Danielle Steel: A Good Woman

“Like my father,” she said proudly, and then a cloud passed her eyes. “But then he died too.” It was all very sad, and made her realize, even at seven, all that her mother had been through, and come out the other end, whole, and alive, and even a doctor.

“Anyway, he divorced me, and went to Mexico.” She didn’t tell her about Henry. She didn’t need to know. “And everyone here was very shocked. They thought he divorced me because I did something wrong. He never told anyone he was sick, and neither did I. So they thought I had done something terrible, and I was very sad. I went to France, and went to work in the war. And then I met your father, and had you. And everyone lived happily ever after,” she said with a smile, as she took Consuelo’s hand in her own. It was a highly edited version, but it was all Consuelo needed to know. And her marriage to Josiah was no longer a secret. It seemed better that way. She didn’t want to keep secrets, or tell lies to cover them anymore. And she had been fair to Josiah in the story. She always had been.

“But why was everyone so mean to you when he went away?” That seemed horrible to Consuelo, and so unfair to her mother.

“Because they didn’t understand. They didn’t know what had really happened. So they told bad stories about it, and about me.”

“Why didn’t you tell them the truth?” That part made no sense to her at all.

“He didn’t want me to. He didn’t want anyone to know he was sick.” Nor why, which was far more understandable. Not to mention the part about Henry Orson.

“That was silly of him,” Consuelo said, glancing over her shoulder at the empty house.

“Yes, it was.”

“Did you ever see him again?”

Annabelle shook her head. “No. He died in Mexico. I was in France by then.”

“Do people know the truth now?” Consuelo asked, still looking pensive. She didn’t like that part of the story at all, when they’d been mean to her mother. She must have been very sad at the time. She even looked sad talking about it now.

“No, they don’t. It’s been a long time,” Annabelle answered.

“Thank you for telling me, Mama,” Consuelo said proudly.

“I was always going to tell you one day, when you were older.”

“I’m sorry they were mean to you,” she said softly. “I hope they won’t be anymore.” The only one who had been recently was Antoine. Not just mean, but cruel. It had been the worst betrayal of all, and had reopened all her old wounds. Talking to Lady Winshire about it had helped her. She saw now what a small, petty person Antoine really was, if he couldn’t love her, even with her past. She wouldn’t have done the same to him. She was a far bigger person.

“It doesn’t matter now. I have you,” Annabelle reassured her, and it was true. Consuelo was all she needed.

They got up and walked back to their cottage then, and for the next three weeks they played and swam and did all the things Annabelle had done as a child and loved there so much.

It was during their last week there that Annabelle took Consuelo to the Newport Country Club for lunch. It was one of the few grown-up things they had done. Other than that, Annabelle had avoided all the places where she might run into old friends. They had stayed mainly on their own grounds, which were large enough. But this one time, they had decided to go out, which was brave of Annabelle.

And just as they were leaving after lunch, Annabelle saw a portly woman walk toward the restaurant. She looked flustered, red-faced, there was a nanny with her, and she was leading six young children and had a baby on her hip. She was snapping at one of them, the baby was crying, and her hat was askew. And it was only when they were inches from each other that Annabelle saw that it was her old friend Hortie. Both of them were shocked and stopped walking, and stood staring at each other.

“Oh… what are you doing here?” Hortie said as though Annabelle didn’t belong there. And then she tried to cover the awkward moment with a nervous smile. Consuelo was frowning, looking at her. Hortie hadn’t even noticed her, she was just staring at her mother as if she’d seen a ghost.

“I’m here with my daughter for a visit.” Annabelle smiled at Hortie, feeling sorry for her. “I see the baby factory is still producing,” she teased her. Hortie rolled her eyes and groaned, and for an instant looked like the friend Annabelle had loved so dearly, and would never have abandoned.

“You’re remarried?” Hortie asked with interest, and then glanced at Consuelo.

“Widowed.”

“And she’s a doctor,” Consuelo piped up proudly, as both women laughed.

“Is that true?” Hortie looked at Annabelle, impressed if it was, but she knew that Annabelle had loved medical things as a young girl.

“It is. We live in Paris.”

“So I heard. I was told you were some kind of hero during the war.”

Annabelle laughed. “Hardly. I was a medic, riding ambulances to field hospitals to pick up wounded men. Nothing very heroic about that.”

“It sounds heroic to me,” Hortie said as her gaggle of children swirled around her, and the nanny tried to keep them in control with little success. Hortie didn’t apologize for the betrayal or say she’d missed her, but you could see it in her eyes. “Will you be here long?” she asked wistfully.

“A few more days.”

But Hortie didn’t ask her to come over, or say she would drop by the Worthington cottage. She knew that James would never have allowed it. He thought Annabelle would be a bad influence on her. Divorcées and adulteresses were not welcome in his home, although the stories about him had been far worse.

For a minute, Annabelle wanted to tell her that she’d missed her, but she didn’t dare. It was too late for both of them. And seeing her had made her sad. Hortie looked blowsy, tired, and overwhelmed, and wasn’t aging well. The pretty young girl she’d been years before was gone. She had become a middle-aged woman with a flock of children, and had turned on her best friend. Annabelle would miss her always. Running into her was like seeing a ghost. They said good-bye without embracing, and Annabelle was quiet as they left the restaurant.

Consuelo didn’t speak until they were driving home and then turned to her mother and spoke in a soft voice. “Is that one of the people who said mean things about you?”

“Sort of. She was my best friend when we were growing up, and until then. People do silly things sometimes,” Annabelle said, smiling at her. “We were like sisters when we were your age, and even when we grew up.”

“She’s ugly,” Consuelo said, crossing her arms and frowning. She was angry in her mother’s defense. “And fat.” Annabelle laughed and made no comment.

“She was very pretty as a young girl. She’s had a lot of children.”

“They’re ugly too, and they make a lot of noise,” Consuelo said in disapproval and snuggled up to her mother.

“That they do,” Annabelle commented. Hortie had never been able to control her children, even when she only had one or two. It looked like James had kept her pregnant ever since.

The rest of their stay in Newport was everything they had both hoped it would be. It was a real homecoming for Annabelle and warmed her heart. And as they packed to leave, Consuelo asked her mother if they could come back again. Annabelle had been thinking the same thing, and was glad she hadn’t sold the house. Once again, Lady Winshire had been right. She was, about many things. And her emerald never left Annabelle’s hand. It was a gift she cherished, particularly now that they were friends.

“I was thinking that it might be nice to come back every summer for a few weeks. Maybe even a month. What do you think?” Annabelle asked Consuelo, as Brigitte closed her charge’s bags.