Danielle Steel - Vanished

“No…maybe only General Franco…” There was a communal smile.

“Are you a Communist, Mr. Delauney?”

“No,” he smiled, “I'm a Republican, or I used to be. Actually, I suppose I'm more of a free spirit.”

“Do you belong to the Communist party?”

“I do not.”

“Do you hold a grudge against Mrs. Delauney…Mrs. Patterson now, for leaving you? Or against Mr. Patterson for being her husband?”

Charles looked at him man-to-man across the courtroom and he wanted to spit on him, but he controlled himself as he addressed the court. “From what I've heard in this courtroom, he doesn't deserve her. But I have no grudge against him, or against Marielle. She has suffered enough in this life. She deserves better than either of us, and she deserves to have her child back.” There were tears in her eyes as she listened to him. He was a decent man, he always had been. She didn't believe now, as she heard his words, that he could have taken Teddy. And Tom Armour was praying that the jury felt the same way she did.

“Are you guilty of the crime of which you're accused, Mr. Delauney? Think carefully, and remember that you are under oath. Are you in any way involved in the kidnapping of the child in question?”

Charles looked at him solemnly, and shook his head slowly. “I swear that I had nothing to do with it.”

Tom Armour turned to the prosecution then. “Your witness, Mr. Palmer.”

The prosecution attempted to make mincemeat of him, to make him say he had lied, to make him look even worse for hitting Marielle after their child's death. But it was all out in the open now, there were no dark secrets anymore, and he stuck rigidly to his story. He continued to say that he had nothing to do with the kidnapping, and no idea how the pajamas had turned up in his basement. There had been no forensic evidence of the child there at all, no skin, no nails, no hair, no other clothing, no sign that he had been anywhere near Charles Delauney.

His testimony took an exhausting two days, and at the end of it, the mystery still wasn't solved, but Charles had remained adamant till the end. He wasn't guilty. The only real question was had he convinced the jury?

Malcolm left the courtroom separately that day, and Marielle stopped at church on the way home. She wanted to pray for a merciful outcome to the trial, whatever that would be, and for her little boy. Easter had come and gone, and other children had hunted Easter eggs and played with little chicks, and at home Teddy's nursery was still empty. It tore at her heart to go there, and yet she found some reason to every day, to look for something, to put something away, to fold some small item of clothing. Miss Griffin had long gone, still staying with her sister in New Jersey, and the housekeeper had told Marielle recently that Miss Griffin was taking a job in Palm Beach soon, with a new baby. How lucky for her, Marielle thought…how lucky to have a baby to go on to. But there were no new babies for her, and all she wanted was little Teddy. Her heart ached when she thought of the silky hair, the firm little cheek, the sweet lips kissing her, and he was gone now…vanished…probably forever. She was trying to accept that, day by day, but thinking of him even made Malcolm's betrayal less important.

She knelt at the altar of Saint Vincent Ferrer church for a long time, and finally John Taylor came and knelt beside her. He had been in court with her every day, and yet there was so little he could do, so little they had found. There had been nothing new in the case since they'd found the pajamas and teddy bear at Charles Delauney's.

The closing arguments in the case were the next day, and he felt totally helpless. He thought Delauney had done well on the stand for the last two days, it even made him think twice, but Taylor still believed him guilty.

He put a gentle hand on Marielle's arm. She had gotten thinner lately and she looked so pale, but she seldom had her appalling headaches. “Ready to go home?” She sighed and then nodded. Sometimes she wanted to stay here, on her knees forever, begging Him to bring Teddy home. She had been asking for months now.

She was quiet on the way home. The press were still thronging her door, but Taylor was adept at dodging them and getting her in through the kitchen. It was odd to think that the trial would soon be over. The police were going to stay on with them for a while, and the FBI was certainly going to check in from time to time, but there had been no leads, no calls, not even the crazies calling at midnight. There was no reason to stay there anymore. It was over. All that remained now was to see what the jury did with Charles Delauney. He wondered if that was troubling her now too. He knew she still cared about him, probably more than she admitted.

“Do you want to be alone?” he asked quietly when they got home, and she looked up at him gratefully and nodded. In the end, she would be left with no one. She and Malcolm were through, Teddy was gone…and if they executed Charles there would be no one left in her world who had ever loved her. It took her breath away when she thought about it sometimes, and Taylor knew she was having a hard time. He gently touched her arm and then her cheek. “Hang in there…it's not as bad as it feels sometimes.” But they both knew this was about as bad as it got. He watched her walk slowly up the stairs, her head down, and suddenly he began to worry. What if she did the kind of crazy stuff she had done years before? He wondered if he should stay, or follow her upstairs, but one of the cops told him that Malcolm was upstairs, so Taylor just told him to keep an eye on her, and he went back to his office.

When she left John, Marielle went upstairs to Teddy's room. She sat down in a rocking chair, and closed her eyes. It was dusk outside, and there were a few stars in the sky, she could just see them through his bedroom curtains. She thought of the nursery rhymes they had said, the songs she had sung him the last night she put him to bed, and as the tears rolled slowly down her cheeks, she heard a noise and turned to see her husband.

“What are you doing here?” he asked coldly.

“I came here to be closer to Teddy.”

“It won't do you any good,” he said evilly, “he's dead. Thanks to your ex-husband.”

“Why are you so cruel?” she dared to ask him this time. “And how can you be so sure he's dead? How do you know he won't come home to us sometime soon?”

Malcolm Patterson stood looking at her coldly. The mask had fallen since the trial had begun. He had lost his cover, and he no longer cared. He was going to divorce her. “If he comes back, Marielle, he won't come back to 'us,' or to you, you're not fit to be his mother.” It was exactly what Tom Armour had seen coming. He had consulted on the Vanderbilt case, and he knew just how those cases were built. And that's just what he saw Malcolm doing. The testimony from the nurse, the maid, the telegram from the mental hospital, all of it showing that she was unfit…just in case they found him.

“Who are you to decide that?” Marielle said sadly. “And why do you hate me so much?”

“I don't hate you. I have nothing but contempt for you. You're weak…and you let that Communist into our life to steal our son and kill him…”

“You know that's not true.” She had never moved from the rocking chair as he approached her.

“You're a fool, Marielle. A fool, and a liar.” His eyes blazed, but so did hers. “How do you expect anyone to respect you?”

“And Brigitte?” she said quietly. “Is she so much better?” The affront of it still hurt her. She realized now too that he had undermined her for all these years. But why? Why did he hate her? Had he done it for himself or Brigitte?

“Brigitte has nothing to do with this. We should never have gotten married.”

“Then why did we?” She no longer knew. She no longer understood anything about him.

“Perhaps if I'd met Brigitte before you, we wouldn't have. But I met you first. And I so desperately wanted to have children.” After two barren marriages, Marielle had seemed to be the answer to his prayers. And she had been so young, so helpless. He had liked the fact that she was alone in the world. She was his to control, and he liked that. In truth, he hadn't even minded about her history at the sanatorium. It would only serve to make her more dependent on him.

“Was it all about children then? About having a son?”

“Perhaps.” She'd been used. That's all she'd been. A tool to give him a baby. But there had been more, she knew it, and he did too, whether he admitted it or not. In the very beginning, for a short time, she had been sure that he loved her. And then…there had been Brigitte. Now she understood it.

“And what will you do now? Marry Brigitte and have more children?” He didn't tell her that Brigitte was unable to have children, and theirs was a genuine passion.

“What I do now is none of your business, Marielle.”

“I'll move out as soon as the trial is over,” she said calmly. But she was going to take Teddy's things…she had to take them with her… in case he came home again… for the first time in years, she began to feel the same confusion she used to feel at the clinic in Villars…that same strange pain somewhere in her head that made it impossible to think, or decide anything… all she could think of now was Teddy.

“Where will you move to?” His eyes seemed to take in her energy.

“It doesn't matter. I'll give the FBI my address, so they can find me… in case…when they find him.”

He looked at her scornfully. She was going crazy again. He could see it. And it never dawned on him that he had driven her to it.

“They're not going to find him, Marielle. Ever. Don't you understand that?”

“I'll stay at a hotel.” She ignored his question, and looked away, as Malcolm watched her. He had already told his lawyer how much money he was going to give her. He was going to buy her off, and she was probably going to wind up in an institution. Once he was gone, and Charles was executed, and she understood that she would never see the child again, it would probably kill her.

“I'm leaving on a trip anyway. You can get organized then.”

“Where are you going?” Her voice was very faint, as though she had to concentrate, and her hands were shaking.

“That's none of your concern.”

Suddenly, as she listened to him, she felt rising panic. Who would take care of her when he was gone?…who would help her take care of Teddy? But suddenly she knew she didn't need anyone. All she needed was time to recover from what had happened. She realized what was happening to her, and wrestled with all her strength to fight the demons. She made a superhuman effort to stand up quietly, and went downstairs to her own room. He could do anything he wanted. But he couldn't take away the memories of the child she had loved, or how much she had loved him. And knowing that, she suddenly knew she could survive it.

John Taylor called her that night. He was worried about her. He knew the toll the trial was taking. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. It was rough today.” And Malcolm had been even rougher. She was exhausted as she spoke to him, but she was also happy to hear him.

“It's going to be worse for the next few days. The closing arguments and the verdict are going to be killers. You just have to stay calm, Marielle.” And he would be there with her.

“I know…I'm all right…John, there's no news of him, is there?… I mean, of Teddy?”

“No,” he said softly, “there isn't.” He knew she was coming to terms with it now. After four months, there was really no hope, and he knew it. “I'll tell you if anything happens.”

“I knew you would.”

“Marielle…” He knew the phones were tapped but he wished he could tell her how much he loved her.

“I know…it's okay.” Her voice was so small and sad and he ached for her as he longed to hold her. But she sat alone in her bedroom with two lonely tears rolling down her cheeks. They were tears of exhaustion, as much as sorrow.

“Just be strong for a few more days. Maybe we can spend some time together when this is over.” He knew how badly she'd need to get away. He was afraid she'd break again, and she had come close to it that night, but she hadn't. “I'll see you tomorrow,” he said softly.

“Good night,” she whispered, and then she hung up the phone. And as she drifted off to sleep that night, Bea Ritter was thinking about calling Tom Armour.

Tom Armour had been polishing up his closing arguments since late that afternoon when he got home, and he was finally satisfied that they were exactly what he wanted. He stretched, yawned, read through it all again, one more time, and finally decided to make himself a sandwich. His apartment looked as though rats had been nesting everywhere, and when he opened the refrigerator, he remembered that it was empty. He was contemplating it hungrily when the telephone rang and he debated whether or not to answer. It was probably the damn reporters again, but then again it could have been something important.