Mystery Wife

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Mystery Wife Page 4

by Annette Broadrick


  The little girl looked very solemn, her eyes large in her face. She wore a ruffled dress that seemed too elaborate for her slight build. The boy seemed to be clapping his chubby hands together. She could faintly see a gleam of teeth in his smiling mouth.

  She searched for traces of feeling within her, some hint of maternal love for these two children. Instead she felt as though she was seeing them for the first time.

  "Well?" Raoul asked after a moment when she didn't say anything.

  Slowly she shook her head. "I'm sorry. I don't recognize them."

  He took the photo and carefully replaced it in his wallet without comment. She fought the impulse to ask to keep the images in front of her in order to memorize their likenesses. She knew any request of that nature would be futile, given the care with which he handled the treasured keepsake.

  "Didn't you tell me their names are Yvette and Jules?"

  "Yes. You said you'd always liked the name Yvette. Jules was named after my father."

  She glanced at the second picture, her eyes widening in surprise. This one was a candid snapshot of her. She was leaning against the front fender of a bright red sports car with her legs crossed at the ankle. Her head was tilted back, showing the long line of her throat, and her hair was being tossed on the breeze. Her smile revealed sparkling teeth, while designer sunshades masked the upper part of her face. She wore a white jumpsuit that clung seductively to her body.

  Sherye stared at the picture without any sense of identification with the woman.

  "Is this a recent picture?"

  He looked down at the photograph for a brief moment before glancing away without expression. "I took that several months ago. The car was a birthday gift."

  "Was this the car I was driving when..."

  "Yes."

  She studied the picture of the woman who leaned so self-confidently against the car. This was a snapshot of the woman she faced in the mirror each morning. There was no doubt or chance for a mistake.

  Had she really thought there was?

  Sometime during the past week she reluctandy had come to accept Dr. Leclerc's suggestion that she unconsciously had blocked out years of her life rather than face the twists and turns it had taken. Regardless of what her subconscious had chosen to hide, she was determined to find out the truth about herself.

  She turned to Raoul and reached for his hand. She could feel him stiffen beside her but she didn't let go. "I know this is very difficult for you. I wish I could make all of it easier somehow. I have so many questions and you're the only person who can answer them for me. As much as I know that going home is the next step, I find it a little unnerving to be faced with seeing strangers who are actually members of my family, people who know more about me than I do at the moment."

  "I've discussed the matter with Maman and Danielle. Despite problems in the past, they have agreed to do whatever they can to assist you in adjusting."

  Sherye came to her feet in agitation. She took a few steps away from him before she turned to face him. "What problems in the past?" she asked, her voice shaking. "I hate it when you imply all sorts of things, either with words or your distant manner. What is wrong between us? According to Dr. Leclerc, you told him that the two of us had argued the night before my accident. What caused the argument? Why did I leave? What was said between us?"

  Raoul came to his feet, as well. "The doctor also said that you should not get upset, that it will only retard your recovery. We'll have time to discuss everything that has happened between us once you are fully recovered. Believe me, I am as eager to deal with our relationship as you appear to be, but there's no reason to go into all of that today. I came looking for you to let you know that I'll pick you up in the morning about nine o'clock. We'll be able to talk on the drive home."

  "Is it far?"

  "About four hours."

  "You mentioned earlier that you had business to attend to. What do you do?"

  "The family owns a winery and vineyards that have been part of our holdings for generations."

  A winery...vineyards. She waited, hoping for some mental image to appear, but nothing happened. With a sigh she turned away from Raoul and looked over the pastoral scene that rolled into the horizon.

  "Sherye?"

  Reluctant to face him, she slowly turned and looked at him.

  "I know that this is very difficult for you. I suppose what I want you to understand is that this situation is equally difficult for me. I'm doing the very best I can to deal with my own feelings at the moment. Just because you don't happen to remember what has transpired between us doesn't mean that none of it happened." His gaze grew bleak. "Sometimes I find myself envious of your memory loss. You see, as badly as I want to I can't forget some of the things that you have said and done. Perhaps I could forgive what you have done to me, but I'm less able to forgive the pain you've caused the children... and Maman... and Danielle. I can't forget. I wish to God I could."

  He turned and rapidly walked away from her as though escaping her presence.

  The pain Sherye felt as she watched him leave was not caused by her head injury. No, the pain was located in the region of her heart. She ached with the knowledge that she had hurt this man so badly. Only his polite good breeding had restrained his obvious contempt for and disgust of her.

  How had her life become such a mess?

  Whether the answer was painful or palatable she would be forced to pursue the answers. She offered a brief plea to God to give her the strength she needed to face the mistakes she must have made in her life to have brought her to her present dilemma.

  Chapter 4

  Raoul couldn't sleep. He'd been tossing and turning in the unfamiliar hotel bed for what seemed like hours, unable to shut out the scenes, the harsh words, the anguished feelings that continued to plague him.

  Irritated with himself, he got up and went into the small bathroom off the bedroom and got a drink of water. He could try to kid himself and blame the bed, but he was too honest to accept the excuse. He knew exactly what was wrong with him.

  He was dreading the next day when Sherye would be released from the hospital to go home.

  He returned to bed and stretched out once again, his mind reliving the past.

  From the time he'd received the call from the police reporting her accident, Raoul had been operating in a state of emotional suspension. He'd driven through the night to the hospital where she had been taken. He'd waited beside her bed for her to awaken. When the doctors had realized that she had slipped into a coma, they had warned him there was little more they could do for her.

  Despite the rawness of his feelings where Sherye was concerned, he hadn't wanted her to die. Even though there was no chance that their marriage could survive, she was the mother of his children and, as such, deserved the best possible care.

  He'd spent two days locating a private-nursing hospital where she could receive the very best around-the-clock nursing available. For his own peace of mind he had to do everything in his power to save her.

  Each decision had been based on the moment. He had not wanted to give any thought to the future.

  Now he had no choice. Sherye was demanding some answers, answers that would immediately reflect the shambles of their relationship.

  The irony of her having lost her memory at this time wasn't lost on him. On the contrary, had she been conscious and coherent when she'd been found, he doubted very much that she would have had him contacted. Hadn't she made it clear that she wanted no part of him—except for his money and position, of course? Given a choice, Sherye would probably have called one of the many friends she partied with, and continued with whatever plans she'd had that had precipitated their latest in a long line of quarrels.

  Three months ago he'd offered her a divorce and she'd laughed at him. She'd made it clear that she liked her life exactly the way it was and that if he attempted to divorce her, she would drag his name through every scandal sheet in Europe.

  Once again R
aoul replayed their last scene in his mind.

  He'd returned home earlier than usual one afternoon and had found her packing a bag in her room.

  Her room.

  Yes. Her insistence on moving out of the room they had shared since the beginning of their marriage had been the

  beginning of the end of their relationship, only he hadn't seen it at the time.

  She had been in the last stages of her second pregnancy and very uncomfortable. She had complained that she couldn't rest, that he kept waking her up, so she had moved into the adjoining bedroom.

  Once Jules was born, however, she had refused to return to his bed. Eventually they had resumed marital intimacies, but she rarely responded to him and he came to her bed less and less as time passed.

  She had become involved with friends she'd known from her modeling days, people who partied more than they worked. At first she had brought them to the chateau on a regular basis, but gradually she'd taken to spending her time away from home. Whenever he'd attempted to discuss her behavior with her she had brushed him aside, ignoring him.

  During that last afternoon he'd refused to be brushed aside. He remembered searching for her___

  ❧

  She was in her bedroom, packing a suitcase.

  He leaned against the doorway between their rooms, his hands in his pockets.

  "Going somewhere?"

  She spun around and saw him. "Oh! You startled me. You're home early. Why?" she asked, tucking a wisp of satin and lace into the bag.

  "You didn't answer my question."

  She straightened and looked at him. "Nor you mine," she replied sweetly.

  "All right," he said. "I'm home early so that I could have a word with you."

  She rolled her eyes while she continued to fold resort wear and place it in the bag. "By all means, say what's on your mind."

  "I just received several statements in the mail today totaling charges you've been making. I consider them rather excessive."

  "Do you, now? Don't you have the money to pay them?" she asked without looking up, a small smile on her face.

  "That isn't the point, Sherye. We've discussed this before."

  "I know. Don't you find it a tad boring, darling?" She gave a theatrical sigh. "God knows I do."

  "Now it's your turn. Where are you going?"

  "Don't worry. I'll just be gone overnight.''

  He straightened and walked over to the bed where she was busy. "Isn't that a considerable amount of clothing for overnight?"

  She slammed the lid and locked it. "Don't worry about it." She turned and faced him, crossing her arms.

  "I'd prefer that you stay home tonight, Sherye. I intend for us to talk about how much money you've been spending in the past few months."

  "I really don't give a damn what you intend, Raoul. It's too late for me to change my plans." She patted one of his cheeks. "But don't worry, sweetie. I'll be back before you have a chance to miss me. I promise." She giggled. "Then we can have all the talks you want. Won't that be fun?"

  "What if I insist on your staying?"

  Her mercurial mood shifted into anger. "Why in the hell should I sit around here all day waiting for you to show up and bless me with your presence? It's boring, can't you understand that? I'm sick to death of entertaining your stuffy friends who barely tolerate me... sick of your aristocratic mother glaring down her nose at me and disapproving of every damn thing I do. I'm sick of your mealymouthed sister cowering behind you and your mother, refusing to stand up for herself and get her own life. I'm too young to be buried alive in this blasted mausoleum. I want to enjoy every minute while I can and I intend to do just that. You aren't going to stop me."

  She grabbed her bag and purse and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  He could have gone after her, but what was the point? Their marriage had disintegrated into a series of stormy scenes. Whatever love they had once felt for each other was gone.

  By the time he awoke the next morning he knew what he had to do. He would call her bluff. He would see just how serious she was with regard to her threat to harm his reputation.

  He went to see a lawyer about getting a divorce.

  ❧

  He'd had plenty of time to think while he'd sat beside her bed after the accident. The accident really hadn't changed anything between them. He'd known that once she regained consciousness all the shared animosity between them would be there waiting.

  A divorce was the only sensible solution.

  He'd known his choice would cost him financially, but he could put no price tag on his peace of mind.

  That's all he wanted from all of this now... peace.

  However, fate had decreed otherwise—and Sherye had awakened without any memory of him or their marriage.

  During one of his interviews with the doctor he'd been questioned at great length about her state of mind when he'd last seen her, about the quarrel they'd had, and whether or not he thought she had deliberately attempted suicide.

  No matter from what perspective he considered the matter, his answer was no. In the first place, she hadn't been all that upset when she'd left, merely determined. She'd been like one of his horses—she'd had the bit between her teeth and nothing was going to curb her from doing what she wanted to do.

  In the second place, she had no reason to want to die. She had everything she could possibly want, which he could easily verify by the thick stack of charges she'd run up lately. Where other women might have wanted a husband and two healthy children, Sherye concentrated on spending lavish amounts of money on herself.. .which brought him to his third point. Sherye would not do anything to mar her beauty. Even if she had chosen to do away with herself, she would have found a way to have remained beautiful even in death.

  No. The accident had been just that, an accident, caused by the fact that as usual she was driving too fast and lost control of the car. In addition, as usual she hadn't been wearing her seat belt. Ironically enough, that habitual lapse of hers was what apparently had saved her life.

  When Raoul had visited the doctor this afternoon, Dr. Leclerc had warned him that he would find some major changes in Sherye's behavior from the woman Raoul had described to him originally.

  Raoul had hoped they would be able to prove that she was faking the amnesia. Unfortunately the tests were conclusively negative. She had no recollection of anything that had happened to her since she'd lived in France. For that matter, she had no memories of modeling, living in New York or traveling. The only memories they'd been able to evoke were around her childhood in Dallas, and those were sketchy at best.

  The doctor had also mentioned some possible theories for Sherye's new and rather bewildering attitude toward life. She had almost died. Now she was being given a second chance.

  Raoul wasn't at all certain that he wanted a second chance with Sherye. No matter what the doctor said, she was the same person who had caused so much grief in his home and his life. He'd been honest with her today. He didn't know if he could forget what she had done. He wasn't even certain he was willing to try.

  However, the doctor insisted that she be returned to her home in hopes that the familiar surroundings would more quickly trigger something in her memory. Raoul couldn't deny her the chance to completely recover from her injuries. He could only hope that allowing her to come home wouldn't create additional turmoil for everyone concerned.

  With that last drowsy thought, Raoul fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

  ❧

  Sherye awoke the next morning with a sense of foreboding. She glanced around her, recognizing the familiar room with a relieved sense of safety before she recalled that today was the day she would be leaving the hospital.

  She'd grown accustomed to being there. For all practical purposes, her life had begun here in this room, when she'd opened her eyes for the first time after her accident.

  Her room had become a refuge for her to return to whenever the intense therapy regarding he
r lack of memory seemed to be too much for her to face.

  In a few hours she would have to leave everything that was familiar and comforting to her. Her sadness wasn't eased by the knowledge that she would be leaving here with a man who was a stranger to her—a stiff, unbending man whose cold aloofness made her feel instinctively guilty without the slightest notion why.

  She'd had trouble sleeping the night before, waking time and time again from some vague nightmare feeling of being pursued by ravenous animals.

  Despite her anxiety, she needed to prepare herself for her trip to a place Raoul called home, to meet people she couldn't recall, which included her children.

  She felt hopelessly inadequate. She also felt as though she had knowingly and willfully let everyone down. She wished she had more confidence in herself. Surely her years of modeling should give her something from which to draw. Perhaps she hadn't been a very successful wife, but she'd been told that she was a very successful model.

  She quickly showered and dressed, wearing another one of the dresses Raoul had brought for her. She must have gained some weight while she had been recuperating. The dress was a trifle snug. Studying herself in the mirror, she objectively noted the changes since she'd regained consciousness—her cheeks didn't appear so gaunt, her eyes had a healthy shine and her skin glowed with a light tan. The ivory silk shift she wore seemed to bring out the bright red of her hair and the green of her eyes.

  When she returned to the bedroom she found Raoul standing by the window, looking out.

  "Oh! I didn't hear you arrive. You should have let me know you were here."

  Slowly he turned away from the window, his hands in his pants pockets. His gaze assessed her from head to toe without giving away a hint of what he was thinking. "I was early," he replied in a low voice. His face could have been carved from wood.

  Her heart sank. For an instant Sherye felt the urge to plead with him to give her the opportunity to make amends for whatever she had done to cause him to treat her so coolly. Either that, or to allow her to go somewhere alone to continue her healing process, to a place where she would feel accepted and welcomed.

 

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