The Ghost

by Danielle Steel

  I'm sorry, Charlie, she said softly. I can't help it. This is what I want. He was quiet again, thinking about her, remembering how much he had loved her, wishing she had given him a chance. But she hadn't. And it was Simon's turn now. She had thrown away everything she'd ever had with Charlie. He still couldn't believe it.

  I'm sorry, baby, he said, and the gentleness of his words tore her heart out. They were far more effective than his anger, but she didn't say that to him. I guess the only thing left for me is to say good luck.

  Thanks. She sat at her desk, silently crying. She wanted to tell him she still loved him, but she knew that wouldn't be fair. But in a way, she knew she always would. It was all so confusing, and so painful, but at least, by calling him, she felt she'd done the right thing. I'd better go now. It was after nine-thirty, and she had to meet Simon in half an hour at the club.

  Take care, Charlie said hoarsely, and a moment later they both hung up. He was sitting up in bed and lay his head back against the headboard arid closed his eyes. He couldn't believe what she'd said. And for a crazy minute he'd thought she was calling to tell him it was over with Simon. How stupid could he have been? But now he couldn't believe the pain she had inflicted on him.

  He got up and wiped his eyes and stared out the window. It was a sunny afternoon, and suddenly even Sarah's journals didn't seem as important. All he wanted was to get out of the house and scream. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he got out of bed and pulled his clothes on. He brushed his hair, and put on a heavy sweater with his jeans. He put on warm socks and boots, and a jacket, locked the house and got into his car. He didn't even know where he was going, he just knew that for a while at least, he had to get out. Maybe she was right, maybe there was something wrong with him just taking time off for a while. But things had been such a mess in New York, he hadn't felt he had any options.

  He drove aimlessly toward town and saw in the rearview mirror that he looked ragged. He hadn't shaved since the day before and his eyes suddenly looked sunken in his head. It was as though she had hit him with a brick. But he knew he had to get over it at some point. He couldn't go on crying over her for the rest of his life, or could he? And if this was the way he felt now, what would it be like in June when they got married?

  He drove by the historical society as he asked himself a thousand questions, and then without knowing why he did it, he stopped. Francesca was the wrong person to talk to. In her own way, she was even more wounded than he was. But he had to talk to someone. He couldn't just sit there reading the journals anymore, and somehow he didn't think that, in this instance, talking to Gladys Palmer would help him. He thought of just going to a bar and having a drink. He needed to hear noise and see people, he needed to do something to blunt the pain of what he'd just heard from Carole.

  He was still sitting in the car, wondering if he should go in, when he saw her. She had just locked the door, and was halfway down the steps, and then as though she sensed someone watching her, Francesca turned and saw him. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was coincidence or intentional, and then she turned and began to walk away. And without thinking about why he did it, he got out of the car and ran after her, and all he could think of as he did was Sarah and Francois. At some point Fran+oois had had to have the courage to be there. He had come back, even after he'd frightened her, in order to give her the green beads and the bear claws. Charlie hadn't even frightened Francesca, he reminded himself. But all she'd ever done since he'd met her was run away from him. She was perennially frightened, of life, of men, of people.

  Wait! he shouted as he came up two steps behind her, and she turned then, with a worried look in her eyes. What did he want from her? Why was he running after her? She had nothing to give him, she knew only too well. She had nothing to give anyone anymore, and certainly not Charlie. I'm sorry, he said, looking suddenly embarrassed, and she noticed instantly that he looked awful.

  You can bring the books back tomorrow, she said, as though he would have come tearing down the block for two books he'd forgotten to return. Not likely.

  Screw the books, he said bluntly. I need to talk to you ' I need to talk to someone ' He flung his arms around in despair, as though he were thrashing, and she could see suddenly that he was close to crying.

  Is something wrong? Did something happen? In spite of herself, she felt sorry for him. It was easy to see that he was in a lot of pain. He sat down on the steps leading to a darkened house, and she looked down at him the way she would have at her little girl. What is it? she asked gently this time, sitting on the step next to him. Tell me what happened. She sat very close to him, and he stared into space, wishing he had the courage to take her hand while he told her.

  I shouldn't bother you with this ' I just had to talk to someone. I just got a call from my ex-wife ' I know ' I'm crazy ' she's been seeing this guy for over a year, seventeen months actually. She had an affair with him, he's the senior partner of her law firm, and he's sixty-one and been married three times ' so she left me for him, ten months ago to be exact. Last fall we filed for divorce, and it's a long story but I got transferred to New York, and it didn't work out so I took a leave of absence ' and now she calls me ' she called and I thought she was going to tell me that she came to her senses. He laughed an empty little laugh and Francesca watched him. She could already guess what was coming.

  Instead, she called to tell you she's getting married, she said sadly, and he looked startled.

  She called you too? He grinned at her sadly, and they both laughed.

  She didn't have to. I got that call too, quite a while ago, she said with a look of sorrow.

  From your husband?

  She nodded. His was a little more exotic. He had an affair publicized on national French TV at the Olympics. He's a sportscaster, and he got involved with a young girl, the French ski champion. They became everybody's darlings. No matter that he was married, and had a child. That was completely unimportant. Everyone fell in love with Pierre and Marie-Lise, she's the cutest little thing you've ever seen. She was eighteen, he was thirty-three. They posed for pictures, were on the cover of Paris-Match. They even gave interviews together, and he told me it wasn't important. It was good publicity for the ski team. Anything for God and country. I got a little upset about it though, when she got pregnant. They made a big fuss about that on TV too. People kept sending baby clothes they made for her, only they kept sending them to me. He kept telling me he loved me, and of course he's crazy about Monique ' and he's a good father ' so I stayed '

  And cried all the time, he filled in for her.

  Who told you? She looked surprised for a minute, and he smiled gently at her.

  Monique. But she didn't say anything else. He didn't want to get the little girl in trouble, and Francesca smiled wisely and shrugged.

  Anyway, I stayed, and she got bigger and bigger. More interviews, more cover stories, more coverage on TV, national sportscaster and gold medal Olympic ski teenager. It was perfect. More Headlines. News Flash: she's having twins. More little booties arrive at the house. Monique thought I was having a baby, try explaining that to a five-year-old kid. Anyway, Pierre kept telling me I was being neurotic and old-fashioned. According to him, I'm a constipated American and it was all very French and I refused to understand it. Trouble was, it was d+!j+ vu for me, my father is Italian, and did almost the same thing to my mother when I was six. It wasn't much fun then either, but to tell the truth, this was worse. She made it sound almost funny, but it didn't take much to figure out that it had been a nightmare. Having your husband cheat on you in front of TV cameras had to be even worse than what Carole had done to him. Even Charlie thought so. Anyway, the babies were finally born. And of course they were adorable, naturally, a boy and a girl. Jean-Pierre and Marie-Louise, two little darling replicas of them. I took it for about two weeks after diat, and then I got the hell out of Dodge. I packed up Monique, and told him to let me know if he had any more children, but in the meantime, he could
find me in New York, at my mother's.Once I got there, I thought about it for a while, and my mother drove me crazy, screaming about him. It was like her own divorce revisited for her. After a while, I didn't want to hear it. I filed for divorce. The French press said I was a very poor sport. I guess they were right. The divorce was final a year ago, just before last Christmas. I got the same call you did just last Christmas Eve. They wanted to share the good news with me. They had just gotten married in Courchevel on the slopes, with the babies on their backs, and they just knew I'd want to share their joy with them. Monique tells me she's pregnant again, she wants to have another one before she starts training for the next Olympics. It's all too cute. But what I keep wondering is why he bothered with me? He could have just waited around for her, and skipped over the whole episode that included me. It never really played all that well for TV anyway. As the French press said, I was very American, and pretty boring.

  She still sounded angry and bitter, and listening to what she'd said, it didn't sound like a mystery to him. She was obviously deeply hurt by the loss and the humiliation, and her father having done the same tiling when she was a kid couldn't have helped much. He wondered what that meant now for Monique. Was she now a third-generation loser, guaranteed to fail at marriage? It was hard to know how these things affected people. His parents had been happily married, so had Carole's. It had still happened to them. Did that mean everyone failed at marriage? Or just some? What did it all mean?

  How long were you married? he asked her.

  Six years, she said, leaning gently against him. She wasn't even aware of doing it, but it had felt good to tell him her story. Listening to his, she didn't feel quite as alone now, and neither did Charlie. What about you? she asked with interest. They suddenly had a lot in common. They'd been dumped by experts.

  We were married for nine years, nearly ten. Tower of observation that I am, I thought we were blissfully happy. I never even noticed there was a problem till she was already practically living with someone else. I don't know how I missed that. She said we were too busy, traveled too much, didn't pay enough attention to each other. Sometimes I think now we should have had kids.

  Why didn't you?

  I don't know. I guess she's right, he confessed, it was easier admitting it to Francesca than Carole. Maybe we were too busy. It just didn't seem like something we needed to do, and now I'm sorry, especially when I meet a kid like yours. I've got nothing to show for nine years of marriage.

  Francesca smiled at him, and he liked what he saw there. He was glad he had stopped her on the street. He had needed to talk to someone and maybe better her than someone else. At least she understood him, and what had happened.

  Pierre said it happened to us because I was too wrapped up in Monique. I stopped working when I had her. I was modeling in Paris when we met, and when we got married, I gave up modeling, studied art and history at the Sorbonne, and got my master's. But when I had her, I just fell in love with being a mother. I wanted to be with her all the time. I wanted to take care of her myself, I thought that was what he wanted. I don't know, Charlie ' maybe you can't win sometimes. Maybe some marriages are doomed from the beginning. She thought so.

  That's what I've been thinking lately. Charlie nodded in agreement. I thought we had this great marriage, and now it turns out I was crazy, and you thought you were married to the French edition of Prince Charming. How would you say that, Prince Charmant'? She nodded and grinned. And it turns out we were both crazy. Now Carole is going to be married to some old fart who collects women, and your ex-husband is married to a twelve-year-old with twins ' go figure ' how are you ever supposed to know when you've got it right? Maybe you can't know. Maybe you have to take your chances and work it out as you go along. Ill tell you one thing, next time, if there ever is one, I'm going to listen like crazy. I'm going to ask questions all the time ' how are you? ' how am I? ' how are we? ' are you happy? ' is this good? ' are you cheating on me yet? She laughed at him, but he wasn't entirely kidding, he had learned something from what had happened, but Francesca looked sad as she shook her head.

  You're braver than I am. There's not going to be a next time for me, Charlie. I've already made up my mind. She told him that now because she was willing to be his friend, but nothing more. Romance was not on her menu.

  You can't make your mind up about a thing like diat, he said gently.

  Yes, you can, she argued with him. I have. I don't ever want to have my heart and my guts trampled on again.

  What about without TV coverage next time? he teased her. Or maybe just foreign rights and a percentage of the tabloid sales. How about a share of the box office? he teased, and she smiled halfheartedly. She was very, very wounded, and badly scarred by all that had happened to her.

  You don't know what it was like, she said with feeling. But looking in her eyes, he could see a glimmer of it. All that was left there now was pain, and he remembered the little snippets of what Monique had said, about her crying. It was why she was so closed down to everyone, why she had been so unpleasant to him at first. But all he could think of now was how lonely it must have been for her, and still was, and without thinking, he put an arm around her and pulled her closer. But there was no threat in it, he just wanted to be her friend, and she sensed that and didn't fight him.

  Tell you what, kid, he said gently, if it ever happens again, and you decide to take a wild leap into marriage, I'll be your agent. But she laughed at that and shook her head.

  Don't wait for that job, Charlie ' it'll never happen. Not to me. Not again. And he knew how emphatically she meant it.

  Shall we make a pact then? Neither of us will ever make fools of ourselves again, or if one of us does, the other has to, sort of a joint suicide pact ' kamikaze marriage ' He was teasing, but she didn't mind it. It was the first time she had ever laughed about her situation, and she was surprised to find it made her feel better, although she didn't think she'd done much for him, but when she said so, he denied it. I needed to talk to someone, Francesca ' and I'm glad it was you. They both stood up then, and she looked at her watch apologetically, and reminded him that she had to pick up her daughter.

  I'm really sorry to leave you. Will you be all right? she asked, and he saw a person in her he hadn't seen in the short time he'd known her, but he was relieved to see her now. She seemed much kinder, and more open.

  I'll be fine, he lied. He wanted to go home and think about it, to ponder about Carole and Simon, and try and adjust to their marriage in his mind. In his own way, he needed more time to mourn her. But he had an idea as he looked at Francesca. What about dinner, the three of us, tomorrow night? He didn't want to frighten her by asking her out on a date. And I'll bring my books back. I promise, he added as an incentive, as she walked him back to his car. Hers was down the street, just beyond it. What about it? Just pizza or spaghetti or something? It might do us all good to get out. She hesitated and he had the feeling she was going to decline the offer, but as she looked at him, she knew he wouldn't harm her. She had told him where things stood. And he knew that all she could offer him was to be his friend and if he was willing to accept that, she was willing to have dinner with him.

  All right. She looked determined and he smiled.

  Maybe we'll do the big time. Dinner in Deerfield. You know, maybe even black tie. He was silly and he made her laugh, and then he drove her to her car. I'll pick you up at six he said, feeling almost human again, and then he looked at her gently as she got out. Francesca ' thanks!

  She waved as he drove away, and he thought about the things she'd told him. It must have been hard for her ' worse than that ' heartbreaking ' and humiliating' . People were so rotten to each other sometimes, it was hard to understand it. Carole hadn't been rotten to him, he thought to himself, as he drove home, she had just broken his heart. That was all. Nothing more serious than that, at the moment.

  And as he unlocked the door to his house again, he thought of Sarah, the pain she had gone through with
Edward, and the joy she must have found with Fran+oois. He wondered how one bridged the two lives, the two moments ' how did one go from intolerable pain, and no longer trusting anyone ' to being whole again, forgiving, and starting life over? He didn't have the answers yet, he knew, as he turned the light on. Even after talking to Francesca, all he could think of now was Carole. And that night, as he lay in bed, he thought of her instead of Sarah and Francois. And as he mused on the mysteries of life, he decided not to read the journals again for a few days. He needed to work this one out, go back to the real world, and deal with his life now.

  Chapter 16

  CHARLIE PICKED THEM up at six o'clock, and drove them to Di Maio in Deerfield for dinner. Charlie and Francesca were both feeling a little shy, but Monique chatted animatedly all the way to Deerfield. She talked about her friends at school, the dog she wished she had, the hamster her mother had promised her, wanting to go skating the next day, and she complained about her homework.

  I used to get a lot more homework in France, she conceded finally, referring obliquely to their life in Paris, and Charlie glanced at Francesca. She was staring out the window.

  Maybe we should start teaching you German, or Chinese or something, just to keep you busy, he teased her, and Monique made a face, two languages were enough trouble as far as she was concerned, although she was completely fluent in both. And then she looked at him brightly.

  My mom speaks Italian. My grampa was from Venice. And according to her, a bastard just like her husband, Charlie remembered. They were touching on all her favorite subjects. It was going to be a great evening. But she said nothing. They have a lot of boats there, Monique told him, and he tactfully changed the subject and asked what kind of dog she wanted. Something little and cute, she answered immediately, she'd obviously given it a lot of thought. Like a Chihuahua.