Summer’s End

by Danielle Steel

  Kim wanted to lie to him, but she couldn’t. “No. Neither one.”

  “Then why? Because of Pilar? It just doesn’t make any sense to me. She could have asked me to wait, I would have. She could have stayed with him a while. I wouldn’t have pushed her. What hold can he possibly have on her?”

  “Relationships are funny that way. It’s hard for outsiders to see that. I’ve known people who hated each other and stayed married for fifty years.”

  “Sounds delightful.” But as he spoke to her, his face looked grim. “I’d call her, but I don’t think I should.”

  “What about you, Ben? How are you doing?” Her voice was painfully gentle.

  “I’m keeping busy. I don’t have any choice. She didn’t leave me any choice.”

  She wanted to tell him that he’d get over it, but it seemed cruel to her to say something like that. “Can I do anything to help?”

  “Yeah. Help me kidnap her.” He looked away again. “You know, I can’t even stand looking at my Wyeth anymore, it looks so much like her.” He sighed and stood up, as though to get away from his own thoughts. “I don’t know what to do, Kim. I don’t know what the hell to do.”

  “There’s nothing you can do. I wish I could help.”

  “So do I. But you can’t. Come on, I’ll buy you lunch.”

  Kim put the ads for the gallery back in her briefcase and replaced it on the floor. It was agonizing to see him like that.

  “You know, I find myself wishing I’d run into her. Every restaurant I go to, every store, even the post office, I find myself searching … as though if I look hard enough, I’ll see her face.”

  “She doesn’t go out much these days.”

  “Is she all right? She’s not sick, is she?” Dumbly Kim shook her head, and he went on, “I suppose the only solution is to keep moving, traveling, running.”

  “You can’t do that forever.” She stood up and followed him to the door, as his eyes looked at her sadly from behind his private prison walls.

  “I can try.”

  28

  “What did the doctor say today?” Deanna was already in bed when Marc got home. “Everything fine?”

  “He said for four months I’m awfully small, but he assumes it’s just nerves and the weight I’ve lost. He wants me back in two weeks this time though, to make sure he can hear the baby’s heart. He’s still too little to hear, and Jones said he should have heard him today. Maybe in another two weeks.” But Marc didn’t look worried at any of the news. “How was your day?”

  “Excessively tiresome. But we got a new case.” He looked pleased.

  “Where?”

  “In Amsterdam. But I’ll share it with Jim Sullivan.” He looked down at her with a smile. “I told you I wouldn’t be going away all the time. Have I been true to my word?”

  “Absolutely.” This time she smiled too. He had been home for two months, and he hadn’t stirred. Not so much as a weekend trip to Paris. Not that it really mattered now. In some ways she’d have been relieved, but he had told her that it was over with that girl. “There’s no reason for you not to take the case though. When will it go to court?”

  “Probably not till June. Well after the baby comes.”

  The baby. It still didn’t seem real. Not to her. Only to Marc.

  “Do you want something to eat? I’m going downstairs for a snack.” He looked back at her from the doorway, again with that tender smile. All he could think of now was their child, and her well-being, as it related to their son. Sometimes it touched her, most of the time it annoyed her. She knew it had nothing to do with her. It had to do with the baby. With his Heir.

  “What are you going to eat, pickles and ice cream?”

  “What would you prefer, Deanna? Caviar and champagne? That can be arranged too.”

  “A few crackers will be fine.”

  “Most unexciting. I hope the baby has better taste.”

  “I’m sure it will.”

  He was back a few minutes later, with crackers for her and a sandwich for himself.

  “No strawberries, no pizza, no tacos?”

  It was the first time he had seen her sense of humor in months. But she had had a pleasant day. After her visit to the doctor, she had gone to lunch with Kim. Kim was helping her to keep her sanity, in these strange, lonely days. And Deanna could tell her how much she missed Ben. She was still waiting for the hurt of that to stop. So far, though, it had shown no sign of abating.

  Marc was about to offer her a bite of his sandwich, when the phone next to her rang. “Want me to get it? It’s probably for you.”

  “At this hour?” He looked at his watch, then nodded. It was eight in the morning in Europe. It was very probably for him. He sat down on the bed again, next to his wife. He hadn’t seen her this friendly in weeks. He smiled at her once more and picked up the phone. “Hello?” There was the usual whir of lines from overseas, and he waited to hear which of his clients was in dire need.

  “Marc-Edouard?” It was a voice frantic with desperation, and he felt himself grow suddenly pale. Chantal. Deanna saw his back stiffen slightly, and he turned away from her with a frown.

  “Yes? What is it?” He had spoken to her only that morning. Why was she calling him at home? He had already promised her that he would be back in Europe within the next few weeks. He was sure he could get away from Deanna just after Thanksgiving. By then, he would have paid his dues. Two and a half months at her side, in the States. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes.” She let out a long strangled sob, and he felt fear flit through his heart. “I’m—I’m in the hospital again.”

  “Ah, merde.” He closed his eyes, and Deanna watched him frown. “Why this time? The same thing?”

  “No. I got my insulin mixed up.”

  “You never mix it up.” Except on purpose, he thought, remembering the night in the hospital and the panic he’d felt. “After all these years, surely you must know….” Shit. It was so awkward sitting there, talking to her, with Deanna looking on. “But you’re all right?”

  “I don’t know.” And then after a pause, “Oh, Marc-Edouard, I need you. Can’t you please come home?” Damn. How could he discuss it with her here?

  “I don’t have the right papers here to apprise you of that situation. Can we discuss it tomorrow from my office?” He picked up the phone and walked across the room to a chair. Deanna had gone back to reading her book. The conversation sounded dull, and Marc looked annoyed.

  But Marc was finding the exchange anything but dull. Chantal had given a small shriek at his suggestion of discussing it from his office the next day.

  “No! You can’t keep putting me off!”

  “I’m not putting you off. I simply don’t know when I can.”

  “Then let me come to you. You promised before you left that if you couldn’t get away, I could come there. Why can’t I?”

  “I’ll have to discuss it with you tomorrow, when I have the files. Can you wait ten hours and I’ll call you back?” There was steel in his voice now. “Where can I reach you?” She gave him the name of a private clinic, and he was grateful that this time at least she was not at the American Hospital, he couldn’t have borne having to call her there. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I reach the office.”

  “If you don’t, I’ll just get on the next plane.”

  She was behaving like a spoiled child. And a dangerous one. He didn’t want any more trouble with Deanna. Not until after the child. Then they would just have to see. But because of his own nationality the child would be legally French, as well as American. And when in France it was under French jurisdiction. It would be his. If he chose to take his child into France, there would be nothing Deanna could do to get him out. Nothing. The thought of that would keep him afloat for the next seven months. When the baby was a month old, they’d take him to France to see his grandmother for the first time. Deanna would come of course, but then she could make her own choice. She could go or stay. But the baby wo
uld not leave the country again. If necessary, he would live with Marc’s mother, and Marc would see to it that he spent more of his time there. That baby was his … as Pilar should have been totally— would have been if it hadn’t been for Deanna. The thought of the new baby kept his mind off Pilar. This was going to be entirely his child. In the meantime he needed Deanna. He needed her healthy and happy until she delivered the child. And afterward, he would be perfectly happy to stay married to her—if she wanted to stay with the baby in France. He had it all worked out—all of it. And now was not the time for Chantal to rock the boat.

  “Marc-Edouard? Did you hear me? I said that if you didn’t come over, I’d just get on the next plane.”

  “To where?” His tone was icy.

  “San Francisco of course. Where do you think?”

  “Let me make that decision. And I’ll let you know. Tomorrow. Understood?”

  “D’accord. And Marc-Edouard?”

  “Yes?” He softened a little at the sound of her voice.

  “I love you so much.”

  “I’m absolutely certain that is a reciprocal agreement. ” For a moment he almost smiled. “I’ll talk to you in a few hours. Good night.”

  Marc put the phone down with a sigh. He didn’t notice that Deanna was watching.

  “Disgruntled clients?”

  “Nothing I can’t work out.”

  “Is there anything you can’t work out?”

  He smiled, watching her eyes. “I hope not, my dear. I sincerely hope not.”

  He was in bed half an hour later; Deanna lay awake at his side.

  “Marc?”

  “Yes?” The room was dark.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, of course not. What would be wrong?”

  “I don’t know. That call … should you be traveling more than you are?” But she knew the answer to that question.

  “Yes. But I can manage as things are. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

  “I’d be fine.”

  “Probably. But as long as I don’t have to go anywhere, I won’t.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  It was the first kind thought she’d had of him in months, and he closed his eyes for a moment as she touched the back of his hand. He wanted to take her hand, to hold it, to kiss her, to call her Ma Diane, but he couldn’t anymore. Not anymore. Not now. Already, thoughts of Chantal were crowding his mind.

  “Don’t worry, Deanna. Everything will be all right.” He patted her hand and turned his back to her on the very far side of the bed.

  * * *

  “What kind of madness is that, calling me at home in the middle of the night?” Marc-Edouard’s voice raged at her over a continent and an ocean. “What if she had answered the phone?”

  “So what dammit, she knows!”

  No. She knew. Past tense, not present. “I don’t give a damn what she knows, you have no right to do that, I’ve told you not to.”

  “I have a right to do whatever I want.” But her voice wavered. Suddenly she was crying in his ear. “I can’t, Marc-Edouard. I can’t go on. Please, it’s been more than two months.”

  “It’s been exactly two days more than two months.” But he was stalling. He knew that if he was not to lose her, something had to be done. It was going to be a difficult winter, running between them both.

  “Please….” She almost hated herself for begging him, but she needed him. She wanted to be with him. She didn’t want to lose him again to his wife. Events were always conspiring against her, even to the death of Pilar, things that brought him and Deanna closer, moments when they needed each other. Now she needed him more and she wasn’t going to lose. “Marc-Edouard?” The threat was back in her voice.

  “Chantal, darling, can’t you please hang on for a little while longer?”

  “No. If you don’t do something now, it’s over. I can’t go on like this anymore. It’s driving me mad.”

  Oh, God, what was he going to do with her? “I’ll come over next week.”

  “No, you won’t. You’ll find an excuse.” Suddenly, her tone hardened again. “I was brought to the hospital by a friend, Marc-Edouard, a man. The one I mentioned to you this summer. If you don’t let me come to you once and for all, I’ll—”

  “Don’t threaten me, Chantal!” But something in her words and her tone made his heart turn over. “What are you telling me, that you’ll marry this man?”

  “Why not? You’re married, why shouldn’t I be as well?”

  Christ. What if she meant it? If, like the suicide attempts, she actually went ahead and did it? “If you come over here,” he said, “you can’t just run all over town. You’d have to be extremely discreet. You’d get bored very quickly.”

  “Will you let me decide that?” She could tell that he was wavering, and at her end there was a small smile beginning to dawn on her face. “I’ll be good, darling, I promise you.”

  And then he smiled too. “You are always good. Not even good—extraordinary. All right, you determined little blackmailer, you, I’ll arrange the ticket today.”

  She gave a whoop of victory and joy. “When can I come?”

  “How soon will they let you leave the hospital?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Then come tomorrow.” They were both smiling openly now. To hell with the complications, he was dying to see her. “And Chantal …?”

  “Oui, mon amour?” She was all innocence and power, like a nuclear missile wrapped in pink silk.

  “Je t’aime.”

  29

  Chantal was the first person through customs, and as he watched her wend her way toward him, he felt a smile wipe itself all over his face. My God, she looked beautiful. She was draped in pale-champagne suede, with a huge lynx collar and matching hat. Her auburn hair peeked out at him, and the golden eyes seemed to dance as she ran to his side. He saw that, for a moment, she was going to kiss him, and then she remembered. Instead, they walked side by side, whispering, talking, laughing; they might as well have kissed and torn off each other’s clothes. It was clear how happy they were to be together again. He had almost forgotten how incredibly appealing she was, how special. Reduced to their exchanges on the phone, he had almost forgotten how heady were her charms. He could barely keep his hands off her as they disappeared into his rented limousine. It was there at last that his hands touched her body, her face, that he pressed her close to him and drank her mouth with his own.

  “Oh, God, you feel so good to me.” He was almost breathless as he held her, and she smiled. Now she was in control again, and her power laughed at him from her eyes.

  “Idiot, you’d have kept me away for a year.”

  “No, but I… things just got too bogged down.”

  She rolled her eyes and sighed. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over now. As long as we’re together, I don’t give a damn.” For a moment he wondered how long she was planning to stay, but he didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to speak to her at all, he just wanted to hold her and make love to her for the rest of his life.

  The car pulled up outside the Huntington Hotel, and Marc helped her out. He had already checked her in and paid for ten days. They had nothing to do but disappear into her room. He had told his office he would be gone for the day.

  “Marc?” She picked her head up sleepily in the dark and smiled. It was well after two in the morning, and she’d been asleep for two hours.

  “No, it’s the President. Whom did you expect?”

  “You. How come you’re so late?” He hadn’t even called, but she hadn’t really been worried.

  “Clients in from out of town. We had sequestered meetings all day. We didn’t even go out for lunch.” They had ordered room service instead, and he had made special arrangements to have dinner sent up from L’Étoile.

  “It sounds very dull.” She smiled in the dark and turned around in the bed.

  “How do you feel?” He was getting undressed and he had his back to his wife. It was st
range to come home to her now. He had almost stayed out for the night, but he had to prepare the stage for that. He had promised Chantal the weekend, and a few other days.

  “I feel sleepy, thank you.”

  “Good. So do I.” He slipped into their bed, touched her cheek, and kissed her somewhere on the top of her head. “Bonne nuit.” It was what he had said to Chantal when he left, except to her he had added, “mon amour.”

  “I don’t care,” Chantal said, “I’m not leaving. And if you stop paying for the hotel, I’ll pay for it myself or find an apartment. My visa says I can stay for six months.”

  “That’s absurd.” Marc glared at her from across the room. They had been arguing for an hour, and Chantal’s delicate chin jutted toward him in petulant fury. “I told you. I’ll be back in Paris in two weeks.”

  “For how long? Five days? A week? And then what? I don’t see you for another two months. Non! Non, non et non! Either we stay together now, or it is finished. Forever! And that, Marc-Edouard Duras, is my last word. Make up your mind what you want. Either I stay here now, and we work out something together, or I go home. And we’re through. Finis! C’est compris?” Her voice was a shriek in the elegant room. “But this game we have played is over for me. No more! I told you that before I came over. I don’t understand why you want to stay married to her. You don’t even have Pilar as an excuse now. But I don’t give a damn. I’m not going to go on living without you forever. I just can’t. No, I’m staying. Or—” she looked at him ominously “—I go for good.”

  “What about six months from now when your visa runs out? That is if I let you stay here.” His mind was racing and he was thinking … six months. It could work. Chantal could go home then, and he’d follow in a few weeks. Then he’d establish Deanna and the baby on the rue François Premier with his mother. It might even make sense for him to spend most of his time there. He’d be commuting back and forth to the States, but Paris would be home base. “You know, Chantal,” he said, “things might just work out after all. What if I were to tell you that I am thinking of moving my main residence back to Paris next year? I would still keep the office here, but instead of traveling from here to Paris all the time, I would do it the other way around, and live over there.”