and the drive home.

  As soon as he got to Big Sur, he was sorry he’d left New York. He missed her fiercely, her laughter, the feel of her skin, the silk of her hair, the sway of her hips, the smell of her flesh. He loved her fine mind, and everything else about her. She was a lot to miss. But he had work to do too before Theo arrived, and he got down to it the next day, so he’d be ready for his son and to return to New York when she got back. She said she couldn’t wait too. And she was excited about the story she was about to do.

  She talked to William the night before she left, as she did three times a day. They talked constantly, he reminded her to be careful, and she promised she would. She was packed and ready to go on an early flight. She was only taking a carry-on so she wasn’t weighed down with luggage, and she had her heavy camera bag with everything she needed. She planned to wear a chador while she was there since most of the country was Muslim, and she didn’t want to offend anyone. Her trip to New Delhi had firmed up too, and she’d be going there in September or October, after she did the Vogue shoot for the December cover.

  She was only going to the outlying areas of Islamabad for short day trips, and planned to stay in the city the entire time, which was less dangerous than some of her earlier trips, so she wasn’t worried.

  She called William from the airport before she boarded her flight. She checked in to the hotel when she got there and dropped off her bag, and then met with Peter Hamilton, the writer she’d be working with for The New York Times. He was in his forties and a prize-winning journalist. It was all very well organized. She didn’t try to contact William while she was there, and had warned him she wouldn’t. Communications were complicated, and she had told him he wouldn’t hear from her, so he wouldn’t worry. She was planning to be there for a week or less, and thought she might finish in five days. William was eager for her to wrap up the story and come home. He was uneasy about the trip.

  The first three days went well and she got extraordinary photographs of the women she spoke to. She spoke to women in government, a doctor, and many students, women of all ages for their points of view. She and the journalist worked closely together. As he interviewed the women, she took intimate and moving portraits of them. Maddie had the photo credits. They wrapped it up in five days, as she’d hoped, and she was leaving the next day. It had gone like clockwork. Peter was taking a flight out that night.

  On her last night at the hotel, she heard a roll of thunder, and then several more, and then an explosion that sounded very near. She’d been asleep, and woke up rapidly as she realized what had happened. A bomb had exploded in the hotel. She looked out her window, and there were flames leaping from windows on other floors. She pulled on her jeans and put on shoes, pulled a shirt over her head, threw on her chador, grabbed her money and passport and one of her cameras, and ran out of her room into the hall. People were screaming and some were on fire. She stopped to help an old woman and a child and guided them toward a staircase where people were fleeing from the hotel. She stumbled down the stairs, shoved from the rear, pressed against those in front of her. People were crying and the heat was overwhelming. They could hear walls collapsing in the building.

  She ran out of the building with the others, and fell several times. She saw then that her chador was on fire, took it off, and threw it to the ground, and then ran as far and as fast as she could as another bomb went off. Peter Hamilton had left that night for Mumbai and had taken all the shots from the interviews with him, so she didn’t need to look for him. She was alone in Islamabad.

  She turned to see the building collapse behind her. A hail of rocks and debris pounded her back, and she kept running until she couldn’t breathe anymore. She stopped and randomly took photographs of the scene around her and then continued running away from the hotel. Two soldiers stopped her, saw that she was injured, which she hadn’t even noticed, and helped her to an ambulance. One of the soldiers carried her most of the way, and handed her over to Red Cross paramedics on the scene. It was chaos. She passed out then and woke up in a hospital where people were on gurneys and on the floors. Some were bleeding and dying. She tried to stand up, but her left leg wouldn’t hold her, and she could see that her right arm was burned. No one around her spoke English. She felt her jeans pockets where her money and passport still were. Her camera was still on the strap around her neck. She lay there for a long time until someone came to talk to her. He was a young doctor and he spoke English.

  “I’m okay,” she said to him. The others were so much more seriously injured than she was. He left her then and promised to come back later. All anyone knew was that several bombs had gone off in the hotel. No one knew who had done it or why. There were dead and dying everywhere. She was alone in Pakistan, with no way to tell anyone at home that she was alive.

  * * *

  —

  William had been working on a new chapter all day. It had been going well, and he was happy with it. He watched the fog roll in at four o’clock and decided to take a break. He’d been so intent on his work that he hadn’t eaten all day. He was starving and foraged in the fridge for something to eat. He needed to go to the store and was too lazy, he didn’t want to leave the book for that long. He found a package of sliced chicken and some lettuce, a tomato, and a jar of mayon
naise, made himself a sandwich, and turned on the TV to watch CNN and see what was happening in the world.

  There was a building in flames on the screen, and he watched it collapse as people ran screaming through the street, some of them on fire, as soldiers tried to help them and Red Cross ambulances arrived on the scene. It was horrifying but not unfamiliar, and then he saw the banner running below the image “Hotel bombing in Pakistan at this hour.” It was four A.M. in Pakistan. His heart pounded as he watched the live feed. He put down his sandwich and stared at the screen. She was there. He knew she was. They said the name of the hotel and it was where she was staying. The reporters covering the story for CNN had to move back to avoid the intense heat and a hail of debris. He sat mesmerized, and all he could do was pray that she was alive and not injured or dead. Not now.

  He didn’t leave his TV until midnight that night, when they started running the same film clips again. It was noon there by then. He wanted to call Penny but it was 3 A.M. in New York.

  He stayed up all night and called Penny at Maddie’s house at six in the morning in California, nine A.M. Eastern time.

  “Penny, it’s William,” he said in a gruff voice. All he’d had was coffee since the bombing, and he’d smoked a pack of cigarettes someone had left at his house months before, although he’d quit years ago. “Have you heard anything?”

  “No,” she said, he could hear that she’d been crying. So had he. “She always lists me as next of kin on her documents, so her kids don’t hear bad news first. So if they call anyone, they’ll call me,” Penny explained. There was no way to reach her. The hotel was gone and her cellphone didn’t work there. He had an idea. “Call me if you hear anything,” he said.

  “You too.” They both hung up and he called a friend in the State Department to ask if he would call the U.S. Embassy and see if they had casualty lists of any Americans that had been injured in the blast. He didn’t dare say the word “killed.”