Reunited with the Billionaire Read online

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll find a pretext to stop by there one of these evenings. Maybe I’ll get lucky and the doctor will be sitting in the gathering room.”

  “I don’t know what you expect to accomplish. Dr. Pommier’s already told Wendy no.”

  “He read a letter she sent him. That’s a lot different from actually talking to her.”

  “I just want to go on record that I still think this is a bad idea,” Gina said stiffly.

  Howard reached for her hand and squeezed it. “It’s what our girl wants, honey.”

  “That doesn’t make it right. There are a dozen things she could do with her life besides ski.” Gina tugged her hand free and looked at him. “She’s got a quick mind. And she’s creative. Remember those pictures she used to draw? Those stories she used to write?”

  Howard sighed. “Wendy could do a lot of things. She will, someday. But first she wants to—”

  “I know what she wants, Howard. What if it turns out it’s not possible?”

  “Then she’ll have to accept the inevitable. She’ll need our support either way,” he said gently. “Isn’t that right?” The springs creaked as Howard settled under the covers. “I’d never let our girl do anything that would be bad for her. The doctor will tell us if he thinks the operation is right or wrong for Wendy.” He ran his hand up and down Gina’s arm in slow, comforting strokes. “Don’t you think I’m worried about the risks, too?”

  Gina looked at him. “I know you love her as much as I do. That’s why I can’t understand—”

  “It’s because we come at this differently. I can put myself in Wendy’s place. I remember what it’s like to have a shot at big-time skiing, and I never even got as close as she did. I never made the nationals, but Wendy—”

  “Big-time skiing isn’t everything.”

  “You’re right. It isn’t. It’s doing whatever you can to reach for a dream that’s everything. And if getting back on skis is our daughter’s dream, I’m going to do my very best to help her achieve it.”

  “No matter what the cost?” Gina said bitterly. It was the first time she’d let the full extent of her anger show. She saw the shock on her husband’s face and didn’t know who she’d shocked the most, him or herself.

  “Gina, how can you say that? Didn’t I just tell you I’m worried, too? My God, do you really think I’d encourage her to go ahead with an operation if the doctor says he’s not one hundred percent sure it’s safe?”

  Nothing in life was safe. Hadn’t Wendy’s fall proved that? Gina almost said as much to Howard, but she knew she’d already hurt him enough, that he was torn between wanting to protect Wendy and wanting her to be happy. She sighed, put her arms around him and held him until he fell asleep. Then she rose quietly, slipped on her robe and went down the hall to Wendy’s room. She stared at the closed door, then leaned her forehead against the cool wood.

  Howard was right. Wendy was upset because of her impatience to meet the doctor—and yet there was more to her withdrawal. Gina was sure of it. Something else was worrying their daughter.

  The next evening, Howard said he was going out for a while. To Twin Oaks, Gina suspected, though he didn’t say it. She made some popcorn, put the bowl between Wendy and her on the sofa in the family room and clicked on the TV. She surfed the channels until she found a news show. After a while, she hit the mute button, put her feet up on the coffee table and looked at Wendy.

  She’d planned how to approach this. Subtly. Carefully. She wouldn’t say anything to put her daughter on the defensive.

  “Wendy? What’s troubling you, baby?” So much for subtlety. Still, she was glad she’d finally asked the question.

  Wendy looked at her, then back at the silent picture on the TV screen.

  “Nothing. I mean, nothing but what’s been troubling me all along. I wonder if Daddy’s ever going to find a way to talk to Dr. Pommier.”

  In for a penny, in for a pound, Gina thought. “I know about that. But I think something else is upsetting you. Something more personal.”

  Wendy lifted her eyebrows. “What could be more personal than my leg?”

  Gina ignored that. It had been offered as a diversion and she wasn’t going to be diverted. Not tonight.

  “You’ve been awfully quiet since you had lunch with Alison.” She paused. “I thought seeing her would do you a world of good, but you came home sort of down, and you’re still down.”

  “I’m probably just tired. The flight home—”

  “That was a week ago.”

  “Well, the change, you know? From one place to another—”

  “Did you and Alison talk about Seth?” More subtlety, Gina thought unhappily. She couldn’t believe she’d blurted that out, but the idea had popped into her head without warning. One look at her daughter’s face and she knew she’d hit the mark.

  “Why on earth would we talk about Seth?”

  “Well, you’d just had that…that little blowup with him, so I just thought… I wondered…”

  “No need to wonder. We didn’t talk about him. End of story.”

  “I’m not prying, sweetie. I’m just worried about you.”

  “Well, there’s nothing to worry about. Seth is history. I’m over him. He’s over me. He’s involved with someone, and that’s fine. Oh, don’t look so stricken, Mother.” Wendy rose to her feet and limped across the room. She grabbed a magazine from the small wooden rack, limped back and sat down again. “People in this town know what you eat for breakfast. Did you think I wouldn’t find out about Seth’s girlfriend?”

  “Oh, baby. That explains why you’re upset.”

  “I am not upset. Why would I be?” Wendy snapped open the magazine. “I don’t want to talk about Seth. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Mother and daughter remained locked in silence, Gina pretending to watch TV, Wendy pretending to read, until Howard returned an hour later. Wendy looked up, her face alive with expectancy, and Gina knew her daughter figured he’d gone to find the doctor.

  But Pommier hadn’t been at the bed-and-breakfast, not in the public rooms at any rate. And Gina, though consumed with guilt, kept thinking, Please, please, let the doctor go back to New York.

  There was no such thing as risk-free surgery. Besides, despite what Wendy said, Gina wasn’t at all sure that not being able to ski was the heart of the problem. Something more was troubling her daughter, something that wasn’t as visible as her limp but was every bit as disturbing.

  Maybe what she and Wendy needed was the chance to spend some time together. Alone. Sort of a girls’ night out, the way they used to when Wendy was in high school. They hadn’t managed to have them often—not anywhere near often enough—because of Wendy’s grueling schedule. But every now and then they’d taken off together, just the two of them, for dinner somewhere special, and they’d talk and laugh and have fun.

  A girls’ night out. Definitely. Gina picked up the phone and made reservations. She wasn’t going to give Wendy the chance to say no.

  * * *

  GINA HAD CHOSEN the restaurant with care. The food at the Purple Panda was delicious, the place itself was charming and it took more than forty minutes to drive there.

  She wanted to have lots of time to chat with Wendy. There was something about riding through the night on dark country roads that tended to loosen a person’s tongue.

  Wrong, she thought as they sped along the dark roads. Wendy hadn’t said more than half a dozen words during the entire trip. Gina kept up a one-sided conversation, babbling away about nothing in particular and getting back mostly “uh-huh” and “um-hmm” in response.

  It was a relief when they finally reached Stockbridge and drove past the big, stately homes that lined both sides of the wide street, which narrowed as it approached the town green.

  “Well,” Gina said brightly, “here we are.” She slipped the Volvo into a parking space. “I’m really looking forward to dinner tonight. You’ll love this place,
and we can just sit back and relax. Everything’s been so, um, so rushed lately….”

  “I can just imagine. Exams are coming up soon, right?”

  A complete sentence, at last. But Gina had to stop and think. “Exams?” she said as they got out of the car. “Oh. Oh, you mean at school. Math quizzes and English essays. Right. My kids are all excited.”

  Wendy made a face. “They’re terrified, Mom, not excited.”

  “Of what? They’ll all do fine. If anybody’s terrified, it should be me.” She took Wendy’s arm as they stepped onto the sidewalk. “Careful. The street’s probably slippery.” The night was cold, the air crisp; a thin skim of frosty snow crackled under their boots. “When I think of the endless hours I’ll have to put in, marking all those tests…”

  “I could help you with them.”

  “Yes, you could.” Gina laughed. “You don’t really expect me to be polite and turn down such an offer, do you?”

  “Actually, I’ve been thinking about some kind of job.”

  “A job? But—” You won’t be here long enough to hold down a job, Gina thought. Or was her luck turning? Had Wendy changed her mind about what she wanted?

  “I know what you’re thinking. I won’t be here very long.” The Purple Panda was just ahead. The door was trimmed with tiny bells that tinkled merrily when Wendy pulled it open. “But Daddy mentioned that the people who own Twin Oaks—”

  “Clint and Maureen,” Gina said as the door swung shut behind them.

  “That’s it. He said they were thinking about finding someone to help out evenings.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Oh, nothing very complicated.” Wendy peeled off her gloves and put them in her pockets. “Answer the phone, hang around the gathering room to serve coffee or tea or wine. They just got their liquor permit.”

  “Well,” Gina said cautiously, “you might enjoy it. You know, getting out, meeting some people from out of town—”

  “Meeting Rod Pommier, if I’m lucky.”

  “Oh, Wendy.”

  “Oh, Mother,” Wendy teased. “Come on, get that look off your face. Mmm, this place is handsome. When did it open?”

  Gina knew when she was being taken on a detour. “Last summer,” she said, and sighed.

  “And what’s that luscious smell?”

  “Cloves. Maybe allspice.”

  “Allspice. Isn’t that what you used to put into that incredible beef and beer thingy?”

  Detoured and derailed, Gina thought, but that was okay if it meant getting Wendy to think about something other than whatever was making her look so glum.

  “It’s known as boeuf carbonade, if you please, my darling daughter.” Gina took Wendy’s hand as they eased through a knot of people toward the hostess. “After all these years of eating French cooking, you should know there’s a difference between a `beef thingy’ and something fran;alcaise. And no, that’s not allspice in carbonade, it’s thyme.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Wendy rolled her eyes. “You just like to remind people you’re a fancy cook.”

  “Not me!” Gina laughed and turned to the hostess. “The name’s Monroe. I reserved a table for two.”

  “Good evening, Ms. Monroe. Your table will be ready in just a few minutes. Would you like to wait at the bar?”

  The bar was crowded, too, but they were lucky and snagged two high-backed stools. Gina ordered a glass of white wine. Wendy ordered merlot.

  “Pretty place.” Wendy ran a finger lightly along the top of the bar. “Zinc. Reminds me of Paris.”

  “The food will, too. Well, maybe not quite Paris, but it’s good. I convinced your father to come here once, right after it opened.” Gina smiled as the bartender put their glasses of wine in front of them. “Thanks. Where was I? Oh. That time I came here with your father. `This is it?’ he asked me when he opened the menu. `Soups, salads and homemade bread?’ I pointed out that some of the soups were more like stews, but he wasn’t fooled, not for a minute.”

  Wendy grinned. “Not Daddy’s idea of a meal, huh?”

  “He was a good sport about it, but as soon as we got home, he went into the kitchen and put together one of those sandwiches of his. Two slabs of rye bread, mustard, mayo—”

  “—and whatever isn’t nailed down.” Wendy sipped her wine. “He still eats those things?”

  “He does,” Gina said, continuing with their light, breezy chat, even as part of her looked on in delighted surprise. Maybe this girls’ night out hadn’t been such a bad idea. Wendy was smiling; she was animated. Driving here, Gina figured they’d sit through their meal in silence, but it looked as if the evening might turn into a success.

  Idly, she twirled the stem of her wineglass in her fingers.

  “Have I told you how lovely it is, having you home?”

  “Only a couple of thousand times,” Wendy said with a little smile.

  “It’s such a joy, waking up in the morning and knowing you’re right down the hall, that I don’t have to wonder how you are or where you are, that I don’t have to look at the clock and think about what time it is in Paris before I call you.”

  “Mom.” Wendy took her mother’s hand. “It was the same for me.”

  “Was it? Paris is such a glamorous city….”

  “But it wasn’t home. Honestly, I’m glad to be back.”

  It was true, Wendy thought in surprise. She was happy to be back. And happy to be here tonight. All week, her mother had begged her to tell her what was wrong, but how could she when she didn’t know herself? She’d felt…what? A heaviness within her breast. A sort of melancholy that just wouldn’t go away.

  She’d told herself it was because she was edgy and impatient about meeting Dr. Pommier, but down deep she’d known it wasn’t entirely that.

  Her mother kept saying she needed to get out, do things. Well, maybe she was right. There was something pleasant about being out tonight, surrounded by the sound of laughter and the smell of good food. Maybe she’d been silly to worry so much about what people would say when they saw her. Or to worry about how she’d feel, seeing Seth.

  Nothing. That was what she felt. He just made her angry, that was all. He was so stubborn. So mule-headed. So damned arrogant and self-righteous—

  “Ladies? Your table is ready.”

  “Wonderful,” Gina said. “Sweetie? You ready?”

  “Absolutely,” Wendy said brightly. Her mother picked up her glass, slid from the stool and followed the hostess. Wendy fell in behind her.

  The hostess led them through the long, crowded room to a table near the fireplace. Their server would be along in just a minute, she said, and placed their menus before them. Gina shrugged off her coat and let it drape over the back of her chair. She looked at Wendy, who did the same thing.

  “I love sitting back here. You get a view of the entire room this way. Isn’t it lovely?”

  “Very.” Wendy opened her menu. “What’s good?”

  “Everything.” Gina smiled, supposedly at the menu, but really at the pleasure of seeing her daughter without a frown puckering her forehead. “Try the black bean soup, if you want something that’ll really warm you up. Or the cheddar cheese bisque.”

  “Mmm. That’s for me. The cheese bisque.” Wendy closed the menu and cleared her throat. “Mom? Thanks for bringing me here.”

  “Don’t be silly. It’s my pleasure.”

  “You know what I mean. I’ve been such a mope, and you know what? You were right. It’s good getting out.”

  “To the big city,” Gina said, and laughed.

  The waiter took their order. The women drank their wine, munched on salty breadsticks and had the kind of free-roving conversation they hadn’t had since Wendy had come home.

  Since the accident, Gina thought, and felt the unwanted blur of tears. She blinked them back but it was too late. Wendy had noticed.

  “Mom? What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” Gina said.

  They looked at each other. Then
they began to laugh.

  “Talk about role reversal…” Wendy sat back as the waiter served their salads. “You were crying,” she said softly.

  “No. Well, maybe just a little.” Gina picked up her fork and stabbed an endive leaf. “I was thinking how nice it is, having dinner with my favorite daughter.”

  “Your only daughter,” Wendy answered, and they laughed again at the old joke. They ate in silence for a few minutes. “Mom?”

  Gina looked up. “What, dear?”

  “There was another English teacher in the school where I taught in Paris.” She put down her fork and folded her hands in her lap. “Actually, I don’t think I’ve told you much about my work there. The method I used, I mean. Have I?”

  Not a word, Gina thought. “No,” she said, “you haven’t.”

  Wendy nodded. “Well, what I’d do was give my students a few weeks of the basics. Vocabulary mostly, with a little bit of grammar tossed in.”

  When the waiter appeared with their soup, Wendy sat back a moment until he’d served them.

  “After that,” she continued, once he had gone, “we’d just talk. It worked really well, and one day the other teacher asked me if I could show her my plan book. I said I didn’t have one, that I used the `deal with it as it comes’ method. And she said, `Ah, of course. Deal with it the way one deals with life.’“ Wendy swallowed dryly. “I want you to know I’m trying to do that. Deal with it as it comes—and I know you’re opposed to what comes next.”

  “I just want you to be sure that having the operation is the right thing, Wendy. Can you understand that?”

  “Yes. Absolutely. But the thing is, Mom, this is my life. I need to deal with it in my own way. I need to be me again.”

  “Oh, baby, you are you! Just because you got hurt—”

  “I didn’t just get hurt,” Wendy said fiercely. “I let everybody down. My team. My town. My coach. You and Daddy.”

  “Never, Wendy! And surely, never me.”

  “Yes, you. But most of all, the person I let down was…”

  Seth.

  At first she thought she’d actually said his name, but her mother was still looking at her, waiting for the rest. Wendy clamped her lips together, horrified at how close she’d come to a truth nobody could ever know.