by Diana Palmer
“He is dead, Jolana,” Maureen whispered pitifully. “He is dead, I saw...!”
Jolana couldn’t speak. She tried, but her voice wouldn’t come. And as she tried to cling to Nick’s great strength, her own gave out. With a tiny cry, she slumped into blackness.
The next few hours were a nightmare of motion and grief. Phillipe had died instantly, they told her. That was at least some consolation. But she kept seeing his face, tanned and handsome, grinning as he waved at her. And she wept until she made herself ill.
Maureen had Pierre now to comfort her, and Nick had said that he would stay at the apartment with Jolana while they made the final arrangements. Jolana had hardly said a word since her collapse. It had been necessary to take her to the doctor, to be sedated. Her obstetrician had examined her and warned her to stay quiet, and he’d given her something to make sure that she did. She was so numb that she hardly heard a word he said. But Nick did. And he never left her, not for an instant.
When she woke, that night, she was lying on her bed, still wearing the suit she’d put on that morning. There was a single lamp burning in the room. And Nick was sitting by the bed, holding her hand.
She turned her head toward him. Immediately, she remembered, and tears filled her eyes.
“No,” he whispered. He moved to sit on the bed beside her and draw her up into his arms. He was so tender, so gentle. “No, don’t be afraid. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”
She buried her face against his shirtfront, feeling his warmth and strength while she cried. “I failed him,” she whispered miserably. “I should have gone with him, I should have made sure we got there in time to say good luck to him, I should have...”
He put a finger across her lips. “Things happen as they’re meant to happen,” he said quietly. “You couldn’t have changed it. The risk is something race drivers learn to accept. He knew it could happen. He was ready. You have to accept that he knew what he was doing. All the ‘should haves’ in the world won’t change anything now. You have to go on living, for the baby’s sake.”
She tried to breathe normally, but every breath hurt. She took the handkerchief that he passed to her and dabbed at her swollen eyes. “He wasn’t happy with me,” she whispered. “Perhaps if he’d married someone else...or not married at all...he’d still be alive.”
“You don’t know that. He cared for you.”
“I cared for him, too,” she sobbed. “Not the way I wanted to, but I did care. And he’s... He’s dead, Nick!”
He closed her up tightly in his arms and rocked her slowly. “The doctor gave me some tablets for you. I think you should take one.”
“No. I don’t want to.”
“You have to think of the baby, darling,” he said at her ear. “You can’t upset yourself this way.”
At that she gave in and obediently took the pill Nick offered her. She prayed for it to work quickly and take away all the pain she was feeling.
“Poor Maureen,” she whimpered. “I should have comforted her...”
“She has Pierre, and she’s worried about you, too. Jolana, I know this sounds trite. But grief does pass. It’s only a matter of taking it one day at a time, and knowing that each day will ease the pain a little more.” He kissed her eyes, kissed the tears away.
“That’s what... Tony said,” she murmured absently as she wiped away fresh tears.
He stiffened. “Tony?”
“Yes, when I took the pills,” she sighed wearily. “He said I had to live one day at a time and not look back. It must run in your family, Nick.”
He touched her hair gently. “Yes, it must,” he said with faint bitterness. His chest rose and fell heavily. “Was he afraid you might try again?” he asked under his breath.
She shifted restlessly, “I’m so tired,” she said.
“Could you sleep?” he asked.
She drew back, her eyes wide and dark and full of pain. “Would you stay with me? Just until I fall asleep?”
He brushed the damp hair from her face. “I’ll stay with you all night.”
“You can’t,” she began. “Maureen...”
“Pierre and I are both staying tonight,” he informed her. “I won’t leave you alone. I think Maureen would be glad to know I’m here.”
She felt instantly contrite. “I’m sorry. You’re right, of course.” She lay back on the pillows. “I’d like my gown, Nick. Can you help me get into it? I feel fuzzy.”
“Where is it, darling?”
She gestured toward the chest of drawers.
Her head felt like cotton wool, thank God, and the tears seemed to have dried up for the moment. But she still felt raw inside, festering with guilt and grief and hurt and fear.
He opened drawers until he found the lightweight cotton gown that was several sizes too big, just right to accommodate her swollen stomach.
She dragged herself upright and let him undress her without a single protest. She was too exhausted to care if he saw her without her clothes.
He eased her out of the suit and her slip and bra, leaving her only in the tiny bikini briefs that slashed across her hips under the swell of her belly. He held the gown for a long moment while his eyes examined her with open curiosity, fascinated by the contours, the textures and the colors of her changing body.
“I’m not a pretty sight these days,” she said quietly.
“You are to me, darling,” he said, his voice deep and soft and tender. “As lovely as a rose about to bloom. Soft and swollen and quite extraordinarily beautiful. And if the circumstances were different, I assure you, I’d describe your body to you in terms that would make you blush. But for now,” he sighed heavily, sliding the gown over her head, “I think I’d better remember how much you need protecting.”
She let him put her into the gown and searched his dark, strained features in a deep silence. “You...you don’t think I’m...ugly?”
He touched her mouth with a long, trembling finger. “I find you exquisite,” he said under his breath.
Her eyes fell and she hated herself for asking the question. It was the wrong time for such things. She shouldn’t have led him into that. She lay back on the pillow with a heavy sigh and closed her eyes.
“Go to sleep, little one,” he said, easing off the bed to sit down in the armchair beside it. “Sleep now. I’ll be here when you wake up. One day at a time, darling. It’s what he would have wanted, to know that you were safe and taken care of.”
“Don’t go,” she mumbled as sleep began to overtake her. “Don’t go away.”
“I won’t.”
She sighed and drifted off to sleep.
Maureen brought her a tray when she woke up, not at all surprised to find Nick asleep in the chair.
“It was so fortunate that he was with us,” Maureen said as she handed Jolana a cup of black coffee and sat down on the bed to drink her own. “I could not have managed, nor could you, alone.”
“He shouldn’t have stayed there all night,” Jolana commented, searching his unshaven face. The hard lines were all erased in sleep, and his mouth seemed relaxed and sensuous.
“Someone had to,” Maureen mused softly.
“You frightened us all, chérie.” She sighed, brushing away a stray tear. “Poor, brave fool. My poor brother. I shall miss him so, Jolana.”
“So will I,” came the teary reply. She sipped coffee noisily. “If only I hadn’t held us up!”
“Nonsense. It was not your fault,” Maureen said stubbornly. She brushed back her hair. “Pierre and I have made the arrangements. We will take him back to Toulouse, where our mother and father are buried. It is what he would have wanted, just a simple graveside service. That is all right with you?”
“Of course,” Jolana said. She touched her stomach. “At least, there’s the baby,” she said absently. “I have that of him.”
> Maureen smiled sympathetically and nodded. She sipped her coffee in silence.
Nick awoke all at once, his eyes opened, black and quiet until he realized where he was. He sat up straighter, hunching his shoulders.
“Your back must be broken, mon ami,” Maureen said with a smile. “Come, I will show you to your room. You can shower and shave and then I will feed you.”
“Thank you,” he said and stood up, looking down at Jolana. “How are you?”
“I’ll be all right now,” she said, and her eyes dropped to her cup. “Thank you for staying with me.”
“No trouble.” He ran his arm along his back. “Except that I’m beginning to feel my age. That shower would be welcome about now,” he confessed to Maureen.
“Bien! Come. Jolana, can I bring you anything?”
She shook her head. “Thank you, no. I’ll get up in a minute, when my stomach settles, I’m fine, really,” she assured her worried friend.
Maureen agreed reluctantly and led Nick out the door. Jolana finished her coffee and got out of bed. It was going to be another long day.
Jolana walked out the door beside Nick, with Maureen and Pierre right behind as they prepared to leave for Toulouse. There was no sense in delaying the ceremony, and it was generally felt that it would be easier on Jolana in her delicate condition to get it over with as quickly as possible. Friends and distant relatives had been informed, and most of them approved of the arrangement. Whether they did or not, Maureen had stated curtly, it was going to be done that way. The funeral directors had already started for Toulouse, where the service was to be at 3:00 p.m. that day. It was sunny, a lovely, perfect summer day. Except that Jolana felt cold and empty and bitter.
She stepped out the door, to be met with an unexpected and frightening barrage of flashbulbs and loud questions from what was obviously the international news media.
She gasped, stepping back. Nick quickly gathered her close and forced his way through the reporters like a battering ram. His size and strength cleared the path to the car.
The questions burst on Jolana’s shocked ears, and as they began to penetrate, she felt sick all over. Did she know, they asked, about Phillipe’s gambling debts? Was she aware of his mistress? Had she heard that the whole of his estate was going to be auctioned off to pay his debts?
When they were finally ensconced in the car and Pierre was expertly maneuvering it out of the city, Jolana was white-faced.
“Oh, Jolana,” Maureen said miserably as she saw her sister-in-law’s expression, “I am so sorry that you had to learn about it in such a way.”
“It was true?” she managed.
“Oui,” Maureen sighed. She leaned over the back of the front seat, with her small, anguished face resting on her arms. “We were so deeply in debt. And this latest woman of his was very demanding.”
Jolana’s eyes closed. She was barely aware of Nick’s hand searching for hers, locking with it, holding it as he tried to impart some of his own strength to her.
“There was nothing you could have done, chérie,” Maureen said softly. “I tried to reason with him, but he would not listen. Phillipe was always a free spirit, you understand. He lived as he wanted to.”
“What do we have left?” Jolana asked in a whisper.
Maureen ran a hand through her dark hair. “I am not sure that we will have anything,” she said, refusing to lie anymore to protect Phillipe’s tarnished image. “He owed much money. Our attorneys informed me last night that we would be indeed fortunate if the sale of all our possessions managed to cover the debts.”
Jolana could hardly breathe. She’d expected at least to have a roof over her head. She was carrying Phillipe’s child, and there would be nothing left for him. She’d have to paint fast, to manage enough money so that she wouldn’t starve. And poor Maureen, who’d never had to work in her life...
Her eyes opened. “If there’s anything left, you should have it,” she told Maureen. “Anything at all. I can paint. Nick, I can still have the exhibit, can’t I?” she asked frantically, looking up at him wild-eyed.
His face hardened. “I’ll take care of you,” he said. “You won’t have to risk the child by pushing yourself that hard.”
“I can’t let you,” Jolana said. “I’m strong. I can take care of myself.”
“We’ll argue that point later,” he said stubbornly. His dark eyes searched her face. “Poor little one. You shouldn’t have had this to face, not now of all times.”
Maureen, watching them, felt pieces of a puzzle fall slowly into place. This man was the one with whom Jolana had had the affair. She knew it as certainly as she knew her name. Her admiration for him increased tremendously. And if he was willing to take on responsibility for Jolana, that would be one less worry for Maureen to contend with. She was horrified at the prospect of being penniless, although she was certain that Pierre wouldn’t let her starve. He’d already offered marriage, and she was reasonably certain that she was going to accept. He was a marvelous lover and she respected him. Perhaps that would suffice.
“It is as well that we get it over with today, non?” Maureen asked gently, reaching back to touch Jolana’s hand warmly. “You must not upset yourself.”
Jolana nodded. Her dark eyes searched Maureen’s. “It’s you I’m worried about,” she said with a trembling smile. “What will you do?”
“She will marry me, of course,” Pierre said with a rakish grin in Maureen’s direction. He was dark himself, and his quiet personality was the perfect foil for Maureen’s bubbly one.
“Hush, I cannot think of that now,” Maureen chided, pouting at him.
“We will discuss it later. But you have no reason to worry for her, comtesse,” he told Jolana with a wink. “She is provided for.”
Jolana sighed, leaning back against the seat. “I’m glad about that, at least.” Her eyes filled with tears. Sensing it, Nick pulled her close, relieved to find that she didn’t seem to mind his touch. That was a start. But he still had a very long way to go to regain the ground he’d lost so many months ago. His eyes dropped to her stomach possessively. He would have to take special care of her now, so that she didn’t risk the baby. If only he could tell her the truth. But it would only make matters worse.
The graveside service was elegant, brief and with a kind of nobility that touched Jolana’s sense of propriety. She listened to the words spoken by the priest, her eyes on the coffin, which was made of African mahogany, and hoped that Phillipe’s restless soul had found the freedom it always strived for.
She remembered him in so many ways, so many moods. The day she came to Paris, standing in the middle of the street, daring Maureen to hit him and laughing like a clown. Serious, as he had been in the garden of the Paris apartment, the first time he’d kissed her. Passionate, making wild love to her on the beach on their honeymoon. And the last time she’d talked with him, promising to change, promising that things would get better. Grinning and waving from the car as the race began, blond and handsome and irrepressible.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she watched the solemn ceremony come to an end. They wanted her to throw a handful of earth on the coffin. She walked forward in a daze, delicate looking and elegant in her black suit and veiled hat, trembling a little as she heard earth hitting wood with such an empty, final sound.
“No!” she cried out huskily. Realization hit her all at once, that it was over, that she was never going to see Phillipe again as long as she lived. “Phillipe!”
Nick caught her up in his arms and carried her from the cemetery, oblivious to the curious stares, to the murmurs. He held her close, hating himself for starting the chain reaction that had carried her here.
She was weeping silently now, her chest shaking with great sobs. He put her inside the car and climbed in beside her, passing a handkerchief into her trembling hands.
“It’s over now,” h
e said quietly. “He’s better off. And don’t torment yourself by putting him on some kind of pedestal now that he’s dead. He wasn’t perfect. He was just a man, a part of your life that’s over now. He wouldn’t want you to grieve forever. And there’s the baby to consider now. You can’t afford the luxury of putting your child at risk.”
She listened silently, her face white under the veil, her eyes stinging and swollen with tears. “It was just so final, you know,” she tried to explain. “I was fond of him, Nick. When I needed someone to hold on to, he was there. He made me start to live again.”
His face darkened and bent over her hands as he clasped them warmly in his. “I’ll always be grateful to him for that,” he said enigmatically. “I’m glad you had him to run to. I’m sorry he’s dead. But life goes on and you have to start looking ahead now.”
“Yes. But not right now,” she whispered.
“Not right now.” He drew her close against his side and held her until the others joined them.
“Are you all right?” Maureen asked her. Her own face was tear-stained, but she managed a smile.
“I think so,” Jolana replied, trying to keep back the tears.
As they drove out of the cemetery, Jolana took one last look back and then buried her face against Nick’s already soggy suit coat and cried some more. The tears were hot and burning, but eventually they passed. Eventually she could talk normally and feel the emptiness already beginning to recede. She would make it now. The worst was surely over.
That was what she thought until they arrived back in Paris and discovered an entourage of newspeople lounging at the door of the apartment.
“Turn around,” Nick told Pierre. “There’s no sense in going through that again.”