Midnight in Brussels

by Rebecca Randolph Buckley

  “Here we go, tea for two.” Rachel seemed to have regained her strength. She’d even brushed her hair and put on lipstick.

  “So are you doing anything special tonight?” he asked her.

  Rachel shook her head. “No. I hadn’t planned on doing anything.”

  “Why don’t I take you to the Ship Inn for dinner? Just the two of us.”

  “But what about Belinda?”

  “She’s really sick right now, Rachel. She told me to get out of the house and do something. Actually, she told me to come over here and take you to dinner. Her mother is with her. I hated to leave, but there’s nothing I can do for her when she’s like this. Those treatments are nearly killing her.” He began to get emotional again.

  “All right, I’ll go to dinner with you. Just give me a few moments. Drink your tea, I’ll get ready. Maybe it would be good for both of us to get out amongst the living.” She realized what she’d said and immediately tried to take it back. “Oh, I didn’t mean that like that … I’m so sorry, really—“

  “I know you didn’t. But you’re right, it’s time we thought of ourselves for at least one night.” He grinned at Rachel and his silver-blue eyes lit up for the first time in a long time.

  Chapter 41

  Mousehole’s Ship Inn was crammed with people. Rachel had dressed in black jeans and a black angora sweater with a low V-neck. She felt much better than she had in weeks.

  They’d gone to see Belinda first, and Paul changed into slacks and a sweater himself. Belinda had been asleep, and not wanting to awaken her, Paul and Rachel spoke with her mother and left quietly. She had had a very rough day of pain from the treatments that were taking their toll on her back and legs, and the painkillers had finally taken effect and put her to sleep.

  The Ship Inn was a local watering hole in Mousehole, and everyone for miles came around on important holidays - the eve before Christmas Eve and on New Year’s Eve, especially.

  “I love this place!” Paul said loudly over the noise, which consisted of music and the impromptu choir of imbibing celebratory voices. He escorted Rachel to the bar where they were surprised to find two stools unoccupied. The bartender said the couple had just left to go to Penzance, so they were lucky no one had taken them yet.

  “I wonder if Tom and Peter are coming in.” Rachel lifted the champagne that Paul had just poured for her. He’d ordered a bottle and it was in a cardboard ice bucket in front of them on the bar.

  “I haven’t seen them around lately. One of them usually drops by the studio, at least on the weekends. Maybe they went away for Christmas or decided to stay in London for New Year’s. I would imagine their friends have fantastic parties in London.”

  “They probably throw the parties themselves. Can you imagine? Tom a decorator, Peter a painter. Their apartment in London must be over the top, if it’s anything like what they’ve done to the cottage here.” She sipped from the glass.

  “Hey, wait a minute. We have to make a toast.”

  “Oops. Sorry.” She laughed.

  “Let me see … how about to all those who are dearest to us.”

  “And may we have the happiness we deserve,” Rachel added.

  “Hear, hear.”

  They clanked glasses and looked into each other’s eyes as they sipped.

  Rachel looked away first. Paul’s gaze still did something to her, after all this time. That had never changed. It was his gaze that had captured her attention in the first place.

  “So how are the painting sales these days?” she asked.

  Paul came out of a reverie and double-blinked his eyes, attempting to clear his mind. “Oh, well, sales are good. We hit records this season. Belinda’s sculptures, too. Both of us did well. What about you, are you working on your novel?”

  “Nope. I can’t seem to get back into it yet. Oh it’s done; I just need to do the final edit before sending it to my agent. But I’m useless right now.”

  “Maybe you should take a trip, get away from the reminders.” He was reluctant to say it, but he felt he must.

  She sipped her drink, not responding.

  “Rachel, you have to move on. He’s not coming back.”

  She remained silent without looking at him and continued sipping. Finally she gulped the remaining liquid and asked for another drink.

  He poured, and then they both gazed at the people around them.

  The Ship Inn pub had a low ceiling; it was dark with gigantic beams holding up the floors above them, heavy wooden tables with benches and chairs filled the dining rooms. The front of the building faced the harbor. A narrow lane passed between the building and the sea wall edge and only one vehicle could traverse at a time. A lot of backing up and waiting for the other to pass took place every day and night. The wise and experienced visitors parked on the outskirts of the village and walked in.

  Mousehole was a tiny fishing hamlet set in the hillside along the sea. Its yellow-lichened granite cottages covered the hillsides in rows all the way down to its harbor. A tourist attraction, many artisans soon found their way to the quaint village to work and sell their wares, Belinda and Paul among them.

  Rachel’s cottage in Newlyn was two miles south overlooking Newlyn Harbor, and Paul’s home was a half mile further south above the Penzance Road on the hillside facing Mount’s Bay.

  “What shall we have for dinner?” Paul asked her. “Any suggestions?”

  Rachel looked up on the chalkboard above the bar and after a moment’s thought she said, “Let’s be simple and order fish & chips. I haven’t had that in a long time.”

  “Works for me.” He motioned to the bartender and ordered for both of them.

  “So how is it working out with Belinda’s mother here? She’s got to be a godsend, right?”

  “I don’t know what I would do without her. A friend of hers is managing the B&B in London while she’s here, and of course she goes back a couple days every two weeks to check on things and take a rest. So it seems to be working out all right for her, business-wise. When I go to London I stay at her place to see what’s going on, too. Her friend doesn’t know who I am, so that works to our advantage.”

  “So what are the doctors saying about Belinda?” Rachel sipped as she watched Paul’s reaction.

  He sat up straight, stretched his neck and placed his glass on the bar in front of him. It took a few moments before he answered. “They don’t know at this point. It’s a non-Hodgkin’s. They’re saying it’s T-cell lymphoma. As long as it doesn’t spread to the bone marrow, she’ll be all right. That’s what they’re trying to prevent. Once it’s in the bone marrow there’s only a forty to fifty percent chance of survival. So that’s where we are. It isn’t in her bone marrow.”

  “Thank God! So that’s good, isn’t it? She’s going to make it, Paul. I just know she is.”

  “We’ll find out after the third round of chemo. But c’mon, let’s not talk about it tonight. We both need some R&R from our miseries, don’t you think? Let’s think of all the good things in our lives. Here, give me a hug.” He stood up and put his arms around her. “Now this feels good. I wish we could stay this way all night.”

  Rachel didn’t comment. She was stunned that he’d said what he said as well as by what he was doing. She had to admit it felt good to have a man’s arms around her again. Thoughts of Pete began to flood her mind … she had loved being held by Pete, making love together. She wondered what it would be like to make love with Paul—but as soon as she thought it she flinched and pulled away. What was the matter with her? Paul was her best friend’s husband! She shook her head and picked up her drink.

  Paul frowned. “What’s wrong? Did I say the wrong thing?”

  “No, I was thinking the wrong thing!”

  “Like what?” He sat on the stool and took a drink from his glass.

  Rachel shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it, really.”

  “Well, I do wish we could be in each other’s arms all night. I meant it, Rachel.”r />
  “Don’t say that! Belinda’s my best friend! Your wife!”

  Paul straightened his shoulders and fidgeted in his seat. “Nothing wrong with thinking. I love Belinda, you know that. I adore her. But I’ve felt something for you since the first day we met. And I know you feel the same. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “We’ve talked about that before, Paul. It has something to do with our past lives. If you want to talk about past lives, fine, but let’s enjoy the rest of the evening in the now and be true to Belinda and to the memory of Pete. All right? Excuse me; I’m going to the ladies’ room.”

  Paul felt terrible for what he had just said and hoped it wasn’t too late to get back on track. He didn’t mean to upset Rachel even though he enjoyed holding her, he had to admit that. But he would never cheat on Belinda, never. Especially during her illness. He loved his boys, loved their life together, and he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize any of that.

  He had Belinda to thank for saving him from his addictions – sex and cocaine, a deadly mixture. Both had been killing him, and when he had the heart attack she’d been right there for him when no one else was. But that wasn’t enough; it took the tragic gang-rape that almost killed her to finally get them together. She was so fragile during that time, and all he wanted to do was to take care of her. And he did. And they fell in love.

  “Hey, big guy … I’m sorry I jumped at you. Forgive me?” Rachel ran her hand along his shoulders as their eyes locked. “Nothing wrong with hugging. Here, one quick one before I sit down.”

  He swiveled around and pulled her toward him, squeezing her tightly. “I just need to hold someone, Rachel. I’m sorry I frightened you. I didn’t mean anything by it. I miss Belinda.”

  “I know. I miss Pete. Okay, that’s enough. Let’s not overdo it.”

  They both laughed and lifted their glasses.

  “Happy New Year, luv.”

  She clanked his glass and replied, “Happy New Year.”

  Chapter 42

  In March Amanda and Richard drove to his ranch northwest of Santa Cruz along the Pacific coastline. He picked up Amanda in Bakersfield to take her to her new home, his ranch, for the April wedding. The drive from Highway One to the house nestled in the coastal range was two miles from the entrance gate. The name of the ranch – Miller Valley Ranch - was sculpted in metal over the entrance and very impressively done. Amanda was amazed at the artistic rendering and the electronically controlled rustic metal gates. As they drove through, Richard told her the gates and the archway had been sculpted by a local artisan.

  When they pulled up in front of the sprawling adobe buildings, resembling a western resort rather than a single ranch house, a young woman near Amanda’s age opened another ornate gate fronting the main courtyard. She stood waiting.

  Richard called out to her as he stepped from the car. “Darys! Come greet Amanda.”

  Darys wasn’t smiling. She was frowning.

  “Who is she, Richard?” Amanda felt the cold stare from Darys long before she was close enough to see it.

  “Darys is my daughter,” he said as he popped the trunk and waved to some ranch hands that were standing by smoking cigarettes.

  Amanda stopped dead in her tracks and gave Richard a questioning look. A feeling of doom shot through her. “You didn’t tell me you had a daughter.” She adjusted her purse strap over her shoulder and stood tall as Richard reached for her hand.

  “Will you take Amanda’s luggage upstairs to the blue guest wing, Jered?” He looked at Amanda. “Actually, I was afraid to tell you, darling. I hope you’ll forgive me.” He led her to his daughter and formally introduced them to each other.

  Four weeks passed and Amanda was falling in love with ranch life almost as much as she was in love with Richard. His ranch stretched all the way to the Pacific Ocean. They would ride horses to the top of the coastal mountain range and gaze out over the sea. A few times they took wine, blankets, food, and would picnic on the grassy mounds with the terrific views: the coastal road curving up the mountain to the cliffs to their right, the road to the left ran along the sea’s edge to Santa Cruz. Amanda had never seen such beauty.

  Her memories of Belgium were dissipating, except when she would lie awake at night, unable to block them from her mind. She knew she would be all right with Richard; she just had to separate the thoughts of all she’d left behind from reality.

  The reality was that she was with Richard now, and they were to be married in two weeks in the little chapel on the hill in Cupertino. Her sister was coming, her brother-in-law and little A.G., too.

  Even Frenchie and her fiancé Lance were flying up. She told Amanda on the phone that she wouldn’t miss her wedding for anything in the world.

  Paula told Amanda that Frenchie felt responsible for her and Richard getting together, and she reveled in that fact. Frenchie said she felt as if Amanda was her own daughter, and had cried for joy when she found out about the impending wedding.

  Everyone was happy for Amanda.

  Amanda opened her eyes after lying awake for over an hour. She looked out the windows above the window seat and marveled at the streaks of light of the rising sun peeking over the mountains. The early morning shadows were intriguing to Amanda. She stared into them every morning, making out the shapes of the dwellings and objects slowly coming into focus.

  She loved mornings. Richard would already be up and ready to have his morning coffee with her. They slept in separate bedrooms. She still hadn’t given her body to him, but she knew it was going to happen very soon. Richard said he could wait until they were married. She felt guilty about making love to Antoine before Richard. She didn’t know why it was such an issue with her, why she couldn’t make love to Richard.

  She glanced at the clock and moved gracefully through the spacious bedroom into the walk-in closet housing her meager wardrobe. Although Richard had offered to expand her wardrobe, she told him no, she had all she needed.

  After donning a pair of jeans and a long sleeved navy blue pullover, Amanda went into the bathroom that was almost as big as her apartment in Bakersfield had been. She brushed her teeth and hair, washed her face and slipped her feet into sandals as she left the bedroom, eager to get to her husband-to-be.

  Darys was coming down the hall toward her.

  “Good morning, Darys.”

  “If you say so.”

  Amanda turned and watched Darys continue down the hallway. She hadn’t had any luck in getting through to her. It was plain and simple: Darys didn’t want Amanda in her father’s life. She was rude to Amanda, and was doing all she could to sabotage her stay at the adobe, hoping Amanda would just give up and go away. Amanda hadn’t told Richard the mean things Darys had said and done to her.

  For instance, the day they went horseback riding together. Amanda invited Darys to go with her, hoping to bond with her somewhat. Darys had insisted they ride bareback, no saddles. Said she’d teach Amanda how to ride without a saddle. So Amanda went along with it.

  They took off together across the pasture and up the small hills, heading up the mountain. At one point they stopped and Darys suggested they take a shortcut over the hill. It was a steep one with loose and damp dirt from a recent landslide after the rain. Darys took off up the hill with her horse lurching at every leap to grab hold with his front hooves and then following with his hind feet. It was a violent gallop uphill, in almost a bucking motion. She called down to Amanda to follow.

  So Amanda, being a novice and not knowing how difficult it would be with a saddle much less without one, attempted to repeat the effort of Darys. Halfway up she’d started sliding back toward the hindquarters of the horse, holding on to his mane for dear life. She dropped the reins. With every lurch, the horse’s upper backbone slammed into Amanda’s chest. The pain was horrific and it was hard for her to breathe, but she held on to his neck and mane all the way to the top where she let go and immediately slid to the ground. She lay there in pain, unable to move.

  Da
rys laughed.

  “I think … you better … get some help. Pain … can’t breathe …”

  “Oh, you’ll be all right. Just give it a minute. I’ll meet you back at the house.” She rode off, leaving Amanda on the ground.

  After a few minutes, Amanda figured she couldn’t just lie there forever. It was getting dark.

  She screamed as she sat up, the pain piercing her chest. She leaned forward and got to her knees and then to her feet. She felt nauseated and dizzy as the pain enveloped her body. That damn girl! I’ll kill her!

  She stepped to the horse who luckily was still standing by. He hadn’t followed Darys’s horse back to the ranch. Now she had to get on him. Without a stirrup. She led him to a fallen tree and managed to climb up on him after several tries, still writhing with pain. It felt like someone had smashed her chest and it was caving in with every breath she took.

  The horse was easy to control heading home, which was to her advantage, for if he would have galloped she knew she wouldn’t have been able to hold on.

  When she reached the stables, Jered and a few of the ranch hands were standing around waiting to have supper. Jered saw her pained expression and the mud on her clothing and ran to her.

  “What happened, Miss?”

  “… went riding with Darys … got hurt … she left me.”

  “Bill, get the boss, right now! Al, you call Doc.” Jered helped her from the horse and was carrying her to the house, her head on his shoulder, when Richard appeared, running toward them with Bill behind.

  “Oh, God! What happened, Jered? Darling, what is it?”

  Jered kept walking to the house. “You might ask your daughter, Mr. Miller.”

  Amanda was unconscious.

  Darys’s version of the story was that she and Amanda had gone riding. When she wanted to go home, Amanda told her to go ahead, that she wanted to stay out longer. And that’s all she knew.