“I didn’t love him,” she added. “It’s a long story. But it turned out all right. Consuelo is the best thing in my life.” He didn’t comment, but seemed fine with what she’d said.

“What kind of doctor are you?”

“A good one,” she said with a smile, and he laughed in response.

“I would assume that. I meant what specialty.” She knew what he meant, but enjoyed playing with him. He was nice to talk to. He was open and warm and friendly.

“General medicine.”

“Did you practice at the front?” He didn’t think she was old enough to have done so.

“As a medic, after a year of medical school. I finished after the war.” It was interesting to him that she didn’t want to practice in the States, but he could see why. He loved Paris too. He had a much richer life there than he had had in New York or Boston.

“I went over to be a reporter for the British at the beginning of the war. And I’ve been in Europe ever since. I lived in London for two years after the war, and I’ve been in Paris now for five years. I don’t think I could ever go back to live in the States. My life is too good here in Europe.”

“I couldn’t go back either,” Annabelle agreed. And she had no reason to go back. Her life was in Paris now. Only her history was in the States, and the cottage.

They chatted for a little longer, and then she went to find Consuelo and Brigitte at the pool. They saw him again that night, as they left the dining room after an early dinner. He was just going in, and he asked Annabelle if she’d like to have a drink later on. She hesitated, as Consuelo watched them both, and then she agreed. They made a date at the Verandah Café for nine-thirty. Consuelo would be in bed by then, so she was free.

“He likes you,” Consuelo said matter-of-factly, as they walked back to their cabins. “He’s nice.”

Annabelle didn’t comment. She had thought that about Antoine too, and she’d been wrong. But Callam McAffrey was a different type, and they had more in common. She wondered why he’d never married, and he told her that night, as they sipped champagne at the Verandah Café, which was open to the sea air.

“I fell in love with a nurse in England during the war. She was killed a week before the armistice was signed. We were going to get married, but she didn’t want to until the war was over. It took me a long time to get over it.” It had been six and a half years. “She was a very special woman. From a very fancy family, but you’d never know it. She was very down to earth, and worked harder than anyone I’ve ever known. We had a good time together.” He didn’t sound maudlin about it, but as though he cherished the memory still. “I visit her family from time to time.”

“Consuelo’s father was British. But not a very nice man, I’m afraid. His mother is terrific though. We’ll probably visit her in August.”

“When the British are great, they’re fantastic,” he said generously. “I don’t always get along as well with the French.” Annabelle laughed ruefully, thinking of Antoine, but said nothing. “They’re not always as straightforward, and tend to be more complicated.”

“I think I’d agree with that, in some cases. They make wonderful friends and colleagues. Romantically, that’s another thing.” He could tell just from the little she said that she’d been burned, presumably by a Frenchman. But Consuelo’s British father didn’t sound like a peach either. It seemed to him as though Annabelle had had more than her fair share of lemons. And in his day, so had he, other than Fiona, the nurse he’d been in love with. And he had been alone now for a while. He was taking a break from romance. His life was simpler that way, which was the same conclusion Annabelle had come to.

They talked about the war for a while, politics in the States, some of his experiences in journalism, and hers in medicine. And if nothing else, she thought he’d make a nice friend. He walked her back to her stateroom eventually, and said a friendly but polite goodnight.

He invited her for a drink again the next day, and they had a very nice time. He played shuffleboard with Annabelle and Consuelo on the last day of the trip, and she invited him to dinner with them that night. He and Consuelo got along very well, and she told him all about her dog, and invited him to come and see her, while Annabelle made no comment.

They had a last drink that night, and out of the blue, as he walked her back to her cabin, he said that he’d like to come and see the dog. He had a Labrador himself. Annabelle laughed at what he said.

“You’re welcome to come and see the dog anytime,” she said. “You can even come and see us.”

“Well, my main interest is actually the dog,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye, “but I guess it would be all right to see both of you too, if the dog doesn’t mind.” He looked gently down at Annabelle then. He had learned a lot about her on the trip, more than she knew. That was his job. He could sense the pain and trials she’d been through. Women of her upbringing didn’t leave their homes at twenty-two, and volunteer to go three thousand miles from home, to serve in a war that wasn’t theirs. And they didn’t stay there afterward, and take on the profession she had, unless some pretty bad things had happened to them at home. And he had a feeling a few more had happened since. She wasn’t the kind of woman, he felt sure, to have a child out of wedlock, unless she had absolutely no other choice. And she had clearly made the best of it, and everything that had happened to her. She was a good woman. It was written all over her, and he was hoping to see her again.

“I’d like to call you when we get back,” he said properly. She wasn’t stiff, but she was always ladylike and correct, and he liked that about her too. She reminded him of Fiona in some ways, although Annabelle was younger and prettier. But what he had liked most about Fiona, and now Annabelle, was what was inside. You could tell she was a woman of determination and integrity, high morals, with an enormous heart, and a fine mind. A man couldn’t ask for more than that, and if a woman like Annabelle crossed your path, you didn’t miss the opportunity to get to know her better. Women like her didn’t come around often in a lifetime. He’d already been lucky enough to have one in his life, and he knew that if he ever had the good fortune to meet another, he wasn’t going to miss the chance.

“We’ll be in Paris,” Annabelle said to him. “We might go to Deauville for a few days. I promised Consuelo we would. And maybe to England to see her father’s family for a bit. But we’ll be around. I have to get back to work, before my patients forget that I exist.” He couldn’t imagine anyone doing that who had ever known her. And he didn’t intend to lose track of her.

“Maybe the three of us could do something this weekend,” he said pleasantly, “with the dog of course. I wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings.” Annabelle smiled in answer. The weekend was only a few days away, and she liked the idea. In fact, she liked everything she had learned about him on the trip. And she had a good feeling about him, of solidity, integrity, warmth, and kindness. Their respect for each other was mutual so far. It was a good start, better than most she’d had. Her brotherly friendship with Josiah should have told her something she didn’t understand at the time. And Antoine’s dazzling fancy footwork right from the beginning covered an empty heart. Callam was an entirely different kind of man.

They said goodnight outside her cabin. And the next morning she got up and dressed early, just as she had when she arrived in Europe ten years earlier, when she had left New York in despair. There was no despair this time, no sorrow, as she stood at the rail and watched the sun come up. She could see Le Havre in the distance, and they would dock there in two hours.

As she looked out over the ocean, she had an incredible sense of freedom, of finally having shed her shackles at last. She wasn’t burdened by the yoke of other people’s opinions, or their lies about her. She was a free woman, and a good one, and she knew it.

As the sun rose into the morning sky, she heard a voice next to her and turned to see Callam.

“I had a feeling I’d find you here,” he said quietly, as their eyes met and they both smiled. “Nice morning, isn’t it?” he said simply.

“Yes, it is,” she said, her smile deepening. It was a nice morning. They were both good people. And it was a fine life.

Danielle Steel

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