First Sight

by Danielle Steel

  “You tell me, doctor. How soon can I fly home?”

  “Are you in a great hurry?”

  “No,” she said honestly, “but I should get back. I have a business to run,” she reminded him, but he was well aware of it, and of how busy she was, and was likely to be when she went back.

  “How does Thursday sound to you? Can you live with that?” He didn’t want to rush her departure, but he knew he couldn’t keep her at the Plaza Athénée forever.

  “It sounds about right.” And it would give David and Jade a day to organize things for her after they got back. “Can I go out a little bit before that? At least for a short walk.” She had something in mind, which he didn’t suspect.

  “I think you can. Don’t walk too far or do too much. Don’t carry anything heavy. Be sensible, and you’ll be fine.”

  “That’s good advice about life,” she said, and he smiled. “I’m always sensible unfortunately. I’m too old to be otherwise.” That was not entirely true, but for the most part it was.

  “Age has nothing to do with it. And you’re young enough to be foolish if you want. It might do you good from time to time.” He could only imagine the pressure she was under, with her work, and the stress when things went wrong. Fashion was a tough business, and he suspected she had to work hard and fight well to stay on top, which was where she’d been for twenty-three years. Right at the very top, always trying to outdo herself. It was no easy task.

  She noticed, or had the impression, that he was reluctant to leave that afternoon, as night began to fall. And then she decided to ask him a random question, which was perhaps too personal. But she decided that if he didn’t want to answer it, he wouldn’t. He was a big boy, well able to defend himself, and she was curious to know.

  “Did your wife go to Périgord with you and your children?” she asked, out of the blue, and he looked startled and instantly uncomfortable.

  “What made you ask that question?” He was intrigued by her intuitiveness. She seemed to know many things, and accurately guessed the rest. She trusted her own instincts more than most.

  “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “You didn’t mention her. That seemed odd.”

  “No, she didn’t go. My brother and she don’t get along.” To say the least. He said that in fact, they had been feuding for years, over a house Jean-Charles and he had inherited together, and eventually had to sell because neither of them could agree on who would use it and when. Jean-Charles’s wife hadn’t spoken to her brother-in-law since, and refused to join her husband on visits to him and his wife in Périgord.

  “I thought it was something like that.” Timmie nodded. Her guess had been correct. It was a family disagreement of some kind.

  “We don’t always go places together,” Jean-Charles said, as a muscle tightened almost imperceptibly in his jaw. There was something he wasn’t saying, and Timmie watched his eyes, trying to sense what it was. “We’re both very independent people, with widely diverging interests. Whenever I take the children there, she always stays home.”

  “Did you go to the dinner party alone the other night in Neuilly?” She was being frankly nosy now, and was aware that she had no right to know. She wondered what he’d answer, when he recovered from his surprise at the question. He was once again impressed by how astute she was.

  “I did, actually. She doesn’t like those people either. We rarely go out together, or enjoy the same friends. What made you ask?”

  “Just a feeling I had. It’s none of my business. I’m sorry I asked,” she said politely, totally intrigued by the arrangement they had.

  In some ways it was very French. People in France seemed to stay married forever, and resolved their differences by leading separate lives, rather than getting divorced as frequently as people did in the States.

  “You’re not sorry at all,” he teased her. “You wanted to know. Now you do.”

  “Isn’t it hard having separate social lives and weekend plans?” She wondered if he had a mistress, or saw other women, but she would never have dared ask him. She didn’t get the feeling that he did. He didn’t look the type to run around. And he had been circumspect with her. He was clearly not a flirt, with his patients anyway.

  “If a marriage is difficult, and two people are very different, having separate lives can keep the marriage alive. After nearly thirty years, one can’t expect things to be the same as they once were,” he explained calmly. It was obvious that he had made peace with how he lived, and it worked for him.

  “I suppose not,” Timmie said politely. “I never got that far, I wouldn’t know.”

  “Five years is respectable too. I think it’s a shame the way people don’t work things out, and just give up,” Jean-Charles said, and then went on, “I think people should stay together for their children’s sakes. They owe it to them, no matter how unpleasant things get.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Timmie said honestly. “I’ve never been convinced that people who don’t get along and stay together make their children all that happy. They always wind up blaming their kids for the sacrifices they made. I think that takes a toll in the end. And why spend the rest of one’s life with someone one doesn’t like, or can’t stand, or doesn’t get along with? I can’t imagine kids get a lot out of that, except the opportunity to share their parents’ stress, which doesn’t seem fair to the kids.”

  “We don’t always get what we want in life,” Jean-Charles said cryptically, “or what we thought we would. But that’s no excuse to run away. People owe each other more than that, and their children certainly.”

  “That sounds like a hard life to me. I believe in making a serious effort, but not being miserable for the rest of your life. Sometimes it’s better to admit you’ve made a mistake, or things have changed. I think now I respect my ex-husband for doing that, although it was hard for me. If he hadn’t, we would have lived a lie forever. I’d rather be alone than do that.” Jean-Charles obviously disagreed with her. He was defending a way of life, and the choices he’d made, for better or worse. In recent years, mostly worse.

  “Sometimes you have to resign yourself,” he said, helping himself to a chocolate, while Timmie watched his eyes with interest. She sensed easily that there was much he wasn’t telling her.

  “I don’t agree with you,” Timmie said quietly. “Resignation is a miserable way to live.” She would have hated staying married to Derek, once she knew he was involved with another man. In the end, painful as it had been, Derek had done the right thing leaving her. It had been cleaner in the end, although devastating at the time. And she respected him for it now.

  “There is a certain nobility in sacrifice,” he said philosophically as she thought about what he was saying.

  “They don’t give prizes for that,” Timmie said staunchly. “You just get old and sad and tired before your time, while you watch your dreams die. And why do that? There should be more to life than that.”

  He didn’t answer her, and looked as though he was thinking about it. She had raised a number of interesting questions for him that week, and always gave him much to think about in the course of their conversations. In spite of everything that had happened to her, she was a woman who still believed that love was possible, for others, if not for herself. She too had resigned herself, and no longer believed in dreams. But she liked the theory, especially for others. The reality for both of them was actually similar, although he was married and she wasn’t. They had each made their peace with what they didn’t have in their lives, as many people did, and led their lives as best they could, filling their time by working too hard. He had his children, and she filled her nights occasionally with men like Zack.

  They chatted for a while, and finally he got up regretfully. He was comfortable at the Plaza, talking to her, and would have happily continued to sit there for hours. But he had other things to do. Before he left, he promised to come and check on her the following afternoon. She had three days left in Paris.


  When she got up and dressed the next day, she felt shakier than she wanted to admit, even to her doctor. She was feeling better, but still not herself yet. In spite of that, she forced herself to go out. The errand she wanted to do was in a shop only a few yards from the hotel on the Avenue Montaigne, which provided some of the best shopping in Paris. She wanted to buy a gift to give Jean-Charles before she left. He had been exceptionally nice to her, and taken excellent care of her, and she wanted to give him something to thank him for it, although she knew he didn’t expect it. It was a gesture of gratitude and friendship she wanted to make to him.

  Timmie went down to the lobby just before noon, and walked slowly toward the watch store on the Avenue Montaigne, feeling annoyingly like an old woman. She felt as though she had aged a hundred years in the last week. Her body was still feeling the effects of her ruptured appendix, and the antibiotics she was still taking made her feel slightly sick. But once in the shop she was distracted by the selections they offered her, and she found exactly what she wanted for him. It was a beautiful, simple platinum watch with a black face that she hoped would please him. The salesman who had helped her had assured her that if he didn’t like it, he could return it for another watch he preferred.

  She was pleased with her purchase as she walked slowly back to the hotel, through the lobby, and was relieved to get back to her suite. Even after a short walk, and an hour outside her room, she was exhausted. It had been her first outing. And after she had lunch and took a nap, she felt better.

  Timmie was feeling more like her old self again when Jean-Charles came for his daily visit, and he noticed immediately that her color had improved. She told him she had gone for a short walk on the Avenue Montaigne, without mentioning her little shopping venture. She was planning to give him the watch on her last day in Paris, when he came to see her for the last time.

  His cell phone rang several times while he was visiting her, and it was obvious he had several very sick patients. He told her he couldn’t stay and chat that day. He called her that evening to check on her again. She assured him she was fine. And by the next morning, she felt it. She was improving noticeably day by day. She actually did take a walk down the Avenue Montaigne that day, and then came back to the hotel to rest again. Her little outing was a major improvement. Even Jean-Charles was pleased when he saw her that afternoon. He didn’t even scold her for how far she’d ventured when she told him.

  “If you walk even a little farther tomorrow, I think you’ll feel strong enough to fly home on Thursday,” which was what they had planned.

  In spite of the surgery that had kept her there for an extra week, Timmie was genuinely sad to be leaving Paris, although it had been a hard way to extend her visit, and not the reason she would have wanted. But she had also enjoyed getting to know the doctor better, and she was more than slightly intrigued about his marriage. He had obviously made compromises in his life, for his children—which he thought justified. Having gleaned that from some of his comments during his visit to her on Sunday, she was now fairly convinced that he was unhappily married, and intended to stay that way forever. She thought it was foolish of him, but it was no worse than what she was doing, settling for brief relationships with men who were clearly not worthy of her, out of loneliness and convenience.

  His whole face lit up when he talked about his children, and that touched her. Deeply at times. Despite that, nothing inappropriate had passed between them, not a look, not a glance, not even a slight double entendre. He wasn’t trying to pick her up or seduce her. He was just a hardworking, sometimes lonely, thoroughly dedicated doctor. Timmie felt sure he not only liked her as a patient, but enjoyed talking to her as well, on a multitude of subjects and levels.

  He came to see her for the last time on Wednesday at five o’clock. He had his doctor’s bag in his hand, and was wearing gray slacks and a blazer, and a very good-looking Hermès tie. He looked serious and professional, and his eyes were sad as he looked at her. She didn’t know if something had upset him that day, or if he was as saddened at her leaving as she was herself to be saying goodbye to him and leaving Paris.

  “When are you coming to Paris again?” he asked, as they sat on the couch in her suite. Her gift for him was on the table, but neither of them commented on it. They had wrapped it in simple dark blue paper, with a curly gold paper ribbon that held the wrapping paper together.

  “Not until February,” she said in answer to his question. “We come back for the ready to wear shows again then. But that time I’m only going to Paris and Milan, and New York of course. I’m skipping London. My reps there can handle it for me. Four cities is just too much. This trip damn near killed me, even before my appendix burst.”

  “I hope our paths cross again sometime,” he said formally, and she felt sad. He was already slightly different. He seemed stiff somehow, awkward alone in the suite with her, and somewhat distracted, as though he had other things on his mind. She didn’t know him well enough to ask him what they were.

  They chatted amiably for nearly an hour, until he finally said he had to leave. He had a patient waiting for him at his office, and he was already late after lingering with her. She hated to say goodbye to him. And she knew that when she saw him again, things would be even more different between them. Their ease with each other now had been caused in great part by her solitude in Paris and her illness. It had allowed them the opportunity to get to know each other, and even become friends.

  She liked to think she was leaving a friend behind in Paris, but she wasn’t entirely sure he was. He was her doctor, he had cared for her well, and been kind to her. And she would have liked to have him as a friend. She hoped that in February they could once again pick up the threads of the bond that had begun to form between them, but she had no idea if that appealed to him as well, or if this had been only a passing moment, between doctor and patient, never to occur again.

  As he started toward the door, she handed the blue wrapped box to him. He stopped, looking startled, and glanced at her awkwardly.

  “What’s that?”

  “A thank-you for being so kind to me,” she said softly. She had shared with him things she had never told anyone else before. She had come to trust him, both as doctor and friend. But he had expected nothing from her, other than the time they had shared. It had been gift enough to talk to her. The box she handed him came as a big surprise to him, and he hesitated for a moment before taking it from her hand.

  “I wasn’t kind,” he said quietly. “I was doing my work.” But to Timmie, he had done more than that. He had been a source of enormous support, and had quietly nurtured her in ways no one else ever had. She had felt an overwhelming sense of warmth and humanity from him, and she had wanted to thank him for it, with a gift to remind him of the deep exchanges they had shared. “I’m very touched,” he said, putting the gift in the same hand as his doctor’s bag, and then he extended a hand to her and shook hers.

  “Thank you,” Timmie said softly, “for listening, and for being there … for holding my hand when I was scared.” She had been through so much worse that he couldn’t imagine he had made a real difference, even if it had seemed important to her at the time. But to him, it was nothing. And surely not worthy of a gift.

  “Be careful,” he said with a smile. “Rest. Don’t do too much when you go back. You will still be tired for a while.” He was back to being just her doctor, and he looked troubled. He didn’t like goodbyes, and her gift had thrown him. It was totally unexpected, though typical of Timmie, which he couldn’t have known. “Take good care of yourself,” he said, smiling at her finally. “Call if I can ever help you.”

  “Maybe I’ll get sick when I’m here in February,” she said hopefully, and then laughed.

  “I hope not!” he said, and then pointed to the gift. “Thank you for this. You didn’t have to.”

  “I wanted to. You were very kind.”

  He imagined it was a silver pen, or the sort of thing he got often from pat
ients. He was in for a surprise.

  And then, without warning, she leaned over and hugged him. She kissed him on both cheeks, and he smiled. “Bon voyage, Madame O’Neill,” he said as he saluted her, and then opened the door and walked out of the suite. She stood in the doorway and watched him head toward the elevator and press the button. It was there in an instant, and he got in as two Japanese guests got out. He gave her a last wave and then disappeared, as Timmie walked back into her familiar suite and felt a lump rise in her throat. She had always hated goodbyes. When she said goodbye to people she liked, and saw them leave, even now, after all these years, she always felt abandoned. Watching him go, she felt a familiar pang of sorrow, which even she knew was silly. He was only a French doctor after all, not her lover. And in her experience all good things, even friendships, came to an end.

  Chapter 5

  Timmie packed her bags that night, and called Zack when she got up the next morning, to tell him she was coming home that afternoon. It was still Wednesday night for him, and Thursday morning for her. The flight back to Los Angeles would take eleven hours, with a nine-hour time difference in her favor. It would be early afternoon when she got there, and noon when she left Paris.

  “Hi,” she said casually when he answered. He sounded relaxed, and as though he was in bed, but said he wasn’t sleeping. “I’m coming back today, I thought I’d call and see if you want to come over.” She hadn’t seen him in four weeks, but they had kept in reasonably regular contact, although he hadn’t knocked himself out to call her when she was sick. He had called a few times, tried to be funny, and said he was looking forward to seeing her. She knew enough not to expect more from him, although it would have been nice if he’d surprised her, and had been more attentive. He didn’t have it in him. Their relationship had never been more than superficial. It was, in great part, why she was with him, and had made a ten-year habit of others like him. She had reminded herself of that the night before, after she said goodbye to Jean-Charles. Zack was an entirely different breed. He wasn’t deep, of thought or intention, and had never pretended to be. All he wanted was a good time, which was in fact all Timmie wanted from him. She reminded herself not to lose sight of that now. And the holidays were coming. It would be a lot more pleasant spending them with Zack than alone.