The Kiss (41 page)

He went to the funeral home with Isabelle and Sophie the next day. Isabelle had asked that the casket be closed. She couldn't bear to see him that way, although he had been as beautiful in death as he had been in life. Gordon had said he didn't want to see him, which Isabelle understood. He had never been able to tolerate Teddy's frailty or illness, and although he was his father, he barely knew him. He had resisted knowing him all his life, and it was too late now.

The three of them had dinner in the dining room that night. Isabelle said nothing as Sophie and Gordon talked. No one spoke of Teddy, it was just too painful. Isabelle went to her room afterward and lay down on the bed, and all she could think of was the child she had borne whose life had always been so fragile. He was like a butterfly who had finally escaped them, and flown away. She was grateful to have loved him and known him at all.

The funeral the next day was in the chapel of their church, and the eulogy was written by a priest who never knew him, and mispronounced his name. But it was the ride to the cemetery that nearly destroyed Isabelle, she couldn't bear to leave him there and she wanted to throw herself on his casket. She touched it a hundred times before she left, and took one of the delicate white roses with her to press in a book. She felt as though she were moving underwater or recovering from another coma. She had no idea how ill she looked by the time they got home. She could hardly breathe or move. Every instant was intolerably painful.

It was late that afternoon when Gordon came into her bedroom, and frowned as he looked down at her. She was lying on her bed and her face was the color of white marble. “I don't know what's wrong with you,” he said, looking more annoyed than concerned. He was beginning to hate being around her. She always looked so ill and had for a while. “You look like we should have buried you today instead of Teddy. What's wrong with you, Isabelle?”

“I just lost my son.” Her eyes were broken as she looked at him, unable to believe what she was hearing.

“So did I. But you've looked like this for two months.”

“Have I? I'm sorry.” She turned her face away from him. She didn't want to see him, and wished he would leave.

“It's very hard on Sophie to see you looking like that.”

“It's very hard on me to lose my son,” she said without expression in her voice.

“We've expected this for years,” he reminded her, “although I know it's a shock, particularly after the blow to your system you had last year.” He was beginning to think now that she had never regained her health. But she was struck, as she watched him, by how totally cold and unemotional he was. No one would have believed that he had also just lost his son. He seemed more a visitor to the house than a member of the family, and certainly not the child's father. He looked at Isabelle almost with curiosity and asked her a strange question. “What are you going to do now?”

“About what?” His room? Her life? His clothes? She couldn't bear to think of it.

“Taking care of Teddy is all you've done for the past fifteen years. You can't just bury yourself with him now.”

Why not? But she didn't say the words. With any luck at all, she thought, she was truly going to die. After losing Teddy, and Bill, she had very little to live for, except Sophie. But Gordon stunned her with what he said next. “I think you should go to stay with Sophie in Grenoble when she goes back to school in two weeks. I really think it's an excellent idea. You need to get out of this house finally, and it will do you good to be with her.” What Isabelle understood instantly was that he was banishing her to the provinces so he could stay with Louise. It was a very clever plan, and so easily explained because of Teddy's death. He was brilliant.

“Are you serious?” She almost laughed at the look on his face. He seemed so solicitous, but so desperate
for her to leave. He must have been terrified that, without Teddy to keep her busy, she would try to reclaim her place as his wife. “What on earth do you expect me to do there? I'm sure Sophie would be horrified, justifiably, to have me underfoot.” It was the last thing Isabelle wanted to do now.

“Well, you can't just lie around here,” he said, looking annoyed again.

“Is that what you think I do?” There was an edge to their conversation. Isabelle had had enough of the pretense and the sham they had already played out for too many years, and she wasn't going to be fobbed off now on the pretext that he thought she should be with Sophie. She was devastated by losing Teddy, but she was not going to become a nuisance to her daughter while she grieved him. She had more sense and more dignity than that. And she was too smart not to see through what he had in mind for her.

“I have no idea what you do,” he said unpleasantly, “other than take care of that child.”

“‘ That child’ was your son, and he's dead now. Have a little respect. For him. And for me.” It was the first time she had dared to speak to him like that. And he was not pleased.

“Isabelle, don't tell me how to behave. If you'll recall, I tolerated a great deal of bad behavior from you last year, around the time of your accident. And I'm not going to put up with any more nonsense from you.”

“Really?” Isabelle asked, with dangerously glittering eyes. He was coming across the line of what she could tolerate, and at an astonishing speed. “And what kind of bad behavior was that?”

“You know exactly what I mean. I put up with your affair with Bill Robinson. You were very lucky I didn't divorce you.” The weapons had just been unveiled. But for once, having lost so much, Isabelle was no longer frightened of him. With Teddy's death, Gordon had lost his hold on her. Perhaps forever, and surely for now.

“And you're very lucky that I've put up with the way you've treated me for the past twenty years, and the appalling way you treated your son for the last fifteen.” They were locked in deadly combat, Isabelle hadn't anticipated having this conversation with him so soon after Teddy's death, but she was ready for him. And she remembered what Bill had said when he left, about saving the ammunition until Gordon attacked her again, and he finally had. On the day of Teddy's funeral. It was an appalling cruelty and disrespect, but not surprising from him.

Gordon stood looking at her as though he wanted to slap her, but didn't dare. “I won't tolerate this from you. You'll find yourself in the street with your hat in your hand, Isabelle, if you're not careful.”

“You don't frighten me anymore, Gordon.” She had nothing left to lose. She didn't need to protect Teddy anymore, and she no longer cared if Gordon threw her out. It would be a blessing for her in the end if he did. “You don't frighten me at all.” He could see that she meant it.

“And where will you go if I throw you out?” He spat the words at her, and Isabelle looked remarkably calm, as her eyes met his and held firm.

“Perhaps you and the Comtesse de Ligne would be
kind enough to let me stay in your apartment on the rue du Bac? I assume, if you ‘threw me out,’ she would be staying with you here?” She said it in a quiet, ladylike voice, and Gordon let out an irate roar. He sounded like a wounded lion, and he came so close to her, she could see his every pore. He was so angry, he was shaking.

“You don't know what you're talking about!” he shouted at her, stunned by what she had just said. It was a blow he hadn't expected, and for a moment, it knocked him off balance.

“Maybe not, but apparently half of Paris knows, and has for the last ten years. She called here by mistake, on New Year's Eve. I think she was drunk, but it opened my eyes to what I should have seen years ago. So don't speak to me about Bill Robinson, Gordon. He's beside the point.”

“Is he still in your life?” He had no right to know, but she told him anyway. He was staggered that she knew about Louise, and had never said a word to him.

“No, he's not. But I gather the countess is very much in yours. I assume she was in Italy with you.” He didn't admit it to Isabelle, but her assumption was accurate, and a number of people knew it. “I've been told she can't or won't marry you until her husband dies. That must be difficult for you. And what were you planning to do with me then, Gordon? How were you planning to get rid of me, other than shipping me off to Grenoble to stay with Sophie?”

“You're insane! You're deranged by the loss of your son. I won't listen to this nonsense.” Gordon looked
like he was about to walk out. He did not want to hear another word from her.

“No,” she said calmly. “I'm heartbroken, but not insane. I must have been though not to see what you were doing for all these years. You weren't even sleeping here, and I was too stupid to know it, because you were so busy terrorizing me. Well, those days are over.”

“Get out of my house!” he barked at her. He was shaking with fury.

“I will, but not until I'm ready to. And in the meantime, I suggest you stay with her.” He stormed out of her bedroom then, and a moment later she heard him slam the front door. It had been an incredible scene, and she suddenly realized he had walked out on her, and she didn't even care. It was as though losing Teddy had finally freed her. She had lost so much when she lost Teddy and Bill, she had absolutely nothing to lose anymore, except Sophie. And in leaving, Gordon had released her from the misery and lies they had shared for far too many years.

“What did he say to you, Mom?” Sophie asked quietly. Isabelle hadn't seen her slip into her room. She had come in after her father left, and she looked frightened. She had never heard them fight like that in her entire life.

“It's not important,” Isabelle said, sitting down on her bed again. She felt shaken, but relieved.

“It is important,” Sophie said. “Mom, he's horrible to you. He's my father, and I love him, but I don't want him to be mean to you anymore.” Particularly today, after Teddy's funeral, it was outrageous.

As she looked at her daughter, Isabelle suddenly realized all that had just happened. “He just told me to move out.” She was oddly quiet and composed as she said it. And Sophie needed to know what had happened.

“Do you have to do that?” Sophie's eyes were enormous in her face, and Isabelle thought about it. Sophie looked terrified, but Isabelle did not. She was strangely calm.

“I suppose I do. It's his house.” Their marriage had ended on the day of Teddy's funeral, which was right somehow. It was over at last.

“Where will you go?” There were tears in Sophie's eyes.

“I suppose I'll get an apartment. I should have done it a long time ago, but I couldn't have taken care of Teddy without his help.” Sophie nodded, as Isabelle understood that everything was ending around her. She had lost so much. Teddy, Bill, her home, her marriage. Everything she had known or loved or cherished or counted on or believed in had come to an end. There was nothing left for her to do but begin again. And as she looked at her daughter, Sophie came and put her arms around her, and the two women hugged without saying a word.

It was Teddy who had freed her from Gordon finally. Teddy who had taken her by the hand and led her away. Bill hadn't been able to do it, and he had left first. And she would never have had the courage to do it herself. But Teddy, in freeing himself of the earthly body that had been such torture to him, had finally
freed his mother from the life that had tormented her. It was almost as though she could feel him next to her, happy about what he had done. After all she had done for him for fifteen years, it was his final gift to her. She was free at last.

Chapter 17

Gordon didn't return to the
house on the rue de Grenelle for several days. Isabelle knew she could have found him if she wanted, but she didn't try. She had no reason to. They had nothing left to say, and she was sure he was with the Comtesse de Ligne.

Isabelle wandered around the house aimlessly for a while, absorbing all that had happened. She sat in Teddy's room for hours, and cried, and then suddenly smiled through her tears as she remembered things he had done or said. She seemed lost in another world. And by herself, late one night, she began to pack up his things. He had so little, as though he had only been passing through this world. He had books, puzzles, toys from his childhood, endless nightclothes, some religious articles the nurses had given him over the years. Isabelle sniffed his clothes and his pillow before she put them away. But in effect, he had very little. The only things that had really mattered to him were photographs he had of his mother and Sophie. And there was a very handsome one of Isabelle and Gordon on their wedding day. It was the only photograph of his father he'd ever had, or wanted.

She packed it all up, and stayed up until morning to do it, and by the time Sophie got up in the morning, it was done. There were neatly packed boxes stacked in his room. And when she was finished, Isabelle went back to her own bedroom and went to sleep.

She heard from Gordon finally late that afternoon. He wanted to know what her plans were.

“I haven't figured that out yet. I've been packing Teddy's things.”

“That's a morbid pursuit, why don't you have the nurses do it?” She had done it herself out of respect for the child she had loved so much. But Gordon couldn't understand that. He loved no one except himself, and never had. Isabelle couldn't imagine what his relationship was with Louise. She was sure it was based on her social importance, and her title. They were the same things that had once drawn him to Isabelle. But he couldn't tolerate the person, or the reality. He had no use for them. “You behaved abominably the other night,” he accused her, trying to intimidate her with his tone. She had heard it so often, it no longer impressed her. And what he had been so horrified by was that she dared to bring up his affair with Louise. It seemed amazing to him that she had finally discovered it after all these years. And when he'd asked Louise if she'd actually called his house on New Year's Eve when she missed her flight to Saint-Moritz, all of which he considered most unlikely, she had admitted that she probably had. It was an innocent mistake. But it had unraveled and exposed ten years of his carefully constructed lies. He hadn't dared complain to her about it.