She packed it all up, and stayed up until morning to do it, and by the time Sophie got up in the morning, it was done. There were neatly packed boxes stacked in his room. And when she was finished, Isabelle went back to her own bedroom and went to sleep.
She heard from Gordon finally late that afternoon. He wanted to know what her plans were.
“I haven't figured that out yet. I've been packing Teddy's things.”
“That's a morbid pursuit, why don't you have the nurses do it?” She had done it herself out of respect for the child she had loved so much. But Gordon couldn't understand that. He loved no one except himself, and never had. Isabelle couldn't imagine what his relationship was with Louise. She was sure it was based on her social importance, and her title. They were the same things that had once drawn him to Isabelle. But he couldn't tolerate the person, or the reality. He had no use for them. “You behaved abominably the other night,” he accused her, trying to intimidate her with his tone. She had heard it so often, it no longer impressed her. And what he had been so horrified by was that she dared to bring up his affair with Louise. It seemed amazing to him that she had finally discovered it after all these years. And when he'd asked Louise if she'd actually called his house on New Year's Eve when she missed her flight to Saint-Moritz, all of which he considered most unlikely, she had admitted that she probably had. It was an innocent mistake. But it had unraveled and exposed ten years of his carefully constructed lies. He hadn't dared complain to her about it.
“This has been an abominable situation for a long time,” Isabelle said simply, which was the truth. “I always thought that I had somehow failed you and that's why you were so cold to me. I thought it was my fault, because I was always so wrapped up in Teddy. But I finally understand it had nothing to do with me, or with him. You simply didn't want to be here.”
“It had everything to do with you,” he said. “If you'd taken the time to be a decent wife, it would never have happened.” He was admitting nothing to her, and blaming her for everything, which was typical of him.
“I have been a decent wife to you, Gordon. I was always here for you. I actually loved you in the beginning. You were the one who shut me out, who put walls up between us, who moved out of our bedroom and rejected me. But none of that had anything to do with me, and I think you know that.”
“You can't absolve yourself so easily. I would never have done any of those things if you had learned what you needed to in the beginning.”
He was the teacher, and she the pupil, and he wanted her to know she had failed the course abysmally. All her love and decency and heart counted for nothing with him. He didn't know or care who she was. That much was clear. She had done backward somersaults for him for years, while he shouted “higher,” “faster,” and it was never good enough for him. Once he had taken advantage of her background and connections, and had established himself, he had no further use for her. And she knew he would do the same thing to Louise. Once the world knew he had married a countess, and that she was a very rich and successful woman, and he had used her to his satisfaction, he could throw her away too. Isabelle could no longer imagine Gordon caring about anyone, not her, not his children, not even his mistress probably. He was narcissistic in the extreme.
“I think you've been brain-damaged ever since your accident,” he said coolly, and she suddenly saw the picture he was going to paint, that she had never been quite right after her coma, that she had always been a little odd, and had finally become severely disturbed after her son's death. It was the perfect excuse for disposing of her. It was like suddenly catching a glimpse of a deep dark cave, and seeing the monster who lived there. In the old days, it would have terrified her, but it no longer did. She wanted nothing to do with the monster anymore. “I expect you to move out quickly,” he said coldly. He had dispensed with her, and all he wanted was for her to disappear. It was so perfectly convenient. She served no purpose and had become a problem. And he wanted her removed. She had exposed him, and he couldn't tolerate that. She had shined a far too bright light on him, and refused to be fooled. She had been duped by him for far too long, but no more.
“I'll move out when I find an apartment, Gordon,” she said, sounding tired. She'd been up all the night before, packing Teddy's things. “You do realize, don't you, that if you throw me out in the street right after Teddy's death, that people are going to say ugly things about you.”
“I will tell them that you were crazed over his death, and ran away for reasons that are unclear to me, aggravated of course by your brain injury.” It was brilliant actually, and he'd worked it all out. She couldn't help wondering if he'd had help from Louise.
“You're assuming that people believe you, and I'm not sure they do. Some may, but anyone who knows me knows that I'm not la folk de Chaillot hiding away in the attic, I'm a woman you've lied to and cheated on and treated very badly. One day, people will see who you are, just as your children finally did. You can't fool people forever, not even me.” But his betrayal still felt like a terrible blow to her. And what he was doing now seemed almost worse, given the shock of Teddy's death. She had been abandoned by Bill, after five years, and now by Gordon, who had actually abandoned her emotionally years before, and Teddy had left her because he had no choice. But however Isabelle looked at it, they were hard hits for her. Very hard. And she knew, as she listened to him tell her how he would destroy her reputation, that she would never recover entirely from the betrayal of people she had once loved so passionately. It dissolved any faith she'd once had in life being fair, and things ending happily. There were no happy endings in her world. She didn't even expect them anymore. She just wanted peace.
“Move out when you want. Just let me know when you do. I called my lawyer today. He's going to draft settlement papers for you.” He had moved very quickly. She wondered if the Comte de Ligne was failing. Gordon seemed to be in a rush suddenly. And it would have been so perfect for him if she'd been willing to disappear to Grenoble. He could have said she was in a sanatorium, or had gone mad, or was suffering from depression. He could have said almost anything, as long as no one saw her anymore. But she had no intention of making things that easy for him. And she realized, as she listened to him, that she had to find an attorney. And then Gordon issued her yet another warning. “Be clear when you pack, Isabelle, that you can only take what's yours, whatever you brought to the marriage. The rest belongs to me.”
“That was my intention,” she said coldly. How quickly it was all reduced to what belonged to whom. All she wanted were her clothes, Teddy's things, some of her parents' paintings and antiques, and the few pieces of jewelry Gordon had given her. She never wanted to see the rest of it again, and she was only taking the jewelry so she could give it to Sophie. “I'll let you know when I find a place to live.”
She looked frantically for an apartment for the next few weeks, and it was easier once Sophie went back to school. Sophie was so distraught over everything that had happened, that Isabelle didn't want to upset her further. But in late September, Isabelle found a very suitable apartment for them on the rue de Varenne, not far from the house she and Gordon had shared on the rue de Grenelle. The apartment had two bedrooms, a large sunny living room, a small dining room, a somewhat antiquated kitchen and pantry, and a terrace overlooking the Musée Rodin. It was actually the third floor in an old hôtel particulier, there was garage space for one car in what had been the stables, and it was in fairly decent shape. The house itself had been elegant once, although like so many of the beautiful eighteenth-century houses on the Left Bank, the people who had owned it for generations had run out of money to maintain it long since. There was a tiny elevator that looked like a bird cage, high ceilings, beautiful but battered floors, and the landlords were an aristocratic family she had once met. It was a good neighborhood and a good address, and she knew she would feel safe there. And she knew she had just enough furniture from her parents to decorate it decently. She called Gordon's attorney once she
signed the lease for the apartment, and told him she was going to move in two weeks. And then she called Sophie.
For Sophie, it seemed like a mixed blessing. She was happy her mother had found it, but it was going to be strange living somewhere else. She would stay at the rue de Grenelle when she visited her father, but with her mother and Teddy gone, it depressed her just thinking about it.
Isabelle had had the settlement papers from Gordon by then. He was offering her a small settlement, which in no way reflected the life they had shared for twenty-one years. And his attorney suggested she get a job, which she intended to do anyway, rather than ask Gordon for support. Everything in the offer they made was slanted toward him, and it was, in effect, an enormous slap in the face. In truth, she wanted nothing from him, and it confirmed everything she'd thought when she'd been afraid to leave him because of Teddy. He would have starved them to death if she left. She wanted very little from him now, just enough to cover her, in case something untoward happened to her or she got sick.
Her own lawyer was outraged by what he'd offered, and wanted her to fight for her fair share, and even try to win the house on the rue de Grenelle. But Isabelle knew it would be a hollow victory. As best she could, she wanted to walk away with a bare minimum to meet her needs, and nothing more. She wanted almost nothing from him.
She moved to the apartment on the rue de Varenne in mid-October, and was surprised by how pretty it looked once she got it fixed up a bit. And the only painful part of leaving her old house was leaving the rooms where she and Teddy had spent his entire life. But she knew that she was taking her memories with her, and with a last sad look over her shoulder, she walked out, as Josephine the housekeeper cried. Isabelle promised to have her come to visit at her new address.
And even Sophie was surprised the first time she came home for a weekend. It was the long All Saints' Day weekend, and she had four days off from school.
“It looks wonderful, Mom!” Sophie beamed when she saw her room. Isabelle had used some fabric she'd put away, it was all done in lavender silk with lilacs and violets on it. And she'd had the walls painted a warm ivory, with a thin line of lavender trim. It was a perfect room for a girl. She had done her own room in yellow, and the living room was filled with antiques that had been Isabelle's mother's, they were very fine pieces, mostly Louis XV and XVI. She had only been there for two weeks, and it already felt like home. In some ways, far more than the rue de Grenelle. It was hers.
Most of all, Isabelle was surprised by how easily she had adjusted to her new life. She didn't miss Gordon, the only one she missed incredibly was Teddy, her heart ached for him constantly. The new apartment had given her some distraction, but there was no hiding from the fact that he was gone. In some ways, it was easier being in a new place, she couldn't wander the halls that he had once walked, or sit in the room where she had sat with him for hours. And in spite of her new location, she had not only taken her grief for Teddy with her, her endless longing for Bill had followed her there as well. It was inconceivable to her that she would never see him again, and that, after five years of talking to her, advising her, comforting her, being her mentor and best friend, and finally lover, he had simply shut her out and left. It was the last thing she had ever expected of him, the only cruel thing he had ever done. In its own way, it was the cruelest of all. She knew it would take her a lifetime to forget him, if she ever did. And she couldn't imagine ever loving or trusting anyone again. In the end, it was not so much Gordon who had broken her heart and destroyed her faith, because she expected nothing of him anymore, and hadn't in years, but Bill had hurt her more, because she had truly loved and trusted him. But she knew it was something she had to live with, at whatever cost.
Two weeks after she had moved into the apartment, even before Sophie came home for the Toussaint, she saw a photograph of him in the Herald Tribune. The article talked about the upcoming elections in the States, and his part in an important senatorial race. It was very flattering to him, and she sat and stared at the photograph for a long time, and thought he looked well. She couldn't tell precisely, but it looked as though he were standing in a group of men, and the candidate whose cause he was championing was standing next to him. It even mentioned briefly that he had had a near-fatal car accident in London the year before and had made a remarkable recovery, and returned to politics stronger than ever. Although it didn't say he was walking or running marathons, the article seemed to support what Bill had said when he lied to her about being able to walk again. It sounded like he was perfectly fine and fully restored. In the end, after staring at it for two days and torturing herself over it, she threw the newspaper away.
Sophie had just gone back to school after the Toussaint weekend, when Isabelle saw Bill on CNN. He was at a Senate hearing in Washington, seated at a long table, addressing a committee on Senate appropriations. What they were saying sounded extremely technical and boring to her, but she was mesmerized the moment she saw his face. She'd been having a very bad day over Teddy, and finally gave up trying to cheer herself up. She'd gone to bed and turned on the TV to distract herself. She couldn't take her eyes off him as he talked and moved, made an impassioned speech, and then turned right toward the camera, as though he were speaking to her.
“You bastard,” she whispered softly. She wanted to wish him well with his renewed vows to Cynthia, but she couldn't. She was still too hurt by what he had done to her. She could still remember every word he had said to her when he had told her it was over between them. She hadn't deserved that, she had loved him so much, and they'd been so happy. She was agonizing, remembering all of it, when the camera pulled back at the end of the speech, and she saw someone wheel him away. Her mouth fell open as she watched it. He had told her the use of his legs had fully returned, and it was obvious from what she was seeing that he was still confined to a wheelchair. But why? Why would he tell her he could walk if he couldn't? What purpose could it possibly serve? And then as she watched him disappear off the screen with a wave to several people in the crowd, she remembered what he had said from the first. Already in London, he had hinted darkly that if he couldn't walk again, he wouldn't stay with her, so as not to be a burden on her. He had never spelled it out to her, but she had understood what he meant, and thought he was just depressed. She hadn't really believed him then, and thought he was dramatizing, but she suddenly wondered if he'd meant what he said. It was as though she could hear his words now, as clear as could be. She had never even thought about it, because he had been so clear that he was walking again. And suddenly she wondered if he had lied about everything else.
She sat in her bed for a long time, wondering what to do next, how to find out what had happened. She wanted to pick up the phone and ask him. But if he had wanted her to know the truth, he would have told her five months before, instead of lying to her. She was completely confused. She tossed back the covers and got out of bed, and began pacing her bedroom as the television droned on. She turned it off so she could think more clearly, and then looked at her watch. It was noon in Washington, and six o'clock at night in Paris. And then she had an idea, ran to the kitchen, and grabbed the phone.
She dialed Washington information and asked for the number of his office, and was instantly rewarded. She wasn't totally sure what to do next, but when a voice answered, sounding busy, she asked for Mr. Robinson's assistant, and a male voice came on the phone. She explained that Mr. Robinson had encouraged her to call for her committee on literacy in children in the Deep South, and she could hear the assistant pay attention to her. Isabelle knew that literacy all over America was of great importance to him, and he urged all his candidates to espouse it as a valuable cause.
“Of course,” the assistant said, validating Isabelle's idea.
“We were hoping that he and his wife would attend our event in December. We'd like his wife to be our honorary chair.” There was a brief pause while the assistant caught his breath and Isabelle regrouped, praying that she was right.
“Absolutely. I'll get it out to you today.” Isabelle's hand was shaking as she held the phone and closed her eyes. He had lied to her about both things. He and Cynthia were not together, and he could not walk, and she felt certain now of what he had done. He had freed her, for her sake, out of some crazy lunatic idea he had that he owed that to her, because he loved her. Or maybe he didn't love her anymore … but two things were sure, he was no longer married to Cynthia, and he was still in a wheelchair.
“Thank you so much,” she breathed into the phone to his assistant.
“And what was that date again?”
“December twelfth.”
“I'll calendar that for you and let him know.”
“Thank you.”
“And your name? I'm sorry … I didn't catch it….” “No problem. Sally Jones.”
“Thank you, Miss Jones. Thank you for your call.”
She sat in her bed for a long time afterward, pondering what to do next. She just sat there, thinking about him, and ever more certain of what he had done and why. She felt as though everything had changed in the blink of an eye. But this time, instead of wanting to die as she had for the last five months, she felt alive again.
The Kiss Page 33