“I’m the lucky one,” Gwen said as they drove along in her car in the moonlight. “You’re intelligent, fun to be with, incredibly handsome, and one of the nicest people I’ve ever met,” she said as she glanced over at him, and he smiled sheepishly.
“Just how much have you been drinking?” he teased.
She laughed at him, and touched his arm, as they bounced along the rutted driveway, and a moment later, he stopped the car, took her in his arms, and kissed her properly, and then they walked inside the house, hand in hand, trying not to make any sound so as not to wake the others, who were all sleeping. He left her in front of her room, with a lingering kiss, and when he went to his own room, he stopped and stared at the photograph of Anne he had put on his bed table. He wondered what she would think of this, if she would think him an old fool, or wish him well. He wasn’t quite sure. He wasn’t even sure how he felt about it. But when he didn’t ponder it too much, he had to admit, he was happier with Gwen than he could ever have believed possible. But he constantly had to remind himself that it wouldn’t go anywhere, and it was just a fun phase of his life that the others would tease him about in years to come, and he would long remember.
And when he went to bed that night, he lay wondering what Gwen was thinking and doing in her room. He was aching to knock on her door and kiss her again, but he didn’t dare, and he was still afraid to allow himself to do more than kiss her. He knew that if he did more than that, he would feel Anne watching him. And the last thing he wanted to do was betray either of them.
He fell asleep and dreamed of both of them, in a tangled dream where he saw Anne and Gwen walking through a garden with their arms around each other, and his friends were all pointing accusing fingers at him, and shouting something unintelligible at him. It was a troubling dream, and he awoke several times. And when he went back to sleep, he dreamed of Mandy She was holding her mother’s photograph and looking sorrowfully at him.
“I really miss her,” she said softly.
“So do I,” he said, crying in the dream. And when he awoke this time, his face was wet with tears. He lay in bed for a long time after that, thinking of Anne, and then of Gwen.
And he was startled when he heard a knock on the door. He pulled on a pair of khaki pants, and was surprised to see Gwen. It was still early, and he hadn’t heard the others get up.
“Good morning,” Gwen said softly. “Did you sleep all right? I don’t know why, but I was worried about you.” They were standing in the hall whispering, and she looked beautiful in a white nightgown and robe and bare feet.
“I had weird dreams about you and Anne walking in a garden.” She looked startled when he said it.
“That’s weird, so did I. I was awake for a long time last night, thinking about you,” she said softly, as she looked up at him. He looked handsome and rugged with uncombed hair.
“I thought about you too. Maybe we should have visited each other,” he said softly, so no one would hear him. He loved feeling Gwen near him, as she stood next to him and smiled at him. “I’ll take a shower and meet you at breakfast in ten minutes.”
And when he appeared, he looked immaculate and perfectly shaved, in shorts and a T-shirt. She was wearing little white shorts and a halter top, which paled in comparison to Agathe’s latest creation when she appeared. She was wearing a pink tulle bra with little rosebuds on it, and pink hot pants, and Eric commented when he came in that she looked like one of her French poodles. They were beginning to enjoy waiting to see what she would wear every day, and how outlandish it would be. She never disappointed them, and she didn’t that morning as they chatted before the others got up. It was nice having time by themselves. The others grinned as they walked into the kitchen for breakfast too. Agathe was more entertaining than television.
There was a call for Eric, just as Diana walked into the room, it was from the States, and an operator told Pascale that it was person to person. He frowned, and then went into the next room to answer it, which didn’t go unnoticed by his wife. But he looked relaxed and unconcerned when he came back to the kitchen ten minutes later. Diana was watching him closely.
“One of my partners,” he explained to the room at large, and Diana concentrated on her croissants and took a long sip of her coffee as though it were whiskey. In the thirty-two years of their marriage, none of his partners had ever called him on vacation. She knew exactly who it was, and right after breakfast, she accused him of it.
“It was Barbara, wasn’t it?” The woman he had had the affair with. He hesitated for a long moment, and then nodded. He didn’t want to lie to her. “Why did she call you?”
“Why do you think?” he said, looking upset, as they stood in the living room. They didn’t want the others to hear them. “This isn’t easy for her either.”
“And if I leave you, will you marry her?” It was what she was really worried about now. She wondered if they had only taken a time-out to see if his marriage would fall apart, or if they had truly ended it, as Eric had told her before they left New York.
“Of course not. Diana, I’m thirty years older than she is. And that isn’t even the point. I love you. I made a mistake, I did something incredibly stupid. I was wrong. I’ve admitted it. Now let it die, for chrissake. Let’s leave it behind us, and go on.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” she said, looking at him with ravaged eyes. She couldn’t get over it. She had been betrayed and rejected. And now she felt a thousand years old, and she no longer trusted him. It didn’t help that she was old enough to be the woman’s mother. For the first time in her life, she felt old and unattractive to him. He had tried to make love to her several times since they’d been there, but Diana had refused to. She just couldn’t. She didn’t know if she ever would again.
“I don’t know what to say to you anymore. I guess it’ll just take time for you to trust me again.” And in the meantime, he knew he had to be patient, and pay for his sins, but it wasn’t easy for either of them. And Barbara was begging him to come back to her. She had conned the number out of his secretary, who felt sorry for her. He had just reminded her that it was impossible, and asked her not to call him again. She was crying when they hung up, and he felt like a monster. But he could hardly complain to his wife about it. They both hated him. It was a miserable situation for him, but he also recognized that it was his own fault.
And just as Eric and Diana stopped talking, Gwen walked in, looking happy and relaxed, and then instantly awkward as she saw the look of distress on their faces. It was easy to see that something terrible was happening to them, and she didn’t want to intrude. Diana looked no closer to reconciliation with him than she had when they arrived in St. Tropez, although they had shared a few pleasant moments. But the truth haunted her, no matter how pretty St. Tropez was, how good the dinners, or how lovely the moonlight, he had betrayed her, and nothing would allow her to forget it. It was why she had told Pascale the night she arrived that she thought she had to divorce him. Because she could no longer imagine getting over it or forgiving him, and all it took was one phone call to remind her of the agony he’d put her through.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” Gwen said, hastening through the room, and Robert followed a moment later. He stopped to ask Eric a question.
“Do you want to come sailing with us?” Robert asked easily, oblivious to the look of torment on their faces. He thought it was the usual minor marital dispute about who was going swimming and who was going shopping. The Donnallys hadn’t told him about the problem the Morrisons were having, and he was entirely unaware of it.
“Sure,” Eric said quickly, relieved to get out of the discussion he’d been having with Diana. “I’ll put my suit on.”
“Diana, do you want to come too?” Robert extended the invitation to her, but she declined just as quickly as Eric had agreed.
“Pascale and I are going to the market,” she said, and walked away. And when he asked John, when he found him, coming out of his
bedroom, with the dismembered toilet handle in his hand again, John said he was going to stick around the house and make some phone calls to his office.
And much to Robert’s surprise and disappointment, Gwen decided to stay home too. She said she had a headache, but after the look she’d seen on Eric’s face, she thought the two men might need some time together on their own. There were some letters she wanted to write anyway, and Robert kissed her before he left with Eric to take out the sailboat.
The house was very quiet, as she sat in the living room, writing notes and postcards, and she could hear John talking on the phone, and smell cigar smoke wafting toward her from the kitchen. She didn’t mind it, and she loved the sounds of the birds in the garden. It was a peaceful place, despite its flaws and obvious decay, and she was happy she had come.
John had stopped talking for quite a while, when she went out to the kitchen to make herself another cup of coffee, and what she saw was his lifeless form slumped over the table. He still had the phone in his hand, and the line had gone dead eventually, as he lay facedown on his papers. It took her less than a fraction of a second to absorb what she was seeing, and she ran to him, shook him, and called his name, and then laid him on the floor as gently as she could to check his breathing. He was barely breathing and his pulse was faint, and she knew that there was no one in the house to help her.
She had no idea where the French couple had gone, and all the others were out, either sailing or at the market. She was alone.
“John! John!” she called out to him again, and as she gently shook him, she saw his breathing stop and his face turn gray. She had no idea what had happened to him, and then as though looking for a clue, she glanced up at the table. There was a plate of neatly cut little sausages, and she suddenly wondered if he had choked, or had a heart attack. But the only thing she could think of to do was the Heimlich maneuver. She had learned it years before, along with CPR, and wasn’t even sure she remembered the fine points of it. But it was no easy thing to do with him lying flat on his back on the floor, and unconscious. John was a powerfully built man and heavy for her. But she had dragged him out of his chair and onto the floor, which took all her strength.
She swept his mouth with her fingers, but found nothing there, and then gave him three short breaths, but it was obvious his airway was blocked. It was like breathing into a wall. She straddled his body then, and using both hands interlocked, she pressed his abdomen, and prayed.
His lips had begun turning blue, and there was no 911 to call, as she continued doing it, and praying that he wouldn’t die before she could help him. Her own desperation only made her do it sharply again and again and suddenly there was a pop, he gave a hideous choking sound, and a piece of sausage like a champagne cork flew out of his mouth, and landed on the kitchen floor, six feet from where she was kneeling over him. She turned him on his side, and he instantly threw up, and lay gasping on the floor, but at least he was breathing. The piece of sausage lodged in his throat had very nearly killed him. And it was several minutes before he rolled himself onto his back, and lay looking up at her.
“I choked,” he said weakly.
“I know. How do you feel now?” She was looking very worried.
“Kind of dizzy,” he said softly. “I was smoking a cigar and talking, and I ate one of those pieces of sausage. It got stuck and I couldn’t make a sound,” he said, remembering how desperate he had felt, and he still looked frightened. He was shaking and pale.
“Why don’t I take you to the hospital?” she offered, as she cleaned up the remains of his breakfast, and then wiped his face with a cool, damp cloth, as he looked gratefully at her.
“Thanks, Gwen. You saved my life.” It was true, and they both knew it. He would have died within minutes, or suffered permanent brain damage if it had taken her any longer to dislodge it. “I’m okay now. I just need to catch my breath a little.”
“Are you sure? Maybe Eric can take a look at you when he gets back from the boat.” She picked up the piece of sausage then, it was about the size of a wine cork, and she saved it in a dish towel to show to Eric, or the hospital, if he let her take him, which he wouldn’t.
She helped him back into the chair, and she offered him a glass of water, but he only sipped it. And she saw with relief that the color in his face had returned. As frightening as it had been, the emergency was over. “Thank God you were here,” he said gratefully. “Why didn’t you go with the others?” He looked almost normal by then, though somewhat shaken by the experience. It had been terrifying strangling and then losing consciousness. He had been sure, as she had been when she found him, that he was dying.
“I thought maybe Eric wanted to talk to Robert, and the ladies didn’t look too excited to have me join them.”
“They’ll get over it,” he said, patting her hand. “Anne was their best friend. It’s hard watching him with someone else, but he’s lucky to have you,” he said fairly. “We all are. Give us a chance, Gwen, we’ll get there.” He had been nice to her right from the beginning, and Eric had come around, but the women had been a lot slower to tolerate her. The day on Talitha G had helped, but they were still making up their minds about her, unlike Robert, who already knew what a decent person she was and how much he liked her.
She and John were still sitting in the kitchen talking when Robert and Eric walked in two hours later. John had showered and changed his shirt and come back to sit with Gwen. They had talked about life and friends and loss, and Robert. John thought the world of him, and wanted only the best for him, as they all did.
“Well, you missed it,” John said jovially as they walked in, but Gwen had noticed that he hadn’t lit a cigar since it had happened, he was still feeling somewhat shaken, and she was relieved to see Eric. “I tried to commit suicide on a piece of pork. That’s how they do it over here. But like everything else in this country, it didn’t work. As a matter of fact, Gwen saved my life.”
“What’s all that?” Robert laughed as he heard it. He had no idea what John was talking about. And Eric looked instantly serious. He had been telling Robert about what was happening to him and Diana, it was why Gwen hadn’t gone sailing with them, so they could do just that, and it was obviously destiny that she hadn’t gone with them. If she had, they would have found John dead in the kitchen when they returned.
“I’m serious,” John said, looking gratefully at Gwen, and then explained it to them. Both men looked impressed by what had almost happened.
“I saved the sausage to show you,” Gwen said quietly, and handed the dish towel to Eric so he could see it. He was horrified when he looked at it, and then back at John.
“That’s just about the right size to plug up your windpipe and kill you.” And then he glanced at Gwen and thanked her for her wits and persistence. “How about smaller bites next time?” he said to John, and then went to get the stethoscope he’d brought, so he could check him. But when he did, John’s blood pressure and heart seemed fine, and to prove it, he lit a cigar, just as Pascale and Diana returned from the market. He was still wearing the blood pressure cuff when he lit it, and Pascale looked confused at the scene in the kitchen, as she glanced from Eric to John.
“What kind of games have you all been playing?” she scolded.
“Gwen offered to take off the top of her bathing suit, and Eric was checking to see how it affected me,” John said with a broad grin as Gwen objected and his wife shook her head in disapproval.
“Very cute,” she said, setting down their baskets. “Is something wrong?” she asked, noticing the serious faces of the others.
“He choked on a piece of sausage,” Eric said simply, “and it damn near killed him. Gwen did the Heimlich on him, and she saved him. That’s it in a nutshell.” And to impress Pascale with the seriousness of it, and Gwen’s act of heroism, “He was unconscious when she found him.”
“Mon Dieu, but how did that happen?” She looked terrified as she looked at John, glanced gratefully at Gwen, and put h
er arms around him. “Are you all right? What were you doing?”
“Talking, smoking, and eating. Gwen’s a good kid. I’d have been up the creek, permanently, without her.” Pascale could see in his eyes, despite the bluster, that he’d really been frightened, and she went over to hug Gwen then.
“Thank you … I don’t know what to say … thank you.” Pascale was choked with emotion as Gwen hugged her back. She was just glad to have been there. They had been lucky.
“When’s lunch?” John said with a broad grin, as Pascale rolled her eyes and groaned.
“I bought boudin noir at the market, but no more sausages for you. I’m going to give you baby food until you learn how to eat properly.” He didn’t disagree with her, and he put an arm around his wife and kissed her. It was as though he had been given the gift of life, unexpectedly, and perhaps undeservedly, but he was grateful for it.
The group was lively at lunch that day, and everyone was in good spirits, even Eric and Diana. It was as though they had all been saved, by the hand of fate, from another disaster. And John seemed particularly happy. He and Pascale went up to their room afterward, for a nap, and Eric asked Diana to go for a walk with him, which left Robert and Gwen to their own devices. They walked outside, and lay on the little dock, soaking up the sunshine. She told him everything that happened with John, and he shook his head, listening, remembering the night he had found Anne, and reliving the nightmare without saying so to her.
“John is damn lucky you found him.”
“I’m glad I did,” she said softly, still a little awestruck by all that had happened, and then Robert looked at her with surprising tenderness.
Sunset in St. Tropez Page 15
