Midnight in Brussels

by Rebecca Randolph Buckley

  Paul and Belinda Newland had named the shop Newland Gallery near Newlyn, even if it was in Mousehole. Rachel was amused every single time she saw the sign above the door.

  “Hello, anybody home?” She glanced next door through the opening they’d cut through the thick wall to join two shops. Dudley wasn’t in his rock shop, either. “Yoohoo, where are you? I’m a thief and can steal everything in sight!”

  Paul came bounding down the stairs, laughing. “Well, you can try to, if you want. But you won’t get far.” He reached for Rachel and gave her a big bear hug.

  Rachel never ceased to feel a thrill when Paul hugged or kissed her. It would immediately take her back to the first night they met, a kiss between strangers at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve in Trafalgar Square four years before. She would never forget that kiss and how she had felt. She just adored the guy, and she adored Belinda and their two sons.

  “Well, I could have been a couple of guys, you know. They could have stolen all the stuff.”

  “Nah. I would have heard them. So what brings you out today? You ride the bus?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll take you home when you’re ready,” Paul offered. “No sense in taking the bus back.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I know, but I’m going into town anyway.”

  “Where’s Belinda?” Rachel asked.

  “Took the boys to the doc for their regular checkup.” Paul reached under the counter and pulled out a ledger.

  “They’re okay, right? Nothing wrong?”

  “It’s just a routine check, nothing’s wrong. She said she wanted to get a checkup, too, while she’s there. So I guess that’ll take all day by the time she runs errands and goes shopping. You know. And whatever else you girls do when you go to town. I’m meeting them for dinner at the Queen’s Hotel … another artist friend and her family are joining us.”

  Rachel nodded and grinned. “Well, I just came by to tell you both that Pete and I are getting married in Paris this Christmas.”

  Paul’s eyes widened before his grin did. “Are you kidding me? You’re actually getting married? To Pete?”

  “Well, who else would it be, if not to Pete?” Rachel was laughing at his response.

  “I mean—I just—I can’t believe it’s finally going to happen. The bugger didn’t tell me.”

  “He barely told me before he left.”

  “Christmas, huh?”

  “Yes. And I would love to have you and Belinda there if you can do it.”

  “Of course we’ll come. Yes. You can count on that. Belinda will be thrilled.” He hesitated, then moved to Rachel and reached for her shoulders, gazing into her eyes. “Are you happy, Rachel? Is this what you really want?”

  For a second Rachel couldn’t answer the question. Whenever Paul touched her, it always rattled her. Then she blurted out, “Yes, yes, of course I’m happy.” She backed up toward the door.

  She wasn’t as convincing to Paul as she thought she was.

  “I’ve got to run … starting my next novel, you know … I’m going to Brussels on Friday.”

  “Brussels?” Paul leaned back on the desk and sat on its edge.

  “Research for my next novel.”

  “Sounds heavenly. I miss traveling as much as I used to when I was a single man.” He grinned, his blue eyes sparkling in the reflection of the sun streaming through the windows.

  “Well, it might be a quick trip this time. Maybe just a month, I don’t know. Or two. Anyway, I’ll be back in time to get everything together for Paris.”

  She admired this man standing before her with the faint smell of Calvin Klein’s Obsession for Men, a scent he always wore. He was just the opposite of Pete. Pete was a rugged handsome. Paul was romance novel book-cover handsome. He wore his long, thick blond hair tied back at his neck, had smooth, tanned skin, wasn’t overly muscular, just toned. She’d been attracted to him since the first moment she had laid eyes on him, long before he married Belinda and before she met Pete.

  They had first met on a New Year’s Eve when she and Ethan were in London. She first saw Paul after she and Ethan were leaving dinner at the Ritz to get to Trafalgar Square before the midnight festivities. Paul was ushering a group of Japanese clients from the Ritz into a limo next to the taxi she and Ethan were about to enter. At that time Paul was a creative director for an advertising agency.

  That night outside the Ritz her eyes had connected with Paul’s and a thrill shot through her. Then at Trafalgar Square in the midst of the New Year’s Eve celebrations, just a few minutes after seeing him at the Ritz, Rachel was thrust into the back of him on the front lines of the crowd at the Trafalgar fountains. Hundreds of people attempted to enter the crowded square. He managed to turn around and they kissed when the countdown hit midnight. She never would forget that kiss and the way he had slipped his hand around her waist and held her close.

  Their paths had crossed two more times during that weekend; it was uncanny, it was as if they were destined to be in each other’s lives, but in a configuration she would never have guessed.

  A couple months later, after the coincidental (or was it?) meetings on that New Year’s weekend in London, they ran into each other on the south coast of Cornwall and began an actual friendship.

  During that year, four years ago, it was Paul who had had to deal with his own demons. It was Paul who had fallen in love with Belinda after a cruel and merciless gang rape she had endured and survived. It was Paul who had saved Rachel in California from a sure death. It was Paul who was the pivotal male in the two women’s lives.

  Rachel crossed the room to Paul and gave him a quick goodbye hug. “Tell Belinda to call me when she gets back, will you?”

  “I will. So you’re leaving on Friday?”

  “Yes, and I’ll give Belinda the hotel number where I’m staying, and of course I’ll have my cell phone with me.”

  “Then how about dinner on Thursday night before you go? Belinda would love that. We’ll get a sitter for the boys and drive over to Marazion. I’ll call Margaret and let her know we’re coming.”

  “That would be fabulous, Paul. Thank you.”

  “We’ll pick you up at 6:30.”

  “Okay. Bye then.” She opened the door.

  “Wait a minute,” said Paul, “I’m driving you home. I’ll get my keys.”

  “No, no, no. Please. It’s still early and I do love that bumpy bus ride back to Newlyn. I want to go into a couple of the shops here before I leave, anyway. Next time, Paul. Thanks. Really.”

  She was relieved to be out of Paul’s reach. There was just something that took hold of her when she was around him, when it was just the two of them together.

  She shook her head as she ambled down the lane towards the bayfront shops in Mousehole. She felt exhilarated and energized. Not only did the sea air do that to her, Paul did it, too.

  She forced thoughts of Pete back into her mind. He was the one she should be thinking of, she told herself, not her best friend’s husband.

  Chapter 17

  It was Thursday evening and the five-mile drive to Marazion, the oldest chartered town in Cornwall dating all the way back to the 1300s, was quick and full of excited conversation between Rachel and Belinda. They hadn’t seen each other for days and it was catch-up time.

  Paul grinned while he listened to the chatter of the two women he adored most in the world. He would turn and look at his lovely, fragile wife periodically, whose animal sculptures were as popular as his gigantic contemporary paintings. When he would approach a new gallery to show their works, the sellers were always as impressed with her metal works of art and their iridescent Ammolite stones used as eyes as they were with his colorful nude interpretations on canvas.

  Paul and Belinda Newland were the perfect team, something he realized soon after Belinda quit the international advertising firm where he was creative director and she was a graphic designer. Then when they fell in love, he left the corpora
te advertising world himself, left London, and both he and Belinda opened the studios in Mousehole. His studio was upstairs, hers at street level next door to their rock shop friend, Dudley.

  As they rode past Penzance, Paul was thinking of their first days in Cornwall after they were married, and how their lives had become entwined with Rachel’s.

  “So what did the doctor say, Belinda?” Rachel’s question severed Paul’s train of thought.

  “What part do you want to hear?” Belinda asked.

  Belinda’s frown and quick glance at Paul was obvious as Rachel leaned forward from the back seat. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, of course. We all have a clean bill of health. No need to worry.” Belinda turned and looked out the passenger window a bit too quickly in Rachel’s estimation.

  Rachel felt something not ringing true in Belinda’s behavior and words. She decided not to press it any further for the moment; she’d drill her on the way to the station tomorrow. Belinda was taking Rachel to the train station the next morning.

  “So, Rachel, tell us about the book you’re going to write in Brussels,” Paul said as he looked at her in the rearview mirror.

  She leaned back against the seat and took a deep breath. The mood had changed in the car. It felt awkward. Something was amiss, she was sure of it. “Well, it’s a murder mystery about a Belgian hat maker who falls for an American spy in Brussels.”

  Belinda turned quickly toward Rachel, delighted with the possibility. “So which is the woman, the spy or the hat maker?”

  Rachel laughed. “Which do you think she should be?”

  “Make her the spy.”

  “Good idea. The woman is the spy then.”

  “How does she meet the hat maker?” asked Belinda.

  “Well—”

  Belinda quickly inserted, “I got it … have her meet him in one of those shops on the way to the Grand Place in Brussels. Maybe next to a chocolate shop, or a lace shop, there are so many of them. Maybe she buys chocolates and then stands outside his hat shop window, watching people and gorging. Then she turns and looks at the hats displayed in his window. He sees her, notices how beautiful she is, of course she’s drop-dead gorgeous. Then he comes to the door and invites her in to try on a hat that he thinks will be perfect for her. And maybe he’s a spy, too. A Russian spy.”

  Rachel laughed. “You should be writing the story, Belinda.”

  “I’ve always wanted to write. I’ve definitely read tons of romance novels in my lifetime, if that counts for anything.”

  “I can attest to that. Our library is half-filled with the romantic novels she’s read,” Paul added.

  “It was all I did in my spare time. I never dated. After university I got the all-consuming position with the agency and when I wasn’t working, or sculpting, or helping my mother with the B&B, I was reading. That was my love life – romance novels. I lived vicariously through the heroines. But I don’t read so much anymore now that I have my own Prince Charming and two wonderful boys.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that, luv.” Paul reached over and squeezed her knee. “You had me worried there for a minute.” They laughed.

  Quietness filled the air space, still an obvious awkwardness felt. At least Rachel and Belinda felt it.

  Their attention was soon drawn to the magnificent view of the approaching Mount St. Michaels at the end of the causeway that led from Marazion through the waters of the bay.

  Dinner would be at the Godolphin Inn with the best view of the bay and St. Michaels Mount straight out from it. On the beach below the inn the causeway led thousands upon thousands of annual trekkers from the mainland to the medieval castle and its hanging gardens and the remains of a village at its base – now occupied by food and tourist shops.

  Marazion was one of Rachel’s favorite places. Before she moved to Cornwall or had even seen Marazion, she had dreamt that in a past life she was a school teacher of another century, living in Newlyn, and would boat to St. Michael’s Mount to teach the children in the village. It was below the Godolphin Inn, in her dreams, where she had met a lord from Charlestown who became her husband centuries before.

  Those thoughts filled her mind as Paul pulled up to the inn. She and Pete had actually found the estate in her dreams after she moved to Cornwall and had discovered that she was identical to a female subject in one of its paintings, still hanging.

  Paul quickly hopped out of the car and opened the doors for the ladies. “You girls go on in, Margaret’s waiting for you. I’ll find a parking space.”

  Tears filled Rachel’s eyes as she remembered the same exact words being spoken by Pete on their first date at exactly this same spot. It seemed so long ago. She was beginning to miss him.

  Chapter 18

  “So tell me what the doctor said,” Rachel blurted out as soon as Belinda picked her up to take her to the train station.

  “He said the boys are in perfect health; they’re the correct weight and height for their ages, and—”

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” Rachel shifted in the passenger seat, half facing her best friend behind the wheel.

  “No, I don’t know what you mean.” Belinda still didn’t look at Rachel. She started up the engine and headed back down the lane to get on the coastal road to Penzance.

  “Belinda, something is wrong, I feel it. You know I sense things, and I sense that something is wrong and you’re not telling me.”

  Belinda glanced at her for a moment, and then pulled over to the side of the road. “Okay, if you must know, I’ll tell you. But I haven’t told anyone else, not Paul, not my mother. It’s between you and me, promise?”

  “Yes, I promise.”

  “I’m pregnant again.”

  “And?” Rachel held her breath.

  “And the doctor said he wants to run some tests because there’s an abnormality in the blood tests he took several days ago. I didn’t tell Paul I’ve been having some unusual symptoms.”

  “Like what?”

  “I have a lump under my left arm, and another one, here, at the base of my neck. And I have been so tired in the past couple months. It’s such a chore to get out of bed every morning. By noon I can hardly hold my head up. I’m always tired.”

  Rachel gasped. “What did he say about that?”

  “Well, he’s not sure, but he’s testing me for lymphoma.”

  “No! No!” Rachel reached over and hugged Belinda as they both began to weep.

  “He’s not sure, Rachel. So I’m not going to say anything until I know. Please don’t tell Paul.” Belinda wiped her eyes with tissue. “It’s so hard keeping it all inside, but I’m glad you pulled it out of me. I feel much better now.”

  “What about the pregnancy?”

  “He said if I do have lymphoma, it would be best to abort the baby. But I don’t want to think about that right now.” She pulled the car back onto the road.

  “You’ll take chemo, definitely,” Rachel said. “You have to do that if it turns out you have it.”

  “If I take chemo I’ll have to abort the baby first. If I don’t take chemo, I can carry the baby, and then do the chemo after it’s born.”

  “We shouldn’t talk like you have it. There might be another explanation for why you’re tired and have those lumps.”

  They both knew there wasn’t.

  “I hate to leave you like this,” Rachel murmured. “Maybe I shouldn’t go away just now.”

  “Don’t be crazy! I’m going to be fine. As soon as I find out I’ll tell Paul and Mother. If it is lymphoma. And then we’ll decide. But whatever it is, you’ll only be away a month or two—”

  “Okay, but please call me as soon as you hear the test results. Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Rachel hurried down the platform to get on the train to Exeter where she would be catching the plane to Brussels.

  “Call us when you get there!” Belinda yelled.

  “I will!” Rachel called back. S
he boarded the train five minutes before it pulled out of the station.

  Rachel lifted her notebook from her bag and began making a list of what she needed to do first when she arrived in Brussels. First she would do a thorough research on the Internet about lymphoma.

  Her cell phone rang.

  “Hello, babe. Are you on the train?”

  “Pete! Hello, darling. I’m so glad you called. Where are you?”

  “We’re in Belem, refreshing our supplies. Tomorrow we’re heading back up the river.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, luv. You needn’t worry. There’s a bit of trouble with the poachers but we’re careful about keeping our distance. It’s beautiful here, luv. I wish you were with me.”

  “I wish I were, too, except I don’t think I could take all those insects and the reptiles. That will keep me away from South America more than anything else. In fact I know I couldn’t bear it there. So it’s much better that we meet in Paris, darling. That’s more my style.”

  Pete laughed.

  “I miss you so much, Pete.”

  “Miss you, too, doll. I’ll call you when you get to Brussels. Love you.”

  “Love you, too,” she whispered, tears gathering in her eyes. She wanted to tell him about Belinda, but she’d promised.

  “Have a safe trip, doll.”

  “You, too.” She closed her phone and leaned her head back and shut her eyes, suddenly feeling depressed and very, very tired.

  PART THREE

  “When you visualize, then you materialize.”

  Dr. Dennis Waitley

  The Secret

  Chapter 19

  It had been a warm, cloudless June day when Amanda arrived at the Brussels National Airport near Zaventum. She felt lost and at a complete disadvantage not knowing any of the languages that the people around her were speaking. The overhead signage was not in English, but she could make out what some of them meant by the graphic icons next to the wording. She knew she had to take a train to Bruges, but didn’t know where she was supposed to catch it. After she cleared customs, she saw a train symbol and followed the arrows along with droves of other people doing the same. She figured they all couldn’t be wrong.