Miracle (25 page)

This night was not going as planned. Usually following sex Jeff dozed—relaxed, gloating, victorious. Usually his partner curled herself to his side and sighed with happiness.

His partners did not stare at him unblinking while he was in the midst of a magnificent performance. They didn’t fake their excitement with little humming sounds that reminded him of a sewing machine at low speed. And when he finished, smiling, waiting for a compliment, they did not just thank him brusquely, roll over, and pretend to fall asleep.

“It won’t work,” he said grimly. “I can feel your vibes. You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” Her voice was hoarse with misery. “You did just fine.”

“Why, thank you.” Troubled about the depth of his concern for her, he cursed silently but pulled the sheet aside and moved close to her. Tucking the cover around them both, he curved himself against her back and buttocks. She was cold and trembling. Jeff put his arm around her waist. He cupped his hips so that his penis wouldn’t bump her. “I’ll keep that dastardly villain away from you, fair damsel,” he teased, his throat tight. “Now stop regretting what you and I did.”

“It was fine. Just fine.”

“ ‘Fine’ seems to be the word of choice tonight. What happened? At first, I could swear that you wanted this.”

“I did. I thought it’d be a good substitute for the real thing.”

“Ouch. I see.” His sense of rejection climbed higher. He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted to please her. Determined, he stroked her face with the backs of his fingers. Her eyes remained shut, but tears crept from under the lids. “It may take time for you to relax,” he told her. “It’s all right to feel ambivalent about me right now.”

“You sure are good-natured and patient.” She turned
onto her back and gazed up at him. Distress made dark smudges under her eyes. “And I don’t want to hurt your feelings. You’re so nice.”

He cupped her chin. “Listen to me. The next time will be great. I promise.”

Her eyes clouded. “I don’t think—”

“Sssh.” He kissed her.
God damn you, Sebastien. Get out of her mind. There. See how she opened her mouth for me? All I need is patience
.

“Jeff, don’t,” she said, and turned her head away. “I’m trying, but it doesn’t work. This isn’t right for me.”

Wounded and growing angry, he scowled at her. His patience began to fray, but he spoke calmly. “How would you like to live in California?”

“What?”

“Come with me. Live with me. Enroll in college out there. We’d have a great time, sweets. You’d love California. Especially San Francisco. I’m going to buy a house near the bay.” He tried to intrigue her by describing the state’s attractions. He told her about Hollywood, Los Angeles, Malibu, Disneyland. He mentioned that some of his patients would be television and film people. He’d make contacts in the entertainment business. She might get to meet some of her favorites.

His speech raised no shred of interest in her. “I can’t leave here,” she said gently. “This is where I told Sebastien I’d be.”

Jeff felt a muscle ticking in his cheek. “What difference does that make? He doesn’t care where you go to school.”

“I told him I’d be in school
here.
”

“I thought we settled all this.” He wanted to shake her. His voice rose. “You were making progress. You can’t backslide now.
You are never going to see him again.
”

She began to squirm under the clamp of his arm. Her eyes flashed defiance. “I might! At any rate, I won’t run off where he can’t find me!”

“And if you do see him again, and he hasn’t forgotten you, are you going to explain why you fucked his best friend?”

They both froze, those words hanging like a knife between
them. Her chest rose with short, strangled breaths. “He wouldn’t look at it that way.”

“The hell he wouldn’t. European men are very possessive. If he cares about you at all—which I doubt—he’d be disgusted to know that you’re in bed with me. Take a sniff of the air, sweets. That’s sex you smell. There’s no way you can pretend that this didn’t happen.”

Horror filled her eyes. He had struck a chord. “I’d explain … somehow,” she insisted, but her voice was hollow. She twisted away and pulled a pillow to her chest, hugging it, her body hunched.

Jeff raised himself to a sitting position and glared at her. But a sense of shame stabbed him, and his head began to throb with tension.
Repressed guilt
, he admitted with a bitter smile. He rubbed his temples. “Don’t worry, sweets.” His voice was leaden. “Sebastien will never find out about this unless you tell him. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“But the damage is done,” she said brokenly. “And it was my fault.”

Jeff flicked the light off. The darkness complimented his bleak mood. For the moment, he loved her, and he was sorry for hurting her. He rested a hand on her shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And I’m sure that Sebastien would understand.”

But she no longer trusted him. He sat in the darkness giving useless comfort and listening to the soft sounds of her defeat.

For the proper effect, it was vital to keep one’s voice pitched at the level of casual conversation. One could not reveal the satisfaction that had been spawned by a private investigator’s report. One could not hint that risks worth taking had paid off handsomely. Or that even a smart young man, such as Dr. Atwater, could play into a crafty old man’s plan. After Pio added a few half-truths and outright lies
le comte’s
plan would work out perfectly.

When Pio heard Sebastien answer the telephone he gathered himself for a perfect show of nonchalance. “Sebastien, hello! How are you, my boy?”

“Pio?” Sebastien’s deep voice conveyed wariness even over thousands of miles. “Is everything all right? Why are you calling?”

“My boy, it’s not as if I never call you.”

“Ah, but Pio, the reasons, the reasons.” Now Sebastien sounded more amused than suspicious. “What are you up to?”

“All right, suspect a harmless old man, if you will.” Pio laughed. “I call with good news. The girl … Amy. You don’t have to worry about her anymore.”

“Oh? How is that so?”

“She’s sleeping with Dr. Atwater!” Pio spoke with Gallic earthiness. Affairs, after all, were nothing about which to be shy. “They have been lovers for a long time, I suspect!”

“Where did you come by this information?”

“From Dr. Atwater, of course. It is no secret. He’s asked her to go to California with him. I don’t know if she’ll do that or not. But she sold the Ferrari you gave her, so that must mean she expects to move.”

“When is he leaving?”

“Soon. In two days, actually.”

“I will be there before he goes. You locate him for me.”

“Sebastien, no. The girl has made her choice. You left her to her own devices, so what did you expect? She is young … she has no patience for waiting. It is beneath you, a grown man, an important man from an important family, to let your energies be diverted by her.”

“Tell Dr. Atwater that I expect to see him.”

Pio sighed. “All right, my boy, if you insist.”

“I have plans to make. Good-bye.”

He hung up without waiting for Pio’s response. Nodding, Pio slowly laid his receiver back on the cradle. He sat back in his chair and rested his hands on his stomach. Sebastien would not get permission from his superiors to leave his duties, even for a few days.
Le comte
had already made certain of that. And Sebastien would soon have diversions to take his mind off the girl.
Le comte
had made certain of that, too.

Pio sighed, relieved. It was good to see
le comte’s
world being put right, finally.

T
he medicine woman knew that something about him had changed. She hiked up the shoulder drape of her dress, spit red kola-nut juice into a can, then sternly jabbed a finger at Sebastien’s shirtfront. Her bright cloth turban wobbled with each dismayed shake of her head.

“She is very surprised and displeased that you’re not wearing your
gris-gris
this time,” the interpreter explained. “She says without the magic charm your medicine won’t do the villagers any good.”

Rather than frown at Madame Toka, Sebastien frowned at the woven mat on which he sat. He and she had enjoyed a pleasant professional relationship; he’d listened patiently as she’d offered her opinions on treating everything from bee stings to cancer. He wasn’t going to quarrel with her now over a ridiculous bit of metal he’d once worn around his neck.

He’d seen a great deal of needless suffering and death during his time in the Ivory Coast; it had taken a toll. He had become tougher than ever, less gentle, less able to tolerate human frailties, including his own.

“No compromise,” the interpreter whispered.

Sebastien gestured toward the gifts that lay in front of her kneeling place. “I suppose this month she doesn’t need her supply of cigars and candy.”

“She is strong-willed,” the interpreter said.

Madame Toka eyed Sebastien with birdlike shrewdness. She clasped her heart and spoke in hushed tones.

“Madame asks, ‘Why are you sad?’ ”

“Sad? She is mistaken.”

“Humor her. When she decides something, there’s no point in arguing.”

“All right. Tell her that I’m sad because I’ve been disappointed by someone I love.”

When the interpreter finished, Madame Toka gestured dramatically, then opened up her conjuring bag filled with small-animal skulls and shells, spread them on the floor, and consulted them. She began speaking with solemn assurance.

Sebastien’s interpreter hitched his white
bou-bou
up a little and leaned forward, hands planted on crossed legs. “You are disappointed in yourself as well, she says.”

She was very perceptive. Sebastien nodded. “I demanded too much. I gave too little in return. I waited too long because I didn’t have enough faith. But the mistake is made now and can’t be changed.” He couldn’t even get permission to leave this damned country for a few days so that he could try. Fate was against him.

“The
gris-gris
,” his interpreter reminded him. “Madame won’t let you treat anyone unless you wear it.”

“Tell her that my magic is here.” He held out his hands. “And here.” Sebastien pointed to his head. “And there.” He pointed to his medical kit and the case of supplies sitting beside him on the hut’s wooden floor. “I don’t need any help from a
gris-gris.
”

She spoke, spit again, then pointed to the empty spot between the breast pockets of Sebastien’s khaki work shirt. The interpreter sighed. “She says your magic has to be in your heart as well as everywhere else. It’s no use arguing with her. If you want to treat the villagers you’ll have to wear your necklace.”

Sebastien bit the inside of his cheek and fought the sour, short-tempered impatience that threatened his control more and more lately. Waiting for his attention was a child who had been gored in the stomach by a bull, a pregnant woman suffering from toxemia, at least a dozen people
infected with venereal disease, and other villagers with assorted minor ailments.

“Tell Madame Toka that my
gris-gris
no longer holds magic for me,” he instructed. “Perhaps she can give me a new one.”

But his diplomatic maneuvering fell flat. The medicine woman spoke at length this time, and finished by smugly shoving away the gifts. “Madame believes that you are in danger without your protective charm,” the interpreter explained. “She says you are a strong man who draws the attention of jealous evil spirits. She can’t have you working around her people in that condition.”

“Ah. I see. I might contaminate them. I’m infested with demons. What nonsense.”

“
Monsieur le docteur
, I’ve never heard you make light of the people’s religion before. I’m a Muslim, but even I don’t look down on the beliefs of the villagers.”

“I apologize. The heat is severe today. It bothers me,” Sebastien hadn’t noticed the heat any more than usual; he was merely offering an excuse, while he considered the absurdity of the situation. He was wasting time over his own ridiculous wounds when he could be treating the wounds of others, an infinitely easier task. And why was he arguing? For his pride’s sake, and no more. His pride over a brief affair that a grown man should dismiss with a sigh and a shrug.
C’est la vie
.