She lay quietly in her bed for another hour, worrying about what the doctor had said, and finally around one-thirty in the morning, without throwing up again, she fell asleep. Zack hadn’t called her back, and she had no idea where he was.
She woke up at ten the next morning, and miraculously felt better. She called Gilles and told him she wouldn’t be going out. She had hoped to go to Sacré Coeur, because she loved hearing the choir of nuns who sang there, but she thought it would be smarter to stay in bed and not stir things up. She slept on and off all day, drank chicken broth, and tea, and finally ordered a little rice late that afternoon. She was feeling better by the time Jade and David came back that night, having had a wonderful time. They thanked her for dinner at Harry’s Bar, told her about the parties they’d gone to, and David raved about the Tate. She never said a word to them about how sick she’d been, calling the doctor, or what he’d said about her going to the hospital and having scans. She felt as though she’d had a narrow escape. She went to sleep early that night. And on Monday she felt like herself again, which in her opinion proved the doctor had been wrong, no matter how illustrious he was. It had obviously been just the flu, and she was greatly relieved as she put on jeans and a black sweater, her black ballerina shoes, and went downstairs to supervise the rehearsal in the rooms they had reserved for two days for their show.
As usual, the rehearsal was an utter mess. It always was. People went the wrong way, heading onto the runway from the wrong direction, looking dazed, models showed up late, the lighting was wrong, the music they had brought with them got lost and was finally found after everyone had left. It was the chaos she had come to expect over the years at rehearsal, and it made her doubly glad that she hadn’t been talked into going to the hospital, and maybe having an appendectomy unnecessarily. She didn’t trust medical care in France. She even went to dinner with Jade and David at the Voltaire that night, and stopped in at one of the parties afterward. It was hosted by Dior, and as always at their parties, it was a fabulous event. They had Lucite floors set over a swimming pool, topless models everywhere, and Timmie was utterly exhausted by three A.M. when they finally got back to the hotel and went to bed. But she was relieved to notice that even though she was tired, she didn’t feel sick at all. She felt absolutely fine and pleased to note the doctor had been wrong.
The next day their show went off as smoothly as it had gone badly at rehearsal the day before. She was extremely glad that she had been on hand. Without her meticulous eye surveying everything, she was sure that some of the details that mattered to her would have gotten lost in the shuffle. She didn’t trust anyone else to run the show. They all congratulated each other, and at eight o’clock that night Jade and David flew to New York. The last of the shows was over, and all they had to do before returning to Los Angeles was attend several days of meetings in New York. Timmie planned to be there on Friday, and spend the weekend in New York after visiting their factory in New Jersey. She had meetings set up for Monday and Tuesday, and Tuesday night they were all flying back to L.A. Timmie realized that Zack still hadn’t returned her call. She suspected that he was punishing her for not taking him to Paris, and saying she was sick on his voice mail had just encouraged him to punish her that much more. The opportunity was probably too good for him to resist, and he had gotten his wish. If sick, she was having a rotten time in Paris without him, so he didn’t bother to return her call. Her being sick and having a lousy time had probably given him a sense of having the upper hand. It sounded twisted, but Timmie knew he had a petty side to him that held a grudge.
She was so tired after the show and after having drinks with several journalists and editors from Vogue at the bar that she ordered room service. Jade and David had already left for New York. Timmie and the journalists were all exhausted after the grueling weeks of the ready to wear shows. Having done double duty in New York and Europe, Timmie felt as though she was ready to crawl as she went upstairs. She didn’t even bother to eat the dinner she had ordered, and fell asleep on her bed in all her clothes.
She had no idea what time it was when she awoke. It was dark outside, and all she was aware of was a stabbing pain in her right side. She was in such agony she could barely catch her breath, and this time she had no doubt what it was. Dr. Vernier had been right after all. She lay in her bed and cried, and frantically dug through the papers on her bed table, wondering where his number was. She was beginning to seriously panic when she found it, and, writhing in pain, she dialed his cell phone number. She saw on the clock then that it was four in the morning. And all she knew for sure was that she was in big trouble. She could hardly speak when he answered the phone on the second ring. For a moment, he had no idea who it was. She was sobbing, in agony and terror, and then in an instant, he realized who it was just as she said her name. And just as she had, he could easily guess what had happened. Just listening to her, he was sure that her appendix had ruptured, or was about to. He hadn’t heard from her in three days, and had hoped that all was well and he’d been wrong. It was obvious now that that was not the case.
“I’m sorry to call you so late, doctor …,” she said, gasping with the pain and crying. “I’m … in terrible pain.… I …”
“I know.” She didn’t need to explain as he came instantly awake and sounded calm. “I’ll send an ambulance for you at once. Stay in bed. Don’t move. You don’t need to dress. I’ll meet you at the hospital when you arrive.” He sounded cool and precise, and reassuring in his professionalism, like someone she could count on.
He could tell that she was in extreme distress and considerable danger. The situation was urgent.
“I’m really scared,” she said, crying harder, and sounding almost like a child. “I’m in so much pain … what are they going to do?” She knew without asking him, and he didn’t answer her directly. He just sounded reassuring and assured her everything would be all right.
“Are your assistants with you?” He wondered if she was alone. It sounded fairly dire to him, and he was worried about her. She had been foolish not to deal with it three days before, but it was too late now to worry about that. He was anxious to get her to the hospital and into a surgeon’s hands. They would do the scans now in the operating room, while preparing to operate on her.
“They left for New York,” she gasped.
“You’re alone?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll have someone from the hotel wait with you. I’m going to call for the ambulance now. Madame O’Neill, everything will be all right,” he said in a strong quiet tone, which made only a small dent in her panic.
“No, it won’t.” She was crying like a child, and he had the feeling that something more was happening than just her appendix rupturing. She was obviously overcome with panic, but he didn’t want to waste more time.
“I’ll meet you at the hospital when you get there,” he said calmly, and hung up. He had no other choice. He was sending her to the American Hospital for her comfort, rather than the Pitié Salpetrière where he normally worked. He had privileges at both.
A few minutes later, Timmie rang for a maid, who very sweetly sat holding her hand until the paramedics arrived, and put Timmie on a gurney in her nightgown, covered her with blankets, and sped down the deserted hotel halls. The arrival of the paramedics had caused a considerable stir in the lobby and the assistant manager on duty appeared as she left. She was in the ambulance speeding through the night a few minutes later, crying softly. The paramedics spoke no English, and could say nothing to reassure her. Her eyes were filled with terror as they took her out of the ambulance, and the first thing she saw was Dr. Vernier waiting for her. He took one look at her face, and quietly took her hand and held it in his, as they rushed her into the hospital, and up to the operating room, which they were already preparing for her.
“I called one of the best surgeons in Paris for you,” he said quietly, as they wheeled her into the brightly lit operating room, and she looked at him with wild eyes.
�
�I’m too scared,” she said, clutching his hand, too paralyzed with pain to move anything else. “Please don’t leave me here alone,” she said, sobbing. He nodded and smiled at her, as a nurse approached with papers for her to sign. He explained to her what they said, and asked if there was someone they should call to tell them she was there, or in case the situation worsened. Timmie thought about it for a moment and told them not to call anyone. The person she listed as next of kin was Jade Chin, who Timmie explained was her assistant, staying at the Four Seasons in New York. She gave him her cell phone number, but told him not to call her unless something went wrong. There was no point upsetting her now. There was nothing she could do from New York. It struck him as sad as he listened to her that this woman who had so much, and was so important and respected in the world, had only a secretary to call now that she was ill. It told him a great deal about her life, the choices she had made, and the price she had paid for them. He felt sorry for her, as they did the scans and he held her hand. His prediction of three days before had proven to be accurate. Her appendix had ruptured, and toxins were rushing through her system as a result.
“Please don’t leave me,” she said, clutching his hand, and he held her delicate hand firmly in his own.
“I won’t leave you,” he said softly, as he watched the anesthesiologist prepare to put her under. They were moving quickly, and the danger was considerable now. They needed to remove what was left of her appendix and do what they could to clean out the area. Her eyes met his as the anesthesiologist spoke to her in French, and Jean-Charles Vernier translated for her, and continued to hold her hand.
“Will you stay even after I’m asleep?” she asked, as tears poured from her eyes.
“If you would like me to.” His presence was calm, powerful, and reassuring. Everything about him told her she could rely on him. And in that single moment, she trusted him completely.
“I would … want you to stay … and please call me Timmie.” He had called her Madame O’Neill again while translating and telling her what would happen. She was glad suddenly that she had called him. His was a familiar face. At least she had seen Jean-Charles Vernier before, and he had been highly recommended by her friend in New York, as an excellent physician. She knew she was in good hands, but she was terrified anyway.
“I’m here, Timmie,” he said, with her hand in his, and his blue eyes firmly locked into hers. “Everything will be fine now. You’re safe. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. And in a minute, you’ll be asleep. I’ll see you when you wake up,” he said, smiling at her. The moment she was asleep, he was going to leave and put on surgical garb. He had every intention of staying with her for the surgery, just as he had promised. He always kept promises he made. His patients knew that he wouldn’t let them down, and Timmie sensed that now too.
A moment later the anesthesiologist put the mask over her face. Her eyes looked into Jean-Charles’s, as he continued talking to her, and a minute later, she was asleep. He left the operating room briefly then to put on a gown and mask, and scrub up, and as he did, he couldn’t help thinking about the woman they were operating on, and all that she had given up in her life, to trade her enormous success for even one person whom she could call in an emergency, and who could be there with her, to hold her hand. Before she had drifted off to sleep, he had thought he had never seen such sad eyes in his life, or someone so scared to be alone. And as he stood next to her, holding her hand, he had the impression that he was looking at a terrified, abandoned child.
Just as he promised her, he stood beside her and watched the surgery. It went well, and the surgeon was pleased. As the surgical team left the room, Jean-Charles Vernier followed her to the recovery room. He didn’t know her at all, and had found her difficult and unreasonable three days before, and now all he knew was that whoever she was, and whatever had come before in her life, he sensed to his very core that he could not leave her alone. Someone had to be there for her. And he was all she had. He had sensed the overwhelming solitude and loneliness in her soul.
She saw him standing next to her when she woke up in the recovery room. She was still woozy from the drugs they had given her, but she recognized him immediately and smiled at him.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and then closed her eyes again.
“Sleep well, Timmie,” he said softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispered, as he carefully took his hand from hers.
She was already sound asleep again, as he left the room, said good night to the nurses, and went out to his car. Everyone at the surgery was impressed that he was her attending physician and hadn’t left her side.
He didn’t know why, but he felt a deep sadness for her. Something in her eyes that night had told him that much had happened to her in her life, and none of it good. The powerful woman others saw, who ran an empire so successfully, had nothing to do with the one he had seen that night. The woman he had seen had wounds in her soul that tore at his heart. He was still thinking about her as he drove home, and watched the sun come up over Paris.
In the hospital in Neuilly, Timmie was lost in the arms of a deep, peaceful sleep. Without even knowing it, Jean-Charles Vernier had kept all the old demons of her past from engulfing her that night. And all he knew was that without knowing why, he had seen them in her eyes.
Chapter 3
Timmie was lying in her bed the day after her surgery, looking out the window, when Jean-Charles Vernier walked into the room. He was wearing his white coat, with a stethoscope around his neck. He had patients to see at his other hospital, and had visited them first, before coming to see her at the American Hospital in Neuilly. When he arrived, he had checked her chart and spoken to the nurses earlier, and knew that all was going well. They had told him she was still asleep, but had been awake that morning, was fully alert, and had taken very little pain medicine and he was pleased. She was still on heavy doses of IV antibiotics, to combat the infection from toxins released into her system, but he thought they had remedied the situation quickly after her appendix ruptured. And although it had been painful and frightening for her, she had actually been very lucky. It could have been a lot worse. After observing her closely for the next several days, he was sure they would be able to send her back to the hotel. He was anxious to check on her himself, and was smiling when he walked into the room. Since he had seen all his other patients, he could spend whatever time he needed with her without rushing. He saw that she looked tired, but far better than he anticipated after her ordeal the night before.
“Well, Timmie, how are you feeling today?” he asked in his heavily accented English, with his blue eyes observing her intently. She smiled when she heard him use her first name. She had half-expected him to revert to Madame O’Neill again, now that the crisis was over. She liked hearing him say Timmie. He made it sound very French.
“I feel a lot better than I did last night,” she said with a shy smile. She was sore, and the incision hurt, but even that was less acute than the searing pain she’d had the night before.
“You were very lucky things did not get very much worse,” he said as he sat down on the chair next to her bed, and then turned to ask her politely for permission. “May I?” He was formal, and yet at the same time warm, and she still remembered his holding her hand when she was terrified before the anesthetic. He had never let go of her hand once. And she saw the same kindness now in his eyes.
“Of course,” she said about his sitting down. “Thank you for being nice to me last night,” she said shyly, her green eyes meeting his intense blue ones. They were both remembering his holding her hand. “I get very scared sometimes,” she admitted hesitantly. “It’s a lot of old stuff from my childhood that creeps up on me, and when I feel frightened, suddenly I’m five years old again. I felt that way when I got to the hospital, and I really appreciate that you were there, and stayed with me.” Her voice drifted off as she looked at him, and then she glanced away, as he watched her quietly from the chair. She was embarrassed t
o admit to him how vulnerable she felt at times.
“What happened when you were five years old?” he asked cautiously. He wasn’t asking entirely as her physician, but he had seen something so raw and terrified in her that he had instantly seen an old trauma that was overwhelming her. It was hard to imagine what it was, although frightening things happened to children sometimes, which then pursued them for a lifetime, even as adults.
“My parents died when I was five,” she said quietly. She didn’t speak again for several moments, while he continued to watch her. He wondered if she would tell him what had happened after that. Although that in itself would have been enough, particularly if they had died in some traumatic way that had affected her, or if she’d seen it happen. And then slowly, she went on. “They had a car accident on New Year’s Eve. They went out and never came back. I still remember when the police came to the house and took me away. I don’t know why, but they picked me up in an ambulance. Maybe it was the only vehicle they had on hand at the time, or maybe they thought it would frighten me to ride in a police car. I’ve had a terror of ambulances ever since. Even hearing the sirens makes me feel sick.” And of course she had been brought to the hospital the night before in an ambulance, which he suddenly realized must have been hard for her. There had been no other choice, given how sick she was. He knew then that her state of panic the moment he saw her must have been heightened, or even caused by that.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I should have picked you up myself at the hotel, but I wanted to come here and get everything ready for you, and make sure the surgeon and the operating room were ready for you.” He apologized to her as she smiled at him. And he didn’t normally pick up patients at their homes.
“Don’t be silly. How could you know? And I actually felt so awful, I don’t think it bothered me as much as it might have otherwise. I was scared out of my wits about what was going to happen when I got here.” He smiled at her reassuringly, and she had the same feeling of safety being near him as she’d had the night before the moment she saw him, and then when he held her hand. He exuded solace and comfort, warmth, and something almost tender and very strong. He seemed trustworthy and reliable, and a good person. Although she hardly knew him, she felt protected by him, and totally at peace. He was a very gentle man.
First Sight Page 6
