"Yes, it does."
"You've been subjected to several bits of shock-provoking news in a very short time. Taken altogether, it's no wonder you've been severely shaken."
"Yes." Raoul gestured toward the marks on Sherye's arm. "How could I not have known that she was so heavily involved in drugs?"
"Oh, that part isn't so unusual., Addicts are extremely clever at covering evidence of their use, at least in the early stages. If, as you mentioned, there was some discord between you, I would imagine she had little difficulty in hiding her addiction from you."
Raoul stood, needing to move, needing some privacy to deal with the turmoil inside him. He walked over to the window, sticking his hands into his pockets in an unconscious desire to hide, and stood there for several minutes in silence before Dr. Parkinson spoke once again.
"Do you know how your wife came to be in Perth?"
Raoul shook his head without looking around.
"Did the police tell you that there was a yacht seen in a nearby harbor close to the time she was brought in? No one on the ship contacted the port authority or immigration officials for permission to come ashore, so there was no official registration of their being offshore. Despite their efforts, the police could find no one who happened to observe or remember the name." He studied Raoul's shadowed figure, judging from his physical stance where he stood emotionally at the moment.
The man was almost reeling, he was so tired. Dr. Parkinson decided to press on. "Do you suppose it possible that she was on board the yacht? It's rather a long shot, but nothing else has turned up.''
Raoul turned away from the window and leaned his shoulder against the wall, facing the doctor. "It's possible, I suppose," he mused, sounding a little more relaxed. And why not? The subject had veered away from him. His reactions were typical of most people, the doctor noted absently. He listened as Raoul continued without being prompted. "There has to be some explanation for her turning up here. I suppose that one's as good as any. I don't know many of her friends. Those I have met seemed to have enough money to afford to do pretty much as they pleased." He shrugged. "Whether one of them has a yacht is anybody's guess. I'm sorry. I wish I had more information for you."
Dr. Parkinson made several more notes before he looked up, shaking his head in amazement. "I don't believe I've ever heard of a situation like this before."
"Me, either." Raoul wearily rubbed his forehead in an effort to concentrate. "There is one thing that I thought of while I was on the plane coming over. It's something I'd forgotten about at the time of the automobile accident. I don't know that it's particularly helpful, but might suggest Sherye's plans if she thought she had managed to work out a plan where she could disappear without anyone suspecting."
Raoul walked back to the chair and sat down. "I came home early the day she left and found Sherye packing resort wear into a rather large bag. As I recall she was surprised to see me because I rarely get home that early. Perhaps she had hoped to be gone before I arrived. Now that I think about it, I'm sure she hadn't intended for me to see that bag."
"Yes, that makes sense. Why pack a large bag if she's only going to be gone overnight?"
"My question to her, exactly."
"What did she say?"
"Nothing. She ignored the question and left, which is customary behavior for her."
"Did the bag show up at the scene of the accident?"
"No, but at the time I gave it no thought, since she was thrown—or, rather, I should say the other woman was thrown out of the car before it went over an embankment and exploded into flames. Had I thought about it, I would have assumed her luggage was in the car when it went over."
"Is it possible the woman pretending to be your wife is feigning her loss of memory? Could she, in fact, be related to your wife in some way and agreed to take her place?"
"Anything is possible, doctor. I wouldn't begin to guess at the truth at the bottom of all of this. If the woman was part of the deception, something must have gone wrong in the plan because she was seriously injured. Since I was suspicious of what I considered to be a convenient memory lapse, I specifically asked the doctors to test her extensively in hopes of catching her out. It was their expert opinions that she was not faking her memory loss. Having seen the injury, I know that it wasn't faked.
"As for the possibility of their being related, all I can say at this point is—who knows? According to Sherye, she was raised by a single mother who had no living relatives. She never knew her dad. Sherye has never mentioned anyone in her family other than her mother, either when talking about her childhood or as she grew older."
"Would her mother be able to—"
"Her mother died when Sherye was in her early teens."
"Unfortunate at any time, but particularly devastating at such a vulnerable time in a person's life. I would hazard a guess that it was about that time that Sherye began to experiment with drugs."
Raoul looked at him in surprise. "Now that you mention it, I wouldn't be surprised if the two events were tied together. Getting back to the almost eerie resemblance between the two women, I took the time before, I left home to hire a reputable and quite effective private investigator. I asked him to speak with the woman I thought was Sherye while I'm gone to see if some of her unusual and confusing memories would make more sense now that she knows she isn't Sherye DuBois."
"How did she take the news?"
Raoul attempted to block the brief flash of memory of the last time he saw her from his mind, but it was already there. He had held her in his arms and wiped away her tears. Since the doctor had cautioned him about the importance of not allowing her to get upset, Raoul had finally given her some of the medication the doctor had sent home with them.
He'd held her in his arms until she'd fallen asleep, then he'd searched out and found a new gown to put on her before carrying her back to her own room. There was no reason for anyone to know that she had spent the night in his room.
He knew that was one of the reasons she'd been so upset. Perhaps it was the only reason, given the circumstances. After all, the feelings she'd openly expressed toward him were perfectly natural toward a husband. Like him, she'd probably hoped to ease the tension between them. Fully believing they were married was grounds enough for her to have met him halfway in order to eliminate the strained atmosphere between them—despite the fact she had no memory of marrying him.
Whether she'd been a party to the deception or not, her lack of memory placed her in the role of victim. Unfortunately he had perpetuated her role by his foolhardy and premature behavior toward her.
He hadn't known, damn it! How could he have known? Wasn't he the planned victim in the scenario? The dupe? The unsuspecting, insensitive husband who wouldn't be able to tell the difference between his wife of six years and a total stranger?
The worst part of it for him was that it had worked... up to a point. Making love to the woman he'd brought home from the hospital had clearly shown him there'd been some kind of mistake, and he had made it. What gnawed at him was the question of whether—in his totally besotted condition—he would have had the integrity to admit to himself, to her and to the family that she couldn't possibly be the Sherye DuBois he'd married. Then he would have been expected to explain why he had waited so long and what had prompted his discovery.
It was a test he hadn't had to face. The early-morning phone call had rescued him. Now he didn't know what his choice would have been.
Sherye, and possibly this unnamed woman, had placed him in a position where he'd had to face parts of himself that had never been tested, parts that he'd never wanted to face.
He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to forgive either one of them because of it.
"The other woman," Dr. Parkinson repeated when Raoul didn't immediately answer him. Obviously he'd managed to touch on another painful part of the saga. "How did she take the news?"
"She was upset, which was a natural reaction. With no memory of her own, she accepted another
woman's life. Now she has to start all over in an effort to find out who she really is. Since I have a strong desire to know as well, I fully intend to pursue the matter."
"Well, you certainly have a mystery on your hands. I don't envy you the task of unraveling it."
"My immediate concern is how to have my wife returned to France. Will she have to stay here until she regains consciousness?"
"If it was that simple, I would say yes, because she would then be able to answer some questions from officials. If she was brought into the country in her present state, she can't be held accountable for anything other than not having a passport and visa."
"You say 'if it was that simple,' meaning what?"
"Mr. DuBois, there is a better-than-average chance that your wife may remain in the coma for years without regaining consciousness. There's ample medical evidence to support the possibility that she could live out her natural life as she is now."
Raoul approached Sherye's side once more. She looked peaceful lying there.
Perhaps she had intended to die.
Perhaps she had accidentally overdosed herself.
Unless she was aware enough to answer, he might never know the truth.
Whatever the truth, Sherye had made good on her vow to prevent him from ending their marriage.
Once again Raoul faced the dark test of his belief in his own integrity. He knew that he could never divorce Sherye as long as she remained in her present condition because he wouldn't be able to face the knowledge that he could abandon her when she was helpless to care for herself. He took his marital vows quite seriously.
He'd promised to love and honor her. He'd been unequal to the task and he had failed.
He'd promised to love her in sickness and in health. Somehow, he would have to make up for his lack in other areas by caring for her now.
Chapter 12
"All right, Madame DuBois," Claude LeBeau, the private investigator, began once introductions had been made. "If you will, please tell me anything that you can remember prior to the accident, anything at all, so that I might gain some idea where to start my investigation.''
"I'm not Madame DuBois," she replied in a quiet voice.
The two of them were seated in the salon. LeBeau had arrived promptly at nine for their interview, obviously eager to begin his assignment.
He looked pained by her response. Impatiently he waved his hand and said, "Yes, yes, of course. I quite understand the complexities of the matter. Nonetheless, we are faced with the problem of giving you some sort of address until we can ascertain exactly who you really are."
She looked down at her hands for a moment. "We call them Jane Does," she murmured, more to herself. Le-Beau's hearing was acute. He leaned toward her intently.
"We?"
She looked up. "Oh. In Texas—in the States."
"Ah! There, you see. We have already discovered something important. You are an American, most probably from Texas, if that is the state that first popped into your mind."
She'd awakened with a headache this morning, fighting to resist the familiar sense of confusion and dismay that had accompanied her during these past few weeks. "Perhaps, but I was also told that Sherye was born and lived in Dallas when she was a child. Since I'd accepted the fact that I was Sherye I'm not certain how much of my thoughts are based on what I was told about me and how much are part of the life I led before the accident."
LeBeau made some notes, then tapped the head of the pen on the notepad several times. He spread several photographs of Sherye in a fan across the pad, looking at them, then at her, carefully comparing features.
"The one amazing coincidence in all of this," he mused, "is the astonishing resemblance between you and Madame DuBois. Is it possible that you are related?"
"I've been told that Sherye was an only child."
"Hmm." He made some notes. "I will have to follow up on what we know about her early life, as well. Perhaps we will discover a common thread." He looked at her for a moment in silence. "Do you remember if you knew her before the accident?"
"No."
"What do you remember? Anything? Anything at all?"
She tried to focus back to those first few days after she regained consciousness, before she had accepted her new life and become absorbed in the routine of the chateau.
"For a while I would get flashes of pictures—rapidly moving pictures—mostly with no sound. I couldn't make much sense of them without some context in which to place them."
"Did the doctors work with you to help you recall anything?"
"They worked with me, yes. However, they were trying to assist me in remembering someone else's life, although none of us recognized that at the time."
LeBeau rubbed his chin thoughtfully, pondered his notes, then asked, "May I make a suggestion?"
"Of course."
"A trained medical person might be able to work with you under hypnosis and further clarify some" of these images for you, perhaps opening up memories that haven't surfaced in the course of natural events. Would you consider getting help in such a way?"
She was astonished to hear an obvious solution to a situation that had seemed almost hopeless to her for the past twenty-four hours. "Why, that's a wonderful idea! I wonder why no one suggested hypnosis before?"
"You must remember that there was no question as to your identity before, therefore there wasn't as big a need for you to explore your subconscious. Your identity had already been established, and no doubt the professionals felt it merely a matter of time before your forgotten memories would surface." He closed his notepad. "Now, you see, it is mandatory that we find out everything we can regarding your life prior to the accident. So. We delve deeper than we were willing to go before.''
She nodded. "Yes. Of course you're right. I'll call the hospital where I recuperated. I'll explain to the doctors what has happened and see if they will work with me once again."
The investigator stood. "Fine. In the meantime, I will see what I can discover about Sherye DuBois's birth and her early childhood in Dallas, as well as look for any other information that might validate your own belief of having lived there." He held up a camera. "Before I go, I would like to take some photographs of you, if you will be so kind." He touched the professional modeling glossies. "These are a good likeness, but rather glamorous compared to the way you look this morning."
With a minimal amount of makeup, a shirtwaist dress and her hair pulled back from her face, she knew she presented an entirely different image from the pictures LeBeau held. "Of course," she replied with a nod, touching her hair. "I'll just— Oh! I just remembered something!"
"Yes?"
"When I first regained consciousness I was shocked to discover that my hair was red. I knew that my natural hair color was a very pale blond. Raoul said that Sherye was a natural blonde who kept her hair tinted."
"Ah. You were both natural blondes and you think you had kept your hair its natural color."
"Yes."
"Perhaps I can doctor a couple of these photographs of you today and see what difference that makes in your appearance." He reached into his pocket and gave her his card. "If you have any more thoughts on the matter, call me at this number. My associates will be able to reach me wherever I might be."
She walked with him to the door and paused on the front steps with him.
He looked around the grounds with appreciation. "It must be a grave disappointment for you to discover that you do not truly belong here."
"Somewhere deep inside of me I think I've always known that this wasn't really my home. I think I've been pretending for weeks to accept my place here. But you're right. I'm going to miss living here, miss everyone I thought was part of my world." She blinked back the tears, determined not to shed one more drop of moisture for what couldn't be helped. "Thank you for being so prompt. I'm sure Raoul will be grateful for your swift response to his request."
He took her hand. "Please keep in touch. Tell Monsieur DuBois that I wi
ll contact him as soon as I have something."
She stood at the top of the steps and watched the investigator get into his car and drive away. She thought about their discussion, reviewing his suggestions and comments. Yes. She would call the hospital this morning. If they would accept her, she would leave the chateau, making a clean break between the life she had been living here and whatever might lie in her future.
She had discussed the matter with Danielle last night and they had both agreed that the children were too young to understand what had happened. She would spend this morning with them—one last morning that she would give to herself as a farewell present. Then she would explain to them that she would be making a trip.
Once Raoul returned with Sherye, the two of them could explain what had happened if they chose. She knew it wasn't her place to say anything.
With a sigh she turned back to the chateau to face another series of challenges that she wasn't at all certain she could handle with the dignity and courage she knew she needed. A betraying thought flitted across her mind—if only Raoul could be here to ease her through the next few days and weeks, as he had been there in the background when she'd first opened her eyes to a world that belonged to Sherye DuBois.
❧
She'd been at the hospital a little over two weeks when the soft sigh of the door to her room pulled her attention away from the book she was reading. She looked up and saw Raoul standing in the doorway.
His unexpected appearance almost took her breath away.
Each day she had been at the hospital had been filled with consultations, hypnotic therapy, journaling and learning to live in the limbo state of her present existence.
She'd done her best to block out memories of the chateau and her life there—focusing instead on memories that were trickling back into her head.
Despite all her efforts, Raoul seemed to linger in the backgrounu of her mind at all times. Seeing him now, she
thought her yearning to see him had conjured up his presence.
Mystery Wife Page 15
