“She died. Last year apparently.”

“I'm going to be very upset if you get involved with him again. He's just going to hurt you. He did before.” He sounded more like a father than a son.

“I'm not involved with him,” she said, trying to reassure him and calm him down.

“Is it a possibility? Be honest, Mom.” She loved the sound of “Mom.” It still sounded new to her, and filled with love. Every time one of her children said it, it gave her a thrill.

“I don't know. I can't see that happening. That was all a long time ago.”

“He's still in love with you. I could see it the minute he walked in.”

“If so, he's in love with the memory of who I was then. We've all gotten old.” She sounded tired as she said it. So much had happened to her since she got to France. She had so much to recover from, relearn, and digest. It was overwhelming to think about.

“You're not old. I just don't want you to get hurt.”

“Neither do I. I can't even think about something like that right now.” He was comforted by what she said.

“Good. You'll be home soon. Just don't let him start something before you go.”

“I won't, but you have to trust me on that,” she said, feeling like a mother as she said it. No matter how much her son loved her, she had a right to make her own decisions and lead her own life. She wanted to remind him of that.

“I just don't trust him.”

“Why don't we give him the benefit of the doubt, for now. He wasn't a bad man, his situation was just a mess, and as a result, so was mine. I was foolish to get into it, but I was young, hardly older than you are now. I should have realized what would happen. He's French. In those days, Frenchmen didn't get divorced. I'm not sure they do even now. Having a mistress is a national tradition here.” She smiled, and at his end Anthony shook his head.

“If you ask me, it sucks.”

“Yeah, it did,” she admitted. She remembered that clearly now.

They changed the subject then, and he told her it was snowing in New York. And when he said it, the image of snow came to her mind, and she suddenly remembered taking them skating in Rockefeller Center when they were small, when the big Christmas tree was up, and it was snowing. It was just before they went to Paris, and everything was still right in their world. Jason had come to pick them up and had taken them all out for ice cream. She remembered them as the happiest days of her life. Everything had seemed so perfect, even if it wasn't.

“Bundle up,” Carole said to him, and he laughed.

“I will, Mom. You take care too. Don't do anything crazy when you get back to the Ritz, like go dancing.” She hit a blank spot, and didn't know if he meant it.

“Do I like to dance?” she asked, sounding puzzled.

“Like a lunatic. Best dancer on the floor. I'll remind you when I come out for Christmas. We'll put on some music, or I can take you to a club.”

“That sounds like fun.” If she didn't lose her balance and fall over, she thought to herself, dismayed that there were still so many things about herself she didn't know. At least there was someone to remind her.

They chatted for a few more minutes and hung up, after she told him she loved him too. And then Jason called her. He had walked into their son's office just as Anthony was hanging up, and he said his mother sounded pretty good. Carole was touched that Jason called.

“I hear it's snowing in New York,” she said to Jason.

“Like crazy. Four inches in the last hour. They said we'll have two feet of snow by tonight. Lucky for you you're going back to L.A. and not coming here. I heard it's seventy-five degrees there today. I can't wait to come out for Christmas.”

“I can't wait for all of us to be together,” she said with a warm smile that matched the feeling in her heart. “I was just remembering when I took the kids skating at Rockefeller Center and you took us out for ice cream. It was so nice.”

“Now you're remembering things even I don't recall,” he said with a smile. “We used to take the kids sledding in the park. That was fun too.” And the carousel, and model sailboat pond. The zoo. There were a lot of things they had done together, and that she had done with her children between making movies. Maybe Matthieu was right and she wasn't the neglectful mother that she feared she had been. Chloe had made it sound like she was never there. “When are you getting out of the hospital?” Jason asked.

“Tomorrow, I hope. I'm waiting to hear today.” And then she told him a doctor was flying back to L.A. with her, and he sounded relieved.

“That's smart. Don't do anything crazy before you leave. Just take it easy, and eat a lot of pastries at the hotel.”

“The doctor says I should walk. Maybe I'll do some Christmas shopping.”

“Don't worry about that. We all have the only Christmas gift we wanted. You.” It was a sweet thing to say, and she was touched by him again. No matter how hard she dredged in her memory bank, she couldn't come up with any romantic feelings for him, but she loved him like a brother. He was her children's father, a man she had loved and been married to for ten years, and who was forever woven into the fabric of her heart, but in a different way than he once had been. Their relationship and attachment to each other had changed over the years. For her anyway. It was different with Matthieu. She had far fewer comfortable feelings about him, and sometimes he made her uneasy. Jason never did. Jason was a spot of warm sunlight where she felt comfortable and safe. Matthieu was a mysterious garden where she was afraid to go, but she still remembered its beauty, and its thorns. “See you in L.A.,” Jason said cheerily, and then hung up. A little while later, the doctor came in with the results of her scans. They showed that she had improved.

“You're on your way,” the doctor beamed at her. “You're going home… or back to the Ritz for now. You can leave the hospital tomorrow.” They were actually sad to see her go, but happy for her. And so was she. It had been an extraordinary month.

Stevie packed her things for her that afternoon, and notified hotel security that they'd be arriving the next day. The head of security advised bringing her in through the rue Cambon door, on the back side of the hotel. They would open it for her. Most of the press and paparazzi lay in wait in the Place Vendôme. Carole wanted to come in with as little fuss as possible, although she knew that sooner or later they would take photographs of her. She wanted a breather for now. It was going to be her first time out of the hospital in a month, after being at death's door. Stevie wanted to give her time to get on her feet, before the press attacked her. Carole Barber getting out of the hospital in Paris was going to make the front page in newspapers all over the world. There was nothing easy about being a star. And certainly no privacy. Dead or alive, the public thought they owned her. And it was Stevie's job to shield her from prying eyes. The doctors had saved her life. And it was up to the CRS and hotel security to keep her alive. Given that, Stevie figured hers was the easiest job.

Matthieu called her that night to see how she was. He was in Lyon overnight on business for the law firm. He had a case pending there.

“I'm going home!” she chortled happily, and there was a silence at the other end.

“To Los Angeles?” he asked, sounding crestfallen, and she laughed.

“No, to the hotel. They want me here for two more weeks before I fly, to make sure I'm okay. They're sending a doctor home on the plane with me, and I'm taking a nurse to the hotel. I'll be fine. The doctor will come and check on me there. As long as I don't do anything crazy or stupid, and no one tries to kill me again, I'll be fine. I have to walk around to get my legs back. Maybe I can get my exercise at the jewelers in the Place Vendôme.” She was teasing, since she never bought jewelry for herself, but she was in high spirits, and he was relieved to hear that she was only going as far as the hotel, for now. He wanted to spend some time with her before she left. It was too soon to lose her again.

“We can go to Bagatelle and walk,” he said, and when he said the word she remembered being there with him before. And the Luxembourg Gardens and the Bois de Boulogne. There were a multitude of places to go for walks in Paris. “I'll be back tomorrow. I'll call you. Be careful, Carole.”

“I will. I promise. It's a little scary leaving the hospital. I feel like my head is made of glass now.” Not quite, but she was well aware of her fragility and her own mortality as never before. She didn't want to challenge it again. Being away from the doctors who had saved her life was frightening. She was relieved to be taking a nurse to the hotel, and Stevie had gotten an adjoining room to her suite, so she'd be sleeping nearby if Carole had a problem, which no one expected. But they worried anyway, and Matthieu sounded concerned as well.

“Are you sure you should fly so soon?” He had a vested interest in her staying, but he was genuinely worried about her, even as a friend.

“They said it's fine, as long as nothing weird happens in the next two weeks. And I want to be home for Christmas with my kids.”

“They could celebrate it with you at the Ritz,” he said hopefully.

“That's not the same.” Besides, Paris had an unhappy connotation for all of them now. It would be a while before her children would feel comfortable at the Ritz again, without thinking of the agonizing days they had spent there waiting to see if she would survive. It was going to be good to get home, especially for her.

“I understand. If you feel up to it, I'd like to visit you at the hotel tomorrow when I get back.”

“That would be fine,” she said calmly. She was looking forward to seeing him, and even to going for walks with him.

That seemed harmless enough, even for her.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, thinking about her, as he hung up at his end. He was dreading the day she would leave him again, this time perhaps forever.





Chapter 15




Getting Carole ready to leave the hospital was more arduous than Stevie had expected. Carole was tired when she woke up the next day, and nervous about leaving the cocoon they had provided for her. She had to turn from caterpillar into butterfly once again. Stevie helped her wash her hair, Carole put on makeup for the first time, and covered the scar on her cheek surprisingly well. Stevie helped her put on jeans, a black sweater, a pea jacket she'd had at the hotel, and a pair of flat black suede loafers. Her signature diamond stud earrings were on her ears, and her hair was pulled back in the familiar sleek ponytail. She looked like Carole Barber again, instead of a patient in a hospital gown, and even after the ordeal she'd been through, her natural beauty was striking. She looked very thin and a little frail as she got into a wheelchair, and nurses and doctors came to say goodbye to her. The nurse who was coming to the Ritz with them had her coat on and pushed the wheelchair, as the two CRS guards assigned to them walked on either side of Carole with stern looks, holding their machine guns. Stevie was carrying Carole's bag and her own. They felt like a motley crew.

They made their way down in the elevator and across the lobby with hospital security surrounding them, and the head of the hospital came out to shake her hand and wish her well. It was a touching departure. Her own doctor saw them to the car, which the Ritz had sent for her, a long Mercedes limousine. Both CRS guards, the nurse, Stevie, and Carole disappeared rapidly inside. She lowered the window and waved at the crowd of well-wishers on the sidewalk, while Stevie marveled at the good luck that no photographers had been on hand to impede their way. With luck, they would get into the hotel as easily, on the Cambon side, and into Carole's suite without incident. She already looked tired from the shock of being up, dressed, and outside again. It was a big change for her.

The limousine slid easily down the rue Cambon and stopped at the back entrance of the Ritz that had been opened especially for her, and on slightly wobbly legs she stood up, looked up at the sky, and smiled, while the CRS guards stood tightly at her side. She walked toward the hotel entrance under her own steam, smiling, just as four photographers leaped into view between the hotel door and her. Carole hesitated for an instant and then continued walking, smiling. Someone had tipped them off after all. The CRS guards waved them away, and the paparazzi stepped aside, shooting frame after frame of her, shouting her name, as one of them yelled “Brava!” and threw her a rose. She caught it, turned, and smiled at him, and then disappeared gracefully into the hotel.