Danielle Steel: Honor Thyself

“What are you planning to do now?” he asked, wanting to take action. It wasn't his style to just sit around.

“Wait. There's nothing else we can do. We will know more in the coming days.” He nodded, looking around him at how grim the hospital was. He had heard of the American Hospital of Paris, and wondered if they could get her transferred there, but the assistant manager at the hotel had already told him that this was the best place for her to be, if it was indeed her. Their trauma unit was excellent, and she would get the best possible medical care for a case as serious as this apparently was.

“I'm going to go to the hotel and call my children, and then I'll come back this afternoon. If anything happens, you can reach me at the Ritz.” He gave her his international cell phone number as well, and they put it on Carole's chart with his name. She had a name now even if it wasn't really hers. Carole Waterman. She had a husband and children. But she also had a famous identity that was bound to leak out. The doctor said she would only tell the head of the trauma unit who Carole really was, but they both knew that it was only a matter of time before the press found out. They always did, with things like this. It was amazing no one had recognized her so far. But if someone talked, the press would arrive in swarms, and life would be hell for all of them.

“We'll do our best to keep it quiet,” she assured him.

“So will I. I'll be back this afternoon … and … thank you … for everything you've done so far.” They had kept her alive. That was something. He couldn't even imagine what it would have been like to see her in a Paris morgue and identify her body. It had come close to that, from everything the doctor said. She had been lucky after all. “May I see her again?” he asked, and this time he went to the room alone. The nurses were still there, and stepped aside so he could approach her bed. He stood looking down at her, and this time touched her cheek. The tubes from the respirator covered her face, and he saw the bandage on her cheek and wondered how bad the damage was. The slight burn beside it was already healing, and her arm was covered in salve. “I love you, Carole,” he whispered. “You're going to be all right. I love you. Chloe and Anthony love you. You need to wake up soon.” There was no sign of life from the bed, and the nurses looked discreetly away. It was hard for them to watch, there was so much pain in his eyes. He bent to kiss her cheek then, and remembered the familiar softness of her face. Even all these years later, that hadn't changed. Her hair was fanned out behind her on the bed under the bandage. One of the nurses had brushed it for her, and commented on how beautiful it was, like pale yellow silk.

Seeing her brought back so many memories, all of them good. The bad ones were forgotten now, and had been for a long time. For him anyway. He and Carole never talked about the past when they spoke. They only referred to the kids, or their current lives. He had been very kind to her when Sean died, he felt sorry for her. It was a tough break for her. She had married a man five years younger than she was, and he had died a young man. Jason had come out for the funeral, and been very supportive to her and the kids. And now here she was, fighting for her own life, two years after Sean had died. Life was strange, and cruel at times. But she was still alive. She had a chance. It was the best news he could give their children. He dreaded telling them. “I'll be back later,” he whispered to Carole as he kissed her again, and the respirator breathed rhythmically for her. “I love you, Carole. You're going to get well,” he said with a decisive look, and then walked out of the room, fighting back tears. He had to be strong, for her, and for Anthony and Chloe. No matter how he felt.

He left the hospital and walked to the nearby Gare d'Austerlitz in the pouring rain. He was soaked by the time he found a cab, and gave the driver the address of the Ritz. He looked as grim as he felt, as though he'd aged a hundred years in one day. She didn't deserve what had happened to her. No one did. And Carole least of all. She was a good woman, a nice person, a great mother, and had been a good wife to two men. One had left her for a tart and the other one had died. And now she was fighting for her life after a terrorist attack. If he had dared, he would have been furious with God, but he didn't dare. He needed His help too much now, and as they drove toward the Place Vendôme in the first arrondissement, he begged God for His help telling the kids. He couldn't even imagine saying the words to them. And then he remembered another call he had to make. He took out his cell phone and dialed L.A. It was almost midnight for Stevie, but he had promised he'd call as soon as he knew.

Stevie answered on the first ring. She was wide awake and had been waiting for his call. It had taken too long, in her opinion, unless his plane had arrived late. She should have heard from him by then if it wasn't Carole. She had been sick with fear for the last hour, and her voice shook when she said hello.

“It's her,” he said, without even identifying himself. She knew.

“Oh my God … how bad is it?” Tears ran instantly down her cheeks.

“It's not good. She's on a respirator, but she's alive. She's in a coma from a head injury. They didn't operate, but she had a hell of a blow. She's still in danger, and they don't know yet how damaged she may be.” He gave it to her straight. He was planning to be gentler with his kids, but Stevie had a right to know the whole truth, and she wouldn't have settled for less.

“Shit. I'll get the first plane out.” But it was a ten-hour flight for her, at best, if the winds were good. And a nine-hour time difference against her. She wouldn't be there till the next day. “Have you told the kids?”

“Not yet. I'm on my way to the hotel. There's nothing you can do. I don't know how much sense it makes for you to come.” She didn't need an assistant right now, and maybe never would again. But Stevie was her friend too. She had been a fixture in their family for years, and his children loved her too, as she loved them. “There's nothing any of us can do,” he said with a tremor in his own voice again.

“I couldn't be anywhere else,” she told him simply.

“Neither could I.” He gave her the name of the hospital and told her he'd see her in Paris tomorrow. “I'll get you a room at the Ritz.”

“I can stay in Carole's room,” Stevie said practically. There was no point paying for another room. “Unless you are,” she said cautiously. She didn't want to intrude.

“I booked my own, and I'll get rooms for the kids. I'll try to get them near Carole's room, so we can be close together. We've got some tough times ahead, and so does she. This is going to be a long road, if she recovers. I can't even imagine what it's going to be like if she doesn't.” He was surprised to realize that he wanted her to live, even if she was severely brain damaged. He didn't care if she was a vegetable after all was said and done, he didn't want her to die, for himself or his kids. They loved her in whatever state she was, and he knew Stevie did too. “I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good trip,” he said, sounding exhausted, and then hung up. Although it was three A.M. for her, he called his secretary at home after that, and told her not to tell his son, but to cancel all the appointments and meetings he had planned. “I won't be back for a while.” He apologized for calling her in the middle of the night, but she said she didn't mind.

“It's Miss Barber then?” his secretary asked, sounding crushed. She was one of Carole's biggest fans, as a person and a star. Carole had always been lovely to her on the phone.

“Yes, it is,” he said, in a grim voice. “I'll call Anthony in a few hours. Don't contact him till then. We're going to have a hell of a mess on our hands when the press find out. I just registered her at the hospital under my name, but that won't last. Sooner or later, word will get out, and you know what that's like.”