The Ghost (33 page)

You're braver than I am. There's not going to be a next time for me, Charlie. I've already made up my mind. She told him that now because she was willing to be his friend, but nothing more. Romance was not on her menu.

You can't make your mind up about a thing like diat, he said gently.

Yes, you can, she argued with him. I have. I don't ever want to have my heart and my guts trampled on again.

What about without TV coverage next time? he teased her. Or maybe just foreign rights and a percentage of the tabloid sales. How about a share of the box office? he teased, and she smiled halfheartedly. She was very, very wounded, and badly scarred by all that had happened to her.

You don't know what it was like, she said with feeling. But looking in her eyes, he could see a glimmer of it. All that was left there now was pain, and he remembered the little snippets of what Monique had said, about her crying. It was why she was so closed down to everyone, why she had been so unpleasant to him at first. But all he could think of now was how lonely it must have been for her, and still was, and without thinking, he put an arm around her and pulled her closer. But there was no threat in it, he just wanted to be her friend, and she sensed that and didn't fight him.

Tell you what, kid, he said gently, if it ever happens again, and you decide to take a wild leap into marriage, I'll be your agent. But she laughed at that and shook her head.

Don't wait for that job, Charlie ' it'll never happen. Not to me. Not again. And he knew how emphatically she meant it.

Shall we make a pact then? Neither of us will ever make fools of ourselves again, or if one of us does, the other has to, sort of a joint suicide pact ' kamikaze marriage ' He was teasing, but she didn't mind it. It was the first time she had ever laughed about her situation, and she was surprised to find it made her feel better, although she didn't think she'd done much for him, but when she said so, he denied it. I needed to talk to someone, Francesca ' and I'm glad it was you. They both stood up then, and she looked at her watch apologetically, and reminded him that she had to pick up her daughter.

I'm really sorry to leave you. Will you be all right? she asked, and he saw a person in her he hadn't seen in the short time he'd known her, but he was relieved to see her now. She seemed much kinder, and more open.

I'll be fine, he lied. He wanted to go home and think about it, to ponder about Carole and Simon, and try and adjust to their marriage in his mind. In his own way, he needed more time to mourn her. But he had an idea as he looked at Francesca. What about dinner, the three of us, tomorrow night? He didn't want to frighten her by asking her out on a date. And I'll bring my books back. I promise, he added as an incentive, as she walked him back to his car. Hers was down the street, just beyond it. What about it? Just pizza or spaghetti or something? It might do us all good to get out. She hesitated and he had the feeling she was going to decline the offer, but as she looked at him, she knew he wouldn't harm her. She had told him where things stood. And he knew that all she could offer him was to be his friend and if he was willing to accept that, she was willing to have dinner with him.

All right. She looked determined and he smiled.

Maybe we'll do the big time. Dinner in Deerfield. You know, maybe even black tie. He was silly and he made her laugh, and then he drove her to her car. I'll pick you up at six he said, feeling almost human again, and then he looked at her gently as she got out. Francesca ' thanks!

She waved as he drove away, and he thought about the things she'd told him. It must have been hard for her ' worse than that ' heartbreaking ' and humiliating' . People were so rotten to each other sometimes, it was hard to understand it. Carole hadn't been rotten to him, he thought to himself, as he drove home, she had just broken his heart. That was all. Nothing more serious than that, at the moment.

And as he unlocked the door to his house again, he thought of Sarah, the pain she had gone through with Edward, and the joy she must have found with Fran+oois. He wondered how one bridged the two lives, the two moments ' how did one go from intolerable pain, and no longer trusting anyone ' to being whole again, forgiving, and starting life over? He didn't have the answers yet, he knew, as he turned the light on. Even after talking to Francesca, all he could think of now was Carole. And that night, as he lay in bed, he thought of her instead of Sarah and Francois. And as he mused on the mysteries of life, he decided not to read the journals again for a few days. He needed to work this one out, go back to the real world, and deal with his life now.

Chapter 16

CHARLIE PICKED THEM up at six o'clock, and drove them to Di Maio in Deerfield for dinner. Charlie and Francesca were both feeling a little shy, but Monique chatted animatedly all the way to Deerfield. She talked about her friends at school, the dog she wished she had, the hamster her mother had promised her, wanting to go skating the next day, and she complained about her homework.

I used to get a lot more homework in France, she conceded finally, referring obliquely to their life in Paris, and Charlie glanced at Francesca. She was staring out the window.

Maybe we should start teaching you German, or Chinese or something, just to keep you busy, he teased her, and Monique made a face, two languages were enough trouble as far as she was concerned, although she was completely fluent in both. And then she looked at him brightly.

My mom speaks Italian. My grampa was from Venice. And according to her, a bastard just like her husband, Charlie remembered. They were touching on all her favorite subjects. It was going to be a great evening. But she said nothing. They have a lot of boats there, Monique told him, and he tactfully changed the subject and asked what kind of dog she wanted. Something little and cute, she answered immediately, she'd obviously given it a lot of thought. Like a Chihuahua.

A Chihuahua? He laughed at the suggestion. That's so small, you'll get it mixed up with your hamster. She guffawed when he said it.

No, I wouldn't. He told her about Gladys's dog then, the big friendly Irish setter, and offered to take her to meet her. She liked that, and Francesca almost smiled then. She was so serious, and so sad sometimes, it made his heart ache for her. But at least Monique was happy. It said something about Francesca's mothering skills, and the fact that she must love her, and had protected her fairly successfully from the horrors that had happened to them in Paris.

And a few minutes later, they reached Deerfield.

The restaurant was busy and cheerful, and Monique ordered spaghetti and meatballs almost as soon as she sat down at the table. The adults took a little longer, and finally ordered capellini with basil and tomato. He ordered wine for them, and he noticed that Francesca spoke to the waiter in Italian. He seemed delighted, and Charlie listened with pleasure.

I love to hear that. He smiled at her. Did you ever live there?

Until I was nine. But I always spoke Italian to my father, when he was alive. I'd like Monique to learn it. It's always useful to know another language. Though now that they were living back in the States, it seemed less important. She might want to go back to Europe one day to live, Francesca conceded, though in her heart of hearts, she hoped not. And then she turned to him with eyes full of questions. She had learned a lot about him the day before, but only about his marriage. What about you? What will you do? Go back to London?

I don't know. I just stopped here on my way to Vermont to go skiing. And then I met Gladys Palmer, and saw the house and fell in love with it. I rented it for a year, but even if I go back to Europe, I can come here for vacations. But I'm happy here for now, though I feel a little guilty for not working. This is the first time in my life I've ever done this. But eventually, I'll have to be an architect again, hopefully in London.

Why? She looked puzzled, after all he had told her. Was it to pursue his wife, or were there other reasons? Her eyes asked a myriad questions.

I have a life there, he said firmly, and then reconsidered, as Monique dug into her meatballs. At least I used to. I sold my house just before I left. And now he wasn't even sure he had a job there. Besides, I love London, he said stubbornly. But he also loved Carole. Maybe he would forever. Even after she married Simon, but he didn't say that to Francesca. The thought of it depressed him.

I loved Paris too, Francesca said softly. But I couldn't stay afterward ' I tried. But it was just too difficult. It would have driven me crazy, expecting to see him every time I turned a corner, waiting to run into him, hating him when I did. I cried every time I turned the news on, and saw him, but I couldn't make myself stop watching. It was sick. So I left. I can't imagine living there now, She sighed, and smiled at him over their capellini.

Will you stay here? He liked talking to her. It was such a relief to talk to someone, and air the things that had almost killed him. Talking about it made it all seem so much smaller.

Maybe, she answered. She hadn't made up her mind. My mother thinks I should bring Monique back to New York to get a decent' education. But we're happy here, the school L-+ fine. She loves to ski. I like our little house at the edge of town. And it's so peaceful. I want to finish my thesis while I'm here, I can decide after that. This would be a good place to do some writing. Or reading. He thought about Sarah's journals and said nothing.

It would, he agreed. I want to do some painting. His style had always been a little bit like Wyeth's, and particularly with the snow, the landscape around Shelburne Falls was perfect.

A man of many talents, she said, with a twinkle in her eye, and he suddenly smiled at her. He liked it when she teased him. And eventually they drew Monique back into the conversation, but she'd been happy for a while, listening to them, and eating her spaghetti. Monique talked about her life in Paris then, the apartment she loved, going to the Bois de Boulogne every day after school, and the trips she'd taken with her parents, mostly skiing, since it was her father's passion. And listening to her made Francesca look nostalgic, which worried Charlie. He didn't want her closing up on him again. This was good for both of them, and she relaxed again when Charlie changed the subject, and then he had an idea, and decided to ask her.

What about going skiing this Saturday? We could just go to Charlemont for the day. He knew from Gladys that many of the locals did that often. And Monique was instantly enthusiastic.

Come on, Mommy ' pleasssseeee ' She drew out the word like taffy, and Francesca smiled at the invitation.

You're probably busy, and I should really get some work done. I don't think '

Come on, he said gently. It would do us all good. He was thinking of the jolt he'd had the day before, when Carole called, and the things Francesca had told him. They all needed a little fun in their lives, and a day of skiing sounded perfect. You can spare a day. We both can. He had nothing else to do, except read Sarah's journals. Let's do it. He looked so sweet, and sounded so persuasive that she eventually relented, although she was still feeling a little hesitant about being indebted to him. She didn't want to do that. He might come to expect something she couldn't give him.

All right, just for the day then. Monique's spirits rose, dramatically after Francesca said it. She chatted and giggled and laughed and talked about the runs there and compared them to Courchevel and Val d'Isere, and Francesca laughed at that, and so did Charlie. The skiing was not exactly comparable, but it would be fun anyway. And they were all looking forward to it, when he drove them back to Shelburne Falls after dinner.

He stopped outside their house, and got out. It was a small neat wooden house, painted white, with green shutters, and a picket fence around it. And when they got out of the car, Francesca thanked him for dinner.

I really enjoyed it, she said carefully, and Monique immediately chimed in.

So did I. Thanks, Charlie.

You're welcome. I'll see you both on Saturday. What time should I pick you up? He made no move to go into the house with them. He knew instinctively that it would have scared Francesca. She still wore the look of a young doe, about to dart back into the forest, particularly now that they were on her turf. It was obvious that she didn't want him too near her, no matter how pleasant their conversations.

How about eight o'clock? she suggested in answer to his question. We can be on the slopes by nine then.

That sounds fine. See you then, he said, and watched diem go into the house and close the door. He saw all the lights turn on, and the house looked cozy and warm, as he stood staring at it from the outside. And he was surprised at how lonely he felt on the drive back to his place. He always seemed to be on the outside now, watching Francesca and Monique, hearing about Carole and Simon ' reading about Sarah and Fran+oois. He didn't belong to anyone anymore, and he realized again how much he missed it And as he thought about it, he drove slowly out of the way and decided to stop, on his way home, at Gladys Palmer's. She was in good spirits, looked well, and was delighted with the surprise visit. She made him some chamomile tea, and offered him a fresh plate of gingerbread cookies.

How are things at the house? she asked comfortably, and he smiled in answer. He was thinking about Sarah and the journals that he was still keeping secret, even from Mrs. Palmer. He wanted to finish them before he told her about them.

Fine, he said noncommittally, and then told her about the evening he had just spent with Francesca and her daughter.

That sounds promising, she said, looking pleased for him.

We'll see, he said, as he finished a second cup of tea, and then finally left her to get back to the house. And when he did, he felt surprisingly less lonely. Seeing her always seemed to have remarkable restorative powers for him. She was almost like a mother to him.

And as he let himself into his house, he thought he heard a sound upstairs before he turned the light on. He stood very still, listening to it, wanting it to be her, convinced he had heard a footstep. But he stood there for a long time in the silence. It was nothing. And he finally turned the light on.