Summer's End (21 page)

“We have nurses, of course.” That sounded more like the Madame Duras Deanna knew.

“No one else?” There was horror in her voice.

“It is after midnight here.”

“I don’t want her alone.”

“Very well. I’ll send Angéline down now, and I shall go in the morning.” Angéline, the oldest maid on the face of the earth. Angéline. How could she?

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Tell her I love her. Good-bye,
Mamie.
I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Desperate, Deanna flashed the operator. “Doctor Hubert Kirschmann, person to person. It’s an emergency.”

But
Docteur
Kirschmann was not answering his calls. And a call to the American Hospital did not yield a great deal more. Although still critical, Mademoiselle Duras was resting comfortably, she was conscious, and there was a possibility that they might operate in the morning. It was too soon to tell. She had been flown in from Cannes only that evening, and if Madame would be good enough to call the
docteur
in the morning…. Oh, go to hell. Pilar was not able to take phone calls, and there was nothing more Deanna could do. Except get on a plane.

She sat very still for a moment, fighting back tears, holding her head in her hands, until a sudden sob escaped her, wrenching its way free from her heart. “Pilar … my baby. Oh, my God!” The blue uniform was around her then, and Margaret’s comforting arms held her tightly.

“Is it very bad?” Her voice was a whisper in the too silent room.

“I don’t know. They say her legs are paralyzed, and there’s something wrong with her head. But I couldn’t get intelligent answers from anyone. I’m going to take the next plane.”

“I’ll pack a bag.”

Deanna nodded and tried to marshal her thoughts. She had to call Ben. And Dominique. Instinctively, her fingers dialed Dominique at the office. The voice she disliked was quick to answer the phone. “Where is Monsieur Duras?”

“I have no idea.”

“The hell you don’t. Our daughter just had an accident, and they can’t find him. Where is he?”

“I … Madame Duras, I’m very sorry…. I’ll do my best to locate him by morning and have him call you.”

“I’m leaving for Paris tonight. Just tell him to be there. And call his mother. Pilar is at the American Hospital in Paris. And for God’s sake, do me a favor, will you please, Dominique, and find him?” Her voice trembled on the words.

“I’ll do my best. And I’m really very sorry. Is it serious?”

“We don’t know.”

She called the airline and the bank. She glanced at what Margaret had put in her bag and quickly dialed Ben before he left the gallery. She had an hour before she had to leave for the airport. He was quick to come on the line.

“I have to leave town tonight.”

“What did you do this afternoon? Rob a bank?” His voice was full of mischief and laughter; he was looking forward to the evening ahead. But he was quick to sense that something was wrong.

“Pilar had an accident. Oh, Ben….” And then the tears came, sobbing, aching, frightened, and angry at Marc for letting her have the bike.

“Take it easy, darling. I’ll be right there. Is it all right if I come to the house?”

“Yes.”

Margaret opened the door to him seven minutes later. Deanna was waiting in her room. She was still wearing the suit she had worn at lunch and the earrings Ben had given her. She was wearing those to France. He looked at her quickly as he walked in, and took her into his arms. “It’s all right, baby, it’s all right. She’ll be all right.”

She told him then about the paralyzed legs.

“That could just be a temporary reaction from the fall. You don’t know the details yet. It may not be nearly as bad as it sounds. Do you want something to drink?” She was dangerously pale, but she shook her head. All he saw was her face and the heartbreak written there. She began to cry again and took refuge once more in his arms.

“I’ve been thinking such awful things.”

“Don’t. You don’t know. You just have to hang in till you get there.” He looked at her again with a question. “Do you want me to come?”

She sighed and gave him a glimmer of a smile. “Yes. But you can’t. I love you for asking though. Thank you.”

“If you need me, call, and I’ll come. Promise?” he asked. She nodded.

“Will you call Kim and tell her where I’ve gone? I just tried to reach her and she’s out.”

“She won’t find it suspicious if I tell her?” He looked worried, but he was worried about Deanna, not Kim.

“No.” Deanna smiled. “I told her about us today at lunch. She had already guessed, don’t ask me how. At the opening. But she thinks you’re a very special man. I think she’s right.” She reached out to him again and held him close. It would be the last time for a while that she could do that, hold him and be his. “I wanted a chance to go home again … just to be there … it gives me so much peace.” She meant his house, not her own, but he understood.

“You’ll be home again soon.”

“Promise?” Her eyes found his.

“Promise. Now come on, we’d better go. Do you have everything you need?” he asked. She nodded and closed her eyes again. For just a fraction of a moment she had been dizzy. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She followed him down the stairs and hugged Margaret as she left. They had an hour to get to the airport. Forty-five minutes later she would be on the plane. Twelve hours after that, she’d be in Paris—with her baby. Pilar.

During the drive to the airport Deanna found herself silently praying that she’d find her alive.

15

“Quoi? Oh, mon Dieu!
Dominique, are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I also spoke to your mother. And the doctor.”

“What’s his name?” She passed the information on to Marc as he gestured frantically for a pen. Chantal handed him hers. “When did they operate?”

“This morning, Paris time. Three hours ago, I believe. She’s a little better, they think, but she hadn’t yet regained consciousness. They’re mainly worried about her skull, and … and her legs.”

The tears had started to pour slowly down Marc-Edouard’s cheeks as he listened to Dominique. “I’ll send a wire. I’ll be there tonight.” He flashed the concierge. His orders were terse. “This is Duras. Get me on a plane. Paris. Immediately.” He hung up and wiped his face, looking strangely at Chantal.

“It’s Pilar?” she asked. He nodded. “Is it very bad?” She sat down on the couch next to him and took his hands.

“They don’t know. They don’t know. …” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words, or to tell her that the motorcycle had been a gift from him, as the sobs began to convulse him.

*   *   *

Deanna got off the plane at Charles de Gaulle Airport in a cloud of exhaustion, terror, and nausea. She had spent the night staring straight ahead and clenching her hands. She called the hospital from the airport, but there was no news. Deanna hailed a taxi just outside the airport and sat silently as they sped along. She had given the driver the address of the American Hospital and told him only,
“Aussi vite que possible.”

In true Gallic style, he took her at her word. The trees at the roadside were barely more than a green blur in the corners of Deanna’s eyes as she stared straight ahead of her, watching the driver’s maneuvers as he lunged and careened past every obstacle in sight. She could feel every pulse in her body, every throb of her heart… hurry … hurry …
VITE!
It seemed hours before they reached the Boulevard Victor Hugo and screeched to a halt in front of the big double doors. Deanna reached quickly into her wallet for the francs she had exchanged from dollars at the airport. Without thinking she handed him a hundred francs, and flung open the door.

“Votre monnaie?”
He looked at her questioningly, and she shook her head. She didn’t give a damn about the change. Her lips were a tight, narrow line lost somewhere in the ivory agony of her face. He had understood from the first, when she had given him the address of the American Hospital. He had known. “Your husband?”

“Non. Ma fille.”
Once again her eyes filled with tears.

The driver nodded in sympathetic chagrin. “
Désolée
.” He picked her small brown-leather valise off the seat and opened his door. He stood there for a moment, holding it, looking at her, wanting to say something more. He had a daughter too, and he could see the pain in Deanna’s eyes. His wife had looked like that once, when they had almost lost their son. He silently handed the bag to Deanna. Her eyes held his for only a fraction of a second, then she turned and strode rapidly into the hospital.

There was a sour-looking matron sitting at a desk.

“Oui, madame?”

“Pilar Duras. Her room number?”
Oh, God, just her room number, please. Don’t let them tell me… don’t…

“Four-twenty-five.” Deanna wanted to let out a long anguished sigh. Instead, she only nodded curtly and followed the sign. There were two men and a woman on the elevator, going to other floors. They had the look of businesslike Europeans, maybe they were friends of patients, maybe husbands or wives, but none of them looked particularly shaken or upset. Deanna watched them enviously as she waited for her floor. The long, fear-filled plane ride was taking its toll. It had been a long sleepless night, and her thoughts had ricocheted from Pilar to Ben. What if she had let him come with her? She found herself longing for his arms, his warmth, his comfort, his support, and the gentleness of his words.

The elevator doors opened on four, and hesitantly she stepped out. There was a bustle of nurses, and in a few sedate little cliques she noticed elderly distinguished men; doctors. But suddenly, Deanna felt lost. She was six thousand miles from home, looking for a daughter who could even be dead. Suddenly, she wasn’t even sure if she could speak French anymore, or if she would ever find Pilar in that maze. Tears stung her eyes. She fought off a wave of dizziness and nausea, then slowly made her way to the desk.

“I’m looking for Pilar Duras. I’m her mother.” She didn’t even try it in French. She just couldn’t. She only prayed that someone would understand. Most of the nurses were French, but someone would speak English. Someone would know … someone would make it all better—would take her to Pilar, would show her that she wasn’t really that badly hurt …

“Duras?” The nurse seemed troubled as she looked up at Deanna, and then frowned at a chart. Everything inside Deanna turned first to jelly, then to stone. “Oh, yes.” She met Deanna’s eyes and nodded, wondering suddenly if the desperately pale woman trembling in front of her was ill. “Madame Duras?”

“Yes.” Deanna couldn’t manage more than a whisper. Suddenly every moment of the trip had caught up with her. She just couldn’t anymore. She even found herself wishing for Marc.

“Madame Duras, are you all right?” The young woman in the white uniform had a heavy accent but her English was fluent. Deanna only stared at her. Even she wasn’t quite sure. She felt very odd, as though she might faint.

“I have to … I think…. May I sit down?” She looked around vaguely, and then watched in fascination while everything around her first turned gray, then shrank. It was like watching a slowly fading screen on a disgruntled television, as slowly … slowly … the picture just faded away. At last, all she heard was a hum. Then she felt a hand on her arm.

“Madame Duras? Madame Duras?” It was the same girl’s voice, and Deanna felt herself smile. She had such a pleasant young voice … such a pleasant. … Deanna felt unbearably sleepy. All she wanted to do was drift away, but the hand kept tugging at her arm. Suddenly, there was something cool on her neck, and then her head. The picture returned to the screen. A dozen faces surrounded her, all looking down. She started to sit up, but a hand immediately restrained her, and two young men spoke urgently to each other in French. They wanted to transfer her to emergency, but Deanna rapidly shook her head.

“No, no, I’m fine. Really. I’ve just had a very long flight from San Francisco, and I haven’t eaten all day. Really, I’m just terribly tired and….” The tears welled up in her eyes again. She tried to will them away. Dammit, why did they want to take her to emergency? “I have to see my daughter. Pilar … Pilar Duras.”

The words seemed to stop them. The two young men stared at her, then nodded. They had understood. In a moment, with a hand at each elbow, she was on her feet, while a young nurse helped her straighten her skirt. Someone brought a chair, and the first nurse brought her a glass of water. A moment later the crowd had dispersed. Only the young nurse and the older one remained.

“I’m awfully sorry,” Deanna said.

“Of course not. You are very tired. You have had a long trip. We understand. In a moment we will take you to see Pilar.” The two nurses exchanged a glance, and the older one nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Thank you.” Deanna took another sip of water and handed back the glass. “Is Doctor Kirschmann here?” The nurse shook her head.