The Kiss (16 page)

The next morning, when she got back to the hospital, he was lying in bed with his eyes open and looking around the room, as though he still wasn't sure where he was. He seemed half asleep, as though he'd just woken up, which he had.

“Hi, sleepyhead,” Cynthia said gently as she approached his bed. “We've been waiting forever for you to wake up.” He blinked his eyes at her as though to say “yes,” but he looked sad, almost as though he were disappointed to see her, and had expected to see someone else. She had the feeling that he would have nodded at her, if he could, but he couldn't move his head in the brace around his neck. “Do you feel better today?” He blinked again. And then she ever so gently touched his face. “I love you, Bill. I'm so sorry this happened. But you're going to be okay.” He didn't take his eyes from hers, and then she saw him wet his lips as he had the night before, and close his eyes again. She wanted to offer him something to drink, but she didn't dare. The nurses had left him alone with her for a few minutes. The monitors would warn them if anything went awry. “Can I get you anything you need?” she whispered as he opened his eyes and looked at her face. He looked as though he was worried about something, and she stood
next to him so she could hear him if he had anything to say to her. His mouth opened then, but no sound came out. “What do you want, sweetheart? Can you say the words?” She spoke to him as she would have to a child. And he looked frustrated at the difficulty he was having at making himself understood. He lay there in silence for a long time, and then tried again, as though he had been gathering strength while Cynthia talked. “The girls are here,” Cynthia chatted on. “They came to London with me.” He blinked as though to acknowledge her, and then frowned again, as he fought to unlock his jaw. She wondered if the brace on his neck was hurting him. It didn't look comfortable, but he didn't seem to be in any particularly acute pain.

“Where…” he finally whispered at her, as she strained to hear and waited patiently. But he seemed to take forever with the next word.“… is Izzz… ahh … bell?” It had been a huge effort for him, as he stared at his wife. She wasn't even sure Bill recognized her. His entire focus seemed to be on the woman who'd been in the car with him. She also suspected he wanted to know if Isabelle was alive. And his words, so agonizingly formed, and at such effort and cost to him, struck Cynthia like a blow. Asking for Isabelle had been his first words to his wife, and told her all she needed to know.

“She's alive,” she said quietly. “I'll ask the nurse how she is.” He blinked twice then, as though to say thank-you to her, and then he closed his eyes. A moment later, Cynthia walked outside, and her daughters pounced on her as soon as she did. She didn't tell them what he had just said.

“How is he, Mom? Did he say anything?”

“I think he's better. He's trying to talk a little bit. And I told him you were both here.” Cindy was shocked by what he had said to her. His first words had been for Isabelle, and she couldn't help wondering how much Isabelle meant to him. It was surely more than just chivalry that had caused him to ask for Isabelle the moment he woke up.

“What did he say?” They were thrilled. They were ecstatic that their father had survived.

“He blinked twice,” she said, with a smile, covering her own pain.

“Can he talk?” Jane asked, looking like her mother's mirror image. It was Olivia who was the portrait of Bill. They were both like two clones of Bill and herself.

“He said a couple of words, but it's still hard work for him. I think he's resting now.” She sounded strangely subdued as she promised the girls she'd be back in a minute, and then walked to the desk and spoke to the nurse. “How is Mrs. Forrester?” she asked quietly. If nothing else, she could tell Bill what he wanted to know. He had a right to that, if he cared about her, and even if they were just friends. They had been to hell and back together. The least she could do for him was give him news of Isabelle, since he had struggled so hard to ask about her.

“She's not doing very well, I'm afraid. She's about the same. She had a fever again last night. Her husband is with her now.”

“Has she regained consciousness?” Cynthia asked dutifully.

“No, but that's not surprising given her injuries and
the surgery the other night.” Cynthia nodded, and thanked her, and then walked back into Bill's room to see if he was awake. But he was snoring softly as she stood next to him. And then as though he sensed her, he stirred and opened his eyes. He had been dreaming of Isabelle again. He had been for two days.

“I asked about Isabelle for you. She's about the same. She's been in a coma, and she hasn't come out of it yet, but I hope she will.” He blinked his eyes as though he wanted to nod at her. And after a long time, he started working on another set of words.

“Thhh … ankk … youuu, Cinnn … I thought… you … were her,” he said, closed his eyes again, and drifted back into a dream about Isabelle. He had no desire to see his wife, or talk to her.

“Do you want to see the girls?” Cindy interrupted his dream again, and this time, he blinked three times, and she smiled. “I'll go get them, they're just down the hall.” And a moment later, they were in his room, chattering at him, and Cynthia actually saw him smile. And when he talked to them, it took less effort than it had before. His ability to speak was coming back, it was just a little slow, but his mind was obviously clear.

“I… love … you, girls….”

“We love you too, Dad,” Olivia said as Jane leaned down and kissed his hand. He had an IV running into it, and another one in the other arm. He was still covered with monitors and tubes, and IVs. But the girls were just happy he was alive.

“Greatt… gggirlsss,” he said to Cynthia when they left.

“You're pretty great yourself” was all she said, and
he looked surprised. “You scared us for a while,” she went on. “Do you know what happened to you?” she asked. It had occurred to her that he might not know.

“No.” He had no memory of it at all, only of the evening he'd spent with Isabelle before the accident.

“Your limousine got hit by a bus. It took them a couple of hours, I gather, to get both of you out.”

“I… was … afraid … she … died.” He struggled with the words, and Cynthia couldn't help thinking how odd it was that he was talking about Isabelle to his wife, but he didn't seem to mind. His eyes filled with tears as he looked at her.

“I think she came very close to it.” Cynthia didn't tell him that she still might die. “Her husband is here with her now.” As Cynthia said it to him, it was almost like a warning to Bill that he also had to return to real life. Isabelle had a husband. And he had two daughters and a wife. It was their turn now. He knew that, no matter how much he loved Isabelle, he had a responsibility to them. But he had been dreaming of Isabelle for days.

The nurses came back into the room then, they had things to do to him, and Cynthia went back outside to join the girls. She had to digest what had just happened with Bill. There was no question in her mind. Isabelle Forrester was important to him, she was no stranger, as her husband had hoped, or even a casual friend. Asking about her had been Bill's first words. And his eyes were full of anguish and concern for her. He had even thought he was seeing Isabelle when he woke up, and not his wife.

And as she sat in the waiting room, waiting for the
nurses to finish their tasks with him, Cynthia picked up a copy of the
Herald Tribune
, and saw that there was an article about the bus accident in it, and she was startled to see a photograph of Bill and a woman, next to the photograph of the badly mangled bus. The article said that eleven people had died, and well-known political power broker William Robinson had been in the limousine that had been hit by the bus. The caption under the photograph said that the picture had been taken just moments before. It said that he and an unidentified woman had been at Annabel's, their car was hit only blocks away, and their driver had been killed. But it didn't mention Isabelle's name, or whether or not she'd been injured in the crash. But Cynthia knew as she looked at her face that it had to be her. She looked attractive and young, with long dark hair, and she'd obviously been startled by the photographer as she stared at him with wide eyes. And in the photograph, Bill was smiling with an arm around her shoulders. It made Cynthia catch her breath as she saw them together that way. They looked happy and relaxed, and Bill looked as though he were about to laugh. It brought the potential seriousness of the situation home to her again. She wondered if Gordon Forrester had seen it too. Whatever it was that his wife and her husband had shared, it was unlikely, as far as she was concerned, that it was inconsequential to either of them. Particularly now.

The girls exchanged a glance as they saw her reading the article. They didn't say anything, but they had seen it too. But they couldn't even be angry at their father now, for whatever he had done with her. What had happened
was so much more serious that they could forgive him almost anything. And Cynthia felt the same way. What worried her was not what he had done, but the possibility that he really cared about Isabelle. The look in his eyes when he asked about her had told Cynthia that this was no casual affair. She found it hard to believe that they were just good friends. She and Gordon would have been even more stunned to know that they had been confidants for more than four years.

One of the nurses came back to get them then, and Cynthia followed her daughters into Bill's room. She noticed just before the door closed that Gordon Forrester was leaving Isabelle's room. She didn't dare, but she would have liked to ask him if he'd seen the
Herald Tribune.
But he looked as if he had bigger things on his mind.

Isabelle was showing no sign of recovering, and although the doctor said she could remain in a coma for a long time, Gordon was increasingly worried that she would be brain-damaged if she survived. In addition, they had just told him that her heart was beating irregularly, and she was developing fluid in her lungs. There was a growing risk of pneumonia, and Gordon knew that if that happened, Isabelle would die. The situation seemed to be worsening. He had been there for an hour, talking to the doctors about further surgery, and he was on his way back to the hotel when Cynthia saw him leave Isabelle's room.

It was only after Cynthia and the girls left late that afternoon that Bill asked about Isabelle again. His speech had come back to him through the day. The
girls hadn't stopped talking to him, and he had been forced to respond. This time Bill asked his nurse how Isabelle was, and she was cautious about what she said.

“She's about the same, she's still comatose, and her damage is more internal than yours.” He had broken more bones, but all of her internal organs had been compromised. It would have been impossible to decide which was worse. But he had survived, and would now for sure, while Isabelle's life still hung in the balance, her survival unsure. All he could think of was that he didn't want her to die, and would have given his life for hers.

“Can I see her?” he asked quietly. It was all he could think of all day, when he wasn't being distracted by Cynthia and the girls.

“I don't think that's possible,” the nurse said. She was sure his surgeon would object. He had to lie as still as possible. There was no way to get him out of bed with his back and neck injuries, and Isabelle wouldn't be aware of his visit anyway.

But Bill asked his doctor the same question that night. “Just for a minute. I just want to see her, and see how she is.”

“Not very well, I'm afraid,” the doctor said honestly. “Her entire system has been traumatized. I was explaining that to her husband today. He wants her moved to France. I told him that's impossible. In the delicate state she's in, it would kill her to move her now.” Bill felt the doctor's words like a knife through his chest. He didn't want Isabelle taken anywhere, at least not until he saw her again. And certainly not if it
put her at greater risk. Forrester was crazy to even think of moving her so soon. The doctor had said as much to him. It wasn't hard to figure that out. “I don't think it's wise for you to see her, Bill,” the doctor said sympathetically. They were on a first-name basis, and he was struck by how pleasant and personable Bill was now that he could talk. He thought him a very nice man. Unlike Gordon Forrester, who had been terse and arrogant, and offended everyone on the floor. He had started out the day by demanding to have her moved. No one would hear of it, and he had backed down when the head of the intensive care ward told him in no uncertain terms that he was out of his mind for suggesting it. And then he explained very bluntly to him that it would kill his wife, so Gordon agreed to leave her there. But the entire staff was sure he would try it again. He was obviously far too stubborn to give up.

“Can't you roll my bed into her room when no one else is there?” Bill asked plaintively, in full possession of his verbal capacities again, and obviously upset. “I want to see her for myself.” The doctor was thoughtful for a long time, and Bill was agitated. The doctor knew nothing of their relationship, and he didn't want to ask, but clearly it meant a great deal to Bill to see Isabelle, and it couldn't do either of them any harm. He just didn't want Gordon Forrester to be angry if he found out.

“They could take me in tonight, couldn't they? I don't have to be there long.”

“Why don't we wait and see how you feel tomorrow? And how she is, as well. Neither of you is going anywhere.” It was driving Bill crazy knowing she was
right across the hall. If he could have, he would have wheeled himself in, but he was entirely at their mercy to do that for him. He was trapped in his bed in a neck brace and a full body brace, and he was unable to move. He couldn't even lift his head, and his arms were extremely weak. He had no sensation or mobility from the waist down. And no one had any idea for the moment if it would return. He was as helpless as a baby lying in his bed, but he had a calm but forceful way of convincing the doctor that it was a good idea. “I can see I'm not going to be able to talk you out of it,” the doctor said finally with a smile. It was after midnight by then, and there were no visitors left in the halls. He disappeared then to find Bill's nurse and send her in with some medication, and when she came back into Bill's room, she was followed by two men. Bill looked anxious for a moment, worried about what they were going to do to him, but without saying a word they took their places at the head and foot of his bed and the nurse stood aside as they began rolling his bed slowly toward the door.