Danielle Steel - A Good Woman

She finally stood up, and took Annabelle’s hand in her own. “Thank you for this most extraordinary gift,” she said with tears in her eyes. “It’s a little piece of Harry I can hang on to, and Consuelo is a very special child on her own.” And with that, she hugged Annabelle and kissed her on the cheek. Annabelle helped her down the stairs to the car and driver waiting for her outside. She suddenly looked even older than she had when she arrived. And she smiled at Annabelle again before she left, and gently slipped something into her hand. “This is for you, my dear. You’ve earned it. It’s a very small thing.” Annabelle tried to resist, without even looking at it, but Lady Winshire insisted. The two women hugged again, and Annabelle felt as though they had a new friend, a kind of wonderful old eccentric aunt. She was glad she’d written to her now. It had been the right thing to do, for them all.

She waved as Lady Winshire drove away, and only after she had left did Annabelle look at the object in the palm of her hand. She had sensed that it was a ring, but she was in no way prepared for the kind of ring it was. It was a beautiful old emerald of enormous proportions, in an antique diamond setting. Annabelle was stunned. It looked like the rings her own grandmother had worn, which were still in the vault at the bank in New York. But she slipped the ring on her finger with the wedding ring she had bought herself. She was deeply touched by the gesture. She would give it to Consuelo one day, but in the meantime she was going to wear it. And as she walked back into her office she thought to herself that they had a grandmother now. She and Consuelo were no longer alone in the world.

Chapter 22

There was a mild outbreak of influenza in Paris that summer, some thought from the heat, and Annabelle had several patients in the hospital. She visited them twice a day, but she was hoping to go away with Consuelo and Brigitte in August. She couldn’t decide between Dordogne, Brittany, or the South of France. As it turned out, they never got to any of those places. She had too many sick people to tend to. They went to Deauville, at the seashore in Normandy, instead for a few days, when her patients recovered.

And after they got back, two more of her patients were hospitalized with pneumonia. She was leaving the hospital late one afternoon, thinking about the patient she’d just visited, an elderly woman who wasn’t doing well. Annabelle was trying to come up with some new solutions for her many problems, when she bumped into someone on the steps of the hospital, coming up as she was going down. They hit each other with such force that he almost knocked her over, and made a quick save to grab her before she fell down the stairs.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said apologetically. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Neither was I.” He was equally apologetic and had a dazzling smile. “Were you visiting a friend?” It was an honest mistake and she laughed.

“No, I’m a doctor.” At least he hadn’t asked if she was a nurse.

“What a happy coincidence,” he said, laughing back at her. “So am I. Why have I never been fortunate enough to meet you before?” He was very charming, and she wasn’t used to bantering with men that way. For years now, she had hidden behind her role as a doctor, widow, or Consuelo’s mother. Men never flirted with her, but he seemed full of mischief and fun and was undeniably very goodlooking. “What’s your specialty?” he asked with interest, not in the least bothered that they had had no formal introduction. He told her his name was Antoine de St. Gris, and asked for hers, which she gave him. He refused to believe she was American, since she spoke such flawless French.

“I’m in general medicine,” she said simply, embarrassed to be talking to a stranger.

“I’m an orthopedic surgeon,” he said with visible panache. She knew that most of the orthopedic surgeons had big egos, except during the war when they had been humbled, like everyone else, by what they saw, and how little of the damage they could repair.

He walked her back down the steps of the hospital, to ensure that she didn’t fall, he said, and saw her to the car that she drove herself.

“Will I be fortunate enough to see you again?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye, and she laughed.

“If I break my leg, I’ll call you.”

“Don’t wait until then. Or I’ll have to develop pneumonia and call you. And it would be such a shame. I would much prefer to see you while we’re both healthy.” He waved as she drove away and hurried back up the hospital steps. It had put a little spark in her day to have a man chat with her. It happened to her so rarely, almost never.

She spent a quiet evening reading to Consuelo and put her to bed. And the next day in the office, she was in the midst of seeing patients when Hélène told her that there was a doctor in the waiting room, demanding to see her immediately. He said he had to consult her about a case. She finished with her patient, and walked out, puzzled. She couldn’t imagine who it was. And there was Antoine de St. Gris in a handsome blue topcoat, creating havoc in her waiting room, entertaining the patients, most of whom were laughing. He had been telling them jokes, and she took him into her office for a moment.

“What are you doing here?” she asked with an embarrassed smile. It pleased her to see him again, but she was working. “I’m seeing patients.”

“I’m very impressed. I think I caught a severe cold last night. I have a very bad sore throat.” He stuck his tongue out for her to look at when he said it. And she laughed at him. He was outrageous, irreverent, and embarrassingly charming.

“It looks fine to me.”

“How’s your leg?” he asked.

“My leg? Fine. Why?”

“It looks broken to me. Let me have a look at it.” He made as though to reach for the hem of her skirt, and she stepped away from him, laughing.

“Doctor, I must ask you to leave. I have to see my patients.”

“Fine, if you’re going to be that way. Then see me tonight for dinner.”

“Uh…I don’t…I can’t…”

“You can’t even think of a decent excuse.” He laughed at her. “That’s truly pathetic. I’ll pick you up at eight.” And with that, he went back to the waiting room, waved at her patients, and left. He was completely overwhelming, very improper, and in spite of that, or maybe because of it, very appealing, almost irresistible in fact.

“Who was that?” Hélène asked with a look of disapproval, before ushering the next patient in.

“He’s an orthopedic surgeon.”

“That explains everything,” Hélène growled, and noticed the girlish expression on her employer’s face. She had never seen her look that way before. “He’s a lunatic,” Hélène added, and then smiled in spite of herself. “A good-looking lunatic though. Are you going to see him again?”

Annabelle blushed. “Tonight. For dinner.”

“Uh-oh. Watch out for him,” Hélène warned.

“I will,” Annabelle reassured her, and then went back to seeing patients.

She got to the house after seven that night, after her last patient and closing the office. Consuelo was in the bathtub, laughing with Brigitte. Annabelle looked at her watch and realized that she had less than an hour to dress for dinner with the slightly outrageous Dr. St. Gris. She went in to kiss Consuelo, who wanted to play cards with her mother after the bath.

“I can’t,” Annabelle said apologetically. “I’m going out.”

“You are?” Consuelo looked shocked. It was a most unusual occurrence. In fact, it never happened, except once in a great while if Annabelle went to a meeting of physicians, or a conference for women doctors. Other than that, she never went out, and had no social life, not since leaving New York nine years before. So her announcement had the effect of a bomb dropped in their midst. “Where are you going?”