Honor Thyself (27 page)

“Don't worry about that. We all have the only Christmas gift we wanted. You.” It was a sweet thing to say, and she was touched by him again. No matter how hard she dredged in her memory bank, she couldn't come up with any romantic feelings for him, but she loved him like a brother. He was her children's father, a man she had loved and been married to for ten years, and who was forever woven into the fabric of her heart, but in a different way than he once had been. Their relationship and attachment to each other had changed over the years. For her anyway. It was different with Matthieu. She had far fewer comfortable feelings about him, and sometimes he made her uneasy. Jason never did. Jason was a spot of warm sunlight where she felt comfortable and safe. Matthieu was a mysterious garden where she was afraid to go, but she still remembered its beauty, and its thorns. “See you in L.A.,” Jason said cheerily, and then hung up. A little while later, the doctor came in with the results of her scans. They showed that she had improved.

“You're on your way,” the doctor beamed at her. “You're going home… or back to the Ritz for now. You can leave the hospital tomorrow.” They were actually sad to see her go, but happy for her. And so was she. It had been an extraordinary month.

Stevie packed her things for her that afternoon, and notified hotel security that they'd be arriving the next day. The head of security advised bringing her in through the rue Cambon door, on the back side of the hotel. They would open it for her. Most of the press and paparazzi lay in wait in the Place Vendôme. Carole wanted to come in with as little fuss as possible, although she knew that sooner or later they would take photographs of her. She wanted a breather for now. It was going to be her first time out of the hospital in a month, after being at death's door. Stevie wanted to give her time to get on her feet, before the press attacked her. Carole Barber getting out of the hospital in Paris was going to make the front page in newspapers all over the world. There was nothing easy about being a star. And certainly no privacy. Dead or alive, the public thought they owned her. And it was Stevie's job to shield her from prying eyes. The doctors had saved her life. And it was up to the CRS and hotel security to keep her alive. Given that, Stevie figured hers was the easiest job.

Matthieu called her that night to see how she was. He was in Lyon overnight on business for the law firm. He had a case pending there.

“I'm going home!” she chortled happily, and there was a silence at the other end.

“To Los Angeles?” he asked, sounding crestfallen, and she laughed.

“No, to the hotel. They want me here for two more weeks before I fly, to make sure I'm okay. They're sending a doctor home on the plane with me, and I'm taking a nurse to the hotel. I'll be fine. The doctor will come and check on me there. As long as I don't do anything crazy or stupid, and no one tries to kill me again, I'll be fine. I have to walk around to get my legs back. Maybe I can get my exercise at the jewelers in the Place Vendôme.” She was teasing, since she never bought jewelry for herself, but she was in high spirits, and he was relieved to hear that she was only going as far as the hotel, for now. He wanted to spend some time with her before she left. It was too soon to lose her again.

“We can go to Bagatelle and walk,” he said, and when he said the word she remembered being there with him before. And the Luxembourg Gardens and the Bois de Boulogne. There were a multitude of places to go for walks in Paris. “I'll be back tomorrow. I'll call you. Be careful, Carole.”

“I will. I promise. It's a little scary leaving the hospital. I feel like my head is made of glass now.” Not quite, but she was well aware of her fragility and her own mortality as never before. She didn't want to challenge it again. Being away from the doctors who had saved her life was frightening. She was relieved to be taking a nurse to the hotel, and Stevie had gotten an adjoining room to her suite, so she'd be sleeping nearby if Carole had a problem, which no one expected. But they worried anyway, and Matthieu sounded concerned as well.

“Are you sure you should fly so soon?” He had a vested interest in her staying, but he was genuinely worried about her, even as a friend.

“They said it's fine, as long as nothing weird happens in the next two weeks. And I want to be home for Christmas with my kids.”

“They could celebrate it with you at the Ritz,” he said hopefully.

“That's not the same.” Besides, Paris had an unhappy connotation for all of them now. It would be a while before her children would feel comfortable at the Ritz again, without thinking of the agonizing days they had spent there waiting to see if she would survive. It was going to be good to get home, especially for her.

“I understand. If you feel up to it, I'd like to visit you at the hotel tomorrow when I get back.”

“That would be fine,” she said calmly. She was looking forward to seeing him, and even to going for walks with him.

That seemed harmless enough, even for her.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, thinking about her, as he hung up at his end. He was dreading the day she would leave him again, this time perhaps forever.

Chapter 15

G
etting Carole ready to leave the hospital was more arduous than Stevie had expected. Carole was tired when she woke up the next day, and nervous about leaving the cocoon they had provided for her. She had to turn from caterpillar into butterfly once again. Stevie helped her wash her hair, Carole put on makeup for the first time, and covered the scar on her cheek surprisingly well. Stevie helped her put on jeans, a black sweater, a pea jacket she'd had at the hotel, and a pair of flat black suede loafers. Her signature diamond stud earrings were on her ears, and her hair was pulled back in the familiar sleek ponytail. She looked like Carole Barber again, instead of a patient in a hospital gown, and even after the ordeal she'd been through, her natural beauty was striking. She looked very thin and a little frail as she got into a wheelchair, and nurses and doctors came to say goodbye to her. The nurse who was coming to the Ritz with them had her coat on and pushed the wheelchair, as the two CRS guards assigned to them walked on either side of Carole with stern looks, holding their machine guns. Stevie was carrying Carole's bag and her own. They felt like a motley crew.

They made their way down in the elevator and across the lobby with hospital security surrounding them, and the head of the hospital came out to shake her hand and wish her well. It was a touching departure. Her own doctor saw them to the car, which the Ritz had sent for her, a long Mercedes limousine. Both CRS guards, the nurse, Stevie, and Carole disappeared rapidly inside. She lowered the window and waved at the crowd of well-wishers on the sidewalk, while Stevie marveled at the good luck that no photographers had been on hand to impede their way. With luck, they would get into the hotel as easily, on the Cambon side, and into Carole's suite without incident. She already looked tired from the shock of being up, dressed, and outside again. It was a big change for her.

The limousine slid easily down the rue Cambon and stopped at the back entrance of the Ritz that had been opened especially for her, and on slightly wobbly legs she stood up, looked up at the sky, and smiled, while the CRS guards stood tightly at her side. She walked toward the hotel entrance under her own steam, smiling, just as four photographers leaped into view between the hotel door and her. Carole hesitated for an instant and then continued walking, smiling. Someone had tipped them off after all. The CRS guards waved them away, and the paparazzi stepped aside, shooting frame after frame of her, shouting her name, as one of them yelled “Brava!” and threw her a rose. She caught it, turned, and smiled at him, and then disappeared gracefully into the hotel.

The manager was waiting inside for her, and escorted her to her suite. Just getting that far was harder work for Carole than she had expected. Security guards lined the halls, and she looked strained by the time she got to her suite, but thanked the manager for the enormous bouquet of roses that stood four feet tall on a table, welcoming her back to the Ritz. A few minutes later he left the room, and the CRS guards positioned themselves outside, as hotel security clustered around them. Stevie set down Carole's bag, and gave her a stern look.

“Sit down. You look beat.” She was worried about her friend. Carole's face was the color of snow.

“I am,” Carole admitted, lowering herself into a chair, feeling about a hundred years old, as the nurse helped her take off her coat, and then removed her own and put it aside. “I can't believe how tired I am. All I did was get out of bed, and ride over here in a car. I feel like I was hit by a bus,” she complained to Stevie, looking exhausted.

“You were, a month ago. Give yourself a break.” Stevie was still annoyed that someone had warned the press that Carole was arriving. It was inevitable, but they would be all over her now, and waiting at every exit to the hotel. Whenever she wanted to get out, she would have to make her way past them. Stevie was contemplating the service exit as an option. It had worked for them before, although it wasn't far from the Cambon door, and they'd be watching it too. It just added more strain to Carole's existence, which she didn't need at the moment. It would have been nice if no one had known she'd made the move from hospital to hotel. That was too much to hope for, with maids cleaning her room, room service waiters bringing her food, and all the internal gossip in a big hotel, even a great one like the Ritz. Someone had been bound to tell the press. They got paid handsomely to do it.

Without asking, Stevie handed her a cup of her tea, and Carole took it gratefully. She felt as though she'd already climbed Everest that morning. And given what she'd been through, she had. “Do you want anything to eat?”

“No, thanks.”

“Why don't you go lie down for a while? I think you just had your morning exercise.”

“Shit, am I ever going to feel normal again? I wasn't this tired in the hospital. I feel like I died.”

“You did,” Stevie confirmed. She could see that Carole was discouraged, but what she was going through was normal. The change from hospital to real world, however gently handled and carefully masterminded, was like being shot out of a cannon for her. “You'll feel better in a day or two, or maybe even before that. You need to get used to your surroundings, and not being wrapped in cotton wool at the hospital. When I had my appendix out two years ago, I felt about ninety years old when I got home. Five days later I was dancing my ass off at a club. Give it time, kid. Give it time,” Stevie reassured her as Carole sighed. It discouraged her to feel so shaken and weak.

Carole walked slowly into her bedroom, and stood looking around with amazement. She looked at the desk and saw her computer and handbag on it. She felt as though she had left the room hours before to go on her fateful walk. When she turned to Stevie there were tears in her eyes.

“It's such a strange feeling knowing that when I left this room, I almost died a few hours later. It's kind of like dying and being reborn, or getting another chance or something.” Stevie nodded and hugged her friend.

“I know. I thought of it too. Do you want to switch rooms?” Carole shook her head. She didn't want to be indulged or babied. She just needed time to adjust to all that had happened, not only physically, but psychologically as well. She lay down on the bed, and looked around, as Stevie brought her the rest of her tea. She felt better already, lying down. It had been stressful for her seeing the press, although it didn't show. It never did. She looked like a queen as she waved graciously, smiled at them, and walked past, with her long blond hair, and diamond studs sparkling on her ears.

Stevie ordered lunch for them eventually, and Carole felt better after she ate. She luxuriated in a hot tub, in the giant bathtub in the pink marble bathroom, and then lay on her bed again in the heavy pink terry-cloth robe provided by the hotel. It was four o'clock when Matthieu called, and by then she'd had a nap, and felt more herself.

“How is it being back at the hotel?” he asked kindly.

“It was harder than I thought it would be getting here,” she admitted to him. “I was wiped out when we arrived, but I'm feeling better now. I can't believe what a jolt it was. And we ran into some paparazzi at the back door. I probably looked like the Bride of Frankenstein getting out of the car. I could hardly walk.”

“I'm sure you looked beautiful. You always do.”

“One of the paparazzi threw me a rose, which was sweet. It almost knocked me down. The expression ‘you could have knocked me over with a feather’ seems to have taken on new meaning.” He laughed at what she said.

“I was going to ask you to take a walk with me, but it doesn't sound like you're up to it. Would you like a visit instead? Maybe we can go for a walk tomorrow. Or a drive, if you prefer.”

“Would you like to come to tea?” she offered. She didn't feel up to having him to dinner, and wasn't sure she should anyway. Their relationship was tenuous, heavily impacted by the sorrows of the past, as well as the love they'd shared.

“That sounds perfect. Five o'clock?” he suggested, grateful that she was willing to see him.

“I'm not going anywhere,” she assured him. “I'll be here.”

He was there an hour later, in a dark business suit, and his gray topcoat. It had gotten bitter cold that afternoon, and his cheeks were pink from the wind. Carole was wearing the same black sweater and jeans she had worn leaving the hospital, the black suede loafers and diamond studs on her ears. She looked exquisite to him, although very pale. But her eyes were bright, and she felt better as they sat down to tea, pastry, and
macarons
from La Durée, which the hotel had sent her. He'd been pleased to see the guards on duty outside her room, and noticed hotel security in the hall around the floor. They were taking no chances with her, as well they shouldn't. The incident at the hospital had put everyone on warning that she was at risk.

“How was Lyon?” she asked with a quiet smile. She was happy to see him.