The Ghost

by Danielle Steel

  A Chihuahua? He laughed at the suggestion. That's so small, you'll get it mixed up with your hamster. She guffawed when he said it.

  No, I wouldn't. He told her about Gladys's dog then, the big friendly Irish setter, and offered to take her to meet her. She liked that, and Francesca almost smiled then. She was so serious, and so sad sometimes, it made his heart ache for her. But at least Monique was happy. It said something about Francesca's mothering skills, and the fact that she must love her, and had protected her fairly successfully from the horrors that had happened to them in Paris.

  And a few minutes later, they reached Deerfield.

  The restaurant was busy and cheerful, and Monique ordered spaghetti and meatballs almost as soon as she sat down at the table. The adults took a little longer, and finally ordered capellini with basil and tomato. He ordered wine for them, and he noticed that Francesca spoke to the waiter in Italian. He seemed delighted, and Charlie listened with pleasure.

  I love to hear that. He smiled at her. Did you ever live there?

  Until I was nine. But I always spoke Italian to my father, when he was alive. I'd like Monique to learn it. It's always useful to know another language. Though now that they were living back in the States, it seemed less important. She might want to go back to Europe one day to live, Francesca conceded, though in her heart of hearts, she hoped not. And then she turned to him with eyes full of questions. She had learned a lot about him the day before, but only about his marriage. What about you? What will you do? Go back to London?

  I don't know. I just stopped here on my way to Vermont to go skiing. And then I met Gladys Palmer, and saw the house and fell in love with it. I rented it for a year, but even if I go back to Europe, I can come here for vacations. But I'm happy here for now, though I feel a little guilty for not working. This is the first time in my life I've ever done this. But eventually, I'll have to be an architect again, hopefully in London.

  Why? She looked puzzled, after all he had told her. Was it to pursue his wife, or were there other reasons? Her eyes asked a myriad questions.

  I have a life there, he said firmly, and then reconsidered, as Monique dug into her meatballs. At least I used to. I sold my house just before I left. And now he wasn't even sure he had a job there. Besides, I love London, he said stubbornly. But he also loved Carole. Maybe he would forever. Even after she married Simon, but he didn't say that to Francesca. The thought of it depressed him.

  I loved Paris too, Francesca said softly. But I couldn't stay afterward ' I tried. But it was just too difficult. It would have driven me crazy, expecting to see him every time I turned a corner, waiting to run into him, hating him when I did. I cried every time I turned the news on, and saw him, but I couldn't make myself stop watching. It was sick. So I left. I can't imagine living there now, She sighed, and smiled at him over their capellini.

  Will you stay here? He liked talking to her. It was such a relief to talk to someone, and air the things that had almost killed him. Talking about it made it all seem so much smaller.

  Maybe, she answered. She hadn't made up her mind. My mother thinks I should bring Monique back to New York to get a decent' education. But we're happy here, the school L-+ fine. She loves to ski. I like our little house at the edge of town. And it's so peaceful. I want to finish my thesis while I'm here, I can decide after that. This would be a good place to do some writing. Or reading. He thought about Sarah's journals and said nothing.

  It would, he agreed. I want to do some painting. His style had always been a little bit like Wyeth's, and particularly with the snow, the landscape around Shelburne Falls was perfect.

  A man of many talents, she said, with a twinkle in her eye, and he suddenly smiled at her. He liked it when she teased him. And eventually they drew Monique back into the conversation, but she'd been happy for a while, listening to them, and eating her spaghetti. Monique talked about her life in Paris then, the apartment she loved, going to the Bois de Boulogne every day after school, and the trips she'd taken with her parents, mostly skiing, since it was her father's passion. And listening to her made Francesca look nostalgic, which worried Charlie. He didn't want her closing up on him again. This was good for both of them, and she relaxed again when Charlie changed the subject, and then he had an idea, and decided to ask her.

  What about going skiing this Saturday? We could just go to Charlemont for the day. He knew from Gladys that many of the locals did that often. And Monique was instantly enthusiastic.

  Come on, Mommy ' pleasssseeee ' She drew out the word like taffy, and Francesca smiled at the invitation.

  You're probably busy, and I should really get some work done. I don't think '

  Come on, he said gently. It would do us all good. He was thinking of the jolt he'd had the day before, when Carole called, and the things Francesca had told him. They all needed a little fun in their lives, and a day of skiing sounded perfect. You can spare a day. We both can. He had nothing else to do, except read Sarah's journals. Let's do it. He looked so sweet, and sounded so persuasive that she eventually relented, although she was still feeling a little hesitant about being indebted to him. She didn't want to do that. He might come to expect something she couldn't give him.

  All right, just for the day then. Monique's spirits rose, dramatically after Francesca said it. She chatted and giggled and laughed and talked about the runs there and compared them to Courchevel and Val d'Isere, and Francesca laughed at that, and so did Charlie. The skiing was not exactly comparable, but it would be fun anyway. And they were all looking forward to it, when he drove them back to Shelburne Falls after dinner.

  He stopped outside their house, and got out. It was a small neat wooden house, painted white, with green shutters, and a picket fence around it. And when they got out of the car, Francesca thanked him for dinner.

  I really enjoyed it, she said carefully, and Monique immediately chimed in.

  So did I. Thanks, Charlie.

  You're welcome. I'll see you both on Saturday. What time should I pick you up? He made no move to go into the house with them. He knew instinctively that it would have scared Francesca. She still wore the look of a young doe, about to dart back into the forest, particularly now that they were on her turf. It was obvious that she didn't want him too near her, no matter how pleasant their conversations.

  How about eight o'clock? she suggested in answer to his question. We can be on the slopes by nine then.

  That sounds fine. See you then, he said, and watched diem go into the house and close the door. He saw all the lights turn on, and the house looked cozy and warm, as he stood staring at it from the outside. And he was surprised at how lonely he felt on the drive back to his place. He always seemed to be on the outside now, watching Francesca and Monique, hearing about Carole and Simon ' reading about Sarah and Fran+oois. He didn't belong to anyone anymore, and he realized again how much he missed it And as he thought about it, he drove slowly out of the way and decided to stop, on his way home, at Gladys Palmer's. She was in good spirits, looked well, and was delighted with the surprise visit. She made him some chamomile tea, and offered him a fresh plate of gingerbread cookies.

  How are things at the house? she asked comfortably, and he smiled in answer. He was thinking about Sarah and the journals that he was still keeping secret, even from Mrs. Palmer. He wanted to finish them before he told her about them.

  Fine, he said noncommittally, and then told her about the evening he had just spent with Francesca and her daughter.

  That sounds promising, she said, looking pleased for him.

  We'll see, he said, as he finished a second cup of tea, and then finally left her to get back to the house. And when he did, he felt surprisingly less lonely. Seeing her always seemed to have remarkable restorative powers for him. She was almost like a mother to him.

  And as he let himself into his house, he thought he heard a sound upstairs before he turned the light on. He stood very still, listening to it, wanting it to be her, convinced he had
heard a footstep. But he stood there for a long time in the silence. It was nothing. And he finally turned the light on.

  After he went upstairs, he thought about reading the journals again, but he realized he needed some breathing space from them. He was so involved with her and Francois now. They were becoming far too real to him, and all he wanted was to be with them. It wasn't healthy.

  He picked up a novel that night, and forced himself to read it. But it was so dull, compared to Sarah's words, that by ten o'clock, he was sound asleep, and he stirred when he heard a sound in the room. He opened his eyes and looked around for a minute, but he was half asleep and he didn't see her. He hadn't touched the journals all week when he left the house to pick up Francesca and Monique on Saturday. He stopped by to see Gladys on the way, and gave her a book he'd been saving for her. They had a quick cup of tea, and then talked about Francesca again, and Gladys was pleased that he was seeing her again. It made her happy to know he had a friend, and she hoped to meet her one day, if Charlie continued to see her.

  When he arrived at their house, Monique was wearing a bright red one-piece suit, and Francesca was looking extremely stylish in a black stretch suit. It was easy to believe she'd been a model, she was very striking. And they both looked in good spirits. They put their skis in the car, and fifteen minutes later, they were in Charlemont, and Francesca was threatening to put Monique in ski school. She didn't want her cruising all over the mountain by herself, picking up strangers. Charlie could see her point, but Monique was bitterly disappointed.

  They're all terrible in ski school, she complained, no one knows how to do anything fun. I don't want to, she pouted, and Charlie felt so sorry for her he volunteered to ski with her. He had really enjoyed her. It was how they had met after all, and what had started their friendship. But Francesca didn't want to impose on him any more than they had already.

  Don't you want to ski on your own? she asked him honestly, and he couldn't help noticing how green her eyes were, although he was trying not to.

  She skis better than I do, he grinned, I can hardly keep up with her.

  That's not true, Monique said fairly with a smile, you're pretty good. You've got good style, even on the moguls, she complimented him, and he laughed at her assessment. She definitely had her fatfier's genes, at least as far as skiing. And Charlie thought it was funny.

  Thank you, miss. So, are you skiing with me? and then he turned to her mother. Would you care to join us? Or are you too expert for us? He had never actually seen Francesca ski, he realized, only her daughter.

  She's okay, Monique conceded, and Francesca laughed at her, as the threesome decided to ski together that morning. But Charlie was duly impressed when he saw Francesca head down the mountain.

  He didn't know if her Olympic champion ex-husband had taught her some tricks, or if she'd skied like that before him, but she was much better than she had told him. She was almost as good a skier as her daughter, though not quite as confident, and she was very humble about it. She skied with such elegance and grace that it caught several people's attention, and he could only admire her when they stopped again at the bottom.

  You're very good, he said admiringly.

  I like it, she admitted. We used to go to Cortina when I was a kid. My father was a great skier, but I've always been a little too cautious, she said, and Monique nodded vehemently. She liked to go a lot faster. Francesca was a woman of many charms, many talents, most of them either unsung, or hidden. She had so much going for her, and she was so unwilling to share it. It seemed a terrible waste to Charlie. But he found as the day wore on that he really enjoyed being with her. The sharpness that had so irritated him before never showed itself once, she just seemed happy and relaxed, and it was easy to see how much she loved skiing. And she enjoyed being with him too. By the time they took their last run, they felt like old friends, and looked like a family, as Monique skied in front of them. Francesca always kept an eye on her, but most of the time she skied with Charlie. And when they took off their skis at the end of the day, they stopped at the restaurant at the base for brownies and hot chocolate. Monique looked tired by then, but Francesca seemed to glow with exhilaration. Her creamy skin was warmed to a rosy color, and her eyes looked brilliant.

  I had a great time, she said as she thanked him. I used to complain that the skiing isn't as good as Europe here, but I don't care anymore. I enjoy it anyway. Thank you for bringing us, she said, taking a sip of her hot chocolate and looking at him warmly.

  We should try some of the other resorts near here. Or go up to Vermont. Sugarbush is pretty good skiing, he said calmly.

  I'd like that, she said, before retreating into herself again, but she seemed completely at ease with him now, and she sat very close to him at the small table. He could feel her long, graceful legs next to his own, and it sent a small thrill through him. He hadn't felt that way for anyone since Carole left him. He'd been asked on a couple of dates in London, but they'd sounded awful. And he had never tried it. He knew he wasn't ready. But this woman, with her fine mind, intense shyness, and great pain, was beginning to warm him.

  In fact, he hated to go back to Shelburne Falls, and he suggested dinner on the way, which Monique accepted on behalf of her mother. They stopped at the Charlemont Inn and had delicious hot turkey sandwiches with mashed potatoes, and they talked animatedly about a variety of subjects, including architecture, and they discovered that, like him, she had a passion for medieval castles. Monique was almost asleep by then, and when they went back to the car, she was yawning, and almost stumbled but Charlie caught her. It had been a long, happy day for all of them. And this time, when they reached their house, Francesca asked him if he'd like to come in and have a drink or a cup of coffee. She felt as though she had to do something to thank him.

  I have to put Monique to bed, she whispered over her head, and then took her into the back of the house, to her small, cozy bedroom while he waited in the living room, and looked at the wall full of books Francesca had brought with her from Europe. There were some wonderful volumes she had collected over the years, mostly about European history, and a number of them about art, and she even had several first editions. Can you tell I'm a book freak? she said when she came back into the living room, and noticed that he had lit the fire. It was a small, comfortable room, full of well-worn things that meant something to her, most of which she had brought from Europe. It was an insight into her to see it. She had seemed so cold to him at first, so distant, but this room told a different tale, and so did her eyes when he turned and looked at her. He wasn't sure what to do now, there was something very strange and very powerful happening between them, and he knew that if he acknowledged it, she might never see him again, so he decided to ignore it. And as though to confirm that, she left the room to make coffee and he found her in the kitchen. He was very careful about what he said then. He decided that Sarah Ferguson was probably a safe subject.

  I've been reading about Sarah Ferguson, he explained. She was a remarkable woman, with incredible courage. She came over on the tiniest ship I'Ve ever read about, it was an eighty-ton brig out of Falmouth, that carried twelve passengers, and it took over seven weeks to get here. I can't even imagine an experience like that. I get sick thinking about it. But she did it, and survived, and started a whole new life here. He stopped before he said any more, because he still didn't want to tell her about the journals, but Francesca looked puzzled.

  Where did you read that? I'Ve never found anything like that about her, and I'Ve searched our library very thoroughly at the historical society. Did you find something about her in Deerfield?

  I ' uh ' yes, I did actually. And Mrs. Palmer gave me some articles. He would have loved to tell her what he'd found, but he didn't dare yet. He was satisfied to simply talk about it with her, and they talked about Sarah's courage for a little while, and the parallels in their own lives. She had a whole new life here. Apparently, she left a terrible man in England. They exchanged a look as Francesca
nodded thoughtfully. She had left a terrible man in Paris. Or maybe he wasn't even terrible after all, just stupid, like Carole. Or perhaps what their mates had found elsewhere was really what they needed to complete their own lives. It made Charlie pensive as he thought about Carole and Simon.

  Do you still miss her terribly? Francesca asked gently, she could see from the look in his eyes what he was thinking.

  Sometimes, he said honestly, I think I miss what I thought we had, rather than what we did have. Francesca understood that perfectly. All she could think about with Pierre afterward, was the happiness of the beginning and the horror of the ending, never the ordinary reality of the middle, which had been most of it, but that seemed to have been forgotten.

  I think we all do that, she agreed with him, we remember the fantasy we create rather than the reality we lived with, whether that fantasy was beautiful or ugly. I'm not sure I even remember who Pierre was anymore, just the man I came to hate in the end, whoever he was.

  I suppose I'll get that way eventually with Carole. Even now, some of it gets a little hazy. Everything seemed either better or worse than it had been, and sometimes he could see that. And then he thought about Sarah again. You know, the remarkable thing about her, he said to Francesca thoughtfully, was that she fell in love all over again, with the Frenchman. From everything I've heard, the important part of her life was with him. Even after everything that happened to her, she wasn't afraid to start over. I admire that, he said with a small sigh, but I'm not sure how to do it.

  I couldn't, Francesca said firmly, it was a confirmation of everything she'd said to him already. I know myself well enough to know that.

  You're too young to make a decision like that, Charlie said sadly.

  I'm thirty-one, she said firmly. That's old enough to know you don't want to play again, ever, and I don't.I wouldn't survive the hurt next time. And although he still felt an attraction between them that couldn't be denied, he also knew she was telling him not to try it. And if he did, she was fully prepared to run out of his life forever. He had heard the warning, very clearly.