“How could I? You've been so kind to me …you listened …you remembered.' She was bowled over that he had found her there, that he had cared enough to even try. It was a long trip from Paris. And suddenly she sprang to her feet, looking more than ever like a little girl, and held out a hand to him. “Come, let me take you to breakfast. You must be starving after driving all night.' She tucked a hand into his arm as they walked slowly toward the port. She was barefoot, on narrow, graceful feet, and the sand was hot, but she didn't seem to mind it. “Are you very tired?”
He laughed, remembering how exhausted he had been when he arrived. “I'm all right. I slept for about three hours when I got here. I don't exactly get much sleep when you're around.” But life wasn't dull around her either. That was certain.
“I'm really sorry,” she said, and a moment later, she walked him into a tiny restaurant, and they both ordered omelettes, croissants, and coffee. And when it came, it was a fragrant, sumptuous meal and Peter devoured it. She picked at hers. She was watching him, and drinking the strong black coffee.
“I still can't believe you came here,” she said softly. She looked pleased but somewhat wistful. Andy would never have done anything like this. Not even way back in the beginning.
“I tried to tell your husband about this place,” he said honestly, and she looked suddenly very worried.
“What did you say? Did you tell him where you thought I'd gone?” She didn't want Andy to come here. She didn't mind seeing Peter now, in fact she was glad he had come, but she was still not ready to see Andy. He was most of the reason why she had come here.
“I didn't tell him anything in the end,” Peter put her mind at rest very quickly. “I wanted to, but I was put off when I went to your suite to see him. The police were there, secret service, bodyguards, and it sounded as though he was having a meet-tag.”
“I'm sure it didn't have anything to do with me. He has an uncanny sense about when it's right to be worried, and when it isn't. That's why I didn't leave him the note. I suppose it was wrong, but he knows me well enough to know that I'm all right. I don't think he really believes that I was kidnapped.”
“I got that impression too when I went to the suite,” Peter said slowly. There hadn't been that intense aura of panic one would have expected if he really thought she was in danger. He didn't really think Anderson Thatcher was worried, which was why he had felt free to come himself, and call him later. “Are you going to call him now, Olivia?” Peter asked, concerned. He thought she should at least do that.
“I will eventually. I don't know what I want to say yet. I'm not sure I can go back, although I suppose I'll have to, briefly at least. I owe him some kind of explanation.” But what was there to explain, that she didn't want to live with him anymore, that she had loved him once but it was gone, that he had betrayed every hope, every shred of decency, everything she'd ever cared about, or wanted from him? In her mind, there was nothing left to go back to. She had discovered that the night before when she put her key in the door of the suite, and found she just couldn't turn it. She couldn't go back in. She would have done anything she had to, to escape him And in turn she meant nothing to him anymore. She knew that. She hadn't in years. Most of the time, he was completely oblivious to her existence.
“Olivia, are you leaving him?” Peter asked gently, as they finished breakfast. It was none of his business, but he had driven ten hours to make sure that she was all right and no harm had come to her. That gave him some right to at least a minimum of information, and she knew that.
“I think so.”
“Are you sure? In your world, that will probably create a tremendous uproar.”
“Not as much as finding you here with me,” she laughed, and he chuckled. He couldn't disagree with her on that one. And then she grew serious again. “The uproar doesn't frighten me. It's all a lot of noise, like children's toys on Halloween. That's not the problem. I just can't live with the lies anymore, the pretense, the falseness of a life in politics. I've had enough of it to last for ten lifetimes. And I know I couldn't survive another election.”
“Do you think he'll run for the big one next year?”
“Possibly. More than likely,” she said, thinking it over. “But if he does, I can't do it with him. I owe him something, but not that. It's too much to ask. We started out with all the right ideas, and I know Alex meant a lot to him too, although he was never there when he should have been. But most of the time, I understood that. I think he changed when his brother died. I think a piece of Andy died with him. He sold out everything he's ever been or cared about for politics. I just can't do that. And I don't see why I should have to. I don't want to end up like my mother. She drinks too much, she gets migraines, she has nightmares, she lives in constant terror of the press, her hands shake all the time. And she's always terrified of creating a situation that will embarrass my father. No one can live with that kind of pressure. She's a mess and she has been for years. But she looks great. She's had her eyes done and her face lifted, and she covers up how scared she is. And Daddy drags her out for every single meeting, lecture, campaign speech, and rally. If she were honest, she'd admit that she hates him for it, but she'd never do that. He ruined her life. She should have left him years ago, and maybe if she had, she'd still be a whole person. I think the only reason she stayed with him is so he didn't lose an election.” Peter listened to her with a serious expression, deeply affected by what she was saying. “If I'd known Andy would go into politics, I'd never have married him. I guess I should have suspected,” Olivia said with a look of sorrow.
“You couldn't know his brother would be killed, or that he'd be dragged into it,” Peter said fairly.
“Maybe that's just an excuse, maybe it would have all fallen apart anyway. Who knows.” She shrugged, and looked away, out the window. The fishing boats looked like toys dotting the horizon. “It's so beautiful here …I wish I could stay here forever.” She sounded as though she meant it.
“Do you?” he asked gently. “If you leave him, will you come back here?” He wanted to know where to imagine her, where to see her in his mind's eye, when he thought of her during long, cold winter nights in Greenwich.
“Maybe,” she answered, still unsure of so many things. She knew she still had to go back to Paris and talk to Andy, though she was reluctant to do that. Having let the kidnapping myth grow for two days, she could just imagine the circus he would make of it when she got back to Paris.
“I talked to my wife yesterday,” Peter said quietly, while Olivia sat thinking in silence about her husband. “It was strange talking to her, after everything we said the other night. I've always defended everything she did …and her relationship with her father, although I didn't really like it. But after talking to you, it suddenly irks me.” He was so honest with her, so able to say anything he felt. She was so open, so deep, and yet she was cautious not to hurt him, and he sensed it. “She had dinner with him the other night. She had lunch with him yesterday. She's going to spend two months with him this summer, day and night. Sometimes I feel as though she's married to him, and not to me. I guess I've always felt that. The only thing I've consoled myself with is that we have a good life, our sons are great, and her father lets me do what I want in the business.” Oddly enough, it had seemed like so much for so long, and now suddenly it didn't.
“Does he let you do what you want?” She pressed him now, as she hadn't dared to in Paris. But this time he had brought up the subject. And now they knew each other better. His coming to La Favière had brought him even closer to her.
“Frank pretty much does let me do what I want. Most of the time.” He went no further. They were on dangerous ground. She was ready to leave Andy for reasons of her own, but he had no desire to rock his domestic boat with Katie. Of that much he was certain.
“And if Vicotec goes bad in the tests they're doing now? What will he do then?”
“Continue to stand behind it, I hope. We'll just have to do more resear
ch, although it will certainly be expensive.” That was the understatement of all time, but he couldn't imagine Frank backing down now. He thought Vicotec was brilliant. They'd just have to tell the FDA they weren't ready.
“We all make compromises,” Olivia said quietly. “The only problem is when we think we've made too many. Maybe you have or maybe it doesn't matter, as long as you're happy. Are you?” she asked, with enormous eyes. She wasn't asking as a woman, but only as his friend now.
“I think so.” He looked puzzled suddenly. “I always thought so, but to be honest, Olivia, listening to you, I wonder. I've given in on so many things. Where we live, where the boys go to school now, where we spend our summers. And then I think, so what, who cares? The trouble is maybe I do. And maybe I wouldn't even give a damn if Katie were there for me, but all of a sudden I listen to her and I realize she's not there. She's either out at a committee meeting somewhere, doing something for the lads or herself, or with her father. It's been that way for a while, at least since the boys left for boarding school, or maybe even before that. But I've been so busy, I never let myself notice. But all of a sudden, after eighteen years, there's no one for me to talk to. I'm here talking to you, in a fishing village in France, and I'm telling you things I could never tell her …because I can't trust her. That's a very damning statement,” he said sadly, “and yet …” He looked up at her pointedly, and reached across the table for Olivia's hand. “I don't want to leave her. I've never even thought of it. I can't imagine leaving her, or a life other than the one I share with her, and our boys …but all of a sudden I realize something I've never known, or dared to face before. I'm all alone now.” Olivia nodded silently. It was something she was more than familiar with, and something she had suspected about Peter since the first time they'd talked in Paris. But she felt sure that he'd been unaware of it. Things had just rolled along until suddenly he found himself in a place he had never expected. And then he looked at Olivia with the ultimate honesty, yet another thing he had discovered about himself in the last two days. “No matter how I felt, or how she let me down, I'm not sure I'd ever have the guts to leave her. There'd be so much to unravel.” Even thinking about starting his life all over again seriously depressed him.
“It wouldn't be easy,” Olivia said quietly, thinking of herself and still holding his hand. She didn't think less of him because of what he was saying to her. On the contrary, she thought more of him, because he was able to say it. “It terrifies me too. But at least you have a life with her, as flawed as it may be. She's there, she talks to you, she cares in her own way, even if she is limited, or too attached to her father. But she must have loyalty to you too, and to your children. You have a life together, Peter, even if it is less than perfect. Andy and I have nothing. We haven't in years. He's been gone, almost since the beginning.” Peter suspected that it was more than true and he didn't try to defend him.
“Then maybe you should leave.” He worried about her now though, she seemed so vulnerable and so frail. He didn't like to think of her alone, even here, in her quaint little village. He kept thinking how painful it was going to be not seeing her again. After only two days, she had become important to him, and he couldn't imagine what it would be like not talking to her. The legend he had glimpsed in the elevator had become a woman.
“Could you go back to your parents for a while, until things calm down again, and then come back here?” He was trying to help her work things out, and she smiled at him. They truly were friends, partners in crime now.
“Maybe. I'm not sure my mother would be strong enough to handle it, particularly if my father tries to fight me, and sides with Andy.”
“How pleasant.” Peter looked instantly disapproving. “Do you think he would do that?”
“He might. Politicians usually stick together. My brother agrees with anything Andy does, just on principle. And my father always supports him. It's nice for them, rotten for the rest of us. And my father thinks Andy should run for president. I don't suppose my defection would be viewed with approval. It's bound to hurt his chances, or knock him out of the race completely. A divorced president is unthinkable. Personally, I think I'd be doing him a favor. I think that's one job that would be a nightmare. A life from hell. I have no doubt in my mind about that one. It would kill me.” He nodded, amazed to be discussing this with her at all. As complicated as his own life was, particularly with Vicotec blowing in the wind, it was certainly a lot simpler than hers was. At least his life was private. But her every move was scrutinized. And no one in his family had the remotest intention of running for public office, except Katie for the school board. Olivia, on the other hand, was related to a governor, a senator, a congressman, and possibly a president in the not too distant future, provided she didn't leave him. It was amazing.
“Do you think you might stay, if he decides to run, I mean?”
“I don't see how I could. It would be the ultimate sellout. But I suppose anything is possible. If I lose my mind, or he has me bound and gagged and put in a closet. He could tell people I was sleeping.” Peter smiled at that, and they walked slowly out of the restaurant arm in arm after he paid for their breakfast. He was surprised by how cheap the food was.
“If he did that, then I'd have to come and rescue you again,” he said with a grin, as they sat down on the dock and dangled their feet over the water. He was still wearing a white shirt and the trousers to his suit, and she was still barefoot. They made an intriguing contrast.
“Is that what you did this time?” she asked, leaning against him easily with a broad grin. “Rescue me?” She looked pleased by the description. No one had rescued her in years, and it was a welcome gesture.
“I thought I was …you know, from kidnappers, or terrorists, whoever that guy in the white shirt was who followed you out of the Place Vendôme. He looked like a really shady character to me. I definitely thought a rescue was in order.” He was smiling at her, and the sun was hot as it shone down on them, swinging their feet as they sat on the dock like children.
“I like that,” she said, and suggested they go back to the beach. “We could walk to my hotel and go swimming from there.” But he laughed at that. He was certainly not dressed to swim in his trousers. “We could buy you some shorts or swimming trunks. It's a shame to waste this weather.”
He looked at her wistfully. It was a shame to waste any of it, but there were limits to what they had a right to. “I should be getting back to Paris. It took me almost ten hours to get here.”
“Don't be ridiculous. You can't come all this way just for breakfast. Besides, you have nothing to do there except wait to hear from Suchard, and he may not even call you. You can call the hotel for messages and call him from here if you have to.”
“That certainly takes care of it,” he said, laughing at her rapid disposal of his obligations.
“You could rent a room in my hotel, and we could both drive back tomorrow,” she said matter-of-factly, putting off their departure for another day, but Peter wasn't at all sure he should let her do that, though the invitation was more than tempting.
“Don't you think you should at least call him?” Peter suggested quietly, as they walked down the beach hand in hand in the blazing sun. And as he looked at her, radiant next to him, he realized that never in his life had he known such freedom.
“Not necessarily,” Olivia said, looking anything but contrite. “Look at the publicity he'll get out of this, the sympathy, the attention. It would be a terrible shame to spoil it for him.”
“You've been in politics too long.” Peter laughed at her in spite of himself, and sat down on the sand next to her, as she pulled him down beside her. He had taken his shoes and socks off by then and was carrying them. He felt like a beach bum. “You're beginning to think like they do.”
“Never. Even at my worst, I'm not rotten enough. I couldn't be. I don't want anything badly enough. The only thing I ever wanted in my life I lost. I have nothing left to lose now.” It was the saddest s
tatement he'd ever heard, and he knew she was talking about her baby.
“You might have more children one day, Olivia,” he said gently, as she lay down next to him on the sand with her eyes closed, as though she could keep the pain away if she refused to see it. But he could see tears in the corners of her eyes and he wiped them away gently. “It must have been awful …I'm so sorry …” He wanted to cry with her, to hold her in his arms, to take away all the grief she'd had for the past six years. But he felt helpless to do anything as he watched her.
“It was awful,” she whispered with her eyes still closed. “”Thank you, Peter … for being my friend …and for being here.” She opened her eyes and looked at him then. Their eyes met and held for a long time. He had come a long way for her, and suddenly in this little French town, hidden from everyone who knew them, they both knew they were there for each other, for as long as it was possible, as long as they dared. He leaned on one elbow looking down at her and knew with absolute certainty he had never felt this way for anyone, and he had never known anyone like her. He couldn't think of anything or anyone else now.
“I want to be there for you,” he said gently, looking down at her, tracing her face and her lips with his fingers. “…and I have no right to be. I've never done anything like this.” He was tormented by her, and yet she was the balm that soothed all his other ills. Being with her was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and also the most confusing.
“I know that,” she said softly. From her gut, from her soul, from her heart, she knew everything about him. “I don't expect anything from you,” she explained, “you've already been there for me more than anyone in the last ten years. I can't ask more than that …and I don't want to make you unhappy,” she said, looking up at him sadly. In some ways, she knew so much more about life than he did, about grief, about loss, about pain, but even more about betrayal.
Five Days in Paris Page 10
