Honor Thyself (9 page)

Carole looked about the same, her eyes were closed, and she was breathing rhythmically with the help of the machine. A few minutes later the doctor in charge walked in. They all knew why they were there. The procedure had been explained to them earlier that day, and they watched in terror as a nurse took the sealing tape off Carole's nose. Until then, she could only breathe through the tube in her mouth. But now her nose was open, and after asking them if they were ready, the doctor gestured to the nurse to take the tube out of Carole's mouth, and with a single gesture he turned off the machine. There was a hideously long moment of silence as everyone stared at Carole. There was no sign of breathing, as the doctor took a step toward her, with a brief glance at the nurse, and then Carole began to breathe on her own. Chloe let out a sharp cry of relief and burst into tears, as tears rolled down Jason's cheeks and Anthony choked on a sob. Instinctively, Chloe buried herself in Stevie's arms. Stevie was laughing and crying all at once, as she held Chloe in a tight hug. And even the doctor smiled.

“That's very good news,” he said with a reassuring look. For an instant, he thought she wouldn't do it, and then just as they all began to panic, she did. “Her brain is telling her lungs what to do. It's a very good sign.” They also knew that it was possible for her to stay in a coma forever, even with the ability to breathe on her own. But if she hadn't been able to, her chances of recovery would have been even slimmer than they were now. It was a first step back toward life.

The doctor said that they would be watching her closely through the night to be sure that she continued breathing without assistance, but there was no reason to think that her independent respiration would stop again. With every passing moment, her condition was more stable. There had been no sign of life or movement from the still form in the bed, but they could all see her chest rising and falling gently with each breath. If nothing else, there was still hope.

They all stood around her bed afterward for over an hour, enjoying the victory they'd shared that night. And then Jason finally suggested they go back to the hotel. They had all had enough stress for one day, and he could see that his children needed to rest. Watching the respirator being turned off had been traumatic for each of them. They walked out quietly, and Stevie was the last to leave the room. She stopped for a moment next to the bed and touched Carole's fingers. She was still deep in her coma, and her fingers were cold. Her face looked more familiar now without the breathing tube in her mouth and the tape on her nose. It was the face Stevie had seen so often, and that all her fans knew and loved. But it was more than that to Stevie, it was that of the woman she admired so much, and had been loyal to for so many years.

“That was good, Carole,” Stevie said softly, as she bent to kiss her cheek. “Now be nice, make just a little more effort, and try to wake up. We miss you,” she said, as tears of relief rolled down her cheeks, and she left the room to join the others. All things considered, it had been a very good night, although a hard one.

Chapter 5

T
he inevitable happened two days after they had all gathered in Paris. Someone, either at the hotel or the hospital, tipped off the press. Within hours there were dozens of photographers outside the hospital, and half a dozen of the most enterprising ones sneaked upstairs and were stopped at the door to her room. Stevie stepped into the hallway from Carole's room, and in language worthy of a sailor, she stopped them cold, and had them thrown out. But from then on, all hell broke loose.

The hospital moved Carole to another room, and posted a security guard outside. But it complicated things for all of them, and made things even harder for the family. Photographers lay in wait for them at the hotel, and stood outside the hospital. There were TV cameras in both places, and flashes in their faces whenever they went in or out. It was a familiar scene for all of them. Carole had always shielded her children from the public, but Carole Barber in a coma, as the victim of a terrorist attack, was world news. There was no hiding from the press this time. They just had to live with it, and make the best of it. The best news of all was that Carole was breathing on her own. She was still unconscious, but they had taken her off sedation, and the doctors were hoping she would show some sign of life soon. If not, it had long-term implications that none of them wanted to face yet. In the meantime, they were constantly hassled by the press. Carole was on the front page of newspapers all over the world, including
Le Monde, Le Figaro
, and the
Herald Tribune
in Paris.

“I always loved that picture of her,” Stevie said, trying to make light of it, as they all read the papers over breakfast the next day. They had been in Paris for three days.

“Yeah, me too,” Anthony said, eating his second pain au chocolat. His appetite had improved. They were getting used to going to the hospital together every day, talking to the doctors, and sitting with Carole for as long as they could. Afterward they came back to the hotel, and sat in the living room of their suite, waiting for news. Night visits were discouraged, and she was still in a deep sleep. And all the while, people around the world were reading about her, and praying for her. Fans had started gathering at the hospital, and holding up signs when the family arrived. It was touching to see.

As they left for the hospital that morning, a man in a Paris apartment on the rue du Bac poured his café au lait, put jam on a slice of toast, and sat down to read his morning newspaper as he did every day. He opened it as he always did, smoothed out the creases, and glanced at the front page. His hands shook as he stared at the photograph. It was a picture taken of Carole while she'd been making a movie in France years before. The man staring at it knew it instantly, he'd been with her on that day, watching the shoot. Tears sprang to his eyes as he read the article, and as soon as he finished reading, he got up and called the Pitié Salpêtrière. He was connected to the
réanimation
unit, and asked for news of her. They said her condition was stable, but that they were not authorized to give out detailed reports over the phone. He thought of calling the head of the hospital, and then decided to go to the Pitié himself.

He was a tall, distinguished-looking man. He had white hair, and the eyes behind his glasses were a brilliant blue. Although no longer young, it was easy to see that he had once been a handsome man, and still was. And he moved and spoke like someone who was accustomed to command. There was an aura of authority about him. His name was Matthieu de Billancourt, and he had once been the Minister of the Interior of France.

He had his overcoat on, and was out the door and in his car within twenty minutes of reading the article in the paper. He was shaken to the core by what he'd read. His memories of Carole were still crystal clear, as though he'd seen her yesterday, when in fact it had been fifteen years since he had last seen her, when she left Paris, and fourteen years since he had spoken to her. He had had no news of her since, except what he read of her in the press. He knew she had married again, to a Hollywood producer, and he had felt a pang even then, although he was happy for her. Eighteen years before, Carole Barber had been the love of his life.

Matthieu de Billancourt arrived at the hospital, and parked his car on the street. He strode into the lobby, and asked the woman at the desk for Carole's room. He was stopped instantly and told that no bulletins could be issued about her, and there were no visitors allowed to her room. He asked to see the head of the hospital, and handed the woman at the desk his card. She glanced at it, saw his name, and immediately disappeared.

Within three minutes the head of the hospital appeared. He stared at Matthieu as though to verify that the name on the business card was real. It was the card from Matthieu's family law firm, where he had been now for the last ten years, since he retired from government. He was sixty-eight years old, but had the look and step of a younger man.

“Monsieur le ministre?”
the head of the hospital asked nervously, wringing his hands. He had no idea what had brought him here, but Matthieu's name and reputation had been legendary when he was Minister of the Interior, and one still saw his name in the press from time to time. He was frequently consulted, often quoted. He had been a man of power for thirty years. He had a look of unquestionable command. “What may I do to help you, sir?” There was something almost frightening about the look in Matthieu's eyes. He looked worried and deeply disturbed.

“I am here to see an old friend,” he said in a somber voice. “She was a friend of my wife's.” He didn't want to draw attention to his visit, although asking for the head of the hospital would inevitably attract some notice to him, but he could only hope the man would be discreet. Matthieu didn't want to wind up in the press, but at that point he would have risked almost anything to see her again. He knew it might be his last chance. The reports in the paper said she was still critically ill, and in danger of losing her life after the terrorist attack. “I was told she can't have visitors,” Matthieu explained, and the director of La Pitié Salpêtrière guessed instantly who the patient was. “Our families were very close.” Matthieu looked desperate and grim, which didn't go unnoticed by the short, officious-looking man.

“I am certain we can make an exception for you, sir. Without question. Would you like me to accompany you upstairs to her room? We are speaking of Mrs. Waterman… Miss Barber … are we not?”

“We are. And yes, I would appreciate it if you would take me to her room.” Without another word, the director of the hospital led him to the elevator, which came almost immediately, filled with doctors, nurses, and visitors, who exited, and then Matthieu and the director stepped in. His guide pressed the button, and a moment later they were on her floor. Matthieu could feel his heart beating faster. He had no idea what he'd see when he entered her room, or who would be there. It seemed unlikely to him that her children would remember him, they had been very young at the time. He assumed that her current husband would be there with her. He was hoping they would be out, taking a break.

The director stopped at the nursing desk, and said a few hushed words to the head nurse. She nodded, glanced at Matthieu with interest, and pointed to a door farther down the hall, which was Carole's room. Matthieu followed him without a word, and in an agony of pain and concern for her, in the bleak hospital lighting, he looked his age. The director stopped at the door the nurse had indicated, and opened it, motioning Matthieu inside. He hesitated and then whispered.

“Is her family with her? I don't want to intrude if it's not a good time.” He had suddenly realized that he might walk into an awkward scene. For a moment, he had forgotten that she no longer belonged to him.

“Would you like me to announce you if they are with her?” the director asked, and Matthieu shook his head, and did not offer to explain. The director understood. “I'll check.” He took a few steps into the room, as Matthieu waited outside and the door whooshed closed. He had been able to see nothing in the room. The director emerged a moment later. “Her family is with her,” he confirmed. “Would you like to wait in the waiting room?”

Matthieu looked relieved at the suggestion. “Yes, I would. This must be very hard for them,” he said, as the director led him back down the hall again, to a small private waiting room, which was normally used for an overflow of visitors, or people in deep grief who needed privacy. It was perfect for Matthieu, who wanted to avoid prying eyes, and preferred to be alone, while he waited to see her. He had no idea how long her family would be with her, but he was prepared to stay all day, or even into the night. He had to see her now.

The director of the hospital motioned to a chair and invited Matthieu to sit down. “Would you like something to drink, sir? A cup of coffee perhaps?”

“No, thank you,” Matthieu said, and extended his hand.

“I appreciate your help. I was shocked when I heard the news.”

“We all were,” the hospital director commented. “She was here for two weeks before we knew who she was. A terrible thing.” He looked appropriately reserved.

“Will she be all right?” Matthieu asked, with a look of sorrow in his eyes.

“I believe it's too soon to tell. Head injuries are treacherous and difficult to predict. She's still in a coma, but breathing on her own, which is a good sign. But she's not out of danger yet.” Matthieu nodded. “I'll come back and check on you later,” the director promised, “and the nurses will bring you anything you like.” Matthieu thanked him again, and he left. The man who had once been the Minister of the Interior of France sat as sadly as any other visitor, thinking of someone he loved, lost in thought. Matthieu de Billancourt was still one of the most respected and once-powerful men in France, and he was as frightened as any other visitor to the
réanimation
floor. He was terrified for her, and himself. Just knowing she was there, in a room so nearby, made his heart stir again as it hadn't in years.

Jason, Stevie, Anthony, and Chloe had been with Carole for hours by then. They took turns sitting in a chair next to her, stroking her hand, or talking to her.

Chloe kissed her mother's blue fingers sticking out of the cast, begging her to come back. “Come on, Mommy, please… we want you to wake up.” She sounded like a child, and then finally she just sat there and sobbed, until Stevie put an arm around her, got her a drink of water, and someone else took her place near Carole's bed.

Anthony was trying to be brave, but could never get past a few words before breaking down. And Jason stood behind them, looking distraught. They kept trying to talk to her, because there was always the remote possibility that she could hear them. And they were praying that might bring her back. Nothing else had so far. Her children and Jason were looking exhausted, jet-lagged and grief-stricken, and Stevie tried valiantly to keep their spirits buoyed, although she was in no better shape than they. But she was determined to do all she could to help, for Carole's sake and theirs. But at heart, she was as devastated as they. Carole was a beloved friend.