Her Own Rules/Dangerous to Know (15 page)

“You're right, and I did suggest that only the other day. Cat's going to let me know sometime next week, so we can get the invitations engraved and sent out, make proper plans.”

“Aunt Blanche is all worked up about the reception,” Jon said, laughing. “She's been planning it for weeks. In her head, that is . . . she told me tonight that she wants to top your wedding reception, which she was apparently involved in.”

“Very much so. In fact, she really designed and planned the entire thing by herself. She has such a talent for that kind of occasion. Make the tea, Jon, the kettle's screeching its head off.”

“Okay. Why don't you go and sit in the library. I'll bring the tea.”

“Thanks, darling,” she said, and did as he suggested, walking out of the kitchen, across the entrance foyer and into the library, which overlooked the water. She went to one of the windows, stood staring out. A great barge was floating down, loaded with cargo, heading for the docks, no doubt.

Meredith never got tired of looking at the East River. There was a great deal of traffic on this waterway and something was always moving on it, going up or down.

Her thoughts turned to Catherine as she swung away from the window and went and sat down near the fireplace. She was going to give her the best wedding any girl had ever had, make sure that she—

Jon interrupted her thoughts when he said, “Where do you want the tray, Mom? Over there by you, I guess.”

“Yes, that's fine, put it here on this coffee table.” Meredith moved a pile of large art books to make a space.

Meredith poured, and they sipped their tea in silence for a few minutes, and then Jon suddenly said, “Are you going to make it permanent with Luc?”

Startled, Meredith gaped at him.

Jon said, “What I mean is, are you going to marry him, Mom?”

“He hasn't asked me,” Meredith replied.

“But would you if he did?” Jon pressed.

“I honestly don't know.”

“Why?”

“Why don't I know? Is that what you mean?”

“Yes.”

Meredith lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. “I just don't, that's all. It would be a big step for me to take, it would mean rearranging my life completely.”

“So what. I think you
should
marry him.”

“You do, do you?” A blonde brow lifted expressively.

“Sure. You're in love with him, he's in love with you. I bet if you gave him half a chance, he'd ask you.”

Meredith said nothing.

“You've been used to having
us
with you always, Mother. The Three Musketeers, remember? That's what you used to call us. Cat's getting married, starting a whole new life soon, her own family. And I expect I'll get married when I meet the right woman. I just don't want you to be all alone one day.”

Meredith stared at her son, touched by his words, then her brows drew together in a furrow. “You're worrying about my old age, is that it, Jon?”

Laughing, he shook his head. “You'll never be old, Mother. You'll be beautiful forever. You're the greatest looking forty-four year old I've ever seen.”

“And you've lived such a long time,” she shot back, laughing with him. “Known so many women.”

Jonathan's face sobered as he continued. “I just don't want you to be by yourself, lonely later in your life.” He cleared his throat and gave her a piercing look. “When I was little I used to hear you . . .
crying,
Mother. Sobbing as if your heart were breaking, at night in your bedroom. I used to stand outside the door and listen, hurting for you inside. But I didn't dare come in, even though I wanted to comfort you.”

“You could have,” she said softly, further touched by his words.

“I was afraid. You could be very fierce, you know, in those days. Do you remember, I once asked you why you cried at night, when I was a bit older?”

“Yes, vaguely.”

“Do you recall what you said?”

Meredith shook her head.

“You told me you cried because you'd lost someone when you were a child. When I asked you who, you wouldn't answer me, you just turned away.”

Meredith stared at her son, speechless.

“Mom, who was it that you lost? I've always wondered.”

“I don't know,” she replied after a long and thoughtful pause. “If I did, I would tell you, Jon. Truly I would.”

Her son rose and came and sat next to her. He took hold of her hand, looked into her face. His own had a loving expression on it. Slowly, he said, “It broke my heart to hear you crying. I wanted to help you and I didn't know how. It's always worried me that you cried in that way.”

“Oh Jon.”

“That's why Luc is so important to me . . . I want him for you, Mom, he's such a great guy, and he loves you. Maybe he can make up for . . . everyone that hurt you.”

 

During the night Meredith awakened.

Immediately she slipped out of bed, put on a dressing gown, and went into the library. There was a tray of drinks on a console table and she poured herself a small brandy in a tall glass, added soda water, then carried it over to a chair. She sat down, made herself comfortable, took a sip of the drink.

Lately she had discovered that it was far better to get up when she awakened in this way. It was easier to think through what was troubling her when she was sitting in a chair, rather than lying down in bed.

Now, placing the glass on the coffee table, she sat back, relaxing, thinking of her sons words.

Jon had taken her by surprise, but she had also been moved by his words, his loving concern. Although she did not want him to worry about her, it was gratifying, in some ways, that he did. Her son cared about her well-being, and that was important to her.

She had tried to bring up her children properly, had always striven to do the right thing for them, and she believed she had succeeded. Catherine and Jonathan had turned out to be good human beings, with all of the right values. They functioned, were well adjusted, very normal young people, and thank God they had never been tempted by their peers to experiment with drugs, nor did they drink much. She had been lucky with her children.

It was startling to her that Jonathan remembered how she used to weep at night, when she thought her children were fast asleep. The odd thing was, she had no recollection of ever telling him she cried for someone she had lost when she was a child. Yet she knew he was not lying. Why would he? She must have forgotten what she had said to him all those years ago. And whom had she meant? She had no idea; she was truly baffled.

Sighing to herself, finishing the drink, Meredith got up, walked back to her bedroom. Perhaps now she would be able to fall asleep. Certainly she must try. She had a busy day ahead of her. She took off her dressing gown and got into bed. Almost immediately she began to doze, drifting off into a deep sleep.

 

There were many children. Boys and girls. Some of them were very young. Three and four years old. Others were older, perhaps seven and eight. They were all walking across the vast landscape. Some were hand in hand, boys and girls, and girls together. Many walked alone. Too many children, she thought, filling with fear. I'll never find that little girl again. Or the boy. They are lost to me. Where are they? They must be among these children. I must find them. She was frantic, running in among the children as they walked, perfectly in step, toward the distant horizon. She peered into their faces. She did not know them. They marched across the parched, cracked mud flats like automatons, staring straight ahead, paying no attention to her. Their faces were glazed, empty of expression, their eyes dull, lifeless. Where are you going? she cried. Where are you heading? None of them answered her.

Have you seen them? she cried. The girl with the long striped scarf? The boy with the cap? Please tell me if you've seen them.

The children turned en masse, veered to the right, began to walk toward the sea. She had never seen the sea before. The water was black, the color of oil. She shuddered and called to the children to come back. They did not heed her. She was afraid, shivering with fright. The children marched on. No! she cried. Stop! Still they paid no attention. They marched on and on, marched right into the sea. Slowly they sank, disappeared from sight. Oh God, no! she cried. Nobody heard her.

The landscape was empty. She was the only one left. And then she saw them. They were skipping toward her holding hands. The little girl with the scarf and the boy in his school cap. She waved. They waved back. She began to run. She was getting closer and closer. The labels pinned to their coats were huge, bigger than before. They fluttered in the wind, blew against their necks, obscuring their faces. Suddenly they turned around, veered to the right and began to walk toward the sea. No! she shouted. No! Stop! Don't go there! They did not listen. She ran and ran. Parts of the arid landscape opened up, cracking in half. She jumped over the cracks. Went on running. Her breathing was labored. Finally she caught up with the children. She reached out, grabbed the boy's shoulder. He resisted. Then slowly he swung around. She screamed. He had no face. She grabbed the girl's arm. The girl turned. Meredith screamed again.

 

“Mother, what's wrong, what is it?” Jon exclaimed, bursting into her room, snapping on the light as he did. He hurried over to the bed.

Meredith was sitting up, her eyes wide with fright, her face and neck damp with perspiration. She shook her head.

Her son sat down on the bed. He stared at her closely, took hold of her hand, wanting to comfort her. Again he asked, “What is it, Mom?”

Meredith took a deep breath. “I had a strange dream, a nightmare, actually.”

“It must've frightened you. I heard you screaming.”

“Yes, it must have. I'm sorry I woke you, Jon.”

“That's okay.” He frowned. “What was the nightmare about?”

“It doesn't make sense, it was very muddled.” She forced a smile onto her face, hoped it reassured him. “Let's forget it. I'm all right, really. Go back to bed, honey.”

Jonathan leaned forward, kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I'm just across the hall if you need me.”

“I'm fine,” she replied.

Long after Jonathan had returned to his own room, Meredith lay awake, remembering every detail of the dream, pondering on it.

It was a dream she had first dreamed many years before, when she was young and still lived in Sydney. It had recurred off and on over the years, and then it had stopped all of a sudden when she was in her thirties. Unexpectedly, she was having the dream again—twice in the space of two months.

The details were always the same. The barren landscape, sinister, and godforsaken. The children marching to their doom in the sea. Her desperation as she tried to find the little girl and boy.

She always woke up in a cold sweat. And she was always fearful when she awakened. Why? What did the dream mean?

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

“H
ow many of these attacks have you had?” Dr. Jennifer Pollard asked, scrutinizing Meredith across her desk.

“I had two in January, two in February, three in March, and two this month . . . last Thursday at Catherine's engagement party and again on Sunday. The last was the worst one yet. It lasted most of the day, and I felt more debilitated than usual. So much so, I didn't go to the office yesterday. When I went to work this morning I was still feeling very tired. I thought I'd better come to see you.”

“I'm glad you did,” the doctor answered. “Earlier, on the phone, you told me the symptoms are always the same—nausea and a feeling of total exhaustion. Are there no other symptoms, Meredith?”

“None at all.”

“No vomiting, fever, pains in your stomach, diarrhea, high temperatures, headaches, migraines?”

Meredith shook her head. “No, nothing like that. I just feel sort of queasy, but mostly very tired, exhausted really.”

“I see.” Jennifer brought her hand up to her chin, looking thoughtful.

Meredith leaned forward intently. “Jennifer, what do you think is wrong with me?”

“Frankly, I'm not sure. First we must give you a very thorough examination, then I'll be able to make a proper diagnosis.” As she was speaking, the doctor opened the folder in front of her and scanned the top page. “I looked at your records just before you arrived, and you had a checkup three months ago, at the end of December. You were in perfect health then, Meredith.”

“Yes, I know, that's why I'm so baffled.”

“We'll get to the bottom of it, don't worry.” Closing the folder, the doctor went on briskly. “All right, then, let's start by getting the tests done.”

She stood up, walked around the desk.

Meredith also rose.

Jennifer Pollard put her arm around Meredith's shoulder. “Don't look so apprehensive. We'll get to the bottom of the problem.”

“What do you think it
could
be?”

Jennifer hesitated, then said, “Any number of things, but I don't want to make guesses. Also, I'm not going to pretend it's nothing, Meredith, I've too much respect for your intelligence, and in any case, you know that's not my way I believe in being very honest with my patients. The kind of exhaustion you've described can mean any number of things. It could be caused by anemia, a hormonal disorder, or a chronic infection of some kind. Then again, it might be tiredness due to burnout.”

“Not burnout, no!” Meredith exclaimed. “Most of the time I'm full of energy and vitality.”

“Let's go in to Angela,” Jennifer said, leading the way out of her office and down the corridor. “You know the routine after all these years. Angela will take blood samples, do the EKG and a chest X ray. We'll also need a urine sample from you. Once these tests are completed, I'll give you a thorough physical examination.”

Opening the door of the small examination room, Jennifer said, “I'll send Angela in with a gown, so you can get undressed.”

“Thank you,” Meredith murmured.

 

Exactly one hour later Meredith was dressed again and sitting in her doctor's office, once more staring at Jennifer Pollard. Her expression was worried and there was a questioning look in her eyes. “What did you find?”

“Nothing.” Jennifer smiled at her confidently “As far as I can tell, there's nothing physically wrong with you. No lumps, no swelling anywhere, and you didn't flinch when I put pressure on your abdomen. And your reflexes and blood pressure are normal. Of course, I don't know what the blood and urine tests are going to reveal, and I won't have the results for a couple of days. But frankly, I'm pretty sure they're going to be normal too. It seems to me that you're as physically fit as you were three months ago.”

“Then how do you explain the attacks?”

“Not sure.” Jennifer leaned back in her chair, focused her eyes on Meredith. “Nerves, maybe? Stress? You push yourself very hard. For as long as I've known you, which is a good ten years now, you've been a workaholic, to use a nasty word. And stress can play havoc with a person's nervous system.”

“I realize that, but I don't feel stressed out, not at all. Very honestly, Jennifer, I've been taking it a lot easier lately, especially when I'm in France. I'm remodeling an inn there, but I have a very good French partner who takes a load off my shoulders. And I spend long weekends with my boyfriend in the Loire. He has a country house there.” Meredith leaned forward and finished, “I've never been happier on a personal level. Business is good, the kids are great.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” Jennifer answered. A reflective expression flickered in her eyes, and after a moment she asked, “Is there anything at all worrying you?”

“No. And as I just said, my life has never been better.”

Jennifer nodded. “Let's see what the blood tests tell us. I'll call you as soon as they come in. Probably by Thursday, Friday at the latest.”

 

Meredith was signing a batch of letters late on Thursday afternoon when the private line in her office rang. Picking up the phone, she said, “Hello?”

“C'est moi, chérie.”

“Luc!” she exclaimed. “How are you, darling?”

“Not so good, I am afraid.”

“What's wrong?” she asked, her voice rising slightly, her concern apparent.

Luc sighed over the transatlantic line and explained. “I am so terribly sorry about this, Meredith, but I cannot now come to New York this weekend. I am afraid I am stuck here in Lyons. Because of the job, I am needed here.”

“Oh Luc, what a shame, I was so looking forward to it,” Meredith said. “I'm very disappointed, darling, but I understand. Work has to come first.” She, too, sighed resignedly.

“I have to be on the spot,” he continued. “There is an unanticipated condition in the foundation that is going to require major redesign. I can't just delegate this particular part of the job. We have run into subsurface ledgerock that requires redesigning the foundation in the first of the buildings. It is vital that I am here. I'm meeting with the contractor and structural engineer tomorrow. We'll complete the design on Saturday and bring in the crew next week.” There was a fractional pause before he laughed quietly and said, “I don't suppose you could come to Lyons, could you?”

“I'd love to, but I can't. I told you, I have the closing on the inn tomorrow. And I have to be in New York on Tuesday for a meeting with the bank. Henry Raphaelson is going to the Far East the following day, so I can't change that appointment. Next week is a bit tough for me, Luc. I'm due in Paris soon, in case you've forgotten.”

“I hadn't,
ma chérie,
I was just hoping to see you before.”

Meredith glanced at the calendar on her desk. “I was planning on being there at the end of April, and I will be staying the whole month of May, you know.”

“Well, that is wonderful! I am happy. But I shall miss you, Meri.”

“And I will miss you too,” she said. They went on talking for another ten minutes. For a moment Meredith almost confided in him, almost told him about her visit to the doctor, then changed her mind. She did not want to worry him. He had enough problems with the shopping center in Lyons.

 

“There's absolutely nothing physically wrong with you, Meredith,” Jennifer Pollard said, leaning back in her chair, smiling at her. “I'm happy to tell you the blood and urine tests are normal.”

Meredith smiled back, filling with relief and then she frowned and asked, “But this morning when you called the office you told Amy you wanted to see me, talk to me.”

The doctor nodded. “I do.” Jennifer cleared her throat and went on. “There's still something wrong. Those attacks. Now, in my experience, people who suffer from the kind of exhaustion you described to me earlier this week usually do so all the time. In other words, it's chronic. And permanent. It doesn't come and go the way you have described
your
attacks.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning that your attacks could easily become increasingly frequent, until, in the end, you, too, have the exhaustion on a permanent basis rather than only occasionally.”

Meredith was silent; she sat staring at the doctor.

“Let me explain something to you, Meredith,” Jennifer said. “Very often this kind of exhaustion is due to psychological causes.”

“Do you think that's the case with me?”

“Possibly. You could be suffering from
psychogenic fatigue.”

“What does that mean?”

“That the cause of your tiredness is an emotional problem. Or, alternatively, you could be depressed without knowing it.”

“I'm definitely not depressed!” Meredith answered with a dry laugh. “When I was here on Tuesday, I told you my life was on an even keel and rather wonderful these days. I'm in love with a fabulous man, he with me.”

“I believe you, and I'm happy for you. However, let's not dismiss the idea of psychogenic fatigue due to an emotional problem, or an upset mental state. What's causing it, the thing that's bothering you, doesn't necessarily have to be of this moment. It could go back in time.”

“How do you treat something like that?” Meredith asked nervously, eyeing her doctor warily.

“We have to determine the nature of the actual problem, get to the root of it, then treat it.”

“Psychiatry.
Is that what you're getting at, Jennifer?”

“Yes, it is. If you are suffering from psychogenic fatigue, I recommend that you see someone immediately. The illness, and it
is
an illness, is not going to go away on its own. Furthermore, it could become chronic.”

“Who . . . who would you recommend?” Meredith asked quietly.

“Dr. Hilary Benson. She's very sympathetic, you'll like her. And she's a brilliant psychiatrist. Her office is just around the corner from me on Park and Sixty-ninth.”

Meredith leaned back in the chair, looking worried.

“There's nobody saner than you, Meredith,” Jennifer said swiftly, responding to the look in Meredith's eyes. “I can testify to that. Listen to me, you might not have psychogenic fatigue at all. It could be stress . . . I said that to you earlier in the week.”

“I don't think so.”

“Then you will go and see Hilary Benson?”

Meredith nodded.