Midnight in Brussels (11 page)

Rachel laughed. “You should be writing the story, Belinda.”

“I’ve always wanted to write. I’ve definitely read tons of romance novels in my lifetime, if that counts for anything.”

“I can attest to that. Our library is half-filled with the romantic novels she’s read,” Paul added.

“It was all I did in my spare time. I never dated. After university I got the all-consuming position with the agency and when I wasn’t working, or sculpting, or helping my mother with the B&B, I was reading. That was my love life – romance novels. I lived vicariously through the heroines. But I don’t read so much anymore now that I have my own Prince Charming and two wonderful boys.”

“I was hoping you’d say that, luv.” Paul reached over and squeezed her knee. “You had me worried there for a minute.” They laughed.

Quietness filled the air space, still an obvious awkwardness felt. At least Rachel and Belinda felt it.

Their attention was soon drawn to the magnificent view of the approaching Mount St. Michaels at the end of the causeway that led from Marazion through the waters of the bay.

Dinner would be at the Godolphin Inn with the best view of the bay and St. Michaels Mount straight out from it. On the beach below the inn the causeway led thousands upon thousands of annual trekkers from the mainland to the medieval castle and its hanging gardens and the remains of a village at its base – now occupied by food and tourist shops.

Marazion was one of Rachel’s favorite places. Before she moved to Cornwall or had even seen Marazion, she had dreamt that in a past life she was a school teacher of another century, living in Newlyn, and would boat to St. Michael’s Mount to teach the children in the village. It was below the Godolphin Inn, in her dreams, where she had met a lord from Charlestown who became her husband centuries before.

Those thoughts filled her mind as Paul pulled up to the inn. She and Pete had actually found the estate in her dreams after she moved to Cornwall and had discovered that she was identical to a female subject in one of its paintings, still hanging.

Paul quickly hopped out of the car and opened the doors for the ladies. “You girls go on in, Margaret’s waiting for you. I’ll find a parking space.”

Tears filled Rachel’s eyes as she remembered the same exact words being spoken by Pete on their first date at exactly this same spot. It seemed so long ago. She was beginning to miss him.

Chapter 18

“So tell me what the doctor said,” Rachel blurted out as soon as Belinda picked her up to take her to the train station.

“He said the boys are in perfect health; they’re the correct weight and height for their ages, and—”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” Rachel shifted in the passenger seat, half facing her best friend behind the wheel.

“No, I don’t know what you mean.” Belinda still didn’t look at Rachel. She started up the engine and headed back down the lane to get on the coastal road to Penzance.

“Belinda, something is wrong, I feel it. You know I sense things, and I sense that something is wrong and you’re not telling me.”

Belinda glanced at her for a moment, and then pulled over to the side of the road. “Okay, if you must know, I’ll tell you. But I haven’t told anyone else, not Paul, not my mother. It’s between you and me, promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“I’m pregnant again.”

“And?” Rachel held her breath.

“And the doctor said he wants to run some tests because there’s an abnormality in the blood tests he took several days ago. I didn’t tell Paul I’ve been having some unusual symptoms.”

“Like what?”

“I have a lump under my left arm, and another one, here, at the base of my neck. And I have been so tired in the past couple months. It’s such a chore to get out of bed every morning. By noon I can hardly hold my head up. I’m always tired.”

Rachel gasped. “What did he say about that?”

“Well, he’s not sure, but he’s testing me for lymphoma.”

“No! No!” Rachel reached over and hugged Belinda as they both began to weep.

“He’s not sure, Rachel. So I’m not going to say anything until I know. Please don’t tell Paul.” Belinda wiped her eyes with tissue. “It’s so hard keeping it all inside, but I’m glad you pulled it out of me. I feel much better now.”

“What about the pregnancy?”

“He said if I do have lymphoma, it would be best to abort the baby. But I don’t want to think about that right now.” She pulled the car back onto the road.

“You’ll take chemo, definitely,” Rachel said. “You have to do that if it turns out you have it.”

“If I take chemo I’ll have to abort the baby first. If I don’t take chemo, I can carry the baby, and then do the chemo after it’s born.”

“We shouldn’t talk like you have it. There might be another explanation for why you’re tired and have those lumps.”

They both knew there wasn’t.

“I hate to leave you like this,” Rachel murmured. “Maybe I shouldn’t go away just now.”

“Don’t be crazy! I’m going to be fine. As soon as I find out I’ll tell Paul and Mother. If it is lymphoma. And then we’ll decide. But whatever it is, you’ll only be away a month or two—”

“Okay, but please call me as soon as you hear the test results. Promise?”

“I promise.”

Rachel hurried down the platform to get on the train to Exeter where she would be catching the plane to Brussels.

 
“Call us when you get there!” Belinda yelled.

 
“I will!” Rachel called back. She boarded the train five minutes before it pulled out of the station.

Rachel lifted her notebook from her bag and began making a list of what she needed to do first when she arrived in Brussels. First she would do a thorough research on the Internet about lymphoma.

Her cell phone rang.

 
“Hello, babe. Are you on the train?”

“Pete! Hello, darling. I’m so glad you called. Where are you?”

“We’re in Belem, refreshing our supplies. Tomorrow we’re heading back up the river.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, luv. You needn’t worry. There’s a bit of trouble with the poachers but we’re careful about keeping our distance. It’s beautiful here, luv. I wish you were with me.”

“I wish I were, too, except I don’t think I could take all those insects and the reptiles. That will keep me away from South America more than anything else. In fact I know I couldn’t bear it there. So it’s much better that we meet in Paris, darling. That’s more my style.”

Pete laughed.

“I miss you so much, Pete.”

“Miss you, too, doll. I’ll call you when you get to Brussels. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” she whispered, tears gathering in her eyes. She wanted to tell him about Belinda, but she’d promised.

“Have a safe trip, doll.”

“You, too.” She closed her phone and leaned her head back and shut her eyes, suddenly feeling depressed and very, very tired.

PART THREE

 
“When you visualize, then you materialize.”

  
Dr. Dennis Waitley

  
The Secret

Chapter 19

It had been a warm, cloudless June day when Amanda arrived at the Brussels National Airport near Zaventum. She felt lost and at a complete disadvantage not knowing any of the languages that the people around her were speaking. The overhead signage was not in English, but she could make out what some of them meant by the graphic icons next to the wording. She knew she had to take a train to Bruges, but didn’t know where she was supposed to catch it. After she cleared customs, she saw a train symbol and followed the arrows along with droves of other people doing the same. She figured they all couldn’t be wrong.

Having gone through a rather lengthy combination of flights to Belgium, Amanda was thrilled she had finally landed in Europe. Luckily the connecting plane from Chicago was not full and she didn't feel as if she was a sardine in a tin as she had felt on the flight from California to Chicago.

That flight had been implausible. She’d wondered why the seats were so close together. Her knees were hitting the seat in front of her and she couldn't use the communal armrest because a man sitting next to her hogged it. It was a miserable flight. So she had tried to sleep most of the way, crammed into her corner against the window. Good thing she’d been tired to begin with.

The second leg of the flight had been much better. She’d had an extra seat to spread to and had caught up on some sleep, since she’d stayed awake with excitement the night before she left.

Richard had taken her to dinner the night before, so that had killed some of the waiting time. And she’d invited him into her apartment afterwards where they’d looked through magazines and talked till the wee hours of the morning. She was still keeping him at bay sex-wise, and he didn’t seem to mind at all. At least he wasn’t pressuring her. She was grateful for that. But she had to admit she wondered how it would be to make love to him, although she dismissed the thought from her mind just as soon as it appeared.

So here she was in Belgium at last! As it turned out the train station in the airport was relatively easy to find, she was right about the train icon and arrows.

She’d read that French was spoken mainly in Brussels, and Dutch in Bruges, but people were friendly and helpful enough, even in gesturing, so she was able to get where she wanted to go.

After leaving the airport she changed trains once in the center of Brussels, at Brussels Nord, and then found a comfy seat at a table on the second train where she settled in to enjoy the remainder of the trip to Bruges, or Brugge … she noticed it was spelled both ways. However, that comfort was short-lived, for the conductor came through and told her she would have to go to the second class car because she was sitting in first class.

She apologized and moved her luggage, two pieces, to a space in between the cars and that's as far as she got … the second class cars were packed. More sardines. She opted to stand up for the duration of the trip in the space between first and second class; making her a no-class passenger … she chuckled at her self-description. Standing felt pretty good to her, anyway, since she’d been sitting for over thirteen hours as it was.

The train ride through the Belgian countryside reminded her of the photographs and movies she’d seen of the Austrian countryside. Very green, dotted with stone houses and farms, although no mountains as in Austria. The Belgian terrain was flat.

Other than the occasional visits the passengers were making to the toilet (as it turned out she was standing by the toilet in the in-between-cars space), she was alone to take in the lovely views through the narrow panes in the doors. She was happy.

Once in Bruges she headed directly to a coffee concession in the train station. She hadn't had a cup since leaving Chicago. The flight from Chicago didn't have potable water, as it turned out, and they were unable to serve tea or coffee. They even asked that the passengers use the sani-wipes they provided in the restrooms for their hands, asked that they not use the water from the faucet. Evidently there'd been a problem and they hadn’t received fresh water before leaving the States. There was bottled water to drink, luckily, but staff had to make a last minute trip into the terminal to get enough of it for the duration of the flight.