“Perhaps you’d like to wait downstairs in the hotel lobby? It will be a little more private for you than here, I suspect,” he suggested. “I can arrange for someone to sit with you until your car arrives.”
“That won’t be necessary. Just the car, please.”
Imogene nodded her thanks and rose to her feet to follow him. While he called for her driver, she retrieved her coat from the coat check, then headed down to the lobby. Suddenly desperate for the cool fresh night air and to get away from the heat and chatter that had surrounded her inside, Imogene went out through the front doors of the hotel. A movement in the shadows to one side startled her and she stifled a groan of disbelief as Carla materialized beside her.
“Haven’t you done enough damage?” she growled at the other woman.
“You’re one to talk. Your marriage is nothing but a sham. Valentin loves me. Always has and always will. We’d still be together if you hadn’t come along again and distracted him. You have no idea how hard I’ve worked to get him back. How patient I’ve been.”
“Perhaps the fact that you had to work so hard at it was an indication that your feelings for him weren’t reciprocated?”
“It doesn’t matter what you say. He loves me. I know he does. And now with the baby, I think it’s time you step aside and leave him, this time for good.”
Imogene looked at Carla and was shocked at the unnatural brightness in her eyes. Her words were those of a madwoman, not the calm, cool, collected doctor she’d met in Africa and certainly not the intelligent and gifted head of research and development that she’d heard Carla described as. Perhaps losing her position at Horvath Pharmaceuticals had unhinged her completely.
But no matter how she felt about her, the woman was pregnant and out here in the cold night without a coat and, judging by the way she was hanging around, without a ride home. Clearly she needed help. Pushing aside her own feelings of anger and betrayal toward her husband and her definite dislike and distrust of Carla, Imogene made an offer.
“I can get you help, Carla. I really think you need it. But first of all, let me see you home.”
“Why?” Carla retorted, looking at Imogene as if she were the one who’d gone completely crazy. “I’ve slept with your husband. I’m doing my best to break up your marriage again. Why would you be nice to me?”
Imogene looked at Carla and spoke quietly and steadily, seeing her car draw near. “Because you need help and because,” she said as an alternate spin on the situation began to bloom in her mind, “I’m not entirely sure I believe you right now. Look, let me give you a ride home.”
To her shock Carla dissolved into tears. The doorman looked at the two women with concern and began to walk toward them, but Imogene gestured for him to stay back.
“Come on, Carla. My driver is here. Let’s go.”
Wrapping one arm around the other woman’s waist, she guided her into the back seat of the car.
“A slight detour today, Anton. We’ll be seeing Ms. Rogers home first.”
“And Mr. Horvath?”
“There’s been an incident with his grandmother. He’s gone to the hospital with her.”
Anton expressed his regrets before steering the car into traffic.
“Carla, give Anton your address.”
“It’s all right, Mrs. Horvath. I already know it,” Anton replied smoothly before Carla could answer.
Imogene’s body felt as though it had been cast in stone. She could barely breathe as the ramifications and possibilities of that one statement surged through her. Did that mean that Valentin was frequently driven to Carla’s home? That every word from his mouth had been a lie? That he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, let Carla go from his life? That he was just like her father after all?
She tried to swallow against the lump that threatened to block her throat and felt her eyes burn with unshed tears. She’d be damned before she’d cry in front of this woman. No matter that she’d chosen to help her, there was no way she would show weakness in front of her, too.
On the other side of the back seat, Carla sat huddled against her door. Her crying had slowed to an occasional sob, and in the dark interior she eventually lifted her head and looked at Imogene.
“I’m sorry,” she said brokenly.
“Are you?” Imogene tried to keep her voice neutral. Not easy given the shock she’d just received. “What for, precisely?”
“All of it. Africa. Here. Tonight.”
Imogene held her silence, hoping it might prompt Carla to continue. Even in the dark she could see what a mess Carla had been reduced to after her crying jag. Imogene reached into her bag for a small pack of tissues and silently handed them across. Carla accepted them with a small thank-you. After a few more minutes, she finished mopping her face and blowing her nose and straightened in her seat.
“I’m not pregnant,” she said bluntly.
A massive wave of relief flooded through every inch of Imogene’s body. She’d begun to suspect that Carla had been staging it all in a last-ditch effort to drive her away. Not trusting herself to speak, she held her silence. Besides, there was still the issue of Valentin’s visits to Carla’s home to be worked out.
“And I lied about Valentin being my lover that day in Africa. He was still at work. I’d brought one of the new doctors back to your house with me. I knew you’d likely show up at some point and I wanted to use that to my advantage.”
“What do you expect me to say?” Imogene blurted out, anger beginning to boil just beneath the surface.
Carla had manipulated them all—Imogene, Valentin and her poor unsuspecting lover, who’d been showering when Imogene had arrived home that day.
“I don’t know. I hope that one day you might be able to forgive me.”
“I don’t know if I can do that,” Imogene said through lips that felt frozen and immobile.
All those years wasted. All that unhappiness. All for a lie.
“I understand. I wouldn’t if the situation was reversed.” She shifted in her seat and plucked at the seat belt that crossed her body with a listless hand. “Valentin was the only man to ever end a relationship with me. It only made me want him all the more. Of course there have been others since him, but no one has ever matched Valentin. He was always my end goal.”
“You speak about him as if he had no choice in the matter. As if he were something to acquire, not a flesh and blood man to love and care for.”
Carla looked away from Imogene and out the window. “You love him, don’t you?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued, “He never stopped loving you, you know. Through all these years he’s constantly rebuffed my attentions, and those of anyone else who dared make an advance on him. You were always the only one for him. It drove me crazy. I’m not very gracious in loss, as you’ve probably gathered. I hope you’ll believe me when I say I am truly sorry, to you both.”
Imogene let Carla’s words wash over her and slowly penetrate the frozen shell that had locked her in place. Slowly she became aware that Anton had pulled up to the curb in front of an apartment building in Greenwich Village.
“I won’t trouble you again,” Carla said. “Thanks for the ride home.”
Before Imogene could say another word, Carla had let herself out and was walking toward the entrance. Once she was gone from view, Imogene met Anton’s gaze in the rearview mirror.
“Do you think she’ll be all right?” she asked.
“She’s a tough one. She’ll get through it,” he said. “And, since I couldn’t help overhearing—I just want to clear something up for you. Mr. Horvath never accompanied Ms. Rogers to her apartment.”
“I know that,” Imogene conceded.
Now all she had to do was work this out with her husband.
Fifteen
Imogene entered their apartment and was struck by its emptiness. Every night these p
ast few weeks Valentin had greeted her on her arrival home. Now, of course, he was at the hospital, no doubt worried sick about Alice. She checked her phone to see if he’d messaged or called her yet. Nothing. At least that had to be good news, right? she told herself as she shrugged out of her coat and hung it in the closet off the foyer. Her stomach rumbled. They hadn’t even had the chance to place an order tonight, let alone eat anything. But even though she was hungry, she didn’t know if she could stomach anything right now.
She wandered to their bedroom and kicked off her shoes, sitting on the bed for a while and pondering what she should do. She felt restless, her mind still in turmoil over Carla’s sudden about-face and her apologies. It made Imogene want to turn it all over in her mind again. To examine every step of her journey with Valentin and to see where she allowed herself to be so badly duped.
Had it all been Carla’s manipulation, or had she been an easy victim because of her own preconceptions? She admitted she’d gone into her whirlwind relationship with Valentin starry-eyed but holding back a piece of herself all the way. Yes, she’d been wooed by Valentin’s attentions, had fallen hard and fast in love. But had she given him her all? If she had, would she have felt more secure?
She got up from the bed and walked through the apartment to the bedroom that had been converted into a den for their private use. Cozier than the formal lounge and perhaps a little more inviting than the library, it contained comfortable furniture and shelves filled with knickknacks and books, as well as Valentin’s enviable movie collection. Entering the room, Imogene made a beeline for the shelves that housed Valentin’s old photo albums. She’d teased him about them, telling him he was archaic because didn’t everyone store everything digitally these days? But he’d remained staunch in his old-school values and reiterated to her the pleasure he found in thumbing through the albums, reliving highlights of the past.
She knew exactly which one she wanted and slid it from the stack. The date on the spine was seven years ago, the title, quite simply, Africa.
Opening the album to the beginning, she was instantly cast back to the central African nation where they’d been volunteering—to the heat, the smells, the sounds, the people. Her contract had only been supposed to be a short one, filling in for another teacher who had been called home to an emergency. But she’d talked of extending her stay to tie in with the completion of Valentin’s contract. Until Carla.
Imogene’s eyes blurred and she blinked away the unexpected moisture before turning the page. She felt a jolt of shock as she studied the photos there and her gaze locked on a younger, happier version of herself, caught midlaugh by Valentin’s lens as she attempted to drink from a gourd for the first—and last—time. The expression in her eyes as she stared into the lens struck her, reminding her of how very much she’d loved him then.
But it was nothing compared to how she felt about him now. Her emotions were so much deeper. Stronger, even. Shrouded, yes, with the fear of being hurt again, but deeper nonetheless. She stared at the younger version of herself and then turned the page, this time to a photo of the two of them, oblivious to the person taking the shot, with eyes only for each other. He’d been her first real love and, she realized, he was her only real love, too. Now or ever. But had she ever really told him that? Shown him? No, she’d never allowed herself to love him as fully as he deserved.
Her entire first marriage with Valentin had been based on her waiting and watching for him to show signs of her father’s behavior. Of him disengaging from her and pursuing other women while maintaining the facade of a happy union. She’d basically handed him to Carla on a platter, she realized in retrospect. She’d gone through the motions of being his wife, of trusting him and loving him, but she’d never really trusted him at all. Instead she’d been waiting for him to show he had feet of clay, unable to believe that he could love her as she so desperately wanted to be loved. Waiting for him to be the man her father was. Charming, yes. Dedicated to his work, definitely. Dedicated to his family? Well, when it suited. She hadn’t wanted that, and by making that her focus, that was exactly what she’d ended up with.
Instead of looking for the differences between Valentin and her father, she’d looked only for the similarities and where she’d found them, they’d derailed her confidence, derailed her conviction that their love was forever and that their marriage was a perfect match.
Imogene turned the pages on the album more swiftly now, noticed the changes in herself—her expression, her posture. She could track the outgoing nature she’d exhibited in the early days of their relationship slowly being snuffed out by her own paranoia about having married a man like her dad.
She gently closed the album and filed it back in the stack, certain now of what she needed to do. It was time to be there for Valentin at the hospital, as a wife ought to be, comforting him through the worry he must be feeling about his grandmother. And then, when he was ready, to tell Valentin the truth about her love for him.
* * *
Valentin slumped in the uncomfortable chair in the waiting area while a cardiac team worked hard to stabilize his grandmother behind the curtains in the ER. Every harsh word he’d ever said to her came back to haunt him, making him wish them all unsaid. No matter how angry he’d been at her three months ago, she had his best interests at heart. He should have given her more credit. The problems he and Imogene faced were of their own making, not Nagy’s, and it was up to them to make them right again.
If Imogene would still consider it after tonight’s debacle, he thought ruefully.
He knew Carla had been lying but he’d never forget the look of raw pain and unadulterated shock that had ripped across Imogene’s face, exposing her vulnerability for all to see. He hated that she’d had to be hurt like that again, and by a woman he’d been deaf, dumb and blind about for far too long. But most of all, he hated that even with the rebuilding they’d been doing in the past fortnight, hell, the past three months, she’d believed Carla’s lies in an instant.
It wasn’t so impossible, he rationalized. Her father was a class A jerk when it came to marriage, and if that was the best example she’d ever had before her, it was no wonder that she’d believed Carla’s lies. Which meant if this was to work between them, he had to work harder.
He closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the wall, frustration making his body tense. He wished he could be on the other side of that curtain, helping the specialists with his grandmother. Be there for her, if nothing else. Not for the first time, he missed being actively involved in medicine. No matter how good and how meaningful the work he was doing now, he would never quite get over the rush of being hands-on in critical situations. Of saving lives. Of making a difference. But that lifestyle had taken its own toll. On him and on his marriage. He hadn’t been able to see the cracks forming until it was too late. And once the damage was done, things were too far gone.
And now? Was it too late? Would Imogene ever let him back into her heart, her life?
The gentle touch of a soft hand on his and a hint of the fragrance Imogene always wore swam through the myriad smells around him and made his eyes fly open.
“Valentin, is she okay?”
“I don’t know yet,” he said, putting his other hand on top of hers as if by doing so he could stop her from pulling away from him again.
She was here, beside him, and he was determined to anchor her to him and not let her get away if he had anything to do about it. Time ticked past ever so slowly and they sat together with so many unspoken words between them. He took strength from her presence, from the fact that she’d come here, to him. And that she stayed, physically connected and assuring him of her nearness. He would never take her for granted again like he had seven years ago. Back then he’d expected everything to simply flow in a natural current of life. But he hadn’t taken into account the rocks and boulders and changes in direction that life and other people could throw at a
relationship.
He knew why he’d been so darn naive about marriage. As a child prodigy, his life focus had been on learning, on being the best. And once he’d conquered one educational mountain, he’d tackled another. When his peers and cousins had been attending high school dances and dating, he’d been in premed. When they started college, he was already an intern and dealing with the disbelief and distrust of the patients on the wards when they realized how young he was. So he’d worked harder, longer hours, with everything he had in him. And that was how he’d coped when the link between him and Imogene had begun to falter. When she’d made accusations he’d believed were baseless. When she’d had enough and had her lawyer draw up the papers to dissolve their marriage—signing them and sending them to him for his signature even as she boarded the plane to return to the States.
He felt her fingers tighten around his hand.
“Valentin? They’re asking for you,” she said.
Fear gripped him.
“Dr. Horvath?”
“Yes,” he said, rising to his feet.
“We’ve managed to stabilize your grandmother and we’ll be moving her up to the ICU now. We’ll run more tests in the morning, but she will need surgery, sooner rather than later. We’ll discuss that with her in the morning and hope to schedule her in for surgery later tomorrow if we can. I’m sure you understand the need to act quickly.”
“Yes, I do. Thank you. Can I see her now?”
“Briefly. Understandably, she’s very tired.”
He was torn: afraid to abandon Imogene in case she left while he was gone, but fearful that if he didn’t see Nagy now, his last memory of her would be of her being wheeled away from him when they’d arrived here at the hospital.
“Go,” Imogene urged him. “I’ll be waiting right here for you.”
He wanted to kiss her but with all the drama of what happened at the restaurant still unresolved between them, he didn’t know how well it would be received.
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