Rebecca Winters: The Frenchman's Bride

“Please—if there is a special woman in your life you haven’t told them about either, don’t let her be at the chateau when you take your children back to St. Genes. Give them your total attention first so they’ll know nothing has changed.

“And please—promise me you’ll work things out with Paul tonight before it’s too late. He’s trying hard to be a man. Go to him and explain why you were so upset. Paul’s so sweet and sensitive inside. He’ll understand and forgive you.

“Adieu, monsieur. Que dieu vous benisse.”

A few seconds later the elevator doors closed, leaving Hallie’s words reverberating in the dining room.

Vincent remained frozen in place.

Like a master swordsman, she’d cut and thrust to produce a firestorm of emotions at the deepest level of his psyche. Then she’d had the audacity to bid him goodbye forever, imploring God to bless him.

He’d never met anyone remotely like her.

Never mind the womanly attributes that had blind-sided his son. What spell had this enigmatic stranger cast over both twins to evoke such singular affection?

For nine months their relationship had been flourishing without his knowledge. Vincent felt wounded. Betrayed.

He didn’t buy the explanation that the twins had kept Ms. Linn’s existence a secret in order to surprise him with their English proficiency.

No doubt Paul had fallen hard for her from the outset and had sworn Monique to secrecy. For a long time now she’d managed to infiltrate their world. No telling how many intimate details about his personal life and those of his children she’d elicited.

Though he didn’t have the faintest clue who this American really was, he was going to find out.

He went to the study to look up the number of Tati’s Department Store, then made a call to the manager. After being put on hold for a long time, someone in the credit department picked up and told him the manager had left for the day.

Vincent tried to get information about Ms. Linn, but was told he’d have to speak to the manager in the morning.

No sooner had he hung up, so he could call his attorney who would get the desired information for him, than his cell phone rang. The number of the chateau was displayed.

He clicked it on. “Vincent here.”

“My boy…are you sitting down?”

Pere Maurice’s sober question caused him to break out in a cold sweat. “What’s wrong?”

“We just had a call from Passy Hospital in Paris. According to the police, Paul ran in front of a truck while he was crossing the boulevard against the light. They checked the ID in his wallet, then called here. He’s still unconscious.”

“I’m on my way!”

The short trip to the nearby hospital passed in a blur. He entered the emergency room on a run. The fear that Paul might not wake up had taken hold. Now it was Vincent imploring God to bless his son and keep him alive.

“Where have you put Paul Rolland?” he asked the staff worker at the admitting desk. “The police tell me he was hit by a truck. I’m his father.”

“Your son is in cubicle five. You can go through those doors.”

He pushed them open and hurried inside. The drawn curtain at number five caused his heart to drop like a stone. A nurse was just coming out.

“Is my son still unconscious?” he demanded without preamble.

“No. He woke up a few minutes ago.”

Vincent could breathe again. “Dieu merci—oh, thank God.”

“He’s still being examined, but you can go in.” The nurse pulled the curtain aside for him.

At first glance, Paul looked wonderfully alive despite his pallor. There was a goose egg at the side of his forehead near his hairline.

The doctor was cleaning an abrasion on his left cheek. He looked up as Vincent introduced himself.

“Your son is a lucky young man. There are contusions on his left arm and leg, but no broken bones. The X-ray shows he has suffered a concussion, but with a few days bed rest the dizziness will pass and he’ll be fine. I’ll arrange to have him moved to a private room.”

Those words brought exquisite relief. “Thank you for everything,” he said before the doctor left the cubicle.

Now that they were alone, Vincent snagged a stool with his shoe and rolled it over to the examining table. He sat down next to Paul whose eyes had been closed the whole time.

“My son.” He reached for his right hand. “It’s Papa. I’m here. Thank God you’re going to be all right!” his voice shook.

Paul didn’t respond.

“Paul? Say something to me.” His throat swelled. “I love you.”

“No you don’t.”

The hurtful retort issued between taut lips sounded so cold, Vincent was crushed.

“Leave me alone. I don’t want you here.” He found the strength to pull his hand from his father’s grasp.

Vincent’s spirits plummeted to new depths. “That’s your anger talking. You know I would never leave you. You’re my son. I plan to stay with you until you’re out of the hospital and I can take you and Monique home with me.”

Paul’s eyes opened once more, but there was no sign of warmth in those dark remote depths, or in his facial expression. The son Vincent had loved and raised from birth was nowhere to be found.

“I’m not going to St. Genes. That’s over. I plan to stay in Paris. Don’t worry. I’ve already arranged for a job and a place to live. You won’t have to provide for me ever again,” he tossed Vincent’s words back at him with a bitterness that went marrow deep.

A grimace broke out on Vincent’s face. “I know I said a lot of things in the heat of the moment, Paul, and I apologize for them. When you’re feeling better, we’ll have that talk you wanted.”

“It’s too late. We’re finished. I never want to see you again.” His eyelids fluttered closed, dismissing his father.

Letting out a sigh of remorse for having brought on this impasse Vincent said, “We’ll talk about things later. Right now the only thing that matters is that you recover.”

If Paul heard him, he made no further comment.

Deciding it was better to let him rest, Vincent used the cubicle phone to put through a credit card call to Pere Maurice and let him know Paul was going to be all right. The old man wept with relief. Fortunately he hadn’t tried to reach Monique who knew nothing about the accident yet.

They talked for a few more minutes, then Vincent followed the orderlies who took Paul to a private room on the third floor. While a nurse took his vital signs, another doctor came in the room and shook hands with Vincent.

“I’m Dr. Maurois. If you’d step outside in the hall for a moment, I’d like to talk to you about your son’s case.”

Vincent complied, but his senses were on alert that something was wrong. He eyed the man grimly. “Are there complications I haven’t been told about?”

“I’m afraid so. However the attending physician felt it best that you hear the details from me. I’m the head of the psychiatric department here at Passy Hospital.”

The doctor might as well have driven a fist into Vincent’s gut. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

In the next few minutes he heard news no parent ever wants to hear.

“If you’d prefer another psychiatrist, feel free to find someone else.”

“I’m sure you’re well qualified,” Vincent murmured. “Heaven knows my son needs help. The sooner, the better.”

The psychiatrist nodded. “What are your plans for the next few days?”

“To stay here with my son. My daughter Monique, his twin, will be joining me.”

“Good. For the time being, don’t mention what I’ve told you to him or your daughter. Only say and do the things that come naturally. I’ll be talking to him at regular intervals over the next forty-eight hours, then I’ll meet with you and your daughter, both together and individually. We’ll go from there.”