05.Summer's.End.1980 by Steel Danielle

Author:Steel, Danielle [Steel, Danielle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

15

“Quoi? Oh, mon Dieu! Dominique, are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I also spoke to your mother. And the doctor.”

“What’s his name?” She passed the information on to Marc as he gestured frantically for a pen. Chantal handed him hers. “When did they operate?”

“This morning, Paris time. Three hours ago, I believe. She’s a little better, they think, but she hadn’t yet regained consciousness. They’re mainly worried about her skull, and … and her legs.”

The tears had started to pour slowly down Marc-Edouard’s cheeks as he listened to Dominique. “I’ll send a wire. I’ll be there tonight.” He flashed the concierge. His orders were terse. “This is Duras. Get me on a plane. Paris. Immediately.” He hung up and wiped his face, looking strangely at Chantal.

“It’s Pilar?” she asked. He nodded. “Is it very bad?” She sat down on the couch next to him and took his hands.

“They don’t know. They don’t know. …” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words, or to tell her that the motorcycle had been a gift from him, as the sobs began to convulse him.

* * *

Deanna got off the plane at Charles de Gaulle Airport in a cloud of exhaustion, terror, and nausea. She had spent the night staring straight ahead and clenching her hands. She called the hospital from the airport, but there was no news. Deanna hailed a taxi just outside the airport and sat silently as they sped along. She had given the driver the address of the American Hospital and told him only, “Aussi vite que possible.”

In true Gallic style, he took her at her word. The trees at the roadside were barely more than a green blur in the corners of Deanna’s eyes as she stared straight ahead of her, watching the driver’s maneuvers as he lunged and careened past every obstacle in sight. She could feel every pulse in her body, every throb of her heart… hurry … hurry …VITE! It seemed hours before they reached the Boulevard Victor Hugo and screeched to a halt in front of the big double doors. Deanna reached quickly into her wallet for the francs she had exchanged from dollars at the airport. Without thinking she handed him a hundred francs, and flung open the door.

“Votre monnaie?” He looked at her questioningly, and she shook her head. She didn’t give a damn about the change. Her lips were a tight, narrow line lost somewhere in the ivory agony of her face. He had understood from the first, when she had given him the address of the American Hospital. He had known. “Your husband?”

“Non. Ma fille.” Once again her eyes filled with tears.

The driver nodded in sympathetic chagrin. “Désolée.” He picked her small brown-leather valise off the seat and opened his door. He stood there for a moment, holding it, looking at her, wanting to say something more. He had a daughter too, and he could see the pain in Deanna’s eyes. His wife had looked like that once, when they had almost lost their son.

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