A Good Woman (27 page)

“I waited six years to contact you,” Annabelle said coldly, “because I didn’t want to contact you at all.” She could be just as blunt as Lady Winshire was herself. She looked to be about seventy years old, which seemed roughly the right age, since Harry would have been in his early thirties by then. She had guessed him to be about her own age the night that she was raped. “I wrote to you because my daughter was upset about not having a grandmother. She couldn’t understand why we’d never met you. And I said her father and I were married for a short time, at the front, and then he was killed. So you and I never had time to meet. This is very awkward for me too.”

“Were you married to my son?” Lady Winshire looked appalled.

Annabelle quietly shook her head. “No, we were not. I only met him once.” Saying that gave his mother a very poor impression of her, but she didn’t think that the woman, however disagreeable, needed to know that her son was a rapist. It seemed to Annabelle that she and Consuelo both deserved to keep their illusions, so she was leaving Lady Winshire’s intact, at her own expense. “I’d rather my daughter continue to believe that we were married. I’d like to at least give her that.”

“Were you a doctor then?” Lady Winshire asked with sudden interest.

Annabelle shook her head again. “No, I wasn’t. I was a medic, attached to the ambulance corps.”

“How did you meet him?” Something in her eyes softened. She’d lost both her sons in the war and was no stranger to loss or pain.

“It’s not important,” Annabelle answered quietly, wishing she hadn’t come. “We never really knew each other. My daughter was an accident.”

“What kind of accident?” She was like a dog with a bone. And Annabelle was the bone.

Annabelle sighed before she answered, trying to figure out how much to say. Surely not the truth. “He had a lot to drink.”

Lady Winshire didn’t look surprised. “He always did. Harry always drank too much, and did a lot of stupid things when he did.” Her eyes bored into Annabelle’s. “How stupid was he with you?”

Annabelle smiled, wondering if his mother thought she was trying to blackmail her, and decided to reassure her again. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“That’s not the point. If that’s the case, then I have a right to know how badly my son behaved.”

“Why? What difference does it make?” Annabelle spoke with quiet dignity.

“You’re a very generous woman,” Lady Winshire said calmly, sitting back in the chair. She looked like she was there to stay, until she had the truth. “But I also knew my son. My son Edward was nearly a saint. Harry was the devil in our lives. Adorable as a child, and badly behaved as a man. Sometimes
very
badly behaved. It didn’t improve when he drank. I think I know most of the stories about him.” She sighed then. “I wanted to come and see you, because no one has ever said to me that there was a child. I was very suspicious of you when I read your letter. I thought you wanted something. I can see now that you’re an honest woman, and you’re as suspicious of me now, as I was of you.” The old woman smiled a wintry smile and ran a hand down her many pearls. “I hesitated to come,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to get embroiled with some dreadful vulgar woman, who has some gutter brat she pretends was spawned by my son. But clearly, that’s not the case with you, and I have the strong feeling that your entire encounter with my son was unpleasant, or worse, and I don’t want to be a reminder of that for you.”

“Thank you,” Annabelle said, appreciating everything she’d just heard. And then Lady Winshire stunned her with what she said.

“Did he rape you?” she asked bluntly. Apparently, she knew her son well. There was an endless hesitation in the room, and finally Annabelle nodded, sorry to tell her the truth.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” the older woman said more gently. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard that,” she continued, with motherly regret. “I don’t know what went wrong.” Her eyes were filled with sorrow as she and Annabelle looked at each other. “What do we do now? I have to admit, I was afraid of what I would find here, but I also couldn’t resist seeing my own grandchild, if there truly was one. Both my sons are dead. My husband died of pneumonia last spring. And neither of my sons ever married, nor had children. Until you.” There were tears in her eyes, as Annabelle looked at her with compassion.

“Would you like to meet Consuelo?” She warned her then, though it didn’t matter, since she was making no claims on his estate, “She doesn’t look like him. She looks like me.”

“I’d say that could prove to be a great blessing,” the old woman said, smiling. She stood up with some difficulty and used her cane.

Annabelle rose too, came around her desk, and led Lady Winshire out of the office, after telling Hélène where they were going. Fortunately, she had a break in her scheduled patients. The two women walked through the courtyard toward the main part of the house. She knew that Consuelo would be home from school by then, and she let herself in with her key, still wearing her doctor’s coat. Lady Winshire marched up the steps, outside the house, and stood looking around the front hall as they walked in.

“You have a very pretty home,” she said politely. She was impressed by everything she saw. Annabelle had good taste, and an obvious history with fine things.

“Thank you,” Annabelle said, and led her into the main living room. She then ran up the stairs to get her daughter. She told her they had a guest and she wanted her to say hello. But she didn’t want to say more.

As Annabelle and Consuelo came down the stairs, they were chatting animatedly with each other, and holding hands. At the bottom Consuelo stopped, smiled shyly at their guest, curtsied, and went to shake her hand. The child was obviously extremely polite and well behaved, and Lady Winshire glanced approvingly at Annabelle over Consuelo’s head.

“How do you do, Consuelo,” she said, as the child took in the huge hat and many strands of pearls.

“Your hat is very pretty,” the little girl said, staring at it as the older woman smiled.

“That’s a very nice thing to say. It’s a bit of a silly old hat, but I like it. And you’re a very pretty girl.” She had never had a grandchild before, and hadn’t spoken to a child in years. “I came all the way from England to see you,” she went on as Consuelo stared. “Do you know who I am?” she asked gently, and Consuelo shook her head. “I’m the grandma you’ve never met. I’m your father’s mother.” Consuelo’s eyes grew wide as she looked over her shoulder at her mother and then back at her grandmother. “I’m sorry we’ve never met before. That won’t happen anymore,” Lady Winshire said solemnly. She had never seen such an enchanting child, and her manners were exquisite. “I brought some photographs with me of your father when he was a little boy. Would you like to see them?” Consuelo nodded and sat down next to her on the couch, as Lady Winshire took a stack of faded photographs out of her bag, while Annabelle quietly went to ask Brigitte to make tea.

Lady Winshire stayed with them for over an hour, and when Consuelo went back upstairs with Brigitte, she congratulated Annabelle for having such a lovely child.

“She’s a wonderful little girl,” her mother agreed.

“My son didn’t know how lucky he was to run into someone like you, and leave such a sweet little girl in the world.” She was looking at Annabelle with gratitude and compassion. She had fallen in love with Consuelo at first sight. It would have been hard not to, and for the first time Annabelle was glad she’d come, instead of just writing back. It had been a lovely gift for Consuelo too. “I’m sorry he was so bad to you. There was a sweet side of him. I’m sorry you never knew it. This must have been very hard for you at first.”

Annabelle nodded. “I stayed at the hospital as long as I could, and then I went to Antibes. Consuelo was born there.”

“And your family is in the States?” It seemed odd to her that Annabelle was practicing medicine in Paris instead of at home, although the child had obviously complicated things for her.

“My family is gone,” Annabelle said simply. “They all died before I came here. It’s just Consuelo and I.” Lady Winshire was alone in the world now too. And in an odd way, now they had each other.

She finally stood up, and took Annabelle’s hand in her own. “Thank you for this most extraordinary gift,” she said with tears in her eyes. “It’s a little piece of Harry I can hang on to, and Consuelo is a very special child on her own.” And with that, she hugged Annabelle and kissed her on the cheek. Annabelle helped her down the stairs to the car and driver waiting for her outside. She suddenly looked even older than she had when she arrived. And she smiled at Annabelle again before she left, and gently slipped something into her hand. “This is for you, my dear. You’ve earned it. It’s a very small thing.” Annabelle tried to resist, without even looking at it, but Lady Winshire insisted. The two women hugged again, and Annabelle felt as though they had a new friend, a kind of wonderful old eccentric aunt. She was glad she’d written to her now. It had been the right thing to do, for them all.

She waved as Lady Winshire drove away, and only after she had left did Annabelle look at the object in the palm of her hand. She had sensed that it was a ring, but she was in no way prepared for the kind of ring it was. It was a beautiful old emerald of enormous proportions, in an antique diamond setting. Annabelle was stunned. It looked like the rings her own grandmother had worn, which were still in the vault at the bank in New York. But she slipped the ring on her finger with the wedding ring she had bought herself. She was deeply touched by the gesture. She would give it to Consuelo one day, but in the meantime she was going to wear it. And as she walked back into her office she thought to herself that they had a grandmother now. She and Consuelo were no longer alone in the world.

Chapter 22

T
here was a mild outbreak of influenza in Paris that summer, some thought from the heat, and Annabelle had several patients in the hospital. She visited them twice a day, but she was hoping to go away with Consuelo and Brigitte in August. She couldn’t decide between Dordogne, Brittany, or the South of France. As it turned out, they never got to any of those places. She had too many sick people to tend to. They went to Deauville, at the seashore in Normandy, instead for a few days, when her patients recovered.

And after they got back, two more of her patients were hospitalized with pneumonia. She was leaving the hospital late one afternoon, thinking about the patient she’d just visited, an elderly woman who wasn’t doing well. Annabelle was trying to come up with some new solutions for her many problems, when she bumped into someone on the steps of the hospital, coming up as she was going down. They hit each other with such force that he almost knocked her over, and made a quick save to grab her before she fell down the stairs.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said apologetically. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Neither was I.” He was equally apologetic and had a dazzling smile. “Were you visiting a friend?” It was an honest mistake and she laughed.

“No, I’m a doctor.” At least he hadn’t asked if she was a nurse.

“What a happy coincidence,” he said, laughing back at her. “So am I. Why have I never been fortunate enough to meet you before?” He was very charming, and she wasn’t used to bantering with men that way. For years now, she had hidden behind her role as a doctor, widow, or Consuelo’s mother. Men never flirted with her, but he seemed full of mischief and fun and was undeniably very goodlooking. “What’s your specialty?” he asked with interest, not in the least bothered that they had had no formal introduction. He told her his name was Antoine de St. Gris, and asked for hers, which she gave him. He refused to believe she was American, since she spoke such flawless French.

“I’m in general medicine,” she said simply, embarrassed to be talking to a stranger.

“I’m an orthopedic surgeon,” he said with visible panache. She knew that most of the orthopedic surgeons had big egos, except during the war when they had been humbled, like everyone else, by what they saw, and how little of the damage they could repair.

He walked her back down the steps of the hospital, to ensure that she didn’t fall, he said, and saw her to the car that she drove herself.

“Will I be fortunate enough to see you again?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye, and she laughed.

“If I break my leg, I’ll call you.”

“Don’t wait until then. Or I’ll have to develop pneumonia and call you. And it would be such a shame. I would much prefer to see you while we’re both healthy.” He waved as she drove away and hurried back up the hospital steps. It had put a little spark in her day to have a man chat with her. It happened to her so rarely, almost never.

She spent a quiet evening reading to Consuelo and put her to bed. And the next day in the office, she was in the midst of seeing patients when Hélène told her that there was a doctor in the waiting room, demanding to see her immediately. He said he had to consult her about a case. She finished with her patient, and walked out, puzzled. She couldn’t imagine who it was. And there was Antoine de St. Gris in a handsome blue topcoat, creating havoc in her waiting room, entertaining the patients, most of whom were laughing. He had been telling them jokes, and she took him into her office for a moment.

“What are you doing here?” she asked with an embarrassed smile. It pleased her to see him again, but she was working. “I’m seeing patients.”

“I’m very impressed. I think I caught a severe cold last night. I have a very bad sore throat.” He stuck his tongue out for her to look at when he said it. And she laughed at him. He was outrageous, irreverent, and embarrassingly charming.

“It looks fine to me.”

“How’s your leg?” he asked.

“My leg? Fine. Why?”

“It looks broken to me. Let me have a look at it.” He made as though to reach for the hem of her skirt, and she stepped away from him, laughing.

“Doctor, I must ask you to leave. I have to see my patients.”

“Fine, if you’re going to be that way. Then see me tonight for dinner.”

“Uh…I don’t…I can’t…”