First Sight (13 page)

Timmie went down to the lobby just before noon, and walked slowly toward the watch store on the Avenue Montaigne, feeling annoyingly like an old woman. She felt as though she had aged a hundred years in the last week. Her body was still feeling the effects of her ruptured appendix, and the antibiotics she was still taking made her feel slightly sick. But once in the shop she was distracted by the selections they offered her, and she found exactly what she wanted for him. It was a beautiful, simple platinum watch with a black face that she hoped would please him. The salesman who had helped her had assured her that if he didn’t like it, he could return it for another watch he preferred.

She was pleased with her purchase as she walked slowly back to the hotel, through the lobby, and was relieved to get back to her suite. Even after a short walk, and an hour outside her room, she was exhausted. It had been her first outing. And after she had lunch and took a nap, she felt better.

Timmie was feeling more like her old self again when Jean-Charles came for his daily visit, and he noticed immediately that her color had improved. She told him she had gone for a short walk on the Avenue Montaigne, without mentioning her little shopping venture. She was planning to give him the watch on her last day in Paris, when he came to see her for the last time.

His cell phone rang several times while he was visiting her, and it was obvious he had several very sick patients. He told her he couldn’t stay and chat that day. He called her that evening to check on her again. She assured him she was fine. And by the next morning, she felt it. She was improving noticeably day by day. She actually did take a walk down the Avenue Montaigne that day, and then came back to the hotel to rest again. Her little outing was a major improvement. Even Jean-Charles was pleased when he saw her that afternoon. He didn’t even scold her for how far she’d ventured when she told him.

“If you walk even a little farther tomorrow, I think you’ll feel strong enough to fly home on Thursday,” which was what they had planned.

In spite of the surgery that had kept her there for an extra week, Timmie was genuinely sad to be leaving Paris, although it had been a hard way to extend her visit, and not the reason she would have wanted. But she had also enjoyed getting to know the doctor better, and she was more than slightly intrigued about his marriage. He had obviously made compromises in his life, for his children—which he thought justified. Having gleaned that from some of his comments during his visit to her on Sunday, she was now fairly convinced that he was unhappily married, and intended to stay that way forever. She thought it was foolish of him, but it was no worse than what she was doing, settling for brief relationships with men who were clearly not worthy of her, out of loneliness and convenience.

His whole face lit up when he talked about his children, and that touched her. Deeply at times. Despite that, nothing inappropriate had passed between them, not a look, not a glance, not even a slight double entendre. He wasn’t trying to pick her up or seduce her. He was just a hardworking, sometimes lonely, thoroughly dedicated doctor. Timmie felt sure he not only liked her as a patient, but enjoyed talking to her as well, on a multitude of subjects and levels.

He came to see her for the last time on Wednesday at five o’clock. He had his doctor’s bag in his hand, and was wearing gray slacks and a blazer, and a very good-looking Hermès tie. He looked serious and professional, and his eyes were sad as he looked at her. She didn’t know if something had upset him that day, or if he was as saddened at her leaving as she was herself to be saying goodbye to him and leaving Paris.

“When are you coming to Paris again?” he asked, as they sat on the couch in her suite. Her gift for him was on the table, but neither of them commented on it. They had wrapped it in simple dark blue paper, with a curly gold paper ribbon that held the wrapping paper together.

“Not until February,” she said in answer to his question. “We come back for the ready to wear shows again then. But that time I’m only going to Paris and Milan, and New York of course. I’m skipping London. My reps there can handle it for me. Four cities is just too much. This trip damn near killed me, even before my appendix burst.”

“I hope our paths cross again sometime,” he said formally, and she felt sad. He was already slightly different. He seemed stiff somehow, awkward alone in the suite with her, and somewhat distracted, as though he had other things on his mind. She didn’t know him well enough to ask him what they were.

They chatted amiably for nearly an hour, until he finally said he had to leave. He had a patient waiting for him at his office, and he was already late after lingering with her. She hated to say goodbye to him. And she knew that when she saw him again, things would be even more different between them. Their ease with each other now had been caused in great part by her solitude in Paris and her illness. It had allowed them the opportunity to get to know each other, and even become friends.

She liked to think she was leaving a friend behind in Paris, but she wasn’t entirely sure he was. He was her doctor, he had cared for her well, and been kind to her. And she would have liked to have him as a friend. She hoped that in February they could once again pick up the threads of the bond that had begun to form between them, but she had no idea if that appealed to him as well, or if this had been only a passing moment, between doctor and patient, never to occur again.

As he started toward the door, she handed the blue wrapped box to him. He stopped, looking startled, and glanced at her awkwardly.

“What’s that?”

“A thank-you for being so kind to me,” she said softly. She had shared with him things she had never told anyone else before. She had come to trust him, both as doctor and friend. But he had expected nothing from her, other than the time they had shared. It had been gift enough to talk to her. The box she handed him came as a big surprise to him, and he hesitated for a moment before taking it from her hand.

“I wasn’t kind,” he said quietly. “I was doing my work.” But to Timmie, he had done more than that. He had been a source of enormous support, and had quietly nurtured her in ways no one else ever had. She had felt an overwhelming sense of warmth and humanity from him, and she had wanted to thank him for it, with a gift to remind him of the deep exchanges they had shared. “I’m very touched,” he said, putting the gift in the same hand as his doctor’s bag, and then he extended a hand to her and shook hers.

“Thank you,” Timmie said softly, “for listening, and for being there … for holding my hand when I was scared.” She had been through so much worse that he couldn’t imagine he had made a real difference, even if it had seemed important to her at the time. But to him, it was nothing. And surely not worthy of a gift.

“Be careful,” he said with a smile. “Rest. Don’t do too much when you go back. You will still be tired for a while.” He was back to being just her doctor, and he looked troubled. He didn’t like goodbyes, and her gift had thrown him. It was totally unexpected, though typical of Timmie, which he couldn’t have known. “Take good care of yourself,” he said, smiling at her finally. “Call if I can ever help you.”

“Maybe I’ll get sick when I’m here in February,” she said hopefully, and then laughed.

“I hope not!” he said, and then pointed to the gift. “Thank you for this. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. You were very kind.”

He imagined it was a silver pen, or the sort of thing he got often from patients. He was in for a surprise.

And then, without warning, she leaned over and hugged him. She kissed him on both cheeks, and he smiled. “
Bon voyage
, Madame O’Neill,” he said as he saluted her, and then opened the door and walked out of the suite. She stood in the doorway and watched him head toward the elevator and press the button. It was there in an instant, and he got in as two Japanese guests got out. He gave her a last wave and then disappeared, as Timmie walked back into her familiar suite and felt a lump rise in her throat. She had always hated goodbyes. When she said goodbye to people she liked, and saw them leave, even now, after all these years, she always felt abandoned. Watching him go, she felt a familiar pang of sorrow, which even she knew was silly. He was only a French doctor after all, not her lover. And in her experience all good things, even friendships, came to an end.

Chapter 5

Timmie packed her bags that night, and called Zack when she got up the next morning, to tell him she was coming home that afternoon. It was still Wednesday night for him, and Thursday morning for her. The flight back to Los Angeles would take eleven hours, with a nine-hour time difference in her favor. It would be early afternoon when she got there, and noon when she left Paris.

“Hi,” she said casually when he answered. He sounded relaxed, and as though he was in bed, but said he wasn’t sleeping. “I’m coming back today, I thought I’d call and see if you want to come over.” She hadn’t seen him in four weeks, but they had kept in reasonably regular contact, although he hadn’t knocked himself out to call her when she was sick. He had called a few times, tried to be funny, and said he was looking forward to seeing her. She knew enough not to expect more from him, although it would have been nice if he’d surprised her, and had been more attentive. He didn’t have it in him. Their relationship had never been more than superficial. It was, in great part, why she was with him, and had made a ten-year habit of others like him. She had reminded herself of that the night before, after she said goodbye to Jean-Charles. Zack was an entirely different breed. He wasn’t deep, of thought or intention, and had never pretended to be. All he wanted was a good time, which was in fact all Timmie wanted from him. She reminded herself not to lose sight of that now. And the holidays were coming. It would be a lot more pleasant spending them with Zack than alone.

“Sorry, Timmie, I can’t make it,” Zack said, sounding vague, in response to her invitation that he drop by that night after she got home. His answer reminded her again of their separate, independent lives. He was not a devoted boyfriend, desperate for her to come home. He had a life of his own. And so did she.

“That’s too bad,” Timmie said calmly. She was used to answers like that from him. They saw each other when it suited them, and they were free. And Zack had been spoiled by women who pursued him constantly. He rarely put himself out for anyone, although the relationship with Timmie was ego food for him. He liked telling people he was dating Timmie O’Neill.

“I’m going to San Francisco to see a guy I was in a play with a few years ago,” he explained. “He just called me. I didn’t know you were coming home.” She hadn’t called him earlier to make plans with him. She had intended to call him when she got home. And he didn’t offer to cancel his San Francisco trip for her. She suspected it was his small revenge for her not taking him to Europe with her. He had to make the point.

“That’s too bad. It sounds like we’ll just miss each other. Maybe I’ll see you in the airport,” she said light-heartedly. She didn’t take his rejection seriously. She wasn’t desperate to see him either. It just would have been nice after four weeks.

As she listened to him, she was aware of the difference between her conversations with him, and those she’d had recently with Jean-Charles. It wasn’t just a difference in intelligence, but in interest in each other and common ground. Even after dating Zack for several months, and sleeping with him, there was no deep connection between them, and probably never would be. She already felt far more connected to Jean-Charles, which seemed odd to her.

“I’ll see you when I get back,” Zack said breezily. “I’m just going for two days. What are you doing this weekend? Going to Malibu?”

“Maybe. Depends how I feel. I just got out of the hospital a few days ago,” she reminded him. It was like talking to a stranger after a month away, and in many ways he was.

“Call me if you go out there. I’m coming back Saturday. You can get me on my cell phone. I’ll be driving back from San Francisco. Let me know your plans.” She knew he’d be less enthusiastic about seeing her if she was in Bel Air. She knew all of that about him. He loved weekends at the beach with her, and he knew she hated going there alone.

“Have a safe trip home,” he said easily.

“You too,” she said, feeling sad as she hung up. Sometimes, in spite of her resolve not to get too deeply involved, she couldn’t help wishing Zack was more. It would have been nice to come home to someone who loved her and really cared.

She finished dressing and left the hotel a few minutes later, half-hoping that Jean-Charles would call to say goodbye again, but of course he didn’t. There was no reason for him to do that. He had said goodbye to her the night before, and discharged her as a patient. She wondered if he had opened the gift by then, and if he liked it. She hoped he did.

She left tips at the concierge’s desk, tipped the bellmen and doormen as she left, and then Gilles sped her through Thursday-morning Paris traffic on the way to Charles de Gaulle. He checked her bags for her when they got to the airport, something David always did for her when they traveled together, and she got a rolling cart for her heavy bag. After her recent hospital stay, the walk through the terminal seemed unusually long, but she wasn’t in pain. She was just a little more tired than usual, and a VIP ground attendant found her at the gate and escorted her onto the plane and to her seat in first class. Everything had gone well.

She settled into her seat, took out a book to read, accepted some magazines from the flight attendant, laid her head back against her seat, and closed her eyes. She felt as though she had been gone for years. The unexpected surgery had only added a few days to the trip, but she had actually been in Paris for more than two weeks. As much as she loved it there, when she wasn’t sick, it was going to be good to get home. She was sure there were stacks of work waiting for her in her office. She had a million decisions to make about the following year’s lines. They were talking about introducing yet another fragrance, and she had some new cosmetic ideas. Her mind was whirling as the plane took off, and half an hour later, she fell asleep, and slept for the first five hours of the trip.